#smugglers always very needed and wanted though lots of smuggling going on here

[ru5t]

🐇 / Run Bunny Run (I'm so curious? I'm unfamiliar with the album, so everything I know is contained to your carrd/blog)

If you drop a 🐇 in my inbox I’ll give you some starter ideas for how your muse might fit into the Dustverse!

That's fine I killed canon in cold blood and it's my city now anyway! Blog canon bears only a passing resemblance to 'real' canon, and technically everything on the blog started with this music video and this music video and everything since has been invention with the Squid (@/hvndredbattles @/hvndredzones) so that's the only 'canon' you need if you don't... feel like reading the excessive number of lore essays in the world building tag. However there is lots of information in the world building tag, if you want it. The album other than the videos is more of a tone indicator than anything and I have a whole playlist for that and I don't really acknowledge the comics because they're mostly not very good but hi yes onto the part you actually asked about:

Cherry as someone who wandered too close to zone 07. Zone 07 is a weird wibbly wobbly thing in the west, where the old coast used to be, that encapsulates some kind of phenomenon that nobody's really sure what it is; the city investigated it for awhile and came up short, the zones calls it a thinning place between the living and the dead, anyone who isn't superstitious just calls it Really Fucking Weird if they've encountered anything about it. Even I can't really tell you what it is, half because I don't rightly know and half because it's more fun that I don't. Anyone brave (or dumb, or unlucky) enough to go in dies, one way or the other. Either never seen again or something else that looks like them walks back out. I'm proposing Cherry got a little closer than most, but didn't actually walk in to zone 07 proper, meaning she got to keep her own thoughts but well. Now there's something else, too. Ghost, demon, prolonged hallucination or other psychotic break - well. We'll just never know. — And this would lend to either side of the conflict. Personally I feel more like she's killjoy coded if only out of boredom and the desire to not have to follow so many rules, but having gotten close to 07 could be a city character thing too, albeit she'd have to work for the company in some capacity. Which would be an area like the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W Unit or some science-y field, to have come into contact with it. But also also her name is already Cherry that's so killjoy she very much seems like someone who grew up in the city initially and then went 'fuck this' as a teen and hopped the wall and then either was just particularly susceptible to its draw (it does in fact draw people in, that is part of its weirdness. moths to flame, etc.) or just happened to end up somewhere near 07 and. got reeled dangerously close to disappearing.

Yuna on the verge of becoming one of Better Living's new poster-children after cultivating a little following of her own (perhaps replacing their escaped dove, @lcfthaunted 👀) but it's a big step to sign the rights to your face and body and life away to Better Living literally and not just because they control so much of the infrastructure. Her father may be trying to persuade her away from it without actually saying the quiet part (that it will destroy her, eat her up bit by bit with no remorse and barely even a thank you) out loud, for fear of what might happen to both of them if he does(?). Anyway, she'd really have to get the crassness under wraps for it. And the city has ways of getting rid of it by force, if she signs her life away and doesn't quite manage it on her own. Image is everything, after all.

Hansel goes in here somewhere I know he does but my brain is returning error noises. something something european transfers something something Better Living's "progress without concerns for ethical boundaries". I don't know how I feel re: giving them the ability to revive the dead but to be frank there's precedence in some parts of the fandom over the years and if it's still highly experimental and not something that can just be Done to anyone at any time..... He's just mild and yet unflinching enough to end up somewhere deep in a lab doing things he should absolutely not be doing with BLi money and resources, because it's Science, and the company is taking advantage of it. Encouraging the worst parts of it. Show us how to raise the dead Hansel it is a worthwhile pursuit and there will be no negative long term consequences for this :)

This is who I can figure things out for right away but if I keep sitting on it I might be able to point the others in Dustverse directions too(!)

[wise-0ne]

Please: PART ONE

SUMMARY: ~𝙋𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙎𝙀, 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙋~

After Sarah died, Joel found his new happiness. He loved his daughter, Hailey.

But when the unexpected comes, he's in need of help and happiness.

What will Joel do when he loses the people he loves?

Joel Miller x Daughter o/c

No trigger warnings just swearing.

You can't live in fear here. It just doesn't work that way now, or that's how my dad put it. These days, living in fear is a weakness. Living in fear will get you killed. Fear is not an option.

I was born after the outbreak. I'm 16 years old, my birthday was yesterday. It's 2023 and everything is just as bad as when it started. City's ruled by FEDRA, raiders, smugglers. Nothing is safe.

Even though I feel safe, I'll never know if I am. I know that as long as I have my parents, I'm safe. My parents made a promise to me when I was 6. They told me that they would never let anything happen to me as long as they were here. Luckily, for ten years, they've kept that promise.

My dad, Joel, had a daughter. Her name was Sarah. She was his ray of sunshine and my dad loved her more than anything. But Sarah was shot back in 2003 when the outbreak happened. My mom said he wasn't happy, nice, kind until I came.

When he found out my mom was pregnant, he told her that it was a bad idea to keep me. I was a one night stand baby. My parents were best friends and they got drunk one night.

He didn't want the same thing that happened to Sarah, to happen to me. He was scared for my mom and me. He didn't want to lose more people than he already lost, so he tried to convince my mom to get rid of me. Obviously it didn't work.

But when I was born, he was a different person. My mom, Tess, said he was so happy. From what I've been told. When he first laid eyes on me, he cried and said I was a miracle. His miracle.

Since then, he's always made sure I was safe and protected. I'm not allowed outside without him and I can't go with them anywhere that isn't in the QZ. They never let me outside until I I turned 15 because kids were supposed to be in the FEDRA school. They didn't want that for me, so they kept me locked up in our apartment.

I know they want to keep me safe, but it gets annoying. Knowing that I'm safe and loved makes me feel better about that though.

I love my dad and my mom. They would do anything for me, and by anything, I mean anything.

They are smugglers, so I am home alone sometimes, but they always have someone check on me. They usually have something to bring back to me. No matter if it's food or games, I'm always happy.

I love my parents, and if I were to lose them. I don't know what I would do.

__________________________________________________________________________

It was a long day of sitting inside, reading, and watching the civilians walk around while I sat on the couch in the living room of our one-bedroom apartment. The bedroom is not even really a bedroom. More like an open space with a wall. It was small, but in the QZ, we're lucky to even have this apartment. There are people who live on the streets, so we are really lucky.

The QZ is very full and most people don't have a lot. Like us. We live off of food rations, cards, and whatever my parents smuggle in. I'm very glad we are here. Dad said if we weren't, we'd be dead.

Both of my parents are working, and I was inside, alone. I was used to being alone in the daytime, but I made sure the door was locked at all times. So I was safe. You can't trust people.

Mom and dad were gone most of the day. I knew dad picked up an extra job, and mom was out dealing with things. For all I know she could be dead, but I know she isn't.

I was sitting on the couch, reading, when the door knob rattled. I looked up and saw the door swing open. It was my dad. He looked mad, he didn't see me and he just walked into the bedroom. I put my book down and scoot over to the other side of the couch so I could see what he was doing. I heard him stomping and then he bent over to move the dresser that covered his stash of stuff hidden under the floorboards.

Under the floor was some maps, an axe and more things that he kept hidden.

I watched him pull out a map and then he walked into the kitchen area and sat down with a map at the table. Dad was obviously mad about something, so I know not to bother him. I adjust myself on the couch and watch as grabbed his bottle of bourbon and stared at the map. Pointing and dragging his finger on the map, he sighed and took a drink. He drank half the bottle and didn't even look back at me.

I watch him put his hand on his forehead and sigh. I know he's stressed and angry. I wish I could help him in some way, but I don't want to make things worse.

I watched him take some pills and without looking at me, he got up, went to lay on the bed, and passed out.

This was usually the routine when he was having a hard day. He has a lot of those.

I then got up and walk over to the bed. I check his breath make sure he's alive. He's kinda old so I worry. And while he slept, I cleaned the apartment. I cleaned the table, did dishes, and organized the cabinets to keep me busy. I waited for mom to come home, but eventually, I sat on the couch and drifted to sleep.

Usually, we all share the one mattress we have. It was big enough for all three of us, but I didn't want to wake him up. He needed sleep.

__________________________________________________________________________

In the morning, I woke up to my mom making tea. I stood up off the couch and rubbed my eyes. I stumbled a bit but walked over to the kitchen. My dad walked into the room at the same time I did.

Sitting down at our table, I looked at my dad. He sat at the other end of the table and he was hungover and looked tired. My mom then walked over to us. I look up at her while she sets a cup of tea in front of me.

Her face looked terrible.

"Mom, your face," I say in a concerned voice.

Her face was bruised and cut. She had a black eye and looked terrible. She then sat down by my dad.

Dad looked over at her. His face said it all. He was pissed.

He slammed his hand on the table and almost got up.

"I got jumped by a couple of guys." She said calmly. Grabbing his hand

"What guys?" my dad questions her.

"Just a couple of teenagers." Dad then grabs her face.

"Said some shit probably shouldn't have," Mom said while my dad moved her face around. He then got up. My mom grabbed her cup and took a sip.

"Come on. You know these guys were born after the outbreak. Never learned how to argue." She said trying to calm him down.

"They just start swingin'." She took another sip.

"Fuckin' 19-year-old pieces of shit." I chuckle.

It's always funny when she those jokes. She made them a lot because she knew they made me feel better in these types of situations.

My dad came back over to the table. He had a bottle of alcohol and a towel.

"It's a miracle you're alive." He says while he pours some of the alcohol on a towel, he gently taps her face, making sure not to hurt her. She chuckles "It's a miracle any of us are alive."

I take a sip of my tea. I know my mom wasn't safe at the time, I was just lucky she was now. Honestly, I don't know what I would do without her.

As my dad tapped her face, he turned her head, "These aren't new."

"No, I was in FEDRA lockup all day."

Dad pauses. His face looks confused.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter." My mom says. She then takes a breath and grabs my dad's hand.

"I need you to take a breath," she says calmly

"What?" My dad says, putting down the towel.

"Joel-"

"What?"

She takes one more breath "The guys who jumped me were with Robert." She pauses.

"He sold our battery to someone else."

I set my cup down and hear my dad's chair scoot back. Looking over at them, I see my dad put his face in his hands.

"What the fuck." I say angrily.

"Nothing is lost. Shit like this is gonna happen. Now we shake it off and get our cards back or the battery." She says looking at me and my dad.

"We need the battery, Tess," Dad says and slams his hand on the table. He gets out of his chair and walks over to the bedroom.

"Trucks no good without one." He yells "And if I don't get to Tommy soon, he's gonna die out there."

"Okay, Fuck it. We get our money back, and the battery." She says, getting up out of her seat and walking over to dad.

"But Joel listen, Robert is terrified of you." She looks him in the eyes. "If you go to him about this, he's gonna get wind of it and skip."

I then get up out of my chair and walk over to them. I sit next to my dad. I lay my head on his shoulder, "Take a breath." I tell him. He looks at me with sadness and anger in his eyes.

While still looking at me, he asks mom "Who'd he sell it to?"

"Don't know."

"Well, where is he?"

"Don't know... Yet" She says.

"But we're gonna find out quietly."

"Understand?" she asks my dad. He nods and looks at the floor.

"Now I promised Robert you wouldn't hurt him, but I would very much like for you to hurt him," Mom says smiling.

She gets serious again, "So let's go hunt that mother fucker down, and get our battery, and our truck and go find Tommy." she takes a breath "Alright?"

My dad nods again "Alright."

Mom gets up and walks over to the other side of the bed.

I pick my head up, and my dad leans down to get his gun.

[fishoutofcamelot]

Okay but consider: after her banishment, Gwen ends up crossing paths with Isolde and Tristan. Circumstances cause them to share a campsite for a few days - Isolde and Tristan have been separated from the rest of their crew, and a horrible storm has trapped the three of them in a cave for the foreseeable future. Naturally, bonding ensues, and these two grizzled smuggler people end up kinda-sorta adopting Gwen against their better judgment.

But like??? I'm just imagining a conversation between them, where they point out that Gwen is clearly bottling up Some Stuff, and it would really help her to just get it out of her system.

But Gwen turns down their offer and insists on bottling it up anyway, to which Isolde is like, "bro its cool that youre all polite and nice and whatnot, but you dont have to be that way all the time. its okay to be angry and upset every once in a while. you keep things bottled up because you think you have to, because thats what society expects of you, because everyone in your life needs to rely on your for strength and wisdom and support, and even though sometimes you dont want to be the responsible one there isnt much choice. and i get that, i really do, but right now we're all stuck in a cave together out in the middle of nowhere, and tristan and i are both literal criminals and also relative strangers, so no one will judge you or get upset if you just. go the tiniest bit unhinged for a while."

Naturally, Isolde has hit it right on the head. The next few minutes of wheedling and coaxing lead to Isolde and Gwen standing at the mouth of the cave, screaming loudly into the forest to vent all their pains and frustrations, just letting out every raw and ugly emotion they've got stuck inside them. Gwen is hesitant at first, but once she gains a bit of confidence she really gets into it. Isolde is...impressed and concerned by just how intensely Gwen can scream (she's got a lot bottled up, okay?)

Eventually they get the whole story out of her: her mother's death, Elyan's departure, her father's execution, Morgana's betrayal, the whole Lancelot mess, the various times she was sentenced to death, her complicated relationship with Arthur, that creep Agravaine...and the affair. She vents and weeps and screams at great length about the affair, and about her banishment, and about her fears and worries and frustrations and above all the self-loathing that has haunted her at every step of the way.

Isolde and Tristan listen, because clearly the poor girl has never had the chance to talk about this at length ever in her life and really really needs it. And okay, yeah, they're definitely keeping her now, it's too late.

Tristan smoothly yet gruffly brings up the suggestion that she tag along with them. She doesn't have anywhere else to go, after all, and they could use an extra set of hands. Gwen is of course reluctant to collude with smugglers, but after weighing her options she eventually decides to stick with these strange yet kind people.

Gwen doesn't start with smuggling right off the bat, though. She starts as the cook, and the horse-hand, and then one day Tristan hands her the reigns to one of the carts and teaches her how to drive it, and over time starts getting more and more responsibilities. she naturally acts polite and kind most of the time, but there are no expectations or consequences out here if she screws up or doesnt do her job perfectly every time. for perhaps the first time in her life, gwen finally has the chance to truly loosen up.

very quickly all the other members of the smuggler crew begin to adopt her as well, until this small army of hardened criminals are all collectively fawning over their mutual Sunshine Daughter. none of them liked King Arthur already due to his tax laws, but listening to Gwen's sordid tale gives them all a little bit of an extra reason.

One day, while going down to a nearby village to get some supplies, she overhears the news that Arthur is to marry Princess Mithian of Nemeth. And that gives her some...mixed feelings. Like, she's not jealous, that's just not her style, but she's not exactly happy about it either. She's trying to be. She knows she should be happy for Arthur. But at the same time, it does kinda sting.

She tries to bottle up those negative feelings at first, and just keep a brave face through the pain - until she remembers what Isolde said, and she remembers how all the other people in the smuggler crew taught her that ugly emotions aren't bad, and that it's okay to let yourself feel angry and upset from time to time.

So, armed with a new handful of complicated emotions and the full intention of not bottling them up for once, Gwen asks to tag along with the next away team. Which is weird because she never does that, she usually prefers to keep as far away from the actual criminal activity as possible. But something in her eyes tells Tristan that she needs this, so even though he has a policy against bringing amateurs he happily welcomes her along.

In this particular instance, they are going to be stealing some valuable goods from a particularly belligerent noble. While sneaking around the noble's extravagant estate, which stands in stark contrast to the dilapidated state of the nearby villages under his control, Gwen overhears the noble slapping one of his servants. She taps Isolde on the arm. Says, "I have an idea." Isolde finds that she likes the idea very much.

Next thing they know, they're running from the estate's guards while cackling, the noble's wardrobe full of disgustingly fancy linens in flames. Gwen is laughing, loud and unburdened; not only was setting all those silk garments on fire immensely cathartic, but it was also some of the most fun she's had in her entire life.

At breakfast the next morning, as Isolde proudly recounts their adventures to the rest of the crew, one of the other smugglers - a plucky young teen who looks oddly familiar, goes by the name Mordred - says that if Gwen enjoys fire so much, he might be able to hook her up with a spell or two.

And that is, more or less, the story of how Mordred began teaching Gwen magic. And that is also more or less the story of how Gwen learned to let loose and become the Robin Hood-esque arsonist sorcerer she was always meant to be.

(A few months later, Arthur and Merlin will stumble their way into camp, and that will be...interesting, to say the least.)

[prof-peach]

Hello professor, I have a pretty heavy question I’m afraid, but I’m running out of people to ask, so I’ll try my best to keep it PG13.

It’s my Mienshao, Daisy. Up until recently, she and I were members of a police task force tasked with rooting out illegal Pokemon smuggling rings and underground high stakes tournaments. We’ve been partners for a long time, me and Daisy, we grew up together, and I dare say we made a great team. But then things went wrong.

For the sake of security I can’t go into too much detail, but we were participating in a raid when we got ambushed. Someone must have tipped the smugglers off, because they were waiting for us when we got there. During the firefight, there was an explosion, a gas tank got set on fire by a charizard, I believe, and Daisy and I happened to be close. She got out with a few minor burns and scrapes, I... Did not.

I’ll spare you the gory details, but I have been confined to a wheel chair ever since, and I am due to be fitted for a prosthetic leg next week.

I won’t lie, the transition has been hard for everybody, me, my friends, my family. My other Pokémon have been hovering around me like over protective nannies for weeks. But I think out of all of us, Daisy has been taking it the hardest. Half of the day she spends locked to my side like a bodyguard, threatening to punch anyone that gets too close into oblivion. And the other half, well...

She’s started putting herself through some kind of hellish self training routine. Doing katas until she all but collapses from exhaustion, running laps for hours, fighting every Pokemon she can convince to fight, wild or trained. Daisy’s always been tough, and she’s always loved training, but this... This isn’t training, it’s a death march. I’m getting extremely worried, and that’s not even everything!

She’s stopped eating her favorite foods, deliberately choosing ones I know she hates, she won’t let me pet her anymore, she just steps out of reach, trying not to look at me. But most worryingly, she’s started cutting off her whiskers. She’s always been so proud of her whiskers, she groomed them every day, always got grumpy when I teased her for having a big ol’ mustache. Now anytime they get longer than an inch, she slices them off with her claws and throws them in fireplace, like some kind ceromony.

I’m almost certain Daisy feels guilty for coming out mostly unscathed, when I didn’t. She’s always been a bit protective, even before we joined the police, and she’s saved my life multiple times out in the field, but now she feels like she’s failed me, I think. I’ve tried to convince her that it wasn’t her fault, but that only seems to redouble her efforts. I’m terrified she’s going to burn herself out if she keeps going like this, and I don’t know what to do.

I know this is a pretty heavy question, but I I’m not sure who else to ask. Is there anything I can do to convince her that she doesn’t need to hurt herself like this? Or, something? Just anything to help! Losing my leg was jarring, but losing Daisy would be unbearable!... I just... I just want my best friend to be okay.

I am sorry for what you’ve been through, I cannot begin to understand what it’s like to be in your shoes, but like all recovery, physical or mental, this will take a fair bit of time to get past, you both may never fully return to how things were, but it can get better and you can both return to a full life together with work and dedication.

I’ve certainly seen Pokemon go to extreme lengths after dangerous incidents to protect their loved ones or themselves, in this case it would be wise to assume your pokemons suffering with a hefty bill of PTSD, and needs some actual therapy to handle the feelings and thoughts they’re having. We have facilities to accommodate that if you’re local to Johto, but most Pokemon centres will be able to put you in contact with reliable and certified practices to begin unravelling the issues that now plague Daisy.

That she considers herself to have come away reasonably unscathed is not true, yes your life has physically changed, but she needs to step back and take a look at her life too. Everything’s different now, and more specifically how she’s treating herself and handling her feelings. If that’s not trauma and injury, I don’t know what else it could be. You both came away with damage that day, physical or not. The first step is to help her see that, and to begin to understand that despite this all, you can both continue to move forward together if you can overcome the injury together, it is an event you shared, and you two can aid each others recovery with time and care.

There’s some seriously gifted therapists out there, those who study for years and can help far more than me, they’ll take time to break down the events, and start to really get into the feelings that your partner is going through. The cycle for Daisy right now comes around to self-punishment, and seems to be stuck on a loop. She needs time and space to process her feelings of guilt, grief, fear and loss, facing them instead of burying herself in her rigorous training. While it is difficult to discuss, you two have a strong bond that means you could talk with her. Try to remind her who’s truly responsible, she may be blaming herself, which is pretty common in these situations, but at the root of it, you were doing your routine job, and the bad guys, the Pokemon smugglers and goons are to blame. THEY caused the issue, not her, and while it may not sink in right away it’s worth saying, and sticking to. You said you told her that it wasn’t her fault, which is the gut reaction, perhaps giving her a logical target instead of herself will work better for now. Reiterating the true issue, and taking the heat off of her may help with other tasks such as self care, later down the recovery road.

Her guilt will feel terrible, but it kind of works as a protector, keeping her distanced from the worse, more overwhelming feelings of helplessness and powerlessness. In fact the guilt that masks this all will slowly make things worse over time. That underlying intense emotion below the guilt is what you both need to work through, but more than anything, she needs to face it, in her own time, come to terms with it, and eventually (hopefully) come to an understanding that life is an endless cycle of events, things will happen, but you have to pick yourself up and turn the lemons into lemonade. She could have lost you that day, that you came away with your life is a miracle, and now you two get more time together because of that. Luck isn’t something that runs out, it’s not like there’s only so much of it to go around, it is like wining the lottery. Sometimes 20 people win, other times no one does. It’s hard to accept, but there’s no greater order to stuff that happens, but when we can come to this conclusion, it’s oddly freeing. I’ve seen a fair few Pokemon in a symilar state who can move on when they realise there’s an odd randomness to the world and everything that goes on.

This is a job for someone with far greater skills than I, but you must help her by also looking after yourself, laugh when you can, show her that your life is still very full, and that you have loved ones, and joy to share with others. You mentioned that you’re due a prosthetic, and though the transition will be long and no doubt a little difficult at first, getting yourself back on two feet (kind of) will show her, and your other Pokemon that you’re willing to move forward. I think there’s a lot to be said about talking during this all. She wants to fight, to be strong, if this is how she’s going to cope, fine. If she’s out training, sit with her, spend whatever time you can by her side, as she’s taking this the hardest. You don’t have to say a thing, just try to do your best, without putting yourself in too much discomfort or pain. Reminding her who would be devastated if it had been her who got hurt, if she was not around, may help ground her back in reality a bit. You both got granted a gift that day, you came away alive, if she works so hard she burns out, that gift was wasted. She can use her kindness, and strength to help you, she can pass her knowledge and skill forward, but it’s hard to help others, and do your best if you’re exhausted beyond reason. Kind of like trying to give people bread from a basket but the damn basket is empty yknow? You got to take time to refill so you can help those around you again, so you have some bread to give. I know, probably sounds a little dumb but it’s always been the way I remember it.

Another very useful thing I’ve found with trauma survivors would be meeting others who have been in the same position. There’s plenty of support groups for both people and Pokemon who have been through events that left them in a difficult situation, emotionally and physically. Even here at the lab we have many species who have been left without limbs, with life changing damage, and a lot of them also have the emotional trauma too. She would probably do well to spend time with them, you can send her to a resort to retreat and recoup erase, mix with others who were just as angry as she is now, or you can take time to go with her to groups to interact with others. It’s one thing to have humans help, but it’s a whole other level of connection when Pokemon can help their own. They bond quicker, trust faster, and generally are more open to listening when it’s coming from a place of mutual experience. If she had time to talk to pokemon who actually lost their trainers, or parts of themselves, she may find some peace, even if only temporarily.

Don’t mention the whiskers, and where possible don’t offer her foods she actively likes, but also not ones she actively dislikes. Just for now. Start the ball rolling with just plain simple things that are neither good or bad. Indifferent is better than bad right now, the punishment she’s inflicting on herself will need addressing further, so contact a therapist, they use Rotom or porygon to translate from poke-speech to human language, and the repair can begin with a registered professional. My advice is not sound proof, I certainly feel like I have missed something important, it’s a big response, but it’s a start in the right direction, and should you come up to any further issues, message back and update us with what’s going on. With work you two will be on track to recover. Remember, patience is the biggest thing here, you two have history, and a therapist will no doubt take the sessions as a pair, and work with you to help Daisy feel less guilty over time. I hope you both find peace, and that both of you repair in due time. Good luck with the new leg, a step towards recovery for sure.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Five)

Summary: (Y/N) and Mando join forces with Cobb Vanth to kill a krayt dragon, and they attempt to get the townsfolk and the Tuskens to peacefully work together. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Five The Dragon (Previous Chapter)

When she made the decision to join the Mandalorian’s crew and help him fulfill his quest, (Y/N) knew that they’d frequently be encountering dangerous situations. However, she didn’t foresee one of them involving her and Mando having to help kill a krayt dragon to protect a settlement in the middle of the Dune Sea. Cobb Vanth, the Marshal of Mos Pelgo, had offered Mando a deal: if they helped him kill the krayt dragon, he’d give them the Mandalorian armor he’d been using for years to protect his people.

“Deal. (Y/N) can ride back to the ship and blow it out of the sand from the sky; we’ll stay and use the bantha as bait.”

Cobb looked away from Mando to shoot her an astounded smirk, to which she responded by raising a brow, daring him to challenge her piloting skills. Silently conceding, the marshal looked back at Mando with a grimace. “Not so simple. The ship passes above, it senses the vibrations and stays underground. But I know where it lives.”

“How far?”

“Not far.”

So, she and Mando had wrangled up the child before getting onto the speeder bike and following Cobb further into the desert. Sensing that the Mandalorian was still agitated about the marshal’s blatant disrespect of his people’s Creed, (Y/N) had allowed him to drive and resigned herself to sitting behind him on the bike. I suppose there’s worse ways to travel, she thought to herself with a faint blush as her arms tightened slightly around her partner’s waist, like on the back of a bantha or dewback.

“You two don’t understand what it was like,” Cobb interjected after about a half an hour of driving. “The town was on its last legs; it started after we got news of the Death Star blowin’ up…the second one, that is.” (Y/N) smiled to herself, a little pleased that someone else had realized just how idiotic the Empire had been to build two of those things, then turned her attention back to the marshal’s tale. “The Empire was blown out of Tatooine and there was blaster fire over Mos Eisley; the occupation was over. We didn’t even have time to celebrate. That very night, the mining collective moved in; power hates a vacuum and Mos Pelgo became a slave camp overnight…”

(Y/N) listened as the marshal detailed his escape from Mos Pelgo, how he’d stolen a camtono of silicax crystals and wandered the desert for days until being rescued by the Jawas. She felt Mando’s body stiffen as Cobb explained that he’d traded the crystals for the Mandalorian armor and returned to the town, ridding it of its enslavers and establishing himself as its marshal. Based on what he’d told them, (Y/N) decided that he was an honorable man just doing everything to keep his people safe; however, she knew that the silent Mandalorian sitting in front of her would take more time to win over.

That’s what Cobb Vanth must’ve thought as well; once he’d finished his story, he turned his attention to her instead of Mando. “So, what’s your story? How’d a smuggler end up workin’ with a Mandalorian?”

“How’d you know-?”

“Livin’ on Tatooine, I’ve met my fair share of hot-shot pilots.” His mouth stretched into a lopsided grin. “None as pretty as you, though.”

Feeling her face warm at his flirtatious tone, (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile back. “Well, Mando here asked me to join his crew after seeing my piloting skills firsthand. And I’m actually a former smuggler; I worked for the Rebellion but I retired from that life just after the New Republic was established.”

The two speeder bikes had just reached a rocky canyon and they reduced their speed in the narrowing ravine. It was then that Cobb glanced over at her with a raised brow. “I didn’t know they had smugglers workin’ in the Rebellion. What’d you smuggle for ‘em?”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, acutely aware that there was more than one person waiting to hear her reply. “I, um-”

Cobb signaled for them to halt right when a loud growling noise began echoing through the canyon; both speeder bikes came to a stop and all three took cover behind them as they drew their weapons. Not knowing what to expect, (Y/N) pulled the plaster rifle off her back and propped it up alongside Mando’s pulse rifle on the top of their speeder, furrowing her brow when the howling grew louder. Moments later, a massiff emerged from behind an outcropping of rock and was soon joined by several others. Instead of firing, Mando lowered his pulse rifle and let out a familiar-sounding growl of his own before walking around the bike and towards the creatures.

“What the hell’s he doin’?” Cobb whispered loudly, his look of surprise growing when (Y/N) got up from her crouch and slung her rifle back onto her shoulders. “What the-?”

She and Mando both raised a hand to calm the marshal down, and (Y/N) watched with an impressed smile as her partner knelt down and began petting the now-happy massiff. I guess Mando’s got a way with pets, she thought to herself, her smile widening when she noticed several Tuskens emerge from behind the rocks. (Y/N) had enjoyed sharing camp with the Tuskens the night before; they’d been pleasant hosts, and she’d truly loved learning more about their culture while teaching them a little of her own.

(Y/N) glanced over at Cobb while Mando conversed with the Tuskens, her smile faltering a little as she took in his hardened expression; and when Mando informed them that the Tuskens also wanted to kill the krayt dragon, a feeling of foreboding settled in the pit of her stomach.

As night was beginning to fall, the Tuskens led the three of them to their settlement and allowed them to stay in two of their tents. (Y/N) thanked them for their hospitality using the hand gestures she’d picked up from Mando, pleased that she was still able to remember them but before she could make her way over to the Tusken’s campfire, Mando stopped her.

“Word travels fast on the Dune Sea; they already know about your peaceful encounter with the other clan of Tuskens yesterday. It’s Vanth who needs to earn their trust tonight.” Mando explained, his voice becoming a little gruffer when he mentioned the marshal’s name before quietly continuing. “Why don’t you and the child get some rest, alor’ad? I know it’s early but we’ll be traveling to the lair at first light and you’ll need your strength if you’re gonna help us kill a krayt dragon…”

(Y/N) relented, taking the child from Mando and crouching into their tent as she stifled tired yawns behind her hand; settling down in her bedroll, she drifted in and out of sleep, glancing over where the child was soundly sleeping every once in a while to see if he was all right. The little guy must be growing on you, she thought with a small smile, closing her eyes and rolling over to face the tent entrance.

A sudden sound caused (Y/N)’s eyes to snap open and in an instant, her blaster was in her hand and pointed directly at the Mandalorian’s head; realizing it was only her partner, she lowered her blaster with widened eyes. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Mando, I thought that-!”

“It’s okay, you shouldn’t apologize for having a quick reflex.” Mando replied, entering the tent and sitting down on top of his bedroll. “It’s good that you’re up; the Tuskens are going to take us to the lair tomorrow, but they’re insisting we travel in a small number and only scout the area. Will you be all right staying here with the kid while we go?”

She smiled, tucking her blaster back under her pillow. “Sure, that sounds okay. I guess that means you’ll be traveling with Vanth by yourself, huh?”

Nodding, Mando glanced over at the sleeping child before looking back at her. “I don’t trust him. He picked a fight with the Tuskens earlier, and he was asking a lot of questions about your Rebellion days.”

