#but when asked din wants the hound

[thewriterowl]

Din is black-cat personality who loves dogs.

Luke is golden-retriever personality who loves cats.

[workingchemistry]

“You have an mando’ad and you haven’t even sworn the resol’nare or riduurok?” Fox asks, crouched in front of the child. “I thought prime raised you to be better than the rest of us.”

“Buir—“ Boba starts and then breaks off with an annoyed growl. “Fuck you. He’s not even my kid.”

“Mind your language in front of your tubie.” Fox mock gasps as he swings the child up onto his hip. There’s a wide look to his eyes, plush lips split into the manic grin that Boba remembers as always preceding whatever chaos Tenten had managed to orchestrate.

It’s as infuriating now as it was back then but now, with the weight of years behind him, Boba’s chest aches with nostalgia and grief.

There’s something to the set of Fox’s chin that indicates this chaos is for Boba’s sake. As aggravating and impossible as Fox always was, he also always knew his brothers better than they knew themselves—Especially brothers who would never claim him in return. Boba isn’t a child anymore and he isn’t blinded by his grief. He can recognize Fox’s shitstirring for the kindness it is.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to strangle the life out of his little brother when Ten’ika holds the child above his head in a display to the Corrie guard. “Behold! Boba’s tubie!”

The entire battalion salutes as one before chanting, “Oya, b’Bob’ika tubie!”

“They stole my kid.” Din finally protests but it’s far too late.

Boba shrugs one shoulder with a grimace in Din’s direction over his shoulder. “He’s a CC. They do that.”

Another cheer goes up around them and Boba turns back just in time to see Hound with the child balanced on one shoulder. This would be fine, if he wasn’t joining in on the dha werda verda.

Behind Boba, Din breathes out a vocoder crackle of despair.

[vodika-vibes]

So I had an amusing thought, and I'm going to share it.

Several years after the Clone Wars End, while Boba is starting to make a name for himself as a Bounty Hunter, he comes to realize that there are, about, a dozen "Boba Fetts" running around the galaxy. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that the other Bobas are, in fact, clones. (Are they his brothers? Yes? No? Not even Boba knows the answer to this, but calling them brothers might be easier than calling them "men who have the same face as me".) In the long run, Boba doesn't care, so long as they don't ruin his reputation. (Boba becomes known for being able to commit to two bounties on opposite ends of the galaxy at the same time, and when the actual Boba Fett is questions about it he just shrugs and says something vague before he wanders off). And then he just...doesn't think about it. Like. Ever. And then he becomes the Daimyo of Tatooine, and he's definitely not Bounty Hunting anymore, except "Boba Fett" is definitely still out there collecting bounties. Anyway, one day Din goes to Raxus or some other planet that is definitely not Tatooine, and runs into Boba Fett. His armor's a little different, the green is a couple of shades lighter, and Din is pretty sure that Boba had a mythosaur painted on his armor and not some kind of teardrop, but whatever. Boba is Boba. So Din walks over to him, "Boba, I'm surprised to see you so far from Tatooine." 'Boba' stares at him, "Oh. I wanted a change of scenery." "Makes sense. Though, I'm guessing you left Fennec in charge." "...naturally." Din nods, "I've been meaning to ask, are you ever going to switch out Jabba's throne for something more your size?" 'Boba' is silent for a moment, and then he rips off his helmet, revealing a man with long dark hair and a massive upside down delta tattooed on his face, "What the actual kriff are you talking about?!" Din stares at him, "Who the kriff are you?" "I'm one of, like, 2 dozen Boba Fetts running around, who the kriff are you!?" Later a traumatized Din, who had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting a quarter of the two dozen Boba Fetts who are still bounty hunting (Cody, Fox, Dogma, Sinker, Crys, and Hound), calls the actual Boba and asks if he's really him or if he's just someone pretending to be Boba Fett.

[forever-rogue]

with how much grogu wants a pet, can I request a cute story where reader is an animal/pet shelter owner that din meets on one of his longer pitstops.

they meet when grogu unintentionally helps catch one of the pets that got away from the shelter. din helps her out for as long as he’s there and persuaded by you (and a team up with his son) allows grogu to keep a pet which allows him to grow closer to you as he frequently calls you to ask question on how to take care of grogu’s new pet

thank you 💕 (and I also join in with the clownery 😂😭)

AN | It’s been a while, but I’m glad to be back with the green bean and tin can 🥰

Warnings | None

Pairing | Din x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.8k

Masterlist | Din, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Lillia, don’t look at me like that,” you scratched the loth cat’s ear before giving her a playfully serious look, “you’ve had enough snacks to last a week.”

She made a sound of discontent and curled up in her little window seat, flicking her tail. You couldn’t help but laugh at her, she was always so sassy. You went around your shop, greeting all of your animals along the way and giving them each a special treat. You didn’t keep many pets in the shop, only a few that you’d found and rescued, waiting for the perfect person to come and adopt them.

“You’re looking extra colorful today Isa,” the small, bright blue and green bird-like creature chirped happily before jumping down from her perch and landing on your shoulder. You stroked her beak before holding up some seed to her, “a special little treat for you today.”

From across the shop you heard a small howl from Jado as he waited for you to greet him. You picked up a treat just for him. When the floppy eared and wrinkly hound saw you walk up, he wagged his tail a few times, a hard thump thump thumps on the tile floor. Crouching down you gave him a few pats before offering him the bone, “there you go, my best boy.”

Once you made your rounds to the rest of the animals, you went back to the front and propped the door open and flipped the sign in the window. It was a cool spring morning, and the streets were ready bustling with people. You liked that Anbediha; it was always so full of life with plenty of people coming and going. 

You expected that particular day to be just like any other day. You had no clue that it would somehow become one of the best days of your life. 

It all happened that afternoon when Sheiba, the small but sneaky little vulptex, had managed to outsmart (you’d never admit that though) you and sneak out of the shop. She was terribly sweet but also shy and you always worried about someone using that to take advantage of her.

“Oh no,” was the only thing that managed to get out as you looked at her empty and the open shop door. Normally she wasn’t a runner but she did enjoy the cool spring days and playing outside. Granted, you had promised to take her out later…later just hadn’t meant her going by herself. You quickly sprang into action though, not wanting anything to happen to one of your friends, “you guys stay here and keep an eye on the place and I’ll find Sheiba, okay?”

The rest of your small brood looked at you, blinking with wide eyes as you sighed softly. You hoped they understood what you were saying; they often seemed like they didn’t really know what you were saying but they definitely did. They often gave themselves away. 

You grabbed the keys and closed the shop, flipping the sign in the door to say back soon! before stepping into the street to begin your quest to find her. It was already busy out and your heart constricted at the idea that she could be scared, “alright, if I was a vulptex where would I go?”

She liked to play and run around on your nimble legs, so you figured the park was a logical place to look. You started to briskly walk over there, before deciding to just run instead. You weren’t even sure how long she’d been gone…all the possibilities…but no. You weren’t going to panic just yet. 

Much to your chagrin, she wasn’t at the park or in the surrounding area. You walked through the streets, calling out her name and hoping desperately that she’d just turn up. After over an hour of looking and you were still empty handed and ready to cry. You walked around to the food district, hoping that maybe she just wanted a snack. 

At first you didn’t see her, but when you felt like your heart couldn’t sink any lower, you heard it. She had a soft, sweet little bark and you’d know that sound anymore. 

“Sheiba?!” you started rushing towards the source of the sound, ready to fight if you needed to, “leave her alone!”

But…the situation you stumbled upon was entirely different than anything you had expected. You blinked a few times, almost as if trying to decide whether this was a dream or reality, “a Mandalorian?”

The man - or so you assumed - turned to look at you and you held each other’s gaze for a few moments before you heard a small cooing sound. You shifted your eyes away from the shiny Mandalorian to the Sheiba and found a small creature standing next to her. Relief flooded through your veins at the realization that she was okay, and then curiosity took over. 

You’d never seen anything like the small green creature before, with its sweet face, big ears, and little brown robe. It reached out up and gently patted Sheiba’s side, gurgling away happily; whatever he or she was, they were definitely a child of sorts. The vulptex turned to the creature and licked its face before wagging happily. 

“Is she yours?” the man’s voice, you’d been correct in your assumptions, cut through your thoughts as you turned back to him. He seemed so broad and intimidating but you could tell that he wasn’t going to hurt you. You nodded mutely before opening and closing your mouth a few times, “she was at the park but followed us. Wasn’t sure she had an owner.”

“I…it’s a long….you’re a Mandalorian?” you hadn’t meant to blurt out the question but you were so curious. You’d never seen one in person before and equated them to mostly myth and legend. You heard him make a small sound of amusement before he nodded.

“I am,” he confirmed as your face warmed up in embarrassment, “the kid, he’s my…Grogu…?”

“He’a Grogu?” you hadn’t heard of that species before. 

“No, his name is Grogu,” he explained as the kid you now knew was called Grogu chirped happily at him. You swore you could feel the man’s expression softening for him, “he’s my…kid.”

“Grogu,” you repeated softly as you waved at him, “it’s nice to meet you. And you too….?”

The man hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight between his feet almost as though he was weighing his options, “Din. Djarin. Din Djarin.”

“It’s nice to meet you Din Djarin,” you smiled softly before offering him your name, “Sheiba - she’s my vulptex. Well, I rescued her and she’s staying with me for now until she finds the perfect home. I kind of…rescue the strays and patch them up.”

“That’s kind of you,” he stated simply as you tried to shrug off the butterflies that had begun to flutter around in your stomach, “not many people do that.”

“Well, I’m just passing along the favor,” you couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like under the mask, not that you would ever ask, “looks like you did the same.”

“Just passing along the favor,” he repeated softly and you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your features. A few more moments passed in which Grogu played with Sheiba, who despite her shy nature seemed taken with him. You didn’t necessarily want to leave but you decided that staying would have been worse. You weren’t supposed to find yourself gravitating so much to someone you’d barely met, “I guess we should let you get back.”

“Y-yeah,” you agreed, feeling rooted into place and decidedly not wanting to go, “I should get back to my shop. Come on, Shei - say bye to Grogu.”

Her ears flattened as she looked over at her new little friend, not wanting to leave him just yet. Funny how you were both feeling the same way, but after giving him a few nudges with her nose, she walked around to you and stood at your side. You reached down and scratched her ears in what you hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Come on kid,” Grogu seemed just as disappointed as Din picked him up, “I know.”

“Umm, I don’t know if you’re just passing through or not but if he wants to see her again or say bye or something feel free to stop in,” were you doing this for her benefit or yours? Both. Both worked, “it’s the shop between 6th and main - you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” and oh. You really liked the sound of his voice.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” you held up your hand in a meek little parting wave, “b-bye.”

You turned around to walk away before he could say anything, already feeling the disappointment in saying goodbye set in. You’d never experienced that with anyone or anything before. You hated it.

“I know,” you could sense her disappointment too, “I know.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few days passed, this time without incident, before you saw Din and Grogu again. Truthfully you hadn’t been expecting to ever come across them again, but the pair practically burst into the shop. You were restocking some shelves and almost fell off your stepladder at the sudden commotion of Grogu and Sheiba seeing each other again.

But you didn’t fall or have to worry about any sort of injury because a strong pair of hands grabbed your waist. He set you back down, thoroughly planted on two feet again as you shared a look, “hello there.”

“Sorry for the…excitement,” he shrugged and you could sense that he was nervous, “he wanted to see his new friend again.”

And I wanted to see you. But he wasn’t about to say that just yet.

“Just in time,” you beamed at him and made his knees feel weak, “she’s been moping about for the last few days and I know it was because she was missing him.”

“There’s two peas in a pod,” he laughed, warm and rich and lovely, as he looked at the unlikely duo playing together, “never seen him so taken with anything before. Except frogs maybe…but that’s a whole other story.”

“I’d love to hear it sometime,” well then…your mouth was working faster than your brain and you wanted to wither away, “I just mean…if you’re planning on being around for a while or something. I dunno, I didn’t mean to…it’s just…you know what? I’m shutting up.”

“I’ll be here for a while.”

Apparently Din was going to be hanging out on Anbediha for some time. That was news to him as much as it was news to you. He hadn’t made any decisions until he’d seen your face light up when you mentioned wanting to hear the frog stories. And suddenly his mind was made up. 

“Oh,” you wondered if he was smiling back at you under the mask. He most definitely was, “that’s lovely, Din. I think you’ll really like the city and there’s so many things to do, and if you ever need a tour guide, I’d be more than happy to help.”

“Yeah?” you nodded eagerly, “I’d like that too.”

“And it’ll give Sheiba and Grogu a chance to hang out,” you looked over at the two of them and your heart melted. You could get used to the idea of having them in your life regularly, “and then you can tell me all those stories. I’m sure you’ve got plenty!”

“I do,” he agreed with a small chuckle, “plenty of those.”

“I think we’re going to be great friends, Din Djarin,” the small you offered him definitely made him want to be more than friends. 

“Me too,” he reached up over and touched your cheek with a gloved hand, causing pleasant shivers to run down your spine, “me too.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Turns out a while meant almost six months. It was much longer than he had anticipated, but he kept finding reasons to delay his leave, but he knew, and suspected that you knew as well, that you were the main reason. Not that either of you were complaining about that; your friendship had quickly blossomed and bloomed into more, more, more. 

Unfortunately, you were well used to the fact that the best things in life never seemed to last. You just hadn’t expected the reality of it all to come crashing down so far. 

“We have to leave in the morning,” he’d stated softly and you wondered if it was as hard on him as it was on you. It was. He sighed heavily, a trait you’d become accustomed to, “we won’t be for too long. I’m sorry.”

Or so he hopped. 

“Whatever are you sorry for?” you asked softly, “it’s not like we didn’t know this day wasn’t coming. You were supposed to leave a while ago and now it’s that time.”

“We’ll come back,” he fully intended on keeping that promise.

“Why?” you desperately wanted him to say it, “there’s no reason for that. You were just passing through.”

“We’ll be back,” he insisted firmly and that made your heart extremely happy, “I promise.”

“I’ll be here,” you promised in return, “I’m not going anymore.”

It was the small, sad sound that Grogu made that caught your attention as you and Din looked over at him and Sheiba. The two of them had become the best of friends and you knew that it would be hard for them to be apart. 

“I hate the idea that they’ll be apart,” Din mused quietly as you nodded, “I wish in a way that he could stay or she could come. They’re so attached.”

“Well, I know you’re not going to leave your kid behind,” you nudged him gently with your elbow, “and I don’t blame you. I know how close the two of you are after everything you’ve been through. But I have an idea.”

“Oh?” you could sense that he was raising an eyebrow at you, “tell me.”

“What if you took her with you?” you suggested; despite knowing you’d miss her like crazy it somehow felt like the right thing to do, “that way they’ll be happy and you’ll have to come back. Because I’ll want to see her again.”

“Just her?” he joked and you knew both the answer to that.

“Totally,” you blinked back a few tears that had welled up, “just her.”

“We’d make sure she comes back safe and sound,” he’d do anything in his power to keep Grogu and Sheiba safe. 

“Good,” you whispered, “I really want her back safe.”

“She’ll be back.”

“I know,” you couldn’t help yourself as you pulled him into a hug, armor and all, “come back safe, Din.”

He hugged you back and you could hear him sigh lightly, “soon.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been close to a year since they’d been gone. Not that you were counting or anything…you were totally counting. Despite them being gone, you’d still managed to get to talk to them regularly, especially when Din had questions about caring for Sheiba. Sometimes you thought he might have just been calling to ask some of his silly little questions as an excuse to talk to you. And that’s totally what he was doing, and he had no shame in that. He missed you way more than he ever thought he would. More than he ever thought was humanly possible.

But he’d promised you that he’d be back and he was a man of his word. And you wanted to believe him, even if you lost a little bit of hope day by day. 

Your hope was restored one random, stormy afternoon.

Business had been slow due to the weather and you’d only had a few customers stop in. You’d pretty much closed up shop for the day, but stopped when you heard the bell over the door twinkle. 

“Oh sorry, I’m closing,” you turned around to apologize but stopped at the sight of your newest customers. Before you could say anything else, you ran over to him and threw your arms around him without hesitation, “Din!”

You relaxed when you felt him hugging you back, unbothered by the layer of armor between the two of you. When you pulled back you found the small creatures at his feet, “Sheiba! Grogu!”

You crouched down and hugged the two of them. It felt so good to see them all, so right. It didn’t hit until now just how much you’d missed them. Terribly so. 

“I promised we’d be back,” it sounded like he was getting choked up as well, “and here we are. If you want us to be here, that is.”

“I do,” you insisted, “I really do.”

[areyoudreaminof]

The First Annual Starfall Snipe Hunt. Chapter 2

The kids are BACK! Will they figure out what a snipe is? Or is Uncle Cass just pulling their leg?

Chapter 1 here.

In the dim fae lights, Cricket stared at the ceiling, wondering how she was going to get them out of this one. 

Her book sat absently on her lap as she laid in the large guest bed. Her feet twitched, missing the familiar weight of her hound at her feet. She, Nyx, and her sister had stayed up later than usual, until Aunt Feyre came in to tell them it was bedtime, then Papa a few minutes later to tell them to “go to bed, now.” They hadn’t gotten any further in planning what they were going to do about that snipe hunt. 

If she were home, she’d have gone out onto her balcony, sat in her hammock, and watched the waves lull under the moonlight and look for shooting stars. But her room in Velaris didn’t have a balcony. Though she did open her curtains to watch the blinking lights of the city on the horizon. 

The door creaked, and Cricket shoved her book under her pillow, knowing she had been caught. But it wasn’t Mama or Papa at the door. 

“Cricket?” 

Froggy stood in the dark hallway, whispering with a terrified expression on her face, clutching her raggedy stuffed rabbit. Wordlessly, Cricket pulled back the blankets and shimmied over, as Froggy shut the door and scrambled in. 

Her baby sister snuggled underneath the covers, eyes scanning the room for any unwelcome shadows. Cricket knew she wouldn’t be turning off the fae lights tonight. 

“Do you want me to rub your back?” Cricket asked in a whisper. 

Froggy nodded, turning to her side as Cricket softly rubbed her back, her hand tracing small circles, something Mama had always done to help them sleep when they were scared. 

