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not-neverland06 · 3 months

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Crash of Worlds

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Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The Ghoul x fem!reader A/N: After this there’s gonna be more canon divergence - this one’s short (rope divider done by @saradika-graphics , cowboy hat/revolvers done by @firefly-graphics) Summary: You’d been expecting everything to be different, people, to be different. But not like this. Not to such an extreme extent. Maybe the vault had softened you more than you’d have liked but there was nothing to do about it now.

The green canopy of the forest provides a welcome relief from the heat. You and Lucy follow the signs pointing the way to Filly. You hear it before you ever get to see it. There’s a distant sound of yelling and the murmur of people. It has your heart clenching in your chest.

You’re outside, breathing in real air, not oxygen from tanks. You can feel the breeze in your hair and hear people. It’s all you wanted for three years. Bud prepared you for a lot. But he didn’t prepare you for just how jarring it is to wake up and suddenly everything you’ve ever known is gone. You don’t feel the years you’ve been asleep. It was like it happened yesterday.

But you’ve had three years to come to peace with what had happened. You can’t let yourself get wrapped up in this feeling of nostalgia. The raiders that came down to the vault were proof enough that the people you’re going to meet up here aren’t going to be anywhere near friendly. You know this world has turned into dog-eat-dog, Lucy doesn’t yet, though.

She walks towards a large grove of abandoned cars. The paint has flaked off and the glass smashed in, but they’re not in horrible condition for being two hundred odd years old. You're distracted by the convertible she stands next to and you gasp.

You rush forward, hand smoothing over the hood and grinning at the familiar feel. “I-”

You cut yourself off abruptly and Lucy looks over at you, a curious smile on her face. “What is it?”

You shake your head, “Nothing. Just excited to see civilization again.” You give her a terse smile, hoping she doesn’t smell the lie. You’d almost said that it was exactly like your old car. But that would have opened up a can of worms you weren’t ready for.

She groans, linking her arm through yours and nodding. “I know, me too. The surface is definitely not what I was expecting.”

You sigh, glancing back at the car before stepping towards Filly. “Yeah, me either.”

The noise reaches a crescendo as you finally manage to make your way into the market. There’s still signs directing you further through the woods so you figure this must not be Filly yet. Probably just a little place where people tried to peddle junk.

A man lurches out at you holding out a kebab and grinning widely. “DOG MEAT!” You jump back in shock as he screams in your face. His eyes are unseeing as he waves the kebab around. “GET YOUR DOGMEAT HERE!”

“Oh, what the fuck?” You mutter, you didn’t mean dog-eat-dog literally. You notice you and Lucy getting odd looks and you finally realize just how much the two of you stand out. In comparison, you're both well groomed and much cleaner than anyone here.

Not only that but you’ve got the stupid Pip-Boy’s on your arm and vault suits on. You’re walking advertisements of “Come rob me!” You steer Lucy further through the market, narrowly avoiding a lizard meat stall and dragging her towards a tunnel at the end of the path. Filly’s just beyond and you shove her through the opening, eager to get somewhere where you might be able to find something useful.

You seperate with the promise to meet back up in the middle of the town square. You’re going to look for something to change into and she’ll find some information on her father. Should be easy enough.

He’s not supposed to be here. He’d gotten himself and all of his kind banned a long time ago. An impressive feat, considering how lawless Filly is. But no one’s going to say anything to him, no one ever has before.

Any other ghoul and they would have been dragged right back out before they could even put a foot through the tunnel. But he’s not any ghoul, he’s the ghoul. And no one in their right mind is going to be the one to start a fight they’ve got no fucking hope of winning.

He rolls the empty vial of RadAway around in his hand, hat tipped down as he waits for his mark to show up. Ma June, cantankerous old bitch that she is, always has good supplies. But she doesn’t sell to ghouls, and if he didn’t need her alive right now he would have shot her for turning him away. She’s a well known fence for fugitives and bounties. If his mark is going to show up anywhere, it’s going to be right here.

Most of the people who try their hand at bounty hunting do it for the experience. They get bored, not that he can fucking blame them. After a while staring at nothing but sand and chickens makes a man go a little crazy. They don’t understand that it’s all a waiting game.

Sometimes it’s an exhilarating chase, like a predator tracking down its prey. But more often than not he’s just waiting for a slip up. A mistake from whoever has a price on their head is usually what lands them in his hands. And the second this man decided to use Ma June as a transport was when he made his mistake. Everyone knows that Barv can’t keep her mouth shut for shit.

When someone decides Ma June can help them, everyone knows where they are. It’s a big bounty, enough to keep anyone with a normal life cycle sated for the rest of their life. For him, it’s all about the hunt. The wait, that look in their eyes when they realize they're trapped and there’s nowhere left for them to turn. He loves it when he’s got them cornered.

There’s a desperation to them that makes the capture all the more sweeter.

There’s two bright flashes of blue against the otherwise dreary countenance of Filly. He doesn’t look up much, still trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He sees one, brown hair and wide eyed as she takes in the sights. Fucking vaulties.

It’s been a while since he’s taken one of their bounties. Their tech was pretty valuable among surface dwellers and when one was spotted, which was rare, there was usually a good price on their head. He can only catch the back of the other one, her face blocked by a conveniently placed support beam next to him.

She stops by the clothing stall, waving her friend along and speaking to the woman who runs the booth. Good fucking luck to her. There was no haggling with that woman and her prices were fucking ridiculous. He wonders how long it will be until he sees those two on the poster in some bar somewhere. He’s sure when the time comes, he’ll enjoy taking them too.

His gaze goes back to Ma June’s shop, interest already waned in the rare vault dweller. They were never all that fun. Never had any good information and always had a stick up their ass about morals and being a “good” person.

Finally, his mark turns up. Blind to the danger lurking behind him.

You’re in a really shitty spot when the fighting starts. You’re overwhelmed by everything around you. Freaks in wacky ass clothes peddling their mutated animals and fucking teeth. Teeth.

Teeth and bottle caps, that’s the currency now. Who decided that bottle caps were a good idea? Or teeth for that matter. You’ve only got so many of them. You don’t even want to think about what they’re getting used for.

The woman in front of you only has four of her own left and she’s demanding three of yours for a shirt. You’re not well versed in the economy of the wasteland, but even you’re sure that three teeth is a ridiculous ask. From the way people keep glaring at you as they walk by, you’re sure that she thinks because you’re from a vault you’re going to be gullible.

You’re too caught up in your quickly escalating argument to realize what’s happening until it’s too late. A man stands in the center of the square, his back to you. You can tell from your view that he’s pretty badly burned, the skin around his neck and skull warped and twisted.

He’s yelling about a bounty and your head tilts in confusion. There’s something to the lilt of that accent that sounds familiar. You take a step forward, abandoning the clothing stall and trying to place how you know him. It’s impossible, really, that anyone recognizable would still be alive. But maybe someone else got out of a vault and made it to the surface. If they did, it clearly wasn’t unscathed.

It’s only when he pulls out his gun that you realize Lucy is standing in front of him, with the man that bothered her last night. You want to call out her name, try and catch her eye, but the last thing you need is him pointing that gun at you. You jump back in shock as he shoots the man’s foot off, eyes widening, and feet scrambling backwards.

The woman in the clothing stall hisses, “Fucking ghoul,” and makes a run for it. You watch her go, finally realizing just how empty the square is now. Everyone has left, all of them terrified by the man in black. Your eyes dart between him and the stall.

She’s gone, and you need clothes. You’ll deal with Lucy’s scolding later. You leap over the counter of the stall and begin to rifle through the woman’s stock. Stuffing any spare clothes you think will fit into your pack and just because she was such a horrid bitch, you steal her bag of caps too.

The crazy old lady by the shop screams out a reward for anyone who manages to kill the man in front of you. When the guns start going off you realize just how screwed you are. You’re in the middle of the town square. Granted, you are blocked by the clothing stall, but these bullets they’re using aren’t ordinary.

They’re getting holes blown clean through their chest and the buildings around them are damn near exploding from the impact. The measly little wooden stall isn’t going to be any sort of decent cover against them.

You risk another look over the counter, hoping to find a clear path to Lucy or at least some better cover. He’s finally turned around now and you can get a half decent glance at his side profile. There’s nothing truly recognizable about him, just familiar. It’s hard to really tell anything about him when he doesn’t have a nose.

You watch with wide eyes and a disbelieving expression as he takes three shots to the chest like it’s nothing. He keeps chewing on his tomatoes and slowly finding cover to reload. A ghoul. Hank and Betty had told you and the other’s about them. People poisoned by radiation.

Most of them turn feral, but those who can find the right chems live a lot longer than any normal human should. They heal nearly immediately and are almost invulnerable to anything except their own disease. Considering how quick on the draw this guy is, no one has any real hope of taking him down.

With the shooting redirected you leap out from behind the counter and rush towards the shop. But something stops you before you reach the door. You don’t know what it is, what connects in your brain that has you so harshly coming to a stop.

You whirl around, ignoring the way Lucy calls out your name. He’s back out from his cover now. He aims, grinning and laughing as he manages to get two people with one bullet. Carnage is all around you. Blood flying through the air, surrounded by blood and guts. The relatively peaceful downtown has been littered with dead.

And in the middle of it all stands him. You have to be wrong. There’s no fucking way he’s standing in front of you. You take a step forward and his head whips towards you. The rest of him isn’t recognizable, but you would know those eyes anywhere.

His eyes widen with surprise and you feel your gut drop to your feet. This can’t be him. There’s no way. He’s slaughtering these people like it’s nothing. The man you knew could never be so casual about this. Then again, the relationship you’d had was built on lies. Maybe you’d never really known him.

Before you can process the anger in his face you’re being jerked to the side. Lucy pants as she drags you into the shop and you look over your shoulder, shocked to find a bullet where you’d just been standing. You catch his eye, see the smoke coming from the barrel of his gun and realize he’d tried to fucking shoot you.

Shit, maybe it is him. He had always had a bad temper and a good aim.

You can feel his eyes, tracking you even as you disappear behind the walls of the shop. You and Lucy risk a peek out of the shop when you hear something like an explosion. You gape as a power suit lands in front of him. What twisted ass blast to the past have you just been sent to?

How the fuck was Cooper Howard, ghoulified, and a power suit both in the same area?

You had to be dreaming. There was no way this was happening. But it was, and whoever was in charge of that suit had no idea what they were doing. He’s ducking under their swinging metal arms, taunting them and drawing out the fight. He could end this now, you both know where the weakness is.

Hell, you could end this fight right now. But you don’t see the need to kill the Knight when it’s clear he’s trying to protect you and Lucy. “We need to get him,” Lucy points frantically to the man on the ground. He’s not really moving, just clutching the bloody nub where his foot used to be and looking astonished at the blood around him.

“This is really stupid,” you hiss as you both start forward and wrap an arm around one of his own. You don’t have much time to process what happens next.

“Watch out!” The knight barrels towards you both. He wraps his arms around Lucy and goes flying into a building. You jump back at the explosion of wood and metal flying down around you. The ghoul has his gun pointed at them both. He’d clearly been trying to snipe you both, get you away from the man on the ground.

Well, he could fucking have him. You drop the man to the ground and he grunts as you make a run for it. A coward’s move, the same one you admonished Norm for. But, you’re a fucking hypocrite, so what? Right now, you’d really just like to survive this gun fight unscathed.

Something lands near your foot and you jump, realizing it’s a bullet. You glance up and the ghoul is laughing at you, full on belly laughing as he shoots around you. You realize with a start that he’s playing with you. Taunting you like a man who’s got all the time in the world. But you can’t stop running. If you stop, those bullets are going to catch up with you.

You keep going, legs pumping and heart racing as you’re separated more and more from Lucy. The mission, the whole reason you came up to the surface, is lost on you. You can only focus on one thing, surviving. You keep running, through alleyways and around buildings until you’re back in the woods. The whole time his laughter is following you.

The sharp noise of something whistling through the air reaches your ears and then something snaps against you. You glance down, only a moment to process the rope over your arms before he’s dragging you back. Your head hits the ground with a harsh snap, the motion slamming your teeth together and nearly biting off the tip of your tongue.

You groan in dazed pain and then he’s slowly dragging you back. One sharp tug after another, rocks ripping at your suit and scalp, hair ripped out underneath your back. Until, finally, he’s peering over you, face upside down and lips twisted up into a strained smile.

“Well, there you are, sweetheart.”

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #fallout prime #the ghoul #cooper howard #I’ve been noticing a lot less interaction on my page #What the hell tumblr #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x fem!reader #cooper howard x fem!reader

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stardust-sunset · 2 months

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“Boys will be boys” headcannons, you say?

Well speaking as a teenage boy who’s done a few dumb things, here’s a couple:

-Soda definitely doesn’t wear a shirt in the summer. Any time it’s hot out, he’s ditched it (genuinely dunno how folks survive summer WITHOUT doing this tbh)

-Steve gets real pissy when he doesn’t win at things. Like if you beat him at poker he’ll tackle you. He sees this as re-establishing dominance. Everyone else sees it as Steve being a dumbass.

-Speaking of Steve, he seems like the sort to punch things when he’s mad. So does Dally. Just like…random walls and whatever. Throwing things too. I imagine it would scare Pony a bit at first, although by the time the book takes place, he’d be relatively unphased

-(movie!steve, ‘cuz in the movie he’s like 5’7) Steve used to be tall as a kid, like taller than Soda, Two-Bit, and Dally, and he’d make fun of them for being short. Then in like sophomore year of high school Soda and Dally get tall and Steve stays the same height. Soda is nice about it- but Dally mocks him for it non-stop

(Huh okay that’s a lot of Steve. I’ll shut up about him lol)

-Dally and Johnny once tried to make chocolate cake out of boredom. Somehow it turned into trying to light fireworks in the Curtis’s kitchen sink. Mrs. Curtis was pissed

-Sodapop and Darry tried to build a treehouse in the backyard as kids. It was just a piece of wood that they taped to a branch. Pony was still really impressed and bragged about it to his friends at school even though it was really lousy

-Two-Bit likes to say he’s won “every game of pool he’s ever played”, because he played once years ago and won due to a stroke of beginner’s luck. He refuses to play again now because he’ll “lose his perfect winning streak”

-Steve and Sodapop used to talk about hopping onto a freight train and going on adventures together “out in the Wild West”. Both of them low key still kinda want to

-Dally secretly wants to be a cowboy. Not like Buck, but like a Clint Eastwood type cowboy. Would die before saying so out loud

-Soda and Ponyboy have saved a few injured animals, like raccoons and whatever, and every time they do they try to convince Darry to let them keep it as a pet. Soda came real close once, and hid an injured lizard in his room for a month, but eventually Darry found it and forced him to free it

-Johnny was bored once and built a fort in the old lot, and him and Pony and Dally hung out in it until the cops made them take it down

-Sodapop, Two-Bit, and Steve once tried to start a band. It was terrible, because Soda and Two-Bit are too lazy to bother learning an instrument. Steve was okay because he could sing pretty well, but he sucked at the guitar he was trying to play too, and it all fell apart. Dally told them he’d pay them money to never play music again

okay, that’s probably enough for now- but yeah, there’s a few. Idk how much they stuck to the prompt, but whatever lol

all of these are biblically accurate, congrats 😭😭 especially johnny and sally making fireworks like that’s the only time mrs curtis yelled at any of the gang-dally is such a bitch in the last one tho like i know they were all like ten and he was twelve and he was just like “yeah never open your mouths again here’s ten bucks for each of ya buy yourself sonethin’ nice” like ok dally 😭😭soda and pong have straight up come home with a baby bobcat and darry was like “PUT THAT BACK ITS MOM IS LOOKING FOR IT 😡”

these are all canon trust

#ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #johnny cade #dallas winston #two bit mathews #steve randle #the outsiders

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sirdindjarin · 1 year

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The Savior - Din Djarin x f!Reader

The Mandalorian, side-quest extraordinaire, accidentally frees a slave, kills a Senator's son, ends a criminal conspiracy, and falls in love. Just a month in the life of the galaxy's favorite chaotic space cowboy and his son.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

A/N: i fucking love this man. here's the spotify playlist i made while hallucinating being wrecked by him. I accidentally based this fic on Euphoria by Angels & Airwaves.

AO3 Link🤠

TAGS: Fluff, m!falls first, plot with porn, helmet stays on for now, P in V, outdoor activities, protective!Din, soft-ish!Din.

WARNINGS: reader is/was a slave; references to abuse; no curses or slang outside of Star Wars canon (that's a warning if you hate that hahaha)

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"I thought vagrants were barred at the door. How did a Mandalorian get in here?”

The Mandalorian in question does not react to the insult. At the table before him, the taunting Trandoshan guffaws, but his laughter dies when he gets no reaction from the bounty hunter.

"What do you want?" He snaps, his green jaws clicking shut.

Instead of replying, certain the answer is obvious, the beskar-covered man leisurely surveys the colorful, boisterous room, his hands folded in front of him. Having already scouted the upscale casino, he does this for sarcastic effect. He’s also certain that fact is lost on his Trandoshan quarry.

Upon returning his direct attention to the lizard, a small movement in the booth catches his heat sensor. A young woman, likely his quarry’s slave by her frayed appearance, sits with her head bowed behind her master.

“Hey, tin man, you in there?” Your master’s voice sounds more like rocks scraping together than fluid language.

