#like youre just in a big space cruiser with your own personal room and you can do jobs to get money and buy furnature

[beskarberry]

Devil’s Advocate

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 5

(The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“That your girl over there?” Mando followed their gaze wordlessly, reluctant to make friends right now while he was busy waiting for you to call him back to your side. “Thought so.” The stranger took a long drag on an inhalant, blowing vibrant pink clouds into the smoky room. “Sorry for your loss, Elios always gets what he wants.” Mando turned again to the stranger, fixing them with his black hole glare, but they only shrugged; watching the drinking game unfold between you and the devil himself.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 11.2k whoops

Content warnings: VICES: gambling/smoking/drinking (reader drinks) Introduction of chapter-specific OC characters. Lots of angst to fluff, sexy times of course.

A/N: This might be more self indulgent than the first chapters but not because of the smut. I kinda go off about fancy clothes so long descriptions of costumes are a big chunk of this chapter.

<-Previous Next->

You hated everything about Canto Bight.

Everything about the city was so... artificial. The stadium flood lights, the glowing neon signs, even the ocean herself had been excavated from the planet’s stubborn sandstone surface instead of eroded naturally by the march of time. To you it was like looking at Corellia’s gold painted twin, a monument to the hubris of all sentient life.

 Even the patrons of the gilded city were fake; their clothes, their makeup, their personalities. Every aspect of them was perfectly curated to deceive and lie, whatever fanciful display would work best to cheat their way to the jackpot. You almost wished you could look past the falseness of it, experience the visual fanfare of light and color that reflected on every surface. You wanted the music and the art and the decor that had been so carefully picked and placed to mean something to you, to sparkle in your heart just as it sparkled in the eyes of the teeming masses. But, all for naught, the gleaming metropolis stung your eyes; and you turned away from it to admire the quaint little space that actually mattered to you.

 You shared the tight quarters of the cockpit with the two strange boys that had recently whisked you away to the stars. Mando was seated in the pilot's chair with his tiny green son perched in his lap, trying to get him to eat his dinner without making so much of a mess. You had already eaten, and you were turning the last hunter’s puck over in your hand, reluctant to get this chase started and take away from the familial scene beside you. It would have to happen sooner or later, and you gave the puck a squeeze to fire up the projector. A ghostly blue fog glowed up into the space above your palm, and the face that looked back at you was surprisingly fair; if not for his crimson skin and long black horns you wouldn’t have known he was Devaronian by his elegant features alone.

 Elios Blackwater was a dapper debonair, his high cheekbones angled sharply under devious eyes towards a sly, sharp toothed grin. The puck notes didn’t specify what he was wanted for, though from the looks of his charming smile and shifting eyes it could easily be anything from a gamblers quarrel to breaking hearts, with a higher reward for being returned alive rather than dead. He would most likely be in a heavily inhabited area, probably as close to Canto Bight’s aurelian heart as possible. You didn’t know why Mando had taken a bounty puck for such a densely populated world, and you would have loved to know what his plan was to get to the city’s casino center before you had arrived in his life. A pair of ragamuffin bounty hunters and their floating baby bucket would stick out like sore thumbs in this gilded mecca of gamblers. If you were going to get to your quarry without being arrested, you were going to have to blend in.

 “We’re going to have to do something about...this.” You said, waving your hand in front of your partner’s ferocious attire, though truthfully you weren’t dressed any more appropriately for the mission at hand. “They’ll see us coming a mile away.”

 He glanced down at himself with a tilt of his helmet, ignoring the mess his son was making of his meal. “What do you have in mind?”

 You weren’t entirely sure yet. From where the Crest was parked you could see the glittering city’s reflection sparkling on the water far ahead of you down the beach, a sight most would find alluring, but to you it was just harsh glare. Nearby where you had landed were other space craft parked up and down the gravelly, machine-carved beach; the pleasure cruisers of wealthy betters made your little scrapheap look even worse than it already did. You watched out the cockpit’s transperisteel window, noting the movement of patrons and their attending droids loading skiffs with piles of luggage, and got yourself a mighty fine idea.

"I think so, but you're probably not going to like it. Stay here." You rose from your seat and kissed the baby on the head, earning yourself a soft, mush-mouthed chirp before you slid down the ladder and let yourself out of the old rust bucket and into the salty sea air of the Cantonican night. Gravel crunched under your boots, and you took a moment to turn and glance back at the Crest, catching the faintest flicker of scope glare where Mando was nervously watching you from the flight deck. Ahead of you a large cruiser was being unloaded by droids, the owners having long since made their way to the casinos, and you made yourself known to the robotic servants with your most charming damsel-in-distress voice.

"Hello! Excuse me! My luggage is too heavy to carry, can you help me? It's just over here on my ship..." The droid nearest you made a stiff bowing motion and tottered after you with the loaded hoverskiff floating along behind. You guided the droid up the open ramp and into the bowels of the ship to where your difficult luggage lay. It never stood a chance, bits of wire and duraplast flew across the cabin like confetti from the blaster shot to its head. Mando lowered his gun back to his holster, freeing his hands to help you haul the skiff into the narrow cabin space, then quickly close the ramp behind you.

The sled took up most of the walking space in the ship, so you got up on top of it and began looting through the stolen designer bags, pulling resplendent finery out into the hazy light. The first tote was full of piles of silk sewn for something with more arms than the two of you put together, so most of those items were tossed to the floor. The second bag was just capes, each a unique and lovely pattern, but nothing more. You demolished the remaining bags, making piles on the floor for ‘maybes’ and ‘definitely-nots’ until you found what you were looking for: a humanoid woman’s clothes.

Most of the unknown lady’s elegant garments would be just slightly too big on you, but you were able to settle on a soft, garnet colored evening gown that would go just above your knees, with extra length in the back. It had a sloping neckline that plunged at your cleavage, and around the bell of the skirt were silver rhinestones that caught the light of the cabin like dewdrops, the weight of them giving the dress a wistful sway. You wouldn't be able to carry much in such a revealing article, but a blaster and a knife alone had gotten you out of more trouble than you would care to admit.

You were fishing through the feminine things for something to do about your hair when you caught Mando in the corner of your eye. He was leaning against the hull wall, just watching you as you made a fat mess of the Razor's interior. You smiled down at him from your floating perch and held up the fanciful garment that you had picked out for him to see. "You like it?"

"It doesn't suit you, mesh’la." He said with a lazy tilt of his helmet. You had begun to mentally keep track of all the Mando’a he used around you, and you were starting to notice his frequent use of affectionates. You spun slightly so he could get a good look at how the fabric moved in the light, but the hunter gear you currently had on took away from the loveliness of the expensive clothes. You guessed he preferred your killer garb anyway over the flimsy, delicate fabric. Or nothing at all.

"Well, it’ll have to do, and if you don't start picking something out for yourself I’m going to dress you up like a dandy.”

He sighed, long and tired before turning his attention to the silken pile on the floor. You went back to the luggage, finding some knee high boots that were close enough to your size, but had a heel height that was going to make your ankles cry. You picked out some tasteless accessories: some bracelets, and big, jewel-encrusted hair pins to wear as well. The glitzier that you were, the less you would be noticed in this bass-ackward town. When you had made your frivolous selections you hopped off the skiff to help Mando with his costume. He was worse at finding something to wear than you were, having only picked out some of his own black leather gloves and two pairs of pants that were not made for human legs. Mandalorian armor did not come off as far as your metal man was concerned, and you were going to have to find a way to hide his bulk. You convinced him to lose his cloak, chest belts, and the bandoliers on his hips and boots, anything to lighten the load. Loose silks and stiff fiber combos would be your best friend, and you cobbled together what you could for your beskar-burdened buddy.

After what seemed like an eternity you had him dressed to the nines, or at least the eights. You had covered his chest plate in a black silk shirt and stiff black vest. The shirt had wide bottomed sleeves and neat, tight cuffs that hid his vambraces well, but you still made him wear a cinched-waist blazer plus a long, black and silver cape that almost reached the floor. You found a dark red pocket square that matched your dress and tucked it into the pocket of his vest, a subtle, but unmistakable announcement to the world that he was there with you. It was a ridiculous amount of fabric on top of an already massive mountain of metal, but the look was very in-style for Canto Bight. All together he actually passed for something besides a murder machine, and you gave yourself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. Mando held still for you while you fussed with his outfit with only the occasional huff. As much as he didn't like the idea of walking so boldly through the gilded city, he did enjoy your brazen touch each time you added another article of clothing.