“Are the snipes really going to eat us?” Froggy said in a hushed voice. 

“No,” Cricket scoffed, “Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cass are just being dumb and trying to scare us. They wouldn’t actually let us get eaten by anything.”  

“Then why are they taking us out hunting?” her little whisper wobbled under her breath as she turned to face Cricket. 

“Because they’re just pulling a prank on us. Snipes probably aren't even real. We can go to the library while Mama and Papa deliver the jams to Aunt Emerie at the shop and then we can ask her and Aunt Mor if they’re even real when they all get back, okay?” 

Froggy snuggled her rabbit closer, twirling the softened ears in her fingers, “But what if they are real?” she asked with the threat of tears looming in her voice.  Cricket threw her arms around her baby sister, “Then Nyxie and me will make sure you’re okay. Then we put hound poop in Uncle Rhys’s cake and scare Uncle Cass even more.” 

“That cake will be smelly,” Froggy feebly giggled. Her eyelids began to flutter closed and a jaw cracking yawn escaped her. 

“I’ll put lots of chocolate in it,” Cricket promised “and we’ll keep the light on tonight.” 

Froggy mumbled a reply before sleep took her, but Cricket strained her ears for any sign of the grown ups downstairs. The din of soft voices and clinking glasses were just audible enough downstairs, but the risk of being spotted if she went to the hallway to spy was too much, since her door nearly faced the landing. 

Are you still awake, she thought, hoping Nyx would be the one to pick it up. 

Yeah, Nyx’s voice entered her head softly. He showed her his perspective, his hands fiddling with one of his building models on his desk. Froggy’s with you?

She’s asleep now but she’s terrified, Cricket let Nyx see Froggy’s sleeping form next to her, clutching her rabbit for dear life. Do we even have a plan?

Poop cake sounds pretty good actually, it might be your best idea so far. From the room next door, Nyx tapped a soft signal to show no one else was listening in. 

Grandfather is bringing Trajan for Starfall, so it should be easy. I say we ask around at the library, play dumb and get back at them on the hunt. 

How? 

I don’t know, but we’d better come up with something fast. 

______________________________________________________

“No, absolutely not. They are children. That is just cruel.” 

Nesta’s eyes were as cold as ice as she started Cassian down across the table. Feyre had her arms crossed and her mouth set in a hard line. Elain’s expression was muted, but Lucien had a shit eating grin plastered on his face. 

“Sweetheart, it’s just a silly tradition. We won’t go far, it’ll be just a fun little scare. We did it in Illyria as boys,” Cassian said slowly. 

“Nyx is eleven and Cricket is ten. Besides, they like the thrill. And let’s not pretend the girls haven’t been riding Pegasus’ and horses since they were infants.” Rhys added, though he would not meet Feyre's eyes. 

“Cricket isn’t ten until after Calanmai, and Froggy is four! A baby!” Nesta hissed as the hairs on Cassian’s neck went up. “And you’re just going to take them out on a goose chase? In the dark?”

Maybe she’s right. Froggy is too young. Cassian sent to Rhys. 

It will be fun. Rhys assured him. They’ll love it. 

“Snipes, huh?” Lucien mused, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression on his face. “We did hunts as children in Autumn. Ours were birds, what are you thinking of making them?”

“Bloodthirsty badgers,” Cassian said as the corners of his lip spread into a smile, “they like eating fae flesh.”

Lucien’s brows shot up and he snorted. “Well, Cricket will get a good scare out of it, and you know how she and Nyx like to plot when they’re together. Better to get ahead. Froggy will be terrified, but she’ll want to be included.” 

"Do you want to be included?" Rhys asked with a smile. 

"No, he does not," Aunt Elain answered, "the girls will never forgive him." 

“Is this revenge for their library prank on Solstice, Cassian?” Nesta snapped, 

“Wha-? No, Nes! We’re just-“ Cassian sputtered with some desperation, but Nesta interrupted him.

“Because let me remind you, that you are a five hundred and forty-eight year old male,” she snarled, “And very soon you’re going-”. 

“That’s enough,” Feyre snapped, cutting Nesta off, “the children are asleep.” 

Rhys smiled wistfully, “No, they’re not. Nyx and Cricket are currently planning their revenge. Something about putting hound shit in my cake.”

Nesta grabbed the last biscuit out of Rhys’ hand, “Anyone who scares children like that deserves to eat shit.” 

“That’s very good, you have to admit,” Lucien murmured with a chuckle, ‘maybe not as good as the tadpoles in the tub.” 

“The townhouse still has a frog infestation from that,” Feyre groaned. “If you’re going to do this, do you need the theatrics?” 

“Where’s the fun with no theatrics, darling? We’re making memories, right Elain?” 

Elain quirked her brow, daintily sipping her tea. “Go ahead and take them on the hunt. But let me warn you, they will get revenge. Not right away, but they will plot and plan and hit you where you least expect it. And you’ll deserve it,” Elain took a small sip, “We won’t punish them either, no matter how much you scream and piss yourself.” 

“I’m quite looking forward to what they come up with.” Rhys grinned. 

___________________________________________________________

_____________________________________________________________

Fear gnawed in Froggy’s stomach. She had felt like throwing up all morning. Nightmares plagued her and she woke up before dawn as snipes gnawed on her legs and arms. She was too terrified to get up and use the bathroom and she waited for what felt like hours until Cricket woke up and it was safe to leave. The twins had made waffles with fruit and whipped cream for breakfast and she couldn’t eat any of it, which made her feel terribly guilty. She had clung to Mama and Papa most of the morning, but decided to be brave and go to the library with Nyx and Cricket. But she wasn’t brave as she sat in the big, dark library. She didn’t know what was worse, the fact that she wanted to throw up or cry. 

At the small corner table they had chosen, they had poured over books while Aunt Nesta finished her rounds. Cricket was thumping her head softly on the table, muttering to herself while Nyx was pouring over a massive book. Froggy had chewed off most of her nails as she fought back tears. 

“I can’t find anything in here about snipes,” Nyx hissed as he flipped through the book, “not a single thing!” 

Cricket snatched the brick of a book out of his hands, “Gimme that,” scanning the pages quickly, she took in key words that she repeated; hibernation , cubs .

“Well of course you didn’t find anything, this is a book about bears !” She snapped the book shut in front of Nyx’s nose, who flinched away. 

“I thought they were a type of bear!” Nyx rubbed the tip of his nose as if he’d been attacked. “I was trying to keep our options open.” 

“In what world is a bear and a badger the same thing, you dingus?” Cricket hissed, “Why didn’t you just ask Ananke like I told you?” 

“I did! She just laughed at me and said nothing ever happens on a snipe hunt, and then she kept talking about indexes,” He whined, “ You ask her!” 

Froggy’s vision began to blur as Cricket swatted Nyx on the shoulder, nausea rolled up her throat. “Please stop fighting,” she whispered feebly as she felt herself gag. 

“Uh oh” a voice, Cricket’s, said from somewhere far away. 

As Froggy heaved, Nyx thrust the brass wastebasket in front of her before she vomited. Her sister rubbed her back and pulled back her hair, while Nyx shushed her. Her gagging became sobs as she finished. 

“I don’t want the snipes to eat me,” Froggy howled miserably as her sister wiped her mouth, “I don’t think I’d taste very good!” 

“You’re not going to get eaten,” Nyx said with his breath through his mouth, her throwup had filled up the basket. “I’m going to get Aunt Nesta.” he retracted his wings and held the basket at an arm's length from his face. Tears of shame and embarassment threatened to let loose as Froggy watched her cousin walk away. 

Cricket nudged a cup of water into her hands, “Here, drink this slow.” Froggy hiccupped down the cool water, washing away the burning acid in her throat. “I want Mama,” she begged her sister, even though she knew Mama was with Aunt Feyre down in the city and Papa was at Windhaven with their uncles.  

“She’ll be here soon,” Cricket promised, picking her up. Froggy wrapped her legs and arms around Cricket, who was always brave no matter what was happening. So was Nyx, he was the bravest of all of them. Why did she have to be a dumb baby who was scared of everything? 

“You’re not a dumb baby, Froggy.” she heard Nyx say out loud. Behind him, Aunt Nesta looked worried as she rushed over, reaching her arms out for Froggy, who leapt into them. Aunt Nesta smelled like book pages and cake as she shushed and rocked Froggy. “Let’s go wait for your Mama at the House.” she heard Aunt Nesta say. Suddenly, Froggy couldn’t stop crying into Aunt Nesta’s neck as they left the library. She saw Clotho, clutching her chest as she rose from her desk. 

“I’m so sorry, Clotho, ” Froggy wailed as she reached for the priestesses hand, “I threw up everywhere!” 

Clotho gave her fingers a squeeze as they passed, “It’s okay, Clotho is just worried about you.” Nyx assured her. 

“It’s all cleaned up, you have nothing to be ashamed of.” Aunt Nesta whispered in her ear and kissed her temple as they walked through the halls of the house. Froggy burrowed further into her arms, squeezing her eyes shut as sobs seemed to come pouring out of her chest. She didn’t know how to stop. Every time she took a breath, another wave of crying came. Her eyes hurt, her tummy hurt, and she was so scared . 

A soft whisper and a touch and suddenly, “Come here, my darling.” 

Mama took her gently out of Aunt Nesta’s arms and Froggy allowed herself to open her swollen eyes as Mama took her into a dark, cool room in the House. Mama’s warm arms and smell soothed her, her chest wasn’t so tight anymore but she still couldn’t stop crying. 

“I don’t want to get eaten, but I want to go,” Froggy whimpered. She still felt silly and stupid but the faceless creatures from her nightmares still kept gnawing on her legs every time she closed her eyes. 

“You’re not going to be eaten, you are safe.” Mama kept rocking her, “we don’t have to do anything. Just rest.” Froggy felt sleep creeping up on her and a small tickle in her brain as she rocked dreamlessly with Mama. 

__________________________________________

Nyx furrowed his brow as a dull thump began to pound in his temple, but managed to take all the scary images out of Froggy’s head. Whatever monster she had dreamed up for the snipe was terrifying and Nyx didn’t feel an inkling of guilt about going in her mind. “She’ll be alright, I took the nightmare out, so it won’t scare her anymore.” Cricket shuddered as he showed her the shadow monster. 

“Thank you for doing that, Nyx.” Nyx nodded, still worried about his baby cousin. Mama had flown Aunt Elain up so soon as he began calling for her, he had also told Papa, but he wasn’t sure if he could hear him that far into Illyria. 

“This is ridiculous,” Aunt Nesta snapped, rising up from her chair, “We ought to just tell-” 

Aunt Nesta stopped suddenly, color draining from her face and a green tinge flushing into her cheeks. “Excuse me,” she hurried out the door as Mama followed, leaving Nyx and Cricket alone and utterly confused. 

“Is she throwing up again?” Cricket wrinkled her freckled nose in concentration as she stared at the swinging door. 

“Huh? Throwing up?” 

“She threw up this morning when we came up. Didn’t you notice?” 

Nyx racked his brain, “No? She seemed fine. Just mad at Uncle Cass, but she’s always mad at him.” 

Cricket just huffed dramatically and mumbled to herself. Nyx shrugged, Cricket was always mumbling about something. 

“So, snipes aren’t real,” Nyx announced, “we can all agree on that. Now we just have to figure out what we’re going to do.” 

Cricket flopped back on the sofa, “It’s not going to happen now,” she gestured towards the hall where the whole family had gone off their separate ways, “Not with Froggy having a breakdown.” 

“Ha! If there’s one thing about Papa is that he doesn’t know when to stop, he’s just going to keep going. For the Solstice snowball fight last year, he made a demeted moat for his hideout and Uncle Az and I got trapped.” Nyx flexed his wings, remembering how sharp and heavy the snow was. 

Cricket slid down the sofa even more, laying flat on her back and making her red curls stick up. “It’s spring, so that means all the racoons and badgers have their babies and are coming out of hibernation. We could use that to our advantage. Uncle Cass is terrified of opossums.” Nyx thought for a moment, opossums weren’t too hard to catch and racoons could be lured out with the promise of food. He and Cricket could get a badger out of its den in a pinch if needed. It wasn’t a terrible idea. 

“Okay, so we get an opossum or a raccoon, are we going to hide it and let it loose?” Nyx could wear his bulky sweater to hide the animal, it would be crisp in the mountains anyway.

“You still have the wolf whistle?” Nyx nodded, he had carved the whistle with instructions from High Lord Eris, who used his own to train his smokehounds. Nyx had used it to keep wolves away at camp, but wasn’t sure what that would do. “We can maybe work some foxes up and get them out too. I hate last minute pranks.” she whined as she crossed her arms. 

“I’ll bring the wolf whistle and the owl call I have, we get a raccoon or opossum, let it loose, then make a run for it,” Nyx could see the plan in his mind perfectly, it would need to be done quickly, but it wasn’t impossible. Cricket nodded in agreement, “That could work.” 

“We’re back!” Uncle Cass’s voice boomed through the halls and Nyx and Cricket raced to the balcony as Uncle Cass, Uncle Lucien, and Papa appeared on the veranda. Wordlessly, Cricket led Uncle Lucien to wherever Aunt Elain and Froggy had gone off to, while Nyx was left alone with Papa and Uncle Cass. 

“Where’s your mother?” Papa asked absently as he sauntered towards the dining room. Nyx shrugged, “With Aunt Nesta,” he kept his mouth shut, he knew Aunt Nesta wouldn’t want Papa to know she was sick. 

“Well, we can start lunch without her, ah, there you are Cricket! Time to eat.” Food appeared on the long dining room table as Cricket entered the room alone with a scowl on her face. 

Uncle Cassian flexed his wings as he sat at the table, a plate appearing in front of him. “Where’s Froggy?” he asked as he tucked into his food.

“She’s napping with Mama and Papa,” Cricket snarled, “she’s so scared of your stupid snipe hunt, she didn’t sleep last night and hasn’t eaten all day,” Cricket’s nose crinkled in rage as she stared daggers down at Uncle Cass and Papa.

“Well, now she can stay up later,” Papa replied as he cut into his chicken.

“She threw up in the library because she’s so nervous,” Nyx said accusingly, “and she only stopped crying when Aunt Elain came back up to the House. Mama had to fly her up after I called.”

“Did she now?” Papa said, lifting a brow. “Well, perhaps we’ll just take the two of you.” Next to him, Uncle Cass cleared his throat, Nyx could sense some guilt before Papa barged in and closed his mind off.

“You’re going to regret this.” Cricket said with a wild smile as she batted her lashes. Nyx tried desperately not to laugh.

“Is that a threat, Cricket?” Papa said with a stupid grin on his face. 

“It’s a promise.” Cricket replied sweetly. 

Uncle Cass roared with laughter. Cricket narrowed her eyes as they darted between Papa and Uncle Cass. Uncle Cass’s face was red from laughter and Papa kept chuckling to himself as he ate. 

“So, what’s a snipe then?” she challenged as she elbowed Nyx for backup. He straightened himself,  they wouldn’t get anywhere if he was going to be a scaredy-cat. 

“It’s a small little mammal, a bit like a fox or a badger. They’re nocturnal-“ Uncle Rhys began. 

“Try again. Foxes are completely different from badgers.” Cricket interrupted with pure confidence. Foxes are a completely different subspecies to badgers. She sent over to Nyx. Cricket was something of an animal expert, after all. She had her smokehound, several hamsters, a chinchilla, and an axolotl. 

Papa cleared his throat, “A snipe is a nocturnal mammal that lives up in the mountains. They live in dens in the ground and are quite nasty.” he clarified, looking at Uncle Cass. 

“Snipes are fast and they like to bite. They’ve got night vision, so a snare won’t work. You have to outsmart them to trap them.” Uncle Cass said, folding his big arms across his chest. 

“Okay then,” Nyx challenged, “so how come I never heard of them at the camps?” 

“Because they’re the least of your problems at camp,” Uncle Cass said with a mouth full of potato, “they’re more out toward Ironcrest anyway.” 

Nyx shook his head, it didn’t make a lick of sense and they all knew it. “Fine, we’ll go on your dumb hunt.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Uncle Cass exclaimed, softly punching Nyx on his bicep. Papa picked at his jacket like a rat with a big grin on his face.

Soft murmurs carried down the hallway as Uncle Lucien led Aunt Elain into the dining room, with Froggy clutching her neck. Uncle Cass leapt up, reaching out his arms, “Come here, Cupcake!” Froggy shook her head furiously, hiding her face in Aunt Elain’s neck. Nyx saw a flash of sadness and guilt on Uncle Cass’s face. 

“Froggy is going to sit out the snipe hunt this time,” Aunt Elain said calmly, “She’s going to stay with her aunts and have a night in, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course,” Papa said, “We didn’t mean to upset you, dearest. I hope you’ll accept our apology.” 

“I accept,” Froggy squeaked as she sat down in her spot and began to eat. 

“You don’t have to forgive him, if you don’t want to.” Mama said as she and Aunt Nesta entered the dining room. 

“I agree,” Uncle Lucien said with a snicker as he stole a sausage off of Uncle Cass’s plate, who was too busy looking at Aunt Nesta to notice. As the conversation began to pick up at the table, Nyx caught Cricket’s eyes, alight with fury. 

We’ll get them good, Nyx promised, they won’t know what hit them. 

___________________________________________________

The forest outside of Velaris was cold, even for late spring, Sharp mountain air went through Cricket’s nose with a vengeance. Night Court air always made her breathing weird. 

She and Nyx had worn their wool trousers and boots, and Cricket had managed to sneak a slingshot into her sweater. Nyx had worn his bulkiest sweater, perfect for cradling an animal. Night had fallen a while ago, and she, Nyx, Uncle Rhys, and Uncle Cass had been hiking since dusk. Froggy had been left behind with Mama, Papa, Aunt Feyre, and Aunt Nesta. They were baking cookies and pies and making ice cream. Cricket kicked a pebble along the path, she hoped they saved some for when they got back. 

She could see alright in the dark under the full moon, but Uncle Rhys didn’t want any other light if possible. She had tried to push some rays of daylight out of her hands, but Uncle Rhys stopped her. “We won’t catch any snipes in the sun.” 

I’ll make you suffer in the sun , she thought nastily. 

“Do you hear that?” 