The Mandalorian chucks a bounty puck onto the table, the name and alien visage of Rathos Craaf glowing in a blue cone of projected light.

“Go quietly or don’t - it makes no difference to me.”

“Ahh,” Rathos Craaf hums in his throat and leans back in his seat, making your demure form more visible to the bounty hunter. “What’s the price?”

The Mandalorian again does not dignify a response.

“Can’t be greater than what I’m willing to pay,” Rathos insinuates.

The tense silence eats through your body as the ruthless men stare at each other - the probability of oncoming violence ratcheting up.

“Go prepare my ship,” your master barks suddenly at you, raising his hand.

Flinching, you scoot around the U-shaped booth to obey.

You weren’t always a slave. As a child on Kenari, you had been born into a world of vivid green, rippling blue, and rich, brown soil. Trained in both hunting and fighting from birth, you had been too young to save your village from the brutal relocation program of the Empire.

Dispersed onto harsher worlds, you’d been sold from one slaver to another until finally coming into the collection of one Rathos Craaf. He has been your master for several years by this point, and while not the worst, he was close.

“What will you do about the girl?” A modulated voice asks.

Pausing on the edge of the hard bench, you look between the two antagonists. Me?

“Who cares about the mudscuffing girl? Tell you what, I’ll sell her to you.” The crafty Trandoshan gets an even better idea: “Or - take her in exchange for the bounty. She’s considered top-tier sentient property.”

“Not what I was asking,” a gloved hand thumbs his blaster. “Once you’re in carbonite, wh-”

The Trandoshan lunges up from his seat with a booming yell, launching at the cloaked, beskar-free neck of the Mandalorian. Rathos’ claws reach around the smaller man’s throat, but the Mandalorian is lighter of foot, ducking out of the hold.

Off-balance, Rathos tumbles but rolls back on his feet, his scaly tail acting as a counterweight. Gasps and mutters spill from the crowd as people scramble out of harm’s way.

You remain seated in the booth, frozen and unsure. But then, as the silver bounty hunter aims his blaster, Rathos whips his tail into the Mandalorian’s legs, knocking him with a clang onto his back.

The blaster goes skittering through the crowd, and you’re shocked to find your legs racing after it.

The thunder of a powerful flame roars in the cavernous room as you weave through aliens and humans alike, searching. The blackness of the blaster appears on the gray floor and you dive for it.

Cold steel excites your skin. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, and though you’ve never fired one, your ancient muscle memory remembers the feeling of a bow in your hands; the trajectory, strength, and steadiness necessary.

Sprinting back through the crowd, you find Rathos pinning the Mandalorian’s chest. The solid armor prevents any of Rathos’ blows from truly hurting the bounty hunter, but the weight of the lizard is too awkward and great for him to shove away from this angle.

The fire-throwing vambrace comes up again and, as it billows into the Trandoshan’s face, you fire a blast at the substantial tail that had once been used against you.

Rathos bellows in pain, tumbling to the side, and the Mandalorian takes full advantage. He jumps to his feet, then connects his fist to his quarry's skull, rendering the creature unconscious. Binders clasp around the arms of your master and the successful bounty hunter staggers backward a single step to catch his breath.

You freeze at what you’ve just done, the blaster still pointed at Rathos. People murmur, and the words, “Killed by his slave” can be heard, though he is only unconscious. Your chest heaves, far more out of breath than the Mandalorian walking toward you.

“Thank you,” he says drily, taking his blaster out of your hands.

Unsure what else you should do, you follow your master as he is dragged without dignity along the smooth fogstone floor.

Exiting the casino, snaking down an alley, and traipsing to the outskirts of the city limits, the silhouette of a ship against the orange horizon becomes visible.

Neither you nor the Mandalorian have spoken a single word since he took the blaster from your hands, but as he presses a button on his vambrace to lower the loading ramp, he turns to you now.

“Grab his tail."

An order. That you could do. You immediately grab Rathos’ tail and lift. The Mandalorian half-drags and half-lifts the Trandoshan by his cuffed hands and the lizard is loaded into the ship’s hold.

Standing at the far end of the Mandalorian’s rather busted ship, you’re surprised to see a small, green being. Dressed in what must be a sack, its long ears perk up and its eyes glimmer at the sight of the bounty hunter. A happy coo reverberates in the quiet, metal space.

The child looks at you and makes another, similar noise. It waddles toward you, but before you can react, the Mandalorian scoops the child into his arms and sequesters it behind a thin blast door.

“You are free to go.”

It’s an odd statement. He must be familiar with the underworld. He knows how slaving works.

You’re not sure when you last spoke; you weren’t allowed to speak. But the bounty hunter seems to expect a reply.

“I am not. The law says I am to be returned to the slavers’ coalition for repurchase.” Your voice is scratchy from disuse and the helmeted man tilts his head in curiosity.

“You won't run?”

It seems too monumental a task. Hopes and fears trip over each other in their efforts to be heard. Freedom. Finding a place to call home. Your family was long dead. But… maybe there was hope of a family somewhere.

Where would I even go? No way I could stay ahead of the slavers. They’d send hunters like this Mandalorian after me. I’d be worse off than I am now.

“I do not know if I can,” you whisper honestly.

The Mandalorian looks at you - at least, you think he does - for so long that you begin to squirm under his gaze.

Without warning, the wind is knocked from you. Rathos’ tail slams into the back of your knees, crumpling you to the floor. His claws wrap around your neck, and you yell, plunging two fingers into his lidless eye.

“Traitorous shutta!” Spittle from your master flies onto your cheeks.

As he recoils from your jab, you squirm underneath him, trying to flee, when the weight on your chest vanishes in a rush of air. Coughing and wiping your face, you lie there momentarily until your throbbing pulse abates inside your head. You sit up and widen your eyes to hasten their focus.

The Mandalorian has the Trandoshan by the throat with both hands. Rathos sputters and gags, but you watch as gloved fingers dig harder into the scaly throat. The anonymous man shoves his quarry into the carbon freezing chamber and smashes the button with more force than necessary.

It's over.

When you woke in the dark that morning, never would you have expected to watch your master be frozen in carbonite aboard a bounty hunter's ship.

That bounty hunter turns to you now.

“I have something I need to do. I’ll give you passage if you provide assistance.”

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Crossing your arms, tucking your legs under your body, and leaning against the hull in your seat, you try to make yourself as small as possible. You wouldn’t have even climbed up here if the Mandalorian hadn’t indicated that you should.

He wanted to keep an eye on you. He did not trust you around the kid - despite (or perhaps because of) its interest in you.

Moments after leaving the planet’s atmosphere, a new emotion bubbles in your chest: elation. The stars flow by in a technicolor kaleidoscope; hues and shapes you have never seen race past your eyes. It’s beyond anything you could have imagined.

“Has it always looked like this?” You wonder to yourself.

You jump when a deep, electronic voice answers, “Yes.”

“Oh,” you murmur, realizing he had been watching you. “I’ve never seen hyperspace. I was kept in the hold,” you state without self-pity.

The Mandalorian lets that terrible fact hang in the air before eventually saying,“I recommend you get some sleep. It will be several hours before we reach Mid Rim.”

He turns away from you and folds his arms. The muffled clang of his helmet tipping back against the headrest tells you that he will be taking his own advice.

Interestingly, you feel safe enough to get some rest. Being constantly attuned to the temperamental wills and whims of others, you've become a great judge of character.

This Mandalorian, though quiet, is clearly capable of kindness to those who deserve it. A rarity for someone in his profession.

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The blue cone glows in his hand, projecting the face of one ugly slug. The name at the bottom, written in a language you had been forced to learn, reads: Salaa the Hutt.

Fearful eyes flick up to the veiled Mandalorian, “A Hutt?”

The helmet nods, “You will be my way in.” You make a whimpering noise, but the bounty hunter continues. “You’re a slave on the run. I will be returning you for a small reward.”

Crushing disappointment deflates your body. Believing yourself to have been wavering between freedom and the life you had known, you realize, now that the decision was being made for you, that you’d chosen freedom. Further adding to your pain is your misjudgement of the Mandalorian.

I’d have never made it to freedom - far too naive. Thought a karking bounty hunter was doing something out of the kindness of his heart. Unbelievable.

Still, to your credit, you take several steps back, almost as though you might try to outrun the nimble, strong bounty hunter with a kriffing jetpack, of all things. You’re proud of yourself for even thinking about doing it.

The Mandalorian doesn’t react. He pockets the puck and opens his weapons cache on the hull wall. He lifts a small item from the assortment and shuts the doors. You can’t see what it is, and he doesn’t return to you.

He opens the blast door to the child’s tiny room. The baby snores in his bungalow, and the ever-fascinating Mandalorian rubs the green, fuzzy head before closing the door. He turns and strides toward you.

You take one more step backward, just because you can. Because you should.

He still says nothing. Closer, and closer, the armored man advances on you until you can see your nervous eyes in his breastplate.

“Give me your wrists.”

Is his voice naturally that persuasive or is it the vocoder?

Overriding your fledgling autonomy, you obey him with a preprogrammed respectful nod. He clasps binders around your wrists.

The Mandalorian steps away to retrieve another weapon, then he lifts his chin toward the boarding ramp.

Shouldn't you at least try to gain freedom? Beg him to let you go?

“Please, I can try to pay you,” this is a lie and he knows it. “Or I could work off the debt of transport. Something!”

It’s the loudest your voice has been in living memory, and it both surprises and emboldens you. But the Mandalorian does not seem swayed.

“Walk,” he orders.

You minutely shake your head twice. It means nothing to him, but everything to you.

An electronic sigh, then he takes a single step toward you. Fear switches you back into the subservient girl of the last twenty years. You flinch, your manacled hands blocking your face.

The Mandalorian falters, slightly abashed. “I am not going to hurt you. But you need to start walking.”

Slowly, you lower your hands. His gloved fingers curl around your bicep, and he leads you out into the sunny air.

It’s a hot day on Niamos. The beachside resort that serves as the capital city is teeming with families of all species bathing in the muggy air. The sandstone path that Mando - that’s what everyone calls them, right? - parades you down is packed with beachgoers. Embarrassed by your plight, you try to hide the binders, but it’s impossible with the angle he holds your arm.

Finding another gust of will, you reason, “Surely you could find a way inside without turning me in? You’re good at your job. You could've killed my m-”

“Salaa angered powerful people. There is a bounty on him and it’s higher if he’s dead.

“What does that mean?”

“He's careful. Employs expensive security. Easiest way in is through the front door,” Mando finishes.

Mando’s leathery hold on your arm is soft. Unyielding, of course, but he doesn’t hurt you. It saddens you to realize how different that is from your usual treatment. He had still binded you and planned on turning you in, but hey! At least he wasn’t going to leave a bruise.

Directing you down a narrow alley, the Mandalorian stops in front of a tan-colored, generic shield door. He raps twice on it, standing casually still. If he feels you shaking, he says nothing about it.

A Yaka man is standing behind the door when it opens with a whoosh. His metal implants reflect the sun and you squint. Behind him are another two Yaka and a particularly menacing-looking Zabrak, all armed with pulse rifles.

“We ain't buyin'," he slurs.

“I'm here to claim the slave reward.”

The Yaka stares at the impenetrable, T-shaped slit in the silver helmet, scrutinizing, before stepping aside. Mando guides you ahead of him, then you hear the spur-like sound of his step over the threshold. The close quarters are sweltering, and sweat beads on your temple.

“This way,” the Yaka servant veers to the right and up a steeply inclined hallway. The other members of the security team follow behind you.

The Mandalorian’s thumb slides over your skin. You would give it more thought if a wide, dingy room wasn’t quickly coming into view.

On the second floor, a muted, sparsely furnished area overlooks the residence across the street, and the beach beyond. However, you can’t see the view because the balcony is being taken up by a massive, blob-like shape, and a tall, spiky silhouette.

“Ahh,” the huge shape speaks, and for the first time in your life, you’re thankful you speak Huttese. “What is this?”

Bowing, the Yaka guard explains, “This Mandalorian has returned a loose slave.”

He grabs for your arm, but you lurch when Mando pulls you out of reach, warning, “Careful. She killed her master before fleeing."

The bodyguard recoils as though you personally threatened him. He steps away, waiting for actual instruction from his boss. The green Rodian next to Salaa tuts in his sour voice.

Deciding it was best not to speak, you raise your chin with dignity as Mando drops his hand from your arm.

“Why do you return her here?” Salaa the Hutt inquires. “Surely you know that I have been removed from my associations. Including the slavers.”

“I am here for information,” Mando drops the ruse completely, his voice calm.

“Information,” the Hutt laughs horribly. “I have much of that, pateesa. What do you wish to know?”

“You should ask what I have to trade first.”

“Hmm. You do not wish to trade the girl, I hope. Must be better than that,” the slimy giant slug laughs derisively.

You don’t even bristle. Worse things had been said to you daily.

The green, mohawked Rodian chuckles. Though you do not understand his language, the human bounty hunter does: “She is too sad-looking to be any fun. Pity.” The reptilian-looking male then makes a vile comment about what he can see through your ratty, loose clothing.

The Mandalorian's eyes narrow, and his right hand drifts toward his hip of its own accord.

“Make your offer, Mandalorian.”

“If you provide the information I need, I won’t claim the ten-thousand-credit bounty on your head.”

That horrible, bulging laugh bursts from the ex-crime boss once more, hurting your ears in its pitch and volume.

“Far too aggressive, Mandalorian. I decline.”

Salaa’s stubby arm motions at the armed security who raise their rifles at the two of you.

While you freeze in terror, the Mandalorian stills in focus. Faster than a hyperdrive, he clenches his fist. Miniature rockets whistle through the tense air, eliminating all three bodyguards; the angry Zabrak, the mouthy Rodian, and the blubbery Salaa remain.

The Mandalorian draws his blaster, pushing you behind him, and fires from his hip as the Zabrak guard begins to raise his modified arm. What type of weapon it held, you’ll never know because he falls to the ground, dead, before he can use it.

The Rodian darts away from Salaa, circling the room. To you, it seems as though he is intending to flee, not fight, but the Mandalorian fires a laserblast at his bug-eyed head, dropping him.

Mando calmly swivels his blaster to Salaa.

Resigned, the Hutt slimily states, “Ask what you wish to know, pateesa.”

“I have been told that you have seen another Mandalorian. Where?”

“Ahh, that is all? I have seen one here.”

“On Niamos?” So surprised, Mando forgets to keep the tone from his voice.

“A beskar-covered man does not go unnoticed on a planet filled with water-bathers,” Salaa laughs again. You visibly wince.

“Where?”

“Where else? Water’s Edge.”

Mando twists his head toward the opposite window as if he could see his fellow Mandalorian from here. He holsters his weapon and turns to leave.

“Those Yaka were expensive guards, pateesa,” the Hutt grumbles ominously.

“You paid too much.”

He returns his hold on your arm, pushing you forward. Marching awkwardly down the sloping halfway, you try to make sense of his actions.

Your face screws up in confusion, “You didn’t turn me in or claim the Hutt’s bounty. You're earning no credits.”

That’s the defining feature of a bounty hunter.

The silence lengthens as you reach the ground floor, and hurriedly exit the sandstone building. As you soak in the blistering sunshine, the hand on your arm turns you to face him. The Mandalorian’s quick fingers remove your binders.

“That’s it?” You rub your wrists even though he had left them on the loosest setting.

“Passage for assistance,” he reminds you.

He then nods once and takes his leave. For an interminable length of time, you watch as he calmly walks away, breaking only when he turns down an alley and is lost from sight.

What the hell do I do now?

__________________________________

The new day is growing late. Din Djarin basks in the heat of the single sun. For being one of those odd planets without plural light sources, the strength of the lone sun is incredible. Din much preferred the scorching, arid planets to the ice-covered ones, and Niamos is perfect. The breeze gently carries through his light flight suit, while the sun warms whatever dark material is visible around the beskar.

While Din feels more comfortable in this climate, heat signatures can be a little bit more difficult to read. He had managed to track a faint heat signature around Water’s Edge. The day before, immediately after speaking with Salaa, Din had come to check the place out, but his quarry had left some hours previously and he had lost the trail.

Din enters the establishment for the second time in as many days. Inside is a large, open floor with dining tables set out across the expanse. High society clinks glasses as they wait for the next act to grace the small stage. Din surveys the room, switching between heat sensors and normal vision, before concluding that the Mandalorian he searches for is beyond the far wall.

Heads turn and stare as Din, strutting as if he belongs, makes his way to the unobtrusive doorway next to the stage. A Mandalorian stands out here. This was a place for people who employed bounty hunters, not those whom they hunt. Din slides the door open, and he is greeted by a dark hallway.

Light spills from a room to his right. Din flips on his heat sensor again, and presses his lips together in satisfaction when the heat signature picks up.

Rounding into the room with confidence, Din observes everything at once.

A large mirror, complete with lights, sits above a desk. A rack of clothing stands lonely in the far corner. And on a stool in front of the mirror sits a Mandalorian, their flaky, blue-painted armor having seen better days.

“My name is Din Djarin,” he announces. “I have been tasked with finding other Mandalorians in order t-”

“Oh, my stars!” The Mandalorian squeals. The helmet is removed by purple hands, and a humanoid species stares in awe. “I’ve always wanted to meet a Mandalorian. I- I do this character because I just love your culture so much.”