“Well, he was born and raised on Tatooine; he’s probably been told all his life that the Tuskens are the monsters. And as for the questions…well, most people don’t know that the Rebels recruited smugglers to their cause and then once they learn, they always assume that I was only working with the Alliance for monetary reasons. But I don’t mind.” Shrugging, (Y/N) laid back down on her bedroll, resting her hands on her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling of the tent. “Better to let them assume than to re-open any old wounds by explaining. Does that make any sense?”

The Mandalorian was silent for a moment and when he answered, his voice sounded softer than usual. “Yeah…yeah, it does.”

“So, um, what’s the story with the little guy?” (Y/N) asked, eager to change the subject but also curious about the child’s background. “When you say we’re returning him to his kind, do you mean his species or maybe his family…?”

She heard Mando lay down on his own bedroll. “The child is…special. He has many abilities, and he belongs with a race of sorcerers called Jedi.”

“Jedi?” (Y/N)’s sleepy eyes widened and she rolled over to look at the Mandalorian. “I thought that they were just myths!”

“You’ve heard of the Jedi before?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about them when I was a child on Naboo, but I didn’t…” She trailed off, feeling his gaze from behind the visor of his helmet. “I always thought they were fairytales.”

Mando nodded eagerly. “Do you remember anything about your mother’s stories? Anything at all?”

“All I remember is that the Jedi were supposed to have been the guardians of the peace but if that were true, then the Empire never would’ve happened.” (Y/N) snorted, laying back down and frowning a little as she sensed her partner’s disappointment. “That doesn’t really help us, though.”

“Well, it’s one thing I didn’t know before, so I’d say it was a little helpful.” The Mandalorian offered. “We should get some rest; we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow…”

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

The next day, it quickly became apparent that they were in for more than what they’d originally bargained for. (Y/N) stayed at the Tusken settlement with the child while Mando, Cobb and a handful of Tuskens traveled by bantha the short distance to the krayt dragon’s lair. To pass the time, she’d mended some of their clothing and cleaned her borrowed blaster rifle, knowing that she would soon be needing it.

When the others returned, Mando explained their plan to recruit the villagers of Mos Pelgo to aid in the attack against the creature before they headed back to the town. (Y/N) hadn’t said anything out loud, but she was wary of their new plan; it essentially hinged on the ability of two warring peoples to set aside their differences in order to defeat a common enemy, and while (Y/N) had no problem working alongside the Tuskens, she knew that the villagers would have a very different opinion than her. Now I definitely have a bad feeling about all this, she thought as she parked the speeder alongside Cobb’s in front of the cantina.

“They attacked us less than a year ago, killed half a dozen of us by the mining camp. I’d say I took down about twice as many Tuskens.” Cobb got up from his speeder, a fresh look of guilt on his face.

“The town respects you.” Mando pointed out as (Y/N) hopped off their speeder and dusted off her clothes. “My guess is they’ll listen to reason.”

(Y/N) nodded and offered the marshal a brief smile. “If the Tuskens are willing to put the past aside, then I don’t see why your people can’t find it within themselves to do the same.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

A doubtful-looking Cobb quickly gathered the town into the cantina and it went about as well as she’d feared it would; after explaining the entire situation to the villagers they reluctantly agreed to the deal the Tuskens had offered, that in exchange for their help and the carcass of the creature, they would unite with them in battle and never attack Mos Pelgo until a villager breaks the peace. Tension filled the air as the Tuskens arrived to help with the preparations and it went fairly quickly, save for one brief moment of unrest between a Tusken and a villager. But in no time, they were slowly on their way to the krayt dragon’s lair with the villagers and explosives in tow.

With the suns high in the sky, (Y/N) stood between Mando and Cobb as they carefully watched a lone Tusken make his way to the large cave entrance and place his hands on the ground before it; after several terse moments, the Tusken straightened and signed a message with his hands.

“What did he say?” (Y/N) quietly asked, the hand holding the blaster rifle’s strap tightening with anticipation.

“He says it’s sleeping. If we listen carefully, we can hear it breathing.”

(Y/N) glanced over at Cobb beside her, shrugging and watching as another Tusken offered him a familiar-looking green object; she gave the marshal an expectant smile that widened when he lifted the object and drank the sour liquid, finally accepting the Tusken’s gesture of peace and good faith.

After receiving their instructions from the Mandalorian, they got to work as quietly as they could. (Y/N) removed her cowl before grabbing a shovel and helping the others dig the shallow hole that they’d bury the explosives in; the muscles in her arms were aching in protest by the time the hole was finished, but she hid her pain as she walked up to Mando and Cobb with a smile.

“Ready when you are, fellas.”

Mando nodded and moved forward to watch the Tuskens approach the mouth of the cave, leaving Cobb to walk alongside her as he flashed her a lopsided grin. “How ‘bout a kiss for luck from a pretty lady?”

(Y/N) only rolled her eyes and raised a brow in amusement at his flirting attempt. “How about we focus on killing a krayt dragon and not dying instead, Marshal?”

“Worth a shot.” Cobb shrugged as they stood alongside Mando on the rocky ridge overlooking the villagers and Tuskens. They watched as three Tuskens slowly made their way to the cave and stopped, hesitating a brief moment before loudly calling out; their grunts and growls echoed throughout the rocky canyon and just as they had begun to fade, the growling of a large creature called back. All three Tuskens turned and ran, and the krayt dragon burst out of the cave in an explosion of sand; its roar shook the ground, and (Y/N)’s jaw nearly dropped when she realized just how massive the creature was.

Beside her, Mando pulled out his scope and all three of them watched the Tuskens and the villagers enact their plan; they fired the harpoons they’d built to pull the creature from its cave, but it quickly became clear that it wasn’t working when the krayt dragon reared its head back and tried tugging itself loose from its captors. “Dank farrik, it’s going back in; it’s retreating.”

Cobb gripped the detonator in his hand, his thumb hovering over the button. “I’m gonna hit it.”

“No, wait. We only have one shot; we’ve gotta get it out.”

Following the others lead, (Y/N) slung the blaster rifle off her shoulder and quickly aimed before firing at the creature, her precise shots joining the blaster bolts and small explosives hitting its thick hide. Their actions enraged the krayt dragon, which charged forward and forced the others to run for cover.

“Now?” Cobb asked, his jaw tightening as he watched his village continue its assault on the creature.

Mando shook his head. “Not yet. It’s gotta come out further.”

But as he spoke, the krayt dragon finally pulled itself free of the harpoons with a deafening roar, throwing Tuskens high into the air before opening its mouth and spewing acid onto a group of retreating Tuskens and villagers.

Both Mando and Cobb stiffened at the sight, and (Y/N) heard herself breathe out, “Oh, Maker.”

The creature continued forward after its attackers, and Mando held up a tense hand. “Almost, almost…now!”

The marshal’s thumb smashed down on the button and the explosives went off, sending a massive cloud of dust up with a blast of air as the creature roared and vanished from view. (Y/N) lowered her blaster to shield her face from the sand-filled wind, looking up as the dust began to settle and frowning when she noticed the empty patch of ground.

“I don’t think it��s dead.”

“Me either.”

(Y/N) merely bit her lip and watched as the Tuskens and villagers looked around in confusion, an unsettling feeling forming in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, the krayt dragon exploded out of the rocky ridge high above the entrance of the cave with an ear-splitting growl and began spewing more acid onto the panicked crowd below.

Cobb’s face twisted in fury. “It’s pickin’ us off like womp rats.” He suddenly turned and grabbed his blaster rifle off his speeder. “Let’s get after it!”

Mando turned to look at her and she nodded, already knowing exactly what the two of them had in mind; he hurried over and grabbed his pulse rifle, rushing back to her and wrapping his free arm tightly around her waist. He barely gave her enough time to latch onto him before activating his jetpack and shooting up into the air, flying fast towards where the creature was emerging from the rocks. Yeah, I think I prefer flying in an actual ship, (Y/N) barely had time to think, landing roughly beside Mando and Cobb on the side of the ridge and immediately joining them as they fired their weapons at the side of the creature’s head.

“This ain’t doin’ a thing!”

“Yeah, I have to agree with the marshal on this one!” (Y/N) yelled, watching as their shots bounced off its thick hide.

Reloading his pulse rifle, Mando loudly replied, “Just keep shooting!”

The three of them continued firing their weapons and after a few moments, the krayt dragon seemed to finally notice their presence; it let out another roar and moved its head towards them, but the Mandalorian grabbed her around the waist again and they flew out of the way just as it bit down on the rocky ridge. They flew down to the ground in front of the cave entrance and spun around, their weapons at the ready, but the creature had disappeared once again.

“Dank farrik…” (Y/N) murmured under her breath, her grip on her blaster rifle tightening as she waited for the krayt dragon to re-emerge; she didn’t have very long to wait. They quickly turned as the creature appeared from the sand dunes behind them and lunged forward, narrowly missing a cluster of escaping Tuskens and villagers.

“There he is.” Mando spoke under his breath, his modulated voice steady despite the dire situation. He glanced past (Y/N) to Cobb with a nod. “I’ve got an idea. Get it’s attention.”

Without hesitation, the marshal leaned forward and activated the missile strapped to his back; it hit the creature with a fiery explosion, causing it to shriek in anger and change its course, charging through the sand in their direction. “I got its attention! Now what?”

“You still have that detonator?”

Cobb unclipped it from his belt and reached past (Y/N) to hand it over. “Take it!”

“Wait, what’s the plan, Mando?” (Y/N) frowned, trying in vain to piece together what her partner was planning on doing.

Mando turned his head to look at her. “You’re gonna take care of the child.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know but wish me luck!” Before (Y/N) could realize what was happening, Mando pushed her into Cobb’s arms and as she instinctively brought her arms up around the marshal’s shoulders, he slammed the butt of his pulse rifle into his jetpack and they shot high up into the air. Clutching tightly to Cobb as they zigzagged through the sky, (Y/N) had just enough time to glance over and see the krayt dragon swallow Mando and a bantha whole before they landed hard on the ground.

Quickly sitting up, (Y/N) stared at the spot the Mandalorian had been with her jaw dropped in horror. She couldn’t move or speak and beside her, Cobb ripped off his helmet to reveal an equally-stunned face; before either of them could say anything, the ground began to rumble beneath them once again. (Y/N) grabbed her blaster rifle just as the krayt dragon re-emerged from the ground, its jaw widening to release a mighty roar, but just as she was preparing to fire on it, a familiar beskar-clad figure flew out of its mouth and was followed by the electric-blue shockwaves of a pulse rifle.

“That son of a mud-scuffer…” (Y/N) breathed out, watching through her rifle’s scope in amazement as the Mandalorian pressed down on the detonator and set off the explosives within the creature. With one last ear-splitting scream, the krayt dragon collapsed to the ground in a cloud of sand and dust, finally defeated.

She and Cobb shielded their faces as a strong gust of wind blasted them, looking up in time to watch Mando land on the ground in front of the creature’s carcass. (Y/N) glanced over at the marshal and they shared a disbelieving grin, clambering to their feet while the cheers of Tuskens and villagers filled the air.

(Y/N)’s leg twinged in protest when she stood but she ignored the pain as she and Cobb hurried over to where Mando stood; his armor was dripping with the creature’s green stomach acid and his chest was heaving with labored breaths, but to her he looked incredible.

“You’ve gotta be the craziest kriffing man I’ve ever met!” (Y/N) exclaimed, looking over her partner for any serious signs of injury and grinning when he merely shrugged his shoulders. “Keep pulling stunts like that and you might just change my low opinion of ex-bounty hunters.”

Mando chuckled between breaths, the sound causing her heart to warm in her chest. “I’ll keep that in mind, alor’ad.”

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

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain

Chapter Six

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty​ @sinon36​ @seninjakitey​ @thatonedindjarinfan​ @ginger-swag-rapunzel​ @mostclevermiss​ @momc95​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @zukoyonce​ @itsnottilly​

[janiedean]

10 year prompts: FAIRY TALE AU FOR STANNIS E DAVOS <3 If any of your other OTPs acts as a background/helpers "because they have been there" it would be lovely, especially since they are all different takes on the Beauty and the Beast story. But also because it would be really fun to see idk, Sandor trying to give Davos dating advice "as someone who was in Stannis position before". Thank you so much for accepting prompts!

HELLO ANON have uh... the pseudo cinderella reverse au of doom that I don't know where it's from, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT pls presume every westeros kingdom is separated for this and same sex marriage is allowed

buy me a coffee | commissions open

1.

"Well, it seems like we are at an impasse, and I need you to fucking compromise," Robert says, and Stannis has to stop himself from gritting his teeth loudly.

"I am not," Stannis replies, "compromising on this."

"You do realize," Robert says, "that -"

"That according to whichever stupid law your precious Westeros council still hasn't managed to change when they have damned well should -"

"You know it's not a priority -"

"Of course for the seven of you it's not a priority," Stannis groans, "but I do know that if I don't get married Renly can't marry his precious Loras Tyrell either, and for the umpteenth time, as I did compromise years ago and I had to marry someone I didn't even like and who didn't like me and we all know how it ended up, you can forget I will compromise on marrying the first person you find suitable especially when I'm not sure they would be kind to my daughter, and I'm not making that mistake again."

"Oh, come on, you're being unreasonable -"

"Robert, no woman in Westeros actually wants someone with my background and I'm not subjecting my daughter to someone who hates her, and I'm not backing down on that."

"And what if I found some woman who did?"

"I am not marrying anyone I don't like. Not anymore." He's going to stand his ground on that. He hasn't done that for his entire life and both his brothers always ended up ahead of him and he didn't even complain because it was his duty, but -

But now he's not doing that.

Robert sighs. "Do you hate your brother that much?"

"I accepted someone I didn't like once, Robert. And it's not just me anymore now."

Robert sighs louder. "All right, all right. Let's say I strike a deal with bloody Rhaegar Targaryen and he lends me the ballroom in King's Landing, I throw a ball for your hand and you choose whoever you want?"

"No one is going to show up at a ball for me," Stannis grits out. "Do you really want to humiliate me that much?"

"You can choose," Robert says, "as long as you fucking get married. Take it or leave it or I choose someone for you. I'm not letting a Tyrell alliance go to waste because you're too stubborn."

Stannis really doesn't want to agree with this, but.

But if he doesn't agree it's just going to be worse after, and at this point he might as well try to make the best out of it.

"Whatever," he says, "fine."

Out of whoever goes to this fucking ball, maybe there will be someone halfway decent.

Maybe.

2.

Well, Davos thinks, couldn't be faulted for trying, even if he hadn't exactly predicted dying in an execution on the damned public square because fucking Randyll Tarly decided that since some fucking stupid royal ball is happening each single criminal has to be dealt with swiftly.

Also, he was an idiot to get caught, but then again, it's not like he was given a trial or anything and him asking for one had made the arse laugh and say to not waste his precious time, so he supposes he is going to get hanged on the public square.

To think that he's managed to be a smuggler without getting caught for years and now he's here because -

"Lord Tarly," someone says just as Davos gets dragged in front of the noose, "what is this about now?"

"My lord," Tarly says with... somewhat distaste. Davos dares looking ahead. The other guy is... definitely a lord, dressed finely in black and just a smish of gold embroidered in his clothing, but at least it's sober. Definitely a few years younger than Davos, has to be around thirty at most, and while he's not what you'd call astonishing in a man, Davos can't help noticing that he has a nice pair of blue eyes, though they're steely as they look at Tarly as if he's nowhere near pleased with any of this circus. Certainly Davos is not, either. "This man was caught committing a foul deed and I don't want criminals running around with the occasion you know of is looming, so if you'd let me do your job -"

"And what was this foul deed we're talking about?"

"I do not see why we have to discuss -"

"Because," the other lord replies, "the occasion that is looming is supposedly for my own benefit and I would like to know and I do not like to see people killed for something potentially useless. So?"

Tarly shrugs. "Very well. He got caught stealing food, a lot of it, and then it turned out he was a notorious smuggler we have been looking for for a long time, so -"

"So he only ever smuggled goods and stole food? And why did you steal that food?"

It takes Davos one second to realize that the lord is talking to him.

He clears his throat.

"There's a family living next door to me in Flea Bottom," Davos says. "I was friends with the father. He - died recently. Couldn't make enough gold to feed all of them so he gave up on his own food, he worked at the port and died helping unloading a ship." That was bringing Dornish wine for whichever feast they're holding at the palace. "His wife didn't have anything to eat, either. I stole some bread from a bakery near the castle and they caught me."

"I imagine these neighbors of yours haven't eaten that bread now, did they?" The lord asks.

"My lord, you aren't believing him, are -"

"Lord Tarly, kindly let him talk."

Davos shakes his head. "No."

"How many children are you talking about?"

"Five," Davos sighs, wondering how bad they're having it right now.

"I think we should see if he's telling the truth," the lord says.

"Lord Stannis, this is nonsense -"

"I wish to see if he is," the man goes on, "and I would like to remind you, Lord Tarly, that my brother is your sovereign, so how about we do that and see if he's lying or not?"

If anything, I'll get to live a little longer.

Davos leads the way and throughout the entire trip, Lord Stannis does not talk or say anything, just looks ahead with gritting teeth, and when he sees that Davos was, in fact, not lying, he shakes his head, mutters something about Robert and everyone else not having their priorities straight and then shakes his head again.

"Lord Tarly," he says, "get someone to give these people some food. They're bloody starving. And he wasn't lying - that woman kept on singing his praises and honestly, again, he's a criminal but he's never killed anyone, or has he?"

"Not that we know of," Tarly says.

"What's your name?" Lord Stannis asks, and wait, is he talking directly to him for the second time, this is just - no single lord in existence ever looks at commoners this way, as far as he knows -

"Davos Seaworth," he says, "my lord."

"Well, as far as I can see here, you only ever stole and you were trying to do something decent and - never quite mind that. I think," he goes on, "that no one should hang and he swears to not commit crimes anymore and since he still should be punished, he loses the joints in his left hand for that and that's all there is to it."

"But -" Lord Tarly tries to object.

"What do you say?" Lord Stannis asks.

"That I would take that one deal in a heartbeat," Davos replies.

"Well then," Lord Stannis says, "I proposed it, I will do it myself so that no golden cloak of Lord Tarly's gets ideas about taking your whole hand."

Davos decides that it's wildly beyond his expectations, and nods.

He asks to keep the bones.

Lord Stannis looks at him as if he doesn't know why he would but he can, for all he cares, and Tarly's sour face is enough to make Davos forget the pain he feels when the sharp knife goes down almost instantly.

Lord Stannis tells him to try and behave properly from now and leaves muttering something about just wanting to go back to Storm's End, and -

Davos needs to know more.

The moment his fingertips don't bleed anymore and he has the bones safely stored in a pouch, he grabs his old cloak and heads for the tavern where everyone from the golden cloaks and the court hangs out.

Maybe he can find out more about who that one lord is, because sure as the Seven Hells he never ran into one like that.

3.

The last thing he expects to find when he starts asking around the inn is that Sandor Clegane sits down in front of him.

If anything because the man shouldn't even hang around here - last he checked, he hasn't since he stopped going by that Hound nickname and ended up married to the Warden of the North's daughter somehow, and he doesn't even live in King's Landing anymore, but apparently he is, and - well. Davos had seen him around, back in the day. Now he looks... happier, he thinks. Not as angry. And those scars on his face haven't changed but his face looks somehow softer than before.

"I heard," he says, "you're askin' around about bloody Stannis Baratheon."

Oh, Davos thinks, so that was why Lord Tarly was that deferring to him. He could have gotten there when Stannis told him his brother was Lord Tarly's king, but - well. He hadn't been paying that much attention.

"Well," Davos says, "he made sure I didn't end up hanged and he just - I never knew any lord like that."

"Believe me, not many lords are like that one." Clegane takes a sip of ale, then shrugs. "Well, what did you need to know?"

"Just, shouldn't he be in the Stormlands? And what's this occasion thing that was for him that Lord Tarly was ranting about?"

"... You don't know, but of fucking course you wouldn't," Sandor shrugs, "it's not like they'd announce shit in Flea Bottom. Well, you know the royal ball they're holding at the Red Keep tomorrow?"

"Yes?"

"That's for him to pick someone he wants to marry," Clegane shrugs, "and he hates every second of it, not that anyone could blame his sorry ass."

"... Explain," Davos says. That just doesn't fucking make sense.

"I'll make it short," Clegane shrugs, "but he married this... lady Florent something some ten years ago 'cause his brother picked her for him and apparently he's the only one in that family who gets the short straw about everyfuckingthing. And when they went for the bedding they found Robert in bed with some other woman."

"His marriage bed?"

"Well, yeah," Clegane goes on, "and then they had a daughter but she was born with grayscale so half of her face is scarred, her mother fell in with some witch from Asshai and decided that her daughter was an abomination and turned out she wanted to burn her alive, long story short when it happened of course he broke off the marriage and I have no idea where the fuck she ended, but since then he hasn't had anyone offer their daughter's hand. Because everyone thinks he's dull and he said that even if he had a son with another woman he'd consider his daughter his heir or anyway he wouldn't let her get the fucking short straw, too, and like, while a second Baratheon son is not fucking little, he has no offers. But now it looks like he has to get fucking married or his younger brother can't marry bloody Loras Tyrell, either, and they came to that ball compromise. If you wonder how I know all of this, my lady wife spent the entire trip to King's Landing from Winterfell sharing about that and saying that it was a pity poor Stannis never got his good love story, so there's fucking that."

"And the ball's point is...?"

"That if he likes anyone he meets he gets to pick his bride. Or whatever the fuck else."

Davos nods. "I see," he says. "And you're saying people think he's dull?"

Clegane shrugs again. "I mean, I don't personally give a fuck and I think he's all right, but his brothers are both... more suited for fucking court, I guess. And he obviously hates court. And he says he won't have anyone who won't accept his daughter, which means whoever shows up will be really desperate daughters of minor lords. Does this satisfy your questions?"

"It does," Davos says, looking down at his hand.

"Wait," Clegane says, "he did that?"

"The alternative was Lord Tarly hanging me, Ser," Davos replies.

"I'm not one and good fucking riddance to me. Huh." He looks at Davos, and Davos holds the stare, wishing he knew what the man was thinking, and then -

"You want to go to that ball, don't you."

It's not posed as a question.

Davos swallows. "I mean," he says, "I - if he had been some knight or not a fucking lord I'd have... tried to talk to him, I guess. I just - he didn't seem stuck-up like the others. And he did save my life. But please, and how would I even get in there? I'm a fucking smuggler and I was born and bred in Flea Bottom of all places, certainly I am not invited."

"No," Sandor replies, "but - ah, fucking bugger it to the seven hells and back, I've been in his place."

"Lord Stannis's?"

"Yes," he says, "as in, I thought no one would ever look at me like that, except that it happened and you are sort of having that look while thinking about him, and I highly doubt he wants a fucking princess or whatever."

What in the Seven Hells - Davos thinks, but then Clegane half-smiles, the scarred side of his mouth curling up in what looks a damned genuine grin, and -

"You're a smuggler, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes?" Davos replies. "Even if I guess I shouldn't risk it anymore, should -"

"Think you can be at that small bay near the kitchens tomorrow at this hour?"

"I - I could?"

"Be there," Clegane says, "I absolutely want to see the fucking faces of all those arses after."

"After what?"

"You'll find out," the man says, and then stands up and leaves.

He looks cheerful.

What the fucking fuck, Davos thinks, and then decides that he has nothing to lose. He can be there tomorrow.

4.

He expects Clegane to be there.

Instead -

"Davos Seaworth?" A tall, blonde woman with very pretty blue eyes, a nose that was broken twice and shoulders worthy of a knight tells him - she's dressed in good male garb, and she has a knife at her hip, but she doesn't sound hostile.

"Uh, yes," he says, "lady...?"

"Brienne of Tarth," she introduces herself and wait -

"Aren't you - Ser Jaime Lannister's -"

"Yes," she interrupts him, "and Sandor told me to come get you and believe me, I was much glad to because that ball is a stupid farce and I get why Stannis would hate it and I have my reasons to want to have a laugh at everyone else's antics. Do follow me," she says, and leads him through some tunnel going inside the castle from the small cave nearby.

Davos tries to remember how the hell she got married to Lannister - it was pretty talked about in the city, back in the day. He still was in the Kingsguard and she had been in Renly Baratheon's following and they ended up fighting in some tourney and they tied and two weeks later he had resigned from the Kingsguard somehow - his sister, the Queen regent, hadn't apparently been happy but Rhaegar Targaryen agreed to it, so Davos supposes he had some leverage - and they eloped on Tarth and he's halfway sure Tywin Lannister still has his son disowned for that, or half-disowned, but he still obviously is invited to courtly events. Davos has no fucking clue how nobles do this, but he follows Brienne thought a few more tunnels until she leads him out and into a corridor and into a small but richly furnished room.

"Right," she says, "just... wait a bit here. And - well. I, uh, didn't know your Lord Stannis much before we... ended up talking to each other a while ago, and - I get where he's been and no one wants to be the center of a feast where they know they're going to be laughed at. So, I'm pretty sure he will be relieved."

"Of what?"

"You'll know shortly," she half-smiles, and then closes the door.

What the fuck, Davos thinks for the umpteenth time, and a few moments later the door opens.

Now.

Davos has heard of Jaime Lannister enough to know on sight that the blonde man coming through the door is him, and the younger girl on the side with bright auburn hair and blue eyes - oh. She has a Stark sigil on her dress. Is she -

"Lady Sansa," Lannister says, "your husband wasn't lying, was he?"

"No," she smiles back, "but this is going to be good."

"My lord," Davos stammers, "my lady. Uh, what is this about?"

"Oh," Sansa replies, grinning, "it's about getting you to that ball. Ser," she tells Lannister, "mind instructing him while I find him the right clothing?"

"Absolutely," Lannister smiles wider.

Seven fucking hells, Davos thinks, I'm never going to survive this.

5.

"See," Lannister goes on, "when Clegane told me that he thought you might want to go to the ball because you actually did like Stannis we about all fainted in our little corner of no one thoughts we should have married the way we did so we'll leave you alone, but honestly, the guy pretty much does his brother's job because Robert doesn't really give a damn about being a decent ruler, then he pretty much gave up everything he wanted for either of his brothers and they never said thanks and he was one of the few idiots who when I, uh, resigned, said I should be able to." He shrugs. "Also, he was nicer to Brienne than his actual brother that she wanted to swear herself to, so. I kind of owe him and his daughter is a nice girl. She doesn't deserve a shit stepmother."

"And you all decided that I am the solution to the problem?" Davos asks from behind a screen where he's trying on the clothes Sansa brought him after she got a bath brought over to the room and he had to hear Lannister giving him tips to get through the ball while he was washing.

"You're here and you're thanking the guy for having cut off your finger joints, please. And no one cares where you come from - at least the four of us - and he certainly won't. Come on, out of that screen."

Davos sighs and does, and Sansa does whistle a bit. "Told you," she says, "they'd fit."

"Oh, they do," Lannister replies, and tells Davos to go look at himself in the mirror near the window.

Davos does, and -

Well. He felt out of place dressed in fine dark green silks with golden embroideries and a velvet brown coat, but it does fit him, and the black new leather boots Sansa got him are the best shoes he's ever worn, and now that he could get a good cleaning - well. He's still himself, but he's pretty sure half of his friends wouldn't recognize him.

"Take this," Lannister says, handing him a sword. "Now, what could the story be - oh, he's some hedge knight I met while killing bandits with Brienne and we thought to invite him?"

"Sounds good," Sansa nods, "and you could invite him. He probably shouldn't say he's from King's Landing, though."

"Absolutely not," Lannister agrees. "Hm. How about Cape Wrath?"

"Better," she nods, "though I suppose his real name shouldn't come out."

"No," Lannister shakes his head. "Ser, choose one. Oh, should he be a bastard? Imagine their faces."

"I think we should absolutely go for that," she grins back. "So, a name?"

"Uh, Allard?" Davos blurts his father's name, may his soul rest in peace.

"Allard Storm, sounds good," Lannister grins. "Well, you're a hedge knight, you met me and my lady wife while chasing bandits and we invited you because why the hell not," he says. "I hope you can dance, Seaworth."

"... I don't think so," Davos replies. "I mean, I never did."

Maybe he should have lied.

Maybe he'd have spared himself those two actually teaching him on the spot.

When he's pushed out of the room a while later, he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing here, but -

But he still doesn't want to run away.

Fuck, what did I get myself into? He asks himself, and then walks on anyway.

6.

“I should have never agreed to this farce,” Stannis whispers as he sloshes wine he knows he won’t drink in his glass.

Good thing he’s telling Brienne of Tarth that and not anyone else, because he thinks no one else in this room would understand how it feels - she nods, and thankfully she doesn’t argue about it.

But what should she argue? Each single lady who came looked at him like her father forced her here, it’s a ball in his name and he’s technically not danced with anyone yet, not that he would want to, Renly and Loras meanwhile are doing it and everyone is looking at them anyway, which... is exactly what he knew was going to happen. Never mind his daughter who asked him fifteen times if they really had to participate and he thinks wasn’t openly laughed at yet just because anyone who might has been properly scolded by their lordly parents on that one topic, but the last time he saw her she was standing miserably to the side.

“I’ve been there,” she says, “and I wouldn’t want to be in your position ever again anyway. But -” She clears her throat, “I think that you might change your mind.”

“Oh, and how?”

“Jaime, uh, he made a friend the other day. While we were out checking the woods.”

“And?”

“And he invited him along. I think that you might... well. Like him. Or at least not be thoroughly bored.”

“At least,” Stannis sighs, and really, he doesn’t begrudge her for having found better than his damned brother, because she did deserve it as much as he’d have never bet a coin on Jaime Lannister of everyone being anyone’s ideal partner, but still, this entire exercise is just reminding him of how much no one actually would want him even for... companionship, if nothing else, and -

Why did he even agree to this bloody farce, he really wishes -

“Oh, here they are,” she says, and yes, Lannister is apparently arguing with - Lord Varys, seven hells, of course he was in charge of vetoing who was allowed in, and there’s a man next to him, indeed, but he has a hood over his head - a nice velvet coat without too many pretenses, so he can’t see his face, but then it seems like Lannister has his way and manages to get the man in, and then he whispers something his way and - comes over to the both of them?

“Stannis,” he smiles, entirely too gloating about it, “it’s your event and you let your brother steal the spotlight?”

“What do you think even happened?” Stannis sighs back - he’s not even going to antagonize him.

“I see I have to do everything tonight. Brienne, fancy making sure that people stop only having eyes for Renly while he mingles?”

“I fancy,” she grins, and of course she does, the room usually starts whispering the moment they dance together since she’s never not led and it’s apparently worth whispering about, and so when they’re off, Stannis sighs and walks to the side, figuring he will try to make an effort and talk to anyone who will -

And then he sees that Lannister’s mysterious friend is talking to his daughter and she’s smiling at him before running off somewhere - oh, where Tyrion Lannister is lounging, Stannis notices, and what -

“Ser,” he clears his throat, moving closer, “would it be too much if I asked you how you got my daughter to - do that?” He blurts, hating how awkward he sounds -

“I told her,” the man replies, and wait, isn’t the voice familiar, “that she looked very lonely, she explained me how she loathed this feast and I suggested her that she might want to talk to someone who likes what she does, and Ser Jaime has told me enough about his brother to know they might have something to discuss. But I am hardly a ser, my lord.”

Stannis glances down at the man’s left hand while the man pulls down the hood.

Oh.