Uncle Cass had brought the group to a stop. They had entered a thicket that sloped down into a small creek. Rushing water and frog song filled the air and an owl hooted somewhere in the distance. She nudged Nyx as she spotted the fallen log slightly off the path, surely it would be home to some creature. Nyx nodded as he spotted the log, making his way softly over while her uncle's backs were turned. 

“I don’t think there’s going to be anything in that log,” Uncle Rhys said without turning his back, “certainly not a raccoon or an opossum.” She could hear Uncle Cass wheezing with laughter. 

“What are you talking about?” Cricket hissed as her heart began to pound, they couldn’t have known. They weren't even at the House when they planned it. 

“I think you know,” Uncle Rhys hummed. 

A loud SNAP sounded from behind them. “What was that?” Nyx asked in a hushed tone. 

The frog song stopped suddenly and harshly, only the rushing creek sounded in Cricket’s ears. The blue moonlight began to soften into a gray fuzz as clouds began to obscure whatever light there was. The cedar and pine trees ahead began to warp and fade into darkness in Cricket’s vision. 

Something smelt off, literally. The pine and mountain juniper on the breeze had been replaced by nothing. Cricket sidled up to Nyx, locking arms. I thought snipes weren’t real she sent to him. 

Well, they seem pretty real now! Nyx sent back. The hairs on the back of Cricket’s neck seemed to rise, one by one. 

They were being watched. 

“Something’s here,” Uncle Cass mumbled, “we can wait it out, or we can fall back and try to catch it.” 

“That sounds like a plan. Maybe we-” with a loud thump Uncle Rhys was knocked down and dragged off towards the creek. 

“RUN!” Uncle Cass shouted.

Cricket didn’t need to be told twice, she sprinted off the path, desperately trying to summon whatever daylight she could. Her hands began to glow faintly, but her heart was thumping and her breath labored, making it difficult to hold light. 

“We’ll fly!” Nyx screamed as he grabbed her waist, falling backward and being swept down the path. Cricket screamed as she reached for Nyx, who she could hear crying. Holding her hands in front of her, she tried to concentrate her power through her fear and sobs. Her fingers gave off a faint glow of light as a clawed hand of shadow and nothing grabbed at her wrist, yanking her down to the forest floor. 

Cricket thrashed and screamed, hitting nothing as the hand dragged her down the path. “Help me! Someone please! NYX!” 

The shadow hand dropped her as she gasped for breath, squeezing her eyes shut as tears escaped. Nyx, she sent out, where are you?

“I-I’m here,” Nyx’s broken sobs came from somewhere on her right, and she began to crawl towards him. She grasped him into a hug, clutching him for dear life as they both began to bawl. “We’re going to DIE,” Cricket wailed helplessly.

"See, Rhys, you always take it too far,” a familiar voice said with frustration, as a lantern of fae light hit their faces. 

Uncle Azriel stood in the soft, golden glow, his shadows peeking curiously over his shoulder. “You said it was just going to be a prank, look at them. They’re terrified.” 

“I don’t know, I thought it was pretty good,” Uncle Cass said, as his big figure moved into view. 

“That’s the whole point, Az,” Uncle Rhys said, “Are you two alright?” 

Cricket wasn’t sure how the rock ended up in her hand until she launched it at Uncle Rhys. “I hate you!” she screamed, pushing herself up and throwing herself towards him. Uncle Az caught her mid air, dodging her kicking legs while she tried to claw the air for leverage. Uncle Rhys just laughed.  

Nyx stood up silently, pushing his father off. His eyes looked haunted, his face drawn. “I’ll fly you home,” Uncle Cass said as Nyx stared off into nothing. Cricket didn’t have time to think as she and Uncle Az launched into the air. 

___________________________________________

“Frosting is better than paint because you can eat it,” Froggy giggled as she scooped a piece of cake into her mouth. 

“I could make a painting of frosting,” Aunt Feyre said with wide eyes. I could do a sugar canvas and use pink and purple frosting.” 

After her nap, she felt much better and less scared. Mama and Papa had made a big dinner and she and her aunts made dessert. Aunt Gwyn had stopped by and the night became even more fun. She had gotten Froggy a little book about birds from Sangravah what had small paper birds fly out if it. She had almost forgotten about the snipes, but she knew now they were pretend. 

“Snipes aren’t real,” Papa had told her, “Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cass just want to play a prank on Nyx and Cricket. They would never, ever hurt you.” He made Froggy promise not to tell them the secret, but Cricket and Nyx ran off to plan that she didn’t have the time to say anything. Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cass said they were sorry for making her scared, though. 

A loud boom of wings sounded overhead, “I think they're back,” Aunt Nesta said. Everyone made their way towards the veranda, the House providing bright, golden light on the balcony. 

“Hi, Uncle Az!” Froggy was delighted to see him with the group outside. She began to skip over to give him a hug, when she noticed everyone else. Twigs and leaves were snarled into Cricket’s hair and mud caked one side of her face. She looked awfully mad. Next to her, Nyx looked pale, his eyes were downcast and his wings tucked in tightly. “What happened?” Froggy whispered. 

“We found the snipe, Cupcake,” Uncle Cass said as he pushed Nyxie along into the family room. He looked like a zombie, as he shuffled his feet. Aunt Feyre grabbed his face, worried. While Mama and Papa had run over to check on Cricket. 

“Is that where you went?” Aunt Gwyn asked as Uncle Az bent down to kiss Froggy. “I didn’t know they’d take it that far.” he mumbled. 

Froggy crept up to Nyx, “Are you okay?” she whispered as she gave him a hug. “I’m okay,” he mumbled. 

“You’re very brave.” she reminded him, kissing his cheek. Nyx stirred as he hugged Froggy back. 

She left Nyx with Aunt Feyre as she went to check on her big sister. She could see tear tracks in the mud that caked Cricket’s face. Mama was picking out leaves and sticks from her hair, while Cricket sat breathing hard. “You’ll be sorry.” she growled. 

“What was that, Cricket?” Uncle Rhys said with a laugh. Aunt Nesta shoved him. 

“You’ll pay for this!” Cricket exploded, shooting up from her chair. She pointed her finger at Uncle Rhys like a dagger, “ I will get you back, Uncle Rhys. You’d better sleep with one eye open!” 

“I look forward to it,” Uncle Rhys said with a bow, Cricket let out a feral scream. 

“You deserve everything that’s coming for you,” Aunt Nesta said as she swiftly left the room, Uncle Cass following her. 

Froggy took her sister by the hand, leading her towards the bathroom. She supposed Cricket would be sleeping with her tonight. 

___________________________________________________

Nyx straightened his deep purple jacket in front of his mirror. After the snipe hunt, he had taken the next day to recover. He was utterly terrified as he was dragged through the forest floor that night, but even he had to admit it was good. Uncle Az using his shadows was something he and Cricket didn’t see coming. Even though they apologized, Nyx knew they had to get Papa and their uncles back, but they agreed to hold off for a bit and to plan more. Maybe they could get Helion or Eris to help. Nyx knew they would without a doubt. 

Instead, he and his cousins spent the next afternoon with Aunt Mor, who took them shopping in the rainbow. “My babies need clothes.” she announced as the tailors took measurements and made them try on outfit after outfit. Nyx chose a deep amethyst suit for himself, with a blue shirt underneath. He could still run around in it, but it made him look grown up. 

He made his way down the hall, knocking on Cricket’s door. “I’ll meet you out there!” he shouted as he went to the large southeast balcony. Aunt Nesta had gotten sick again this morning, but she had asked that Nyx and the girls meet there at dusk. Aunt Nesta sat in a silver and blue dress, Uncle Cass’s arm draped around her. “Are we late?” Cricket huffed as she and Froggy ran up behind Nyx. 

“You’re just in time,” Aunt Nesta rose, holding her arms out as the children ran into them. The girls showed off their new dresses, Cricket in a deep gold, and Froggy in a soft sage green. 

“We’ve asked you here, because we need your help,” Uncle Cass said, “you’re all much better at planning than we are.” The children exchanged confused looks, “Plan for what?” Cricket inquired. 

“We thought we’d ask you to help the house make a bigger balcony for the cousins for next year’s Starfall,” Aunt Nesta said, “we’re going to need it.” 

A small shudder of magic came over the three of them just then, sharp and metallic. Cricket’s nostrils flared for a split second before she began to shriek. “I knew it! I knew it!” She launched herself into Aunt Nesta’s arms as she kept squealing. 

Nyx sniffed, a small scent met his nose, something warm and tiny. Under her dress, Aunt Nesta’s belly was rounded like a small ball.  “You’re having a baby?” He yelled as he jumped up and down. Froggy began to bounce on her small feet. “Oh, a baby!” 

“Do you know what it is yet? Does it have wings? Do you have a name?” questions began to spill out of the children as they jumped with delight, while Aunt Nesta and Uncle Cass just laughed. 

“The baby has wings, though we won’t find out what it is for a few weeks yet, but you’ll be the first to know.” Aunt Nesta promised with a laugh. 

“And you’re the first to know about the baby,” Uncle Cass swung Froggy to his shoulders, “should we go tell everyone else?” 

Nyx and Cricket led the way, Aunt Nesta’s hand in each of theirs as they met everyone else in the family room. His parents and aunts and uncles waited, chatting in their fancy outfits. Nyx’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “Are we late?” Uncle Cass announced as everyone turned and gasped.  

Mama and all of his aunts began to cry when they saw Aunt Nesta, while Uncle Az, with tears in his eyes, embraced Aunt Nesta and Uncle Cass. Papa and Uncle Lucien congratulated them with excitement, while Amren just nodded and said “Finally.” The excitement buzzed in the air as the golden hour illuminated the family room. 

“I think it’s a girl,” Froggy announced, Cricket nodded in agreement, “a little girl with wings!” 

Nyx laughed, “Just my luck, I’ll be surrounded by girls.” but Nyx truly didn’t care. And anyway, he knew more about dealing with girl cousins than he did about boy cousins, not that Froggy and Cricket only played tea parties and dress up. The idea of a cousin being close thrilled him, he could teach her how to fly and they could sneak out and go on late night flights when they got older, he could build her toys and if she wanted to be a Valkyrie, he would train with her. “She's going to fit right in,” Nyx decided, as he took his cousins by the hands, and picked their balcony for Starfall.

TAGLIST: @wilde-knight @born-to-riot @octobers-veryown @bunburyahoy @belabellissima @berd-nerd @c-e-d-dreamer @cowboylament @cauldronblssd @damedechance @dawneternal @foundress0fnothing @goddess-aelin @itsthedoodle @kataravimes-of-the-shire @lucienarcheron @labellefleur-sauvage @iftheshoef1tz @melting-houses-of-gold @luciensdefenseattorney @panicatthenightcourt @popjunkie42 @queercontrarian @mossytrashcan @rainbow-panda-food @acourtofladydeath @sassyhobbits @shardminds @separatist-apologist @secret-third-thing @sunshinebingo @tunaababee @asnowfern @thesistersarcheron @thelovelymadone @the-lonelybarricade @velidewrites @climbthemountain2020 @xtaketwox @laxibbeb @cursebrkr @chunkypossum @reverie-tales @missfckingfortune @rosanna-writer

[wonderlandsakura]

Niche Things I Think People should Write/Read More: Part 2

I ran out of tags, anyway Part 1 here. If part 1 and/or 2 gets like,, 100 notes, I'll add recs if they exist (someone asked so I did it anyway hehe)

- Fics where Izuku is such an amazing analyst (and the UA staff know it) that they just. Let him teach the class (or anything where they aizawa know he's more skilled and just leave him to teach so they aizawa can nap)

I would prefer it if he's a literal child that just gets the position, but sadly I haven't found that

The UA Analyst Kid of RogueVector's Announcer AU series on AO3 is the closest I think

I do have fic recs of him being an analyst and/or teacher at UA tho, but I'm too tired to find them

- Zuko is given A Child and Will Die For Them (he is so mother coded)

There's Bound To Be A Ghost At The Back Of Your Closet by anactualforrealadult is what I was thinking of when I wrote this, but it doesn't fit perfectly (btw it's zukka)

- Danielle Phantom and Dark Danny are Standard Danny's kids, I need this please I must be FED

Like a few of my reblogs, but I'll see if I can find them

- Monkey D. Wyvern, if you know you know

I'll add this soon, but you can find art for it on Tumblr too :))

- The Reluctant Kings friendship (Danny & Din Djarin)

The Phantom Mandalorian series on AO3 has Danny essentially adopted by Din, but it would be nice if there were fics where they're just friends who are unknowingly OP

- Mandalorian S3 dinluke fix-its /hj

I haven't been able to stomach actually reading these yet, but they do exist

- Gottlieb/Geiszler + Jayvik Xovers where they get to Science!

forming new limestone by wobbeegong on AO3, actually a favorite fic of mine, I was sad when I couldn't find anything like it after I read it but that might have changed

- Jinx being Silco's daughter even after time travel (Jinx the Sapphire of Zaun)

And I know this body's not mine (Wish I could crawl out) by Hopelessjoy14 is where I got this from, it's incomplete but good so far

- Co-parenting Koushirou and Mihawk; like not together but these 2 sword obsessed men are co-parenting Zoro

Doesn't exist yet, and I don't recommend looking if you don't want to get bombarded by bad misogynistic parent Koushirou fics :/, anyway I'm working on it

- the Shimotsuki-Dracule siblings, where in a Kuina lives! (but is severely injured/paralyzed) AU, Zoro gets to be hounded by not only little sister Perona, but also Big Sis Kuina (bonus if modern au)

Same as what I wrote for co-parenting Koushirou & Mihawk, I actually have a fic outlined (it's not modern au tho, but could be), but I'll probably never finish writing it. If I post it on Tumblr I'll link it tho

- Zosan gets accidentally married at WCI AUs cause why not, it's absolutely hilarious

Sadly doesn't exist somehow?? I'll have to check if that's still the case

You can see me screaming about the idea here tho

- I somehow didn't mention Agatha/Gil/Tarvek last time? But yeah, from Girl Genius, I want them to get married and rule Europia, is that too much to ask?

Sprocket for Your Thoughts by zombiecheerios on AO3 is a good fic about them getting together, if incomplete (also you kinda need to have caught up on the comic)

The Most Stable of Polygons by 1_NoName_among_many is like a shorter version of it tho

Then there's the Sparkgate series that originally introduced me to the concept of them ruling together (I've not finished even the first fic tho)

- Zoro being Soba Mask aka Stealth Black aka Sanji's overprotective guard dog/tiger (I read a really good fic okay??)

Fic is Stealth Black Unmasked by HaveMyWeedCookies on AO3

[mybworlds]

Chapter 13: Face to face

Pairing: The Hound x Sansa Stark

Summary: Sandor and Sansa realize what they feel, but their social rank will be a problem.

Chapter Warnings: /

Masterlist

Before to start... thank you to follow me, I appreciate it. This is a fairly long chapter, so take your time to read it and if you want to tell me what you think, thank you.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

Sansa couldn't sleep well at all that night: she constantly dreamed of two pairs of gray eyes staring at her, dreamed of kissing, touching and being touched by those big hands, of being loved by him. When the first light of dawn woke her up, she discovered herself… gripped by desire.

She felt shame mixed with excitement at that new sensation. She had never felt for anyone those sensations as strong and as all-consuming as she was feeling at that moment. Inevitably she wondered what her mother would do or say, she would have liked to confide to her all that she was feeling, but she feared that if she did, her mother might remind her of her origins and how he instead was of too low a lineage to even hope to be able to- but do what?

She wondered as she took to barely moving away from the camp what was happening to her: maybe she really was as stupid as Arya had told her on several occasions, maybe for real there was something wrong with her, maybe she should have just left things as they were. She and her sister were with Robb and their mother, the Hound probably would have been pardoned.

Perhaps it would have been enough for Sansa to just keep quiet and follow the course of events…but the strong beating of her heart reminded her that she could never just be a bystander to that sequence of events, but that she would have to play her part as well. And never more than at that moment would her part be truly important not only for her own fate or for Sandor Clegane's, but also for the House Stark itself.

She sat at the foot of an oak tree and closed her eyes: if he had been a knight or a lord, things… would have seemed acceptable to her family, but he was… a free man, yes he could use a sword, but he disdained having a title before his name and disdained belonging to anyone but himself. Moreover, he had been in the service of the Lannisters, had witnessed the beheading of Ned Stark, and had done nothing. Robb would never have consented to the union between them, she thought, but a moment later Sansa also thought that the Hound had never said anything to encourage her, it had probably all been a fantasy of hers due to the many hours of sleep lost, due to not having eaten as one should for weeks, due to the fear of being alone.

Yes, she was probably just very grateful to Sandor and that was it.

When she opened her eyes, Sansa met Jeyne's shy, dark eyes "Hello Sansa." she greeted her.

"Good morning." she returned the greeting by sketching a smile.

"Are you awake yet?"

Sansa nodded, "At this time we were leaving… when I was with Arya and the Hound." she explained.

"That must have been hard!"

"Yes, especially in the beginning. You live in the comforts and then…"

"I meant before I left with them. Robb told me about King Joffrey's cruelty, you had to marry him, right?"

Sansa breathed deeply feeling foolish for that childish wish of hers "Yes, but not doing it and running away was the best choice. You could never know if you would see the stars again with Joffrey. He was - he's a monster."

"Then let's say thanks to the Hound, shall we?" she said, smiling at her.

Sansa smiled "Yes, it's thanks to him that I'm free and that we are, both my sister and I, alive and here."

"Yeah. Sometimes the most unthinkable people surprise us." Sansa found herself nodding, their conversation interrupted by a shout and then an ever-increasing hubbub.

The two women approached the source of the din and saw the Hound holding a Bolton soldier by the throat and crushing him against the cage in which he was imprisoned.

"What's going on?" asked Robb followed by his mother and a little further behind by Roose Bolton and other soldiers "Dog, let him go!" spat the Young Wolf.

"Sure, Wolf, but not before this filthy worm has shown what he's hiding!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Catelyn Stark.

"About the message just received from the Lannisters, come on shit show him the message!" Sandor exclaimed jolting the man who was holding.

"Die." he hissed and Sandor clutched his throat tighter "Go to Hell!"

"So you really want to die?" spat Sandor, finally the soldier gave up and threw the message away.