“And now for the finishing touch.” There was nothing you could do about his helmet, so you were just going to have to make it look as nice as you could. You hadn’t changed into your chosen disguise yet, so you strode through the messy cabin with ease until you reached the lock box next to the cot. Inside you found the krayt’s teeth that you had gifted him and pulled them out into the light, waving them at him as you stretched over the heaps of fabric on the ground. He raised his hands in protest.

“What if I lose them?”

“You can wear these or you can wear whatever the hell this is.” You held up an enormous chain of jewels that looked like it belonged in the treasure case at an arcade instead of around somebody's neck. “Besides, I know you won't lose them, you like them too much.” He tilted his helmet at you with disdain, and you realized that was precisely the reason he didn’t want to wear them, such lovely gifts should be kept safe and secure. But he let you press the precious trinkets into the recess of his helmet where his human cheeks would be anyway. The frozen pools of moonlight tied everything about his sin-city look into a perfect, glittery bow. You had grown to admire the look of him in his cultural armor, the ferocity of it, the utility and strength of the beskar that shined no matter how much damage it took; and you were a bit sad to see it hidden. The look of the man standing before you had a wildly different feel, though it was not one you were opposed to.

“You look nice, Din.” The sound of his own name coming from your lips made his heart swell, and he reached out for your hand on instinct to pull your knuckles to his brow in the sweet gesture of his people that you both now used. His movements caused the finery he was masquerading in to catch the cabin’s hazy light, and you got excited to put on your own costume and join him in looking like a fool. When he let your hand fall, you bounded over to your pile, throwing the hunting clothes off of yourself as you went. When you were standing there in nothing but your Tattooinian muck boots you cast a sly glance over your shoulder. As expected, the single black eye of your Mandalorian was locked on your almost-naked form, and you realized that in the time you had been together he had never seen you fully naked; just the parts of you he needed to get to in the moment. “How’s this? You like this better?”

When he didn’t answer right away you looked down at yourself and saw what he was staring at. You had forgotten about the marks of conquest he had put there when he had been driven to a sexual frenzy by the last quarry’s poison, still dotting your thighs with dark purple splotches. Not once had you been upset with him for his actions, you were just thankful you both made it through the ordeal alive, but he still looked at the damning marks with shame. He had been forced to break his protector’s oath against his will, inflicting injury to your precious body with his own two hands. You waited until his visor made its way back up to meet your eyes, and you reached out for him to give you his hand. He sheepishly obeyed, and you brought his hand to your lips, kissing at the all-black leather slowly until you heard him sigh through his modulator. You would forgive him a hundred times if you had to, and then a hundred more if it meant he could forgive himself. You pulled his hands to your waist and leaned up against him, enjoying the feel of new clothes on your skin and letting your hands run up his silken arms. “Well you can have this,” You nodded down at your bare everything with a mischievous grin, “As soon as we catch this fucko.” 

This was the last bounty you would need before you made the trip back to Nevarro, but you were still on the fence about how completing your mission made you feel. On one hand you would be free of the Guild’s relentless hunters, but on the other your partnership with the strange metal man and his adorable beanbag of a son would come to a close. You turned back to your outfit and began cinching a pair of thigh holsters to your legs, hiding your wincing face as the leather closed around your bruises; a blaster on one leg and a knife on the other. You pulled on the dress and fixed up your hair as best you could, then stepped out of your good boots and into the slutty knee-highs. There was only one loose end to take care of.

 “Where’s baby?” You glanced around the messy cabin, looking for your foundling. In the corner under a pile of capes there was movement, and you cleared the flashy finery away to reveal your bestest little friend. Big, glittering orbs looked up at you from the pile of fabric, and a tiny toothy grin shined from his cute baby face. “Heya booger, you ready to go?” You scooped him up in your arms for a hug before picking a big shiny scarf up to wrap him up with, then placed him carefully down in one of the gaudy designer bags. “If anyone asks, he is a pet.” The child didn’t seem to care, he was just happy to be included, waving his little pudgy baby hands up at you to hold. You squeezed his tiny paw, then turned to Mando, “You ready to go, Lord Beskar?”

He glanced down at himself, tilting his palms up and shrugging. “I guess so, I feel ridiculous.”

“Good enough!” You made for the exit ramp with a big stride, and almost broke your damn ankle on the first step, falling gracelessly into the arms of your partner. He caught you with ease, and your cheeks went red with his strong, gentle hands on you again for the hundredth time. You got to your feet, but you would be leaning heavily on him for most of the night until the boots were broken in. With you hanging off of his arm the two of you looked like a proper couple, just heading out for a night on the town instead of two bloodthirsty bounty hunters on the prowl. You might let yourself pretend though, just for the night.

You took a transport speeder from the beach to the city’s entrance, then made your way through the gilded streets, following the red blink of the bounty fob towards your quarry. You had to stop multiple times, the fucking boots making your feet hurt like you knew they would. Mando stood patiently with you each time, and more than once offered to just carry you. His visor would glide from side to side, always on the alert for anyone that might be following you, or worse, hunting you down. The tracking fob led you to the most obvious choice of casino: the tallest, brightest, shiniest temple of vice smack dab in the city’s center. 

The front entryway was dominated by a roaring, gushing fountain, shooting geysers in a perfectly timed pattern high into the Cantonican night sky. The fountain was lit up with bright, multicolored spotlights so that every stream of water and drop of spray glittered back in defiance of the stars that had inspired them. Inside, the casino floor was packed with patrons, ranging in size and species in an infinite array of wealth and power. Chandeliers hung high above you from the soaring cathedral ceilings, sending sparkling lights racing around the endless room like shooting stars. Every surface was bright and gleaming, dozens of pillars and statues illuminated by blinding limelight. Even the floor was magnificent, black and white marble with huge inlaid stars, guiding gamblers through the limitless space towards their wildest desires. Again you wished you could appreciate the extravagance of it all, though the way the lights streamed like mercury over the beskar of your pretend date made something else sparkle behind your eyes. 

 The smell of inhalants and alcohol burned in your nose, and you took a moment to make sure your purse puppy’s face was covered with something so he wouldn’t have to endure it as much as you were. The sound of gamblers and music and roaring competition was louder than the screams of the hyperspace engine aboard the Crest, the cacophony of it all making you anxious. You were thankful that you weren’t hunting this bounty alone, and you still held on to Mando tightly, letting him lead you over the cosmic marble floor through the streaming masses. The people paid you no mind, moving out of the way without casting a second glance. Your costumes were working exactly as you had intended, and you applauded yourself for how well you had deceived the City of Lies.

You had guessed that if your bounty would be anywhere, it would be at the center of attention, and you were right. Elios Blackwater sat at the atrium bar, surrounded by beautiful and interesting people. The glint of gold jewelry caught the radiant casino lights every time he moved, drawing the eyes of all those around him. He was telling some kind of wild story that had his little crowd hooked on every word, though you could tell from a distance he was all bullshit. Immediately you knew this was a man that was used to having everything he desired, never being denied a single whim in all his days. A plan began to simmer in your skull, and you knew right away your partner was not going to like it. If you were going to get the quarry alone, you were going to have to persuade him to leave the company of his fans, and you only knew one sure-fire method for a man of Blackwater’s tastes. You let yourself off of your escorts’ arm to turn and face him, pulling his hands to your hips and letting your own rest on his shoulders so that to any outsiders you two would be just another pair of passionate dancers making their way through the counterfeit cosmos. 

“Mando, do you trust me?” His hidden eyes were still glancing around the room, scanning for any lurking threats.

“Of course.” His words went right over your head, his ears too full of the sounds of potential danger to really hear you. You huffed and ran your hands to his bedazzled helmet, pulling it down to meet your eyes. 

“Pay attention, bucket boy. I need to hear you say it and know that you mean it. Do you trust me?”  He cocked his head, confused that you would have to ask twice. 

“Yes, ner cyar’ika, I trust you.”

“Good.” You let your hands fall back to his armored shoulders, pressing yourself up against him tighter. Your fingers fidgeted in the heavy material of his cloak, he was going to hate this. “Because I need to do something. Alone.” 