Oh.

He’s - he doesn’t have the finger joints on his left hand.

He’s -

“I see you understood,” the man - what was his name, Davos Seaworth - says.

“I might,” Stannis replies, “and may I inquire how you’re here?”

He’ll be thrice fucked if Davos didn’t... sort of flush under his beard. Which... looks a lot better now that it’s well-groomed, and then a pair of warm brown eyes meets his own, and -

“I asked around who you might be, since no one else in your place would have actually insisted to save the life of... well. A common criminal, let’s put it like that. And I met someone who decided that I sounded entirely too interested and I should attend the ball and they helped me sneak in, and I never felt like it was a mistake, so... sounds like I am here. But if you don’t wish me to -”

“Please,” Stannis shakes his head, feeling slightly dizzy, “no one until now made me feel like they actually weren’t forced to be here and... you went through all that effort to just... talk to me peer to peer? Or, well. The closest one might get to it.”

“I thought I’d just want to thank you in person,” Davos replies, “but now that I’m here, I think I’d like to stay a while, and not just for the good food. Fancy taking a stroll out, my lord? Unless you’d rather watch your brother seethe.”

“Renly is doing what,” Stannis replies, and turns to look at the scene -

Well.

Renly is seething because everyone is whispering about Brienne twirling Jaime Lannister around the floor like she was born to do that. He shouldn’t be smiling. But maybe he is, a tiny bit.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t, but - well.”

“I won’t judge people for being petty,” Davos replies, “but - is there a reason why?”

Stannis shrugs. “Well, he kind of hates that he hasn’t managed to... be officially with his intended because of me, and he never fails to remind me that everyone thinks me dull in comparison to him, and I never quite forgot that he once said it would be a miracle if I’d find anyone who’d take my daughter because of her face, so. Well. If Brienne is upstaging him, I’ll live with it.”

Davos looks at him, then at the rest of the room.

“I see,” he says, “and I can’t blame you. She was perfectly nice with me.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Stannis says, “but - maybe I would like that stroll.” What is he even saying -

“Then we should,” Davos replies, half-smiling, and he looks so damned kind -

What the hell is happening?

7.

The hell, Stannis realizes, is that he actually does like this man.

They just - they just talked while music came faintly from the outside, and it’s probably sad that it’s novel experience to talk to someone who actually seems to give a damn about what he has to say and listens to him except Davos actually does, and when Davos talks about how he ended up becoming a criminal and almost hanged he kind of can’t help feeling guilty when he looks down at the man’s left hand.

Fucking Seven Hells, he might be a smuggler, but when someone tells you well where I came from it was a struggle to put any food on the table at all and with my first smuggling job when I was fourteen I could pay for it for a month can you even blame them for not having looked back and found an honest job?

He thinks about how he never had to worry about his next meal.

“I think I have to apologize to you,” he says quietly when Davos finishes telling him about how he couldn’t sleep at night hearing those starving children wail.

“... You don’t,” Davos replies, shaking his head.

“I do,” Stannis goes on. “I mean... I still think stealing is a crime and crimes should be punished or - or what else makes sense, but when one hears your circumstances... I feel like I should have just have you swear you wouldn’t live that life anymore. I could. And instead -”

“Oh, you made sure I didn’t lose an entire hand or hang, and we both know Lord Tarly wouldn’t have been happy with just letting me go. I can appreciate fair play, my lord, and I mean, I did commit crimes. I did keep the bones, anyway.”

“You - did?”

Davos nods towards... oh. A small pouch that he has hanging around his neck. Stannis hadn’t noticed it before, but -

“I decided I’d keep them in memory of the one time one lord was actually fair to me, but then - then I met Clegane and he told me to show up here. Also... shouldn’t someone have looked for us by now?”

It’s been a while. The music is still playing. No one did.

He shakes his head. “As if they’d care,” he says, “most likely they were just waiting for me to leave so they could stop pretending to be nice.”

Davos just looks at him, and then he swallows, and -

“Beg your pardon if this is too forward,” he asks, “but maybe my lord fancies dancing somewhere not in front of all those people?”

“I - I don’t generally do that,” Stannis replies. Why is his heart beating faster?

“Oh, I don’t dance to that kind of music either, but who is going to see us?”

Stannis has slipped his hand into Davos’s before he can think on it.

What am I even doing, he thinks, noticing how the other man’s hands are roughened - he took away the gloves and he can feel how the right one is all clean but calloused skin and the left has fresh scarring on the joints, but they hold his own so very gently, and -

And neither of them is really good at this, because he hasn’t danced in years and Davos is obviously winging it based on what he saw in the hall, but it’s nice, and twirling around the garden without anyone staring at him feels nice, and when he looks at Davos’s kind, warm brown eyes his stomach flips over again, and -

“This - this is nice,” he finally admits.

“It... it is,” Davos says back, and he’s half-smiling and - “If this is the first and last time I get to be at a royal ball, I’m not going to think it wasted time at all.”

Gods, gods, why the idea that he wouldn’t see him again is making him feel like the ground will fall open under his feet and swallow him whole?

“What if I don’t want it to be?” He finds himself saying, and Davos gasps at it.

“... Really?”

“Really,” he says, feeling like his head is spinning and he can’t stop talking, “never mind that - no one I know managed to make my daughter happy like that talking to her once. And - that was one of the conditions I had for Robert. That I wouldn’t... be with anyone who’d treat her poorly.”

“Why would anyone? She’s a lovely girl,” Davos replies, and oh, if he knew.

“You saw her. And her mother wanted to burn her alive. Not many people agree with you.”

“Then most people are idiots,” Davos replies, “if I may be so bold.”

“You may,” Stannis replies, and they’re still swinging, and - “You may be as bold as you like.”

He doesn’t know how he said that. He doesn’t even know where that comes from.

What he knows is that Davos’s mouth is on his the moment after and -

And he’s fucking kissing back the moment it happens and had he been hoping for it? Gods maybe he had, and the few times he kissed Selyse were nothing like this, she never - it never felt like she wanted to actually do it and Davos does, there is no fucking way he doesn’t, and his tongue is slipping into Stannis’s mouth and he groaned into it, oh fuck -

“Stannis, where the fuck did you end up?”

Oh, damn it, that was Robert -

They break apart and Stannis is about to tell Davos to just stay and that he’ll deal with it, but then other people talk and -

“Damn,” Davos says, “that’s Lord Tarly, and he will recognize me.”

... He would, Stannis realizes, and -

“Oh, fuck,” Davos says, and then he takes the pouch with the bones from his neck and slams it into Stannis’s palm and -

“If you want me to come back,” Davos replies, half-smiling, “you just have to bring them back to me. You know where I live, my lord.”

“I - I do,” Stannis whispers.

“Then - then I hope to see you soon, my lord. If not... I’m not regretting that you’ll get to keep that.”

And then he’s gone and Robert and his fucking search group have shown up a moment later.

“What were you even doing out here?” Robert asks. “You know that you have to choose a wife before the feast is over?”

Oh, fuck him and fuck them all, Stannis thinks.

“About that,” he says, “I think I know. But I can tell you when we go back in.”

It’s going to be a goddamned problem, he knows, but -

But.

He’s almost never trusted his gut his entire life and it only ever brought him trouble, and now he wants to, and -

And.

And he knows.

8.

“You’re not marrying a criminal!” Robert explodes later, when the hall has been emptied except for them, Renly, his daughter, Lord Tarly, the present Tyrells, Starks and Lannisters and of course Rhaegar Targaryen and the members of the small council, but he seems to be uninterested in how this ends one way or the other.

“I said I could choose whoever I wanted, didn’t you?” He stares back.

“I didn’t mean a damned criminal, Stannis! And how did a commoner even get in here? Lannister, what were you thinking?”

Jaime Lannister merely shrugs, half-grinning while his father looks at him like he’s a lost cause. His sister... Stannis isn’t even going to think about that. “That he looked and sounded like someone he’d like and so I invited him. Sure, we did tell him to not introduce himself with his real name, for obvious reasons, but -”

“A bloody commoner, Lannister!”

“Oh,” Lannister shrugs, “and so what? He stole some things. He never harmed anyone as far as we knew. You could have worse brothers in law.”

“Are you bloody serious - Stannis, please, no way -”

“And why?” He counteracts. “I am not interested in having any more children,” he goes on, “I do have an heir, and he would certainly not try to make sure she stops being that, and I wanted someone she’d like too, and I think she did, or -”

“I did,” she replies quietly, and Robert rolls his eyes.

“Shireen, this man is a smuggler, your father isn’t reasoning -”

“Well,” she says, “I have talked to him once and he was nicer than just about anyone else at the feast. Or - well. I don’t think I should say.”

“Shireen, you can.”

“I don’t think I can tell you. It wouldn’t be polite. And you would be sad.”

“Let’s say,” Lannister says, “that she can tell me in all confidence outside the room and I can come back with the answer if it’s something that could be shared?” 

Stannis should be worried that Shireen seems fine with that, but then again he’s the brother of the guy who entertained her for half of the feast, right? And why would she think he would be sad?

Anyway. Lannister brings her out of the room, and then comes back and -

“I told her she could go find my brother,” he says, and oh, the youngest Lannister did flee the premises while they were arguing, “and - well. Renly,” he says, “honestly, she said that the criminal commoner was nicer to her in five minutes than you’ve ever been your entire life, maybe you should think about that sometimes.”

Oh

Of course -

At least Renly has the grace to look ashamed, and Robert groans again, and -

Ah, seven hells.

“Robert,” he says, “this entire farce was to make sure I would find anyone suitable so Renly could have his lavish wedding and whatnot. You said I could choose anyone. I happen to have chosen. If my daughter likes him, too, even better, and honestly, you are the king, Renly will have the Tyrell alliance and certainly my daughter won’t be your heir, so what do you care? People will talk and decide I lost my wits, and would that be any news? Just stop being unreasonable.”

Robert stares at him, and then -

“Seven hells,” he sighs, “you never stood up that much for anything in your life as much as - whatever this is. Fucking - ah, well, I suppose I can just find some way to make sure the three of you aren’t around court too much.”

“Believe me, both Shireen and I would be thoroughly pleased,” Stannis says, and then Robert raises his hands to the ceiling.

“Whatever. Go ahead, find this guy, as long as I can move forward with the other damned wedding.”

“Why, thank you, extremely kind of you, Your Grace,” he says, and then he turns on his heel and gets out of the room.

He’s not surprised when Lannister follows him. “Should I tell my brother to keep your daughter entertained for a while longer?”

“Please,” he says, “and I don’t know how much I have to thank you, but -”

“Just go get the guy and remember that Brienne’s father is only too glad to host her friends on Tarth. He’s exceedingly glad she has some,” he winks, and then goes to - find his brother and Shireen, he supposes, and -

“My lord,” Sandor Clegane says, appearing suddenly at his right as he gets out of the castle, “you need an escort to Flea Bottom, mayhaps?”

“I don’t even want to know how you knew,” he sighs, and stops asking himself why apparently is there some kind of conspiracy to help him out with - whatever this is.

He also doesn’t want to know how Clegane says he knows the way when Stannis asks him if he remembers how to get to the house he visited a few days ago.

9.

Davos had half expected the knock on the door.

He hadn’t been sure it would happen, but -

He’s nowhere near surprised when he opens it and Stannis is there with Sandor Clegane in the background winking at him and then making himself scarce.

“This place is a lot fouler by night than by day, if possible,” Stannis says, walking into Davos’s one-room shack, not that he could afford any better.

“But you knew that already, my lord, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Stannis whispers, and his eyes look so blue in the candlelight, and then he’s handing Davos back the pouch with the bones - 

“Is it.. I thought it was heavier,” Davos says, taking it.

Stannis shrugs, lifting up his cloak. He has a similar pouch tied to his waist.

What -

“I took the liberty to split it,” he whispers, “if - if it’s not a problem.”

“It’s not,” Davos says, “but does it mean that -”

“My brother has agreed to... my choice, if we lay low. But I think that it woudn’t be a problem. And - I never do things not overthinking them. But - my daughter likes you, and I like you, and honestly, no one would have gone through the effort you did just to... talk to me or whatever, and -  this is, if -”

“Yes,” Davos interrupts.

“Wait, yes?”

“I can’t believe I actually am saying it myself, but of course. I do.. quite like you, my lord.”

“Well, if we are to be... to be, maybe you can do away with that?”

“I could be persuaded,” Davos says, and he leans in and they’re kissing again and this time is slower and Stannis’s hand is slightly trembling as he touches the back of his hair and he’s not even wearing his fine clothes now, he put them away before but Stannis doesn’t seem to care an inch and when he groans into Davos’s mouth again he grasps at the back of his head and -

Well.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to navigate things considering that he can’t even bloody damn well read, but who cares. He’ll learn. He just -

He likes Stannis, damn it, and he wants to see it through, and if it means they’ll have to lay low because other lords are damned stupid, who cares.

10.

“Well,” Jaime says, “we can expect a lot of gossip.”

“In what sense?” Brienne replies, wishing she didn’t have to reply to ravens when they’re on Tarth, but his father insists that she does because she’ll take his place one day.

“My brother writes me that Shireen Baratheon writes him that she’s never been happier now that they’re at that castle in Cape Wrath, that she’s taught Seaworth to read admirably well and she has a lot of fun with that and that she’s delighted because he is actually a thoroughly nice guy and her father is happy and she’s never seen him happy before, they didn’t go to Renly’s wedding and they didn’t miss it at all and apparently everyone in town is happy they’re there because they don’t have to go to Robert for inquiries or asking anything and Sannis is a lot fairer than Robert was anyway, and no one is actually dying of hunger in there anymore, so I guess that they’re doing well - oh, this is golden.”

“What is golden?”

“That Robert is of course not taking a wife until Lyanna Stark capitulates to his courting but he’s certainly having children here and there, so he’s sending some of them to their place and I think they have what, two of them there, and Shireen is delighted because she finally has some company, and imagine that, Sansa Stark came visiting there with her husband and sister once because I suppose she wanted to see how well her matchmaking had worked and her sister is smitten with one of said bastard sons. And they had to lay low, imagine that,” he laughs. “Well, when were they supposed to visit?”

“A month from now?”

“There’s going to be so much gossip,” he keeps on muttering, and she lets him - he has all the reasons to gloat about it.

She smiles to herself as she takes another raven and starts penning it - she might as well send them some more congratulations before they come visit.

After all, after they became friendly, she did hope that he’d find someone he would be happy with same as she did instead of always staying in Renly’s shadow, which she’d have been happy with herself... before realizing she deserved better.

She’s really glad he did.

And she can’t wait to host them too - if they got the happy ending, no point in not celebrating it, isn’t it?

[joel-millerr]

The Change

Chaper Two of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.9 K

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence. there is a scene towards the end that isn't exactly torture, but it is pretty graphic so please read with caution!, a bit of angst, and grief (talking about loss).... if there’s anything I missed please let me know so I can update it

Summary: You and Mando on your way to Nevarro so he can collect the bounty on your head but something happens, forcing you to land on another planet, and you begin seeing him in another light

Hope you guys like it!! 

Tagged: @1800-fight-me​🧡 // @tillytheslytherin​🧡

As the Mandalorian’s ship—Razor Crest, climbs higher and higher into the sky, the sun’s beginning to rise over the city. Taking one last look at the capital, you mentally add “getting snatched by a bounty hunter” to the list of things you hate about Kijimi.

Maker, the silence in the cockpit is deafening. The Mandalorian doesn’t acknowledge you at all, his helmet glued to the windshield of the ship. You think about saying something, anything to break the awkward tension that seems to be multiplying in the small area of the cockpit, but from the very short time you’ve been with him, you don’t get the impression that he likes to talk. So awkward silence it is.

Once in the atmosphere, the Mandalorian prepares to make the jump to hyperspace. The stars’ light twinkles off his chrome helmet, and you’re too busy staring at him to notice another ship zip across the windshield, and then within seconds, the radar’s alarm is blaring through the cockpit. The shrill sound is piercing your ears and your eyes wrench shut, as if to try to block the noise out.

Two green beams of light appear out of nowhere, skimming the ship’s hull, and as the enemy spacecraft comes back into your peripheral for just a few seconds, your jaw nearly drops to the floor when you recognize whose ship it is.

It’s your ship. Someone is inside your ship, shooting at you. “That’s my ship!” You shriek, jumping to your feet and quickly making your way to the window. The Mandalorian says nothing in response, just letting out a couple of grunts and huffs. Your ship continues to bombard you with green beams, but the hunter is sharp enough to evade each shot. The jolts cause you to lose balance, and because your hands are still bound, it becomes more difficult for you to keep yourself upright without falling over onto the control panel.

“Get back in your seat,” The Mandalorian says through his visor. His voice is calm but stern. If he was panicking at all, his voice doesn’t give you the slightest suspicion.

You open your mouth to protest, to beg him not to shoot your ship down, to plead with him, but you know it would be a battle you couldn’t possibly win. Fumbling back into the seat to his right, a shot narrowly misses one of the thrusters and hits just above the belly of the ship. It sends you flying out of the seat, and you land on the ground hard, your shoulder taking the brute of the hit.

You hear two more blasts explode against the ship. The Crest is taking a lot of damage right now, but the Mandalorian manages to stay quiet during the entire ordeal.

“Let her go, Mandalorian.” A distorted voice comes through the radio.

Time seems to stop. The sirens still blaring through the cockpit penetrate your ears less and less until they are just a bunch of muffled clamors. That voice can only be from one person. The only other person in this galaxy that knows how to hijack your ship, and actually be able to fly it.

Tye.

Without any warning, the Crest begins a steep incline, and just as you’re finally able to seat yourself back in the chair, pulling the seatbelt across your torso and clicking it into place, the Crest flips upside down. If it weren’t for you being strapped in, you’d be flailing around the cockpit. The ship does a full circle before straightening out right behind your ship. The Mandalorian begins firing, three shots immediately pierce the hull’s integrity. The dark nothingness of space is suddenly luminated by a giant inferno; your ship begins plummeting back down towards Kijimi. You want to scream, to rush over to the pilot’s seat and scream into the radio hoping Tye would respond, but your body feels weighed down, like your limbs refuse to work.

As you watch your ship plummet towards the city, life drains from your body. For a moment, everything is still and fast at the same time. You had come to terms with your fate, you aren’t an optimist—not anymore anyway, but when you saw your ship, a flame—no, a glint of hope started to build in your bones. Maybe the Maker was giving you another chance. You were dead wrong.

Once the blaring alarm quiets, the Mandalorian initiates the jump sequence. The whole thing is over within minutes.

The Crest doesn’t spend much time in hyperspace though, because now the hyperdrive alarm is blaring again and you’re both launched right out, the ship spiraling in open atmosphere. The Mandalorian swears under his breath and begins frantically pressing buttons in an attempt to get you back into hyperspace. Despite his efforts, he’s unable to make the jump.

“Dank farrik,” The vocoder comes out strained.

“One of the shots must have damaged the hyperdrive.” You find yourself saying.

“Yes.” Is all you get.

He changes course and begins descending towards a planet you’ve never seen before. From space, the planet looks mostly swamp green, nothing particularly breathtaking or enticing.

“What is that?” You’re not really expecting an answer, just asking out loud, and you’re surprised because he actually answers you this time.

“Sorgan.”

You’ve heard of Sorgan. Some of your crew had resided on the planet since there was a spice smuggling base located there. Given the fact that Sorgan was a relatively unobtrusive planet, it was smart idea to put a camp. It was mostly covered in thick, dense forest which enabled the camp to be hidden fairly easily. Landing on Sorgan was a blessing in disguise. You could possibly send a message to the base there and maybe, just maybe, get rescued. Almost immediately you could feel excitement tingle your nerves. Okay, maybe you hadn’t lost.

Entering Sorgan airspace, the Mandalorian searches for a forest glade. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a small clearing just at the edge of a foliage of massive pine. He descends slowly, making sure not to hit any trees on the way down. You can’t help but be impressed by his flying abilities. He pilots like it is second nature to him. Always maintaining his cool demeanor, even if he is being shot at. Despite the fact that you resent him for possibly murdering the only person left you considered family and stealing your freedom, that aviator part of you is enthralled by the Mandalorian.

Once firmly landed, he cuts the engine and steps out of his seat.

“Stay here,” His voice is as deep as ever, not bothering to meet your eyes as he walks through the door to the cockpit and begins to descend down the ladder.

You linger in your chair for a few minutes, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. You’re not sure how much time you might have to send a message to your fellow smugglers, but you also don’t want to waste any more time waiting on him to come back. Fumbling slightly with your seatbelt, you all but leap towards the pilot’s chair to get to the radio. You finger toggles over the button to record your message. Why are you hesitating?

Chewing on your lip, and letting a deep breath exhale through your nose, you fight the urge to retreat back in your seat. Just as you’re about to record, you hear footsteps on the ladder behind you.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuck,” you curse under your breath and you scramble to get back to your seat without the Mandalorian seeing you. You hear his boots hit the metal floor just as your butt hits the chair. The beskar helmet peaks through the doorway of the cockpit as if he’s just checking to see if you followed his orders.

“No, I haven’t moved,” you say to him, annoyingly.

“Come down.” He instructs, turning on his heel and already making his way down the rungs of the ladder.

“Why?”

The Mandalorian stops in his tracks, “Because I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re in the cockpit.”

You really don’t want to go down there. Not because you’re scared he’ll throw your ass in carbonite, but because if he gets you down there, you’ll have no reason to get back up here and send out a message to any smuggler who might want to help you.  

“You can trust me.” It’s a desperate attempt. Usually you can use your charm to bend others to your will, but the Mandalorian is unlike anyone you’ve ever met. You already know it won’t work.

“No.”

Pressing your hands down on your knees, you push yourself to your feet. You eye the control panel one last time and actually consider locking yourself in the bridge just long enough to get a message out. While the idea becomes more and more tempting by the second, you need to be smart about this. If you plan on escaping or getting a message out, it has to be perfectly timed and planned. It didn’t take him long to catch you, and you need to be a lot smarter the next time around.

So you head down the ladder like he told you to. The ramp is down, and your feet irk to run down the ridge and escape into the lush forest in front of you. Every instinct inside of you is screaming to run, to take your chances and hope to lose him in the fog of the greenery, but you have no idea where you are on this planet. You have no idea if the camp is relatively close to you or not. If you ran now, you’d have no supplies, no sense of direction, never mind the fact that your hands are still bound.

First things first then; get him to release the shackles.

He’s currently inspecting the damage Tye inflicted on the Crest. The hull of the ship is smoking, and there’s a few new dents on the sides of the ship, but there isn’t any damage that a couple days’ worth of work wouldn’t be able to fix. Luckily for you, that gives you a couple days to think of the best way to take off.

Not entirely sure where to go, you stay by the ladder, standing like an awkward kid waiting to be told what to do.

The Crest is much bigger than you thought it was. Most of the space inside the ship is housing the carbonite chamber with the three other companions you’re convinced you’ll end up joining. Next to the chamber is what you assume is a locker full of armory. You make a mental note to raid that locker before your escape. To your left, there’s a narrow, small cubicle that could only be used for sleep. Even though the door is closed, you can tell that it’s already too cramped for the Mandalorian, and you wonder how he can fit in such a tiny space.

Honestly, you’re more concerned about whether or not he’s ever had anyone in there with him. Surely if the space is too small for him, then he couldn’t possibly have had any lovers in there with him, right? Heat begins to coil in your stomach and the thought of that makes you shift in your stance. You really shouldn’t be thinking of whether or not the Mandalorian’s fucked anybody in his poor excuse of a bed, but you can’t help yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the pleasure of being with a man or even taken care of yourself and it doesn’t help that the Mandalorian exudes this ferocious confidence and control. Does that make you wonder if he’d still as controlling when he’s balls deep inside you? Would be still be quiet like he is now, or would he be a babbling mess?

“Hey.” The voice pulls you out of your thoughts and causes you to jump.

The Mandalorian is standing just arms distance away from you, and stars, he is an absolute sight. Built like a monument—tall, firm and fucking intimidating. In your everyday life, you always walked with your head held high, refusing to show any weakness, but right now? Your head is down, only peering up at him through hooded lids. Something about the Mandalorian scratches a primal instinct in you that you’ve only observed in animals. Predator, prey—you’re giving up control, and what’s worse is that you actually like it. When it came to lovers, you had always been the dominant one. Every run you’ve made since you can remember, you were the one calling the shots, ordering your comrades around, but in the very short time you’ve known the Mandalorian, you can tell he likes control, and order.

You should hate him. You shouldn’t feel this kind of attraction for him, but despite your efforts, it’s there. You areattracted to him—he basically owns you now; it definitely shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does.

“Sorry?” You manage to choke out. Your throat is bone dry and Maker, you swear if he was any closer, he’d be able to hear your heart fucking hammering in your chest. His gloved hand reaches out and grabs the binds on your wrists. It’s not even his fucking bare hand but it has you holding back a moan. You wrench your eyes shut hoping it will alleviate some of the tension building between your legs.

“I’m going to unbind you,” The voice behind the helmet begins to say. “But if you run, I will catch you again and I won’t hesitate to throw your ass in carbonite. Do you understand?” It comes our breathy, almost like being this close to you is affecting him the same way it’s affecting you.

You can’t find any words, now. All you can do is nod slowly because your mind is on fucking fire being this close to him and you want to rip off that helmet and crush your lips together but also you want to drop to your fucking knees and show him how much he’s affecting you.

The grip on your wrists relaxes and he’s taking the binds and tossing them to the floor of the ship. You continue to stand just a few feet from each other. The visor is too dark to make out his eyes, and you curse the Maker for it. You’ve heard stories about Mandalorians. How they never take off their helmets in front of others, how they swear to the Creed to live a life of anonymity. You couldn’t possibly imagine living that way. It sounds incredibly restricting, but you do respect it. Everyone has their own beliefs in this world, and you aren’t one to judge another for the path they’ve chosen. Look at yourself, you were a nobody mechanic and then you became a spice smuggler. The path you’ve chosen isn’t exactly noble, so who are you to judge how the Mandalorians choose to live their lives?

It takes you a couple of seconds to realize he’s no inches away from your face. He’s halfway down the ramp when he calls you.

“Let’s go.”

You stumble for a couple steps and then pick up a small jog to catch up with him. The walk is a little uncomfortable now due to the slickness between your thighs, but you push through it.

“Where are we going?” You ask once you’re by his side. You look up at him but when he answers you, he keeps his attention peeled to the landscape in front of him.

“The hyperdrive was damaged.” His strides are much larger than yours, and you need to trot to keep up the pace. “I saw a town not too far from here. Hopefully there’ll be someone there that can help.”

You spot the town—barely a town, it’s just a couple of huts and then a bigger one at the centre. You wonder how anyone would choose to live here. It’s too quiet, too uneventful. There are a couple merchants selling krill—you know Sorgan exports a lot of krill and is basically the only way farmers make a living here.

You enter the common house—maybe it’s an inn, you’re not entirely sure. It’s nothing like the cantinas on Kijimi or Tatooine or any of the other planets you’ve visited. It’s ridiculously quiet and charming. There aren’t any patrons playing sabacc and screaming at one another when one of them loses, or others getting incredibly intoxicated on spotchka and brawling on the floor of the bar. Just a couple of humble farmers, some making a pit spot, and other locals keeping to themselves. It’s refreshing and also unnerving. You’re used to the commotion of more lively planet cantinas, staying in the shadows and observing, making sure you’d be ready in case someone tried to pick a fight with you. There’s no need for that here. Not only does everyone in this place look completely harmless, but you’ve also got a fucking Mandalorian on your left, and you doubt anyone would be stupid enough to try to fight him.

Unlike your choice to sit in the back of the common house, the Mandalorian chooses a table smack in the middle of the room. That’s the difference between a Mandalorian and a smuggler. You would rather choose a quiet place to sit, not drawing any attention to yourself. He—on the other hand, doesn’t put that much thought into where they should sit. Smugglers are always being hunted. Mandalorians? No one wants to fight them.

Once seated, you tense immediately. There are voices behind you, and not being able to keep track of what they’re saying, or if they move really distresses you. Granted, you doubt anyone here has a mean bone in their body, but you stay on edge regardless.

One of the women behind the counter takes notice of your arrival. Patting her hands clean on her apron, she walks over to you.

“Can I interest you in anything, travelers?” She asks, all smiles.

Her immediate kindness puts you at ease—slightly.

Before you can ask for some spotchka, the Mandalorian’s vocoder cuts through the helmet.

“Is there anyone here that can repair a ship?”

Her brows pull together tightly, pressing a finger to her chin. “Hmm… I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Sorgan is a farming planet, and we don’t get many visitors around here.”

He sighs, and you peek down from the woman standing over you to see his fist ball up on the table. “Fine.” It comes out strained, like it’s taking all his strength not to blow up and scream.

“Would you like anything else?” She asks again. “Maybe something for you, ma’am?” Shifting her body to face you, you open your mouth to answer, but the Mandalorian speaks first. “No, thank you.”

You whip your head to face him. You may be a quarry, but you still have ­some rights.

“Actually,” You point out, still looking at the helmet that burns right into you. “I’d like a bottle of your finest spotchka, please.”

He tilts his head just enough for you to notice, fist still balled up on the table. The lady seems to take notice of the tension, but she says nothing further. She simply nods and retreats to the bar. Returning swiftly with a bottle in one hand—two cups in the other, she places them between you two. You reach into the side thigh pocket of your pants and pull out a handful of credits and place them in her hand. She nods in gratitude. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“Thank you.” The hunter grits through his teeth.

Immediately you pour yourself a glass and throw it back, a couple droplets leaking from the corners of your mouth. Using the back of your hand, you wipe your mouth clean. You know you’ll probably regret the little stunt you just pulled, but it’s been a long fucking day and you just want to relax for a bit.

Okay, so maybe you’re not entirely relaxed because there’s a Mandalorian just a few feet away from that seems to be getting more and more cross the longer you stay in the common house, but you also want to see how far you can press him before he snaps. Besides, he shot down your ship. You deserve this.

Three more glasses of spotchka later, and you’re feeling warm inside. The kind of warm that lowers your defenses and makes you giggle at everything. The kind of warmth that releases the tension that’s nestled in the deepest corners of your body, and makes your vision a little fuzzy. It’s probably early evening now, because the common house is getting livelier. They must be coming in for a meal.

“Get up,” The Mandalorian orders, rising to his feet.

“So soon?” You pout. You’re definitely feeling the effects of the spotchka.

“We’ve wasted enough time here. Now get up, we’re leaving.”

Normally, you’d fight till your last breath, but with the alcohol swimming in your blood, your inhibitions are lowered, and you’re way too relaxed to actually get your brain to fight back. Besides, there’s barely any spotchka left and you don’t have any more credits to spend.

Getting to your feet is a little bit of a struggle. Once standing up, the room starts spinning. Not enough to completely knock you off balance, but enough to make it difficult to stand without swaying. Turning on his heel, the Mandalorian heads for the door, cape mimicking his movements. Your legs aren’t moving as fast as you’d like them too, and the spotchka is really getting to your head, now. You drank a lot more than you should have.