Robb grabbed the message "It's the Frey seal." said Robb assuming an expression first confused then incredulous "We are ready, the trout is biting, for his wedding he will receive a pair of wolf furs, what does that mean?" he asked assuming an angry expression and turning to Roose Bolton.

The latter turned snow white and assumed a confused expression "I have no idea. My king, you know my loyalty to you. It's just a trick to separate our forces."

"Yet other rumors have spoken of your plotting behind my back with the Freys and Lannisters, now this. Too many coincidences. Lock them all up." sentenced Robb "And release the Hound! I've got to figure out what the hell is going on!" he blurted out, as the Stark army scrambled to carry out their King's orders, however, not everyone was locked up, unfortunately many escaped and Robb was forced to let them go. The King of the North ordered that Roose Bolton be assassinated for high treason; he would behead him himself by nightfall. The others would receive treatment not too different from their commander.

The Hound was given a small tent in which he could wash, change and eat.

He lay down on the small bed that had been prepared for him, and suddenly all the fatigue of the previous months seemed to suddenly wash over him. He closed his eyes and at that moment he saw Sansa enter.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her surprised as he sat down.

Sansa did not answer him, that little girl was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable and good at the same time.

She simply threw her arms around his neck holding him tightly.

"You are free." she said.

It was the first time she had addressed him on a first-name basis and without using much ceremony.

He melted into that embrace, reciprocated by squeezing her and laying a hand in the red cloud that was her hair.

Their embrace barely loosened, the two were a very short distance from each other, their noses brushed, they were eyes to eyes "This time I'm not going to ask you…" he told her as if to warn her of what he would do.

She smiled slightly confused "So it really happened?"

"Yes." he answered her in a huff.

"I knew it happened." she admitted, looking him straight in the eye.

She covered the distance between the two of them, she did it with élan and at the same time with innocence, that innocence of one who is giving herself completely to the other. Their mouths and tongues tasted each other first gently, then more and more intensely; Sansa felt herself on fire so much the transport she had toward him and toward that kiss, she wished it could be forever, but her breath soon failed and she was forced to pull away. She felt… embarrassment, but at the same time happiness because she knew it had been a gesture they had both sought and wanted.

"Sansa?" he called her and she looked up at him, "Now, go. Your brother will be looking for you."

She nodded, got up and went toward the exit, but before she did, she looked again at him who was still watching her, then she went out.

A few steps later she heard a voice calling her, it was her mother.

"Mother."

"Sansa, come." she invited her.

Her mother's tent was definitely larger than the Hound's, the bed that had been prepared for her on sight seemed to be more comfortable than Sandor's, and there was a large rug on the floor.

"Sit down." she said to her "Had breakfast?"

Sansa shook "Actually, I don't eat much."

"You've experienced too much that has forced you to change." it wasn't a question, it was a certainty.

Catelyn could only imagine how much her daughter had experienced, could only think of what Joffrey or Cersei had said to her while she was in King's Landing.

"Yes, Mother, it was… really hard."

"The Hound helped you," she told her, it wasn't a question. The woman was trying to make sense of what she had just seen: her daughter coming out of the man's tent.

"Yes, he… he was always abrupt, but he always showed me a semblance of goodness. He never laid a finger on me, indeed. The times he touched me were to wipe my split lip from a slap from a Royal Guard or when in the woods some knights attacked me and he rescued and cared for me. He took care of me, I never thought that someone like him could show such… it makes me smile to say it, but he showed great gentleness and above all respect for my person."

Catelyn sat down next to her daughter "Why then does your sister say that he touched you and beat you?"

"Mother, I lied in the past and said words that condemned a friend of her to death. That's why she said those things, because she knows that I care about him." she answered her impetuously before thinking about the words she used.

Her mother looked at her inquiringly for a long time, and Sansa blushed violently.

"Do you… love him, daughter?"

Sansa looked up at her "Mother, I don't know. What I know is that … when I am with him I feel so safe. I don't know if that's what love is… I thought I felt it for Joffrey too, but… the Prince I thought I was seeing was… just a mask hiding the monster. Sandor is… has a face… I mean, he's not handsome or charming, he doesn't wear jewels or lavish clothes, he doesn't have titles, but none of that can even compare to what he has done for me, to the protection and respect he has always shown me and granted me. I feel strong if I'm with him, and he is the first person to make me feel that way in so many moons."

Catelyn's gaze softened, but it was an instant "Sansa, you know how these things go, don't you?"

Sansa nodded sadly "He is of too low a lineage." she replied as if it were an answer learned by heart.

"Yes, unfortunately, one cannot marry solely and only for love."

"But Robb… he…"

"He's a man, Sansa," her mother reminded her, "Women cannot simply choose whom they marry. He should ask Robb for your hand, but I am sure he would not be ready to agree to marriage to him. Not now at least. He has much more important matters to think about."

"Yes. I know."

"Go eat something now. When the war is over we'll talk again, I promise."

Sansa smiled and then walked out of the tent.

Sansa joined her brother in his tent, Robb looked extremely worried and tense "What happened?" she asked him, trying to find an answer to that expression.

"Your sister Arya."

"What happened to her?"

"It's… read her message." said Robb, Arya's handwriting was unmistakable: messy and utterly ungentlemanly.

This is no longer my place, from today I will seek my own way.

Sansa looked at her brother puzzled "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. We had just found each other and she… she runs away, why? Can you give me any explanation?"

"No." replied Sansa "Robb, what about the marriage agreed upon between our uncle and the Frey?"

"I'm thinking about it. We needed that passage, but if we went there as we found out yesterday we would be ambushed. It would take us longer, but we would still get to King's Landing, even without the Frey's help." Robb explained to her.

Sansa simply nodded.

"I will send a messenger to warn Walder Frey that the wedding has been cancelled."

Sansa nodded "That's the best choice, Robb." silence descended between the two for a moment "What do we do about Arya?"

"You know how stubborn and especially wild as a squirrel that little girl is," he left that sentence hanging for a moment, then added, "I'll send three of my best knights after her. They will find her quickly."

"Good."

Sansa made to turn and walk away.

"Sansa?" Robb looked at her for a long time "You're different."

Sansa barely smiled "What do you mean?"

"You've… grown up. You look more like our mother every day, that look at least is the same."

Sansa's smile grew "I'm proud I can be like her."

Robb nodded "Father would have been very proud. You are a Stark, a true Stark. A proud young she-wolf, ready to bite dogs, lions and anyone who stands against us and our return as victors."

Sansa on hearing the word 'dog', barely flinched, but smiled anyway and then made to take her leave, but Robb held her back again "What shall we do with the Hound?"

Sansa swallowed, wanting Robb not to notice her attachment to Sandor Clegane, but at the same time not intending to cause his death or removal "Why do you ask me?"

"Because you know him, you alone can tell me what is really behind that face… you know him more than any of us," Robb answered her as he looked into her sister's eyes.

"He's among the bravest men I know. If father were alive, I think he would appreciate the courage and loyalty he showed me. No one would. He helped me and extended a hand when everyone there in King's Landing was laughing at my beatings. He cleaned my blood caused by Meryn Trant's beatings. He was the only one who never affected me but made me understand what the world is. The real one. I owe to him my return here, I owe to him the fact that I made it in time to warn you,you owe to him the fact that I discovered the deception hatched by Roose Bolton behind your back, he made me realize who I really am."

Robb looked at her for a long time "You know, sis, you have expressed praiseworthy words toward him. I hope he knows he deserves them from you!"

Sansa barely smiled "He may not know who he is, but thanks to him I know who I am."

Robb had the Hound summoned to his tent. Sandor was dragged in chains all the way inside, but there then those bonds were removed from him. Despite his sister's flattering words, Robb decided to leave two soldiers at the entrance anyway. "Do you not trust me, Lord Stark?" he asked them. "King in the North." he pointed out. "Ah, I've lost count of the kings lately!" he exclaimed wryly. "You'd better be less witty!" the Young Wolf admonished him. "What do you want from me?" the Hound asked him directly. "I was very impressed by my sister's words about you," he told him. "Really?" he asked puzzled. "Yes. She sees good in you." Robb fell silent, "Is there really any?" Sandor looked him straight in the eye "Ask your sister." he replied "On me I wouldn't bet anything, I live for myself. I stopped caring about anyone other than myself a long time ago." "You are either very stupid or very clever. Sansa, for some strange reason believes in you. She praises you, she uses admirable words. You, on the other hand, defame yourself." the King of the North looked him straight in the eye "Why? What are you trying to prove?" "I don't understand," Sandor replied. "What I want to understand is, have you come only for money or for other reasons? I do not completely believe in your innocence, but I believe in my sister and her words. If she trusts, I will try to trust what she says about you. But I need to know from you, from your voice, your intentions." The Hound lingered on his answer for a long time, but then decided to admit a half-truth "On the night of the Battle of Blackwater, I left everything behind, my place in the Royal Guard, my place next to the Child King, the Imp giving me orders. Everything. I was going to leave, but then I remembered your sister and all the suffering she went through day after day and decided to take her with me. She could have said no, she would still be there now, maybe that crazy Joffrey would have given her in marriage to the Imp to make her suffer! I decided to take her with me and I did. I did it for money… then I met that other little devil of your sister…" "Watch your mouth!" warned Robb. "And I decided to take her too, the reward would be double. That's it." "Did you ever hit my sister? At King's Landing or when you brought her here?" he asked him. "Never. I'd cut off my arm rather than hit her," he answered him, barely raising his voice. "Have you ever… touched Sansa?" Robb wanted to understand exactly if Sansa's words were true and if there was any truth in what Arya had told him, but from Sansa's words and the man's words before him he understood almost immediately that Arya had not been honest with him and that this had probably been the decision that had prompted her to run away. "I would never do that. I would rip my balls off if only I did it against her will!" exclaimed Sandor with fury. Robb lingered for a long time over the words that would follow, but finally resumed by telling him, "I believe you. How much do you want for your service?" Sandor thought about it for a while, but then chose to follow his heart for once, the heart he no longer even believed he had before the long road he faced with Sansa Stark. "Nothing." "What, you just said you came here to collect a reward, but now you want nothing?" "That's right." "Why?" he asked him narrowing his eyes and frowning. "You can't buy what you feel." In an instant Robb understood and put together his sister's words and Sandor Clegane's last sentence. Had they fallen in love? Robb thought about it for a few seconds, then dismissed him, saying, "All right. Thank you for what you did. I wish you a safe journey and safe arrival at your destination, whatever it may be." Sandor gave a half bow "I will leave in the morning, if I may." Robb simply nodded, then the Hound turned and left. He had to say goodbye to the young Stark girl.

[clonewarslover55]

congrats on sticking with the writing for a year! I love reading your stuff and can't wait to see what you put out in the future.

If your still taking requests can I have a bad batch x reader (you can pick which catcher it is) where they aren't together but like each other and have to pretend to be parents to omega to get out of trouble?

(I hope that makes sense. If it doesn't or it doesn't appeal to you, it's alright. I'm just a sucker for Star Wars Dads like the batch and Din😆)

Thanks!

Pretending to be Omega's parents with Hunter

Hunter X GenderNeutral!Reader

Thank you so much anon!! And yes, this makes perfect sense!! I really loved this request actually!

Notes: I chose Hunter because he is the main dad of the group! Also the reader is gender neutral!

Warnings: Spoilers for the Bad Batch, reader has known them for years so this fits together better(established relationship), Reader and Hunter have some mutual pinning going on ;)

You had worked with the Bad Batch throughout most of the Clone Wars, and they considered you a trustworthy assaset. Of course you were a low life like many others in the galaxy.

You worked odd jobs to make ends meet. From Bounty Hunter to smuggler, you had done it all. The Bad Batch loved you and all that you did, especially when you helped them on jobs or with their ship.

Once the war ended you were making good money off of many jobs, well until some certain clones came knocking on your door. You couldn’t say no to your boys, so you willingly welcomed them back into your life.

Now you were on the run with them; your future career in odd jobs possibly went down the drain now that the Empire was on your ass as well. But oh was it fun working with them again. Sadly Crosshair was left behind and now a slave to the Empire instead of the Republic. You’d miss the grouchy bastard. You’d help your boys get him back soon though.

Since the last time you saw them, the Bad Batch had also gained a new member. A sweet little blonde girl named Omega. She was absolutely adorable, and Hunter had clearly adopted her in his head. He’d do anything for that kid.

It was precious. And it only made your attraction to him grow.

You had always liked Hunter a bit more than the others…..In a different way as well. You believed the feeling was mutual. Well, you hoped it was.

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

*The Havoc Marauder,(The Bad Batch’s ship), Space.*

Currently you are sitting in the ship, Omega sitting in your lap. You were telling her a story about some Bounty Job you had done a few years back. It was an incredible story, and of course you were the badass in it.

You exaggerated the story a bit, and Hunter clearly noticed. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, Hunter looking at you with a knowing smirk. You winked at him before turning your full attention back to Omega.

Her eyes were wide as she listened with great interest. Every now and then she’d interrupt you with a question. She was extremely curious, but still a sweetheart.

“We’re nearly there. The market town is rather large but we could still be noticed. The Empire clearly has a hold on the city.” Tech spoke, glancing at everyone in the ship. “The only way in is with disguises.”

You sat down Omega, “We’ll finish the story later.” You whispered, winking at the young girl. She grinned widely, winking back.

Wrecker laughed from the back, setting down the Gonk droid. “Yeah! Our armor does stand out huh?!” He punched Echo’s shoulder, Echo winching and glaring at his brother. You grinned at the boys.

“Oh I have an idea for Hunter and you.” Tech looked at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Tech knew you and Hunter had been pinning after one another for some time, neither of you making a move. So he’d make the move for you both.

You could nearly read their minds at this point. So you knew just what he had in mind. You glared at Tech, “Bastard.” You mouthed, Tech shrugging his shoulders. Hunter raised his eyebrows, glancing at you both.

“What?” Hunter asked, crossing his arms as he stood up from his seat.

“You two go in, wearing civilian clothes of course. Take Omega…..and pretend to be her parents. No one would have any idea who you are. You’d just be a couple out with their child, shopping the day away.” Hunter glanced at you, something alight in his dark eyes.

“I love this idea!!” Omega chirped, grinning widely at you and Hunter. “We’d be a good family!!” Tech and Echo smirked at you and Hunter. Wrecker looked as oblivious as Omega, but still just as happy.

You smiled nervously at Hunter who merely nodded his head. “Fine.” You spoke as you stood up, walking into the back to change your clothes. Hunter patted Tech’s shoulder as passed him, following you.

Tech grinned at the others once you and Hunter left the room. Omega even knew what was going on. A perfect plan to get you two to hook up!

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

*The surface of the planet, the ship docks of the market town*

You walked off the ship, your hand holding Omega’s much smaller one. You, Omega, and Hunter were in similar civilian clothes, looking like an average couple with their daughter.

Echo followed with Tech, Wrecker staying on the ship as backup and as a guard. You grinned at their civilian clothes. Echo looked droid like and Tech was in some ugly outfit. Poor Tech looked uncomfortable while Hunter looked extremely comfortable.

“Alright. Separate ways, we grab what we need and bounce.” Hunter spoke, his firm voice making you pay great attention to him. You stared at his lips as he explained the plan.

“Everyone got it?” You nodded even though you hadn’t really listened…..His lips and handsome face were just that distracting. Tech and Echo left first, swiftly disappearing within the crowd of people.

“Alright then. Come on.” Hunter grabbed Omega’s free hand, leading you and her into the market town crowd.

You gently squeezed Omega's hand, “Have that list memorized sweetie?” You questioned, your voice sweet and dripping with honey. Omega grinned at the nickname, nodding eagerly. “Yup!” Hunter smiled back at his “daughter” and you, a soft look in his dark eyes.

About halfway through your little shopping spree Omega paused, looking at a toy cart. You smiled and pulled away from your “husband.” You led Omega to the cart, holding her tiny hand still. Hunter sighed, following you both.

She picked up a toy clone trooper, looking back at you and Hunter with puppy dog eyes. “How can I say no to that?!” You grinned, tossing the vendor the correct amount of credits.

“You spoil her.” Hunter spoke, putting his arm around you. You shrug, “So do you.” Hunter glared at you playfully, the vendor smiling at you both. “Perhaps.” Hunter spoke, leading you away by your waist; Omega followed, one hand holding Hunter’s and the other holding her new toy.

Once you two had all the goods you stopped, out of the way of the crowd of course. “We do make a decent couple don’t we?” You whispered quietly, Hunter’s face inches from yours so he could hear you.

Hunter nodded, Omega ignoring you both as she watched the crowd pass. “We should do this more often shouldn’t we?” He spoke, teasingly brushing his nose against yours. Your face got hot, a wide smile coming onto your face.

“Yes we should.” You whispered, your eyes flicking to his lips. Hunter smirked, finally connecting his lips with yours.

The wonderful kiss was interrupted by Omega screaming, “Ew!!! Tech! Echo! They’re kissing!!!!” You busted out laughing as she screamed over the comms. Hunter clearly died a little bit, hiding his face in your neck.

You laughed harder when you heard the laughing replies. “We’ll never live this down will we?” Hunter questioned. You shrugged, “I hope not.” You muttered, pressing your lips to his once again.

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[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.    

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

[sabraeal]

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

*

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

*

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

*

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

*

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?”

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

*

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

What if... Family Portrait

(Excuse me while I DIE because the art deity @cacodaemonia​ was so incredibly kind to create a What-If version of the Fearsome Four pic that Davarax took before he was ripped away from them. Well, here you have the Devoted Dad, Mama Bear, and their Fearsome Five! The cuteness, the adorableness, the PERFECTION is killing me! Davarax’ and Dulcy’s smiles (his slightly slanted grin and her big happy one, aaaah) and their hair (I worship the floof!) and their eyes (So kind, how??) and their armour (sessayh!) and... *flails* All of it!! And sweet, adorable, big eyed Corin, still a little more timid than his rambunctious siblings... PERFECT, I SAY! And to think this is what Corin could have had... Well, in the What-if, this is what he does have!)

A hundred years ago, I promised Davarax’ POV when Dulcy was kidnapped. Apologies for the unforgivably long wait, but I hope the fact that it was meant to be four pages and ended up closer to thirteen can make up for it a little?

-

What If... we saw it through Davarax’ eyes?