That got his attention fast. 

“No, it’s too dangerous here. I want you where I can protect you. What if there’s hunters?”

“I know, I need you to cover me, but from a distance. I think I can convince Elios to walk right into the carbonite freezer, but I can’t do it with you looming over me.” You wrapped your hands around the back of his helmet, pulling him down so that his forehead met with yours. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think it would work.” He sighed between your hands, the steam of his breath slipping out from under the helmet’s edge. There was nothing he would rather not do than be away from you, but he did trust you, and he nodded against your embrace.

“I’ll call for you as soon as I’m ready, ok? Just keep your eyes on me, and don’t cause a scene. No matter what.” You couldn’t kiss him like you wanted to, but you still pressed your lips to the side of his beskar before letting go, pulling yourself away from his tender grasp. His hands still floated in the space where you had been as you turned away from him and made your way to the bar, the heavy purse bumping against your weaponized thighs with every flint and tinder step of your sky high heels. As you got closer to the bounty you could hear the shreds of his conversation starting to make their way over the noise of the casino.

“...And I said ‘Darlin’ if you didn’t want to take it home with you, ya shouldn’t have put it in your mouth!” The way he was telling his story gave you the impression that it wasn’t one you wanted to hear, and you started to regret your foolhardy plan. Gold rings and precious jewels sparkled all the way from his fingers to the caps on his horns, making it impossible for most to look away, a fact made apparent by his captivated audience. The beautiful boozers laughed and cheered at his every word, though from his stupidass sounding story you wondered how much of the affection was alcohol induced. You pulled a seat up at the bar a few stools away from the crowd and ordered yourself a shot of spotchka and a couple packs of cookies. You slipped the snacks into your bag for Din’s foundling, you would be needing him for your plan to work as well; and the promise of treats would keep his bright-eyed attention on you. 

The taste of spotchka was vile, but you had started your journey though the galaxy on the gigantic starcruisers that were built on your homeworld of Corellia, and you had gotten to know the taste of the sailor-favorite drink at a tender age. You sipped at your brew, listening casually to the Devaronian’s conversation, but never turned your eyes to him. Every once in a while another bar patron would swagger up beside you to offer you another shot. You turned down anything you didn’t order yourself, but you started telling them fabricated stories about your life among the stars, most of which were wild tales of fancy from old holovids you had seen. You wished you could turn around and find your favorite rust bucket, wherever he may be hiding among the festivities, and give him something to reassure him. A nod or a wave, anything to let him know you weren’t just making him jealous on purpose. 

Soon you were throwing back brightly glowing shots of brew, and a handful of interested patrons had gathered around you to hear about how you had jerry-rigged a star cruiser to run on spotchka when you were a space pirate smuggling kyber crystals for the resistance, among other things. When you had your head tilted back you cast a glance towards the bounty, and saw what you had been waiting for. His hooded eyes were watching you intently, he didn’t like that someone was getting any of the attention pie that he believed was his alone, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he had to do something about it. Soon enough the dapper devil rose from his entourage, running a painted claw through his long dark hair before making his way to you, sauntering with every step.

Hook.

“Well hello there, darlin’, name’s Elios. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing chugging spotchka when you could be drinkin’ something as fine as you are?” The debonair’s words were long and slow, making sure that every drawn syllable would be heard. “Bartender! Get this lovely lady a real drink, if ya please.” You weren’t sure what counted as a ‘real drink’, but the dark liquid that was slid over to you stank even worse than spotchka with the strength of its proof. Elios couldn’t stand that someone else might be having more fun than he was, and he was determined to put you out of commission. He wanted to do it in such a way that you would be thanking him for it, preferably while on your knees. “What’s yer name, baby cakes?”

From the other side of the busy casino you could feel the void of a visor making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Mando was standing on the far side of the slot machines where the light was just a little less glaring, so motionless he might have been part of the decorations. He wasn’t sure what your plan was, or how you would talk the quarry into being captured without gaining the suspicion of the wandering security enforcers. He bristled whenever a bar patron started trying to make nice with you, and only got progressively more frustrated when more and more started hanging around you. When he saw the bounty slink his way over to you he wanted to dash across the marble floor and break his fucking neck just for being in your airspace. ‘Don’t make a scene, no matter what’ is what you had told him, and you had asked him to trust you. So he did as he was asked. Watching, waiting.

“Hmm, I don’t think you could handle it.” Oh, Elios didn’t like that one bit, nobody told Mr. Blackwater ‘no’ without consequences. He swirled a glass of the same dark liquid around in one perfectly manicured hand, his polished claws clicking on the side of the glass. You continued to ignore him, but you started on the new drink in front of you. Yucky, at least spotchka was familiar. He took your acceptance of the drink as an invitation to join you at the bar. 

“You’re awful sly, baby cakes, tell me yer name so I can make you forget it later.” His pointed teeth flashed out from his crooked smile, and you could smell the stench of expensive cologne and aftershave. You rolled your eyes big and wide so he could see just how unimpressed you were, but your nose was burning from how bad he smelled. This was a bad idea, but only because of how well it was going to work. Fresher soap, where are you?

“I’ll tell you what, if you can out-drink me, I’ll tell you my name.” His wicked smile split his face, showing off rows of brilliant white fangs. Party-boy could probably hold a few good shots, but you were raised by sailors, and you were gonna drink his ass under the table. 

“You’re on, sweet cheeks. Bartender! Another round!” Another set of shot glasses plinked to the counter, and vanished just as fast. Elios was eyeing you up and down, seeing if you were all bark and no bite. If he could just get you drunk enough…

Far from where you were drinking the Mandalorian you had asked to trust in you was furious, trying not to thumb the handle of his blaster that poked out from the side of his hip under his cloak. It would be so easy, he could hit the target from here and it would be over, you would be back by his side and not being drooled over by that fucking pathetic excuse for a man. 

“He has that effect on people.”

Mando’s helmet snapped on the sounds’ source, so lost in vicious thoughts that he didn’t hear the stranger come to lean against the wall by him. They were tall and thin, translucent green skin and a mop of hair-like cilia growing from their head to their flowy chiffon clothes. They looked exhausted. “That your girl over there?” Mando followed their gaze wordlessly, reluctant to make friends right now while he was busy waiting for you to call him back to your side. “Thought so.” The stranger took a long drag on an inhalant, blowing vibrant pink clouds into the smoky room. “Sorry for your loss, Elios always gets what he wants.” Mando turned again to the stranger, fixing them with his black hole glare, but they only shrugged; watching the drinking game unfold between you and the devil himself. 

“Another!” You hollered, but the glasses were already in front of you, then gone again. The Devaronian hissed back the sting of the high-dollar liquor, shaking his long mane that had started to come undone. You pretended to reel from the liquor's effects, leaning back just a tad too far on your seat. “Again!” The third round of shots came and went, and Elios nearly fell off his stool. Right where I want you. You waved at the bartender for the fourth and final shot that would probably put the devil right on his ass, but that’s not where you were headed with this show of tenacity. You had to get him alone before you made your capture, or the security enforcers that littered the casino floor would descend on you like vultures. 

You waited til he had thrown his drink back before you tilted yours, purposely spilling a few drops down your front so the booze would trickle down between your breasts. Elios nearly choked, and you knew you had his full, undivided attention. Din, I’m so sorry.

“Woo! I don’t think I can do any more, Mister Blackwater, you win.” you feigned, holding the back of your hand up to your forehead, trying to convince him that the room was spinning for both of you and not just him. His sultry laugh made your skin crawl.

“Please, call me Elios.”

Line.

“Well, Elios, you still wanna know my name? You’re gonna have to work for it.” You placed a hand on his leg, running your fingers up his thigh and around the edge of his waist, pulling at his pockets seductively to drive the point home. Does he have SCALES? What the fuck ew ew ew. He took the hint like a drunk takes to spotchka, flashing you a slurred smile. 

“Well… sugar lips, we can take this... elsewhere.” 

“Sure thing, Elios, lemme just have my attendant take my Poochie up to my room.” You held the heavy purse up so he could see the big black eyes hiding in its depths. 

“What the fuck is that thing?”

“He’s a pet, obviously.”

“What kind’a fuckin’ pet?”