Luckily you’re able to catch up to him, somewhat out of breath though. He doesn’t say anything to you—no surprise there. As you stumble through the forest, there’s a gentle breeze in the air. Tree branches creak as the wind passes through, and stray hairs from your ponytail brush across your flushed cheeks. You’re too preoccupied with enjoying the clean, fresh air to notice he’s now a couple feet ahead of you. The cape attached to his armour flows in the gentle breeze. Stars, you’re completely captivated by him. By the way he carries himself, like there’s not a shred of self-doubt behind that armor, and you want to know everything about him. Now that you’re pretty drunk, the thoughts you pushed away can roam freely in your mind.  When was the last time he took off that helmet? Why did he—a Mandalorian, decide to be a bounty hunter? How many quarries has he captured in his life? How old is he? Are Mandalorians allowed to have sex with non-Mandalorians? Your mind is coming up with an endless number of questions, but you never find the strength to ask.

“You know, you could have asked me to help with the ship,” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. The Mandalorian stops in his tracks and waits for you to catch up to him. Once you’re at his side, he turns his head to look in your direction.

“What?” Deep, rough, and somewhat irritable.

Your shoulders shoot up and down twice, body swaying with the breeze. “I’m a mechanic.”

“Yeah.” He says, brushing off yours words and resuming his tread.

“No, seriously.” Chasing after him, you want to reach out and grab hold of his arm, but you catch yourself before you do.

“Just how much spotchka did you drink?” He taunts, voice condensing like he’s scolding a child.

“I… don’t know.” Holy maker, did you drink an entire bottle to yourself?

The Mandalorian actually scoffs at you. If you could see his face, you’re certain he’d be rolling his eyes at you.

“Okay, well I used to be.” You clarify, still struggling to keep up with his gigantic strides. Kriff how fast does he walk? “Can you just stop walking for a second, please?”

“No.”

You let out a loud, childish groan. At this point you basically have to run to keep up with the hunk of metal heading back to his ship.

“I used to repair ships with my father on Tatooine.” Your tone is breathy, your lungs trying to get as much fresh air as possible.

This makes him pause. Turning around, the ‘T’ of his visor looking directly at you. Stopping at arm’s-length away from him, you bend forward, hands resting on your knees. He gives you time to regulate your breathing.

“I can fix the hyperdrive. I’ve been doing it since I can remember.” You try to assure him. You don’t even know why you’re offering your help. The longer it takes to fix, the longer your freedom lasts, but the alcohol has made you soft, more accommodating. Seeming to come out of nowhere, your vision becomes extremely blurry. You swear there’s now two Mandalorians in front of you. Blinking profusely, your eyesight doesn’t clear. You feel like you’re floating while simultaneously being pulled to the ground. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you feel your limbs cave in, and everything gets dark.

The sound of crackling fire wakes you up. It must be late, because the fire is the only source of light. How did you get here? The last thing you remember was walking through thick forest with the Mandalorian and now you’re laying by a fire, back near the Crest. You can’t remember the last time you actually passed out from drinking so much. The spotchka here has to be stronger than any other time you’ve had it. You can handle your drink, and this is downright embarrassing.

Wait, did he actually carry you back to the ship? Despite the little stunt you pulled back at the common house? He could have easily thrown you into carbonite once you both got back to the ship and you wouldn’t have even known it, but for some reason, he chose not to. You want to ask him—to show your appreciation, but you hesitate. Maybe just letting it slide is the right course of action.

Propping yourself on your elbows, you see the Mandalorian sitting on an old, mossy stump. There’s something between his legs, but you can’t make out its features through the fire. Pushing yourself to your feet, you notice another stump just to your right. He must have put it there for you to sit once you woke up. You have a pounding headache, but the fire’s warmth helps a little.

You can now make out a few more details about the creature sat between the Mandalorian’s feet. It looks like a child, but you can’t be sure. Your eyes must be deceiving you because it appears to be green, the type of green you’ve only ever seen on the plains of Naboo.

Stars, its ears. They’re massive, just like its eyes. Your mouth curls into a smile. It’s adorable. You’ve never been partial to kids. There was never something inside of you that longed for a child, or to take care of one, but this little thing at the Mandalorian’s feet is making you rethink anything negative you’ve ever said about babies.

“What…is that?” You ask as you sit down on the stump he placed for you.

From the embers of the fire, you see the little thing’s eyes find you and it coos. Kriff, he’s so fucking cute.

“He’s a foundling.” Oh, so it’s a ‘he’.

You wait for him to explain, but the Mandalorian isn’t one to talk or elaborate unless directly addressed or absolutely necessary. Continuing to examine the child from a distance, it—no, he, is also looking at you, almost like he’s studying you as well.

“How did he come into your care?”

“He was a quarry,” His voice is quiet, the modulator distorting his tone to make it raspier than usual.

“You haven’t delivered him yet?”

Your eyes shift between the man in armor across the fire from you, and the small green alien-looking child between his legs. The Child’s head tilts from side to side as he watches you, the reflection of the flames glistening in his big black eyes.

“I did.” He deadpans and leaves you to fill in the rest of the blanks.

You want to bore him to death with questions. Why did he go back for him? Does this mean he’s its father? How does he plan to raise a child being a bounty hunter? Does that mean this kid will also become a Mandalorian?

None of these questions actually come out of your mouth, though. Given the circumstances, you don’t think the Mandalorian even has a clue what he’ll do, and it’s not really your place to bombard him with your curiosity.

So, maybe this Mandalorian was different from the stories you’ve heard—not that you’ve heard much honestly other than them being amazing killers, but if he went back for the Child, then maybe there was a soft, kind heart under all that beskar.

“I can do it.” Your voice is just loud enough for him to hear you. You continue to stare into the flames, waiting to see if he’ll respond. He doesn’t, but that’s fine with you.  

You’re not entirely sure when you even fell asleep but when your eyes flutter open, you’re lying on the ground, back against the uneven terrain. Using the ground to push you up to your feet, you shake the dirt off your pants and begin stretching your back by twisting your torso until you hear a satisfying crack. Your mother used to scold you for cracking your back. “You’re going to hurt yourself one day,” she used to say. When you were a kid, you’d roll your eyes at her and then she’d give you a gentle but still stern slap across the arm, the kind of slap only a mother could get away with doing. You were never really one to listen to authority, so it’s a habit you never grew out of.

It’s a beautiful day. The sun is beaming down on your skin, not a single cloud in sight. Sorgan is quite breathtaking, really. On most planets, no matter where you are, you can hear the commotion of city centres or see ships coming in and out of the atmosphere. Not on Sorgan, though. The only sounds you’re able to make out are tress swaying in the breeze, and the occasional bellow of the beasts in the forest.

The sound of the Child startles you. He’s at your feet, little arms extending out to grasp the material of your trousers. When did he get here? You crouch down and wave your index finger at him, little coos emitting from the green baby. His three-fingered hand wraps around your finger. This warm calmness comes over you, putting you at ease. Untensing all your muscles, your aches disappear, and the only thing that exists is you and the Child. You close your eyes, completely giving into the stillness. Maker, you swear you can hear the Child say something. Your eyes are still closed, and you don’t actually hear him say anything, but he is. You hear it in your mind—It’s faint and muffled, and you have to focus all your energy into narrowing down what he’s saying, and then it becomes as clear as day.

Grogu.  

“Good. You’re up.”

The Mandalorian’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s headed straight for you, just as stoic as ever; the sun’s light ricocheting off the beskar. The Child’s grip slackens, and you straighten out to meet the Mandalorian’s gaze. Your breath hitches as he continues to make his way towards you. Something as simple as a walk shouldn’t make you feel the way it does, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. Shifting in your stance, you can’t help but notice the heat building in your lower abdomen. Stars, get a grip. He’s the enemy, you shouldn’t allow yourself to feel this.

Leaning over, he picks up the Child and holds him with one arm. Almost immediately, you observe the way the Child wraps his tiny hand around one of the Mandalorian’s gloved fingers. There’s no stopping the stupid, shit-eating grin that appears on your face.

“The hyperdrive.”

“Right.” You respond, the smile falls from your face and you stand there awkwardly for a few seconds. The Mandalorian turns his back to you and makes way for the Crest. You follow him like a lost puppy, keeping a couple feet distance between you and him.

Once inside, he sets the Child down on one of the cargo crates near the ladder leading up the cockpit. You head up the ladder first, and he quickly follows suit. To your left is a small cubby hole in the wall that accesses all the wiring to the hyperdrive. It’ll be a nightmare to crawl in and out of, but you offered your services to him, so you can’t turn back now.

“I’ll get straight to work, then.” Turning away from him, you crouch down to your knees to examine the damage. There are various wires that are disconnected and thrown around, smoke emitting from one of the panels hidden inside the wall, and looks just about as worse as it can get. You’ve never seen anything this bad, before. How the Kriff was he able to fly this ship in such a horrible state? You start by grabbing a blue and red wire that hang loosely off the wall. A bit of copper and aluminum cords are splitting at the end of the cable which makes you think they might have touched each other causing some kind short circuit. Shrugging off the idea, you start to work.

After working on the hyperdrive for a couple hours, you decide to take a break. Climbing down the ladder near the cockpit, there’s no sign of the Mandalorian or the Child. All of a sudden, you’re aware of how sticky your body feels. Dirty, grimy, and uncomfortable. Now would be the perfect time for a shower. You turn your head to the fresher behind you and consider taking one, but you don’t want to intrude. You’re still a quarry and you assume the Mandalorian wouldn’t appreciate you taking a shower in his refresher. On your walk to the common house yesterday, you had spotted a lake not too far away. Maybe you could take one there. Then again, if you were to venture off, he might think you’ve run off. Your eyes shift between the fresher and the outside.

“You can clean up in the fresher.” Despite his tone always been low and rough, it still startles you. You whip your neck to see the Mandalorian leaning against the wall of the ship. You swear he wasn’t there a second ago so to see him just a few metres away from you not only puzzles you, but sends immediate shockwaves to your cunt. You feel like you’re being stalked, and it shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. The Mandalorian is built like a goddamn Star Destroyer; one look at him and you’re instantly intimidated, almost scared. You’ve never met anyone who can be so big yet so quiet, so frightening yet also so caring. It’s actually quite impressive. From his demeanor, no one would be able to guess he’s got a fucking kid back in his ship.

At first you want to protest, not wanting to push any boundaries or make either of you feel uncomfortable, but you know he’ll end up winning any argument you try to make for yourself, so instead you give him a quick nod before turning on your heel to the refresher. You don’t turn back to see if the Mandalorian is still looking at you, but your cheeks feel red hot anyway.

The fresher is pretty small considering the size of the ship, but if he somehow manages to fit in here, you have no problem. The water is warm, and cascades over your skin, instantly relaxing you. It feels amazing until it suddenly doesn’t. Your arm is burning, it’s on fucking fire and then it hits you. Looking down at your arm, you see scorched skin and are reminded of your injury from… well you’re not quite sure how long it’s been since he captured you back on Kijimi. It’s maybe been two or three days since. In the same moment, you realize you never got to put any bacta spray on it to stop any kind of infection. The skin surrounding the wound is turning a deep green-purple shade. Not a good sign.

“Kriff…” You whisper. You were supposed to put some bacta on it once you got back to your ship but obviously, things went differently than you expected. You take the bar of soap sitting on one of the ledges inside the fresher and begin washing away the dirt and sweat from the last couple of days, being extra careful when cleaning the area around your injury. Realistically, you could stay here for hours, letting the warm water drip down your figure, completely soothing your sore muscles and calming your mind, but you don’t want to take up more water than necessary.

When you come out of the fresher, there’s a pile of clean clothes resting on the rungs of the ladder. Tilting your head at the garments in front of you, you take them in your hands and smile to yourself. He must have gone out while you were working on the ship and somehow was able to find you some clean clothes. You change quickly, out in the open, hoping he won’t walk in and see you—okay maybe you do kind of hope he’ll see you. Once you’re fully clothes, you’re pleasantly surprised to notice they fit you perfectly. The cargo pants hug your frame like a glove, and you can’t help but notice they make your ass look great. Your tunic snatches your waist and is low cut enough for just the smallest amount of cleavage to pop through.

Taking the ladder two steps at a time, you reach the top in record time. You can see the smooth convex of beskar in the pilot’s chair, so instead of immediately resuming your work, you poke your head into the doorway of the cockpit. The Child’s pram rests on the seat to your left. It’s closed which means he’s probably asleep in there.

“Thank you for the clothes…” You’re not sure what to call him, since neither of us have actually properly introduced yourselves. However, you’re sure he knows your name given there’s a bounty on your head.

He doesn’t turn to face you, just continues whatever he’s doing. “Mando,” He clarifies, somehow answering the question you were thinking. “And you’re welcome.”

You linger for a couple seconds, not entirely sure why. He’s not much of a talker, but you still want to hear his voice. Before you can conjure up with something to say, he breaks the silence.

“When will you be done?” There isn’t any annoyance in his tone, which is usually accompanied by that question. You heard it all the time when you worked back at the hangar. “Hey lady, when are you going to be done?”, “What the Kriff is taking so long?”. You’ve grown to let those condescending questions roll off your back, but the Mandalorian’s tone is surprisingly gentle. Maker, are you falling for the Mandalorian?

“Well,” You begin, taking a few steps into the cockpit. Your hand comes up and latches onto your forearm, squeezing it. “I noticed that the hyperdrive was only functioning at 50% capacity before it broke down completely, and I was going to ask if you wanted it back at 100% before we takeoff because that’ll take—”

“Just fix it enough for us to get back to Nevarro.” He interjects, the baritone coming out dry.

It catches you off-guard, but you’re quickly reminded once again that you aren’t just somebody fixing the ship. You are a prisoner, and he doesn’t actually owe you any more kindness. He was kind enough to let you live, let you clean yourself in his refresher, and give you clean clothes. You’re chewing on the flesh inside your cheek, wondering if there’s something else you should say, but nothing worth saying comes to mind. He must notice your presence still there, because he swivels the pilot’s chair to face you. You swallow the giant lump in your throat and shift in your stance.

“You’re hurt.”

You glance over to your arm and then back to the visor. “It’s nothing.”

Pressing down on his knees to stand, the Mandalorian stalks towards you. Nerves and arousal are pooling in your stomach, now. Your chest is heaving as he gets closer. Stopping just at arm’s length, a gloved hand reaches out and clasps just underneath your injured bicep. The touch makes you pull back, not because it hurts but because it feels too fucking amazing. You’re seeing stars and he’s barely even touched you. Mouth agape, your breathing is so fucking uneven.

“That’ll need more than just cauterizing in order for it to properly heal,” His hand now moves down, ever so gently caressing your elbow. Your head dips down, unable to look at him directly. It’s pathetic really. You’re usually a fairly strong-willed person, who doesn’t bend at the will of anybody. You stand tall, even despite your size. Others in the smuggling game have a huge respect for you and see you as a leader, but now you’re cowering under the Mandalorian. You’d obey every one of his commands if he ordered it. All the power you hold, your bad habit of resisting authority would vanish in an instant if he pushed you.

“There’s bacta spray in the medical kit near the armory. You should take care of that before it infects.”

Your brain is racing, and the ability to form words had completed disappeared. All you can offer is a barely noticeable nod. You want to stay in this moment for as long as you can. Just the two of you standing inches apart, the tension growing thicker and thicker in the small area of the cockpit. You wonder if he feels it, too. If he wishes for this intimate moment to last forever. Swallowing your nerves, your eyes shit from the floor up to the visor. Trying to gauge for some kind of reaction but even if he is affected by this, his body gives no sign of it. Must be all in your head, then.

The Mandalorian’s finally the one to break up your little moment. He lets go of your elbow and you fight back the moan that threatens to escape your lips. You want him to touch you again, anywhere and fucking everywhere. He sits back in the chair and rotates it towards the control panel, so his back is facing you again. You probably linger a little longer than you should before finally retreating back down the ladder to get the bacta spray.

Once the spray mists over the gash, you instantly feel relief. The strain you didn’t realize was still in your body dissipates and you let out a deep breath through your lips. Thank the Maker for bacta spray.

The next few days go by relatively fast. Despite the awkward/sexual tension that clearly exists between you and Mando, you’re able to endure it. The encounters don’t last that long anyway. Usually, he’ll ask you about the progress on the hyperdrive. The conversations don’t last particularly long, but it’s enough to work you up into a sweaty mess.

And if you’re being honest, you probably could have fixed the hyperdrive in two days. You’re a damn natural when it comes to repairs, and you’ve fixed hundreds of hyperdrives in worse shape believe it or not. But you’re were taking your sweet ass time, giving yourself more time to be with Mando. It’s silly and childish, but you truly enjoyed his company, even though the conversations are mostly one sided.

Unfortunately though, the job had to get done. Once Mando noticed the hyperdrive had been fixed to 65% capacity, he was satisfied enough with your work. He decided you’d spend one last night on Sorgan and then leave at first light.

You’re all sitting by the fire. The Child propped up on a stump between the two of you. The night is calm, not a single breeze passing through the trees. A clear sky showered in stars. Forgetting the fact that this is essentially your last night of “freedom”, you’re really loving this.

“Twenty thousand.”

You’re in the middle of sipping bone broth you bought off a merchant in town—with Mando’s credits, when his voice catches your attention. “Hmm?” You mumble, using the back of your hand to wipe the little dripples of soup that trinkle down your chin.

“You asked me how much your bounty was,” His helmet stares into the fire a few feet away from him. The orange hues reflecting off the beskar.

Your lips form a thin line. You didn’t know the New Republic had that kind of money to spend. Twenty thousand is a pretty generous bounty.

“Wow, that’s pretty high.” That’s actually really high. It’s hard to make an honest living, and the New Republic throwing around thousands of credits like that makes you uneasy. Instead of using that as an incentive for other to hunt criminals, it should be distributed to those less fortunate. The thought makes you chuckle to yourself. A smuggler explaining how a government should be run. How noble of you.

“I wasn’t born into this, you know…” Your voice trails off, unsure if Mando wants to hear you or not. The helmet turns in your direction, giving you permission to continue. The Child looks up at you and coos. Your eyes avert their gaze to stare into the flames.

Clearing your throat, you begin. “I was raised on Tatooine. My parents were lucky enough to own a hangar, so my dad worked there, and my mom was a seamstress. Just a couple of ordinary people.” You weren’t particularly less fortunate than anyone else in your town. Your belly was always full, and you always had clean clothes on your back. Most of the residents in your village weren’t as privileged but your parents were generous, offering what little excess they had was given those who couldn’t afford food or clean garments.

Early on, they taught you never to flaunt what you had, always be humble when speaking to others, and to always be respectful. You loved your parents more than you could say, and ever since they died, you shut off a part of yourself. Heartbroken and alone, losing yourself in work seemed like the only way to cope with the loss. The more sorrow you felt, the more work you forced on yourself. If it weren’t for Tye, you’re not sure if you would have been able to get through it.

And ever since then, you vowed never to let yourself experience any kind of love again. The risk was just too high. Not knowing if one day your loved one would come home or not, investing so much of your soul into someone, relying on them only to have it snatched away from you without warning; it just seemed foolish. When they died, you cried every morning and every night for months, until one night you vowed never to cry again.

And you haven’t since.

People called you heartless, scum, cruel, but their words never managed to pierce the iron exterior you mentally built for yourself when your parents died. No one would be allowed to access that sensitive, caring part of you. Not even Tye. You loved him like a brother, but once that loss had punched through you, you could never look at him the same. There was a distance, now. Whether he knew it or not, he never confronted you about it. He gave you space, and when you were ready to let him back into your life, albeit not really back in, he never pressured you or expected your relationship to go back to how it was.

“So when they passed, I just felt like I was lost. I needed to escape.”

“And smuggling was your only option?” There’s a hint of mockery in his tone.

“Yeah, I’m a smuggler and you’re a bounty hunter. We all make choices in life. I’ve made my peace with that.” Your tone comes out a little more defensive than it should, and you think about apologizing, but fuck it. You have nothing to lose anymore. Even if you thought he might not turn you in, the possibility of getting twenty thousand credits is too much of an opportunity to pass up on.

Neither of you speak for the rest of the night.

You’re awakened by Mando nudging your feet with his. You snap out of deep sleep, rubbing your palms against your eyes. Sitting up, you moan softly and begin trying to adjust your vision to the Sorgan darkness. The only light that the night offers is the moonlight reflecting off Mando’s armor. The helmet’s looking directly at you, and a finger comes up to where his mouth would be, signaling to be quiet. Still half-asleep, you nod.

Ever so slowly, you rise to your feet and quickly brush the dirt off your pants.

“Get to the ship,” He orders, voice low and gruff.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, still standing in place.

“Hunters.” He says. “Get to the ship.” Mando orders again, his tone becoming much more assertive. You want to fight. You’ve never run from a fight before, and you’re not about to start now.

“I can help.”

Before having the chance to respond, red blasts come flying through the trees in the distance. Mando grabs you by the waist and shoves you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Get to the fucking ship!” He yells.

You want to argue with him, really you do. Realistically, you know he could probably take care of this himself, but that doesn’t mean you want to cower away and hide in the ship while he takes care of business. Then panic swarms you.

The Child.

Your head whips back and forth, and the relief that comes over you when you catch sight of his pram just your left, the gloomy night shielding him from sight, instantly calms your nerves.

The shooting stops all at once, becoming eerily quiet. Mando pivots, trying to keep eyes all around him. Your body mimics his movements, even though you’re completely defenseless. Twigs snapping, bushes rustling—not from the breeze, but from intruders trampling over them, coming closer. One, two, three, four hunters come into view, flanking you from all angles.

Okay, so this worse than you thought.

“Ah, Mando!” One of them calls out, blaster pointed directly at Mando’s chest.

“We don’t want any trouble, Mando,” Another pursuer taunts. “We just want the girl.”

Fuck.

They begin drawing in closer. You don’t want to underestimate Mando’s ability to fight, but with four hunters closing in, and having only one blaster, you’re not seeing how he can win this. You’re conjuring a plan inside your head and praying that he’ll catch on. If someone’s going to get credit for your capture, it sure as hell isn’t going to be this gang of thugs.

“Fine.” You throw up your hands in defeat, stepping aside from the shield that is Mando. You face the man directly in front of you, assuming he’s the one who’s leading the charge.

“What are you doing?” Mando’s voice is fucking low, somewhere between a whisper and a growl.

“Trust me.” Your tone gentle, eyes pleading with him.

You begin taking slow footsteps towards the blaster pointed now at you. “I can assure you, I’m more valuable alive, so why don’t we put our blasters down before someone gets hurts?” Arms still up, hesitating to take any more steps forward.

“You think we’re stupid enough to listen to you?” One of them shouts behind you. You flinch on impulse. Your chest is heaving, but you need to a grip if you plan to walk away from this alive.

You can slightly make out the hunter’s features. He looks somewhat familiar, like when you see a stranger in a dream, but you can’t pinpoint where you’ve seen him before. You’ve encountered plenty of hunters before, maybe they’re just all starting to look the same to you. Only Mando stands out, now.

The moon’s mellow and radiant reflection is starting to make out the hunter’s features. He doesn’t look entirely human, but you don’t manage to get close enough to actually see what he is.

“Hi, sweetheart.” The hunter sneers, his mouth curling into a malicious grin.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you remember who this is—but how? You shot him in the chest. You saw him fall. Sure, you didn’t actually check to see if he was dead but how could anyone survive being blasted directly in the chest? You must be remembering wrong. No, he shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here.

“Surprised to see me?”

You refuse to show your disbelief, keeping your jaw tense. “No, it’s just more target practice.” You spit.

Eerie laughter erupts from deep inside the man opposite you. Never slacking on the grip on his blaster, he shifts the barrel from your chest to directly between your eyes. Okay…what the fuck do you do now?

Mando and the kid are still a few feet behind you. You’re running out of ideas, fast. If you went to attack your pursuer, he’d definitely shoot you before you got close enough to him, and the three behind you would shoot Mando down before he even had time to react. You need to play this out smart, maybe you could—

Before being able to finish your thought, you hear whistling, and bodies hit the ground. Instinctively, you want to look over your shoulder to see what happened, but there’s still a blaster pointed at your face, and you’d be dead if you wasted even a second to turn around. Charging at him, you narrowly miss three blasts as they come flying by your cheek, shoulder, and neck. Once you feel close enough, you lunge at him, knocking you both to the ground. Your body lands on top of his, the blaster rolling a few feet away from your conjoined bodies. Grabbing hold of the lapel on his jacket, you wind up your fist and connect it with his jaw. He cries at the pain, retaliating by slamming his knee into your abdomen. The air is completely knocked out of your lungs, but you stifle the wail that threatens to spill you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You reach out aimlessly for the gun, and the joy you get when you feel the gun in your hand is unmatched. Scrambling to your feet, and clutching the gun in your hand, you point it at him. Mando wastes no time rushing to your side, blaster also on him.

“Don’t.” You tell him. No, you want this kill to be yours.

For a moment, you think he’ll ignore you and shoot him anyway. The man on the ground, now resting on his elbows spits, droplets of blood landing on the ground, a small trail dribbling down his chin. It shouldn’t bring you this much satisfaction, to see him bleed and completely at your mercy, but reason has escaped you. You want to hurt him; you want him to feel as much pain as any person can take. He threatened you, Mando, and the kid. He’ll pay for it, you promise.

“Go ahead, kill me.” The man swears. “But know that we’re only the beginning. You think you’re the only one who got a tracking fob, Mando?” A smile curls up on the corners of his lips. Your body is hot—it’s actually scorching. This surpasses any emotion you’ve ever felt before. The scalding need for blood and pain engulfs you. You’re not even sure why you feel so angry, but you are.

“Hunter scum,” You spit, kicking him hard in the stomach. More red fluid punches out of his mouth, causing him to cough aggressively.

“Hey,” Mando’s free arm grasps on to your bicep. “Stop.”

Your head’s shaking violently. No, he needs to suffer. “No, I’m gonna savour this.” You swing your leg back to kick him again, but Mando’s voice rips through the vocoder. “Stop!” It comes out aggressive, like he’s giving you an order.

Your jaw is tight, every fiber in your body is telling you to shove Mando out of the way so you can wreck this hunter scum that lies at your feet.

“You g-gonna let him order you around like that, sweetheart?” His last word cuts through you like a vibroblade to the chest. Your free hand balls up into a fist, white knuckling so hard, you’re sure you’re breaking skin with your nails. The man on the ground laughs, he’s fucking laughing at you and that’s the final straw, the thing you needed to push you over the edge. Unclenching your fist, your hand shoots up and flexes around what you imagine is his neck. He coughs, and starts gasping for air. Shaky hands shoot up to his own throat, as if he thinks that’ll somehow relieve the pressure you’re creating. It feels good, seeing him fucking struggle for breath, watching the light behind his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. It’s happening all too fast, and you want to take your time.

“Fuck this,” Mando shouts, his blaster coming up and shooting the man in the heart. Your grip slackens, and you drop to your knees. Struggling for breath, one hand on your chest and the other on your knee, you feel like you’re going to pass out. Mando’s drops to your side, a big, gloved hand resting on your back. Your body shudders at the touch and you pull away from him. Determined to put some space between you two, you straighten out, and take a couple steps back.

“What the hell happened there?” He tries not to startle you; his voice comes out a rough whisper.

Feeling your breathing evening out, your palms come out, trembling. You stare down at them, then to the corpse lying near Mando’s feet, desperately trying to understand why you couldn’t stop, why you couldn’t control your anger. The words aren’t forming, you can’t bring yourself to understand how it happened.

“I-I don’t know.” How could this happen? How could you let this happen?

A distorted sigh comes through the helmet. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“I didn’t,” Your voice comes out as gentle as you can, given the circumstances. “I’ve just always had it.”

Mando takes a step closer to you and halts; he’s asking for permission to get closer. You give him a barely noticeable nod and within seconds he’s towering over you. His hands twitch at his sides, and you wonder if he’s going to touch you, but he doesn’t, and you start to believe that maybe a jail cell is exactly where you should be.

[tunedtostatic]

truths and dares

After the Iris 2 crew spends a wild night celebrating together, Sana is wishing through a pounding headache that certain crewmates hadn’t dared her to drink straight from the bottle. Meanwhile, Park seems more concerned with the truth part of the night.

2.5k, Sana/Park (and Iris 2 crew)

Also posted at archiveofourown dot org, /works/33560497 (I’ll put a real link in a reblog)

CW: Drunken shenanigans, excessive alcohol consumption, mostly played for laughs but not totally. Suggestive language, though nothing beyond T-rated if that.

The hangover/coffee storyline is a retread of the premise of @iffeelscouldkill’s wonderful Sana/Campbell fic “Strong Coffee and Sourdough,” because my brain went “What if THAT but with PARK?”

Sana opens her eyes and immediately wishes she hadn’t. The sunlights in her cabin on the Iris 2 have come up, and Sana decides she wants to go back in time and kidnap whichever IGR engineer decided, doubtless to optimize personnel efficiency, that cabins should default to scheduled natural lighting. Anything to stop the photons now stabbing into her very soul.

Memories come back hazily: The first batch of moonshine on the new ship. A patch of the Deep familiar to the former Rumor crew, but days away from the more populated routes. Things feeling steady for the first time in a while. A crew dinner and a night of drinking to celebrate.

A lot of drinking. Sana groans, trying to put images together as her head pounds. She remembers sitting at the mess hall table with the others, singing. She remembers racing up and down a hallway with Krejjh and…McCabe?...with some kind of objective in mind, passing a ball back and forth, as the rest of the crew cheered. She remembers sitting in a circle on the floor of the darkened mess, Krejjh dramatically taking shelter in Brian’s arms as someone…Violet?...told a spooky story.

After that, she draws a blank, though she does have an odd sleepy memory of waking up, in this bed, to the sound of…Arkady giggling?

With a frown of confusion, Sana groans again, then sighs. She normally tries to watch her limits a little better than this. Oh well. Deep or no Deep, as Captain, she should probably go check on her ship.

Rubbing her eyes, she steps out of bed, and immediately has to pinwheel her arms to avoid tripping over the sleeping form of Violet, who is stretched out on the floor of Sana’s cabin. Arkady is twined around her, an arm slung around Violet’s chest and her face in the crook of Violet’s neck.

It’s extremely cute, though Sana can’t for the life of her guess why it’s happening on the floor of her cabin. She frowns, noticing that both of their eyes look puffy from lack of sleep. Well, Arkady and Violet awake in here at what Arkady would call “shit o’clock in the morning” would at least explain that last memory. Kind of.

As soon as she steps into the dimlylit hallway, she is hit by the welcome aroma of coffee. Feeling like a bloodhound on a scent trail, Sana heads toward the mess hall.

As she passes the bathroom, she sees what looks like an empty mug on the floor next to the doorway, along with someone’s—Brian’s—glasses. Sana picks up the glasses and polishes them absentmindedly on her shirt, tucking them into a pocket.

There’s also a bedraggled feather boa hanging off the sign on the supply closet door, and Sana squints groggily at it. Since when did the Iris 2 even have a feather boa?

As she comes up on the mess hall, Sana can see that its sunlights are up as well, but at least the mess hall makes up for them with a noticeable increase in coffee aroma. Rubbing her eyes again, Sana gingerly makes her way through the doorway, but before she can step around the corner to the kitchen half of the space, she is stopped by a sight not unlike the one in her cabin.

The hammock Sana rigged up—this one not from safety harnesses—is empty in the bright sunlight, but under it, three of her crewmates are sprawled in a sleeping pile. Krejjh is lying on their back, snoring loudly. Brian seems to have taken it upon himself to act as a human pillow for their injured knee, lying with their leg draped over his shoulder. And, a foot above him, the person who inflicted that injury is lying with their head pillowed on Krejjh’s stomach and Krejjh’s arm around their waist. McCabe is snoring almost as loudly as Krejjh is, their cheek squished against Krejjh’s sweater.