Blinking behind his helm, Din confirms what he's already becoming sure of, “That armor you wear - it is not real beskar.”

“What? This stuff?” The actor scoffs. “This is expensive paint and cheap wetboard.” He stands up, advancing unwisely on the real Mandalorian. “Can I ask you some questions? I’ve got a real opportunity here to elevate my perfor-”

Din backs out of the room in a single, fluid motion, punching the button for the door.

He sighs.

***

A blaster shot turns the corner of the building Din had just walked past into dust and debris. He spins, drawing his own blaster, expecting to see the Empire itself. Instead, a young human bounty hunter stands there, nervously fumbling with her jammed blaster. The Mandalorian rushes her, pinning her by the collarbone against the alley wall.

"Bounty?”

Terrified, she nods and whispers, “Yes.”

"Who contracted it?"

She wheezes from under Din’s forearm, “Don't know. It's open Rim-wide for now. Just told to kill you and the girl.”

Under his helm, Din’s brow pinches. “The girl?”

The wide-eyed woman shrugs, again in the dark. If this inexperienced bounty hunter managed to track him down already, it's likely another has found you. Din releases the woman roughly and rockets up into the sky.

_______________________________

The sights and sounds of the beach are incredible. The late-daylight is deliciously warm as it touches your skin through the holes in your clothing. You sit on the top step of the tiered beach area, staring out at the water as you try to come up with a plan of action. Having slept on a lounge chair last night, you’re nearly grateful for the decades of poor lodging training your body.

The sky is hazy, but the flash of sunlight glinting off of something tiny flying far above has you twisting your head and squinting. Unable to make out the object, you return your attention to the ocean and ignore it.

From behind you, a voice calls your name and you automatically turn.

As you stare down the barrel of the blaster pointed at you, you remember no one should know your name here.

"Let's go," the bounty hunter tells you.

It's a woman with red skin and long, blue, braided hair. Etches in her cheeks make her bone structure look even sharper.

You frown. What you’d told the Mandalorian had already been proven correct. You weren't able to run.

Resignedly standing to your feet, you take a step, but go stumbling forward as the woman kicks your back.

Your second foreign emotion of the last twenty-four hours sparks in your chest, glowing as hot as the sun above.

"Hey! I was going," you glare.

"Move faster, scum," she orders.

You continue walking, your eyes scanning for something, anything, to get you out of this.

Ahead on the right is a large crowd of vendors and their customers. If you can duck through them, maybe you can lose the blue-haired madwoman behind you.

A cold, circular shape presses between your shoulder blades as you march, and your bravery starts to fail. If you make a single wrong move, you'll be shot before you even get to the crowd.

Just do it - better to die now than live as a slave.

The crowd swells as a school trip pours out from a nearby museum. Your confidence rises at the sight of the increasingly busy, confusing horde.

Closer. So kriffing close.

The female bounty hunter cries out suddenly as a blaster shot scalds her arm. She defensively spins, kicking out powerfully behind her.

A large species you're unfamiliar with, tall and teal, is thrown sideways with the force of the kick. The competing bounty hunter recovers into a crouch and shoots at your captor, hitting her in the chest.

With a violent exhale, she falls. Too busy sprinting into the crowd, you do not hear her final, pathetic breath.

Weaving, keeping ducked and hidden, you whisper a constant stream of 'excuse me.' You don't want to push anyone, knowing a reaction from an offended beach-goer could give away your position.

The unblinking bounty hunter, your newest enemy, stands tall above much of the crowd, and it doesn't take him long to spot your trail.

Thundering forward, happily shoving people you had so politely passed, he roars. Fear ices your stomach.

The sound of a sputtering jetpack drowns out the noise of the people. Never breaking stride, you search for the source of another bounty hunter.

I know I’m a runaway slave who assaulted her master before turning him into a carbonsicle but, banthashit, is the price on my head really that high?

The massive hunter gains on you, and just as you clear the other side of the crowd, you gasp, pained, when he snatches your hair. You whirl, packing all of your strength into your right fist. Your blow lands on the creature’s lower jaw, which seems to be two pink tubes, and it wails grotesquely.

The grip on your hair loosens and you rip away, but the much larger creature lunges for you again. It pulls you upward by your shirt this time, and you scream. Kicking out, your foot knocks a breath from the ugly bounty hunter, but it does not release you.

Staring at you with shallow black eyes, it speaks in a language you don’t understand, but the intonation is clearly a question.

Gasping, you boldly say, “Let go of me and I’ll tell you.”

The creature seems to understand Basic because his three-fingered hand leaves your shirt.

Before you get a chance to make up a lie, the hulking bounty hunter vanishes in a flash of silver. Your head snaps in the direction of travel, and a trail of exhaust follows.

A hundred yards away, the jetpack flares out and the two fall to the ground in a tumble of fighting. A strangled laugh exits your mouth.

From bigger fish to bigger fish. Eventually the biggest fish would win and come after you.

The sound of the ugly creature roaring ends abruptly with a choked grunt. You push your legs hard as you run. The doorway to a cantina catches your eye as an intoxicated human stumbles out, and you rush past him.

Inside the dark, clamorous, smoky business, you slide into the booth furthest from the door, hoping that neither hunter saw you duck in. Panting heavily, you tell the droid waitress you’d like a bit of spotchka. You’ve never had it, but you’ve seen how relaxed and brave it makes people and that sounds wonderful right about now.

The circular cantina door slides open and the silhouette of a tall, broad Mandalorian is outlined by the glaring sun. You can’t tell what color or condition his armor is in, but your stomach clenches all the same. It had been an entire revolution of the planet since your Mandalorian had left, so it can't be him.

Wonder if he found his friend, you think about his ten-thousand-credit question for the Hutt. Must’ve been quite a reunion if it was worth that much.

Shrinking back against the wall of your booth, you shift completely out of sight and pray to whatever Ancient is listening that the stories about their helmets’ capabilities are exaggerations.

The droid waitress sets your pretty blue drink on the table without comment, for which you’re grateful. You don’t think your voice works.

Clinking metal is audible despite the volume of the rowdy bar. The sound gradually grows louder as he approaches your booth.

“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian has his hands on his hips, and though you cannot see his face, you’re certain he looks like a disapproving parent.

“I- what?” You squeak, completely confused by his question. And why he's here.

He moves to sit down across from you, and your nerves flare.

“Why are you still here?” He asks the same question you want to ask him.

“Where was I supposed to go? I have no credits.”

“There is work available on this planet.”

You pause, unhappy to give away just how out of your depth you are, “You mean paid employment? I’m not familiar with the process."

The Mandalorian doesn’t speak, he simply stares at you until you break your stare first.

Looking down at the grimy table, you trace a piece of graffiti with your finger and whisper, “Thank you.”

Mando shifts his head in askance.

“For saving me from the slave hunter.”

“He wasn’t a slave hunter.” Mando’s helmet tips down to where the bright blue liquid sits on the table. “You going to drink that?”

You shake your head, too self-conscious now.

“Good.”

He slides out from the booth and motions for you to walk ahead of him.

________________________________

Standing in the bay of the Mandalorian’s ship once more, you engage in a staring contest with the little green baby as it sits on the floor. Its ears move like he’s listening to Mando speak on his holocall above in the cockpit, but its eyes remain on you.

You’ve always liked children. While they could be blunt, they were kind to you and other slaves because they hadn’t yet learned any differently.

“How old are you?” You ask softly.

In your experience, children prefer to be spoken to as one would an adult, so you refrain from the baby-voice that springs to the surface when you look at the adorable infant.

He tilts his ears toward you.

“You’re pretty cute." The baby coos, then babbles once.

“You really are cute. And you seem highly intelligent. Have you been with the Mandalorian long? He seems to pick up strays easily,” you smile warmly.

The child awkwardly gets to its feet, toddling toward you. Remembering how quickly Mando had taken the child away when it last interacted with you, you slowly move backward toward the ladder. You don’t know if it's dangerous. Maybe the cuteness is a front.

A gurgling noise, as if it’s trying to tell you something, breaks from its little mouth. He raises his hand, pointing, and you whirl.

The Mandalorian is but a few feet away, watching.

How the kark did he get down the ladder so quietly?

“I’m sorry,” you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

Mando strides around you and crouches to pick up the baby, “We're leaving this planet. I won't have enough fuel to get across the galaxy, but there is a job a few systems over."

He cradles the child so gently that it makes your heart ache.

Who is this guy?

The child in his arms makes grabby hands at his helmet, so he tenderly sets it back down. Mando heads back toward the cockpit, indicating you should follow.

Up the ladder, sitting once again in the same seat, you keep your eyes on the Mandalorian as he begins the lengthy takeoff procedures.

“The bounty hunter you encountered was not after the slave reward.”

“But she knew my name?”

“I am referring to the Aqualish you punched.”

“Oh.”

The Mandalorian does not immediately continue, focusing on his tasks for several minutes.

“There is a reward out for you,” he flips another switch. “And a bounty.”

“Both? Why both?”

“The bounty is secondary. Dependant on you giving them m-”

A panicked, childish cry echoes from below, and you’re only a moment behind the Mandalorian as he leaps down the hatch to the hold.

You gasp in horror as you see the long-eared, big-eyed baby squished in the crook of another kriffing bounty hunter’s arm. The loading ramp closes slowly behind him. He must’ve jumped in at the last moment.

Mando raises his hands, indicating his desire to negotiate.

“Do not hurt him,” he says. Instead of coming out as a plea, his vocoded words come out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end.

“Din Djarin, you are wanted for the murder of Senator Nesota’s son. I know your reputation, and therefore do not wish to fight. I’ll release your… this," he nods at the green baby, "when you’re in carbonite. There,” the human bounty hunter nods his head at Din’s own carbon freezer.

He killed a Senator’s kid?

The child frowns, his ears drooping, and he focuses hard on the bounty hunter. His little hand curls, and the man’s ruddy face turns purple. His eyes grow red and glassy.

Din reacts quickly, drawing his blaster and firing at the hunter’s face. The man falls with a clattering thunk, and the child rolls away, unmoving.

“No," you cry. "Is he alright?” You start toward the kid, fear in your voice.

“He’s fine,” the Mandalorian replies, holding his palm up for you to stay back. He reverently lifts the unconscious kid. “He’s just asleep.”

The Mandalorian - Din Djarin - murdered an important person’s child. And his own kid just choked someone without using its hands? I didn’t inhale spice, did I?

“You killed a kid?”

Din believes you’re still thinking of the baby in his arms. “I said he’s sleeping.”

“A Senator’s son?”

“Oh. Yes, the Rodian with Salaa.” Din hadn’t known he was the son of a powerful person, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

Relief floods you once again as your evaluation of the Mandalorian’s character remains intact. After seeing the way he cared for the little green one, how could you have believed he would harm any child?

“Okay." You return to the wildest topic, "What just happened with your kid?”

Din sighs. This was getting more dangerous than negotiating with a Tusken. He places the kid in his hammock and shuts the door.

Turning on you, he threatens, “Never speak of him outside this ship.”

“I- I wouldn’t,” you promise, surprised by the fierceness in his voice.

Din is satisfied. He’d watched you speak to his ward earlier, and the kid seems to like you immensely. But he doesn't solely rely on the kid's opinion.

The experienced, Mandalorian bounty hunter's own character assessment is top-notch, and he finds that he feels strongly about you. He doesn't categorize or identify the specifics, however.

The Mandalorian does not ask for your help in removing the dead bounty hunter from his ship, so you look on in silence as he does it alone. He lowers the landing ramp, drags the body to the edge, and watches it roll down unceremoniously. He turns and stalks past you.

“So, where's that job?”

“The Outer Rim.”

You sigh. “Of course it is.”

__________________________________

The planet blinds you when the Razor Crest launches out of hyperdrive. Brilliantly green, the single sun reflects the vibrant landscape right into your eyes.

Shielding your face, you venture a question. The Mandalorian had not finished explaining.

"Why is there a bounty on me?"

Even through the modulator, you can hear his dry tone: "You aided a bounty hunter in entering the Hutt's hideout through false pretenses which ended in the blasting of a Senator's son."

"Right," you frown, slumping in your seat.

"Don't worry. The bounty on my head is far larger than yours."

You scoff under your breath. So reassuring.

A deep breath, then you postulate, "Is that what the bounty hunter was asking me? About you?"

Din doesn't respond. He didn't hear the Aqualish's question. He was too busy aiming at its body with his own, but his best guess is yes.

"That's the reason you saved me," you mutter, oddly dejected.

A loose end. That's what you are.

Din often - almost constantly, actually - appreciated his helmet for the freedom it gave him to show any emotion at any time. No need to worry about a convincing poker face when no one could see it.

"You could have told them where my ship was."

"Except I thought you'd flown away the day before," you argue, saddened that he thought you would’ve talked.

Of course, he didn't know you, and he had a child to protect, but it still stings.

"Why not just kill me?" You wonder seriously.

You're a liability. Two separate prices on your head? The Mandalorian's easiest solution is obvious. A slave of no importance, no one would put a bounty on his head for your death.

Din Djarin's armor clanks as he spins the chair a quarter-turn toward you and he cocks his head.

"I don't want to die," you read his body language correctly. "But I don't understand you."

The Mandalorian silently returns to his piloting duties as he nears the lush planet. He does his best to shut his thoughts away, but he stumbles over you again and again.

Din had rescued you because he didn’t want to see you harmed for his actions with the Hutt. The idea of protecting himself from prying questions had been an afterthought.

He had flown above the city, looking for your trail. Since you hadn’t moved much, there wasn’t much of a trail to find. Then he spotted the crowd roiling and parting for the violent Aqualish.

When he watched it yank your hair, he felt angry. An emotion he experienced less frequently than many of his friends would believe. Frustration, irritation, sure. But true fury was rare for him.

Not wanting you dead was basic decency, but the anger had been interesting.

On some level, Din knows his emotional responses to you deserve greater scrutiny. But he doesn't have the time nor the energy.

When the Razor Crest lands in a grassy clearing between forest walls, Din rises from his chair and commands, “Stay here. Watch the child.”

“O-okay,” you agree hesitantly. “What do I do when he wakes up?”

The Mandalorian stares, uncomprehending.

“You… you don’t do anything for his… condition?”

“I told you he’s fine.” Din thinks for a moment, and remembers there is actually something you should know: “When he wakes up, he might be hungry. Do not let him eat the metal ball on the thruster.”

With that, he climbs down the ladder, and out of sight.

_________________________________

As the fist flies at you, you subconsciously register that your assailant must be right-handed, because this left hook is much sloppier than the other. Or maybe it's because his left arm is still human.

Ducking, you escape the jab and slam your palm-sized stick into the quarry's metal shins. He doesn’t react except to kick your thigh. You cry out, knowing it will bruise if you survive this.

The blaster you had taken from the Mandalorian’s cache lies just out of reach. The silver gleam is stark against the rich soil of the forest floor.

Enraged, the cyborg quarry leaps at your hunched form, knocking you flat. Surprised by his speed, you forget to keep hold of the heavy branch you use as a weapon.

The growling man rips the stick from your hands and slams it against your throat like a vise, choking you, “Die, wretch.”

You turn your head to the side, providing yourself with a precious moment of air before the quarry shifts to cut that escape route off, too.

Swinging your leg up, you kick him in the back of the head, pushing him forward. You take the opportunity to headbutt him - thankful that his head is still completely human - and he falls sideways. Right next to your blaster.

You snatch up your wooden weapon, but it's too late.

He laughs mechanically as he grabs the blaster, swinging it at you. “Too late, sweetheart.”

Panting, you don't raise your hands. If he's going to kill you, he'll do it when you charge him.

You take a step and the sound of a laserblast ricochets through the trees.

The creature cries out, dropping the weapon, his arm useless at his side. Wires spark from the elbow joint that had been blown away.

"Found you," the Mandalorian says flatly, his blaster pointed at the machine.

The metal man lunges but Din fires again - hitting the quarry in what should be its gut. It doubles over, groaning, then topples, fighting for labored breath.

He must still have lungs underneath, you shudder.

Still trying to catch your own breath, you gasp, "How-"

"Heard the fight. You were supposed to stay on the ship," his voice turns scolding.

Clenching your jaw, you finally find a steady breath. You had stayed on the ship. This piece of space junk had broken inside through the cockpit window.

As you sat in the hold, dutifully watching the kid, the sound of glass shattering alerted you that it was not Din who was back so soon. You had snatched up the baby, touching him for the first time with no concern about his potential dangers, locked him in the little room, and ripped a small blaster from the Razor Crest’s weapons cache.

You crouched at the far end of the hold, against the closed boarding ramp, waiting, uncomfortably far from the child.

A cyborg, more spidery-droid than man, with a human head and fleshy left arm had come skittering down, bypassing the ladder completely. Unwilling to chance a blaster shot going through the baby’s door, you hit the button on the landing ramp and scrambled out.

The forest. It was your home. Your element. If there was any chance you could kill it, to prove to yourself that you could survive this life - it was then and there.

Of course, you hadn't expected the quarry to get your blaster.

"I tried," you breathe as Din binds the still-groaning quarry.

The helmet turns to face you, understanding. "He entered the ship?”

You nod, and Din stands bolt-upright, his head whipping in the direction of the Razor Crest.

“It’s fine,” you assure him pointedly, walking with your hand outstretched toward the worried Mandalorian. You remember your promise not to speak of the child, “Your ship is fine. Knew you'd hate it if he trashed the thing, so I ran out here.”