“Purebred.” Your quick answer seemed good enough for Mr. Drinky, and he nodded like that made perfect sense. You raised your fist to the air and snapped your fingers.

The human fortress was at your side in a heartbeat, towering above the two of you. You stuffed the purse in his hands before he could ask where to point his gun. “Here, take Poochums up to my room, mama’s not coming home tonight, if y’know what I mean. Get him washed and fed, and don’t forget to scrub his feet!” 

“Yes Ma’am.” The bag was lifted carefully from your fake-drunk hands, and you tried to flash him your best ‘Please-don’t-be-mad-at-me-I-hate-this-too’ face at your partner, but you guessed the look was lost on his visor. The scene did not escape Elios’s eyes like you had hoped it would. 

“Now what in the Mmmmaker’s Mammaries is that big ass fuckin’ thing? That some kinda droid? It’s damn fancy.” Shit balls of hell.

“Uh.. Yes! This is the finest in personal assistant droid technology! See, look.” You grabbed Mando’s empty arm and pulled back sharply on the fabric, revealing the delicate button panel of his vambrace. “Only the best money could buy...” 

“I gotta get me one of those...” Elios stared bewildered as your personal petsitting droid turned and left. “Well, honey tits, you wanna take this upstairs?” Ugh.

“Oh suurrre… Oh Mr. Blackwater I’m ~soooo~ drunk ahaha…” You were barely buzzed, and you worried that your life among the stars had given your liver bigger balls than a bounty hunter. You wobbled on your stool, for phase two of your plan to work you would have to delay Elios as long as possible. You watched as the man whose heart you had stolen faded away from you, the fancy purse hooped over his shoulder and knocking up against his leg, cape billowing behind him as he went. Alright, Baby Beans, it’s up to you now!

Din was seething under his helmet, pissed as shit that this was what your elaborate ‘plan’ entailed. He was trying not to storm through the casino as he left to take your ‘Poochums’ up to your room, whatever the hell that fucking meant. How could he be so fucking stupid? This was exactly the same ruse you had tried to pull on him from day one. Seduction was your real talent, luring your lovers to their untimely demise. How many times had you pulled this stunt? Was this your master plan all along? Ouch. Play with his heart until you were free of your Guild warrant? Ow. You were just using him to get to Nevarro, then you would fuck off to the stars and leave him behind. After everything you had been through, he was just another notch on your bedp- 

“OUCH!” 

Din looked down to his side where the pain he was trying to ignore was coming from, and saw a fat green paw sticking out of the ugly expensive purse, digging vicious talons into the side of his leg. His foundling was trying to burrow through his thigh, and his claws might actually have drawn blood. “What, womp rat? What do you want?” There was something in the baby’s other hand, something golden and flashy. Din reached into the bag and pulled the embossed card from his son’s grasp. What’s this? There was a set of numbers etched in gold filigree in the top of the card, their shimmer blasting away the destructive void he had been spiraling into.

Key card! PENTHOUSE key card! You had tricked the bounty into getting close enough to you that you could pick his pocket without him noticing. You were luring Elios right into a trap, and your Mandalorian was the snare. Din felt a mix of emotion ranging from relief to shame, how could he even think for one second that you might be deceiving him? You had asked him to trust you, and he couldn’t even contain his jealousy long enough to make it through one hunt. He felt like such an ass, you were putting your skills to good use, at great risk to your own safety, just like he had asked you to from the beginning. This wasn’t just his hunt anymore, it was a joint effort between the two of you, and it was his turn to run the next leg of the relay. The heavy, silver-laced cloak was tossed to the side as he raced to the elevator, fluttering away behind him as he flew to beat you there.

Meanwhile, you were trying to keep the bounty from falling flat on his face, and the only way to do that was to hold him up yourself. His hands were all over you, the nick of sharp, neat claws catching on the fabric of your evening dress and scratching along your skin. I’m gonna break those fingers, motherfucker. He was slurring his words, making disgusting promises of what he was gonna do to you when you reached his private penthouse. You were just out of range of his boozehole, the lippy thing trying to steal a taste of you. Wobbly steps slowed you both down to almost a crawl, which was exactly what you were trying to do, anything to give Mando time to find the hotel room first. You passed a discarded cloak on the floor, the familiar silver inlay catching the light, and you worried that you might have pushed your partner too far. What if he left? What if he didn’t see the keycard and I’m heading up alone? Please be there, Din. Please don’t leave me with this fucking creep. You both reached the elevator, and Elios fumbled to find his wallet, thankfully having a spare key that he didn’t know he needed. The doors opened, and you realized you would be stuck in your own personal hell for the entire trip up to the top floor suite. Fucking super. 

Elios was getting impatient during the ride up, and it took every fiber of your being to keep from retching as his well-moisturized hands ran up and down your spine. The elevator door opened directly into the penthouse, and his perfectly manicured claws dug into your ass to usher you into the room. The top floor suite was dark, save for the lights of Canto Bight shining in through the cathedral windows. You took a mental note of the speeder parked out on the balcony, you would be needing it later. The Devaronian was at your ear, breathing hot, boozy steam around your neck until he was facing you. He went to bite at your mouth, but you stopped him with a finger to his lips.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." You whispered in your most convincing lust-laden voice. The devil chuckled and ran his slimy, forked tongue around the halting digit. Barf.

"Oh yeah, baby cakes? Why’s that?"

You batted your eyelashes and bit your lip into a wry smile before meeting his half-lidded eyes. "Because... you're going to make Daddy very angry."

His lips turned upwards in an aroused sneer, flashing his dazzling, daggerlike teeth, "How could getting a taste of that fiery little mouth’a yours make me angry, darlin’?"

Sinker.

"I'm not talking about you, I'm talking about him."

Elios didn't even have a chance to turn around to see where your eyes were looking before a black and silver fist broke his nose and sent his perfect teeth soaring across the room, throwing him down to the marble floor. Seeing his busted prettyboy face bleeding at your feet made you feel so relieved that a vicious shiver made its way from your head to your toes, and you let your body shake the devil’s touch off of you like a big wet bantha.

"Fuck! Oh fucking hell, Mando, you have -no idea- how hard it was to keep that up, he’s so gross! I’m gonna chuck his ass in carbonite so fucking hard his horns’ll break off!" Your partner was still squared up, just waiting for the interloper to try and get up and fight. He wanted the bounty to get up, flail, scream, any excuse to hit him again. But Blackwater was out cold, staining the white marble floor with his blood.

"You looked like you were handling it."

The deadpan tone of his voice told you that wasn't exactly a compliment, remembering the jealousy that had seethed out of him on Tatooine after that Trandoshan had tried to capture you. You had two choices: you could either try to defend yourself and your unconventional bounty catching method, or you could turn that jealousy in your favor. He didn’t remember much from his toxic encounter with the Ardennian, but you knew that every filthy, possessive thing he had said to you that night was still somewhere in that chrome dome of his; and you became determined to bring them to the light. You crossed one arm over your chest, raising the other to tap a finger against the corner of your lips.

"Oh? You didn't like that, did you? Didn't like that he had his hands on me? Touching things that don’t belong to him?" He didn't answer, but the creaking of leather from his fists tightening told you what you already knew. "Tell me, Mando."

"N-no." His visor remained fixed on the unconscious body still bleeding on the floor. Not good enough.

"No what?"

"No. I didn't like that." His voice was low and raspy, but only because he was trying to keep the boiling rage in his chest from blowing his fucking helmet off.

"Tell me what you didn't like." You stepped over the quarry to your man, running your fingers from his balled fists over his silk and steel arms until you were at his shoulders. You could feel the slightest shudder under all his layers at your touch.

"I didn't like him touching you. Nobody should put their hands on you, cyar'ika" His fists lowered to his sides but his visor was still on the floor. You let your hands wander up his neck to the bejeweled recesses of his helmet and turned him to meet your eyes.

"Why not?"

"B-because..."

"I want to hear you say it."

"Because you are mine." He growled through his helmet so hard that you swore you saw it vibrate, sending a delicious tingle though your spine. Atta boy.

“Again.”