Sana stares in bemusement for another second before shaking her head fondly and inching around the tableau, making her way around the corner into the kitchen.

Park is standing at the counter, fully dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Sana blinks at him for a second before the rest of her brain kicks in. “Park! Good morning.”

Though Sana is sure she made plenty of noise rounding the corner, Park looks oddly startled to see her, keeping his eyes directed at the mug and coffeepot in his hands for a long second before turning to meet her gaze. “Captain. Good morning.” His eyes drop momentarily away and he clears his throat awkwardly. Meeting her eyes again, he asks, “Would you like some coffee?”

“I would love some coffee.” Sana stares greedily at the steaming hot liquid in the mug in Park’s hands. Park has very nice hands, strong and sure as they set the coffeepot on the counter and pass the mug…to her?

Sana stares at the mug for a second before her brain kicks in again and she stretches out a hand to take it. “Park, being the captain doesn’t give me coffee priority,” she tells him, amused.

“It will be a hardship to take another thirty seconds to pour my own,” Park intones, deadpan, as he takes another mug down from the cabinet, “but no sacrifice for my commanding officer is too great.”

“Point taken.” Sana chuckles as she raises the mug to her nose, sniffing it blissfully before taking a sip. Oh, that’s good. “Thank you, Park.”

“You’re welcome, Captain.” Park replaces the coffeepot in the coffeemaker, raising his own mug to his lips. “You look like you need it.”

Sana eyes him suspiciously. Was that a drag? His voice is as bland as ever, but of course with Park that doesn’t mean anything.

Setting the mug down on the counter, she raises a pessimistic hand to her hair. Sure enough, she can feel it escaping its former ponytail to form a chaotic frame around her face. Glancing down, she can see that her shirt, which was already stained with engine oil, is crooked, Brian’s glasses still poking out of her pocket. At least she wasn’t wearing any makeup last night. “I must look a disaster.”

Park snorts into his coffee. “Don’t worry, Captain, you always look—” He blinks, as if his own brain is suddenly catching up with his mouth. “Like a captain,” he finishes lamely.

Sana smirks, wondering what he was going to say. “Like the undisciplined captain of a scrappy smuggling ship, you mean?” She eyes Park’s tidy button-down shirt, pilfered from one of the storage lockers onboard. “I guess to your discerning eye, a hungover smuggler captain with hair from here to Neptune isn’t that different from a smuggler captain at her glossiest.”

“Something like that,” Park says drily, taking another sip of coffee, and Sana laughs.

“Thanks for the coffee, Park. I definitely needed it.” She winces. “It seems like last night got a little…wild.”

“I think certain members of the crew, including you, may have…imbibed a little more than originally planned.”

“Yes, I’ve been getting that picture,” Sana says drily, wincing again. “Park, I…do usually try to watch my limits a little better than this. I’m not sure exactly…” She trails off.

“Well, you can lay part of the blame for that on that final, uh, drinking game.”

Park’s voice has turned suspiciously sheepish on the last words. “Drinking game?” Sana prompts.

“Truth or dare.” Park’s voice is mild again. “Specifically, the part when your pilot said, ‘Time to get Cap’n Tripathi wasteeedddd—’ Park’s Krejjh impression is eerily on point. “To which you said, ‘Someone needs to be able to keep an eye on the emergency alarms,’ to which Patel said, ‘Violet and I already agreed to stop for the night, Sana can get fucked up if she wants to.’” He sets his empty mug on the counter, reaching for the coffeepot. “At which point Liu said something to the effect of, ‘Go, Captain, go! Woooooohoo!’”

Sana groans.

Park looks amused, though this fades a little as he adds, “Uh, I think the thinking was that those who were a little more sober would keep an eye on the rest of us, but after McCabe dared you to drink straight from the bottle, things got a little…out of hand? If, uhm, memory serves—” He winces, the first visual indicator Sana has seen underlining his self-categorization in ‘the rest of us.’ “If memory serves, that was when Liu did think to spirit the booze elsewhere. She and Patel went to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t, um, stop breathing, and things here—” He nods toward the pile of crew under the hammock, “wound down to their natural conclusion.”

Krejjh, Arkady, Violet, RJ, I am going to kill all four of you, Sana thinks, though she has to concede that the person she’s actually mad at, or maybe rattled by, is herself. Getting drunk is one thing; passing out too drunk to be left alone is a different story.

For right now, she just sighs. “Sounds like we need to revisit our protocols for how much booze gets brought out in one night.”

Park has raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth at ‘protocols,’ but Sana premeditates him. “Informal protocols. The word ‘protocol’ was probably never spoken.”

Park snorts again, taking another sip of coffee.

“Anyway, thank you for the update, Park.” Sana leans against the counter. “At least no harm was done.” She thinks back to Arkady giggling in the early hours of the morning, and the puffiness of her and Violet’s eyes. They must have stayed awake until morning keeping an eye on her. Well, at least they seem to have kept each other entertained.

“Yes. Um.” Park sounds uncharacteristically uncertain. “About that. I’m…uh, I’m glad I happened to catch you this morning before the others…Well. Alone.”

Sana frowns curiously at him.

When he begins again, his voice is professional. Too professional.

“Captain. I’d like to apologize for what I said last night.” He winces. “Uh. Even if you don’t remember what I’m apologizing for, which it seems you don’t. But if you happen to, or someone mentions it…I thought I should apologize.” He squares his shoulders. “It was a tactless thing to say and I give you my assurance that it will not impact our working relationship going forward.”

Sana eyes him, deciding on a gentle, “It sounds like we were all pretty drunk, Park. Whatever you said, unless it was a confession of…I don’t know…” She tries to think of a crime that would actually set him apart from the rest of her crew. “Killing…a planet…for fun, I think we can overlook some less than tactful words.”

“It wasn’t,” Park mumbles into his coffee. “That kind of confession.”

Sana frowns again, confused.

“During the ‘Truth or Dare’ game.” Park’s voice is a careful monotone. “Krejjh asked me, ‘Former Agent Park, if you were to smooch anyone on this ship, who would it be?’ and I said, well, you.”

“Oh.” Sana takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She can see why Park is freaked out, but, she tells herself, it all sounds fairly standard for a drunken crew escapade. It didn’t—doesn’t—mean anything more than that. “Well, it sounds like they didn’t give you the option of saying ‘Absolutely no one aboard, thank you,’ so picking the first crewmember you could think of who wasn’t in a committed monogamous relationship sounds like a very reasonable…”

“I also said,” Park continues miserably, “that you were not only the smartest criminal I’d ever tracked but also the sexiest captain I’d ever met, that Roderick Quincy Cresswin Junior didn’t know what he was giving up when he betrayed you and left you and everyone you cared about to die horribly on Cresswin Landing, that if Ignatius Campbell loves you as much as it sounds like he does then he was an idiot not to kiss your beautiful face last time you were on Telemachus, and that anyone lucky enough to love you should strew nuts and bolts and rivets and flowers in your wake wherever you walked. Or flew.”

Upon finishing this recounting, Park stares into the middle distance, and Sana leans against the counter, staring at him.

“Park,” she says feebly, “You know I’m not technically a captain, right? I don’t have any accredited training—”

Park, who still looks like he wants the kitchen floor to swallow him up, gives this the non-answer it deserves, and Sana takes another few seconds to compose a less inane response.

“Well,” she says, in her best captaining voice, “Sometimes when a group of humans drink together, some, uh, horny language happens. People find other peoples’ bodies attractive; booze removes some verbal filters around that. You were too far gone to have the filters you would have wanted to have; you clearly didn’t mean it in a creepy way, and it doesn’t have to affect anything in our working relationship.”

Park relaxes. “Thank you, Captain.”

He hesitates, still looking a little uncomfortable. “While we’re discussing this, I should add for the sake of completeness that I feel a certain attraction to you all the time. It wasn’t just finding you, uhm, ‘sexy’ while I was inebriated. But I assure you I won’t let it affect our working rel—”

“You do?” Sana interrupts. She can feel herself staring at him as several weeks’ worth of pieces finally fall into place.

She’s definitely blushing.

“I do.”

“Park,” Sana says gently. “For the sake of…completeness…I’ll add that I feel a certain attraction to you. All the time. As well. But—”

Sana looks at him, really looks athim: this attractive man who three weeks ago was an IGR agent representing everything Sana is against, who calls her Captain and still flinches at sudden movements in his peripheral vision.

“But,” Park finishes for her, “there are a lot of ‘buts.’”

“Yes.”

“Whatimesit?” Across the room, Brian is blinking in the faux morning light, looking bemused to see his fiancé’s leg draped over his shoulder. “Wheresmglasses?”

At his motion, Krejjh starts to stir. RJ blinks and makes a face at the sunlights, squeezing their eyes shut and trying to bury their face in Krejjh’s sweater.

Sana smiles at Park. He gives her a small smile back, and Sana feels as though they have settled themselves onto the same team, two people facing a universe of strangeness both external and internal.

“We’ll talk about this more. Sometime.”

Park nods, his usual taciturn motion.

“Good morning, crew,” Sana calls as she makes her way toward the pile of hungover crewmates under the hammock. “Good news! Park made coffee!”

[writesowhatnext]

does C3PO translate hypotheticals? // poe dameron

Summary: Solo!Reader and Poe Dameron do not, in any way, get along. Maybe. Well. Actually?

Request: nopeeee

A/N: basically I watched TROS yesterday and had this idea and so I wrote it :)

Reader: female, force!user, Organa-Solo

Warnings: arguing, making out

“Han’s ship…” Rey said, fully noticing for the first time the fire hazard that was the Millennium Falcon. Poe huffed, looking away with his hands on his hips. He saw BB-8 roll towards him, smiling at the sight of his droid before he registered his tell-tale beeping.

“What’d you do to the droid?”

“What’d you do to the Falcon?” Rey asked incredulously, gesturing at the large ship.

“The Falcon’s in a lot better shape than he is.”

“BB-8’s not on fire.” She countered, frowning at his argumentative nature.

“What’s left of him isn’t on fire.” He corrected, raising his eyebrow. BB-8 beeped unhelpfully in the background.

“Y/N is not going to be happy.” Rey folding her arms. Poe paled very noticeably, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You told her?” he all but whined.

“What the hell happened?” You shouted across the base, storming towards the returned rebels.

“Speak of the devil.” Poe huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Dad’s ship… what did you do, Dameron?” you demanded, crossing your arms and tapping your foot expectantly. Poe opened his mouth indignantly. “Glad to see you home Chewie, Finn.”

Poe let out a humourless laugh, throwing his hands out; his frustration was growing. Rey and Finn greeted each other whilst you and Poe stared each other down.

“You know what, sweetheart-“ Poe began angrily.

“Call me that again. I dare you.”

“Oh really? What are you gonna do, Sweetheart? Force choke me or something? Turn to the dark side like your big brother?”

“You’re a sorry excuse for a commander, you know that Dameron? You can’t keep just flying first and thinking second-“

Chewie’s roaring interrupted you.

“You lightspeed skipped?” Rey asked, turning to Poe. Poe rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well it got us back here, didn’t it?”

“Poe, the compressor’s down.”

“Oh, I know, I was there.”

“Every time.” Finn sighed.

You cast a glance over his shoulder, glad that the Falcon was being seen to. You couldn’t help but think, though: lightspeed skipping? That was technical stuff. You remembered one time with your Dad, when you were young, smuggling something or other off Kijimi; he’d told you about how the local spice runners lightspeed skipped.

“You can’t lightspeed skip the Falcon!” Rey insisted, looking to you for help. Poe followed her eyes.

“What, Sweetheart? Nothing to contribute?”

You sent him a dry, distasteful look.

“Nerf herder.” You muttered. He heard you and sent you his own dirty look.

“Alright, guys,” Finn begged, tired of the arguing. “We just landed, okay?”

Poe pushed towards the base, past Rey and Finn. You were still thinking about those lightspeed skips.

“What happened?” Rey asked as you all followed Poe.

“Bad news.” Poe’s frustration was palpable even without the force. “That’s what happened.”

“No spy?” She continued.

BB-8 rattled around by your feet. You smiled at him; you’d always had a soft spot for that droid.

“No. Spy.” Poe said. You rolled your eyes; he was so helpful.

“Did we make contact with the spy, or not?” Rey was getting frustrated, too confused about Poe’s bad mood to be patient as well.

“There’s a mole in the first order and they sent us a message.” Finn explained, looking from you to Rey as he spoke.

BB-8 made a series of beeps that you laugh. “You dropped a tree on him?” you asked Rey, an amused smile settling on your lips. Poe frowned at you. Rey exhaled sharply, turning to Poe.

“He blew both sub-alternators!”

Poe gestured to the ship angrily as Finn stood opposite you, between Rey and Poe arguing. You shot him a sympathetic smile.

“Well, maybe you should’ve been out there with us.”

“Guys.” Finn tried to interject, failing miserably.

“You know I want to be out there with you-“

“Yeah, but you’re not. You’re here training. With her.” He didn’t even look at you as he pointed. “For what?”

There was a significant pause.

“You’re the best fighter we have. We need you. Out there, not here.” Poe huffed again, turning to speak to one of the droid technicians about reconditioning an R2 unit. Rey and Finn stared at each other for a moment; you turned to leave, knowing when you weren’t required.

“It’s true.” Finn said as you began to walk away. He caught your eye, tilting his head a little as if debating how true.

After an eventful day, the ship bay was empty and so, you decided it was the perfect place to take refuge for your meditation. You sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to clear your mind of everything going on around you. You tried to forget about your brother, the Supreme Leader, and how he killed your Father and how there was war literally all around you and how annoying Poe Dameron was, just staring at you across the hangar. Wait, what? You lost your concentration. Both you and the tools around you hit the ground with a thud.

You groaned, peeling your eyes open to see Poe. When you met his eye, he grunted and carried on to his ship. You huffed. You couldn’t remember when the arguing with Poe started, really. It was like one day you both just decided you hated each other. Your Mother, rather unexpectedly, found it extremely funny; watching her daughter and her favourite commander fighting like schoolchildren was one of her only brief solaces from the war itself. Thinking about it, you remembered the lightspeed skipping and stood up, dusting off your clothes and approaching his ship. He made no effort to acknowledge your presence as he tinkered with it.

“I’ve been thinking about lightspeed skipping.” You announced, watching him drop his hand and groan lamely.

“Not you, too.” He looked tired. “Rey’s been on me about this all day and honestly, neither of you were there so whatever you want to say about it, fine. That’s fine with me. But you weren’t-“

“I’ve never met a pilot, a proper pilot, that’s known how to do that.”

He frowned, suddenly uneasy.

“I’m sure Han Solo knew how-“

“My Dad was a smuggler and a criminal.” You reminisced, dragging your fingertips across the nose of Poe’s X-wing. “He was also the best pilot in the galaxy… and even he didn’t know how to lightspeed skip.”

Poe looked very uncomfortable.

“Spice runners tend to, though.” You said softly, flicking your eyes up to meet his. You knew you had him there.

“Wow,” you said as he made a beeline down the ladder he was perched on. “Poe Dameron, a spice runner-“

“I was-“

“A spice runner, yes, I understand that now-“

“Look-“

“The others don’t know, do they?”

He didn’t answer.

You mused for a moment before a smile grew on your face.

“Is it bad that I like you more now?”

He frowned. You didn’t say anything else for a moment. His face changed to something brighter.

“More? I didn’t think you liked me at all.”

“You’re annoying, that’s why.”

“I’m not-“

“You’re very annoying.”

“And you’re not?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m a force user” he mocked. “I’m so much better than you because I can move rocks with my mind.”

You let out a laugh in mock offence.

“You’re not much better, flyboy. You’re always ‘pew, pew’ first and ‘wait, hold on’ second.”

“Oh, is that right?”

You both looked at each other for a moment. He chuckled.

“Do you remember why we hate each other?”

“Nope.” You replied, smiling.

“Well then,” He threw the wrench in his hand to the ground and wiped his hand on his trousers. Then, he offered it to you. “I’m Poe Dameron: the best pilot in the rebellion-“

“Ex spice runner.” You added, biting the inside of your cheek. He nodded, conceding.

“Ex spice runner. And you are?”

“Y/N Organa-Solo: force user-“

“Professional asshole.”

You pursed your lips, taking his hand.

“Professional asshole.”

You looked at each other for a few moments then, forgetting you were holding hands, forgetting that only fifteen minutes before you were mortal enemies.

“I think we’ll be good friends.” He said, smiling.

“Friends?” You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head to the side.

“Maybe not.” He shrugged. Neither of you let go. “What would you say if I said I wanted to kiss you right now?”

“I’d tell you that’s a copout. Say it or don’t.”

You watched him wet his lips, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes; eyes also preoccupied with your lips. He raised an eyebrow. A silent question.

Being so at one with the force, you’d think you’d have expected the way Poe then lunged at you, cupping your face in his hands. You didn’t. It was welcomed, though. Your hands looped around his neck as he rested you against the X-wing, which only slightly rattling with the force of his movement. His hand trailed down your hip, pulling you closer as you kissed. You felt his tongue against yours and smiled. Your smile only grew when he pushed you a little harder into the ship, the ladder he’d been using clattering to the ground. He smiled against your lips too and you thought about why in Kriff’s name it had taken you so long to get here.

A throat being cleared from the centre of the bay grabbed your attention, you and Poe breaking apart to see who was there. Your mother stood there, Rey on her right, both of them smiling at you. You went to shove Poe off you but he was already moving, standing with you, shoulder to shoulder, in front of General Organa and the galaxy’s only hope. You felt your face heat up. You could only hear the sound of both of you breathing, trying to catch your breath. You felt like children being scolded.

“I’m glad you two finally got the memo.” Leia said smugly. Rey bit her lip, looking down bashfully to hide her amusement.

“Yes, General.” Poe said, swallowing and lifting his chin, no doubt trying to recover some semblance of dignity.

“But, maybe somewhere else would be the best place for this?”

She looked at you pointedly. You nodded.

“Yes, General.”  Poe said again as they walked away, leaving you two standing there.

You didn’t say anything for a minute or two but you could feel Poe’s elation; he was seconds away from giggling like a little kid.

“Yes, General.” You mocked, turning to face him with a grin. He laughed breathlessly.

“Shut up.”

And then his hands were on your face and he was kissing you. Again.

[mandochlorian]

CHAPTER SIX

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

For over a decade, Y/N Y/L/N has been in a relentless battle with the sinister FIRST ORDER, never getting close enough to destroy one another. After a messy history with the boy who was once known as Ben Solo, he and Y/N had parted ways. Neither sides will rest until Skywalker, the last Jedi, has been destroyed.

TROKR masterlist

star wars masterlist

general masterlist

Maz’s palace stands tall and proud, towering against the backdrop of a stunning lake. Finn and Rey follow Han closely, in just as admiration of the place as you are. Whenever you come here, you feel this sense of familiarity. Takodana is a safe haven for criminals, no doubt. You’ll be seeing some of your smuggler friends… or enemies… within Maz’s place. You watch Rey’s light eyes scanning the big statue, and there’s something going on in her mind that you can’t quite put your finger on. Brushing it off as being overtired, you stop at the entrance of the palace. With your lightsaber at your side, you should feel more secure. Though you know you can no longer follow Finn and Rey on their mission, you have all you need. You’ve seen majority of the map, maybe you can figure the rest out on your own.

“You coming, kid?” Han questions, his eyes searching yours as an attempt to figure out your motive. Something about leaving you to fend for yourself makes Han feel uneasy. Will you really just leave to go your own way? Rey’s gaze meets yours. She wants you to join them.

“What’re we doing here, Solo?” Finn wonders. You furrow your eyebrows at the nickname he gives Han. Solo.

“You think it was luck that Chewie and I found the Falcon?” Han asks, “If we can find it on our scanners, the First Orders not far behind. Wanna get BB-8 to the Resistance? Maz Kanata’s our best bet at getting a clean ship. Oh… And whatever you do,” Han turns to Finn and Rey, stopping just outside the red door, “Don’t stare.”

“At what?” They both ask in unison. You watch them, looking completely out of place.

“Any of it.” Is all Han says before entering the place.

“Good luck.” You mumble to them, heading inside after Han. Taking a breath when the door slides open, you follow Han. It’s loud and packed inside and music fills your ears. The smell of alcohol and sweat fills the space, taking you back to when you’d step inside this place with your crew, coming off a big smuggling job. After placing a tray upon the table, Maz tilts her head back. She senses a presence she hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Han Solo!” She shouts loudly. Suddenly the music stops, you hear a glass shatter, you look to see everyones eyes on the man beside you. You chuckle quietly, looking to Han who stands there a little awkwardly.

“Oh, boy,” Han mumbles softly, forcing a big grin to his face, “Hey, Maz!” He shouts back, throwing his hand up in a wave.

As Maz makes her way towards the group, the music and chatter continues. Though you know no ones forgotten that Han Solo is here, and that usually means sketchy jobs with lots of money. “Where’s my boyfriend?” Maz questions Han, looking up at him with a deadpanned expression.

The sight of Rey and Finn looking to Han with confusion all over their faces almost makes you laugh. Glancing at Finn, Han then looks back to Maz and answers her question, “Chewie’s working on the Falcon.”

As if she can sense the confusion, Maz looks at the two newcomers, “I like that Wookie,” she clarifies, “What is this?” She narrows her eyes sceptically, “You two here together? Where is Ben?” She asks forcefully. When no one answers, she assumes it’s just the two of you with two strangers, “Hm. I always thought I’d see you two together when Ben had returned."

“Yeah,” Han whispers, “Me too.”

“I assume you need something. Desperately.” Maz gazes at the unfamiliar faces but her eyes land on you. You know she’s wondering why you’re here. At the peak of your smuggling, you’d avoid this place whenever you saw the Falcon or heard Han was in town. But that was long, long ago. You haven’t been here in years. But now here you are, standing beside him as he lounges on a couch. “Let’s get to it!”

“I’m looking for a ship.” You answer her burning question.

Maz stands up on the couch to get to the table, her face now more levelled with hers, “You’ve grown. Very much… very, very much.”

“You calling me old? That’s ironic,” you crack a smile, watching as she puts her glasses back on, her eyes suddenly huge within them. Maz smiles back at you, and it makes you feel better, even if just for a little bit. But you focus back on what you need, “I need to get out of here.”

“What kind of ship?” She wonders.

“Small,” you think, “Inexpensive but able to travel far for a long time.”

“What are you running from?” Maz asks you, staring at you. You feel the eyes of everyone burning holes into yours.

“Nothing.” You barely whisper.

“Then what are you running to?” She shoots back, silence filling the air immediately. There’s a bad feeling in the air. Suddenly, you’re overcome with the feeling that you really shouldn’t be here, that you need to leave as soon as possible. Something bad’s going to happen.

“Luke Skywalker,” Rey answers. Maz snaps her head to the girl. “We need to get this map to the Resistance.”

“To Leia.” Han corrects her, “It’s stored in this droid. We need your help getting it to her.”

“A map!” Maz repeats, her eyes a little wide, “To Skywalker himself?” She looks to Han, with the faint inklings of a laugh in her voice, “You are right back in the mess!”

“Will you help us?” Han asks, expecting to hear an easy yes.

“Hm…” Maz thinks it over before giving a simple answer, “No. You’ve been running from this fight for too long.” She tells Han, looking deep into his eyes, “Go home… That goes for both of you.” Maz looks at you and you feel your heart sink though you don’t convey it on your face, “I won’t help either of you. No more running. Go home.” She repeats herself.

Han shakes his head, looking down. You watch him think it over but he just looks defeated and upset. “Leia doesn’t want to see me.” Han answers simply, looking as if he’s recalling something in his mind. You search it for a second, hearing his thoughts aloud. He and Leia are in a fight… they haven’t seen each other in… a few months. Something about that makes you feel uneasy. But you brush it away. Their problems are none of your business, you shouldn’t even care. You don’t care.

“You think I don’t know how to steal a ship, Maz?” You ask her, your voice incredulous as you stare her down, “If I didn’t care about your neutrality to the war, I would’ve been five planets away already.”

“The First Orders shadow is spreading across the galaxy. We must face them. Fight them… All of us.” Maz states, looking behind Han.

You hadn’t seen Princess Leia since that night everything came burning to the ground. Until now. There seems to be a pause when you emerge, and Leia’s eyes are benevolent and knowing as they land on you. It makes you feel as though you shouldn’t be looking at her, like you should look away. But you don’t. You can’t. Han stands to meet her, you watch them share a few words. Han looks taken aback… then he looks at you.

You can’t look away even when she walks directly up to you, her hand out as she gives you a patient smile. It’s only then that you straighten your back, pressing your lips together and keeping the stoic expression on your face. If you’re taken aback by her kind gesture, you don’t show it one bit.

“Come.” She offers. The strangers watch you, their eyes wide, their expressions confused. Everything about Leia invites you in, “Let’s have a conversation. It’s been a while.”

It’s like you’re frozen, you want to remain yourself; eloquent, smart, quick, but you’re left frozen and you hate it. “No.” You struggle to say, watching with a slight fear as Han and Leia turn back around to look at you.

“Come on, kid,” Han gestures, “there’s something you need to hear.”

You don’t know what to say but you know that you don’t want to speak to her. Maybe ever. When you don’t take her hand, she rests it at her side before leading the way to somewhere isolated, somewhere no one will listen, on board the Millennium Falcon. Silently, you sit away from her, crossing your legs and leaning back on your arms. “Yes?” Is all you utter, wishing you didn’t feel like such a child around her.

“I know you’re maintaining a role for these people.” She begins, peacefully as she takes in how much you’ve grown. Your face is much thinner, more hollow, you’ve lost that childish look you once wore with pride. She examines your sunken yet unchanging eyes. “You don’t want to kill him, you want to beat him.”

“How would you know that?” You spit back at her, standing up from the seat on board, “everyone else seems to want him dead as much as I do. Including you, apparently.”

“I know the order I gave out,” Leia states.

“Then why are we having this conversation?” You take a step away from her, “The sooner I leave this place, the sooner I can get to Luke. Your son, your problem.” You tell the pair, “And I don’t need you two to act like you care about either of us.”

“We care about our son.” Han answers firmly, his chest slightly puffed as he points a finger at you. His light eyes burn into yours, anger flowing through him until Leia places a hand on his chest, seeming to calm him down a little.

“I know Poe. And I know his mission, I gave it to him.” Leia begins, standing up, “I told him to bring my son home, whatever it takes. If Ben comes home, you win this… feud. But I can sense it inside you, you’re tied to him.”

“I don’t let feelings overcome ambition.” You spit back quickly. Feelings, Leia thinks over the word before dismissing it. “Clearly you think the same way as I do if you’re willing to put winning a war above having a son.”

“You think we haven’t tried to bring him home? You think we haven’t tried to stop this?” Leia wonders, “We’ve tried to track him down, to meet him face to face, but the only time we see him is when he’s miles away on the battlefield, wearing a disguise… He is my son. He’s my only child. That means something to me, it always will. I will always love my son… But he is reigning terror over the entire galaxy. And I’m…” Placing a hand to her heart, Leia feels a tear slip past her cheek, “I’m afraid there isn’t much time left until I lose him forever. Y/N, that night you left… you just wanted to prove yourself worthy. You wanted to prove to Ben that you were just as good as anyone else, despite your past.” She admits, “I sensed it for so long. And I know that he’s conflicted… my son is being manipulated. And I know you believe it too.” Leia responds with the same amount of ease as always.

“He’s being manipulated because his mother put him in a vulnerable position.”

“I always wanted what was best for him-”

“You sent him away!” You shout at her, stepping back at the sound of your harsh voice, “That’s what ensured his fate.”

Han raises a hand, eyebrows furrowed as he gets heated, “You think we don’t know that? We know we’re at fault here.”

“When we sent him away, that was when we started losing him.” Leia admits, her eyes red and her lips in a tight line, “We wanted him to train with Luke so that he could be in control of himself.”

“At the time, we thought that was the best thing for him.” Han adds, resting his hands on his hips, “Blame us for that all you want but don’t, for a second, think that we don’t know our own son. We know he’s afraid, and stubborn to change, and we know he thinks the worst of us.”

You shake your head, “All you ever saw in Ben Solo was Vader.”

Leia sighs, wiping a finger under her eyes, “The past remains the same. There’s little we can do about it now. But we can help his future, we can change what he believes to be his destiny. Y/N, I want him to come home. Han and I both do.”

“Han left him. For years.”

“Han doesn’t like when people talk about him like he’s not there.” The old man speaks up, giving you a look.

Leia adds, “Han knows what he did.”

“Do you? Does Luke?” You ask, “The pressure you put on him… he was just a boy. You broke him… Ben Solo is never coming home.”

“You don’t believe that.” Han scoffs, making your eyes widen. You pause. “You care for him, it’s not something you’re good at hiding. You can act like everything you do is out of hate, but admit it, you and Ben are… close. You grew up together. I think that you could be it for him.”

“Be what for him?” You shake your head, frowning at Han.

“You could help him turn.” Leia answers, her eyes filled with belief and with hope, “I can sense it inside you, you want him home just as much as we do.”

“Your trust is misplaced,” you break, avoiding their eyes and rejecting their proposal, “The next time I see Kylo Ren, he won’t be so lenient. He gave me an ultimatum and I… I refused him.”

“What ultimatum?” Han wonders, crossing his arms as he watches your expression. As you talk to him, it’s so hard not to see the amount of Han that Ben Solo got in his appearance.

“He wanted me to join him,” You’re filled with a sense of peace as you tell his parents, “Said it was the only way I’d survive. Snoke… Snoke wants him to kill me in order to complete his training. You’re right, Ben and I are - close. There’s something there that I-I can’t… explain. But that time is over now,” you feel tears brimming your eyes and you clench your teeth incredibly hard to stop them but there’s nothing you can do when Leia places her loving hand on your shoulder. You look up at her, wiping your eyes with your hand, “He’s going to kill me. And I don’t - I don’t think I’ll be able to stop him.”

You can feel Leia’s hope deflating within her heart. And when her hand drops from your shoulder, you swallow the lump in your throat. You don’t say a word, you just feel her warmth spread to your heart when she speaks up after a good moment of silence. “Hope is like the sun,” she smiles softly as she grabs her husbands hand, “if you only believe in it when you can see it, you’ll never make it through the night.”

The conflict within your heart, mind, and soul makes you want to disappear and never have anything to do with the Skywalker’s or Solos ever again. But you don’t leave, not even close. You follow Leia. You can’t help but feel numb, as though you have no emotions running through you after that. But it kind of feels normal. Leia brought back the feeling of being 16 and completely alone but she also made you feel like you had hope? Something you’ve never felt before. You only hope that when it comes to it, Ben feels it too. You give Leia a nod, not saying a word but she knows what you’ve decided in your head.

You’ve never really doubted yourself. You’ve followed what your head has told you for decades. But right now, you feel different. You think different. And you’re not sure if you can do this. So you think of Ben, his hurt eyes, his tears, the hatred that lives inside of him. It’s time for all of it to die. And if you get close enough to him, you’ll kill Kylo Ren once and for all. But you have to do it alone.