The Mandalorian visibly relaxes his broad shoulders, and your heart tugs once again.

"Thank you," Din says with hidden feeling.

His sincerity wedges a lump in your throat.

He really loves that little guy.

Din turns and snatches the connector between the binders, pulling the quarry. Its metal feet dig trenches as it tries to stall, but the Mandalorian is far too strong.

Somehow, it's the first time you've truly noticed. Din is extremely strong. Is it the suit?

Can't be. It's just metal and fabric.

The realization might as well be a thunderbolt to your brain. Your assailant must weigh as much as a land speeder, and here your bounty hunter was carting him along like a sack of starfruit.

An unfamiliar feeling, something like hot, sharp sparks shoot through your stomach. Your eyes follow the Mandalorian as he makes his way back to the Razor Crest.

Is this attraction? You’ve never experienced it. Far too busy surviving, wanting someone in that way is a foreign concept to you. You roll your eyes at yourself. Din Djarin, a kriffing Mandalorian bounty hunter is not going to look twice at a slave, and it's best to kill those feelings before they take root.

***

Across the large clearing, at the ship, the bounty hunter waits patiently while the boarding ramp lowers.

“She yours?” The quarry asks curiously, his voice wheezing. "You orbited me like a karking moon, but as soon as I go after her, you come runnin’.” It laughs.

The cyborg doesn't expect a verbal answer; he wants a reaction.

Din turns his head slowly with a cold warning, “I would advise you to stop speaking.”

“I damaged her pretty good for you. Might wanna che-” his taunting words end in a pained grunt when Din slams his fist into the man’s cruel mouth.

Surprised by the sudden violence, you inhale sharply. Din hadn’t knocked the thing unconscious, so what was the point of that?

The Mandalorian hauls the creature up the ramp and shoves him into the carbon freezer.

“Should’ve killed me,” the cyborg threatens with a laugh as he freezes into a solid mass.

Din turns to face you and asks in a low voice, “Are you injured?”

The rush of adrenaline you had been riding on slowly fades, and you remember the only blow you’d received had been the one to the side of your thigh. Your hand falls to it, feeling the area through your tattered pants.

A small amount of blood comes away on your fingers.

“Oh,” you murmur.

You pull up the ripped, baggy material, exposing your entire leg. The skin had split with the force of the blow, but there’s no serious damage and it would heal on its own.

The cyborg must’ve been trying to unnerve us. Or distract the Mandalorian? Maybe he thought Din would check right away, you almost laugh aloud at the ridiculous idea.

Din, for his part, really wishes you would let your pant leg fall. It’s insane, it makes no sense to him. Millions of people walked around in far, far less clothing than you, and Din never reacted like this.

But here you stand before him, slowly checking out the inch-long cut on your mid-thigh, and the Mandalorian can’t tear his eyes away.

When you look up at the helmet of Din Djarin, he fixes his face as though you could actually see the way his lips had parted. You fleetingly, timidly, smile at him and, miraculously, let go of the flowy pant leg.

Released from the spell, Din exhales and makes his way to the child’s room.

“You can use the refresher to clean that, if you’d like.” He does not look at you as he speaks.

“Is the baby okay?”

Din need not answer as the child himself murmurs in happiness at the sight of the two of you. To Din’s abject shock, the kid lifts his hands toward you.

You laugh once, flattered. “Can I?”

Din simply turns sideways so that you can fit between him and the hull wall. You reach for the child and it snuggles into your arms, touching your chin.

A brilliant smile lights your face.

“Are we friends now?” You whisper to him.

The baby babbles a response you’ll take as an affirmative.

“I’ve not asked. What’s his name?” You turn your still-smiling face up to Din.

Again thanking the Mythosaur for his helmet, he stares, stuck on your glowing expression as you cradle his ward. His brown eyes swim with an emotion he’s never felt.

“I don't know.”

Taken aback, you realize that there is a far deeper story here.

Did he steal this baby?

You move on quickly, “What do you call him?”

Din shrugs. “Kid.”

The child makes a cooing sound, then reaches for the Mandalorian. You hand the baby to his stoic guardian, and your smile changes to a satisfied one.

“He looks like he belongs there,” you laugh. Then your eyebrows pull together as you regret the too-comfortable comment.

He’s a bounty hunter, a killer, and he may or may not have stolen this fuzzy, long-eared infant.

And you’re just a runaway slave.

You back up a step, feeling awkward now. “You said I could use the ‘fresher?”

Din simply nods his head in the direction of the tiny facility.

When you've shut the door, Din's body relaxes.

***

But not for long. He didn't account for the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and the sound of the sonics. You are steps away, unclothed, and some wild instinct inside him awakens. Ashamed, he sets the child back in the hammock and climbs up to the cockpit to relieve himself.

_________________________________

The planet is purple. Dark and cloudy, the yellow, green, and blue street lights cast strange shadows. Neon signs of every shade flash from every corner. You've been to thousands of cities like this one. An underworld.

The Mandalorian landed the Razor Crest on the outskirts despite there being a busy spaceport made for that purpose. He transported the carbonite body of the cyborg to the edge of the city where he was met by some anonymous creature in a cloak. He asked no questions.

Din had entrusted you with the care of the child. He directed you and the kid to go on ahead to one of the less-reputable inns. The worse-looking, the better. People were more likely to mind their business.

You've found the perfect one. Din wanted seedy, he was getting the seediest. After all, most of your tasks as a slave had been spent in this environment since your masters hated to be seen in them.

But seedy didn't always mean crumbling and derelict.

Din, having tracked the child's chain code, returns later that night. His eyebrows rise at the size of the room.

"I said find an inconspicuous place to hide. You got the emperor's suite," he places his hands on his hips.

There are technically three rooms: the main living space, complete with couch, table, and a space to prepare food; and two small bedrooms both on the same side of the building.

"It was their only available room. Trust me, this place is as disreputable as they come. And he didn't upcharge," you rise from the couch. "If that was what you were worried about. I… made a deal with the clerk."

Din advances on you, "A deal?" His voice is tight.

"I didn’t involve you. I promise."

The Mandalorian clenches his teeth. Anything involving you, involves him.

"The kid?"

You tilt your chin across the apartment and laugh, "He wanted the room with all the toys.”

Din disappears into the room, and you chuckle at how long the child had been fascinated by the weird sculptures inside.

A low, rasping voice travels from the open door, "Hey, kid. Missed you, too."

Your smile deepens and your heart swells with emotion toward the two of them. Though they are not your family, it's comforting to watch them be one.

The modulated voice sounds again with a short laugh, "She can't hear you. Do you want her?"

You shake your head fondly, the kid had been babbling and reaching for you every time you set him down.

After a significant pause, Din softly admits, "I agree. I like her, too."

Flushing with shame for eavesdropping, you move to the far side of the apartment, to another large window.

Several minutes later, quiet footsteps get louder as Din leaves the child's room and closes the door.

"He tried to lift one of the sculptures," Din scoffs.

You laugh, picturing the child peacefully sleeping after tiring himself with the effort. It wasn't the first time today. Growing serious, you turn to face the Mandalorian.

"He helped me today. Someone grabbed at me and he… did what he does."

Din takes two huge strides toward you. "Did anyone see? What happened?"

"No one saw. It was in a closed alley. I-" you pause in momentary reluctance, then remember who you're talking to. "I took care of it."

You glance at the blaster on the table that Din had given you earlier that morning.

For the first time in a long time, Din's sigh is one of relief instead of irritation.

"Thank you," he says. "Again."

You wave him off, "It was between a scumsucker and the kid. Wasn't exactly hard," you try to make light of it.

Din shakes his head slightly. "I've seen you use a blaster. I'm glad the kid was there," he deadpans.

You exhale in feigned irritation, pleased by his playfulness.

He comes to stand next to you at the open window, and the peaceful silence is companionable.

As the breeze flutters, you shiver noticeably and his torn, rough cape curls into your ankle. The Mandalorian turns his head to you and reads how low your heat signature is.

Din stalks back to the entryway where he had set down a cloth bag. He snatches it up and brings it over to you.

"I hope they are acceptable."

Hands outstretched, you freeze as you realize you're being given a gift. You blink and look up, desperately trying to read a face you know you can't.

"Um, I've never -" you whisper, needing to tell him why you look like you've been struck. "Never had someone give me something."

Inside his beskar armor, Din grimaces. Had he overstepped? It might get even worse when you see how personal the items are.

He releases his hold on the bag and you open it, pulling out a pair of clothes. They're dark blue, and, while somewhat flowy like your current clothes, these do not have holes, stains, nor bad memories associated.

And they are a gift from Din Djarin.

How do you thank him for these? They certainly weren't cheap. The clothing is sturdy but light, beautiful but practical.

Embarrassingly, tears collect in your eyes.

"Oh, wow," you look up at him, panicking. "I can't take these." It was too much.

Din has an excuse in his arsenal.

"Take it as payment for your help with the kid."

You look back down at the material in your hands, rubbing the soft fabric.

"Thank you, Din. Really. I- I don't know how to thank you. You have been so kind to me."

His cheek pulls upward when you say his name for the first time. How sweet it sounds in your mouth.

"You needed them. These," he waves at the shredded scraps on your frame, "are no longer clothes."

You smile timidly, unused to being treated so well. "I'm going to go take them off and burn them."

The Mandalorian taps his vambrace. "I have the means when you're ready."

"Thank you again," you murmur, escaping to the refresher.

Din steps to the center of the room and places a hologram disk on the low table.

While you're busy, he's going to figure out how to get out of this.

***

After an actual shower, real water loosening the knots in your muscles, you exhale in pleasure at the feeling of the clean, well-made clothing on your skin. You feel like a person.

It's similar to seeing hyperspace for the first time. It scares you with how good it feels, knowing you’ve missed out on so much.

You slide open the refresher door to see Din seated on the couch, facing away from you. He sits reclined, his legs spread wide. The Mandalorian hears the door open, but he does not turn.

Stomach growling, you head to the cold storage near the front door. The box of food you'd bought from a vendor sits on the countertop. You unpack it carefully, still in disbelief you can eat whatever you want.

"Are you hungry?" You call to the Mandalorian as you continue to pull items from the box.

"You are no longer a slave. You do not have to serve me." The deep, rough voice sounds from right behind you, and you jump in surprise.

"Dank farrik, you move quietly."

Din reaches around you for one of the fruits you had purchased with his credits. His nearness has your body tensing, but he backs away almost immediately.

"How do you eat with that on?" You wonder, clearly meaning his helmet.

"I don't," he answers, walking into the other bedroom.

***

A week passes in that calm hotel apartment. The child provided more than enough entertainment for you, attempting to lift different objects of his desire at random.

For Din, so used to the child's antics, you are the object of his attention. You brush it off when he stands near you at the window, when he ensures that you have something to eat, and when he silently takes the couch over the comfortable bed.

But you're unable to ignore his touch.

Just after you wake, the dual suns begin to peek around the tall city buildings. Trying not to wake Din on the couch, you tiptoe to the window in the main room, still enthralled with the city view. You’ve seen cities thousands of times throughout your enslavement, often imagining running away to explore. Now that you have the opportunity, you find that you don’t want to go.

Seated on the bare floor, your arms wrapped around your knees as you watch the suns rise, you're wandering down halls of your own thoughts when a voice drifts into your consciousness.

"I will get your bounty lifted."

Turning your head, Din leans forward on the couch, his forearms on his knees.

"If that's what you are concerned about."

You shake your head, "I'm not concerned. I think I'm happy."

You had just come to that conclusion a moment earlier. It's an emotion you don't remember feeling. It's like your lungs are expanding after twenty years of suffocation.

You look back at the city and smile contentedly, "This is the best my life has been."

The admission is extremely personal, but you can’t keep it to yourself. It’s liberating. You weren't ready to fight for your freedom when the Mandalorian came for your master, but you are now.

Din’s footsteps advance on you until he’s standing off to your right. He says nothing.

After an interminable length of time, wondering what he’s doing, you twist and look up at him. His helmet turns toward the window just as you face him.

His hands are folded behind him, but a sliver of something flesh-toned is visible.

Is that his wrist?

Your stomach drops. His bare skin. It looks warm-toned and soft. You close your eyes and turn away, back toward the window.

“I am glad,” Din says.

“About what?” Since it has been several minutes since either of you have spoken, you’re unsure if he’s responding or making a statement.

He simply looks back down at you as if that answers your question.

“We’ll be leaving today,” Din continues to study you, appreciating the way the orange dawn lights your face. “You’ve almost drained me of credits with this palace of a hotel.”

You deny the accusation with a laugh, “I did not. I told you I made a deal.”

“And you have not told me what that deal was,” he says, a hint of a threat in his tone.

Din is on edge about your ‘deal.’ The night before, he had gone down to the reception desk to intimidate the clerk about it, but the employee you’d dealt with hadn’t been there.

“I promised you already - it has nothing to do with you or him,” you motion toward the child’s room. “It is not worth your attention.”

Din scowls. “You are also under my charge, and if you’ve placed yourself in danger, I need to be aware of it.”

Your face snaps up, uselessly trying to make eye contact with him. His charge? Why does your face feel hot at those words?

Finally taking pity on him, you answer, “He was a gambler. I bet him I could win more rounds of sabacc. And I did.”

The Mandalorian is stock-still. That was all? Din had gotten incredibly worked up over what you could possibly owe this mysterious desk clerk, and all you’d done was a bit of hustling?

“Why would you not tell me that right away?”

“I didn’t want to seem like I was bragging,” you frown. Din had tasked you with something and you had wanted to complete it with as little fanfare as possible.

“What other skills have you been hiding?” Din’s tone is half-mocking, half-serious. He knows next to nothing about you despite the monopoly you’ve had on his thoughts.

You side-eye him, unsure of his intention. “I can do basic ship repairs. I can speak four languages. I know how to fight.”

“I am not convinced of that last one.”

“The cyborg caught me on a bad day,” you protest.

"It was fortunate you were not seriously injured. I wouldn't have the credits for this," he nods his head up at the high ceiling.

For the second time, your head turns to scrutinize him, but he’s as impenetrable as ever.

"Why not?"

Din's silver face snaps down to you. "The quarry would not have made it into the carbon freezer."

And as you open your mouth - to say what, you have no idea - a quiet knock raps on the front door.

Spooked, you whirl so that you face the door, still seated.

“It’s alright,” Din’s deep, rough voice soothes.

When he holds out his hand to help you stand, you take it without second thought.

But it wasn’t just a hint of his wrist that you saw - his gloves are completely off. His rough palm slides into your grasp, and his thick fingers close around your hand.

Eyes widening, you audibly gasp.

Din raises you to your feet with no effort, and you wind up far too close to him. Your breath fogs on his chestplate, and your pulse thrums in your ears.

Too-quickly, his thumb rubs your skin, and then he releases your hand. Do you imagine the sigh he makes as he steps away?

Your eyes are glued to his broad form as he retrieves his gloves from the couch, then heads to answer the door.

“Should I -?” You whisper.

“Stay,” he says simply.

It’s unbelievable how one word could affect you. You swallow hard and clasp your hands together in front of you.

***

“As you are well aware, Mandalorian, my esteemed patron was unhappy to hear about her son’s death. However, you are of concern to us for a different reason. If we are able to reward you for your silence regarding where her son was at the time of his unfortunate, accidental death, this business might be put behind us.”

The slimeball flashes her biggest smile at the bounty hunter.

“What am I being paid to be silent about? The Hutt was banished by the Republic due to his slavery connections. Is the Senator afraid of her choice in friends being known?”

The emissary smiles nastily. “Let us say that the Hutt is also on my list of individuals to speak with.”

“I require explicit terms regarding this agreement. I am a Mandalorian, I can assure you of my discretion.”

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slavery you overheard between the Senator’s son and Salaa the Hutt, and we shall reward you with twenty-thousand credits to be paid over the course of three months.”

To your horror, Din rises from the couch and nods his head, saying, “I accept your terms.”

“And what about her?” The emissary wrinkles her nose as she indicates you.

“She is a slave,” the Mandalorian says with harsh finality.

You physically shrink next to him. He had insisted you remain while they spoke, but now you’re regretting agreeing to it.

The distaste with which he had uttered the word ‘slave’ makes you feel unclean, unwanted. Tears threaten to spill over, and you keep your head down in a familiar, submissive posture in case they do.

The bounty hunter escorts the Twi’lek emissary to the door while you sit, head bowed, on the couch.

“Senator Nesota will be most appreciative. If you are ever in Coruscant, she would be delighted to have you visit her apartments. They are most grand.” She disapprovingly glances around the hotel room. “I assume you had your slave pick this one.” The emissary briefly places her hand on the Mandalorian’s forearm, “Remember, we are friends now, Din Djarin.”

The helmet saves his entire operation, for Din cannot stop the disgusted scowl that mars his face. This piece of scum uses his name to both threaten and flirt; the difference in his feelings between her saying it and you saying it are blindingly stark.

“I do not have friends. My name is not for your use,” he says evenly as he punches the button for the front door.

The emissary walks away without another word.

When Din closes the door, he turns back to you with a sense of relief for more than one reason.

But something is wrong.

“Do you not feel well?”

You shake your head, “I misunderstood something. That’s all.” Your head remains bowed.

“You will not look at me.”

“I am… embarrassed,” you mutter honestly.