“You are mine!” Even behind the beskar you could hear the clench of his teeth biting back deeper desires. His hands went to your waist, pulling you tightly to his chest. The fire coming off of him was scalding, you had pushed your luck too far with this one, and you could feel the volcano inside his ribcage boiling over. He was furious. His heavy armored head pushed against your brow, and you let your thumbs wrap around the bottom of his helmet to find the thinnest sliver of skin where the metal met the man.

“That’s right, I’m all yours.” When you had said that line to him the first time, you had been plotting your escape from his clutches, but as the reassuring words left your lips you knew there was nobody else in the galaxy you would have running their hands up your sides; and you mentally crossed ‘seduction’ off of your list of hunting skills for good. His oath of me'dinuir had swore him to your side alone, and now you knew without a shred of doubt that you wanted it to go both ways; whether you were Mandalorian or not.

You kissed at the bottom of his visor, so close to getting to feel the true, living flesh of him, and yet so far. You had to have him, you had to purge the demon’s touch from your body with the purifying fire of your protector’s rage. A choked, needy groan made its way out of the modulator, and you felt the heat of his breath on your skin. How desperately you wanted to taste it, fill your mouth with the flavor of him to replace the vile spotchka. You pushed up on his jaw, giving you just a tiny glance at his scruffy chin, and you forced your kisses into the tight, unyielding space of the beskar prison. It wasn’t enough for you, but it was a start, and you could feel his body starting to unwind at your touch. “Kiss me. Please, Mando.”

“Cyar'ika, it's not safe here.” He hated the sound of his own words, the denial of them crushing his very soul. You glanced around the dark penthouse and saw you were alone save for the crumpled devil on the floor and the designer purse that had been stashed in the corner of the room, its occupant still working on the bags of cookies. No eyes on us.

“I won’t look, just... lift your helmet a tiny bit, tin man, I need you, I need to kiss you.” You guessed you were safe enough from prying eyes, but you wouldn’t spill his name to the night just in case there were any sneaky listeners. You squeezed your own eyes shut and nipped at the armors edge again, and just ever-so-slightly began to push up on the unforgiving metal with your thumbs. You were just waiting for his hands to shoot up, to grab your wrists and halt your actions, but they were locked to your sides. Inch by inch you gradually lifted the armor, he would have all the time in the world to stop you, but when you felt the heat of his lips crash against yours you almost let your knees buckle out from under you. His strong arms were tight on your back, pulling you into him so he could kiss you harder.

So much better than spotchka. He was delicious, his taste, his feel, his scent, everything about him was intoxicating. So much more so than the despicable brew you had been throwing back all night, and a thousand times better than anything Elios could have offered. Blech. You realized then why the bounty had smelled so bad to you, though his perfume was expensive and his clothes freshly pressed, he was wrong for you. The wrongness was so overwhelming that it had nearly made you lose your drink, and you didn’t realize how wrong something could be until you tried to compare it to what was right. Din was right, he smelled of leather and beskar and the sweat of a man that had nearly combusted when someone else was at your side. And fresher soap! Thank the Maker.

A soft leather hand went to your head, pulling you into him so he could taste you better. His tongue ran over your lips, darting into you to find yours so they could dance together. You bit him playfully, and the way his breath hitched in his throat sent the fire of your core shooting all the way to your fingertips; and you knew right then that not even kissing his forbidden face would be enough for you. You pulled yourself from his lips, the snap of teeth following your retreat, reluctant to let you leave from the heat of the moment. Carefully, you let the beskar slide back down to cover him, and the anguished whine he let out into the night air almost broke your heart.

“I know, I know, I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” With him covered you glanced around the room until you saw the private bar. With your thumbs hooked in the pockets of his borrowed vest you guided the two of you towards it until the granite countertop knocked against your ass. You used his shoulders for leverage, hopping up onto the cold surface and wrapping your knees round his waist, happy to find exactly what you were expecting to throbbing between your legs. He pushed himself against you, the feel of his stolen silks on your holstered thighs giving you goosebumps. His heavy metal head fell against your shoulder, and you wrapped your arms around him to hold him close while he ground up against your heat. He couldn’t contain himself around you, though you wouldn’t want him to if he could. You rocked your hips in time with his needy thrusts, and the growls in your ear almost made you think he would come undone with his pants still on. Can’t have that now, can we? "Mando, please fuck me, I can't wait anymore."

You heard thunder rumble out of his chest, sending electricity from where he was pressed to your shoulder straight down to where he was pulsing against your core. He was going to bring you the stars, alright, but not the ones in the night sky. He pulled back so he could look into your eyes from behind his visor, bringing a hand up to caress your pleading face.

"No, I don't want to fuck you." Your eyes shot wide, shocked that he wouldn't want you when he was rutting so hard into you that you could almost feel the dampness of precum through his layers. He saw your face and shook his head. "Elios wanted to fuck you, all of those creeps at the bar wanted to fuck you.” His helmet shook, trying to loosen the words he wanted to say. “No... I- I want to be better than them, I want to give you something else, s-something more.” He was struggling, his inexperience making it difficult to say what was on his mind. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be like them, he wanted to be worthy of you in ways they never could.

“Then make love to me instead.”

 “Yes!” The words leaving your lips were like music to his ears, so much more lovely than any song. “I want to do that! I want to make love to you, cyar’ika, if you’ll have me?”

You laughed, nodding your head to hide your bright red cheeks. How he managed to be so ferocious and so sweet on the same day was a mystery you didn’t want to solve. He quickly glanced around the room one more time just to be sure you were alone, the light of the gilded city sending streaks of color over the charms you had pressed to his cheeks. Satisfied that you were the only ones awake in the room, he leaned away from you to rip the constricting blazer off of himself so hard the fabric around his chest and shoulders started to tear. Beskar plates twinkled in the limelight, sending stars flying around the room while he worked his pants open. The sight of him springing into view made your heart flutter, among other things. Long and strong, a pearl of precum glimmering in the dark of the penthouse. His hands went to your legs, the leather of his palms snagging on the straps still belted to your thighs as he pushed the elegant fabric of your dress up to your waist. 

“You’re soaked.” You wished you could see what he saw through his visor, the sound of hitched breath telling you he could see you blooming for him clear as day, drinking you in with his hidden eyes. He hooked a thumb in the wet fabric of your panties to pull them out of the way, using his other hand to grip his cock and run the tip over your entrance, bumping against your clit while he lubed himself with your slick. You had to lean back until you were laying on the cold granite countertop, tilting your hips to the edge of the bar so he could see all of you on display. He pressed himself up and in, filling you slowly so he could indulge in every inch that disappeared inside. Your stretched walls clenched around him, making him shiver with each coiled squeeze. The Mandalorian you were giving yourself to pulled himself out of you carefully before thrusting back into you again, fighting every animalistic urge to just plow you into the bar. He was going to make good on his word, he wasn’t going to just fuck you.

But maybe he should have.

“Bing!” 

The penthouse elevator door chimed, and both of you pointed blasters on the figure that walked out from the pink haze of the lift into the dark of the room. “Elios? I know you’re up here, I’m just going to get- Oh. There you are.” The stranger spotted the crumpled, unconscious body on the floor, crossing the room until they stood over him. “About time someone split that beautiful lip of yours, Lee-lo.” The stranger that Mando had run into on the casino floor turned their tired eyes to the pair of you, noticing your obvious state of passion. “Oh please, don’t stop on my account, that’s not the worst thing I’ve walked into up here.” They squinted in the dark, then gasped softly, “Wait, it’s you! Oh good! I saw you when you were dancing and was just heartbroken when Lee-lo came between you.” The tall stranger did a little dance. “Fucking Elios.” They kicked at the Devaronian on the floor, “All he lives for is breaking hearts. I’m glad you two made up.”

The wisp of a stranger bent down to the motionless figure on the floor, yanking one of the gold rings from his horns. They said something too low for you to hear, then got up and left in another cloud of pink smoke, the elevator door closing behind them.

You both lowered your blasters, trying to wrap your collective heads around what had just happened. Mando was still buried to the hilt inside you, and you could feel him pulsing with need; but he had been right from the beginning. You weren’t safe here.