Davarax lowers Zurf to the floor with his grip on his wrist instead of slamming him to the ground like he usually does after managing to flip him over. Letting go, he then backs up, lifts his hands into the air to acknowledge the roar of approval from the other seven Mandalorians present in the training room and nods at the mix of praise aimed his way and the mockery flying Zurf’s way.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Belitz calls out, gesturing for everyone to settle down while he walks towards Davarax. “What was that, Davarax?”

Grinning, Davarax starts backing towards the exit. “That? That I believe was a win.”

“Since when do you coddle your opponent?” Belitz demands to know and follows, trailing after the scent of possible juicy news like a Corellian hound. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m not allowed to be in a good mood?” Davarax drawls, still grinning, still backing up.

“I’ve experienced you in a good mood.” Belitz states. “This is not you in a good mood. You in a good mood is merely spraining bones instead of breaking them. This? This is something else. What happened?”

Davarax snorts amused. He will die before he tells them anything.

“It’s that woman, isn’t it? The outsider.” Pagyle shouts from the other side of the room. Her voice soaked with glee. “She’s got you soft.”

Finally reaching the exit, Davarax does an extravagant bow. “I win. I leave. See you tomorrow, losers.” And then he flees, laughing out loud at the wave of questions and suggestive howling that follows him.

They are right and they are wrong. Wrong, because Davarax ‘is’ in a good mood. Extremely good mood. Honestly, he’s drunk on happiness. And his sparring partners are right, because he does owe the glow in his chest and the smile on his lips to Dulsissia.

Davarax can’t stop himself from bringing up the memory of her looking at him with open affection, the sensation of her fingers braiding with his, as well as the lazy bliss of just having her close and feeling her breathe. And that was just the memories from last night.

He’s never felt anything like this for anyone before. He’s never met anyone like her before.

Over a year with him on a different planet and yet Dulsissia had waited for him. Davarax doubts she knows how much her messages had helped him through that year. She has no idea how many times he replayed those holos during the moments when the darkness curled up in his chest from missing her and his other three kids so much he could barely breathe. How he dreaded what he would come back home to. Every day he woke up thinking that would be the day he learned he’d lost her.

Davarax had believed her when Dulsissia said she’d wait, but life happens and he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had found someone else… but she didn’t. She kept the children safe, handled life in the Covert like she’d grown up there and welcomed him back like she had missed him every bit as much as he’d missed her. If anything, it seems like her feelings for him were even stronger.

It gives him hope. Maybe one day, please let it happen, he’ll be able to defeat the demons from her past, rebuild the trust Macero Valentis had shattered, and take his helmet off for her.

Davarax’ happiness lasts until there is a knock on his door, hours later as he’s about to get ready for the day’s training session with the children, and he opens it to find Corin and Din looking up at him with almost identical anxious facial expressions.

“Is… Is my mom here?” Corin asks in a thin voice.

Davarax frowns. “No?” It’s late afternoon, a time she usually spends with her son, and he hasn’t seen her since she left his room last night. “Why are you asking?”

Corin fidgets. “Me and Din were working on a project with Barthor. Mom was supposed to come pick me up, but she never showed. A-and when we went back to my room, she wasn’t there either.”

Unease instantly coils around Davarax’ heart. There is no way Dulsissia would forget picking up Corin. She wouldn’t. If something came up, something so serious it couldn’t wait, she would have asked Davarax or someone else to bring a message to Corin and make sure he was okay.

Something is wrong.

-

Corin and Din already look horribly nervous and as Davarax doesn’t want to upset them further he keeps his thoughts to himself. He clears his throat and tries to sound calm. “Okay, listen…” Davarax tries to think and not just react. “I’ll ask around. She probably got caught up in something.” He considers his options and gestures the boys inside. “You two wait here. Okay?”

Sniffling, Corin seems to be very much aware of the seriousness of the situation and simply stands there, head lowered, until Din places his arm around him and leads him into the room.

Davarax takes a step out but pauses to look back at the boys. “And, uh, don’t touch the weapons.” While he trusts them, he also can’t ignore the fact that there are explosives in his room strong enough to send them all to Mandalore That Was.

Din nods. Corin merely sniffles again.

Davarax rushes towards the people he knows Dulcy has the most contact with. Decco hasn’t seen her all day, neither had the next one he asks, but then he gets his first lead.

“I think she went above?” Ayah says, shrugging. “I saw her walking down the hallway with that basket of hers this morning.”

This makes the unease grow stronger. Davarax stalks towards the stairs and enters the city above to set course to where he knows she usually sets up her little stand to sell her cookies.

The sun is shining over Nevarro, the HUD lists the temperatures uncomfortably high, so it shouldn’t be surprising that few people are walking around, but it still fuels Davarax’ unease and makes him wonder if something had scared people indoors. He pauses for half a second when he turns the corner and sees she’s not there. Dulcy is not in her spot. There’s not a single soul in the street. His heart drops. Cold sweat starts to break out at the back of his neck. She’s not there! But, his eyes focuses on the ground, but there is ‘something’ there…

Walking over, Davarax kneels down. He reaches down and brushes some sand away so he can pick up what had caught his attention.

It’s a piece of a cookie.

Staring at it, Davarax swallows down his ever increasing sense of doom and forces himself to look around on the ground. He sees more pieces. Like someone had dropped a bag of them on the ground and then stepped on it. His heartbeats feel like punches inside his chest. Fear. Raw fear. What had happened here?

“Are you looking for the nice cookie lady?” A voice asks.

Davarax looks up and sees a scruffy mercenary standing a small distance away, leaning against the wall next to him and munching away on a cookie with the few teeth he has left. Davarax stands up and drops the piece he had been holding. “Yes. Have you seen her?”

The mercenary nods, chewing thoughtfully. “She was her earlier.”

“Did you see where she went?” Davarax asks.

“The Imp took her away.” A different voice replies. It’s another mercenary. She has a small bag of Dulcy’s cookies hanging from her belt, next to grenades and what looks like small bones. She has more teeth than the other guy. A lot more teeth. Sharp ones.

“What Imp?” Davarax presses on, refusing to acknowledge how panic is starting to set in. He’d told Dulcy she was safe. He’d told her not to be afraid of going into the city because they’d know if Valentis showed up. Had Macero Valentis taken her away?

“An officer.” The first mercenary replies. “He had a whole bunch of those stormtroopers with him. Nothing we could do.” A slight frown settles between his eyebrows. “Seemed like she knew him.”

Davarax closes his eyes, forces himself to stay calm despite being horrified and enraged at the same time, then he exhales and opens them again. “Did you see where they were going?”

“The army base.” The second mercenary informs him. “I hope you find her. She’s nice.”

Thanking them, Davarax heads below again and finds the one responsible for supervising the information coming in about the Imperial movement on the planet. It is another test of his willpower when he learns that he wasn’t warned because he’d told them to keep an eye out for someone who asked around about Dulcy and Corin or the arrival of a man by the name of Macero Valentis. No one had asked around about Dulcy and Corin,  and Davarax had said nothing about a Vecon Valentis. They also inform Davarax that Vecon Valentis’ ship had left in a hurry hours ago.

Seething, Davarax barely resists unleashing his anger on these idiots, who probably weren’t too concerned about the safety of an outsider, and he stalks off to the one with the power to do something about this nightmare.

His sister.

-

Stepping into the Forge, smacking his hand on the button to close the door, Davarax does not kneel down. His heart his thumping like crazy. Dulcy is okay. Yeah, she’s okay. Dulcy is tough. She can handle herself until he can get to her. Please let her be okay. She has to be. Davarax yanks off his helmet. “The Imps got Dulcy.”

His sister pauses in her work, the golden helmet turns and her expressionless t-visor looks at him. “I was just informed.”

Davarax takes a step forward. “We have to go after them.”

There is a moment of silence and then she lowers her hammer and sets it aside. “No.”

Blinking, Davarax did not expect that answer. Okay, she had not been thrilled about Dulcy from the second he’d brought her home, finding her weak and whimsical, but he’d taken it for granted that she’d resent Imps taking someone under her protection. “Why not?”

“She’s an outsider.” His sister replies. Her voice is as emotionless as her helmet. “She’s not a Mandalorian. She’s not a Foundling. She’s not of this Covert. I will not risk the lives of our people for her. That is not the Way.”

Now Davarax is the one who needs a moment of silence and then he finds his voice again. “What about her son?”

“The boy is your Foundling.” Is the flat reply. “According to your reports, he shows promise as a fighter.”

Davarax nods thoughtfully, knowing there is no way he can change her mind. She’s not someone who changes her mind. He should know. “I will make arrangements that he’ll be taken care of if I don’t return.” He turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” Now there is a hint of sharpness in her voice.

Davarax stops, stares at the door and tries to sort out what he’s feeling. It’s like there is an imploding star inside his chest. It’s hard to breathe. “I’m going after her.”

“You are not.” That is an order.

“I am.” Davarax turns to face his sister again. He can’t lose Dulcy. He won’t. He refuses!

“You are staying here.”

“Or what?” Davarax snarls viciously, stepping forward, hands clenching and pure rage burning in his eyes.

She lifts her hands and removes her helmet. Her dark eyes and strong cheekbones, her hair that mix of brown and red, so similar to their mother she could be her twin. There is no mercy in her gaze. “You are staying here, brother. You are not going after her. She will lead you to your death.”

Davarax does not back down one inch. She was always meant to be the one to follow in their parents footsteps and he was to be her general, but this is an order he will not obey. “I love her vod. There is only one way you can stop me and you know it.” She is going to have to beat him unconscious and he will fight her with everything he’s got. “Try it!”

Her eyes narrow a tiny bit. For her, that is a huge red flag, revealing just how angry she is. Despite her detachment to most things, Davarax knows she loves him. She lets him get away with so much, stuff no other Mandalorian would dare to try under her rule, and she will knock him out if she thinks it will save his life.

But he will never forgive her if she stops him from saving Dulcy, his heart and future, and his sister must know this because she simply puts her helmet back on and turns away from him.

She won’t stop him, but he’s on his own. It hurts, but he’s not surprised.

Davarax puts his own helmet back on and walks out of the room.

-

Davarax is shaking. His head and his heart is in complete chaos.

He’s dreading what Dulcy is going through. Guilt is ripping him apart. She’d trusted him and now she is being brought back to the man who had almost ruined her and her son. Macero’s temper must be terrible, judging by how terrified she’d been when she thought he’d found them due to that lone stormtrooper, and Davarax can barely breathe when thinking about what the man will do to her if he gets his hands on her.

Davarax fights air into his lungs. Focus. He cannot undo what has happened, he needs to focus on what he can do. He needs his weapons and he has to explain to Corin what has happened and...

Davarax marches back to his room.

“Uncle Vecon…?” Corin goes pale as a sheet. His eyes fill up with more tears and his little frame start to tremble. “He’s… He’s going to take mom back to father. And he’s going to be sooo angry…”

“Hey.” Davarax takes a gentle hold of his shoulder and makes the boy look up at him. “Corin, listen to me, I won’t let that happen. Understand? I’m going to get your mom back. I promise you.” Corin looks up at him with complete trust despite the fear in his eyes. So young and yet painfully aware of the horrors his father is capable of. “You promise?”

Davarax nods, struggling to hide how much he wants to kill Corin’s father. The Galaxy would be a better place with one less monster in it. He pulls the boy in close and hugs him. “I promise.” And he fully intends to keep that promise. “But for me to do this, I need you to do me a huge favour.”

Nodding, Corin absently wipes a runaway tear from his face. “Okay.”

“What do you need us to do?” Din asks, ready to be Corin’s support pillar and Davarax feels a stab of pride as well as affection for the boy. His brave Foundling. Despite the horror he went through himself not too many years ago, Din doesn’t hesitate to support his friend. Like a true Mandalorian.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Davarax doesn’t want to mention the possibility he might not come back at all. They are worried enough. “I need Corin to stay with… a friend of mine until I get back.”

Din lowers his gaze, knowing Davarax is not talking about his parents as they have made it clear they do not like outsiders and consider Corin very much as one. “I’ll… come along. Make sure he settles in.” “Thank you.” Davarax says. He’s not entirely thrilled about what he’s about to do, but it’s his least bad option out of a bunch of worse options. “Corin, let’s go by your room and pick up some stuff for a couple of days. Okay? We have to hurry.” Corin nods, meek and affable. He’s horribly pale and looks heartbreakingly shaken, but he is holding himself together despite having lost the person who means the most to him. He’s stronger than he knows, Davarax muses. One day that boy will grow up to be a powerful warrior.

They pick up some clothes and Corin’s datapad. Davarax notices a small pile of Din’s clothing lying on a chair in a corner and wonders just how much time the kid spends with Dulcy and Corin. Then they make their way down the hallway and head towards a door he really does not want to approach.

Davarax pushes the button to signal his presence. He doesn’t want to use the comm system and risk being shut down.

Nothing.

Sighing, Davarax pushes again. He doesn’t have time for this. Every second wasted means that Valentis guy dragging Dulcy farther and farther away and closer to her former husband.

Finally the door slides open and Davarax forces his spine straight. “I need a favour.”

A heavy silence follows before there is a slight shake of a blue helmet as if to reboot his brain before he’s able to speak. “You. You are asking Dez Vizla for a favour?”

Corin and Din exchange looks behind Davarax and he can almost hear what the kids are thinking. Why on earth would he bring Corin to Dez Vizla?

Well, Barthor’s parents would never agree to take him in. Neither would Din’s parents. And while the Saxons would say yes, he’s not entirely sure Corin would survive that. Decco’s illness causes days when she has no energy and might soon end her days all together. The Fighting Corps are constantly on the move and its members have no stability for a child. Dez Vizla may be an uptight and pompous jerk who likes to talk about himself in the third person and unfortunately treats his son like an adult instead of a child, but he rarely leaves the Covert, guards his wards with his life and will never turn his back on a Foundling in need. Plus, in his quarters, Corin will also have Paz to look after him day and night. Hopefully the stay won’t be for too long, but at least Corin will be safe and cared for.

“I need you to look after Corin for a bit.” Davarax says, trying to sound calm and confident.

Dez snorts a haughty laugh. “What?” He shakes his head again, still struggling to believe what he’s hearing. “You want… What?”

“Dulcy got snatched by Imps. They took her away.” Davarax explains in a tight voice, trying hard not to upset Corin. “I’m going to get her back.” He switches to Mando’a and hopes Corin doesn’t understand what he’s saying next. ”This is serious, Dez. I need your help. Keep him safe?”

Dez stares at him for a while, entirely still and unreadable, before he finally sighs and takes a step to the side to let Corin enter. “Get inside, boy. Now.”

Corin freezes, panics, and looks up at Davarax. As expected, he responds badly to Dez’ rough personality. Davarax is about to speak but Din beats him to it.

Din gives Corin a light nudge. “I’ll come with you. It’s okay.” He sends Dez a challenging look.

Dez snorts again, amused by the glare, and gives a nod. Fine. Din can come too.

Relieved, Davarax sees the two shuffle into the Vizla quarters and tells himself it won’t be the last time he sees them. He’s going to get Dulcy and then they will all be together again.

-

Davarax grabs his weapons and as many grenades and explosives as he can before he sets course for the Razor Crest. His heart is still thumping so hard he can almost feel it battering against the inside of his breastplate.

If Macero Valentis is a monster, his brother might be too. What if he has hurt Dulcy? What is she thinking about right now? Does she think Davarax has abandoned her or does she find comfort in the knowledge that he’ll come for her? Is she afraid? She’s tough, no doubt about that, but courage is not the absence of fear. Only a fool would not feel fear at times. And the mere thought of her being afraid burns Davarax’ heart like acid.

Lost in a hurricane of thoughts and emotions, Davarax doesn’t hear the voice calling out his name and is a bit startled when someone grabs him just as he’s about to step outside of the Covert. Snapping his visor over, Davarax is surprised to find Paz there.

“Is it true?” Paz says, breathless and agitated. “Dulcy’s gone? The Imps got her?”

Davarax exhales. “Yeah…” He has to gather himself and appear calm once again, not wanting to worry Paz either. “But I’m going to get her back. Don’t worry. You just make sure Corin is okay.”

Paz gulps for air as his agitation increases. “I’m coming with you.”

“What? No.” Davarax blinks when the boy bolts by him and stalks out of the Covert. “Paz! Paz, get back here.”

Marching towards the Razor Crest, Paz doesn’t slow down. “I’m coming with you!”

Davarax curses and trots after him, trying to persuade him to go back. Paz makes it all the way inside the ship’s cargo hold before Davarax loses his patience and grabs his arm.

“Paz, I don’t have time for this!” Davarax makes Paz’ visor focus on him. “Dulcy is in serious trouble. These Imps are dangerous.”

“I can fight!” Paz snaps back at him, his voice both angry and shaking.

“I know you can fight.” Davarax reassures him, a little impatiently. “But you are not coming with me. Go home, Paz. Look after Corin. And the others. Go!”

“No!” Paz shouts, but his next words are soft and broken. “She has to come back. She has to.” He struggles to keep speaking. “She’s always so nice to me. To all of us.”

“I know…” Davarax whispers. Paz had been abandoned by his birth mother all those years ago and now he is ready to rush into battle and get himself killed to avoid losing Dulcy. The only woman who had cared enough to act like an actual mother to him. “I’m going to get her back, Paz. I promise. But I have to go now.”

“I’m going with you.” Paz repeats in a stubborn reply.

Sighing, Davarax knows more words are pointless. While the helmet hides Paz’ face, he knows the boy well enough to hear in his voice and read from his body language when he’s too determined to be persuaded otherwise. “Go home, Paz.” He tightens his grip on his arm and drags him out of the ship, kicking and screaming.

Paz’ fury is frightful and Davarax is fairly certain if the boy had a weapon; he would have shot Davarax when he lifts the ramp and blocks him out of the ship. He might not forgive Davarax for this, but he will be safe and alive. And that is what Dulcy would want too.

Dulcy…

-You and Corin are safe here, he’d told her.

She had trusted him when he’d said they’d know if there was danger nearby. He’d told her those words because he’d believed them too. He’d failed to take idiocy and dislike towards outsiders into consideration. The idiots hadn’t meant for any harm to come to her, they just didn’t put any effort into the safety of an outsider.