An emotion Din has never experienced or understood, he is at a loss. Instead, he sits across from you and tosses you the recorder.

The small, comm-looking device lands on your lap, and you pick it up, curiously rolling it in your hands. You press the button.

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slav-”

You stop the device and look up at Din with renewed hope, “You were lying.”

Din leans forward in his seat, “I was not lying. I gave her my word as a Mandalorian. But you didn’t.”

“That’s a stretch and you know it,” you laugh.

Din shrugs. The moral reasoning works for him.

“I am to send this recording to the Republic, correct? Get the senator removed from office?”

“She will no longer have the funds to pay our bounties. They will be considered void.”

Your smile falters. He had done what he promised.

Din tilts his head, “You’re unhappy about that?”

“It’s not your problem, of course. But I have to deal with the slaver’s reward. And… and I am not sure what I should do, where I should go.”

Really, you’re saddened because there is no longer any reason for you to stay. You wish there was.

The Mandalorian is silent, weighing his choice of words carefully.

"There is room on the Razor Crest. The kid is fond of you. I can pay you for your services to him. And, occasionally, the ship needs repairs - you can assist me with those.”

“Is this that ‘legal employment’ you told me I needed?” You grin. “I would like that very much.”

“You will need to learn how to fight, though,” he shakes his head, his tone teasing. “The kid can’t save you every time.”

____________________________________

You sit on the hold floor, the child in your arms. Having left the inn rather early, the child is still asleep.

Jostling as Din lands the Razor Crest on a new planet, you slowly stand and place the little lump in his hammock and shut the door.

The Mandalorian drops down into the hold, passing you and hitting the button for the boarding ramp. Deciding to trust him, you don't ask where you're being taken.

The answer isn't far. Din stops right at the treeline and hands you the same silver blaster from the previous week's fight with the cyborg.

"You need to learn to use it."

"I've done well with a blaster before," you protest. "I shot Rathos."

"But you didn't shoot the cyborg," you can hear the frown in his deep voice. "Pick a tree."

Nervous to be evaluated by a master of the craft, you hesitate briefly before aiming at a massive trunk a few speeders lengths away.

The plate of his armor brushes against your back as the Mandalorian gingerly sets his heavy hands on your shoulders, straightening them. With his boot, he taps the inside of your foot, indicating you should widen your stance.

You blink rapidly. Your face flushes with warmth. Why is your heart thundering? Can he hear it?

He can.

His own heart rate increases when his helmet's display shows your heat signature rising. Din pushes it further: his leather-covered hands slide down to your waist where he turns you a fraction - completely unnecessarily.

Close enough that, were he unveiled, you could feel his breath, he murmurs, "Fire."

Utterly distracted, you squeeze the trigger as a matter of following his command. The blaster shot continues on through the treetops, singeing leaves.

Din straightens, his hands leaving your body, and he huffs.

"You distracted me," you explain. "I can hit it."

You realign the weapon and inhale deeply, releasing on the exhale just as you would with an arrow.

The tree sizzles as you hit it dead-center.

Spinning to face him triumphantly, the smile freezes on your lips.

One of the suns on this planet has begun to drop behind him, and his large frame casts you in shadow. He still hasn't moved away from you. The way his mask is angled toward you makes you believe he's lost in thought.

"What is it?" You whisper in the tense silence.

Din feels dizzy. You're a natural with a weapon you'd fired all of three times. Your words cudgel his mind. He had distracted you enough to miss a huge karking tree.

"Do it again."

You nod and return to the target. Throwing your mind back to your childhood, you once again hit the tree dead-on.

Weighing the blaster in your hand, you turn back to him and say, "I still prefer wooden weapons. Or at least something resembling a spear."

"Why is that?" His voice is rough, and his hands find a home on his hips.

"That's how I grew up," you answer.

"Okay. Grab one."

Your mouth drops open in confusion, but he finally leaves your personal space and picks up a slender, twigless branch.

"You can't be serious," you sputter a laugh, certain he had just found a sense of humor. "I'm not fighting you."

"Why not?"

"Um. Because I can't."

"You can." He holds the stick out toward you.

You stare at him, watchful, as you curl your fingers around it. Din removes a small, cylindrical object from his utility belt. He pumps it once and it unfolds into a thin cane-like weapon.

"It's been twenty years," you frown. "You're going to win."

But, when that makeshift spear is in your hand, it all rushes back. The key to winning is in gaining ground. Whatever you do, push your opponent back. So, you launch at him first.

Only partially surprised by the speed of the typically-timid girl now coming for his throat, Din manages to duck out of the way just in time. But you whirl to the opposite side he expects, and swing your weapon into his helmet. It clangs, and you stand upright.

"I'm sorry!" You react, fearful both from years of mistreatment and not wanting to hurt Din.

He ignores you, swishing his weapon toward your middle, and you jump backward. Hating that you conceded even that little ground, you quickly drop to a crouch and sweep at his knees like Rathos did to you.

Din rockets upward a few feet, then drops back down on your other side. He swings at you and you parry.

Dancing for several steps, you eventually land a blow to his ribs where the beskar does not cover. Din's modulated groan makes you feel a rush of two separate emotions.

You don't want to hurt him, but that sound ignites a heat between your legs.

Din retaliates, kicking his tipless spear into your chest and shoving you backward. He knows your move, now. You don't like giving up ground, so you'll throw yourself at him, arms raised to strike.

When you do exactly as he predicts, he drops his weapon completely, grabbing you around the waist and spinning. He throws you to the ground, coming down on top of you.

You laugh, exhilarated, "Almost."

Something is jabbing your hip, and when you shift to identify it, Din grunts again. Your eyes shoot to his hidden face.

Under the helmet, Din's brown eyes are blown, pained at how aroused he is. He can't handle much more of this. Your wide eyes and galloping heart match his, but underneath him you look so vulnerable that he feels downright predatory. His stiff length twitches.

Din’s voice is raw, barely contained, "Tell me to stop and I will." His gloved thumbs push your bottoms down.

Speechless, your core pulsing, you nod.

Din unfastens the material around his middle, pulls his desperate cock from the flight suit, and hastily positions himself against you. Your slick coats him as he drags himself through your folds. He groans through the modulator.

“Oh,” you gasp when he eases the tip past your entrance.

Unable to wait a moment longer, Din sheaths himself inside you with a determined grunt, his patch of dark curls mingling with yours.

Your hands try to fist in his flight suit, eyes wide at the incredible feeling of him filling you. His right hand cradles your jaw as he starts to rock his hips, cursing as he does so.

For the first time in his life, Din resents his helmet; both for the separation from your soft skin, and the heightened senses it gives him. How is he supposed to last when he can see your heart racing, hear your quiet cries as though they’re inside his own head?

In an insufficient compromise, he rips off his gloves. His tan skin is calloused and scarred.

“Yes,” you plead.

Din intertwines his fingers on both hands with yours, hypnotized for a precious second by the intimacy. Reverently, you press a kiss to his knuckles. He makes a wild sound deep in his chest, then plunges your hands above your head.

Pushing your chest to his, you signal that he can do anything he wants to you. He collects both your wrists in one hand.

Din rhythmically arcs into you, the sound of his body - soaked from your arousal - striking yours nearly driving you insane. When you’d imagined it before, you wondered if looking into the blank face of his helmet might be off-putting, but you find that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it’s him. If anything, it’s erotic to trust him so blindly.

Din is resolved to know your body better than you do. With his free hand, his fingers nimbly massage your clit until you jerk.

“There?” He confirms.

You nod, unable to speak. His heavy, straining cock dragging through you, and his rough fingers replace the output from all other senses.

When he finds the perfect combination, he doesn’t let up until your eyes screw shut and you shake, incoherent underneath him in ecstasy.

“You can say it,” he hoarsely encourages through the modulator.

It was already on your lips, “Din.”

The hand that acted as a manacle releases you as he places his palm on the ground, giving himself as much leverage to bury himself as deep as possible. The toes of Din’s boots dig up clumps of grass as he thrusts into you, the sound of skin slapping skin lost in the breeze. Your legs curl around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He feels the spark at the base of his spine and knows he doesn’t have much strength left. Your fingers twist into the fabric of his flight suit again, clinging to him for all you’re worth.

Din makes the mistake of looking into your lust-filled eyes as you speak.

“Let go,” you whisper tenderly, feeling his tense body begin to fracture.

Din has no choice but to obey you, pumping himself into you with a long, harsh sigh. He works his release inside you, gradually slowing until his arms shake.

He finally drops to the ground beside you, breathing rapidly.

Suddenly shy, you want nothing more than to reach over and take one of his hands, but you lack the confidence. You also don’t know what to say.

Din doesn’t believe there’s anything to say. He had never been so tempted in all his life, and he had not passed the test. A shred less self-control and his helmet might’ve followed the gloves.

In fact, the temptation is still so strong that he begins to plan for its eventuality.

____________________________________

#din djarin #my fics #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Spotify #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #grogu #baby yoda #my writing

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ananxiousgenz · 6 days

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HEY Y'ALL YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT THIS IS!!!!! (it's more cowboy au FINALLY)

it has been. A Time!!!! @percy-mawce-arts and i have been getting our asses kicked by life so this au was sitting on the backburner for a while but we finally got this chapter finished and reviewed (after it had been sitting for like two months whispering creepily into my ear at night while i tried to sleep-) and we are SO very excited to show y'all the next chapter of When The Land Was Godless And Free!!!!

this chapter is a BEAST (word count says it's around 3.4K) and takes place right after arthur helps john out after being shot.

tw for brief mention of cauterization!!

Sometimes, John really fucking hated being human. He’d decided long ago that it was simply a hassle. That it would be easier to be a lizard, or a coyote, or a hawk. And from the day of his birth onward, life had only proven that theory correct. There were days where the pain, stress, awkwardness and confusion just made him want to crawl out of his skin. Days when he would rather rip off his fingernails than spend another minute talking to someone he disliked or asking for help he should have handled himself.

The past week had just been chock full of those days.

The first few of them John couldn’t recall with much clarity. He had the strangest idea that his mind had been tampered with, leaving him only able to remember bright, blurry moments of the days he’d missed with a feverish sort of quality. Searing pain in his side as the stars twinkled like diamonds above before he slipped away into blissful unconsciousness. His cheek pressed against Akke’s silky mane, watching the distant blue horizon tremble with motion. A wooden door opening with a creaking that felt like it was stabbing through his eardrums. A shaft of sunlight falling across his face, illuminating motes of dust in its path as someone hummed a distant melody. Pain, always pain, throbbing in his side and never letting go.

After so long swimming in half-darkness, stuck between awake and unconscious, John finally pulled himself fully out of limbo and into the unpleasantness of the waking world. His eyelids almost felt like they had been glued shut, and it took considerable effort to pry them open and see the world again. Once he had, he almost wondered if he was still in a dream, a shifting moment in the winds that would be blown away the second he blinked.

The stuffy room he was in had dark walls, lit by only a window with simple calico curtains to his left. He was lying tucked into the corner by the window, in a real bed with blankets and pillows and a nice mattress of all things. He hadn’t slept in a real bed since… Christ, at least since boarding school, and even calling that a “bed” was generous. A wooden bedside table sat at his right, with unused bandages and half-eaten bowls of soup scattered atop it, and a chair beside it. It was unoccupied, with only an empty gun holster hanging over one side of the backrest, but it didn’t take much for John to guess that it had seated a recently seated a person. John guessed it was some time after noon, seeing as the sun was still high and bright enough to illuminate the room. It had been night the last time he was awake, hadn’t it? Evening, maybe?

He couldn’t remember for the life of him how he had gotten here, much less why.

John made the poor decision to try sitting up. The moment he so much as tried to lift his head, the muscles in his abdomen tensed and a sharp pain shot through his side (that’s right, he had been shot, hadn’t he?), forcing him to collapse back against the pillow with a groan and a cough.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the ambiance of the structure where he was currently sheltered, a cabin of some kind. It creaked slightly in the wind, which he could hear rattling away at the window panes. But otherwise the room was silent. He could hear no footsteps, voices, moving furniture, crackling fires, records being played, nothing to indicate that another human being was anywhere in his vicinity. He was alone.

No, he wasn’t. In a moment of blind panic, John remembered Akke. Where was she? He didn’t hear any horses outside. She couldn’t have been left behind, she would have followed him… wouldn’t she?

Despite the roaring pain in his side, John fought to sit up and look out the window with gritted teeth, bracing himself against the windowsill with a white-knuckled grip. There was no sign of her, just a wooden fence, empty land, and miles of clear blue sky overhead.

John’s breathing began to speed up. Akke had been the only sure thing in his life since he left boarding school. She had saved his life in more ways than one, and he would do anything to keep her safe. If she was gone… Well. John wasn’t sure what he would do to whoever brought him here, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a wince and braced himself for the pain that would hit when he put weight on his feet. He was going to find her. Screw the pain. Screw the nauseating, dizzying pain splitting through his abdomen as he rose to his feet. Screw the way the world tilted and his vision began to fade. Screw the way he swayed on his feet. He had to make sure she was safe, he had to… he…

He hadn’t realized he was falling until a pair of strong arms stopped him from hitting the floor. His side pulled and searing pain had him screaming through gritted teeth.

“Calm down, John! Christ, what were you thinking?” That voice, John knew that voice. Smooth, with a fucking British accent. It was the Sheriff. What was his name, Adam? Alistair?

“Arthur?” John managed, trying his hardest not to throw up as Arthur helped sit him down again. “Arthur what… where-where…” Where am I? Where is Akke?

“You’re alright, John, you’re alright,” Arthur said, quietly, brushing a strand of hair from John’s eyes. His hand was like a cool balm against John’s forehead, and it was only then that John noticed how hot he was. It felt like he was lying in a furnace, he was sweating like a pig and his chest was heaving (though that was partially from panic). Arthur frowned and pressed his hand to John’s forehead more intentionally, then his cheek, then his neck. John couldn’t help but sigh every time his comparatively icy hand broke the heat radiating off of his skin. “Or, you will be. You’re safe, at least.”

“Safe…” John mumbled. His brain felt like it was melting. “Where’s Akke?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Akke?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, your horse? She’s here, John. She’s out front, being fed.”

John let his eyes slip closed with a relieved sigh. Normally he might argue. No, he definitely would. He would demand to see her, refuse to cooperate until he knew for sure she was safe. But something about Arthur’s voice, something about Arthur, compelled John to trust him. Besides, his head was swimming with heat and pain and he could barely hold on to a clear train of thought. He might die before he got to see her again if he didn’t lie back down.

“Come on now, John,” Arthur said gently, his voice filled to bursting with kindness and concern that somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, John knew he didn’t deserve. “She’s alright, I promise. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

John swallowed thickly and nodded, the action making the room twirl like a falling feather. One of his hands flew up to his forehead in a futile effort to brace it, but there was no need. He was lying back down with his head on the pillow before there was any real danger of the world slipping out from under him, guided by a gentle hand attached to a seemingly gentler man.

Though his vision was slightly obscured by one eye being mashed into his pillow, John examined Arthur again. He looked just about the same as John could remember from that night by the fire, but this time he seemed more… on edge, like a nervous kangaroo rat, waiting to be snatched up by a raptor. More than that, John noted as Arthur sat down in his chair with a quiet sigh, he seemed utterly exhausted. The circles stamped beneath his eyes were the color of mountain larkspur: a dark, nearly midnight purple. And the way his body slumped into the chair like a sack of grain spoke of more than one late night of worry and no sleep.

Why did Arthur look so stressed? Had they been followed? Were they not safe here? Maybe they were in danger, but John had been too sick to move. It was a real possibility, given how little of the recent days he was able to recall. God, how long had he been here? He knew it had been a few hours at least, but some inner timer ticking away towards his own personal doomsday said it had been longer. Without meaning to, the question slipped past John’s feverish lips.

“How long?”

“Hmm?” Arthur hummed in response, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he leaned back against the chair. “How long what?”

“How long,” John repeated, turning his head slightly so his mouth was more exposed, “have I been here?”

Arthur blew out a long breath and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t… I’m not sure. Maybe about 4 or 5 days? I’ve lost track, to be entirely honest.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, you haven’t missed much,” Arthur chuckled. “It’s been quiet. A lot of me trying to wash out your wound and keep the fever down while trying to take care of the horses and the chickens and whatnot. A lot of you sleeping and mumbling and crying out whenever I try to help with your bandages.”

John hummed into the corner of his pillow, letting his eyes slip closed as he listened to the soothing baritone of Arthur’s voice.

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

John creaked one eye open. “How did I get here?”

“Well,” Arthur said, a faint smirk on his face as he shifted his weight in the chair to lean a bit closer to John, “I brought you here.”

“No shit,” John muttered, suddenly realizing how crusty his voice had become at a lack of use. He coughed once or twice to clear his throat, making the room spin again. “I’d like a bit more detail than that.”

“Ah. Well, I managed to get you up onto your horse– Akke, you said her name was? And then I led her back here, and managed to drag you into bed and rebandage your wound before the fever set in. You’ve been fairly incoherent since. Haven’t said much, but what you have said has been… well, calling it interesting might be a bit generous.” Arthur leaned back in the chair, that same faint smirk settling over his face. “Getting you here wasn’t easy, you know. You’re quite heavy, friend.”