“That’s probably not the only spare key. We should go.” You whispered, trying to get your blaster back to its holster under your dress. He groaned, he was getting sick of being torn away from you. He pulled himself almost all the way out, thrust in one more time for good luck, and released himself with a pop! He pulled you to your feet, helping you down from the bar and onto the Maker-forsaken boots you still had on. Fuck these. You ripped the boots off, chucking them somewhere into the dark and crossed the room barefoot to where the oversized purse held the foundling. You were happy to see him all tuckered out in a pile of cookie wrappers, probably not the healthiest thing for him, but it worked. Behind you, your armored companion was hauling the quarry over his shoulder none too gently, ‘accidentally’ knocking his bloody head against the wall as he turned back to you. You both made for the balcony door to the speeder you had noticed earlier, tossing the bounty in the back seat like a bag of garbage. 

The ride back to the Crest was thick with anticipation, you weren't finished with each other just yet. Mando pulled the speeder right up to the ramp so you wouldn’t have to walk across sharp gravel, chucking the bounty in after you so hard he slid through the messy cabin and smashed into the wall. You slung the damned devil into the carbonite chamber, punching the freeze button with gusto. The ramp closed behind your armored companion, barely giving you a chance to get up onto the hoverskiff that still dominated the cabin floor before the lights went off. You yanked the dress over your head, listening for the sound of more fabric hitting the floor, then the clanking of beskar being tossed carelessly aside. Belts and snaps and zippers went flying, and you had to try not to laugh at the absurd amount of clothes he had to take off. The skiff tilted with new weight, and the body of a Mandalorian was on top of you, warm lips hunting for yours.

He’s naked! Every piece of armor and shred of clothing was gone, and the feel of bare skin against your body was electrifying. His mouth crashed against yours, fervent kisses desperate to taste you again. You let your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him into you to kiss back. He was hungry for you, biting at your mouth and tongue like a man starved. Plush lips made their way from your mouth down your neck, nipping at your throat and sucking the tender skin until you had bruises to match the ones on your thighs. His hands wandered down your body, rubbing at your breast and teasing your nipples until you were gasping for more. The devious digits moved on until his hand was between your legs, pushing at your folds and finding your clit to spin circles on. He was becoming an expert at finding what made you squirm and whine from his touch, rolling callused fingertips into you until you were making a delicious mess on the pile of stolen silk. 

But he wasn’t done there. The fuzzy kisses went from your breast down your belly to where his fingers were working into you. He pulled his hands from your soaked cunt and replaced them with his face, pushing his tongue up against the tiny ball of nerves that had so much power over you. Short, quick circles between long, languid licks had you arching your back and pulling his hair, demanding more. Lost in the heat of your thighs he was happy to give you everything, pushing the smooth muscle of his mouth into your slit and upwards against your clit until you were seeing stars again. 

Your hands couldn’t stop exploring him, from his thick head of curls to the strength of his shoulders. The muscles kept going, tight coils on his back and the warm, rigid wall of his chest. The trail of fuzz on his belly went up farther than you were expecting it to, and the fine hairs tickled your fingers on almost every inch of his skin. Your hands trailed over the numerous, vicious scars that marred his flesh like a road map of every near-death experience he had lived through. Gashes on his arms and burns on his sides had healed over into smooth, textureless skin, the marks of a seasoned hunter that nobody but their barer had ever seen.

Having drank his fill, he pulled his face from the apex of your thighs, pushing your knees apart and quickly sheathing himself in you with a ragged groan. Mando’a praises poured from his lips, some you were familiar but many you weren’t, though all of them made your heart flutter. Strong hands wrapped around your knees to keep you in place on the wobbly sled while he pounded into you, the feeling of bare skin on the backs of your legs making you wish you could see him in the light. But the darkness was the greatest keeper of secrets, hiding your love making from the condemnation of his creed. 

Make love. Though the phrase was just another on the long list of euphemisms used for sex, the pair of words weighed heavy with meaning in their new context. You wanted to explore the concept the way your hands explored his body, but the fire of your core was thrumming with heat, demanding your undivided attention. Din fell forward to your chest, the sweat of his efforts sticking to your breasts. Wandering kisses sent fire over your skin as he made his way over your peaks, sucking hard on their tender buds. Beskar-strong hips rocked against yours until you saw fireworks again, bearing down so hard on him with your orgasm that he sank his teeth into the crook of your shoulder. Bites made their way from where he had surely drawn blood on your flesh up your neck til they turned to kisses again. His brow pushed against your forehead, though your lips were right there he still defaulted to the only show of affection his armored inheritance allowed. Hot gasps of air puffed over your skin from the heat of his breath, and you knew he was close. You locked your legs around him, forcing him to pump every last drop of himself into you, painting your walls with his seed until it was spilling down your ass onto the piles of clothes.

The strength of his arms gave up, and he let himself fall against you, his face pushed against your cheek. You could feel his bristles brushing over your skin as his breath heaved, soft but scratchy. His hands wrapped under you and up your back, hugging you to his bare chest so hard the air was squeezed from your lungs. Fuzzy-lipped kisses dotted your cheeks and face, taking extra time to kiss your lips, each one a promise of more to come. You dragged your nails over his back, making him groan and shake at the touch. Never had anyone to scratch that itch, have you, tinman? Tight muscles loosened under your careful touch, making him sink harder onto you until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. 

You wanted to stay there forever, but as the sweat on your bodies cooled it became sticky and made pulling yourselves apart a chore. Both of you reluctantly made your way off of the skiff, clinging to the walls of the cabin while he hunted for his helmet in the dark. Lights came on gradually once his bucket was back in place so you could find your own clothes, and when you had both gotten yourselves put back together you piled everything you had stolen onto the hoverskiff and pushed it back down the ramp of the Crest. The Mandalorian was back in his beskar, and he cocked his vambrace back and shot a wall of fire onto the little sled, incinerating all evidence of your thievery and passion. The bonfire burned brightly on the gravelly beach of the Cantonican ocean, sending flaming ash into the light of the new dawn. 

You decided to keep the red pocket square that you had tucked in on his costume, though you weren't sure what you would need it for again. Sentimental. You went to the supply crates where your backpack and droid mask were kept so you could squirrel the thing away, when you caught the familiar glowing blue of spotchka at the bottom of the larder. The horrible color made you fucking nauseous after today, but even more distressing was that you realized it was just sitting there unsecured when there was an impish child onboard that could easily get into the bottled brew and make himself sick, or worse.

“Din, we need to put this somewhere safer.”  You held the liquid lantern up for him to see what you were talking about. “What if our foundling gets into it? He might get really sick or-”

“Our?”

Shit. “Sorry, your foundling. Your foundling might get-” Din crossed the small space of the cabin until he was standing close to you, the child in question tucked against his chest. The baby’s big, nebulous eyes glittered up at you, and you couldn’t help reaching out to rub his sail-like ears. He chirped happily at your touch, and as much as you wanted to keep your eyes on him, his father was towering over you, making you squirm under his tilted glare. 

“Say that again.”

“Your foundling.”

“No. The other word.”

“Our?” 

“All of it.”

“Our foundling?”  His helmet cocked to the other side, doing his big metal bird impression. The arm that wasn’t holding the child pulled you up against his chest, squeezed right against the baby in question. The familiar galaxy-erasing hug made you realize how many times you had thought of the child as your own, he was your little buddy, your missing baby when he had been stolen away, your secret weapon that you had hidden in your purse. But he wasn’t your child, he was Din’s, so for him to also be considered as yours…

“Ours.” Above you the word was spoken like it was new, as strange on his tongue as Mando’a was to you. “Our foundling. I like that.”

You couldn’t turn your head up to look at the man who had you wrapped against himself so tightly, but you could smile at the green little child that was flashing you his adorable toothy grin. You little fart, you thought with a laugh, you’re gonna make me go all soft. Almost as though the creature could hear your thoughts he squealed in delight, patting your cheeks with his fat baby paws. You let your arms circle around the boys that had made your life a roller coaster of emotion blasting through the endless sea of stars. It might be a hell of a ride, but you weren't ready to get off any time soon. The memory of the sands of Tatooine where you had been trying to forget the dangers of the universe was starting to fade away, replaced by the moment you were losing yourself in. You were happy to see it go, though your past self would be shocked at how comfortable you had gotten with a magic alien baby and a man with no face.

“Yeah… I like it too.” You hummed into the beskar, feeling Din’s arms tighten even more. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, because the lovely smile had vanished. This is all going to end soon. You buried your face in the tiny space between the foundling and his father’s armor, trying to ignore where the coaster’s rails ended. Only one stop left.