Kylo’s eyes are on the familiar ship, still and silent as his master watches over it too. Letting out an exasperated grunt, Snoke makes the hologram disappear. “Useless.” He shouts and Kylo knows that his master is referring not to you, but to Ren himself, “Charge the weapon. For all we know, they could be on their way to Luke already. Order your men to attack them on Takodana. Take anything or anyone of value. Once you’ve destroyed the place, burn the entire palace to the floor.” Kylo acquiesces to the order, quickly rushing to the main deck but his master stops him. “Do not be tempted, boy.” Then he disappears.

Kylo stands in the throne room for a few seconds, revelling in the silence of his thoughts. What game are you playing? Joining the Resistance? The very people who turned on you? With his chest on fire, Kylo runs to the main hall, closing his eyes at the memory of his fathers ship flying in the sky, and tries to think of the last time he had ever seen such a sight.

Kylo Ren orders troopers to prepare his ship, have it ready in no less than ten minutes. His eyes are sunken, sleepless, haunted by the dreams where he kills you, his mother, his father, burns everything to the ground and is finally left alone. For the longest time, he’s believed that he needed to kill the pull to the light yet here it is stronger than ever before.

taglist: mitsuhkai antoniamarie1989-blog haylaansmi @leilei-draws

[howtohero]

#296 Return of the Starter-Villain

Hello How To Hero Heads! Today we’ve got some exciting news to share with you, we’ve finally hired a new supervillain correspondent: Everyone’s favorite lameo starter-villain, Smuggles. Say hello Smuggles. ||Hello Smuggles.|| Sheesh, this guy. I know, I know you must be shocked that I even allowed this to happen. Many of you will recall that I never signed off on, approved of, or got along with our last supervillain correspondent, Dr. Brainwave (don’t pretend you didn’t love Dr. Brainwave like a son, I seem to recall you being incredibly broken up when he died.) but that was because Dr. Brainwave was like, a credible threat who posed an actual danger to us and who once genetically engineered a giant monster that ate me. But Smuggles isn’t anything like that, he’s like the lowest of low-tier supervillains. ||It’s true, I was once hired to smuggle several objects into America, including a TSA uniform that was my exact size, and I never even once thought to put on the uniform to make the rest of the job easier.|| You may recall how in our original post on starter-villains we mentioned that he was on the rise ever since he teamed up with fellow low-level supervillains, Perry the Pirate and Charlie the Fish-Whisperer to hijack a canoe. But we’re both please and dismayed to say that our prediction was wrong. In the past three years, Smuggles has made absolutely nothing of himself. ||I once accidentally turned myself into a bowl of ice cream on a hot summer’s day.|| That starter-villain team didn’t even last past that first job, Charlie the Fish Whisperer went on, as you know, to become one of the most feared supervillains in the world and we all live in fear of the day Chuck the Fish Whisperer uses his awesome powers to escape the prison dimension the world’s heroes trapped him in. And Perry the Pirate became a lawyer I believe. But Smuggles, man, Smuggles. He’s no threat at all, so I was thrilled to see his application among the many we received following Dr. Brainwave’s untimely demise. So, welcome aboard Smuggles. ||Thanks! I’m excited to share my villainous insider knowledge with your read-|| Yeah yeah, that rocks man. So, anyway, in honor of our new staff member, we’re going to take a look at what happens when your starter-villain returns. 

A starter-villain is, of course, the villain you fight on your first night out as a superhero. The costumed jaywalker whose swift defeat you use to springboard your career as a respected crime fighter. They will undoubtedly be the easiest villain to defeat that you come up against. As you become more experienced and proficient in superheroism, you’ll look back at your first fight fondly and laugh about all the ways the fight could have ended even quicker than it already did now that you’ve learned and grown a whole bunch. As time goes on and you fight more and more supervillains, eventually meeting your one true nemesis and a whole slew of other villains that you’ll tango with on a regular basis, you’ll even forget who your starter-villain even was. ||I’ve been a starter-villain to over 30 superheroes, and even though I send each of them a holiday card every year, I’ve only ever gotten one response.|| But, as Smuggles just demonstrated, your starter-villain will never forget you. And soon enough, once they’re ready, they’ll ensure that you never forget them again. ||The one response was from Hatman and he just sent a card saying “New phone, who dis?” Like, it was a postcard, a signed postcard. A signed personalized postcard. It said “Hatty Holidays!” and everything!||

It’s very possible that the starter-villain you defeated was also just starting out their costumed career. A crushing defeat on their first night is sure to sit with them, (supervillains being notoriously obsessive, dramatic, and good at remembering how they got their various scars), and they’re going to stew with that for a good while. Even if it wasn’t their first night of attempted-villainy, a defeat by a rookie superhero is sure to make them a laughing stock in the supervillain community. And you know what that means... ||Years of unanswered holiday cards||... revenge. 

Your starter-villain will soon come to see you as their nemesis. Even though you’re perfectly happy with the eternal battle of good versus evil that you’ve already got going on with your actual nemesis. They aren’t going to care that you’re already seeing somebody (off to prison in handcuffs). They’re going to want you for their own. They’re going to spend every waking moment of their life plotting against you. Taking the time to really learn everything there is to know about you. This is just one more reason why it’s so important to to make sure your secret identity is ironclad before you start your superhero career. Because as soon as you defeat your first villain, there’s going to be someone out there working to uncover who you really are. ||Honestly, most superheroes don’t even bother trying to keep their secret identity from me. Many of them have just walked up to me and introduced themselves like “Hi, I’m Joe.” It’s kind of insulting.|| 

For that reason you’d do well to keep tabs on your starter-villain after you defeat them that first night. Their quest for revenge will start immediately and their scheme is just going to grow more and more protracted and elaborate the longer you let things lie. If you’ve already lost track of your starter-villain and it’s been a few years since you’ve been a superhero, I’d start shoring up your defenses. The longer you go without hearing from them, the worse it’s going to be when they eventually rear their ugly ||that’s just rude|| heads again. So put out some feelers, try to find out what they’re up to. If you can’t track them down through your superhero network of contacts, you can even try reaching out to your nemesis to see if they can help. Depending on how obsessive and vindictive your starter-villain is, your current nemesis might also find themselves in your starter-villain’s crosshairs. If you literally have no idea who your starter-villain is, sorry, you’re just going to have be on high alert all the time. 

You may discover that your starter-villain has since turned over a new leaf and is actually now operating as a superhero or working with a superhero-adjacent organization such as the OPG. On the surface that makes sense, I mean, they were barely a supervillain to begin with. So the jump to superheroism is not as extreme as it would be for say Al “Da Boss” Marconi, or Karallaxus destroyer of worlds. But even though it might make sense for a starter-villain to have become a superhero, you must not believe it even for one second. Even if some part of a starter-villain truly wants to be better, you can be sure that an even bigger part of them actually just wants revenge on their starter-hero and joining the superhero community is just one of many increasingly inane steps in their protracted revenge scheme. 

The only way to truly dissuade a returned starter-villain from dogging you forever and always is to either die or pretend you did. Otherwise they will track you down and hunt you to the ends of the known universe. ||And don’t forget the multiverse, Chuck the Fish Whisperer may be consigned to another universe, but that doesn’t mean his hatred has diminished one iota.|| Exactly! A starter-villain will stop at nothing until they’ve repaired their reputation in the form of destroying the person or people who tarnished it in the first place. 

Defeating your first supervillain is an important milestone in the life of any superhero. Unfortunately, it is also an important milestone in the life of that very supervillain, whose life will become utterly subsumed by their embarrassing defeat at your inexperienced hands. Smuggles here is really the exception that proves the rule. ||Wait what?|| Normally, starter-villains become exponentially more dangerous by the time you next encounter them. So you must never underestimate a villain just because you beat them when you were a little kid wearing garish tights and you happened to be doing parkour near your convenience store right when it was being robbed. So why don’t you all take a moment now to check in on your starter-villain and make sure that you’re still able to beat them! 

(All right, that’s a wrap on How To Hero #296. Great job everyone, we’ll see you next week.)

||Um.||

(Oh hey, Smugs. Good work today I guess. In the future we all prefer it when the supervillain correspondent kind of harasses Zach a bit, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re a bit lackluster compared to Dr. Brainwave.)

||Oh well-||

(You know, I didn’t even want to hire you. I was gunning for Snipey McSkullface. That guy has style.)

||In the form of a skull face-tattoo, yes, I’m familiar with him.||

(Anyway, did you need something from me?)

||Er, yes. I was told that this position came with housing?||

(Oh yes definitely it does! You get to move into our super sweet basement! Right this way, follow me.)

||Thank you, it’s tough out there for a costumed smuggler. So I’m kind of in between homes at the moment.||

(Oh yeah? Wearing a distinctive bright costume makes smuggling more difficult? Who would’ve thunk.)

||Sigh.||

(Did you just say “sigh”?)

||So this basement...||

(Oh yeah! Dr. Brainwave used to live there, you know before he exploded, so a lot of his junk is still down there, but don’t worry we did our best to clear out the mutant alligators.)

||What do you mean you did your best?||

(Listen Smugs, at the end of the day mutant alligators will be mutant alligators if you catch my meaning.)

||I’m not sure I do...||

(Ha! Classic Smugs, anyway enjoy your new digs I’ll see you around.)

||Sure... thanks||

||Wow, they really left everything just as it was. All of Dr. Brainwave’s equipment and machinery is still here. This couldn’t have gone better... Now if I just fire up this thing ah, nope, that’s just a feed that shows what everyone else in this building is thinking about. Not what I’m looking for, but I’ll come back for that later maybe... Oh gross, you know what this thing should be burned. Now let’s see, shrink ray, precarious stack of explosives, ah! Here it is! The interdimensional warp gate generator. Excellent. Now, if I just power it up, and set it to the proper frequency. Yes... Yes! Yes it’s working! Oh now they’ll rue the day they disrespected Smuggles. Each of them will pay dearly for how they treated me... now that you’re back old frien-||

Hey, Smuggles? Oh good, Parenthesis Guy got you settled in, just wanted to thank you for your great work today and to check if you needed anythi- What are you doing.

||Oh Zach! Hello! What do you mean?||

Why is there a warp gate open in my basement? What are you doing with that thing?

||Taking my foul revenge on you and everybody else who ever slighted me! The world will crumble before me and my ally!!!||

Listen, if this is about the jokes, I’m sorry about that, but you really don’t want to do this. Trust me, this isn’t going to end well for any of us.

||It certainly won’t end well for you and all of your superhero friends. Ah, there he is. Welcome back, Chuck the Fish Whisperer.||

Oh... this is bad.

[archiveddvrpg]

Congratulations, ROSEY! You’ve been accepted for the role of FLORIZEL with an approved FC change to Kenta Sakurai. Admin Minnie: This application was like a special treat made especially for me, with everything I love in one place. You captured what makes Felipe both human and god, man and monster, poison and antidote. My absolute favorite part of this application was the way you likened Felipe to a human drug, I just about dropped everything and started screaming at that line — because that’s exactly what he is, and it captures his spirit so well. And that interview? Wow, you captured every layer and every complexity to his character with just a few questions. I’ve read this application six times now, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to stop; Felipe is a drug, indeed and so are you! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rosey !

Age | 22

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | Please describe how active you think you’ll be in a few sentences.

Timezone | PST

How did you find the rp?  |  Uh...I made it.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Here you go!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Felipe Antonio Castro / Florizel

• An FC change to Kenta Sakurai would be greatly appreciated -- I changed his last name to reflect his change of ethnicity as well!

What drew you to this character? | There’s something about the volatility of Felipe that I think I fell in love with. There’s a heavy theme of drugs that is interwoven into his biography, and I think it is very fitting to say that the worst drug is Felipe himself. He makes you fall in love with him, gives you that taste of playfulness and fun, the little trip that you need to get hooked, but then slowly and surely something rotten begins to set into you. When you slip your hand into his, there’s a thrill of trepidation that follows the action. At the edge of his smile, you begin to notice a dark curl to his lips that whispers of something a little more foul. You catch him watching you in the odd glances here and there, as though he’s waiting for something to unfold -- and it’s then and only then that you realize you’re obsessed with him. That you can’t let go of him. The problem is though, that you’re chasing after a ghost. And there is nothing -- nothing -- that will drive you more insane than chasing after someone you can never truly capture. Felipe is always slipping through your fingers, dancing at the edge of your grasp, intangible and driving you half-crazed with the inability to have him.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1. REVELATION -- He has hidden in the shadows for so long he has forgotten what it feels like to have his face shine in the sun. Sitting still has never settled well within him, especially with a soul so restless and the first step to shedding the shackles of his many sins. I think, true to character, the revelation of his life will be an impulsive, spur of the moment revelation. However, there are a couple of things he would make sure he has up his sleeve before announcing his resurrection: a passport, enough money to live comfortably (he has his eyes on some place like Greece), and a quick means of escape secured. He does not quite like the thought of Valentina upstaging him and stealing his thunder, but wouldn’t it be fitting, after such a melodramatic death he’d have a resurrection that would rival Jesus’ himself?

2. REDEMPTION -- Falling in love is no small thing to scoff at and for Felipe it was pivotal. It awakened something that was eclipsed for the majority of his life, this inkling of kindness and nobility that was forsaken in his quest for obsessive adoration. It’s hanging there at the very end of his biography, an opportunity for him to redefine himself  as a man that is more than a collection of his worst decisions. I see a path that is laid out before him that will be tedious, heart-wrenching, and hard but the end is ever-looming and always in his sights. He will need to do the unthinkable and earn the place that he had long-occupied in her heart, become worthy of it so that the memory of the dead man she had loved is  not something she thinks about only in shades of blue. The way I see this happening is for him first to cement a connection with one of the mob’s high-ups (likely Genevieve since he would want to be close to Paola).  He would have to reconcile for his many, many sins and this would be a long term plot that would involve Felipe having to unlearn many of his natural inclinations but...it would be worth it.

3. RECOMPENSE -- I took a lot of inspiration from the character Frenchie for this -- but since he has habitually consumed a lot of drugs, I think he has learned a lot about them. It would be an interesting study if the Montagues tried to test their drugs on him, to see what they could do to prolong the effects of the ambrosia and make it more potent while figuring out ways to curb the come down, but also maybe give him an opportunity to study the drugs that undo him, to learn about them and maybe with the proper tutelage come up with something new for the Montagues. He is a sharp, wickedly cunning man - he has to be in order to slip through the once-thought iron-clad grip of the mobs, so who is to say that he wouldn’t use his talents in such a self-serving manner that could prove profitable to the Montagues? Or the Capulets if things happen to pan out in another fashion. He has to atone for his sins somehow, doesn’t he?

4. RECKONING -- In the case of NEITHER of the mobs accepting him, it’s clear that he has become a rather formidable force himself. He knows how to work around the mobs, knows their ins and outs, their secrets, their weaknesses, their weak links. Should neither of them serve his needs the way that he wants them to, Felipe has in mind to make himself the go-to person if people need information, a smuggler, or a hitman. He’s a jack-of-all-trades and master of -- well, all of them, if he does say so himself. Though killing people makes his hands tremble and bile rise in his throat, he does what must be done. He rather enjoys the thrill of smuggling things in and out of the city, though, and cannot help but feel like a cat with a canary caught in its mouth whenever he learns new, invaluable information. Perhaps this is an eventuality or maybe it’s a lofty dream. Regardless, he knows he has the capacity to stir the city into a frenzy if he so wishes. It would require a great amount of effort, though...so here’s to hoping, he won’t.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Just try and stop me! >:(

IN DEPTH

His leg is slung over the arm of the chair, cigarette in hand as he waits for the girl to set herself up. His eyes flickered over her face subtly -- if he looked at her too openly she might think that he was interested in her, which would only make her feel as though she were worth his time and energy. And he didn’t want her to think that, not quite yet. She was cute, with a little button nose and wide eyes that gave one the impression that she was a bit younger than she actually was. It was the way that she handled herself, though, that gave her age away. The woman’s posture was impeccable, she carried an over-the-shoulder bag rather than a backpack and pens, a recorder, and a journal rather than a notebook. Details, details, details. His gaze caught for a half-second on her hand as she set her items onto the table. There was a band around her finger, a strip of skin that was paler than the rest.

Either she was recently divorced or didn’t care for people to know she was married.

Felipe -- no, what name was he using right now? Marco.

Okay, well, Felipe thought that Paola was much more preferable company -- and frankly, Marco had eyes, so his opinion was the same -- but she was working right now and he needed a way to pass the time while her shift was ending. Students tended to frequent the place and this Graduate Student had asked him to help her with a journalism exercise -- nothing more than a profile on no one. He had been assured that this project would mean nothing and she’d probably get an A regardless, but still. Having his name penned into a book with black ink was a type of permanency that he didn’t care to have haunting his thoughts.

He took another drag and tilted his head back as he expelled the smoke from his lungs. The waning sun shined in his face and he basked in the warmth.

“Marco?”

“Hm?”

“What’s your favorite place in Verona?”

Sighing, he combed a finger through his hair, contemplating on what kind of answer Marco would give. If it were Felipe who were answering, he would say that he had rather enjoyed the Roman Baths -- getting high there while listening to music was an experience that brought him nearly as much peace as waking up to Paola in the morning. Marco, however, was a little bit more basic than Felipe was. Marco enjoyed historical sites, books, things that would make girls like the one sitting across from him swoon.

She probably fantasized about one of her professors. Maybe he could give her a taste of that fantasy -- as a gift, from him to her.

“Think I would have to say the Roman arena,” he answered with an apologetic grin, as though it were embarrassing to admit such a thing. “A bit nerdy, but it’s a historical site that I don’t think gets enough recognition. At night it can be haunting, when the mist settles low and the moonlight shines overhead. You could even imagine that the mist takes shapes and the souls of the gladiators are there, waving their gladius’ and throwing their spears.” There it was, that bit of testosterone that she was probably craving, to reassure her that he was a man of books, but he knew how to handle her in bed.

Her lashes fluttered, as though she were a little taken aback by that -- although, from the flush of her cheeks, it was in a manner that leaned weighed in Felipe’s -- Marco’s -- favor. A slow, lazy smile dragged along his lips at that, but she was too busy taking notes to notice. He shifted, foot propped up on the seat, elbow resting on his knee.

“Uh huh, and what does your day typically look like?”

“Well, I used to wake up to my wife, but then circumstances changed,” -- he was careful not to look at her, head bowed as Marco suddenly becomes interested in a well-worn groove on the wooden table -- “and now I wake up, go for a run, brew some coffee, shower, and go to work. Then I  go to a bar across from the Castelvecchio, read and people watch for a bit, then call it a night and head home. Nothing too wild or interesting -- those days are far behind me.” Marco had answered the question genuinely, but Felipe was interested to see if she’d take note of the trail of breadcrumbs he had left her. It was evident that Marco was a man of routine, maintained healthy habits, and liked the quieter aspects of life, but dealt well with change. Also, he was quite comfortable in the bustle of a bar, but preferred to watch from a distance rather than openly engage.

When he looked at her, she was leaning forward, pen still against the notebook. There was a curl to her lips that hinted at a smile, as though she were charmed, but sympathetic to the new routine that he had to learn. He wondered if he should mention that Marco had adopted a dog recently, but maybe he would pull that one from his sleeve later.

“That sounds lovely,” she chirped, suddenly realizing that maybe she had been staring for a little too long. He didn’t mind at all, but Marco did. So he smiled bashfully, looking down and fiddling with the ring on his thumb as though he needed to distract himself.

“It’s a slower pace for things, but it was needed. A little peace and tranquility is underappreciated, I think. And when I want a change of pace, I like to take trips here, to Rome. Different, more interesting people are out here. Like you.”

Ah, she seemed to like that a lot. A shining, bright laughter flew from her lips and he let his own mingle with hers.

“Sorry,” he demurred, grinning. “Couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it. Continue on.”

That was a little too assertive. But maybe it would work, he thought. She should know that Marco isn’t one to shy away from someone he’s interested in. After putting up with her significant other for so long, she might need someone to chase after her for a bit and maybe this could hint that he was more than willing to do the work necessary to hold her attention. He had to play this carefully, though, he didn’t want to seem overeager. Most women didn’t find that attractive.

“Right -- cosi, this is a more intrusive one, apologies --  what has been your biggest mistake thus far?”

“You don’t think you can be kinder to me?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Damn,” he murmured ruefully, shaking his head. He quieted, as though contemplating the question.  Felipe didn’t like to think that he made mistakes. Sometimes the decisions he made had unfortunate consequences, but was anything really ever a mistake if it was predetermined? Not that he believed there was a holy order to anything -- it was simply more convenient to think that when things didn’t quite go the way that he had planned. But sometimes, when he woke up with a thick tongue and a storm raging in his head, muscles aching and cramping, his skin sticky, and coated  with a light film of sweat as Paola stared at him anxiously...sometimes, he did think that his lifestyle, as a whole, as a mistake.

Marco’s answer was easier, though, and far more romantic.

“Letting my heart get carried away,” he said softly, melancholy twisting his tone. Marco/Felipe rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes downcast. “Not letting my head reason with it more.” There was more truth in it than he cared to admit. His heart was what had guided him for so long, ravenous and relentless. Demanding, demanding, demanding. If he had let his head wrestle with it more, perhaps, then he wouldn’t have the cravings that he did, have the inexplicable penchant for a life of brutality and crime. Sighing, he shrugged, making it clear that his thoughts began and ended here.

Gently, she continued on with her questions, ducking her head a bit to meet his gaze. She wanted to engage him in eye contact so that he could know that she was listening, that she cared.

God, Paola’s shift couldn’t be over soon enough.

“So, then, what has been the most difficult task asked of you?”

“Learning to recognize what was best for me and act on it.” Long-winded lies were easier to swallow when they were peppered with the truth, and the sincerity of his tone surprised even him. He wasn’t going to elaborate on it, but he would let the woman draw whatever conclusions she wanted. “You’d think that once you realized that someone -- or something -- was bad for you, you’d immediately try to quit it, but…” Felipe/Marco let it end there. His gaze drifted away from his interrogator’s watching the people that walked here to and fro, living their quiet, mundane lives. Content with living in a tepid existence. Never knowing a taste of revelry, worship, and glory. Truthfully, though, he should have recognized after his first kill that maybe this life wasn’t always meant for him. The thought had been buried six feet under, because it meant that he would be able to live the life he wanted -- adored and whispered about as though he were a legend in the making.

Then he had met Paola.

And fallen in love with her.

Ah, fuck, maybe that was his mistake.

...Marco?

“...Sorry! Sorry, apologies, got caught in my own head.”

“I just wanted to know, since you’re from Verona, what are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

“I don’t think you should ever ask someone from Verona that.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was a sensitive --”

“No, it’s alright, I might actually be one of the few people that you could ask this question. The war is a waste. The people of the city are terrified and tired of fighting for a cause they can’t even remember. There needs to be some sort of definitive change because, eventually, there’s not going to be any blood left to spill.” Huh. Odd. He didn’t have to lie as much as he thought he would have with this question. The city was tired, as were the people, as was the cadence of the war. They needed someone to go in and shake things up a bit, maybe spice things up with a little intrigue and mystery. He’d see if he was bored enough to do it -- but for now, he was more than happy to bask in this little paradise he had found for himself in the arms of a delicate woman he would easily go on a bended knee for. Not now though, he wanted to wait a bit. But eventually.

The woman handed him her number as the interview began to draw to a close, idle conversation clearly something that she thought Marco would enjoy. Felipe didn’t much care for it, but he continued with the niceties until she began to look at her watch. The moment she turned away, he crumpled up the paper and tossed it into a planter, covering his mouth with a lazy fist as he yawned, standing up and stretching himself out as he made his way over to the bookshop.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he frowned.

Only Paola had his number, except for one other person in Verona --

“Fucking hell.”

EXTRAS:

THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT FELIPE CASTRO

1. For years he has perfected the following accents: British (posh), Australian, Spanish, French, German, and American (Southern). For years he regularly went with the Spanish accent to make himself seem more enticing to people and when he met Paola he said he was born in Italy but raised in Spain. He was rather proud of himself for that one and would have kept the accept for the rest of his life if it meant that she would take his name.

2. When fighting, he tries to knock people out rather than kill them. Though it makes things slightly more difficult, he loathes robbing anyone of their life. One would think it would get easier each time, but he has found that it gets more difficult every time he does it. There is a routine that typically follows the act: his hands begin to shake uncontrollably and the next day he finds himself incapable of leaving his bed. After the 24 hour period he buys a rose and throws it into the Adige. So far he has bought 6 red roses and 1 white rose.

3. Felipe is a natural at chemistry. He enjoys it and probably would have gotten a career as a chemist if he had continued his education instead of teaching himself, but he finds the structure of academia boring and tedious. Learning topics at his own rate is far more preferable and allows him to consume things at his own rate -- although he does find himself writing what he learns in journals. In these same journals he practices different styles of penmanship so that, should anyone read the books, they’d think it was passed between multiple people.

4. His bambinaia was from Germany and sometimes he would slip up and accidentally call her mama. He keeps a picture of her in his wallet. A stupid, sentimental thing to do that will probably get him in toruble, but Felipe can’t seem to bear the idea of parting with it. The only person he had shown her picture to was Paola, and even then he couldn’t bring himself to elaborate on their relationship. He acts like she’s dead. It’s easier that way.

5. He prefers reading poems over books. They give much more insight to a person than a five hundred page book ever could.

CHARACTERS SIMILAR TO FELIPE CASTRO

1. Jet -- Avatar the Last Airbender

2. Frenchie -- The Boys

3. Flynn Rider -- Tangled

4. Luke Castellan -- The Percy Jackson Series

5. Theon Greyjoy -- Game of Thrones

[spectraspecs-writes]

Tatooine - Chapter 82 (Jolee)

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 81. Chapter 83.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

——————

But it’s a long flight. And I have to find something to do. The first thing I tried to do was access the archives on Dantooine to look into the terentatek, but the archive’s computer locked me out of pretty much everything. I could get a picture of a terentatek, which doesn’t do me any good since I’ve already seen one. And it told me about reports on Korriban, which I already knew about from Guun Han’s journal. I don’t see the point in locking information away. What happened to “there is no ignorance, there is knowledge”? Well, if there’s an academy on Korriban, maybe they have archives I can get to.

Bastila isn’t up to talking, not after yesterday night. She’s spending a lot of time with Canderous in the swoop hanger. Well, I hear them more than I see them - they’ve set up a little area of sorts behind the swoop where they mumble softly to each other. Probably more than mumble. But that’s none of my business. If she’s happy, more power to her. I can’t work on HK, either. Mission found a shooting program in him that lets her practice with a gun turret, which frankly is more useful in the long run than solving the mystery of where he came from. I can’t really tend to any of the things on my mind.

Which leaves me camping out in the main hold, with nothing but my racing thoughts to keep me company. Jolee pops in and chuckles at me. “Bored out of your skull, hmm?”

“To put it mildly,” I say.

“Let me guess - Carth has his mind on his son, so as much as you want to talk to him you can’t. Bastila and Canderous are all but joined at the hip. And you can’t work on the droids because you’ve misplaced your tools.”

“Two out of three, not bad. I’ll never misplace my tools.” I sigh and move my hair out of my face. “Guess this isn’t like those adventuring days of yours after all, huh?”

“Did I say anything about that?” he asks, mocking forgetfulness, “Strange the tricks memory plays on you when you get older.”

“Come on, old man, I’m bored!” I say, “You don’t just tease me with a story and then dangle it in front of me like a kath hound with a steak.”

“I’m not here to alleviate your boredom!” he exclaims, “No staring at the old man, that's what the sign says, dammit! And besides... you don't really want to hear about me. You’re only talking to me because there’s no one else to talk to.”

“That’s not true at all!” I say, then I add jokingly, “I could go talk to Juhani.”

He laughs shortly. “We're talking ancient history,” he continues, “probably before you were born. History bores kids. Proven fact.”

“Oh, yeah?” I say, “Well old people love to talk about history. Proven fact.”

He laughs again. “Oh fine, fine,” he concedes, “have it your way. Just don't cry about it later.” Never. “Yes, yes, I was an adventurer,” he says, sitting down near me, “Happy now? I wasn't even done with my Jedi training back then. I had a full head of hair and an eagerness to see absolutely everything. Sound familiar?” I suppose. “The Council was never very happy with willful, brash Jolee Bindo, you see. Even less so when I began my smuggling career.”

I stifle a chuckle. “You were a smuggler?” I say in dubious disbelief.

“Don't look at me like that, dammit!” he says with a gentle smack, “I wasn't always the wrinkled coot I am now, you know. I can still fight, too, so wipe off that smirk I see there.” He shakes his head a bit. “At the time the Ukatis system was interdicted by its own King. He preferred to keep his people starving and poor, all the better to oppress them.” Asshole. “That’s what I thought, too.” There he goes, getting in my head again. “The Senate was trying to negotiate a peace, but they were getting nowhere as usual. I decided I wasn't going to wait. I found myself a ship and a partner and we began smuggling food and supplies to the Ukatis citizenry through the blockade.”

“Alright! That’s badass!” I exclaim, “Blockade running - that’s dangerous stuff.”

“Oh, it was,” he agrees, “I was a half-decent pilot in those days... and with the Force guiding me, we made it through some tough spots nobody else would have.”

Really? I don’t know why it never occurred to me to use the Force to be a better pilot. I’ll have to keep that in mind. “So where’d you get all the supplies from? Obviously the Senate or the Council didn’t give you any credits to buy any.”

“Well, we didn't buy all the equipment, per se. Some were happy to donate goods. Some we just, ah, knew had more than they could use…”

“You stole it? All right!” Who knew such a badass was living on the forest floor of Kashyyyk?

“'Stole' is such a harsh word,” he says, “They would have donated those goods readily enough if they were compassionate. I considered it a tax on the greedy.” Badass! My kind of guy. “We only got caught once. A lone Ukatish frigate shot us down and forced a crash landing. I thought the Force had abandoned me, as I remember.”

“What happened?”

“Well, as it happens, getting shot down turned out to be very fortunate,” he says, “That day was the day I…” 

And then he just trails off. “What?”

“Well,” he says haltingly, “that… that was the day I met my wife.”

Whoa, whoa. So that’s how he knows about love, that’s how he’s made his opinions. “You were married?”

“You know another way to get a wife?” he says brusquely, “But, yes… that's when I met her.” He stops again. “I... If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to stop talking now.” What? No! “My mouth is starting to draw flies.”

Uh-uh! You’re not -- no! I need to hear more. I bend down to pick up a passing gizka. “Here - for the flies.”

Much as he doesn’t want to, he laughs. “That’s disgusting,” he says between laughs. When he manages to stop laughing, he sets the gizka back down on the floor. “Really, I- I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Jolee, I don’t mean to pry, but…”

“Yes you do,” he interrupts, “You may mean well enough, but my private affairs are just that: private.” Then he points at me, like he’s about to become a finger-wagging old person. “Let me tell you something,” he says, and I can tell he’s got a powerful point to make here, “Once you've lived as many years as I have, you'll have yourself a long, long list of memories. If you're lucky, most of them will be good. If you're not, some will be bad. If you're really unlucky, some will be so bad you never want to be reminded of them again… ever. You'll go far away, to a place that doesn't hold any memories at all. And there you'll be happy just to forget and be forgotten.”

“Jolee, I want to hear what you have to say,” I say, “I need to.”

“Need to?” he repeats, “I hadn’t figured you to be the type to seek advice from a so-called ‘wise old Jedi.’”