There was an easy confidence in Arthur’s face and voice now, a swagger meant to disguise his exhaustion and fear and make it seem as though everything was just sunshine and clear skies. Probably meant to keep John calm, so he wouldn’t pass out from exertion or the fever or blood loss. But John had already seen the truth, already knew what was lurking behind that mask. Arthur was worried and tired, clearly running on empty and on the verge of collapse. But about what, John couldn’t say, and it was beginning to nibble away at his nerves like a mouse at a block of cheese.

“‘S all muscle,” John mumbled in an (admittedly fruitless) effort to send that mouse skittering off into the depths of his subconscious.

“I did wonder once or twice if you had eaten an entire buffalo right before deciding to attempt a double murder.”

“A buffalo?”

“Mmmm. I imagine you swallowed it whole, much like a rattlesnake. Horns and all,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

The idea of someone swallowing a whole buffalo was, to say the least, a bit silly. John snickered at the idea of it. Arthur’s smirk grew into a broad grin in response.

“They can’t taste terribly good that way, though,” Arthur continued, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Those things smell awful, I can’t imagine the flavor is any good.”

John chuckled. “How would you go about it, then, if you know so much?” Arthur smiled.

“The same way you eat an elephant,” he said, with the kind of familiarity that implied a joke he’d told before. “One bite at a time.”

John couldn’t help himself. The simple joy of such a silly idea bubbled up from the bottom of his heart and he was powerless to stop it. He laughed, hard and loud.

And almost immediately regretted it.

The pain that shot through his side in response was like a white-hot fire, searing him from the inside out and blurring his vision with boiling tears. A strangled noise fought its way out of his throat, caught between a gasp, a hiss, and a language only his subconscious knew now.

“Ataa!”

Through his misty vision, John saw Arthur’s face hovering in space above his own, a clear furrow between his brows as his mouth was set into a deep frown.

“John?” There was a trembling note in Arthur’s voice as he spoke.

“It hurts,” John whined.

“John, listen, I know it hurts, but I need you to stop moving, alright? I need to check if you reopened the wound. Try to lie still.”

John blew out a sharp breath and did as he was told. A moment later, cool fingers lifted his shirt, undid his bandages, and grazed along the throbbing epicenter of pain in his stomach. John was surprised at how little the contact hurt. Arthur’s hands were rough and calloused, to be sure. The life of a sheriff in a land like this didn’t exactly leave room for soft hands. But he was so gentle, barely hovering above John’s skin like the sweep and swish of prairie grass. Almost like he cared.

Arthur sighed quietly as he began to retie the bandages. “Alright. I think you’re okay, John. Just take it easy. No more laughter. It was hard enough trying to close you up the first time.”

The first time. The pieces were beginning to fit together in John’s mind. Arthur had taken the bullet out of his stomach. Arthur had cauterized the wound. Arthur was worried. About John. And not only was he worried about John, he chose to take him back to this cabin. Chose to take him in and heal his wounds. Arthur knew about John’s connections to Larson and his gang and the danger he could have been in as a result. He could have left John for dead out in the desert, and no one would have been the wiser. So the question still remained: why did he do it? Why go through the trouble? What did John matter to Arthur in the grand scheme of things?

“John? John, what’s wrong? Does something else hurt?”

John realized hot tears were slipping from the corners of his eyes again, accompanied by sniffling that he couldn’t quite stop. “Why?” he croaked.

Arthur looked deeply confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you bring me back?”

“I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Why did you keep me alive? For fucks sake, Arthur, I tried to kill you. I did kill your friend. You should have let me die. Why am I here?” John growled, swiping the tears off his face like they were burning him.

Arthur went silent, and John could almost swear he saw the gears turning in Arthur’s head as he considered his answer. He finished with the bandages and sat down, nibbling on his thumbnail as he thought. After a long moment, he looked up in John’s direction, his expression strangely hard.

“Because you’re human,” he said quietly.

John blinked in surprise. “What?”

Arthur nodded, a determined set to his eyes shining like the sun bouncing off metal. “You’re human. And in pain. Leaving you behind would have been cruel, even if you did try to kill me.”

John was, for the first time in a long time, completely speechless. Arthur thought he was something worth saving. Something that deserved to be taken care of. Something that didn’t deserve to die. In the back of his mind, a little voice whispered, The King wouldn’t have helped you. Larson would have let you die. He knows what you really are.

“You know nothing about me,” John choked out. “You don’t know what I know. What I’ve done.”

“Well, I rather figured you’d tell me something when you got better,” Arthur said with a vaguely guilty grin. “I figured if I kept you alive, I would get some good information out of you regarding the King’s whereabouts.”

“If I tell you about who I am and what I’ve done for that man, you’ll regret keeping me alive. You’ll kill me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” John said, staring blankly at the ceiling the way he knew imagined a corpse would. “I’m not exactly a good person.”

“I never would have guessed,” Arthur muttered, and John watched him roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision. “The man who shoots my deputy and tries to kill me, a bad person. Unthinkable!”

John snorted in spite of himself. He didn’t laugh much (it was simply how he’d always been) but somehow, it felt natural around Arthur.

“John, look. You’re not the only one here who has done unforgivable things in the name of survival. I’m not asking you to like me, or even offer me any information about yourself. I’m asking for information on Larson. That’s all.”

Arthur’s face was polite, but as he spoke, his gaze grew sharper, cold with the threat of an avalanche lurking in the back of those bright hazel eyes. John knew that look. That frigid anger. The cold fury that seeped in through cracks of vulnerability, leaving a thick crust of ice over a person’s heart and a layer of frost on everything they touched. He’d seen it on the faces of dozens of Native kids in Larson’s gang after they’d been told just what atrocities they had to fear from the law.

Arthur wanted revenge.

And he would do just about anything to get it.

“Just tell me where Larson is, and when you’re healed, you can go. I won’t hunt you. I won’t send anyone after you. I swear, I will leave you be for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

The words left John’s mouth before he had fully finished thinking them, but as he turned them over on his tongue, he realized they were the truest thing he had spoken since meeting Arthur. He didn’t want to leave. Arthur believed that John was human enough to save, to care for, to let live, despite how little he knew about him. That was more grace and humanity than Larson ever showed him, or any of the kids in his shitty gang. The longer he thought about it, the more John realized he was sick of it. All the lies, the manipulations, the nightmares, all that time living in limbo between terror and fury while fighting for a cause that would sooner see you crushed beneath its heel. He didn’t want that. More than that, he didn’t want it for anyone.

Arthur looked completely baffled. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave,” John repeated as the words rang through his mind again like chiming crystals. “I don’t want to go back to Larson and his gang.”

Arthur simply stared.

“Look. You want revenge on him, don’t you? I saw the look on your face when you talked about him. You want him locked up, and I want his fucking gang disbanded and freed. I’m not going to leave you, not when we have a common enemy we want gone.” A hard edge was creeping into John’s voice as he spoke. “Between your sharpshooting and my sight, we could bring him down. Two heads and all that.” Arthur seemed apprehensive still, which was fair, John thought. Having empathy for the man who shot your deputy was a far cry from trusting him. John sighed.

“Arthur, vengeance will eat you from the inside out. Believe me, I know. I can see it wearing you down.” Arthur averted his gaze. “This is too big a foe to handle alone. Too big of an elephant to eat whole.”

Finally, Arthur smiled, looking up from where he’d fixed his gaze on John’s quilt. “So we eat it together,” he said. John nodded.

“One bite at a time.”

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #john doe malevolent #arthur lester #malevolent pod #malevolent fanfic #malevolent fic #malevolent cowboy au #an eldritch being and his wet cat #when the land was godless and free #masked #tw cauterization

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wolven91 · 5 months

Text

Rootin' Tootin' Cowboy Canid

The planet wasn't a hospitable place.

Hell, that whole area of space wasn't exactly hospitable, but it was still where Urma had made her home.

Harsh winds blew down off the plateaus and brought with it sand, grit and dust that threatened to blind the human. She pulled down her goggles and lifted the scarf back up to cover her mouth and nose. From here, she could peek over the lip of the valley she was in and observe the surrounding land for miles on end. She peered at the tiny figures on the horizon and mentally noted the predators. Thankfully, the group of creatures that could worry her charges were running in the opposite direction she needed.

He human clicked her tongue twice and jabbed into the scaled flesh between her legs with her heel before leaning to her left and digging her left heel in as a constant pressure. The giant domesticated lizard that she was riding atop merely grumbled and growled, moistening a beady eye before turning to its left and rapidly descended the rocky outcropping from where the human had been observing the herd and surrounding area.

"Nothing on the horizon, we good to move this lot onto the next area." Urma called, leaning back until her own back nearly touched the scaled hide of the lizard as it effortlessly clambered down the sheer rock face. They were almost vertical as her friend and fellow squidgit herder, Mersa, turned her way and grinned.

The canid's teeth were wicked and sharp, but Mersa was merely attempting to recreate the human grin again, a flinch-worthy sight to say the least. The canid turned back to the oversized hat that Urma had gifted them only that morning and gently thumbed the hem along the brim of the hat. The human merely grinned as she urged her lizard onwards towards the herd who dutifully began moving as a single unit away from Urma and her mount.

She called back to the canid until Mersa pulled up alongside Urma.

"You're not going to be all distracted because I got you a single hat are you?" The human asked with a small smirk.

"N-no! I just... I never wore a hat before." The canid sniffed, raising the head wear up onto their head and placing it down carefully. The canid's ears had to go flat, and the hat merely rested on top of it. One strong breeze, like those found near the plateau and it would be long lost to the winds. The small string of material would catch around the wearer's neck, but it still wouldn't be comfortable to wear by the canid.

Urma merely snorted at the comical sight, the way her ears were laid; it was if Mersa had just heard perturbing news.

"Sorry, I didn't think of the ears. How'd you used to wear helmets? You can't pretend you soldiers never wore something to keep you melon intact?" The human asked as the giant lizard she rode practically flowed over the rough and rocky terrain.

"Of course we did... They had ear holes." Replied the canid, pulling her own lizard away from Urma's as it took a half-hearted snap at the other lizard's leg.

"Maybe I can...?" Mused the human, considering how to adjust the item.

But the human's thoughts were interrupted by the loud sound of tearing material. Glancing up and over, the canid had merely pressed her thumb claws into the material, punching through it was ease before repeating the action in a small line. The damaged material was cut relatively cleanly and as Mersa placed the hat atop their head once more, Urma wouldn't have been able to say that the holes weren't designed to be there in the first place.

"How'd I look?" Asked the canid, turning to the human as the pair continued to corral the herd of squidgits towards the gentle slope of the exit to the valley. The plateaus were a barren and a harsh wasteland but were broken up by regular depressions that lead down into fertile bowls where travellers and animals could take shelter from the constant scouring winds and sandblasted the plateaus clean of any landmarks.

"Dashing. Now remember to take that off when entering a building unless you mean to cause trouble. If you mean respect, take it off and hold it over your chest, over your heart if you're telling the truth." Listed Urma, closing her eyes and counting her points off on her hand as she spoke.

To her credit Mersa mentally made note of each of the points and would hold them as if they were cold hard truths of the universe.

The pair continued to chatter, even with their masks on and scarves up to avoid getting scoured by the winds.

This was why neither of them noticed the ship descend from the clouds behind them and in a screaming, roaring near miss, ploughed the plateau dirt with the belly of their ship as the low-slung cargo bay scooped up half the herd in a swing barn swallow.

The pair of them both unslung the long rifles from off their back and immediately began firing. Mersa charging up the left side, and Urma on the right, their lizard mounts easily speeding up with their legs scrambling with lightning speed. The herd was panicked and not paying attention to either Urma's or Mersa's directions.

Urma pulled the underslung recharge lever to refresh the charge, only this time she held the lever open for longer before aiming down sights and firing at the pivoting wing engine as it passed overhead with an overcharged blast. The flash gave her sunburn and the overheat alarms protested. But the shot was good; it had taken off a panel in a shower of sparks and metal. The internals were exposed.

She just needed one good shot.

The ship took a wide arc and came back round for another pass, disappearing briefly behind great clouds of sand and dust. Half a herd wasn't a payday, these pirates needed as many as they could get.

The ship was on course to scoop not only the remaining herd up, but the human as well as it skimmed the ground, its front-loading bay door still open and ready to eat its prize like a grotesque gluttonous fish.

Urma aimed down her sights without fear, she just needed a window. Her mount was steady, her aim was focused.

"Just give me the opening..." She murmured to no one.

The ship was getting larger and larger, all the while she didn't flinch, she only get a flash of an opening. Her trigger began to depress as she readied herself.

That was until Mersa's mount collided into her own, knocking her aim, her shot flashing and pinging off the cockpit window, scorching it.

The human fell from her mount, feeling the solid ground kicking the wind out of her as she rolled over and over as her momentum was bled away. Clearing her from the danger of being scooped up with the rest of the herd. Unopposed, the ship collected the last of its prize, the rest of the herd was consumed by the pirate's ship cavernous maw.

Along with the canid her mount.

In a deafening roar of destroyed dirt and scarred metal, the ship began to rise as it completed its pass, the shouted in confused betrayal.

"No! No, no, no!" Urma shouted, scrambling to her feet, and snatching up her gun as the retreating ship arced up into the sky and disappeared behind the clouds. Urma stood there, dumbfounded as her friend was stolen away from her.

A moment of helplessness returned, flashes of how she felt during the Sol-3 Incident bubbled back up to the surface. Unable to stop anything, unable to fight back. Her home and life destroyed in one horrid evening. A choking bark escaped her.

But a firm shove at her elbow brought her back to reality and her gut grabbed onto the despair and buried it deep.

The giant lizard's head had merely nosed her. Within its jaws; Mersa's long gun. The human slung her own weapon.

She rubbed a hand firmly into the flat centre of the creature's head by way of 'thanks' while she retrieved the gun. She checked the cell and the crystal for damage, finding none. Urma pulled a face and scowled at the weapon before turning her arm over and observing her wrist reaching to press a button when the arm mounted computer clicked on a tracking beacon, pinging to alert the human. It had picked up a herd tracking pip. The pip used by Mersa.

Mersa had to be alive to have activated it and, knowing the sly canid, will have bugged the pirate's ship rather than herself. Urma felt tear sting at her more than sand ever could. Pirates wouldn't keep prisoners, the chances of Urma catching up to them before they murdered her friend were slim.

The human knew this.

She should have stayed in GC territories, where these incidents didn't happen. She had been warned about living in the unclaimed territories.

Urma didn't care. All that was the past now. All the consumer the human, was hunting down the pirates who had decimated her world.

"Dead or alive... I'm coming for you Mersa... God help them if they've hurt you..." She promised with venom dripping from every word.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #canid #werewolf #cowboy

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drefear · 1 year

Text

They Know (Drabble)

I got this from a post by @miggyyyyohara

TW: violence, a little bit of smut, nothing else really. (Second hand embarrassment?)

It wasn’t an easy mission.

Usually, Miguel and Jess could handle things just the two of them, and the other teams could handle the smaller anomalies. Gwen, Hobie, and Pav were a team, Ben, Lego Peter, and cowboy Spider worked together sometimes, and the list went on. Today, a Lizard got through to Earth -1563 and Miguel called for backup, which was something he genuinely hated doing. When he didn’t see any portals opening after a few minutes, he made a second call.

Swiftly, Ben, Gwen, and Hobie popped through.

“Where’s Jess?” He yelled, anger bubbling at having to deal with the others- mainly Hobie.

“Jess is having bad morning sickness!” Gwen called out, swinging to land a blow to the Lizards abdomen, until its claws dug into her suit and threw her into the concert wall.

“It’s 4pm!”

“Innit funny how it can come at any time but it’s called mornin’ sickness?” Hobie smashed his guitar over the Lizards head, but it barely flinched and he moved backward to save Gwen. The portal opened again and Miles and Pav ran in, glancing around at the bloodied Gwen and exhausted others.

“Take Gwen somewhere safe, Pav.” Miguel instructed and Pav nodded, then pulled Gwen into his arms and ran back into the portal. Miguel glared at the green being, whose strength seemed to be a bit much to handle for the group.

“Hobie, Miles, use the electricity powers to stop that thing, Ben and I will keep it busy until you do and when you can, trap it.” He instructed and Miles nodded, as Hobie sighed.

“I’m only listenin’ cause that’s what I was thinkin’ a doin’.” Hobie then went with Miles to start shooting webs, making a decent trap for the large anomaly.

Meanwhile, Miguel and Ben fought against the large reptile villain. Ben flipping and narrating everything made Miguel practically seethe with irritation. He would remind the Spider-Man to stop doing that.

“Now!” The two boys shouted and Miguel flipped out of the way. He caught sight of Ben, who obviously didn’t hear the signal, and continued to fight the Lizard.

Miguel jumped and soared to Ben, pushing him out of the way, but he was a bit late.

The electric currents from the two younger spider-boys shot through their webbing and into Miguel, as well as the Lizard.

While the beast was indeed captured, Miguel caught a breeze against his skin as he felt his suit malfunction. Glaring at the ground, he stood with his backside to the group as they stared at him. He huffed and spoke.

“Lyla, use my emergency application suit.”

“Nice buns-“

“Lyla!” He growled and she immediately covered his body with a new suit, rolling his shoulders in the holographic fabric. It was a bit tighter than the newer one, now having his new measurements, but still working to keep him modest.