Nevarro, here we come.

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[sithsecrets]

beside one another | din djarin x reader

The hunt for a quarry takes the Mandalorian and his crew member to a fancy hotel in Canto Bight. The two lie beside one another under the cover of darkness, and the meaning of home comes into sharp focus.

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3.3k words

Mentions: typical rich people bullshit, people are a little scared of din, a little bit of pining, “there’s only one bed!”, sharing clothes, NO SMUT

---

When Mando tells you that the next quarry’s hiding out in Canto Bight, you can’t help how excited you sound when you ask how long you’ll be staying. He’s his usual stoic self, even in the face of your curiosity, but you do detect a hint of annoyance in his voice as he tells you not to get excited.

“But it’s Canto Bight!” you declare, and the baby echoes your tone by cooing brightly on your hip. “It seems so glamorous!”

“You’ll feel differently once we get there,” Mando states, and then he’s punching coordinates into the navigation system, seemingly done discussing the matter. You buckle into the passenger seat with the baby, settling him on your lap so he gets a good view through the windshield during takeoff. He loves this part for some reason, despite all the rattling and the noise, and he squeals in utter joy like you thought he would.

“At least someone’s excited,” you declare, teasing the Mandalorian for being so grumpy. The man himself says nothing to this, but you’re too pleased with yourself and the prospect of visiting a new place to care.

Before Mando hired you to be his one and only crew member, you’d never really left the Tatoo System. Sure, you’d made a quick trip to here and there, visited a moon or two in your time, but never anything of substance. New places are your favorite thing to collect right now, and you can’t wait to cross Cantonica off your list. You heard stories of Canto Bight when you were little, saw a few holograms of the opulent streets— you can’t wait to see it all in person, even if Mando’s not excited in the slightest. You’re sure it’s different for him, all the traveling and the going to places he’s never been, but the novelty hasn’t worn off for you yet.

The journey to Cantonica is a short one, and before you know it, the Crest is touching down in a sleek, high-class receiving hangar. The landing coordinator sounds like a snob over the comm, making more than one comment about the state of the Crest. But the tone shifts completely once you, Mando, and the baby emerge from the ship, all of the personnel suddenly very accommodating. You’re used to seeing people (the smart ones, anyway) regard Mando with equal parts respect and fear, but this is just excessive. Someone ushers you and the baby out of the sun and into a small office, rushing to offer you a cool drink, and the foreman himself comes out to talk business. The content of he and Mando’s conversation is lost on you, though you do get to watch them talk through a little window.

(Later, you’ll learn that the man let Mando park the Crest here for a fifth of the usual price, but this won’t come as surprise by the time you find out.)

Mando hails a cruiser for the three of you, and then you’re zooming across the dessert on your way to Canto Bight. As the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, the lights of the city become brighter and brighter on the horizon, stoking your excitement. Mando’s minding the baby, so you get to fully enjoy the ride, taking in all you can as the vehicle flies over the sand. Within minutes, sand becomes grass, grass becomes pavement, and then you’re in Canto Bight proper, surrounded on all sides by wealth and luxury. The driver drops the three of you off in front of a grand hotel, and then he’s off without a word, speeding away to pick up another fare.

You, Mando, and the baby make your way inside, and you’re immediately blindsided by the realization that this hotel isn’t a place for you, not really. The interior, much like the building’s exterior, is more opulent than any other building you’ve ever been to, but it’s the people that make you feel like you’re a stain on their carpet. Every single being in the lobby, human or alien, is made up in the galaxy’s finest fabrics and most expensive jewels. They glitter and gleam in the light, and your casual, comfortable clothes looks like rags in comparison. A ball of nervous, self-conscious energy forms in your stomach, the anxiety only made worse by the fact that all eyes are on you. Well, all eyes are on Mando, as they so often are, but you as part of his entourage are subject to scrutiny by mere association. Thankfully, the patrons of this establishment seem more awed than judgmental, but that doesn’t the attention is any less disconcerting.

Before you and Mando can so much as approach the reception desk, you’re stopped short by a man dressed in sharp clothes. His dark hair is perfectly combed and parted, and you catch a hint of expensive cologne as he introduces himself as the resort manager. Mando declines to shake his hand, but you let the man squeeze your palm for a brief moment.

“We need to book a room,” Mando states, trying to use this as an excuse to end the exchange. The resort manager, however, brushes off the attempt with ease.

“That’s already been taken care of, sir.” He gestures towards the elevators with one well-manicured hand, smiling what you can only describe as a customer service smile. “If you follow me this way, I can show you and your companions to your accommodations.”

“We don’t have lines of credit on this planet,” Mando cuts, tone taking on an edge as fishes around for some money. “We just want—”

“Sir,” the resort manager presses, and you have to admire the way he keeps his voice steady even though he looks like he might piss his pants any second, “I assure you that it’s been take care of. Now please, follow me.”

Mando pauses for a moment, staring down this well-dressed, handsome man as if to size him up. But then he nods, and Mr. Manager leads the three of you to the elevators. You ride up up up in a private car, sitting in relative silence the whole way. The manager does most of the talking, asking a few subtly invasive questions about why you’re here— right up until Mando essentially tells him to fuck off. After that, conversation centers mostly around the baby and the amenities available at the hotel, and then you’re walking out into a quiet corridor. It’s not a private floor by any means, but the spacing of the doors lets you know that not many people stay up here. That’s a bit of a relief, at least in your opinion, because the guests here seem rowdy. And drunk. So fucking drunk…

The suite is— Well, the suite is fucking ridiculous, to put it bluntly. It’s four rooms, five if you count the little kitchen area as its own space, and everything is decorated just so. The furnishings are opulent, the upholstery is rich— the ‘fresher alone is bigger than the common area of the home you grew up in. The manager says something about how you shouldn’t hesitate to ask for anything you need, but you barely here him, awestruck in a way by the luxury all around you. Mando sees your escort out, and you can’t believe how casual he’s being about all of this.

“Do—?” The baby makes a discontent noise, ready to be let out of his pram, and you lower him down without giving the action much thought. “Do people always do things like this for you, or…?”

Mando turns to look at you. “Only when they’re scared shitless. As far as all those people are concerned, they’re my next quarry.”

Having received the message, you leave the conversation at that, opting to go and unpack instead of prodding Mando further. The baby toddles about the suite at his leisure, oscillating between cooing at his father and playing on the bed while you work. He’s broken into a basket of complimentary snacks, and you watch as he munches on cookies and chips and a full range of other fine foods. You should probably stop him on the premise of all that ruining his dinner, but Mando’s making noises about going out to do some reconnaissance this evening. With him gone, it’ll just be you and the kid, and you think he can have a treat just this once. Besides, he might crash from the sugar rush, and you could score an evening to yourself in this big fancy hotel room.

“Send me a comm if I’m not here when you wake up,” is all Mando says before he leaves, though he does tilt his head in acknowledgement when you tell him to be safe.

As you suspected, the Child begins to wind down not long after his father leaves, lapsing into a junk food-induced coma with a bag of chips still clenched tightly in his little green hand. You clean up his face and lay him down in his pram for the night, tucking his blankets just so before you click the cover shut.

Virtually alone now, there’s not much for you to do besides bathe and get ready for bed. And so, you do just that, lingering in the bathtub simply because you can. When the water’s gotten too cool for your liking, you climb out and play with the products that have been left out on the countertop, rubbing some expensive lotion into your skin. After that, it’s time to curse quietly to yourself in the bedroom— in all your haste and excitement to pack for this trip, you managed to forget to bring something to sleep in. Mando packed two extra shirts for himself instead of one, however, and you study one of them at arm’s length for a long moment. Wearing another person’s clothes to bed is definitely something you should ask permission to do, that much you know, but… but Mando’s not here, and you need something to wear now. Finally, you slip the garment over your head, deciding that you’ll just apologize later if he gets worked up about it.

Dressed and freshly bathed, your next order of business is to procure some food for yourself. The baby’s still asleep when you get out of the bathtub, so you forgo getting him anything. You do, however, order something that’ll be good for Mando later, something filling that can be eaten lukewarm or even cold when he gets back. Everything is delicious, and you climb into bed full and content.