She’s okay. Dulcy has to be okay. Davarax will get to her long before Macero Valentis does. He will. He won’t fail her, or the children, not as long as he breathes. Davarax had given up on having a family of his own beyond what time he was allowed to spend with his treasured troublemakers and he had settled for being a provider for other families instead, but then Dulcy entered his life and everything changed.

Davarax’ hands shake as he starts up the Razor Crest, driven by red hot fury at the ones who had taken Dulcy away and cold dark despair at the thought of her surrounded by enemies.

He’s going to get her back.

-

Going after the Imp ship is part guessing, part experienced calculations and part luck. There is no way for Davarax to know their exact route or destination as he has no clue where Macero Valentis is currently located, but he knows which routes are most commonly used by Imps ships as he tends to avoid them like the plague and he has contacts to ask along the way.

It feels strange to deliberately enter areas where he is bound to meet Imp ships.

Constant attacks has left the Imp army jumpy so there are a couple of ships who take his presence and him scanning them the wrong way. The Razor Crest has to make a run for it several times and ends up with scorch marks on her hull, but that’s not enough to make Davarax stop.

He can’t.

Eventually Davarax manages to lock on to the one moving against the stream of Imp ships and with single-minded determination as if there is some place it needs to be and as fast as possible. He can’t be sure, but his heart tells him he’s found his prey and Davarax always trusts his instincts.

Unaware of baring his teeth like a furious beast and the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing up, Davarax can only register one thought: the hunt has begun.

Food and sleep have become a distant memory on this trip. When did he eat or sleep last? Yesterday? The day before? He can’t remember and Davarax doesn’t care. He simply keeps pushing the Razor Crest and himself to catch up with the Imp ship before it reaches the clutches of Macero Valentis.

Eventually he does catch up with the ship.

Others tend to shake their head at Davarax’ attachment to the Razor Crest, but he knows what she’s capable of and how to us her strengths in ways that his enemies never expect. People underestimate his ship all the time and Davarax hopes they continue to do so – as it makes his victories all the more sweeter and drastically reduces the risk to his life and his ship’s safety.

When the Imp ship slows down, for whatever reason, Davarax goes for it.

Setting loose two decoys with signals meant to impersonate much larger ships than the Razor Crest, Davarax gives a powerful boost with his engine before powering down and hoping the forward momentum will bring him to where he needs to go; the landing dock on the Imp ship’s left flank.

It’s a move he’s only done twice before and he succeeded once, but Davarax decides to risk it.

Dulcy is right there. In that ship. And Macero Valentis is not, or there would have been a second ship to accompany them. There is still time to get her back.

The Razor Crest does not fail him. She slides through the darkness, under the Imp ship’s radar and drowsy attention, their arrogance brought on by them thinking themselves superior in every way can be quite helpful, and once she’s powered back up it only takes the gentlest of nudges to make her move up to where she can latch on to one of the boarding docks.

Davarax is on his feet before the attachment to the other ship is deemed secure by the Razor Crest’s sensors. Three blasters and an unseemly amount of explosives join his arsenal hidden in his armour.

It’s time to put all of his concern and anger into his weapons.

He goes for stealth at first. He needs to know where they are keeping Dulcy. And while Davarax knows he’s a skilled fighter, he’s just one man and this ship is crawling with soldiers. He needs to be clever about this and not let his anger rule him.

He’s told Din countless times to control his anger instead of letting his anger control him, and this is one of those situations where that could be the deciding factor of the outcome of the mission.

A drowsing guard is yanked around a corner and asked for information, but the guy isn’t much help and is left hidden inside a service closet. He is soon joined by two more.

It’s the fourth guard that finally gives Davarax the answers he is looking for.

Dulsissia Valentis is indeed on this ship. They are keeping Dulcy two levels below this one, in the last cell on the left side of the prison corridor. And there are plenty of guards.

There is no way he can get to her without being detected.

Davarax lets the guard fall to the floor and draws his blasters. Controlling your anger also means to know when it is time to let it loose.

It’s time.

-

It kind of becomes a red haze after that. Davarax makes his way through the soldiers and guards, using blasters and grenades and his flame thrower to remove them from his path, and every step brings him closer to Dulcy.

Nothing will stop him.

Nothing.

He plants several bombs in strategic places, aiming to injure the ship’s engines and computers as well as draw attention away from himself. Once that is in place, Davarax moves towards the door leading below and gets ready.

Davarax triggers the first two bombs. The ship shakes and groans and he heads below to face the minor army placed there to guard their precious cargo.

The first Trooper he sees standing there spins around at the sound of him and freezes with surprise.

Davarax fires his blaster and moves on to take down the next before the body has hit the floor. He triggers more bombs.

The ship’s siren starts blaring. It howls its long and loud warnings on all floors.

After that, blaster shots hits Davarax’ armour, shrapnel from enemy grenades and his own stabs at him, fists and bots do their best to hurt him, even a blade or two slices through his jacket, yet he keeps moving forward. He won’t stop unless he’s dead.

A well placed grenade takes out the light on the entire level, but instead of darkness his HUD has to adjust to the backup-lights flickering on and off as it appears the electrical system itself has taken damage.

Endless amounts of guards try to stop him. All of them visibly confused as they were under the impression that they are being invaded by a large group of enemies and all they see is one Mando. They soon are too dead to appreciate the lesson Davarax is teaching them: do not mess with a Mandalorian’s family.

Davarax removes a couple of soldiers trying to kill him with a well-aimed grenade and he turns a corner to see what he’s been looking for; the prison corridor.

“He’s here!” Someone shouts in the distance.

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” A voice snaps. “Don’t just stand there! Stop him!”

More soldiers rush forward to protect the owner of the voice.

Davarax removes obstacle (soldier) after obstacle (more soldiers), ignoring everything except his mission. He’s so lost in his anger and battle-haze that he’s not prepared for when he suddenly sees her there. Barely visible through the smoke and blaster shots sent his way, there is no mistaking her.

Dulcy.

Some obnoxious Imp officer is standing next to her, his one hand grabbing her arm and the other holding a blaster muzzle to her head. The officer looks scared. She does not. Her eyes are wide with surprise, yes, but her mouth softens into the faintest of smiles. Her hair is almost as wild as Raga’s and for some weird reason she’s wearing a fancy teal dress that probably costs more than the Razor Crest.

It would have eased Davarax’ anger, soothed the fire inside him, quenched his thirst for blood, seeing her standing there… if not for the blooming bruise on her face. There is a startling discolouring of the delicate cheekbone he’d trailed light fingertips over in a wordless display of love not too long ago...

Unbridled rage explodes inside Davarax. He’s going to rip Vecon Valentis apart!

Completely indifferent to the shots fired at him, Davarax merely keeps stalking towards Dulcy and the soon-to-be-dead-Imp, killing anyone who gets in his way. He’s so angry he can barely breathe. How dare they hurt her?!

-

A trooper jumps out of room next to him, blaster raised, but Davarax slams his elbow into the helmet so hard it shatters. He then pulls out a vibro-blades and throws it through the air and takes down the one guard left standing next to Dulcy and the Imp officer.

The red lights are still flashing, sirens are blaring, there is thick smoke in the air, and Davarax is finally standing in front of Dulcy and Vecon Valentis. The Imp now looks downright terrified.

“Don’t, Mando.” Vecon warns. “I will shoot.”

“Not if he kills you first, Vecon.” Dulcy says. She’s keeping her gaze locked on Davarax, unfazed by Vecon’s threat and the pain of her bruised face. His brave Dulcy. His heart. His light.

Not bothering to even look at Vecon, Davarax grabs the man’s hand holding on to the blaster and squeezes and twists it until he drops the weapon with a pained yelp. He’s mesmerized by Dulcy’s complete lack of fear and solid faith in him. She even uses the moment Davarax disarms her captor to break free and spin around to stand next to Davarax instead.

“Tell Macero I’m never going back. He will never see his son again. And to leave me alone. And if he comes after me or my family again, I won’t ask nicely to be left alone. I will kill him.”

‘My family’. She said ‘my family’. It might be wishful thinking from Davarax’ side, but her choosing those words instead of just saying ‘me or my son’, it almost sounds like she means… him and the children? The anger deflates as wild hope floods Davarax instead and he glances over at the amazing woman next to him.

Dulcy is glaring at Vecon, who is bending over into an awkwardly twisted position due to the grip Davarax has on him, and she looks magnificent; beauty and fury. And there is no hesitation or trace of softness in her threat. She means it, she will kill Macero, and Davarax loves her even more.

“Tell him yourself.” Vecon sneers.

Davarax is distracted, entirely focused on Dulcy, and he pays the price. The Imp moves and a sharp pain follows as he drives a blade into Davarax’ side. Grunting, Davarax reacts instinctively; he draws his blaster and shoots.

Vecon Valentis is dead.

Dulcy doesn’t care. She seems indifferent to the man being killed and her being deprived of the chance to do it herself as payback for her bruised face. All she focuses on is getting to where the blade is planted deep in Davarax’ body. “Oh. Oh no. What-”

They have to leave. Now. The blade hasn’t done lethal damage but Davarax knows he won’t be able to fight for too long with this kind of injury. Blood-loss will weaken him. He yanks the blade out and grabs her arm to redirect her frightened gaze to his t-visor. “We have to go.”

She nods, a little stunned but ready to get out of there. Good.

Picking up Valentis’ blaster, he hands it to her. “I need you to cover my back, Dulcy. Can you do that?” Blood is seeping through his underarmor and a burning pain is spreading. No time to deal with it as more guards are on their way for sure. He needs her help if they are going to make it.

She nods again. Worried, pale, but determined. She’s got his back. Just like he knew she would.

He loves her so much.

Together, they move, battle and make it back to the Razor Crest.

Stumbling into the cockpit and over to sit down in the pilot seat, Davarax brings the engines online and detaches them from the Imp ship as quick as possible. The bombs he’d set off earlier was to confuse the troops onboard and Davarax hopes they have caused enough damage to the engines for him and Dulcy to make their escape.

The Razor Crest does a slow turn, rolling over, Dulcy buckles herself into her seat, and with a strained shake of her entire hull; the Razor Crest gives a mighty kick and races off into the darkness.

-Run, Davarax pleads the ship. -Run as fast as you can, old girl. If that beast recovers enough to come after us, we’re all dead. So I need you to run with everything you got. Run!

And, again maybe it is his wishful thinking, Davarax swears he feels the ship give an extra burst and her speed increases even more as they race towards safety.

-

Only after forty three minutes and seventeen seconds of pushing the engines to the limit of what they can take, plus non-stop checking the radar to see if someone has decided to chase them and finding nothing, only then does Davarax dare to ease up and let the Razor Crest slow down while he leans back and exhales.

Adrenaline and stress leaves his body while exhaustion moves in.

This is also when Dulcy unbuckles herself and appears by his side to with an anxious expression on her beautiful face and her hands hovering a little undecidedly over his torso as if she can’t decide where to touch.

Her own bruised face appears forgotten to her. Davarax feels how guilt viciously collides with the relief of having her back. He reaches out, pulls Dulcy close and hugs her tight. “Are you okay?” Her bruised face is bad enough, more than bad enough, but what if… He will never forgive himself if...

“Yes, but you’re not.” Dulcy replies, too relaxed to be lying and she tries to push him away. “You’re bleeding. You’re hurt, Davarax. I have to-”

Feeling her in his arms, alive and warm and there and forgiving him his failure, Davarax couldn’t care less about his own injuries. He can’t even feel them. All he can feel is her. All he cares about is her. The thought of letting her go after nearly losing her forever hurts. “In a moment.” Davarax’ throat is snared up so tight he has to whisper. “Please.”

And his heart shatters entirely when this incredible woman shivers, once, then wraps her arms around him and hugs him back. Davarax eases her over to sit on his lap where she curls as close to him as she can manage and he holds her as close as he dares.

He’d nearly lost her. This fact will haunt him for the rest of his life; a life he cannot imagine without her. She brought him out of his half-existence, comforted his children when he was unable to and Davarax had started to wake up in the mornings with hope instead of guilt and weariness.

Despite the ordeal she has been through, Dulsissia ignores her own hurt and says that they need to tell the Covert Macero will come for them so they can flee, but Davarax isn’t too worried. They have fought all kinds of governments before and won. He alone had taken on a Destroyer and gotten away with it today, just imagine what his entire Covert could do to a man stupid enough to challenge them.

Dulcy is not convinced, but they compromise and then her focus shifts to his injuries and that is something she will not compromise on. It’s odd to have someone care. Nice, but odd. He’s always tended to his injuries himself.

She fusses about his wounds and notes how Vecon held the blade all wrong to do fatal damage. His girl knows how to stab someone properly. His heart glows with pride.

Dulcy refuses to use the cauterizer and tries to order him out of the pilot seat. As much as he loves her authoritative voice, Davarax declines. He needs to keep an eye on the radar, just in case.

Another compromise is made and she ends up sitting on his lap while tending to his injuries.

It’s no big surprise when she asks about her son.

“Scared out of his mind that he’ll never see his mother again.” Davarax sighs, running his hand along her arm in an absent-minded caress. “When we get closer to Nevarro, I’ll try to reach him.”

“And the rest of the kids?”

That actually makes Davarax laugh a little “I had to physically wrestle Paz off the ship when he heard I was going. If he had a blaster, he would have shot me.” His hand rounds her shoulder and moves up her neck to cup the side of her face. “They’ve all been desperate to get you back. Like me.” It feels almost too good that she’s back. He did it. She’s here. He didn’t fail her again.

“I’m sorry.” Dulsissia mumbles, gently patting down the edges of a bacta patch on his stab wound. “I didn’t see him before it was too late. And then I just wanted them away from all of you.”

“Hey.” Davarax takes a gentle but firm grip on her wrist, halting her movement, making her look at his visor. “This was not your fault. This was all them. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Dulsissia doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe not. But the fact remains that without me stumbling into your life, you wouldn’t be bleeding right now.”

“Without me barging into yours, I wouldn’t be sitting here, that’s true.” Davarax replies, gently caressing her wrist. “I wouldn’t be with you. My days wouldn’t bring happy memories instead of feeling guilty all the time. I wouldn’t come home to my kids smiling instead of crying, hiding away while being terrified for their lives or without a voice because they have been screaming themselves hoarse.” His hand moves up to brush the back of his fingers across her bruised cheekbone, feeling the guilt gnaw at him again. “That’s worth more than bleeding for, cyare. That’s worth dying for.”

Closing her eyes, Dulsissia takes a hold of his hand and moves it down to press her lips to it. “Other than the love I felt for my son, I didn’t know what love was until I met you.” She shivers. “Don’t talk about dying because it feels like tempting fate and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

“Then, maybe, if you feel like that, would you…” Davarax says, tensing up a little. He had asked her to marry him and she had said no. It’s just… He wants them to be together, forever, so badly. He wants to be able to take his helmet off in front of her. He wants to kiss her lips and feel her hands on his face. He wants her to see his smile and how happy she makes him. He wants… What he wants doesn’t matter. As tempting as it is to ask her to at least reconsider, he won’t. He had asked and she had said no. Davarax is going to have to respect that.

Dulcy kissing his hand snaps him out of his thoughts just before she asks; “Would I what?”

Davarax exhales and lets go off his dream. He then tilts his head and tries to divert the conversation. “Would you let me compliment you on the dress? It’s lovely. And really brings out the colour of your eyes.” Vecon Valentis might have been a jerk, but looks to have had a sense of fashion.

Laughing, Dulsissia shakes her head and goes back to focus on cleaning and bandaging him up. “Thank you. I kind of like it myself. Impractical, but pretty. I was thinking about keeping it.”

“I think you should.” Davarax drawls, toying with the thin shoulder strap to distract himself as well. “Definitely.”

-

When Davarax finally manages to contact the children over the comm system, it’s both a relief and painful torture. Relief in that Corin gets to talk to his mother, hear her voice and know she is safe, same with the other children, but Davarax is also tortured by guilt upon hearing their distress and knowing he is to blame. He had said Dulcy was safe and she had been ripped away from them.

His heart aches the most, however, when Dulcy, his sweet Dulcy, makes sure she hears the voice of every child to reassure them all, like the amazing mother she is. It makes him want to collect every neglected child in Galaxy and bring them to her so they can feel happy again too.

In the five hours it takes for them to return to Nevarro, Davarax persuades Dulcy to return to his lap and merely drowse in his arms until they land. It feels so good to hold her. He will happily share her with the children when they get back home, but for these hours, knowing everyone is safe, he will allow himself to be selfish and savour every second where it is just the two of them.

Stepping inside the Covert, Corin is in his mother’s arms before the door has closed behind them. The boy is clinging to his mother with desperate determination, eyes squeezed tight and his entire frame shaking. Dulcy is struggling to keep from crying and she’s stroking and kissing his dark hair, his cheeks and his forehead. It’s the kind of open affection that Davarax can only dream about...

Which means he is not prepared for Din running over to wrap his arms around his waist and burying his face to his stomach with a half-choked sound. His grip is frightfully strong. Surprised and humbled by the rare display of affection, Davarax runs a gentle hand over Din’s hair. While Din has eagerly soaked up every hug and encouraging pat Davarax has given him, this is the first time he has initiated a hug. It almost feels like Din had been equally scared of losing him as Corin had been about losing his mother. That… It’s…

Glancing over at Dulcy, trying to blink away the fog that appears to be assaulting his eyes, Davarax sees Raga and Barthor have joined Corin in her embrace. It seems wrong that Din should have to settle for him so he gently ushers the boy over to Dulcy as well and loves her even more at how quickly and naturally she includes Din with the others.

It would be perfect if only… Davarax’ heart sinks as he sees Paz standing there alone, arms crossed,  older than his years. He’s not been the same since the battle at the new Covert. It’s a part of growing up as a Mandalorian, but it still hurts to witness. Yet another thing he can’t protect them from.

Lost in thought, Davarax is then again not prepared as Dulcy unleashes Corin, Raga and Barthor in his direction and they all throw themselves at him with gusto. Davarax grunts at the impact when Raga actually jumps at his chest, Barthor smacks into his left hip and Corin to his right, Din’s arms goes back around his waist, all of them grabbing a hold and hugging him. Din laughs while Davarax staggers a step backwards and tries to pet each head, support Raga to prevent the little space-monkey from falling and not dislodge any one of them at the same time.