Later once he was back on his platform, he ran diagnostics on his suit, fixing the technology and trying to find a way to not let Miles and Hobies powers affect it so much to where he’s completely naked every time. Hearing footsteps, he turned and hit a button to lower the platform.

“So I heard the mission was a success.” Peter spoke, lightly teasing the bigger of the two as he hopped onto the platform. A few others were behind the father and Miguel heard a few stifled laughs.

“It was. Now spit it out.” He glowered, waiting for the punchline to whatever ridiculous joke the group was trying to make. Turning around, he saw Gwen, Pav, Miles, Hobie, Jess, and Peter. Miguel folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at them all.

“We got a good look at ya backside.” Hobie stated and the others looked at Miguel with smiles.

“It’s the same as anyone else’s, don’t be immature.”

“It definitely was not the same as everyone else’s.” Miles mumbled, making Miguel’s eyes snap to his with a lingering question in them.

“I mean, sometimes my back looks a bit like that, depends when my girl is ova or not.” Hobie smirks, winking at Pav as he lets out a laugh.

“What?” Miguel asks, still confused.

“Miguel- can you take the back of your suit down? Just your back, not your butt?” Jess asks, making the large man think for a second. Without another thought, he lets the back of his suit dissolve and Gwen gasps. Jess and peter stand, eyes wide, and finally Peter clears his throat.

“I think the kids have some sort of paperwork to do.” Peter moves to rush them all out, Hobie shaking his head.

“Finished it all, so who’s the lucky lady?” He dodged Peter’s grasp before he can push him out of the room, making everyone stop.

Miguel furrows his brows. “I don’t understand, is there something-“

And then you walk in.

A bouncy little pep in your step, making him want to pepper kisses all over your face, and his face relaxes a bit. You’re in mostly casual clothing, shorts and a t-shirt with those cute little boots he loves so much. You two had been dating secretly, not wanting the spider society to make a big deal of it.

“Who’s got a lucky lady?” You inquire and Hobie nods to Miguel.

“Big boss man’s got some serious evidence of a good night all ova ��is back. We’re just asking who could he be smashin’.”

Silence covers the room as Miguel finally understands.

He immediately covers his back.

He was with you last night.

You, with your legs around his waist as he sunk into you over and over, causing you both to practically break the sound barrier with your moans. You with your nails dragging all across his back, your mouth leaving hickeys all over his skin, and Miguel returning the favor. Him, leaving hand shaped bruises on your thighs.

Ones that were very visible right now in those little shorts.

Your eyes swelled as you somewhat understood what you just waltzed in on.

“W-wow, maybe I shouldn’t be here right now-“

“And what are those?” Hobie bends down to your thighs, making you freeze as you and Miguel refuse to break eye contact.

“You have a secret partner too?” Pav asks, shock filling his voice. Gwen and Hobie look at each other as it sinks in and Miles takes a step back to the door.

“I-I got those on a mission.” You sputter, trying to save some face.

“The hickeys and fang-marks too?” Jess crossed her arms, not believing you as you just shrugged, face red as a beet.

“Everyone get out!” Miguel roared, embarrassed by the obvious being revealed.

“Fine, but try not to get distracted, yeah?” Hobie says, strolling out with his hands in his pockets. Gwen follows him out with a hand covering her face while Miles drags out Pav, who just keeps trying to ask questions. Jess and Peter glance back to you and Miguel, before Peter mumbles a happy little ‘good for them,’ and Jess pulls him away.

You two stare at each other before he sighs as you ask,

“You think they know?”

“They know.”

#miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel smut

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kingsbridgelibraryteens · 10 months

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Reluctant Reader Wednesday: Dracula by Bram Stoker

Okay, I hear what you’re saying: why are you recommending THAT dusty old thing? How could a reluctant reader be enticed by a book that was written in the 19th century? Well, I’m recommending it because WHAT’S OLD IS NEW AGAIN. Also because (and this is important!) Dracula is a classic book that has aged well.

Even if you’ve never read this book, you already have an idea of what this story is about. A vampire is killing people, and some of the smartest and strongest people fight back. There’s lots of blood, and suspense, and drama. But if, like me, most of your understanding of Dracula came from movies and other kinds of pop culture, then reading the original book will surprise you. By the time you finish this story, you’ll have thoughts running through your mind like …

Who knew that an American cowboy was a major character in this story?

Who knew that a woman was a major hero of this story?

“Lizard fashion”????

I’m REALLY in the mood for some paprika chicken right now!

There are several different ways to enjoy the classic book Dracula. You can definitely check out a copy of the book from the library. But in “what’s old is new again” news, you can also read the story in chronological order through Dracula Daily emails, and you can listen to the story in chronological order through the Re: Dracula podcast!

#Reluctant Reader Wednesday #Dracula #Bram Stoker #horror #vampires #Dracula Daily #Re: Dracula #Kingsbridge Library #NYPL

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lucid-romances · 11 months

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The Family Ranch

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

The reader takes Spencer home to meet her family.

Word Count: 1k

Genre: Fluff

A/N: Remember when he told JJ he wanted to be a cowboy? I remember.

Spencer drives slowly, his hands gliding over the steering wheel of his Volvo Amazon, which had seen better days. He rolls down the windows, and his unmanaged curls get caught in the summer breeze. They become a crown framing his face, kept from his eyes solely by the pair of sunglasses that shielded them. The road had long since turned from smooth pavement to trails of gravel inlined with dirt. (Y/N)'s childhood home hides behind valleys and hills, a small ranch tucked away from the rest of the world.

They can see the pasture of cows before they see the house, and (Y/N) sits at attention, crooning at the many calves shepherded by their mothers and kept in line by a Great Pyrenees. The dog turns to watch the car tumble down the road but doesn't dare to leave his post.

The sun is high in the sky, it's a hot day for Virginia, and (Y/N)'s already rolling up the cuffs of her jeans to prepare for time in the mud. Spencer watches her from the corner of his eye, pleasantly surprised to see her shuck off the professionalism she had to wear at the BAU.

They pass by a mailbox, its white metal covered in years' worth of colorful handprints. "Excited to be home?" He asks, not for the first time, in a tone sweeter than honey.

The Volvo lurches to a stop, and the screen door of her parent's house opens before she can respond. The words are unnecessary because she's out of the car before he can count to three and scooping up an eight-year-old boy in her arms. Spencer recognized him from pictures, with his freckled skin and outcrop of curly hair. His flannel was two sizes too big for him, a lizard sat in the pocket of his overalls, and as (Y/N) would say, he was undeniably Daniel.

"You've gotten so big!" (Y/N) says as Spencer retrieves their bags from the trunk. He had his reservations about staying the night with her family. Mostly, he worried they wouldn't like him, but if they were anything like the girl he'd started to consider a permanent life with, he knew he would come to love them just as much.

"Maybe you've just gotten shorter, Auntie." Daniel teases, and Spencer notices he has (Y/N)'s smile.

"You think? No, it's all you, kiddo, you're growing up on me!" (Y/N) hugs the boy again, finally letting herself miss her family after living in Quantico for the past year. "Do you remember Spencer? You spoke on the phone."

Daniel's gaze sweeps over the older man as he approaches, squinting at the dress shirt and slacks he wore, unaware of how casually Spence happened to be dressed compared to usual. "Everyone is excited to meet you."

"Are they?" Spencer's heart soars. "I'm excited to meet you all too! Who is your friend?"

Daniel pulls the lizard from his pocket and holds it aloft to Spencer, giving him a view of the spotted Bearded Dragon, rough to the touch. "His name is Dash."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Dash. Did you know that Bearded Dragons are one of the few lizards who will mimic other creatures?" Spencer tilts his head to stick out his tongue, and when Dash reciprocates, Daniel takes a surprised step back.

"Woah! You have to come show my mom!"

When Daniel takes off towards the house, (Y/N) loops her arm around Spencer's. "You're good at that."

"What's that?"

"Kids."

Spencer shrugs, unwilling to admit that he finds children easier to talk to than most adults. "That's just because Dash vouched for me."

"A pretty cool guy, that Dash." (Y/N) plays along, leading Spencer inside as Daniel approaches a woman at the stove. Her light hair contrasts (Y/N)'s, but they share the same eyes. She watches with patience that only a mother could know as Daniel tries several times to get Dash to stick out his tongue. When it finally works, the woman offers him a beaming smile before acknowledging the couple in the doorway.

"The FBI has finally released my baby sister back to us humble cattle ranchers? Bestill my beating heart!" The woman, who Spencer knew to be Amelia, crosses the room to pull her sister into a bone-crushing hug. Spencer has to let (Y/N) go to allow this, but he isn't out of the woods yet. Amelia appraises him, trailing her gaze from his head to his toes. "He's cuter in person."

"Amy!"

"What? You don’t mind, do you, Spencer? I'm just repeating the things (Y/N)’s said about you."

Spencer beams, his gaze flickering between the two siblings. Their dynamic reminded him of how Derek continues to tease him daily. "Not at all. I hope everything she says about me is half as nice."

"Like you wouldn't believe! 'His eyes are so dreamy. I love it when-'" (Y/N) cuts off the embarrassing stories, most from when she first started working at the BAU and barely knew Spencer as an acquaintance. She shoves Amelia back towards the stove, threatening to knock a pan of homemade chicken noodle soup from the burner. "Hey, hey! Chasing serial killers has made you violent! MA!"

Amelia raises her voice so she’s heard in the recesses of the house, and not a few moments later, an older woman comes skidding into the room. She has the same friendly deposition as her daughters. Her skin’s notably wrinkled from years of hard labor, but there's a kindness in her eyes that Spencer can't ignore. "What's all the fuss about? (Y/N)! When did you get here?"

The mother and daughter close the distance between themselves. Spencer can't help noticing how tightly (Y/N) clings to her parent as if proving all her sleepless nights- fearing that she would never see them again- wrong.

"Hey, Ma," she finally says, after moments trickling into minutes. "I brought a boy home."

Everyone calls her Ma, even the people down the valley in the closest town, but Spencer knows her name is Beth. Against his better judgment, he holds his hand out to her, expecting a polite handshake to break the ice, yet he's not surprised when he's pulled into a hug. "Doctor Reid!" She greets him with an open welcomeness he isn’t used to. "We're so excited to have you finally join us. I hope you don't mind roughing it out here."

"Spencer, please, and not at all! Your home is lovely, and so is your family."

"Well, that’s very kind of you! You've both made it in time for lunch. Why don't you get comfortable while I find your father?” Beth excuses herself before the couple can respond.

Spencer finds himself at the dining room table, served a bowl of soup while having a riveting conversation with Daniel about the local reptile population. He was more comfortable in (Y/N)'s childhood home than expected, and even as the rest of her family settled to join them for their meal, he couldn't help holding her hand beneath the table.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #This was supposed to be longer #Lucid Romances

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legokingfisher · 5 months

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The lineup 💪 (about half my Ninjago ocs, as of dragons rising) from left to right, Two-Worlds (she/her), Chloe (she/her), Alcyo (he/him), and Elapis (he/they).

a lil more abt them vv

Two-Worlds is a hent (speculative etymological ninjagan term for amphicyonids, aka bear-dogs… google em, they’re pretty cool and not extinct in the Ninjago universe in my mind palace/hc zone) hailing from my friend’s fan-realm called Creatura. She’s not actually supposed to be in a humanoid form, it was artificially induced via magic. Her true form is much larger and much more quadrupedal like other creaturans (who just look like oversized, strangely colored but otherwise normal animals). She prefers this form though because she was raised in Ninjago around exclusively humans and got some body dysmorphia out of it… and as for why she’s a cowboy, it’s because she felt like it. She’s been wandering the merged lands searching for her scattered friends and family.

—

Chloe is a Fangpyre serpentine, and she looks pretty lizard-y because for some reason Fangpyre are more monitor lizard-ish than snake-ish in my head. She’s got special interests in pop culture and history, particularly human pop culture and ways in which human and serpentine history interact. Girlie is like a walking archive. Since the merge she’s been wanting to digitize and transcribe what remains of non-digitized archives and libraries, as the merge has made her all the more aware of how often natural disasters can destroy physical/recorded history. She’s pretty thrilled that Lloyd’s letting her digitize/transcribe scrolls in the monastery.

—

Alcyo is a master of an element i Made The Fuck Up for fun: mist. It’s a running gag that ppl (including him way back when) hear there’s elements of smoke and mist and go “…what’s the difference?” lmao. He’s no fighter, but still wanted help/training to use his element, and that’s how he knew Ash. He’s a geosciences guy like me and has been freaking out over . Well. Everything (lol he inspired that post) since the merge. He’s been getting together with ppl like him from across the merged realms (that is, geosci, eco, etc ppl who are as alarmed as he is) in order to document all the shit going on with the planet now as well as try to plan remediation efforts. I imagine governments have been a bit hesitant to work with a rogue group of jittery sleep deprived scientists but they (Alcyo’s ppl) try. I imagine they are the ones making the new maps and shit like that as well. He just wants to go back to his old day jobs and see Ash again. Sorry buddy, you can only have one of those back lmao

—

Elapis is a hypnobrai who’s been friends with Chloe since childhood. They’re significantly more jaded and pessimistic than she is but they’ve always appreciated her encouragement to pursue music. He probably knows how to play quite a few instruments but he’s usually That Asshole With A Guitar in my brain lmao. He likes learning about other peoples as much as Chloe does though (albeit through music scenes rather than reading) which is why the two became friends. He doesn’t know where she’s gone since the merge and hopes he can see her again one day. He’s found her siblings but not her, and it’s been pretty frustrating. Other than that, they’ve passed the time by jamming with all sorts of people at the Crossroads. Arin and Sora might have seen them around, performing.

#Halcyonia #Ninjago #if anyone has Qs or wants to chat abt them my inbox n DMs are open (I would love to hear about y’all’s guys too pleeeease)#I have way more art of chloe than anyone else here should I post more of her…#my art #Ninjago ocs #oc: Two-Worlds #oc: Chloe #oc: Alcyo #oc: Elapis

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oneatlatime · 11 months

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The Chase part 2

Apologies for the technical problems. Battery power must be conserved for necessities, which unfortunately does not include Avatar. But the power's back on now, so!

Picking up from Toph treating a senior citizen like a snooker ball...

I do like how Mai's not shy about participating in Ty Lee's nonsense.

The way Zuko Jr. says "I'll follow this trail" is very menacing.

We're continuing last week's cowboy theme.

This village has the same menacing single windchime as the village in the Spirit World Part One did.

This was may more satisfying than I was expecting! It was completely unfair how easily the Fire Nation ladies defeated Sokka & Katara so getting Appa'd was a nice payoff.

No disability unmocked this episode. Also nice stance from the lizard.

This whole scene with Toph and Iroh has the most beautiful backgrounds. I sense phone wallpapers in my future.

Forget about the visuals, every line of this exchange was golden. Two towering pillars of wisdom and emotional maturity meet for tea and not a soul goes untouched. Also a nice moment of calm in an otherwise frantic episode.

Can this PLEASE be the rock bottom for Zuko. I can only take so much more second hand embarrassment.

Fully-provisioned princess of the fire nation v. sleep-deprived half trained avatar v. starving outlaw who seems to have forgotten to bring his swords, the only weapon he's good at. Place your bets, folks!

Zuko in a nutshell.

Ok so we're getting the whole gang back together.

The whole whole gang.

The whole whole whole gang.

How the hell did they mess up six on one?!?!

A princess can't surrender with honour when she doesn't have any!

That was kind of Katara to offer to help. I didn't expect that.

Final Thoughts

This episode doesn't let up once. Even the break with Toph and Iroh having tea doesn't do much to dispell the rising tension from the chase. The musical stinger that plays over the title card was a surprise bit of foreshadowing in that way.

That tank thing was neat. Shame about what it contained, but that's a really cool design.

Poor Appa was once again the MVP this episode. It was uncomfortable watching him get so exhausted.

It seems like the thin veneer of level-headedness cultivated by Katara over the last season or so is indeed quite thin. It was interesting to see how the different characters reacted to being tired. Sokka was alternatively amped up and completely chilled out, Aang got quiet (until he felt Appa was being insulted), Katara reverted to her early season one characterisation. It's hard to say with Toph, because we've only known her one episode (it feels like more) but I think she just got more Toph-like.

Please let this be the end in Zuko's experiment with independence. He's not good at it. He needs uncle. Points for trying, but he failed, so please bring uncle back.

Sokka low key wins this episode. He's the one with sense, the only one who stays clear-headed when it counts, and it turns out that clear head of his can defeat the pokey thing Ty Lee does.

I don't know how much time is supposed to have passed between picking up Toph and the start of this episode, but I can't help but feel that Toph really got the short end of the stick here. She did give up everything, even if much of what she gave up was not that great for her personally. And in return she got to travel in a way that completely blinds her and get yelled at. Meeting Iroh was a nice consolation prize.

Now I kind of want a story where Toph doesn't come back to the Gaang and instead goes around unleashing bending hell on the earth kingdom.

Was there no b plot or c plot this episode? Everything kind of collided in the final couple of scenes, which I did not see coming.

Frantic is the word I keep coming back to for this episode. Everything fit together nicely. I'll definitely rewatch it when I have the chance to do so in one sitting, without unforseen technical problems.