“And ordinarily you’d be right,” I say, “But you know what’s been going on in my head lately. I’m getting conflicting opinions and I have no idea what the hell to do about it. Normally, I’ll just stumble into a situation and figure it out from there. But if I make a bad decision here, I could lose a very good friend and I don’t want to do that anymore!”

He just sits and waits until I calm down a bit. Just sitting and looking at me, calmly. “All right?” he asks when my breathing gets a bit more regular. I nod. He nods too. “Let me ask you this,” he says, “Have you ever been in love? Truly in love, I mean, not just simple infatuation.”

“I…” I think for a minute. “I don’t know. I think so, but…”

“Exactly,” he says, “You're still at the beginning of your life. There will be men in your life, perhaps many men - women, too, maybe - but if you're fortunate you'll find love once. The Jedi, with their damnable sense of over-caution, would tell you love is something to avoid. Thankfully, anyone who's even partially alive knows that's not true.”

“I’m not sure, though,” I say, “I mean, Bastila’s warnings seem like an overreaction, but she wouldn’t have anything to say about it at all if it wasn’t a thing, right?”

He waves off the notion. “Love doesn't lead to the Dark Side,” he says, “Passion can lead to rage and fear, and can be controlled, but passion is not the same thing as love. Controlling your passions while being in love -- that's what they should teach you to beware. But love itself will save you, not condemn you.” Then he shakes his head. “Ahh, but listen to me go on as if I had all the answers. What do I know of love anymore? I'm just a lonely old man who's not even a Jedi.”

“No, I told you, I want to hear what you have to say,” I say again.

“You do, do you?” he says, “I wouldn't listen too closely. I'm no authority on anything. I just think that the greatest things in life shouldn't be avoided because they come with a few complications. Love causes pain, certainly. Inevitably love is going to lead to as much sorrow and regret as it does joy. I suppose there are perfect, eternal loves out there, but I haven't seen any. How you deal with the bad part of love is what determines your character, what determines the Dark Side's hold over you.”

Take that, Bastila. She’ll never say Jolee’s wrong. I don’t think she could bring herself to. “So…” I start to ask, “what happened between you and your wife?”

“Nice try,” he says, “I haven’t changed my mind, I’m still not going to talk about it. You go and tell Carth if you want to know love so badly.”

“As if I’d do that right now.”

“I'll tell you one thing: sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you and the one you love simply aren't meant to be together. The trick is to know when that is, to know when it's time to fight and when it's time to part ways.” After a moment, he huffs. “There I go waxing philosophical again. Somebody blast me already! Get going before I start talking in riddles, dammit!”

Well, that was very reassuring. That clinches it. I’m going to tell Carth.

Eventually, I mean, now isn’t really a good time. However he feels he won’t feel it now. Now he’s focused on Dustil, which is totally understandable and I don’t want to distract him, I don’t want to split his focus, I don’t want to do that to him. He’s in dad mode right now, and to try to put him into boyfriend mode would be an ill-fated endeavor. As any droid tech knows, you don’t try to introduce new programming if the old programming isn’t finished being executed. Once we’ve found Dustil and dealt with that, maybe then. 

But I have no idea how to go about telling him. I’m really not good with words. I’m way too wordy when I speak all the time, and when I get stressed out it’s even worse. I stammer, my words are full of “I mean”s, “like”, false starts, it’s not pretty. Sure, I can get the point across, but the efficacy depends on what the point is. If I’m trying to explain that we need to avoid a certain hill because we don’t want to run into what’s on the other side, then I can do that. Professing a persistent, undying love? Not the sort of thing I can easily express through words. Which could prove to be a problem because I don’t know if Carth will understand if I put it any other way. Like if I ask him to hold on to my droid tool kit for me - that would be huge on my part, because I don’t let anyone hold my tools, never have. They’re mine. But would he understand the importance of that? Would he understand that I wouldn’t let anyone hold my tools unless I trusted them, really trusted them? Or would he just think I was asking for a favor? If I hugged him from behind, or even just took his hand, would he understand what I was trying to tell him? Would he understand what that would mean for me? Or would he just think it was a hug? I don’t know. I don’t know how I could make him understand that I love him without outright saying it, which would take me forever and it may not even end up that clear.

I wish there was a way I could just show him. If he was a Jedi then I could just show him, send it right into his head. He could feel how I feel, I could feel how he feels. No words, no nothing. Just the Force between us. But he’s not a Jedi, so that’s not possible. Well, not as far as I know. It’s nothing Master Zhar told me about. It’s easy enough to know what someone else is feeling, especially if they wear their heart on their sleeve. Getting an emotional vibe is something I was doing before I even knew I was doing it. But for one thing, love is a lot different than happiness or confusion or fear. It’s more complex. It feels complex, anyway, and it’s very transient. Like, sure, I love Carth and nothing can change that, but I don’t feel it in the front of my mind all the time. For another thing, transferring your own feelings is not a thing if the other person isn't open to receive them. Carth doesn’t know how to open that door. He’s not a Jedi, he never would have learned how to open that door. And even if he did know, I wouldn’t know how to ask him if he knew how to open it without saying why.

God, this is so frustrating. At this point, I’ve basically spent hours meditating about it. Trying to figure out exactly how I want to approach it. I finally stand and head towards the cockpit to check the map, see how far we are from Korriban. About seven hours. I look a little further - Carth has fallen asleep in the pilot’s chair. God he’s cute. Troubled bunny man. T3 has taken over piloting, interfacing with the console. After accidentally staring at Carth for God-knows-how-long, I pat T3 on his little droid head and leave. I need to get some sleep before we get to Korriban.

Is that Canderous I hear in the swoop bay still? This late? And… Bastila, too? Sounds like they’re - ahem - having fun. But that’s none of my business. I don’t want to know. I just want to get some sleep.

[truthbeetoldmedia]

iZombie 5x13 "All’s Well That Ends Well" Review

Hello friends, are we ready to say goodbye? I was a little nervous coming into this finale, seeing as there was so much to wrap up, and therefore...much to mess up. As a result, the pacing was indeed a little strange, but some minor characters get some hero moments, and it was all setting up a final ten minutes that essentially functioned as an epilogue that sealed the series. 

Okay, let’s dig in. Enzo has taken over Fillmore Graves and has declared war on humans. Dolly and her people have responded in kind, going around New Seattle taking out high ranking zombies. While gunfire rains over the city, Ravi, Clive, and Liv are returning from Atlanta with the vial needed for the cure. 

Even though it’s risky, they choose to fly to get back faster. Liv’s plane seatmate is suspicious, insisting she’s seen Liv before. Even though the official heist is over, the trio show they still have a few smooth moves, and manage to slip a sedative into the woman’s drink so she’ll stop asking questions. As she sleeps soundly, her iPad drops to the floor of the cabin. She must have figured it out right before she’s knocked out — the flight attendant picks up the device and sees the browser is open to an article about Liv and her work as Renegade. 

When the plane lands, the flight attendant pulls Clive, Liv, and Ravi from their seats and introduces them to a Portland police officer. After a brief moment of anxiety, the flight attendant reveals they are siblings, and Liv saved their younger sister’s life by smuggling her into Seattle and turning her into a zombie. The officer offers to escort them to the Washington border as a thank you, and in hopes they can get back to Seattle quicker. Clive is happy to hear this, as he gets a message that Dale is labor with their baby. 

Major turns himself in to get a shot at securing the Max Rager, and luckily he still has one more ally back at Fillmore Graves. Lieutenant Collins has always been a steadfast supporter of Major, and she truly comes through in his hour of need. She helps him get past Enzo and his lackeys so he can get to the precious energy drink needed for the cure. As a result, Enzo executes her. Lieutenant Collins was always a background character, but she was one that I always respected and appreciated, and without her, Major wouldn’t have been able to make it out of Fillmore Graves alive. We’re pouring one out for her tonight. 

Meanwhile, Peyton is still being held hostage by Blaine. She helps the Freylich kids make a distraction by conking him over the head, and tossing the keys to Oliver, the older boy with a terminal illness. He drives the getaway car, but Peyton doesn’t quite make it out with the rest of them. The Freylich smuggler shoots at Peyton, and while she takes him out, he gets her too. Blaine runs out to see Peyton bleeding out on the ground. 

The kids make it back to the safe house, just as Liv and Ravi are arriving. When they realize Peyton didn’t return with them, they get emotional. Ravi nearly falls apart before Liv reminds them they have an important job to do. She tells Ravi to get to cooking the cure, and she would deal with Blaine. She promises to show no mercy. 

Luckily, Blaine’s obsession with Peyton serves her well in this instance. He turns her into a zombie and forces to eat a meal with him. It’s pretty incredible Peyton has survived this whole series without becoming a zombie, but I guess the virus comes for everyone eventually. Unfortunately for Blaine, he should have been more calculating about the brain he fed her. Don E watches Peyton while Blaine goes to visit the well on his father’s property (the one that also used to serve as his father’s prison). Don E is delighted when Peyton has her first vision, but in a dead-panned voice, she tells him she saw Blaine suffocating a girl with a pillow, wearing a wedding dress and calling for Don E. While we still never see the true circumstances of Darcy’s death on-screen, I’m more inclined to trust Peyton’s version of things than Blaine’s. It’s the last straw for Don E, who storms to the well and unceremoniously pushes Blaine in. “No one was ever going to love you,” Don E screams down the well. “I’m the only person who could stand you, and you killed my fiance.” Liv shows up just in time to see the show and she hesitates even less. She hurls a rock at Don E and her aim is true. Don E goes in the well right after Blaine. “Enjoy eternity together!” she sneers, just as she bursts into tears, grieving Peyton. One has to wonder, if this was all that it took to get rid of these two, perhaps it should have been done a long time ago. It certainly would have saved Liv a lot of headaches. I find that even though it was a simple death, it was a deserving one for Blaine and Don E. I was hoping for more of a redemptive moment for Don E, but it took him way too long to see the light, and he’s been complicit in Blaine’s schemes since the very beginning. By the end, he was a richer character, but still an evil one. I’m okay with those two being a little closer to hell now. 

Besides, it was all worth it for the moment right after. “How funny would it be if now I knocked you in,” Peyton says. Liv turns around to see her best friend, and the two reunite in a sweet hug. This moment made me a little emotional. These two college buddies have morphed into two very capable and clever young women, and they’ve been by each other’s side through the worst of it. 

Blaine and Don E may be out of the picture, but we but we aren’t even close to the end yet! Clive and Dale deliver a beautiful and healthy baby. It essentially takes them out of all the action, but I thought, for better or worse, it was a strong choice. I was glad I didn’t have to worry about either of them dying in the eleventh hour, and they were able to watch everything from their television screens without being in danger. 

Ravi finally creates the cure, and he and Major dramatically roll up to the local TV station. After a brief attempt at convincing Johnny Frost to take the cure, Major takes matters into his own hands.  “I’m here to prove to the people that it’s over,” he says. He strikes a deal. Major will take the cure, and Enzo can shoot him in the chest in front of everyone. If he dies, it proves he’s not a zombie. It’s just the kind of stupidly heroic thing that Major would do, and Enzo takes him up on it. Major takes the cure and Enzo shoots him more times than can be counted. It’s traumatic, and they really had me believing that our boy was probably dead. Ravi tackles Enzo and manages to cure him. Graham, who had been sneaking around the background the entire episode, appears and shoots Enzo in the head, avenging his boyfriend. A Fillmore Graves officer takes him out, and chaos breaks out. RIP sweet teacher Graham. Outside the TV station, there’s intense gunfire being exchanged between Fillmore Graves, Dead Enders, and Dolly’s CHICS. Inside, the power goes out. 

Ravi crawls over to what appears to be a lifeless Major, while we listen to a voicemail he left for Liv. He says goodbye because he doesn’t think he’ll survive his latest world-saving stunt, but she’s always been the love of his life. Just when I was beginning to choke up and start preparing for a life without Major Lillywhite, he softly croaks, “You tricky son of a bitch, what was in that syringe you gave me.” Ravi admits that he gave him a vial of straight up Max Rager, but promises him that “next time, it’s all yours.” 

Liv is back at the station, bawling while listening to the voicemail and believing Major is dead. Strangely, Michelle comes into the morgue and asks Liv if she’s okay. The moment is brief and someone breaks into the morgue and sets off a huge explosion. And then suddenly, we are ten years into the future. 

At first, I was a little let down. This is absolutely the easiest way to wiggle out dealing with the aftermath of Dolly, the other fringe human groups, and all the other plotlines that iZombie didn’t feel like it wanted to deal with neatly. We don’t get to watch how Seattle apparently “repopulated, rebuilt, and rebranded” as we hear in a moment later. But my frustration was short lived, as the last ten minutes were devoted to my beloved core characters that I adore so much. 

Clive, Peyton, and Ravi appear on a virtual reality talk show, where a charismatic host asks them questions about their lives after the cure. As three people who had a front row seat to the events, the host wants to get their perspectives. It’s revealed that none of them stayed in New Seattle after the war, but they all went on to have very successful careers and marriages. Ravi and Peyton are a married couple living in Atlanta, she’s a lawyer and Ravi is head of the CDC. Clive and Dale are co-captaining San Francisco PD while raising their kid, as well as Michelle’s. Besides their lives prospering, the world has recovered from this chapter of history. The cure was distributed, and while some were cured, some are still living full lives as zombies. Dolly is still out there, but not causing trouble as far as we know.  While this is all lovely and good, this show really makes us sweat here. Where are Liv and Major? The host wants to know as well. The three of them insist that they are both lost to time, legends in their own right, and they miss them just as much as anyone. Liv died in the morgue’s suicide bombing, and while Major never lost hope that she’s alive, no one has seen him in ten years. They’ve accepted that Liv isn’t alive or that Major will never resurface, America will have to accept it too.  

Unless...

We see a flashback of Major returning to the safe house with the kids, and Liv meeting them there. They reunite with a passionate kiss, and even though things are still burning and they are covered in dirt and exhausted, things are right again. 

In the most “happily ever after” ending the show could have possibly delivered, Liv and Major are living their lives in private, in a huge mansion by the water, with all their little zombie children. Their friends are well aware of this, and are protecting them from the world at large with their reunion interviews. After the host disappears, Liv and Major appear in the virtual reality space, and after some light teasing amongst the group, they invite Clive, Peyton, and Ravi to their personal zombie haven. “All it takes is a scratch,” Liv says with a knowing smile. 

This show tackled more than it had a right to. It was convoluted, goofy, strange, exhausting, whimsical, outlandish, absurd, dark, and hilarious, all at the same time. But what grounded it at the center was the fact it never forgot about its core cast. At times they were given unfortunate character arcs, undercooked plots, and under-serving love interests. But in the end, we saw who they truly were. Ravi, the scientist with a moral compass. Peyton, the lawyer with clever smarts. Clive, the captain with a discerning spirit. And Major and Liv, the nurturers and protectors of zombie-kind, the best mom and dad friends you could ever ask for. I can’t express how happy I am the show ended with these five, standing tall and in love with each other, looking well-rested in paradise. It wasn’t an easy road, in fact sometimes it was a very frustrating road. But when I remember iZombie, I’ll remember it was a show about heroes, good over evil, and a really, really good meal.  I’m always going to have a soft spot in my heart for it. 

Stray thoughts 

“She’s googling The Good Place. She thinks I’m Kristen Bell.” “She’ll be sorely disappointed.” This gag was straight up gold. 

Those flamethrowers seemed especially cruel? Fire doesn’t kill zombies, but sure seems to be painful 

Collins, Graham, Oliver, and Michelle. All minor characters this season that had a Moment this episode. While most of these characters were overall underutilized in this series and season, I liked how each of them were used to tie things together. Oliver was the only one who made it out alive, however, and the rest of them definitely deserved better.

Did the suicide bomber think that blowing up the morgue would prevent creating more zombies…? That’s the only reason I can think why blowing up a fridge full of dead people could make sense. 

Wait this actually reveals a strange plot hole. Is there a limit to how long you’ve been dead before you can be scratched and be a zombie? I don’t remember this question ever explicitly being addressed. There was never an instance where anyone considered creating a zombie army from Liv and Ravi’s morgue.

Clive and Dale named their daughter Olivia. My HEART. 

Even though Peyton was okay, I’m glad we got to see Major comfort Ravi. Their bromance is truly one for the ages. 

“The way I make my decisions these days is asking myself what would Liv Moore do.” This couple is THAT supportive ship. 

I wish we had gotten better promo photos for this finale, or at least some more variety of scenes 

Even though it’s a little thin to believe that some people never turned back human and there are zombies still peacefully living among us (as well as Liv and Major, living outside), I actually didn’t mind it. They had to have some way to wrap up the problem of people who would die if they turned back into a human.

“I do miss you, partner.” “Vice versa, Clive.” Wow, ten years without Liv’s antics. I imagine that Clive’s productivity at work has gone way up, although I’m sure he sorely misses her crime-solving visions.

That’s a wrap for iZombie. What did you think? Favorite brains? Worst plot holes? Best shipper moments? Let me know your thoughts! 

Haley’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝.5

[crqstalite]

SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch.14

bit of filler so no one thinks khaak has actually been Kidnapped.

-

BA'SHIRA._ZIOST.

This was going so well, only about forty eight hours ago here on Ziost. Almost two days. For two whole days, she could say that it really was going her way for once. The first time Ba'shira had been with any sort of real family in literal years, and this was how it was going to end? Really? Cooped up in an old apartment and praying that Mako would pick up her holocom and she didn't know, maybe answer after she'd pinged her sixteen thousand times? A cheap apartment on the west side of New Adasta was not supposed to be her tomb, and no Sith was taking her down that easily. She'd taken quite a few in the past, century-old Emperor or otherwise it really shouldn't have been that different or difficult.

Except apparently she wasn't the sole target this time around, which made things way more complicated than they should've been. Not like her typical visit to Nar Shaddaa or Hutta with plenty of headhunters on her tail hoping to capitalize on a bounty that was years old at this point. Instead, the entire planet was going down with her in rakghoul-like glee. Yippee...

It wasn't nearly as fun as it should've been, really. Not as fun as her mind had made her think it was going to be, at least. Hyping up the trip to the Imperial homeworld was the only way to get her mind off of everything (well that made it sound like she was actively being hunted -- which was always). Torian was on a hunt with some of his friends from another clan, and not wanting to be the clinging wife she despised watching on holodramas, she'd decided to visit some of her own friends without making a fuss about it. Mako was gone, off with her boyfriend of a few months (a certain Cathar that she didn't trust as far as she could throw him) and Gault was out being Gault (what that entailed, she wasn't sure and definitely didn't want to know). So she decided that she just had to find a distraction of her own somewhere, with someone else preferably.

That being past Captain J'nell Wryen of their small party of then bounty hunters and smugglers (Thara had always preferred the term 'free traders' while they were travelling but Ba'shira would always call them what they were), and she'd come to pay the aging woman a visit. Well, aging was a strong word, the woman still looked like she was maybe thirty instead of nearing forty-five, but that was beyond the point. Beside drinking together and sharing stories of old and new jobs, it was a comforting time for Ba'shira to be around. Life day was coming up rather soon too, so the other goal was to find something for the crew in the marketplace if she could. If Torian was reconnecting with old friends, well there was no reason his cyar'ika couldn't do the same. Still fuming he didn't invite her along to begin with, but she digressed. By blood, she wasn't Mandalorian (apparently they didn't tend to care as long as you didn't break their code of honor, it still bothered her sometimes, feeling inferior and whatnot), so maybe it was a sort of thing you didn't invite your non-Mandalorian wife to. She'd never know, pride and all getting the better of her.

Didn't mean she wasn't frustrated, their anniversary and yes, the Wookie holiday were both coming up and she'd wanted to spend the days leading up to it with him, but she figured she would be as bad as those women in the holodramas if she begged him to stay back all for her. She knew just how happy and ecstatic he was when he brought things back for her, and another fur rug was never a bad thing in their home. Knowing her cyare had brought it back for her made it all the more sweeter.

She was much overdue for a little me time anyways. How long it had been since she'd laid back, knowing she wasn't on the run and no one was looking for her or needing her with a glass of Corellian whiskey in one hand and a holocom in the other...she did not know. That would have to be remedied more often, the warm feeling that spread through her body as she chuckled and hiccuped with the woman was something she hadn't experienced in what felt like forever. No talk of running anywhere, just them and learning about what the other had been up to in the years past. The woman had been here for years after she'd left their little smuggling crew, hoping to find the twin infant girls she'd spoken so highly of for so long. It'd been a fruitless journey, one that J'nell was still on apparently.

Ba'shira didn't have the heart to tell her that after nearly twenty five years, that it was probably worth giving up the search. As cold-hearted as it sounded, if she and Torian ever had a child (and that was a very big maybe that she had stuck a pin in since they'd been married) and they disappeared for two decades and then some years, it felt right to just let the path go cold. Holding onto things when it was healthy anymore -- to say the least she had some experience in that field. Maybe it was because she wasn't a mother, so maybe she wouldn't understand the grief just yet, but she still didn't want to help J'nell do anything regarding Mellena and Mivonie. Too emotionally draining, and it was taking up a lot of the two days that they'd spent together before everything went to shit. She was here to relax, not get caught up in a conspiracy that had been apparently active for more years than she'd been alive. Not even to mention that they surely had their own lives by now, maybe they didn't want to be found. A look around the apartment didn't immediately say 'welcoming mother' either. As much as J'nell had raised her, circumstances changed, and she couldn't imagine any kid really being happy in a repair shop of all places.

Still, what holorecordings J'nell had left after their birth, Ba'shira could begin to understand why she was so upset. One of them had been around until she was a toddler, and the little voice that she could hear over the botched audio surely struck a chord within her everytime she heard it. The kid had energy, and was surely a bright light in the dim evening years. Poor girl, Ba'shira found herself wondering what she ever got up to. Or if she was even still alive. That part she didn't tell J'nell. She may have had her doubts about everything she was doing but she wasn't a total asshole. But for some reason sitting silent on the couch as the woman ran herself ragged, talking offhandedly about the same subjects over and over again with pieces of armor, tools and whatnot surrounding her, well she felt worse about that. Not much she could do other than just twiddle her thumbs either.

They'd be older than she was by now. Two years, nearly three. Both force sensitive, both just as blonde as the Sith in the holocom that a very drunk J'nell showed her, tears streaming down her face as she cursed the man multiple times and recounted every single horrible thing he ever did to her. Had the man not already been dead (it was galactic news for a while after everything with the Sith went down, and the Wrath had taken one of the better bounties right out from underneath her; would've netted the crew of the Orchid enough credits to trick out the ship again) he might as well be now. If not for the credits, then just for plain revenge on what he'd done to her friend. Why J'nell was only just telling her all of this now in such a fuzzy state was anyone's guess. While they'd been together when she was little more than a lanky teenager with a penchant for fire on the Clarity, she'd never known the full story. In fact, J'nell had been much less willing to even tell the whole thing in the first place, yet here she was now, clutching the holocom in her hands and sobbing that Xalzon hadn't ever treated her right.

Ba'shira could've told her that, but if she wanted support through all of this, that's what she got. Least the woman was a talented armorsmith, she'd be leaving Ziost with her beskar repaired and ready for whatever battle took place next. The repair shop had been the one level-headed idea that J'nell had in all those years, though she shut it down shortly before joining the crew on the Clarity for some reason or the other. A spunky, thirteen year old Ba'shira with a love for the color pink and flames probably would've been able to tell someone, but tired and sleep-deprived twenty two year old Ba'shira couldn't even remember to eat some days, much less remember any of the finer details about her old captain. She picked the business up again a couple years ago, and that's what they were above as she thought now. Didn't see too many customers in the current climate, but it brought in enough credits for her to have a nice place in the city.

That reminded her, wondering about the fates of Zhonani, her partner Aethreen, Thara, her young son Axis and even Khaak, as many differences as they had.  After leaving once the crew was disbanded at absolutely horrid teen age of sixteen, to say that she was -- that she felt alone was an understatement. She had missed her found family dearly in the years past (and had to return to Rwenne and La'anthra saying that they had been right about her needing to stay around), but after she'd been swept up into the Great Hunt at Braden's request two years later, that had become the furthest thing from her mind. Now they were entire mysteries to her. J'nell had been a lucky find, as she'd still had her old com code and it still worked to her surprise. Beyond that, she was grabbing at straws and hoping they were the right ones.

She missed her found family. Much as she loved the crew of the Orchid, it wouldn't ever be the same and she knew it. Still, the little victories would have to do for now. Such as these moments she was able to spend with her. No one ever knew when they'd die, and for someone like J'nell, that could be just about any day now with her drinking problem and how bad it had gotten over the last couple of years.

Also, because fate was a total dick, at least to her. All of this had really started two days ago, give or take in the middle of the night. At least, it'd finally hit their part of New Adasta.

The middle of her damned beauty sleep. The Emperor really had the nerve, huh?

First the screams had woken her up into a panic, startling her into thinking she was back on Hutta or something. Thinking someone had broken into the apartment, had already killed J'nell and they were then coming for her too. Sleepily reaching for her blaster and taking a shot at who she then discovered to be J'nell in the kitchen because she had been so spooked, she had managed to calm down when a return shot nearly hit her in the darkness of the apartment, knocking a holophoto behind her off-kilter from it's place on the wall, crashing to the ground with sound of it falling apart on impact just behind her. That was a moment that she'd bury in the corner of her mind until the day she died, as J'nell flicked on a light with her dilated blue eyes with fear wavering out of them.

Well, the years surely hadn't taken their toll on J'nell's aim. That was a welcome surprise. Well, it would've been if it didn't nearly take her out in cold blood.

So the scream hadn't be the older blonde woman's. That was a relief in itself as she apologized to the woman hurriedly and dashed out onto the balcony with J'nell on her heels as another one rang out in the night. At first Ba'shira can't see anything, and is convinced that maybe it was part of a dream or hallucination. Still, with how shrill it had sounded she didn't want to give up on it that quickly, afraid it meant something worse. How close it had been to her own mother's scream that was etched into her memories from her childhood years spooked her. Scanning the area, the darkness of the night cycle keeps her from really taking in most of the situation before she sees a blue lightsaber light. The plasma's light is enough to illuminate the situation, and she covers her mouth with a hand in horror as someone's body is stabbed through with the lightsaber. J'nell's hand finds her shoulder in the darkness, attempting to gently yank her back from the balcony and back inside. At first, Ba'shira stays, held in place by fear as the lightsaber wielding person continues on, slashing through the rest of the person's party with unadulterated rage.

Weren't Jedi supposed to be the hypocrite good guys? Why would they just be tearing through people like little more than fodder for their lightsabers? Not that Ba'shira ever wanted to support them, she didn't care for force-wielding matters but it was odd. Scary even. Unusual, wrong and downright weird.

They turn upwards once they've finished with who is before them, maybe looking directly up at where she was standing. Ba'shira couldn't see where their gaze landed, but J'nell just knows. J'nell yanks her backwards with some sort of motherly strength back into the apartment and just far enough away that when the lightsaber makes an arc through where the bounty hunter had just been standing, Ba'shira watches in wide-eyed horror to where her corpse would've laid on the ground. Hurriedly J'nell makes for the curtains, shuttering them closed over the balcony's windows.

Her eyes are bloodshot. Maybe she's been at this longer than Ba'shira has, awake longer than she has been. Reacted to the screaming far faster than she had. Hopefully not kept up by nightmares or the buzz of caff, but the cups that litter the table and the datapad that's still glowing dimly on the table say otherwise. They'd talk about her obsession with finding Mellena and Mivonie at another date, but the only words out of her mouth are a pure, condensed few words to tell exactly what's bouncing around in her head, "What the fuck was that, J'nell? Not sure I'm liking your part of town as much anymore."

She runs a hand through her hair, flickering the lights back off one by one until Ba'shira can only see the woman's silhouette with the dim office lights shining onto much of anything. Ba'shira isn't put anymore at ease in the silence, all except for the buzzing of the holoterminal nearby, "I don't know, Shira. I really don't. Blazes, if I would know any better I'd say that was a Jedi out there. Jedi aren't ever on Ziost...Ziost is Imperial territory."

"You think they are now?" Ba'shira asks, picking herself up tenderly from where she'd been thrown onto the ground. She wants to walk back up to the window, look back outside, let her curiousity take the better of her. But the stricken expression on J'nell's face keeps her from doing otherwise as the woman sits delicately on the couch. Too delicately. Any other day she'd flop down on the worn thing but now...now she sits there with her head in her hands. Wound up probably, but as she leans back her eyes that she can just barely see gives her entire story away, "'Nell, you know something, don't you?" Ba'shira asks, concerned.

"No...not much more than just rumors. And rumors can't ever be trusted, right?" J'nell asks tiredly, pulling a half empty bottle of whiskey out from under the table, unscrewing the top to take a swig before Ba'shira rips the bottle away from her. The look of pure betrayal, of need is evident on her face as she swipes for it with a tired arm. Usually her reflexes are better, but her arm is also shakier than usual, "Shira."

"No more. This," She gestures to the bottle, "and this," she gestures to the datapad and everything else that covers the table. A picture of a blonde toddler looks up at her with surely bright blue eyes just like her mother, and Ba'shira can't help but roll her eyes, "All this goes away until you give me an answer. You always have an in, 'Nell. You always have, and I know that look in your eyes. You know something I don't."

"There have been...rumors that the Republic is planning to invade. Made it down the vine the last couple of days. All that stuff that went down on Yavin with the Pubs? Chances are that won't last very long. Treaty of Coruscant is already in shambles because people can't sit still anymore, the Republic is already starting their push on Balmorra again. Only seems fitting they'd attack here next, especially as some big fancy show of power. Can see galactic headlines now, 'Republic takes the Gateway to The Empire'. Can I have my whiskey back now?" J'nell says, quickly and longwinded before she tries to take the bottle back again, standing this time. Ba'shira has no height on the other woman, so she gives up and hands it back, "Why I'm like this, kid? I ain't got anything left anywhere. After the Clarity, you think things got better? No. This has been my home for years, and to just see someone die out there? Hell, it just might be my time." J'nell shakes her head, slowly sipping at the liquid with disappointment in her eyes.

"Does the Empire know? Not that I'm interested in helping them, but I don't want the Republic paying my bills." Ba'shira deadpans. Not much else she can do on that front, she and J'nell know loss like an old friend who's always there for the rainy days and nights that nothing else matters. She shakes her head after she takes in what J'nell had just admitted to, "Do we need to get out of here? Is there a chance there are more Jedi like that one crawling over Ziost with all their weird Force powers?"

"Hey, I'm not military or Intelligence. Take that up with Miss Beniko, new head of Intelligence last I heard." J'nell responds, looking moreso at the now half empty glass bottle than her company, "Just rumors. It'll probably clear up within the next couple of days. As you'll learn about us Ziostian folk, we don't exactly let our friends and neighbors just die on us without a fight."

As she goes back to bed, Ba'shira wants to believe that. There are plenty more screams that night, she knows because she can't go back to sleep. That's a horrifying sight, even though she has seen plenty other Sith go about their business. Mierrio comes to mind, their time on Makeb flickering through her memories. But those were pirates, pirates who were horrible people and killed folks for their own gain. The person who'd just died down there...maybe they had a family. Friends. People who cared about them.

And they'd just died.