Dulcy walks over to stand in front of Paz. “No hug?”

“Kids first.” Is the stern reply.

She simply pulls him close, hugs him even closer and whispers something. Something that has Paz relax and hug her back. That woman must surely be a Jedi witch…

But Davarax doesn’t get to linger on the sight or speculate on her magical powers as he’s quickly distracted by Raga climbing up to perch on his shoulder and he has to support her with one hand while Corin decides to hang off his other arm, using him like a swing like he’d done during their initial meeting back on that smoke-covered planet. Din actually laughs.

“Maybe we can head inside?” Davarax asks, his voice a little strained under the children enthusiastically mistaking him for a playground.

Dulcy looks over at them and smiles like the angel she is. “Yeah, let’s go.”

-

They walk towards Dulcy and Corin’s room. She reminds him of the need to warn the Covert about the danger of Macero Valentis, but Davarax is in no hurry to see his sister just yet. And Davarax does not believe for one second that Valentis could be a threat to the Covert. If the foolish man was to try to attack, they would eat him alive.

Inside the room there is a whirlwind of exchange of information. Dulcy is as curious about how Davarax had been able to find her as the children are about what had happened to her. Corin gently touches the bruise on his mother’s face with agonized tenderness.

“It still sucks that Davarax had to go alone.” Raga states angrily. “He even had to defy ‘her’ to do it!”

Startled, Davarax doesn’t want Dulcy to know he’d raised his voice to his sister. “It’s late.” He states, stealing their attention away from Raga’s words. “You kids should head home.”

There is nothing but disappointed faces among the children, but there is one who looks downright… depressed. “Can…” Din clears his throat, shifts his position awkwardly. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Corin nods. “He has bad dreams, mom. He dreamt the droids got you.”

Davarax’ heart clenches. He knows how tormented Din has been by the memory of how his birth parents had perished. He’s seen the raw fear in him whenever the boy sees an android. And when Dulcy sends him a pleading look, Davarax isn’t difficult to persuade. Sighing, he nods and starts to contact Din’s Mandalorian parents via his vambrace. “I’ll ask them” And they will say yes. He won’t settle for anything else. The boy needs a little cheering up after all this.

That triggers a landslide of requests to stay as well. Davarax adores those kids for how Raga meekly promises to behave and Paz finally reverting to his real age by demanding to stay if she gets to stay, yet Barthor’s quiet resignation awakens the anger in Davarax.

“My mom will never let me sleep over.” Barthor scoffs with bitter conviction.

Davarax feels his eyes narrow. “Want to bet?” Barthor is one of his kids. If Barthor wants to join the sleep-over, then Barthor will sleep over as well. He is just about to press the final button to contact Din’s parents when his beloved witch strikes again.

“How about… we all spend the night in Davarax’ room?”

Davarax’ face snaps up to stare at her. She couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d slapped him across his bare face with a fish. “Say what now?” Nobody said anything about them sleeping over in his room, with explosives in every corner and the memory of Dulcy’s soft whimpers in his bed.

Din lights up with utter delight. “Oh, can we?”

Davarax clenches his jaw, Dulcy gives him the sweetest smile of fake innocence, and he folds with a heavy sigh. As if he can deny her or these kids anything. “Just… let me talk to your parents first.”

As expected, Din’s parents give their permission without much trouble. They trust Davarax.

Davarax fears he suffers permanent hearing damage after connecting with the Saxons and quickly blurts out his question.

There is a moment of silence before Raga’s mother states: “Anything she breaks, I’m not paying for it.”

“It’ll be on me.” Davarax replies, and then she starts screaming at either her husband or her sons and he just shouts his goodbye and disconnects.

Dez is a problem because of course he is. That man thrives on being difficult, especially around Davarax. If Davarax states something obvious, Dez will disagree just because he said it.

“A sleep over? Are you kidding me? My boy has put on the helmet. He doesn’t do kid stuff like that. I will not have you make my son soft, Davarax.”

“Dez…” Davarax has to take a deep breath and not lose his temper. “It’s a sleep-over. All his friends will be here. Don’t be such a hard-ass. Let the boy have some fun.”

“We are Mandalorians. We don’t do fun. Fun doesn’t make you into a great warrior.”

“A little fun never harmed a kid. He’s a kid, Dez. Helmet or not, he’s still a kid. Let him have this.”

“He should be training.”

“He is training. Every day. That boy is dedicated and you know it. He’s among the best fighters I’ve ever seen. Let. Him. Have. This.”

They bicker back and forth for a while and eventually Davarax manages to wear down the cantankerous man by a combination of nagging and bribery. It’s worth it when he can give Paz the thumbs up to show he’s allowed to stay as well.

And yet Dez Vizla is nowhere near as frustrating as Barthor’s parents. There is no room for negotiations, no compassion or empathy, just a stubborn ‘no’. Davarax tries everything. He flatters, he tries to bride, he tries to reason with them, he even gets dangerously close to pleading, but it doesn’t work. They won’t budge. They will not allow their son to have one simple sleep-over.

And that is when Davarax turns mean. Dangerously mean.

Thirty seconds later, he can give a very surprised Barthor a thumbs up.

-

That is how they end up gathering all there is off mattresses and blankets and pillows and march over to Davarax’ room. After hoarding and hiding away his weaponry, Davarax helps to arrange their haul all so his kids can be comfortable before he steps up next to Dulcy. “The kids are set. You take the bed. I’ll, uh…” He scouts for where he can fit on the floor, have a good view of the door in case of danger and be close enough to the kids to keep an eye on them as well.

“You and me are sharing the bed.” Dulcy states, as if it is the most natural thing in the world and her words doesn’t hit him in the gut like she’d fired a slugthrower. “The bed is for old people. Like us.”

“I said I was sorry.” Barthor groans. “Let it go.”

“Never.” Dulcy snaps, then she sends Davarax, who can’t stop staring at her, a puzzled look. “What?”

What? She’d just said they would share a bed, a bed with sinful memories, with the kids in the room and she’s asking him ‘what’?? Davarax shakes his head and looks over at the kids again to calm his stuttering heart. She can’t be that oblivious, can she? Well, he can handle this. He can-

“And would you mind taking the armour off?” Dulcy continues to torture him. “You can, inside the Covert, right?”

Closing his eyes, wondering what he’d done wrong to deserve this sweet punishment, Davarax manages a tiny nod.

He handles it like a champ. Davarax removes his armour, settles himself on the bed closest to the door to keep an eye on it and the children to ensure they are safe. Din often has nightmares and might need calming down, though he currently looks quite comfortable between Corin and Paz. Davarax got this. He can handle this.

Dulcy curls up next to him and rests her head on his chest.

He… He’s got… got this…

After a while, Dulcy lets out a soft laugh. “You’re going to have to breathe eventually, you know.”

“No.” Davarax declares. She’s too close and too tempting for him to dare to breathe.

Dulcy giggles and that catches Corin’s attention. He pops his head up and asks what is so funny. If only he knew. Of course Davarax’ evil witch isn’t content with tormenting him solely by being this close to him. Oh no. She hoists herself up on her side and places her hand on his stomach. Her fingers dig gently into the fabric of his shirt and making it slide across his skin in a deliberate caress. “Nothing, baby. Go back to sleep”

Oh. Oh, this means war. Davarax reaches down and grabs a good handful of that divine behind of hers. He grins and savours her strangled squeak like the finest battle trophy.

Corin’s head pops up again. “Mom?”

“It’s fine, Corin.” Dulsissia takes revenge by prodding two fingers next to one of Davarax’ wounds

He jolts with a muffled grunt. Oh, she is really pushing her luck right now...

Corin’s head goes down again.

Davarax’ takes a firmer grip on her behind, hitching her abruptly closer, so she places a hand to an unharmed area on his chest to push herself away. Davarax counters by using his other hand to grab the one she has to his chest and removing it before pulling her even closer. She squirms to free herself while they both struggle to muffle their laughter. Davarax can’t believe this is happening. He wasn’t this childish even when he was a child.

Paz’ helmet comes up and he lets out a very annoyed; “SHHH!”

Davarax and Dulsissia both withdraw their hands amidst quiet laughter.

“Sorry.” Dulsissia stutters through choked giggles.

“Yeah, sorry.” Davarax adds, struggling hard to silence his own snickering.

Grunting, still very much annoyed, Paz lies back down again.

As the laughter calms and a warm peace settles in instead, Dulsissia finds Davarax’ hand. She takes it, lifts it up to hold it between their chests, and smiles as their fingers begin their slow, pointless dance of just touching and braiding and feeling like they had done that very special night.

Looking at her face, seeing the warm affection in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks and the trust in her features, Davarax considers just how lucky he is. How the smallest change in the past might have lead both him and Dulcy on very different paths. How he could have never known the happiness he’s feeling now.

Coincidence or fate, he doesn’t care, it had brought him and Dulcy together and nothing is ever going to tear them apart.

Not his sister.

Not Macero Valentis.

Not even a nightmare of a mercenary who specializes in collecting trophies...

[beskarhearts]

can i request a din blurb w/ a female reader where they've been friends for a long time & confess feelings for each other? maybe some kisses in there too if you'd like 🥺

Nervous (Din Djarin x reader)

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

Word Count: 1850

Warning: cursing, nothing else I can think of but let me know if I missed one

Notes: I loved these request. It makes me so soft when I read/write friends confessing their love to each other. I hope you like this!

As always, anybody can leave any request for a blurb/imagine they would like for our wonderful Din Djarin! 

________________________________

“The kid is finally asleep.”

You let out a relieved sigh upon hearing the words, not turning to the speaker as you continued to work away at the wires in front of you. You had now spent hours in front of this panel of the Razor Crest, working and prying away at the complex set of wires that just never seemed to work right, no matter what you did with them. A small tool was held in your mouth while both of your hands twisted away at them, your neck leaning forward and eyebrows furrowed together in deep concentration. You hadn’t look at yourself, but you were sure you looked like a frazzled mess with your awry hair and glazed eyes from all the staring.

“Good. I couldn’t concentrate with the kids yelling.” you mumbled awkwardly, the tool still clasped between your mouth.

Din let out a small sigh and you would of turned around to face him normally, but you had to keep working. You swore you were so close. Just a few more minutes and you’d probably have it. “You have been going at that all day.”

You heard the concern laced in his voice. Din had known you for far too many years now, enough to know when you were pushing yourself or immersing yourself into something. Much like himself, you were a work hound and while he’d never let someone tell him to relax, he’d always insist doing it to you. You were his closest friend, perhaps his only true one, and he always wanted to keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe and heathy and staying sane. Instead of stopping, you simply grabbed the tool from your mouth and brought it to the wires as you spoke to him. “I think I’ve almost got it. Just give me a second.”

You finished one last twist of a wire, finally believing you had it in place. A big grin broke out on your face as it appeared to be working as it should. But to your dismay, the wires started to spark and a light burning smell filled the space you were in. “Dank farrik! This piece of kriffing bantha fodder has been messing with me all day!”

Din let an eyebrow raise at your words. You usually were calm but when something like this happened, you’d let it bug you to no end. Out of all his time knowing you, he’d never heard you speak ill of anyone or curse very often, unless it was at some type of machinery or wire that wasn’t working. “You definitely need to stop for the night.” Din said calmly and you finally turned to look at him, face twisted up in utter frustration.

“And let these wires think they bested me? Oh, no way. Not letting these wires win. Not today.” You said, shaking your head emphatically. You were going to solve this problem, no matter the consequence.

“You do realize the wires can’t think?” Din asked, amused by your dramatics but also partially annoyed with your insistence on continuing to work.

“That’s what they want you to think.” You went to turn back to the panel when Dins hand reached out and grabbed the bicep of your left arm, pulling you away from the panel and towards him.

You finally faced him fully and couldn’t help the small smile that quirked your lips as you got a good look at him. You had been with him on the ship all day but you hadn’t gotten a good look at him, being too consumed by the wiring. He wore the same armor as usual and his face way hidden away as always, but you still liked to look at him. Admire the friend that had been by your side for many years now. The friend who cared for you and who you harbored many strong feelings for. “You look exhausted.”

You let your shoulder sag and huffed at him as he looked down at you, hand still holding onto you but now lightly and delicately. “Well, thanks so much sir. Exactly what a person wants to hear.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh yes. I’m just some tired looking creature. Probably a horrendous sight.” You let out a small, theatrical sigh as you looked up at Din with a fake pout. At this point, Din was used to your antics but he still let out a sigh.

“You are not a horrendous sight.” Din paused for just a moment, his helmet tilting. “You are beautiful.”

You froze at his words. It wasn’t like Din had never paid you a compliment before, just as you had with him. But never one like this, and never had his voice seemed to waiver as he did so. You felt your face get warm and you tried to look away, but it felt like your eyes were stuck on him. Your heart slammed in your chest as you tried to think of anything to say. This was the man you had been swooning over for longer than you cared to admit and he was calling you beautiful. 

In the midst of your silence, Din finally let go and cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.” he quietly said as he began to drift away from you.

Before your brain could process your movements, you reached out for him quickly and pulled him towards you. “No, no. It’s fine.” You paused as he slowly looked back at you and gave him a soft smile. “You are beautiful, too.”

“You’ve never seen me.” Din responded plainly.

“I don’t need to see your face to see that you.” You told him and you swore you heard his breath hitch in his helmet. You had known him for so long and had learned to read him so well, but right now you felt lost. You reached out for him more, placing one hand on his shoulder, and looking at him. “You, Din Djarin, are beautiful.”

Din’s helmet remained frozen in the spot it was and you worried that you had ruined it. Ruined the delicate balance of the friendship you had. Some moments you thought there was something there, that maybe he shared the same thoughts you did. But you never dared to step over the line and see what would happen. Until now. And now Din was saying nothing and your chest was heaving. You began to pull away but Din grabbed onto your arms, keeping you in place.

“You’re nervous.”

Your eyebrows quirked up at his statement. “W-what?” 

“I’ve known you long enough to know when you are nervous.” You shyly looked down at your feet but Din didn’t tear his gaze away from you. “Why?”

Your mind was going so fast and you felt your hands shake in the areas where they rested on Din. “These wires are really getting to me...” you tried to lamely joke but knew it was no use. You let out a sigh. “Din, stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop touching me and looking at me like that and saying stuff like this.” You finally let out, looking up at him with an expression that conveyed just how tangled up you were in your own emotions.

“What do you mean?” Din asked, seeming genuinely confused by your words.

“You can’t just call me beautiful and care about me and be so nice to me cause then it makes it so much harder.” You huffed, trying to pull away but Din kept you in place.

“So much harder to do what?”

He was going to get an answer out of you whether you liked it or not. You felt like you wanted to cry or yell at him or you didn’t even know what. You were too nervous to do this. “Din-”

“Tell me.”

“So much harder to pretend I’m not in love with you!” You finally spat out, feeling your nerves reach a breaking point as your eyes drifted away from him. You didn’t want to see or hear his reaction. Hear him tell you no. The silence continued on and Din said nothing to ease your worries. You tried to pull away again only to fail and you grunted. “Let’s just ignore this. We are friends and that is fine. I’m good with being just friends and pretending that-”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika.”

You had known Din long enough to pick up a few things in Mando’a but you looked up at the Mandalorian completely perplexed. “What does that mean?” you asked, your eyebrows raised as he just looked down at you.

“Close your eyes.”

“Din, what are you-”

“Close your eyes.” Din repeated, a little sterner this time. You hesitantly let your eyes flutter close and Din finally let go of your arms so they could drop to your sides. 

You waited for a moment when a hiss and a click rang through the hull of the ship. “Din, did you just take off your helmet?”

You waited for his response, still keeping your eyes clamped shut in case your suspicion was correct. Instead of a verbal response, you heard his boots on the metal floor stepping closer to you and you sucked in a breath. “You are making me nervous. What are-”

“Can you stop talking?” your heart froze as you heard his unmodulated voice. How could it sound even better without the helmet? Still deep and masculine, but a little softer and more Din. 

You finally clamped your mouth shut, biting back the urge to ask him once again what he was doing. You almost finally said something after a few moment of silence but any words you had planned to say became trapped when you felt a warmth on your lips. Your brain seemed to short-circuit and it took you a moment to realize it was a pair of lips. Din’s lips. They were warm and a little chapped, but not in an unpleasant way. In fact, it perfectly encompassed him. You realized for a moment you were standing completely still, your body almost rigid. You immediately snapped out of it and move your lips against his, conveying that yes, this is what you wanted.

You let out a small noise of satisfaction as one of Din’s gloved hands reached up for your face, cupping your cheek softly as his lips moved against yours with the same amount of delicacy. You slowly brought a hand up to his neck, letting it travel upwards so it became tangled in the hair that sat at the base of it. It was soft and longer, and you couldn’t see it but you could just tell it was a beautiful brown color.

Din pulled away from you and you almost whined in response, but instead focused on the sound of him breathing in and out. “It meant I love you.” he finally said, and you couldn’t help the big grin the broke out on your face.

Instead of saying another word, you just pulled him back in and let yourself become one.

[larena]

Identity Unknown

"You want me to rejoin the Empire? Are you absolutely mad?"

The noises of the cantina seemed a suddenly overwhelming din to the Commander of the Alliance as Republic SIS Agent Jonas Balkar looked her square in the eye and... gave his best noncommittal shrug.

"Not rejoin it for real or anything. We just need a man - sorry, woman," he winked obnoxiously as if that was the best line he had ever delivered "on the inside. And given your former ties and..." he paused and tilted his head like a polite ferrazid hound meeting someone new "Well, you weren't exactly famous, were you. What was that funny little name they gave you... Cipher Nine?" He didnt wait for her to answer "But hey, at least that espionage training will see use. Probably been a while since you've been anonymous."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing, Lana hadn't mentioned anything like this "I don't understand... I didnt expect to join the Republic but I hoped we could at least be open allies. After what happened on Iokath..."

Jonas leaned over the dingy cantina table. The Commander was too caught in her confusion to pull away as he placed a hand on hers. "Listen, I know you've got that whole Alliance behind you, people from all walks, Empire *and* Republic, but that doesn't mean much to the nerf herders on Alderaan or the kath hound wranglers on Dantooine. We publically ally with you, now, and we've gotta do a *lot* to defend that choice. We can't unless we know for sure you're the real deal. Especially given that you've pulled one over on us before..."