#the risk I took was calculated #but man am I bad at math #atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #the chase #laptop was at 31% so I wasn't taking any chances #Note to self: stop putting of looking at a backup power supply #stupid utilities company is currently doing “intermittent network repairs” which apparently translates to killing the grid #every saturday and wednesday #but never the same time on those days #I'm going to clean up part 1 now

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abarbaricyalp · 7 months

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Hi! If you're still doing the Sambucky romance ask: 🚨

You know I love a good 'mission goes awry' prompt. Sometimes Sam loses his clothes in those ones 😊 From this prompt list

This one got away from me. I don't even know what this is. CW: Mild violence, some monster things

🚨 When a mission goes awry

Bucky blinked and the giant lizard he'd been trying to choke out was no longer in his arms.

Oh no, this was not happening again.

He slowly got to his feet, squinting through the fog that was moving like it was alive. It was almost like the atmosphere of rolling around in arid dirt with the lizards, but wet where that had been dry.

"Sam?" he called out cautiously.

He was answered by an animalistic screech that had him covering his ears and turning tail.

He'd been here before. He hadn't liked it.

The multiverse had broken four days ago. Bucky and Sam had had nothing to do with it, thank you very much. They hadn't even known the multiverse was real until a handful of months ago. Bucky was still fucked up over the reality stone. He could not handle a broken multiverse.

Except that now, he had to.

If he'd thought blipping out of existence had been bad, blipping into another Bucky Barnes's existence was much worse. There did not seem to be a version of him that sat on a beautiful front porch at sunset beside Sam and watched the bees tend their garden while eating homemade blueberry pie. It was always some kind of fuckery.

This fuckery was vampires. The fog had kind of suggested it, but he was never going to forget that noise or the claws and teeth that came with it. How come vampire him was always fighting some kind of harpy?

Like he said, he didn't know anything about the multiverse. He didn't know how multiversal travel should work. Over the past four days, it had worked by swapping him and Sam with another Bucky and Sam every time they were in a fight. And Sams and Buckys got into lots of fights! The world-- every world apparently-- constantly needed to be saved. Actually, Bucky should talk to his therapist about that.

"Sam!" he called again as he ran, looking for any space in this dilapidated graveyard to hide. Last time, it had been a dilapidated castle. Much easier to hide in. Especially because he refused to jump into any of the wrenched open caskets in their upturned Graves. "Could really use some help, birdbrain!"

As if on cue, the harpy and another figure plummeted to the ground just a few feet in front of Bucky. It was a clash of talons and feathers--the worst bird fight Bucky had ever seen between New York pigeons escalated by about 100.

The harpy was a grotesque thing, half human, half bird, all demon. The man on top of it was disarmingly. Sam was always beautiful. It was just that vampire-Sam also had some bird mutation, which gave him huge wings, which grew from and encompassed the upper half of his arms and he had these bird eyes in this molten gold color that were uncannily round with the color spreading from edge to edge. When he was on the attack like this, he had a sharp break and talons instead of fingers.

Bucky was still very much into it.

The harpy wrenched itself away with another ear splitting screech and a trailing line of blood from a new wound on its gross scaly bird neck. It screeched one more time for emphasis and took to the sky, off kilter but still powerful.

When Sam turned to him, he was mostly human--or vampire?-- again. His gold eyes narrowed when he found Bucky. "You again," he groaned.

Vampire-Sam didn't like human-Bucky, Bucky had discovered last time he was dumped in this penny dreadful novel come to life.

"Have there been many others?" Bucky asked. "Have you been pulled away much?"

"Yes and yes," Sam answered. "I just got back from a cow farm in the 1900s."

Bucky grimaced. He could not fathom a cowboy version of himself. Cowboy-Sam had to be super hot though. "I think they're called ranches."

The vampire scoffed and waved a razor-nail tipped hand dismissively. "Leave," he ordered. "And bring James back."

Bucky didn't actually know how to leave, but the vampire had some ability to manipulate these crossovers.

Bucky landed in a new environment, which still didn't have giant lizards. "Oh goddammit," he growled and shoved himself to his feet again. "Sam!"

. . .

Sam landed face first in the sand. He pushed himself up and spit out wet sand before turning over onto his back. This was driveline the Gulf, he decided. No white sand beaches here and the ocean beyond was a tumultuous grey-green beneath the brilliant sunset painting the surface of it.

"Buck!" he called into the sky.

A few seconds later, the sounds of someone shuffling through the shallows interrupted the lapping of the waves. Sam looked over and felt his mouth literally drop open. He blinked against the shine of the sunset and watched Bucky come out of the waves, water cascading off of him like a commercial. He shook his shaggy hair out of his face and hiked a surfboard closer to his side as he hit the shore and had to drag it through the wet sand. He was all lithe silhouette and obvious muscle. He was missing his arm, no prosthesis in sight, and he looked like a walking advertisement. Sam's mouth was kind of dry.

He grinned a little at Sam, dropping the board into the sand to wave, and then jogged over. His pleased expression quickly fell though and he dropped to his knees next to Sam with a worried frenzy to his movements.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, man, I just tripped," Sam said.

"I would say so, yeah!" Bucky agreed. "Why do you have legs?"

Sam's brain shorted out for a moment. Normally, he had a response for everything, but he'd never been asked why he had legs. "Because I was born with them?" he hazarded.

But his response was lost in a flurry of movement and curses as Bucky got his arm around Sam's chest--wow, that was a nice feeling--and hauled him into the water. Sam futilely tried to get his feet under him, but Bucky was really strong and fast and the sand was at the soupy-sinking moment of a tide change over loose sand.

"The water will help," Bucky said in a way that suggested he was still trying to convince himself of the same thing. "Oh, God, what if it doesn't?"

Sam was more confused than he ever had been, and he'd seen people get really big and really small, talking raccoons, an assortment of aliens, rocks that altered reality, time, and space, and literal gods.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked. "Who am I here?"

Bucky squawked a little. "You're forgetting who you are? The Little Mermaid didn't cover that!"

Sam's eyebrows went up. "I'm a merman?" he asked in surprise. His mama had always said he was a water baby.

"Sam!" Bucky whined desperately.

Sam finally took total mercy on him and put a hand on Bucky's shoulder to keep him still. "Hey, calm down. I'm not your Sam," he said. "I guess you haven't had to deal with any of this yet."

Bucky stared at him, blue eyes almost orange in the sun, wide and a little naïve. God, he seemed so young. "Deal with what?" he asked

"The multiverse," Sam said. "I'm not your Sam. We swapped places."

Bucky's tanned skin drained to a more familiar color. "You have to switch back! He can't be outside of the water for long."

And, oh yeah. Shit. Sam didn't know how to control any of this. He wasn't sure how to intentionally swap out with a specific other Sam.

"Okay, okay, calm down, kiddo," Sam said softly. "These things are triggered by fights. Were you part of a battle or something?"

Bucky's face screwed to one side. "No. Why would I be? I was on the waves. But Sam wasn't with me. He could've been dealing with anything down there."

Sam looked to the expanse of ocean that Bucky gestured to. There was no way Sam could figure out where the other Sam had been, much less take up his fight again.

"Listen, I'll try my hardest," Sam said. "But I don't know how to bring him straight back. I'm not in charge of this."

"I don't care about any of that. I don't care about your multiverse. Make it bring him back," Bucky said. There was a familiar steel edge to his voice, the tone that came out when his own Bucky skipped worry and went straight to fury. The kind of emotion that usually led to Bucky making bad decisions.

"I'll try," he promised. "I need you to take a swing at me," he said, standing up and shaking water off of his arms. There was no way to wring out the suit, so that was just going to have to stay. Maybe multiversal travel came with free air-drying.

"What?" Bucky asked, looking askance. "I'm not hitting you."

"My adrenaline doesn't get right if I start it. You have to start it."

Bucky's eyes pinched in. "I ain't been in a fight in years."

Wow, Sam thought. A well adjusted Barnes. Who knew. "Come on, kid. Otherwise, I'm gonna go find a jellyfish to antagonize."

Bucky sighed, squirmed for a second, and then swung at Sam.

. . .

Bucky wandered around the great forest with deep skepticism. He wasn't sure what multiverse this was, but it seemed to be one that wasn't inhabited by anybody. What kind of fight had been happening here?

Up ahead, the dense, dark copse eased some and sunlight dappled the ground. He jogged over to it, hoping to shed some light on the situation. God, he wished there was a Sam around to say that to. The trees opened to a rolling hill and a sprawl of space that stretched on for forever.

Bucky rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and blinked at the image before him. Despite the fact that he'd just walked out of a forest, New York City was ahead of him. The buildings were half destroyed. The other half of them had been taken over by the flora of the area. Vines seemed to be tearing apart concrete and rebar. Trees grew through the middle of roads. Flowers covered every ugly grey space available.

It was kind of beautiful, if not for the fact that this was Bucky's home and every childhood memory he had was now buried. Coney Island was underwater.

Suddenly, something wrapped around Bucky's ankle and yanked him down to the ground hard. He kicked his other foot at the binding, expecting a lasso of some kind or a rope trap. Instead, he found another vine, dragging him back into the forest and a massive bush that was growing by the second.

Bucky began to kick harder and reached for the knife strapped to his thigh.

"Wait!" someone called and suddenly a man was springing into action, dropping himself across Bucky's thighs, facing his legs. He began, not to hack at the vine, but to untie it from Bucky's leg. He made remarkably quick work of it. Bucky couldn't get his charger untangled that fast. He sat back as the vine finished coiling into the bush and let out a satisfied sigh. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Bucky and grinned.

How come they were always so handsome?

The other Sam stood and offered his hand down to Bucky to haul him to his feet. "Don't think too negatively about the plants here," he said. "They always know."

Bucky nodded his acknowledgement. He took in the look of the other Sam. This one had intricate gold designs on his face and down his arms. They were radial in nature, making him look even more like sunshine than usual. "You from around here?" he asked. "What is this place?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah. I was dropped here a while ago. I'm just a fast learner."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, feeling just a little breathless after that close call. "I kind of figured with the whole--" He gestured to his face. "This seems like some future of the Earth I'm from. I know all those buildings."

Sam nodded. He walked a few steps out again, closer to the crest of the hill, and then sat down like the grass hadn't just tried to kill Bucky. "We're not even from Earth. I don't know how we keep getting caught up in Earth nonsense."

Bucky snorted. "Trust me, Earthlings get caught up in plenty of intergalactic nonsense too." His eyes went to the markings on Sam's arm again, thin, lovely lines sprawling from his elbow.

"Blue," Sam said, lifting Bucky's chin with a gold streaked finger. "Yours are blue." He traced a crescent shape around the corner of Bucky's eye. "You don't have as many. Have you ever seen yourself in one of these things?"

Bucky's face warmed and he gently removed it from Sam's touch, looking back to the death of one New York and the birth of another. "No. I think that's one of the rules. Only one of us at a time."

Sam nodded. "I've noticed that as well. But it usually begins to resolve itself when two people are in the wrong universe."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed again. "I've noticed that too."

Sam grinned at him. He was so handsome, it hurt. "I will be very happy to leave this planet again."

"Yeah, we kind of suck."

Sam reached up to trace another crescent along the joint of Bucky's right shoulder. "Maybe not all of it," he hummed.

Bucky blushed again and pulled out a knife as he turned away. "Let me go instigate something to get us out of here," he muttered. Even walking away, he could feel Sam's radiance

. . .

Sam did end up underwater, but it wasn't any kind of water a merman would want to live in. Maybe a bogman. He spit out marshy water and tried to ignore how many mosquito larvae were definitely in his mouth. There was a conveniently placed liana-type vine right on the bank and he hauled himself out of the water.

Sam was not a bayou man. There were enough horror stories in high school about idiots going missing at night and he'd been in the med-clinic waiting room once when someone had come in with an alligator bite that had taken half the meat of his arm with it. Sam did not like the bayous in practice. Which was to say, he had no idea where he was or how to get out of it.

A howl pierced through the quiet then, which only worked to send Sam's heart tripping in his chest in triple speed. He could totally use this vine to climb into a tree.

Actually, he had wings. He snapped them open and water gushed out of the pack.

Two water universes back to back, he thought with more irritation than he'd felt in a long time. Just his damn luck.

There was another howl then, much closer. Sam did begin to climb into the tree. He was stopped by a curious, "Sam?" and he looked down to find a familiar, uncanny face.

"Hey, Jamie," he greeted, relief flooding through him so quickly he almost went lightheaded.

The genetically-spliced, lab-grown werewolf looked at Sam with wide eyed curiosity. Actually, he was always wide eyed. He very much so had a dog's eyes. It had been a while since James and Bucky had swapped places in the middle of a battle (a precursor to this problem?) and Sam had ended up fighting next to the giant wolf instead of his partner. Bucky and a rougarou-Sam had shown up a while later and the fight was over pretty quickly after that.

"Is Sam around by any chance?" he tried.

"You know he isn't," James answered. It was difficult to read his expressions. He had a broad, flat nose that was as reactive as any puppy's, but usually only with disgust and anger. His pointed ears, too tall to be hidden behind his long hair, were under much better control. Sam had a cat. He looked at the ears for behavioral indicators. "I only just got back myself. I was on a planet called Venus, but not our Venus. It was...interesting." Now his nose scrunched and a cute little blush crept along his furry face.

Sam tried not to let his scowl show too much. This Sam had magic in him, which would move this all along much faster. Still, without sulking too much, Sam asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I could rip something open with my teeth. I've barely sat still for five minutes over the past week. I'm going from one fight to the next. Have you ever seen a fight on a planet of pleasure?"

Sam grimaced. "Yeah, I can't really blame you for getting mad. And I probably wouldn't stop you from going full wolf."

"As long as it's not towards you?" James finished, taking the words right from Sam's mouth.

"Wow, all Sams really are the same, huh?"

James grinned, showing off all of his long, sharp teeth. "I can send you on," he said. "Sam showed me how. I just don't know where you're going to land."

"Wow, look at you," Sam complimented. "Please do. I don't wanna start a fight with you."

"You haven't found another way for the quiet places?" James asked, raising his bushy brow. "And they say I have the anger issues."

Sam tsked at him and gestured for him to hurry up.

. . .

A galaxy stretched out below Bucky. It was like something from a painting, all swirling colors and bright spots of planets. Jewel toned galactic highways with actual jewels embedded into it. He sat in red dirt and traced nonsense letters beside himself because it kept him calm.

There was no one else up here. He'd never been sent somewhere where there was no one else. True, this was an entire planet, but it was also an empty planet and Bucky had walked for ages across barren plains and deserts before he'd finally come around one swooping crest and found this view. He'd given up at that point and decided just to wait for something to happen.

It was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. An entire cosmos swirled below him, full of twinkling lights and shining colors. He wondered what lived down there. What music did they listen to and what foods did they like and how did they sleep at night? Surely, something was falling in love at that moment. Something was laughing, something else was crying. He wondered if they were being affected by this multiverse bullshit too. Were there missing citizens? Was some version of Joaquin running around one of those lights trying to get back to wherever he belonged? Was something that lived here now fighting the lizards Bucky had been taken from?

Sam could be down there: a thought which almost made leaping off of this planet a feasible idea. He hadn't considered what would happen if he died in one of these places. Usually, all of the dangerous ones kept him too busy to wonder. The glitch would send him on before it got too hairy. The quiet ones, it was obviously not a problem. But if he did manage to leap off of a planet, would he just float aimlessly for eternity? Would he have to swim through zero gravity space to find some alien to duke it out with? Or if he did blip out with someone else, what would happen to them? Did they land on a planet again? Surely not every Bucky in the multiverses would do something as stupid as jumping into space.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," someone said from behind him.

Bucky whirled around, on his feet instantly. But all that adrenaline drained just as quickly. "Sam," he breathed. Then he was crossing over the red dust on silent steps and clutching at Sam--his Sam--as tightly as he could. It didn't matter how many times this happened; it always felt like this one could be the last.

Sam hugged him back tightly. "I knew this one was you," he said as he pressed his face to Bucky's hair. "You're always mopey-er than the others."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he still laughed a little. "If you'd been here as long as I have, you'd be moping too," he promised. "Are you okay?" He pulled away to hold Sam's face gently. "Everywhere you went wasn't too bad?" He looked to be in one piece and the exhaustion on his face was par for the course at this point.

Sam smiled and turned his face to kiss the inside of Bucky's right wrist, feeling the flutter of his pulse for a few seconds. "It was pretty quiet. Didn't get dropped into the middle of any fights this time. What about you?"

Bucky shook his head. "I'm fine. I mean, it wasn't quiet, but I'm fine." He smoothed his thumb over Sam's cheek before stepping into his space again. "God, I missed you."

"You say that every time," Sam laughed. "From my experiences, all Sams are the same."

Bucky shook his head. "None of them are you."

Sam held him for a while longer, pressing half kisses to his head, before he finally said, "Come on, sweetheart. Let's head home."

Out of all of the nonsense about this multiverse glitch, the only fast rule was that universal pairs could send themselves home. It was like the glitch evened itself out when they found each other again. All was right in the world for those few moments.

Bucky had to agree. "Yeah, doll. Let's go home."

. . .

Back in the real Colorado, Bucky was instantly taken off his feet by a charging lizard the size of a minivan. Wheezing on the ground--the ideal position to watch Sam go soaring by above--Bucky had to at least admit, it was nice to be back where he knew the monsters and the people and the rules. At least he was home again.

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #i answer things #writing #I don't even know what this is. it just got away from me

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