It doesn't improve into the wee hours of the morning when she's considering finding her own bottle of alcohol to help her sleep as she hears three more screams over the next few hours into when the sun rises over the planet. She gets three hours of sleep within that first day, and that day is the day when everything goes to shit. The screams get louder. She goes out for J'nell to the market and just barely makes it back with her life and a week worth of food. It logically doesn't make any sense, and it wasn't just Jedi -- in fact she didn't see another one until a week later. Common people, the military, hell even Sith had lost their minds and took out whoever walked in their path. If It wasn't for J'nell's extensive knowledge of not only the underworld and back roads in New Adasta as she was literally running to survive the next few minutes, there was no way she would've made it to the apartment without suffering a few injuries or even losing her life. The first time she employed a grappling hook in her entire life was that day, and while exhilarating to watch the world pass by underneath her, it was also terrifying in a way she didn't want to experience ever again. The red mist that seemed to evaporate off the people who were going mad...it was so unnatural, and that was coming from Ba'shira, who had definitely seen some shit while working for Sith in the Citadel. She'd never seen this before.

Com connections started to waver halfway through that day. When she'd gone to contact the Orchid and arrange a pick up for later that night, nothing had gone through as it should've. Static, some basic communication but no visual. Almost no audio. She and J'nell discovered it was due to some communications tower being down nearby, entirely destroyed earlier in the day. It explained the explosions that had jarred her throughout the entire experience, at the very least. And with just about every civil brain cell down in the city, there surely wouldn't be any repair crew coming in.

Ba'shira was not having any fun, now that much was clear as day, as redundant as the phrase got she was sticking by it. Stuck in an apartment with an alcoholic widow with people screaming throughout the night? Please. This was supposed to be an outing she was supposed to enjoy. If this was all some elaborate plan by the Imperial government to flush her out of hiding (wasn't unheard of, it'd nearly worked on Alderaan just before Gault smelled something off about the whole thing and subsequently got them off the planet before she was thrown into the slammer for any arbitrary amount of time), it was not going to work. She'd probably blow herself up tinkering with the holoterminal before that happened. Intelligence was a slippery bunch, but considering how many times she'd carried out operations (bounties with a much higher price on them) for the secretive branch of Imperial government, she'd like to say she could sleep with one eye open instead of both when she was on Imperial-sanctioned soil.

Except now both are open. Closing them seems like way too much of a security risk right now. And that isn't a chance she should really be taking.

Just the night before she'd been sleep in the room J'nell had provided for her, unconsciously tossing and turning between being halfway awake and her eyes closing on her. Finally a few 'just passed out in my clothes' instead of actual sleep hours, before yet another attack happened. This time she was slower getting up, quieter grabbing her blaster out of it's holster on her thigh and slipping out of her room. J'nell must've still been out cold, because she faces this threat by herself. No sounds of entry on her first scan of the room, nothing had been touched. Picking her way across the room, something glints out of the corner of her eye. Whirling around, she takes aim before realizing it's just stray piece of durasteel armor. Imperial, the red and black staring at her ominously.

Pushing the curtains aside, all she sees is black at first, before stepping backwards and looking up. She stifles a scream before they hit the window hard with the butt of their rifle, a male Imperial soldier now that she looks properly. He tilts his head sarcastically, a red Zabrak with cuts all over his face and his eyes the color of white bantha milk. A smile that is much too stretched, too forced to be anywhere near natural. Without his helmet too, meaning he'd lost it at some point before this and the Emperor hadn't bothered to retrieve it. He bangs against the window again, this time with more force and she reminds herself immediately that she was not here to gawk in awe. Cocking the blaster, she wonders how he even managed to get up so high, considering J'nell lived on the twentieth floor of the apartment building.

Stars, if they can fly now, she thinks sarcastically, deciding to observe the situation as long as it warranted. What was the rule of thumb again? No quick movements? That worked with rakghouls about one out of four times, that one time being when she'd first met Torian and she was covered in their entrails. Her hand hesitates over the door handle, considering. She can't shoot him through the transparisteel, that would shatter it and probably get her kicked to the curb. Not to mention if he got up here, that meant plenty of others could as well. And that would leave J'nell with a biting breeze through the apartment.

He bangs against the transparisteel again, and she backs up. If she closes the blinds maybe he'll leave, she thinks stupidly. She sees a hairline crack in the material, and she knows she has to make a decision fast and now before he does it for her. With one fluid motion, she throws open the transparisteel window. He's too slow to take aim for her, and when he does, she's already moved and he's shot J'nell's holoterminal.

Well, she'd pay for it later. Not like the shop didn't bring in any credits to get her a brand new one.

Ba'shira prided herself on being a quick draw artist, and it came in handy as she makes quick work of the situation, shooting him quick in the thigh of his armor. Distracted by it for just a moment with the sheer force of the blaster and being in such close quarters, she manages to slip around and knock him backwards in quick succession. Leaning against the guardrail, she figures he'll have one hell of a headache in the morning before he kicks him over with a final thrust of her leg into his chest. Brutal, yes, but the job is done. The spookiest thing is that she can't hear him scream if he does. Other than the whistle of cool wind playing with her hair, it's quiet. Much too quiet. For a planet dying, she figures there should be way more noise.

There isn't even a loud thump she can hear. A part of her hopes he hit a snowbank or something. Looking around, she finds that the balcony has a small bridge connecting it to another apartment. She curses, finding another one on the opposite side. They'd have to watch for invaders from that direction too.

There is some sound though, about twenty minutes later as she tries to explain to J'nell how her holoterminal had gotten shot in between the fifteen minutes of sleep she'd gotten. The sound of gunshots picks back up in their direction, fires raging below them. Today isn't a day to go out then, especially with Jedi and now Republic troops wandering around in an Emperor-fueled acid trip. Republic forces had arrived that night, and other than the occasional gossip and naysayers from the neighbors of the small apartment, there weren't very many answers to find. No one knew why they were here just yet, or even when most of them got here exactly. Under the cover of darkness, anything could happen, and it seemed that the Republic rightfully took advantage of the confusion and sent them down here. Her bet with an older Togruta next door was ramping up to one hundred credits that the oh so wonderful Chancellor Saresh had something to do with it all.

Ba'shira intended to win. And with everything going on that side of the galaxy, it seemed like in the worst way, she was right yet again.

Then, she and J'nell wake the third day after the chaos started. Ba'shira intends to finally sleep, it's quiet enough to and she's just snuggled into bed when she hears the window open again. Of course, it's open. There was a crash not that long ago, and J'nell is getting overly curious about them all. To report back, of course, to compare it with other crashes they'd witnessed earlier in the week. She's just dozing off into nap land when the window opens again and something hits the ground hard. Not even bothering to pop up all that quickly, she prays it isn't a dead body that the woman has brought home this time. Worse, that it isn't J'nell's body that's hit the floor.

In her sleep clothes, she picks up her now well-used blaster (she'd just bought it a month beforehand, and now she knew it like the back of her hand with all the action she was seeing in a residential area) and slips outside her room. Scanning the area, J'nell is thankfully still standing, though has the grappling hook gun in her hand again. Stars, that means she'd taken a trip down to the streets without telling her again. She has her outside clothes on, with her electrostaff and other various weapons on her back and in her holsters. Ba'shira had told her earlier in her trip that against folks with blasters, she wouldn't stand a chance but the older woman stood her ground on the purchase, claiming that Xalzon had taught her a few techniques before he'd left. It probably helped that electricity was one of the functions. It did malfunction at times, but apparently nothing the mechanic couldn't handle. Ba'shira wonders just how many times she'd been shocked to hell and back and wasn't telling her.

She was talking to someone in a hushed voice. Great, now they had another roommate to look after. Or another intruder, but J'nell would've shot by now. Half dead then, is the idea she has about this new person.

"Nice place you've got here." A voice says, deeply feminine from in the lounge. Definitely doesn't have the same deep grizzle as the Emperor did, so she isn't on such high alert anymore. No one that's being actively controlled then. J'nell responds with something she can't hear, a grin on her face as the Twi'lek picks herself up off the ground.

"Welcome to the end of a world, kid." J'nell answers, before Ba'shira lowers her blaster. A friend from somewhere else in the city maybe, and she steps into the lounge to get a better look at the Twi'lek. She's tall, but not too much taller than Ba'shira is, and is wearing a ripped jacket, leathris pants and knee high boots. She hadn't seen many female Twi'lek without a headdress before, but this one collapses onto the couch in a heap with it in pieces in her pocket. Her eyes tighten closed, and blood dribbles out of many cuts along her face and lekku. She must've just managed to just barely escape the warfare down below with J'nell, because a few look nearly fatal and a bump is growing on her forehead.

"Shira, you probably heard me come in, huh?" J'nell asks, turning her attention from the woman for a moment, "So I know what I said--"

"No more people, please. How do you know the Emperor didn't take control of her too?" She asks in a hushed voice, "Everyone's vulnerable, he just hasn't turned his attention to us yet."

"Crashed outside in a shuttle, by the way. Your friend Cadera here saved me from certain death." A groan from the couch makes it evident that yes, the woman had heard her. She wheezes in another breath, and Ba'shira realizes that there's a lot more blood than she'd first thought (after she realizes that J'nell has yet again given her maiden last name to a stranger). The stains are growing on her jacket and cloth armor, a crimson red that Ba'shira isn't sure she wants to know just how much it's soaked up from her injuries. Surely she was punctured in a few places due to hitting the ground at such a high speed in a durasteel death trap, and one of the holsters is missing a blaster. A crash in a shuttle? Wouldn't she know not to be flying through this area, especially with the anti-air canons being the way they were? Better yet, Ba'shira's curious how she's even managed a shuttle to begin with. She shifts positions, pushing her lekku over her shoulder, "Can you turn the lights down? Like, all the way down?"

"The lights are down, Beniko." J'nell responds, making for one of her cabinets and rummaging around inside. Probably to find a kolto patch. Ba'shira wants to tell her that anything short of a kolto bath probably is going to do little more than just knock her out for a couple hours and make her wake up with one hell of a bodyache, "Just try to relax, yeah? Don't aggravate any of those wounds."

"Beniko? Like the new Minister?" Ba'shira asks, leaning against a wall and placing her blaster on a nearby end table before sliding into the lounge couch across from her, "You're definitely not the new one, are you?"

"Nope. That would be my wife." She responds, trying to open her eyes again. Ba'shira flickers the light over the lounge off, and pressing a button the console of the holoterminal to illuminate the small space. Bathed in the blue light, the woman has the brightest blue eyes she's ever seen once she's able to register what's going on, "Beyond the fact that I just lost her more than half a million credits in that ship, Lana is going to kill me herself for nearly dying."

"If your injuries don't first." J'nell says sarcastically, returning with her meager box of medical supplies, "I've got kolto patches, raw kolto, and painkillers. Take your pick."

"Thanks for that, Cadera." The Twi'lek responds, a gentle smile on her face as she reaches across for something. She strains herself too far trying to shuffle her jacket off, as she bites her lip and rubs the green sticky material over one of the cuts on her arm. Ba'shira doesn't usually shy away from serious injuries, in fact she had plenty over the course of her life, but Beniko's are a kind that she winces at, feels vicariously through the barely bitten back yelps of pain, "Ya'll have been living through all of this? Intelligence just came in today."

"We noticed." Ba'shira deadpans, flickering up a map of New Adasta onto the holoterminal, "I don't live here. I just got stuck here on a very unfortunate sleepaway trip two days ago."

"Got a name?" She asks. Ba'shira raises an eyebrow, considering whether or not to give it to her. Complete stranger (as far as she knows), wife to the Minister of Imperial Intelligence, the same Intelligence that keeps trying to hunt her down time after time for breaking a lot of laws in the past year alone...hard pass, "Hey, no offense at all. Can't keep calling you stranger though." She says after Ba'shira crosses her arms in defiance.

"I'd rather not give you my name, but you can call me Shira." She proposes, instead, deflecting the question entirely as news headlines scroll along the bottom of the map in a dizzying array of aurebesh, "What about you?"

"If we're all going by codenames," She stops to focus on managing a patch on her shoulder and a sigh of relief escapes her once it sticks, "Call me Captain."

"Her name is Khaak. You've been in a lot of tabloids lately, Captain. I was just reading about you before you crashed," J'nell responds, somehow managing a datapad in that amount of time. Ba'shira's attention has been piqued, swiveling her head at the pink Twi'lek in surprise, "Old article, but I can't believe I didn't realize it before when you first told me who you were."

"Article? Which one? The one from what, two years ago?" Khaak questions, leaning over the blonde woman's shoulder, "Oh yeah that is definitely old. I'll admit though, I looked pretty damn good in that tux that day."

"Khaak!?" Ba'shira can't keep her tone down, throwing her hands out in surprise, "'Nell, you're not more concerned that she's here?"

"You weren't aware? I've known where she was for years," J'nell responds, shrugging her shoulders, "The part about being married to a Sith Lord, that part is only relatively new, only maybe two or three years old."

"Who are you, anyway?" Khaak's attention diverts back to her, pushing a hand up to her head with a smile on her face. Nursing a headache then, "Shira?"

"Don't patronize me." She responds at the tone given. Sarcasm then, but she's beginning to put together the memories the two of them had before the Clarity's crew fell apart. She's gotten a lot older, though not old enough to have any visible wrinkles apparently. How long has it been? Nearly six years since she'd last seen her or anyone else for that matter. Now that she really thought about it, she had seen Khaak's picture with the blonde Minister a few times in some holomags while flickering around for good deals.

"Still spunky little Ba'shira, eh?" Khaak asks, chuckling before she doubles over actually coughing, or choking. Once she recovers, she still has that smile on her face that Ba'shira swore to wipe off her snarky face all those years ago after she'd been denied the ability to fly the freighter ship. And all the times the older woman had bullied her into accepting less than fair pay until she got smart about it, "You got somebody waitin' for you back home now, Ione? Figure you're a real catch these days."

"Yes." Ba'shira deadpans, grimacing at the use of her birth name. She'd changed it after joining the crew for a reason, and thankfully no one other than Khaak knew it. But it was also horrible because no one other than Khaak knew it, and could use it against her, like now, "And before you ask, no you can't have his name."

"Just trying to make peace, not war. 'Nough of that going around right now," Khaak holds up both hands, the same shit-eating grin that she immediately ties back to their last heist as a crew. Her expression falls after a moment though, "Any of ya'll got a ship out of here? I don't know when or if Lana can send anyone to come get me."

"If I did, we wouldn't be here." J'nell responds tiredly, putting her head in her hands and pulling the grappling hook out of her holster and down on the holoterminal as she looks over the Twi'lek, "Well, I would. Shira wouldn't."

"Damn straight," She interrupts angrily, "I ain't here by choice right now. Last couple of days haven't exactly been the best days of my life either."

"I figure. If it makes you feel any better, Imperial Intelligence is doing their best to clamp down on what's going wrong." Khaak says, pausing as she picks up her jacket again from the ground and rummaging around in the pockets for her holocom, surely. She swears under her breath, "J'nell, you didn't pick up my com by any chance, did you?"

J'nell averts her eyes, a clear answer of no. The Twi'lek groans, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees before immediately having to lie back again, "You think you can go back down there and grab it?"

"Pub patrols are probably coming through this area again. I don't know if they're shooting on sight, but I'm not taking my chances." J'nell responds, running a hand through her hair. She's right, patrols of Republic forces have quickly become more frequent and more routine in the last twenty four hours. Controlled or not, they are't friendly and probably would be willing to kill if given the chance or provoked in such a manner, "Give it another couple hours, then I'll go down for a quick moment and see if it's still there."

"I can't wait a couple hours." Khaak complains, putting a hand over her eyes to surely block out the light above her, "Lana's going to be looking for me, and if she can't on her own, I'm afraid she's going to tear through a city block to find me without a regard for who she hurts."

"Who let her be Minister then?" Ba'shira counters, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, "Isn't that like rule one of every major position with power? That you don't let your personal life get in with you business life?"

"If anything can't she put out an alert? Sure she can bypass any comm towers." J'nell gives her a warning look with her grey eyes, and Ba'shira rolls her own, "If not that, you're definitely staying put. At least until you can walk six feet without looking like you just threw back a liter."

"But--" J'nell's look yet again shuts another person down, and she crosses her arms. Not even a moment later, she makes another decision and it happens to at least be a good one, "Fine then. Intelligence has intel that the reason there are so many Republic forces on planet, including Havoc and Mayhem squad, is because a certain Theron Shan brought the Sixth Line of Jedi on planet a few days ago. Blah blah blah, Vitiate, or the Emperor, is rising again but instead of a force sensitive planet, he plans to kill everyone here so he has enough energy to start terrorizing the rest of the galaxy again."

"Sixth Line?" J'nell asks, crossing one leg over the other, blowing a hair out of her face and slipping the scarf off from around her neck, "I thought there was just the Green Jedi and the Order itself?"

"I don't know much more than you do, honestly. All this is just stuff Lana's brought home lately," Khaak confirms what she'd seen the other day with the Jedi outside. Then there were Jedi here, even if no one knew particularly why. Who even was Theron Shan? Shan sounded familiar, though she couldn't figure why right then, "I was supposed to be searching for him somewhere in New Adasta, but obviously I got shot down first. Did you guys see a ship coming down in the last couple of days?"

"There are ships and speeders and just about everything crashing these days. Not much to differentiate them all from each other, can't exactly smell Pub from here," J'nell says, scratching the back of her neck, "Plus, I'm sure Shan was on the run anyways, wouldn't be much evidence to find. This is Imperial territory anyway. Isn't like his type to be here."

"Of course, yeah. But it'd still be good to find him, he is essentially the ringleader of this mess." Khaak responds, "Not that we're friends at all, pretty sure they intend to just find him to get details on why the Sixth Line is here to begin with. If you two can help me get off Ziost and could help me dig up some dirt, I'm sure I could get you on priority evac."

Ba'shira perks up at the offer, shooting a look at J'nell that isn't reciprocated, "Priority evac, you say? What exactly would I need to do, bring him in cold or warm?"

"What do you mean, warm or cold? We need him alive to answer questions, Ione." Khaak says in that tone she despises, the one that makes her feel like she's thirteen again, "This is not a bounty by any means at all."

"Fine then." She huffs, and Khaak moves to tinker with the holoterminal, "Hey, what're you doing with that?"

"Seeing if I can connect it to anyone's com code. Lana's is encrypted, so chances are she wouldn't answer anything from here, but if I can get the Wrath's, she could probably lead me back to her," Khaak says, rushing forward again. She holds a hand to her head from the quick movement, blood spilling out of her nose in a red river. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and opens a panel on the opposite side of the machine.

"The Wrath?" J'nell's eyes widen at the title as if it's the most important thing she's heard all day, "As in the Empire's Wrath, number one on Imperial's World holomag as one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy?"

"You read a lot of tabloids," Khaak sounds mildly interested at this, though she's terribly stuffed up now as she holds a hand up to her nostrils, "But yes. Same Sith, for now five years in a row. Got one hell of a temper from what I hear."

"No wonder, with a title like 'Wrath'." Ba'shira commented as she gets up to circle the holoterminal and watches as the Twi'lek goes about her work. If there was anything to appreciate about Khaak, it was her nimble hands and how well she not only piloted, but also sliced things. Not nearly as good as Zhonani or Thara, but the skill was still there, "You're really about to go bothering one of the most influential people in the Empire?"

"If she wouldn't hurt Lana, she wouldn't hurt me. Don't worry so much, Ione." Khaak reiterates, "Besides, I don't know Nine's com code and not entirely sure I want to try hacking into that. Ain't lookin' to lose my head today or any other day for that matter."

"You've come to the wrong place if you're looking to hunker down and live, but I won't stop you." J'nell responds, pushing herself up off the couch and stretching, "It's nearly time for dinner. You hungry?"

"I could eat, yeah." Khaak nods, before stilling her head. She's got to have a pounding headache, and the look at her exposed back as Ba'shira tilts her head to take in the rest of the damage makes her wince. As mean as she wanted to be, Khaak had probably nearly died down on the streets from that crash. No sympathy was usually warranted for spacers, but Ba'shira's waning on that rule.

Still hurts, but she's yanked from memory lane as Khaak starts talking, "What was that?"

"Who's the kid? 'Nell's?" One of the holocoms with Mellena's earliest and only photo has flickered back on when Khaak had jostled it.

"Definitely ain't mine. Yeah, 'Nell's daughter Mellena. Why?" Ba'shira asks as Khaak lifts her hand from the sparking wires until she can connect them again.

"Looks a lot like the Wrath. Not much to go off of, obviously, but can't you see the likeness? It's in the nose and the lips, not to mention the eyes." She dives back into her rewiring, essentially leaving the conversation. For a moment, Ba'shira wants to scoff at the assumption. There was no way J'nell was the mother to the Empire's entire hope and future. Mellena had been taken by red Sith shortly before her six month birthday apparently, and then not a word after that as far as Ba'shira was concerned. The Wrath had never spoken of her parents to the public, but it didn't ever seem like the Amarillis' or the Quinns were red Sith. Not that she cared, of course, but it was a weird connection to make.

Ba'shira is ready to call Khaak out, maybe as just a joke, but under closer inspection of the wavering picture, she can unfortunately see what her previous Captain saw. She still doubts it, but even the implication hangs over her for the rest of the day.

After she was off Ziost, she could wonder about that. But for now, Theron Shan was her meal ticket off a dying world. He'd better watch his back.

[aliypop]

Be With The Stars

Wordcount: 2,179

A/n: So here’s a rewritten version Of how Alana became a smuggler and met han!

"Cantina... I've never been to one of those.." she whispered to herself, walking in she saw so many people of so many different planets that she couldn't help but stare in aw from taking it all in, 

"Your kind isn't welcomed here," 

Alana looked at the waitress a bit angry at what she just said to AL-1 "She's with me, " she never did understand the hatred towards droids they were the kindest things ever, at least that's what she knew her AL-1 to be, 

"You cheated!" 

"You lost the game, and you lost your -" 

" I wanna play.."  Alana said sitting at the table of what looked like a group of roughings, thugs, and well mostly smugglers,  but the person that stood out to her the most was a man wearing the most obnoxious colored cape she had ever laid eyes on in her life with a bright neon shirt to match it, her eyes were already studying the deck of cards although it wasn't like she had never played the game before,

"Why would a beautiful girl like yourself want to pla-" 

"Deal me in.," she smirked, tossing her tiara in the pot, "A Nabooian tiara.. nice steal there," Alana looked at the young man confused by what he meant as a nice steal when it was, in fact, her own,  

"Y-yeah stole it from the queen!" Alana smirked looking around the table, 

"The queen is dead, anyways what's your name," he said trying to change the subject, there was something about this girl that had a mystery to her,  

"Um... Lana Corge Clargo .." she stuck her hand out smiling,  

"Call me Lando," he smirked kissing her hand, a waitress walked by winking at Lando, "Get her a Jawa Juice," he whispered, Alana was excited already making friends, and she had just landed on the planet, playing the game Alana began to learn more about Lando, he believed in luck, smooth-talking, and lots of flirting, 

"So Clargo.,"  he smirked the two were the only ones left playing, 

"Yes Lando.." she smiled shifting through her cards, she had already won 2 matches, but this one was for the big win, "Ever won a big bounty before," he asked as her head shot up from her cards," No.." she ignored his question, 

"Why not go on an adventure.. go see the Galaxy.." 

"-23!" she slammed the cards down on the table, taking everything in the pot since, after all, she did win, but the thing that struck out to her the most was a pair of golden Corellian spike dice, "I could take the Naboo Impulse out for a spin.," she replied to him,  Lando looked at her, his eyes wide from what she had just said, every smuggler just about knew the existence of the coaxuim carrying machine that used to be named the Corellian Fury, 

"So you're Clargo's daughter," Lando smirked, "Well why didn't you say so.," he laughed as Alana rolled her eye's, "Because .. wait you know my dad," she blinked at him Lando nodded as the two walked out of the Cantina, 

"By the way, I like Corge better.." 

"Y-You do?" she stuttered, Alana was new to this and very naive to the ideas of adventure, but she knew that this would work out for her in the long run, or so she had hoped,  "It'll catch on quick," he winked, walking back to his ship, it was spacious bigger than a few ships she had ever seen, 

"So why Tatooine of all places to run away to," he asked flipping the switches on, as she found her ways into his assortments of capes and cloaks, " Moisture farming sounded pretty nice," she shrugged her shoulders, 

"And not the limelight of Royalty," he said as she poked her head out from the closet, "Pretty soon they'll be guards waiting for ya.." 

"I left that life when I got here okay!" she sat in the co-pilot seat as Lando stared at her, "What's wrong.." she asked looking up at him naive eyes looking at ones with more experience, " L3.. is not gonna be happy about this.." he mumbled to himself, Alana looked out the from the ships window seeing the stars, but this time it was different, they shined brighter than what she was used to, her eyes wide filled with the galaxy in them, Lando couldn't help a bit but to smile, 

"I take it you've never seen the stars before?" 

"I have just not like this,"  she then turned to look away from her wondering child-like eyes fading away, "It's different when you choose to adventure rather than someone choose them for you," she laughed, looking around,

Months had passed, and Lando and Alana had begun to understand each other or at least he had liked to think so, "Is everything okay.. you haven't been yourself since Bespin," she asked not wanting to get on his bad side, she cared about the gambler, but she didn't know why maybe it was their long talks at night or the way he would try to sweet-talk her, whatever it was she couldn't explain it and she didn't know-how,

 "I don't want to talk about it, Lana," 

"I thought you could trust me," she mumbled, 

"Lana in this business you can't trust anyone," he laughed, 

" You're too vulnerable to be a smuggler, You'll never be.."  he stopped talking as Alana looked at him brows furrowed "Never be good at it.." she growled leaning closer towards him, her heart shattered at what he was implying, 

"That's not what I was going to say.." he rolled his eyes at her, "But you're so quick to think with your heart and not with your head!" he leaned closer towards her, his hand around her waist pulling her more towards him, soft lips landing onto hers as she kissed him back, hands in his hair, pushing herself away from him,  

"I can't do this.." 

"Do what.." 

"I can't like you, I know you don't believe in me, and that's fine I don't need you!" she laughed at him, "I can do this myself, " 

"Fine, but don't come crawling back to me!" he laughed, "I never wanna see on my ship again!" 

"I never wanna see it again!" 

Lana was back on Tatooine with her droid, and so far things were going good for her when she wasn't on the run from bounty hunters and stormtroopers or smuggling spice for the Hutt mob and making runs for Voss, instead, she spent her time in the Cantina  playing Sabacc and drinking Jawa Juice, 

"Why the long face Corge.." the bartender asked, pouring her another drink, "You're in your prime, you're doing great, Hutt trusts you.." he smiled as she smirked a bit, 

"Yeah, I just want something more than just that though, an adventure ain't worth anything if you can't share it with someone.." she laughed,

"No one interest you,"  walking in was a Wookiee and a disgustingly handsome young man with a blaster on his hip, something about him, gave her an odd feeling, she just didn't know where to pinpoint it,

“You know, sometimes I amaze even myself,”  he smirked, he was charming and handsome, probably twenty-two at most,

"That's what you think," Lana mumbled under her breath, not caring if he heard her, his brown curls glowing like an angel, he must have been Corellian she could tell by how cocky he was, 

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the legendary  Lana Corge.." his eye's met in her direction, "Or the missing daughter of Na-"

PEW!

"Do you believe all rumors to be true Mr," 

"Solo, Han Solo," You've got good aim there.." he smirked lost in her eyes already, Chewie by his side, while her droid was right by hers, he looked like troubled, and she secretly loved it, she could tell he was new to the business, and she felt no remorse for him, 

"Trust lightly.." she smirked, "AL-1 let's go-", 

"Did you learn that from Lando.," he smirked, watching her stop in her tracks, her eyes were wide when he spoke the name, " What's it to you kid," she asked turning around to face him, "I should be calling you kid.," he mumbled, knowing that she heard him, walking away as he grabbed her by the wrist, " Let me go you nerf herder," she grumbled twisting her wrist out of his grasp, " let’s get one thing straight, I take orders from just one person.. me,” He whispered in her ear as she glared at him, 

"Oh, that really scares me.." pushing past him as she began to walk back to her ship, she had always loved it, the beautiful seats, the soft Nabooian touches, and her father's lucky dice a rusting gold color from all the times he used them, holding a small bottle of spice in her hand as she looked at her droid she couldn't help but smile,  

"We still got it.."  her droid speaking back at her, a smile on her face, starting up the ship, "Something's missing.." Han said, looking around for his prized smuggled possession, he was looking for the small bottle of spice that was in his vest pocket fuming with anger as Chewie laughed at the slight idea of who might have stolen the bottle, racing outside the Cantina, he had seen a ship, it looked much like the Corellian Fury, and he was sure that  it was,  

"This damn ship! AL-1 hand me a tool!" Alana shouted  under the control pannels as she hit her head "This ship is farkled," she mumbled under her breath, tired of the fact she had to fix up again, Han sat there listening to the younger woman cuss a slight smile on his face,

"Strong words there princess.."  Han smirked watching her brows furrow, "The spice where is it, I know you have it somewhere," he began to walk towards her,

 "I don't know what you're talking about." she shrugged, "You've got the wrong girl,"  laughing as she stood up, "And if I did do you know how much it's worth for Jabba to have it," she asked looking at Han, 

"Of course I do, that's why I need it!" he shouted as Alana gave him a sly smile,

"Then why did you lose it," she asked getting closer to him, 

"I didn't lose it, you took it," he growled, "And I want it back." cornering her against a wall, "You don't understand how important this is to me." Alana rolled her eyes, leaning under Han's arms to get back to fixing her ship, "If it's so important you should have hidden it better  Mr. Solo, " biting her bottom lip as she winked at him, "Even if I did have it, it doesn't mean that I'd give it back to you!" she squeaked feeling the hard wall of the ship against her back, "Is that so.." he whispered, his hand now on her hip. Alana grabbed him by the wrist before he could get it. She began to like how clever he was, very much a street smarts kind of guy and she knew she liked it,

I should kill you," he gave her his most charming smirk,

 " But you won't.. " she chuckled, 

"Whys that sweetheart," he asked her leaning in closer towards her,

"You like me because I'm a scoundrel, there aren't enough scoundrels in your life.."  Alana said pulling him by the collar, watching his eyes get wider by the second    Han stood there almost frozen thinking as if he might have just met his match,  and from what he witnessed he did, 

"I think it's time for you to head back to your ship Mr.Solo,"  she smiled looking up at him her back still pressed to the wall, "Now if you excuse me-" 

The taste of wine and strong remains of blood was stuck on the rough lips of Han Solo, Alana knew that deep inside she was enjoying the kiss, but she couldn't let him win just yet, she knew what he was doing and she was one step ahead of him, Han could taste the lingering remains of Jawa Juice on her breath, with the feel of lips smoother than any Nabooian fabric he'd ever heard of, hands resting on her waist finding the bottle, 

"Not so fast Mr. Solo we've only just met.." she laughed, pulling away,  "Maybe I could come with you," she whispered, "This is gonna be a big bounty, and I want in," 

"Listen, kid, I fly solo,"  Han smirked looking down at her, as she looked up at him, "Besides You'll get hurt.." he added on, seeing she wouldn't listen,

"Bruises add character besides you need a good luck charm.." 

"You think you're a good luck charm,"

"I'm experienced, and besides you'll need me, I'm quick on my feet and I never get caught-" the two stopped talking as they heard laughter,

"Shut it Furball!"

"Shut it you sack of wires!"