The Commander sat up straight, slapping Jonas's hand away as she flew out of her daze "Are you kidding me? Does my work with Ardun Kothe mean nothing? I had been selling him the Empire's secrets for over a year before I became a blasted carbonite paperweight!"

A few of the other cantina patrons had started to look in their direction. Jonas flagged down a server droid and ordered a round for the house to ameliorate the onlookers. "Ardun... isn't exactly someone we parade around these days. He did good work in his time, I respect the man, but that work wasn't pretty. As you know," Jonas leaned back and put his feet up on the table. A twi'lek across the room gave him an uncharacteristically scandalized look for Nar Shadaa "I really don't get why this is an issue for you. Didn't you get buddy buddy with former Empress Acina while you were fighting Vaylin?"

"That was different..." a serving droid arrived with a drink for her, she picked it up, but didn't drink, simply swirling the salt-tipped straw aimlessly "Acina knew that we all needed to work together to defeat Vaylin, or there wouldn't be a galaxy for her to rule. She didn't ask for anything in return for her help."

"And then when she did, you killed her," Jonas raised an eyebrow searching the Commander's face for signs of remorse or guilt. Or maybe even vindication. The woman was definitely former Imperial Intelligence. He could make a guess what she was feeling... but who knew if it was real. Finally he sighed, sitting back in his chair like a normal person "Okay, I get it. The Empire ain't exactly my cup of tea either. But these are the terms. You either leave this bargaining table a mole in the Empire, or go back to being their servant. I'm sure that's an exciting prospect."

No... if Cipher Nine knew anything about her own mind for certain it was that she could never go back to the Sith Empire. Even as a mole, the thought of it...

She remembered being a child, an alien alone on the streets of Dromund Kaas. The transport she had stowed away on was cold and lonely, but the more the days passed, the better she felt. Her back no longer hurt, she could breathe easier. Even if the air on the transport was stale and smelled of desperation, even if Dromund Kaas was always humid from the rain, it was better than the gas from the mines. She remembered picking pockets, spying on people in the cantina and selling their secrets to their wives, husbands, superior officers. She remembered the large man in black armour who caught her spying on him as he cheated on his wife, how he dragged her to a cell deep in the Citadel. She remembered the people who came to her cell, asking questions, giving her tests. Grooming her for Intelligence. She remembered Keeper. Both Keepers. Darth Jadus... the sith and superiors who drugged her mind and locked it away from her, who made her question every thought she had, even the most minor, who took away her own name.

She couldnt remember... had it been the conditioning that made her forget? She had a different name before. The name they called her in the mines. The name they called her at Intelligence before Cipher Nine. Before Agent. Before Commander. Before Legate.

She looked at Jonas, the man wasn't paying attention, keying in another order at the serving droid. Her mind wandered to the other SIS Agents she had known. To Ardun. To Theron. Even Rane Kovach... were they good men? Was she right to forgive Ardun for using the Empire's conditioning to keep her in line? To forgive Theron for his foolish plot with the Heralds of Zildrog? To outright lie to Lana, her closest friend and confidant, about Kovach's true allegiances?

Nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like the right choice. Nothing ever seemed like the right choice, no matter what she did, as Cipher Nine, as Legate, as the Commander of the Alliance, as that little girl with gas in her lungs. Everything she did was a mistake. If not by her standards, then someone else's. There was always something wrong. Wrong wrong wrong-

No. Not now.

Keyword: Iconoclasm

There wasn't time. She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. Jonas looked up at her as he grabbed his drink from the passing serving droid.

"Alright, Jonas. You win. I'll play your game, I'll go back to the Empire. Tit for tat right? I'll betray and ruin them like they betrayed and ruined me," in a flash she reached across the table and yanked Jonas by his shirt collar so that they were eye to eye "But you and the Republic had better be ready to throw your full support behind the Alliance once the Citadel burns to the ground from the inside out. If I can do it to them, don't think you'll fare any better."

At that, she dropped him and left the SIS Agent to pick himself up and get back to his drinking, or, whatever he was actually doing. "Great! I'll have my people call your people!" He shouted behind her, face flushing.

If the galaxy was so determined to see her return to the Empire, Legate would ensure there wasn't an Empire for her to return to. Cipher Nine would cover her tracks, ensuring no one knew of her deception. The Commander would guard the Alliance from any possible fallout. And she... would just hope she could remember who she was when she was with the people who cared for her. She hoped she could remember who she was...

[dragons-ire]

#2 - Aberrant

The sight of your own blood, spit up on the icy stone of the Dusk Vigil burns in your eye like a brand. When you come back the the world it's the only thing you can focus on at first.

Your ruined sense of taste still picks up the tang of salt and copper somehow. And rime, and the bile caught in your throat that refuses to move.

Brighid and Xiaohu are speaking. Somewhere you are aware their lips are moving, but all you hear is the crunsh of your gauntlet to the ice as you start to pick yourself back to your feet.

Three things happened to you here, all at once. You'd been trod on, and trod on and then trod on again in the quick succession of the dancing-plague, the old peasant evil that takes hold suddenly and shakes you to your ruin.

It ruins you.

You stumble out of the Vigil's haunted walls and into the bleak and frozen waste of the Western Highlands. Fitting, that it just ends here not so far from where it started.

You blink once and you're still a boy in shabby borrowed armor. Clutching a broken lance in one hand and a dragon's scale in the other.  Too numb with cold to feel his own wounds. The pair of knights-dragoon too shocked to check his bag for anything else he might have carved away from Audthildr's great corpse like a grimy thief.

You blink and you're in Falcon's Nest with Ser Althena reading passages from the Enchiridion over you, and then you're in the office in Ul'dah. Doctor Haragin takes your hand to read your aether and then looks at you like she's seen something exciting. Her teeth glint in her mouth like one of Ser Leofwin's hunting hounds being presented a fresh strap of rawhide to chew.

You learn that you know far too many people sensitive to the things you've been blinded to as long as you can recall. They peer and they fuss and the bolder ones outright ask  and they show up at your house to lecture you and then they go away again.

All you want to do is scream, but you no longer have a voice.

At least it makes listening to other people the easier.

'The mind, the body,the spirit. They all want to be well, and are always seeking equilibrium' You take the scrap of paper from Haragin's office and go to peruse the company library.

'Just because it's bad right now doesn't mean it will be bad forever'. You're still not sure if the words were actually spoken aloud, if they carried through the crowd din. But you do remember the pulse of your hand and the way they resonated somewhere beneath your ribs. They stay there. They are there.

'What is broken can always be mended. If someone picks up the pieces and cares enough to save them.' And you take the stone cup, broken on purpose, mended with precious metals and hold it while you sit and look out at the beaches in Shirogane. Let the salt air into your wounded spirit like saline to a cut.

And it eases by small increments. Wound to scar, agony to ache. You get up in the morning and you go to work, and you find places to spend the time you don't work. It's almost like nothing changed. You're too busy to be afraid  or upset anyways.

Maybe this is just who you are now.

Who doesn't walk into the fire and walk out the same

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[anatomical-hearts]

Din Djarin x sick!gnReader

Summary: getting sick and trying to hide it from a Mandalorian is not an easy task

Warnings: mentions of illness, description of symptoms (coughing, fever, shortness of breath, chills, etc.), y e a r n i n g

Word Count: 1.4k

A/n: My first ever fic!! I was thinking about how our favorite Mando would respond to his shipmate getting sick and that sparked my idea for this reader insert, enjoy!!

Hot. Everything was unbearably hot as sweat trailed down your neck, breath hitching. Groggily, you wonder if this is what hell feels like as a shiver takes over your exhausted body.

Things had been just fine as the Razor Crest took off after a surprisingly quiet mission, but of course, something had to go wrong. The kid must’ve picked up a virus from the planet because for many long, gruelling days he’d been sick as a corellian hound.

You blamed your current situation on the lack of sleep that had no doubt weakened your usually impeccable immune system. The child was fussy, crying for hours until you or Mando could finally lull him into a fitful sleep. There was nothing either of you could do but wait to see if the sickness would pass, and thank the maker, it eventually did. Unfortunately, he seems to have passed it onto you, leaving you violently shaking, covered in a sheen of sweat, and completely miserable.

The door to your cramped quarters slid open, momentarily pulling you out of your self-pity, and you cringed at the light spilling into the previously dark space. Before you could curl into yourself even more, a small huff and a touch on your leg seemingly demanded your attention. Lifting your pounding head from your cot, you softened when you saw two large eyes staring back at you, a concerned expression adorning a wrinkly green face.

“Hey kid... did you come to check on me?”

Your voice was weak, cracking as you struggled to speak, but the kid’s ears perked up when you addressed him. He immediately waddled over to your face, little arms outstretched, and cooed softly as he gently laid his hand on your feverish forehead. The exhaustion you had previously felt came back full force, but before you could fall asleep under the kid’s watchful gaze, you heard footsteps coming down the ladder from the cockpit. Kriff. Mando had enough on his shoulders at any given time, another sick shipmate was the last thing he needed right now.

Hastily pushing yourself upright, you put on what you hoped was your best “everything is completely fine” face before Mando’s beskar-covered form filled the small doorway. His helmet tilted slightly to the side as he took in your sickly presence and you couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably under his gaze. If he didn’t know you were sick already, he certainly knew now. Might as well rip this bandage off as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Unfortunately for you, nothing had gone your way on this maker-forsaken day and even the simplest of tasks were complicated by the fact that your body was waging a personal war against the virus currently in your system. Taking a shaky breath before attempting to speak, your breath caught in your throat, sending you spiraling into a hacking fit. Eyes watering, your body curled in on itself with the force of your coughing as you gasped for air in between breaths.

Vaguely, you could feel a weight being lifted from your cot and footsteps retreating back into the hull. Well, at least your shipmates would be spared the gruesome image of you dying from choking on your own spit. The thought was almost enough to make you laugh as your chest heaved in a feeble attempt to provide your body with air. It made sense that Mando wouldn’t want anything to do with you in this state, not to mention that he especially wouldn’t want the kid to get sick again; so when a bleary form seemed to materialize in front of you, you thought it must be a fever dream tormenting your weary soul.

Blinking your through bleary eyes, the first thing you saw was a cup with water directly in front of your face. It was... floating? No. There is a hand holding it... a gloved hand. A gloved hand attached to an armored man. With a small gasp, you realized that Mando had come back, sat on the edge of your cot, and was offering you a cup of water. All you could do was stare at the bounty hunter. This was a skilled man who you had seen take down bounties mercilessly without breaking a sweat, yet here he was, sitting awkwardly next to you and offering sweet relief.

It hit you all at once how parched you were and you eagerly snatched the water from his hand, gulping it down so quickly that you felt some of it drip down your chin and onto the already damp sheets. Taking the first unlabored breath you had in hours, Mando slowly grabbed the cup from your trembling hands and set the cup down on your small bedside table.

“Thank you...” you mumbled, unsuccessfully trying to avoid squirming under the Mandalorian’s unwavering gaze. His dark t-visor hadn’t left your face since you first noticed his presence. Maker, you must be a sight. Flushing you turn your face away from the heat of his gaze, trying to think of anything else to say to the stoic figure in front of you.

“I’ll uh-” dank farrik, you hated the way your voice cracked “I’ll get up and see if I can... um” kriff, what was it Mando hired you for again? The answer was right there in front of you but you just couldn’t wrap your fingers around it. Before you could embarrass yourself further with your mumbling confusions, Mando tentatively reached out his hand, his glove hovering over your shoulder. He was still looking at you. Maker, it was hot in here, had it always been this hot?

He was still as a statue in front of you, waiting... waiting for something. A cue from you, you realized as you stared at his hand. Slowly you dragged your gaze back to where you assumed his eyes were behind the visor and gave him a slow nod. Lightly, so gently you could cry at how he treated you with such tenderness in this moment, his gloved hand rested on your shoulder. The slight touch sent shockwaves through your system as an uncharacteristically soft modulated voice broke the silence.

“You don’t have to get up or do anything today just...” his fingers twitched ever so slightly “Just rest cyar’ika.”

He applied the smallest bit of pressure to your shoulder and you felt yourself laying back down into the softness of your cot. Exhaustion overtook your body as you lay there, struggling to comprehend the events taking place. You wanted to argue with him. You wanted to insist that you were fine, that he didn’t have to handle the kid by himself, that you could still do something. You wanted to ask him what that strange word he said at the end of his sentence meant, he said it with such… care. However, the hand on your shoulder didn’t leave as you finally felt your body relax into the sheets underneath you.

It was finally registering just how much you needed this, just a day to allow your body to heal. With your last bit of strength you nodded once and let your eyes flutter closed. Only then did his comforting hand leave you, but even then it seemed that he lingered just a moment longer than necessary... then again, it may have been the fever making you sense things that weren’t actually there.

You heard his retreating footsteps as he walked towards the door and closed it softly, sleep claiming you the moment he was gone. With your last bit of strength, you will yourself to remember this moment, to cling to it with every last fiber of your being until you’re sure that the Mandalorian’s soft voice and light touch would be ingrained in your memory forever.

Outside of your cot, the Mandalorian stood in the middle of the hull, staring at the hand that had been on your shoulder just moments before. Even through his glove, Din could feel the warmth radiating from your shoulder, imagine how soft your skin might feel beneath his bare hand. Before he could get lost in the aching feeling enveloping his chest, soft cooing from the cockpit brought him back to reality. With one last glance at your closed door, the Mandalorian slowly made his way up to the kid, his mind never straying from you and the way you had unknowingly held his gaze behind the visor.

[clonewarslover55]

Ma’am imma need a part 2 of the stranger even though you literally just posted it a while ago but it’s so good. Your writing is so good!!! ❤️❤️

It took me a bit to get this because my inbox was so full but now it’s done!! I was so excited that so many people liked The Stranger, thank you so much for requesting a second part!! Also thank you, I’m glad you enjoy my writing!! 

The Stranger.    Part two(2) 

An Old Man Boba Fett drabble 

Part one

Notes: No warnings, I think

Slave I was on autopilot, everyone besides you and Boba asleep during the rare moment of peace. You smiled at Din, Cara, and Fennec. They were sleeping like babies in their seats all buckled up.

You walked into the cargo space, where Boba was stripped from the armor and digging through some dusty crates. It was clear Slave I was a very old ship, full of storage from many many years ago. 

“Need help finding something?” You questioned from behind him. Boba didn’t even look up, he had clearly heard you coming so he wasn’t surprised. His black tunic was off, revealing a thin undershirt with short sleeves. You stared at his arms for a minute, the muscles bulging as he looked in the crate.

His dark skin was scarred from the weak acid of the Sarlacc, you had learned earlier. The scars were beautiful, telling an amazing story of survival. You were so focused on his beautiful body that you didn’t hear his reply. 

You jumped when he looked at you, his dark eyes shining with something. Mischief? Amusement? You couldn’t tell. You felt your cheeks heat up, “Uh….say that again?” Boba’s lips twitched slightly, “I found the paint I was looking for.” He walked by you, setting three tins of paint on a metal table.

His armor was spread out on the table, “Oh you’re going to repaint your armor?” Boba nodded, motioning to the crate. “Can you grab the last few for me?” You nodded and grabbed the last few tins, setting them with the others. 

Slave I had a large cargo hold, big enough for the metal table that was about the size of an average desk. It was stained with many things, so he clearly used it to clean weapons and to skin things. 

You sat down beside Boba, watching him shake the tins to mix the old paint back up. “Can I help?” Boba glanced at you, “Can you mix up the other colors while I paint with the green?” You nodded and smiled. 

Boba Fett wasn’t a very social man, so he usually kept to himself. When he talked for too long his throat even began to hurt. Something about you made him want to talk though, so he did. You were very easy to hold a conversation with, Boba’s slight awkwardness not bugging you 

You and Boba talked while he painted his armor. You asked him about his career, curious about how he acted when he was the most famous bounty hunter in the world. So you two talked for a few hours, your eyes watching his skilled fingers holding the paintbrush. 

 “Before I fell in the Sarlacc.” He spoke, focusing on the knee plate in front of him. You nodded, listening to his beautifully gruff voice. 

“I had a few trophies on my armor.” He glanced at you, “My favorites were these braids that hung on my right shoulder.” You raised an eyebrow, “Hair?” Boba nodded, “Wookie scalps actually. When I was young I killed a pair of brothers as a test of my strength.” 

You stared at him, very impressed. Wookies are extremely tough and fucking huge, killing one is a big challenge for any human. Boba smirked at your impressed face, “Yeah it was a very hard hunt for me, but I got to keep their nice pelts.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal. 

“They make for really good rugs and blankets.” You nodded, “So you lost the scalps in the Sarlacc.” Boba nodded, a sigh leaving his lips. “I lost quite a few things in her gut.” You frowned and put your hand over his, rubbing his scarred knuckles softly. 

“I’m sorry Boba.”  Boba looked at you, his eyes flicking down to your lips. “It’s alright now….I’m alive aren’t I?” You smiled and nodded, “And I’m happy about that.” Boba raised a brow at your works, a smirk twitching its way onto his face. 

You had only known this man for a day or so, but you two had a marvelous connection. The spark between you both was very obvious. Boba watched you trace his knuckles, his skin dry and calloused from years of hard work. 

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but suddenly you leaned forward and kissed him. Your lips fit nicely with his, his mouth molding perfectly with yours. Neither of you said anything or pulled away, you just stayed in the heat of the passionate kiss. 

When you both pulled away Boba went to say something but you heard someone clear their throat. You flushed and covered your hand with your mouth. Din, Cara, and Fennec stood in the cargo hold entrance staring. Boba just looked at them with a bemused expression, he clearly never gave a fuck. 

“We’re almost there. Dropping out of hyperspace soon Fett.” Fennec said, walking away. Boba chuckled silently and pressed a kiss to your temple, “Don’t be embarrassed. It was a good kiss.” You nodded, “Well yeah but-” He cut you off by putting on his tunic again.

The paint was quick dry, so he was able to armor up now. He pressed a fiery kiss to your lips before walking out, leaving you there with a rapid heart beat. He walked between Cara and Din, clearly not caring about their looks. 

Din stared at you, his head tilted. “I don’t want to hear a word from you.” You pointed at Din, the Mandalorian chuckling and walking away. 

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