Even though you’re tired, sleep doesn’t come easily. You find yourself thinking of Mando, and you lie awake wondering what he’s up to— wondering if he’s safe. He’s always doing this, going out for indeterminate amounts of times to hunt his prey, and you worry about him each and every time he’s gone. It’s silly, you know, and for so many reasons. He’s a Mandalorian, for the Maker’s sake— he can take care of himself just fine— and it’s not like he’s yours to fuss over anyway. Sure, the man employs you, but your emotional investment in his safety has grown a bit intense over these past few months. As much as you hate to admit it, Mando’s different to you now, more important than he used to be. The fact that you have feelings for him at all like this is borderline idiotic, but… but sometimes you wonder if he feels things for you too. You don’t have any concrete evidence, your assumptions largely based off of two passing comments and the tilt of his helmet, but still, you cling to the hope that he wants you the same way you want him.

It takes some time, but the sounds of the city do eventually lull you to sleep. You don’t wake again until the early hours of the morning, disturbed by movement in the other room. The clang of Mando’s spurs is a dead giveaway, and you relax as soon as you realize that it’s just him. You try to settle down and drift off again, but you find that you’re suddenly wide awake. So instead, you listen to Mando go about his business, tracking his footsteps from room to room. You hear the shower run in the ‘fresher for a little while, and then a chair scrapes against the floor in the dining room a few minutes after that. The tinkling of a utensils tells you that Mando’s eating the food you got for him, and he must like it, too, because he doesn’t just inhale the plate and move on.

Earlier, after you and Mando realized that the suite only has one bed, he offered to sleep on the couch, and you’d agreed to that. Now, though, you don’t like the idea of him trying to fold his beskar-clad body up on the cushions in the living room. He’s the reason the three of you got this room in the first place, even if he never asked for the special treatment, and you think he’s entitled to at least sleep on the ridiculously soft bed. Still, it’s a presumptuous thing, asking him to lie down with you, and you’re not sure you’re brave enough to do it. You are brave enough, however, to ask him how his surveillance mission went, so you slip out of bed and pad towards the dining room.

“Mando?” you call, voice sounding rather loud in the still darkness. You wouldn’t want to catch him without his helmet on, so you’re giving him a warning.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Mando affirms, and you know the coast is clear by the electronic tinge to his voice.

He’s still sitting there at the table when you turn the corner, and the Mandalorian does seem a bit taken aback by the sight of you. Only now do you remember that you’re wearing his clothes, and two thoughts cross your mind: Will he be pissed with you? Does this shirt even cover your ass properly?

“Is—? You’re wearing my clothes.” Mando is expressionless in the helmet, of course, but the tilt of his voice is indicative of surprise.

You flush, tugging on the hem of the shirt. “Yeah, I— I forgot to pack something to sleep in, and you had an extra one. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” the Mandalorian says at once, cutting you off. A pause, and then he’s much more collected, much more like himself again. “It’s not a problem, really. No big deal.”

You nod at that, and then things are casual again. You ask Mando if he got any good information about his quarry, and he says that he did. He thanks you for getting him some dinner, and you say that it was no trouble.

“The baby’s sleeping?”

“Yeah,” you affirm, jerking your head towards the bedroom. “I have him in his pram. I think all the sweets put him in a diabetic coma.”

Mando doesn’t laugh, but the little huff that comes from his vocoder is enough to tell you that the joke landed. “Good,” he says, “I’m glad somebody’s getting some rest.”

There’s a lull in conversation, the two of you looking at one another from opposite ends of the dimly lit dining room. You lean in the doorway, mock-casual as you toy with the hem of your borrowed shirt.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know,” you say softly, finding it difficult to make eye contact with the visor as you speak.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” the Mandalorian replies. “You got in bed first, so I’m not going to make you move now—”

“No, no,” you chide, interrupting him. “I—”

You take a breath, deciding that now is as good a time as any. It’s time to rip off the bandage, and if this goes to shit, you can always chalk your actions up to exhaustion later.

“I mean, you could come lie down in bed too,” you say quickly, fidgeting nervously. “With me.”

Mando doesn’t say or do anything for one long, agonizing moment, and you’re sure you’re going to throw up. But then…

“Do you want me to lie down with you?”

His voice is quiet through the modulator, almost soft in a way, and the sound of it makes something inside you flutter.

“Yeah.”

You’re almost whispering, and you wonder what the Mandalorian thinks of you in this moment, how you look to him standing there in his clothes, asking him to come to bed with you. It must not be an ugly sight in his eyes, because he stands and walks to you, murmuring, “Come on.”

Mando checks on the baby as you crawl back in bed, rearranging the Child’s blankets, giving him an affectionate little pat. The pram clicks closed, and then Mando’s faltering at the edge of the bed.

“I can’t—” His abandons his words in favor of a display, gesturing towards the armor on his body, to the room as a whole. “This isn’t—”

“I know,” you say softly, because you do. The armor makes him feel safe, makes him feel strong, and he won’t be able to sleep if he takes it off in this strange, foreign environment. “Just take your boots off. Or are those made of beskar too?”

It’s a silly joke, but it earns you a little huff through the vocoder nonetheless.

“No,” Mando retorts, tone light. He takes off more than just his boots, unclipping his utility belt before he sits down on the edge of the bed. It takes Mando a minute to unlace his boots, but when he’s done, he finally lies down beside you, not even untucking the blankets on his side.

“You don’t want some covers?”

Mando shakes his head, and you have to admit that his big, beskar-clad body looks out of place in this even bigger, soft bed. You wonder idly if it would be different on the ship, if Mando would take all the armor off and lie beside you there too. You could never ask him to take the helmet off, that would be too much, but if he was on his own turf instead of holed up in some hotel suite… It’s too late to be worried about all of that now, though, so you force yourself to relax and enjoy this moment.

“This place is sort of fancy,” Mando says to you, voice cutting through the darkness, and you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, but I like the Crest better.”

“Really?”

You nod again. “It’s… warmer. Everything in this city is so cold. The building’s are pretty, and the streets make a pretty picture, but nobody’s supposed to live here. It’s all for show. Very plastic. I see why you weren’t excited to come here.”

Mando says nothing to this, though somehow you know that he’s not taking pleasure in being right.

Feeling bold, you move a bit closer to the Mandalorian. “I’ll be happy to go home.”

“I’m getting the quarry tomorrow,” Mando says, “probably before nightfall. We can be back on the Crest and off Cantonica before it’s time for us to sleep again.”

You like to think there’s a promise in that, an indication of what’s to come, but you’ll just have to wait and see. You’ll just have to hope.

“Good.”

And as your last act of bravery for the night, you reach out across the sheets and grab Mando’s hand.

He doesn’t pull away.

[starlightrows]

Disrupted

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Non-graphic violence, 

Summary: Your clan of three has a routine that gets you through the day to day. But the events of chapter 14 throw a wrench into that and disrupt everything

AN: Originally posted on AO3 in December 2020 

It seems like everyday is an adventure traveling with your riddur and foundling son. If it’s not bringing in a bounty, it’s doing odd jobs in exchange for information you only hope will lead to the next helpful piece of information. And still there are days that must be “wasted” to resupply, make repairs, do laundry, and catch up on sleep if you’re lucky. But despite this seemingly turbulent lifestyle, your clan of three had a routine of sorts.

Mostly revolving around the baby. When he wakes up, it’s officially morning time. That means getting him up and out of the pram, and immediately getting food in his belly. Then, hopefully you would be arriving to whatever destination is set for the day. Hunting a bounty, meeting with a contact, delivering bounties and cargo, and market days. Market days were the little guys favorite. Usually because he got treats from the market, and dad carried him in the satchel. They only thing he liked better, was when mom carried him in her arms.

If it’s a big travel day through hyperspace. Then the entire day is devoted to entertaining him on board while also trying to get work done. Din cleans weapons, makes small internal repairs, charts future courses. You try to balance the budget to make sure you will have enough credits to afford fuel and food, count out rations to make sure they will last, and prepare them as best you can with the limited galley space available. All while trying to teach Grogu basic things like his colors and shapes. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if you should be trying to teach him more advanced things like arithmetic, or planetary geography. He was supposed to be older than you after all.

Grogu gets grumpy and fussy at about midday, no matter what planet or how deep in hyperspace you may be. That means it’s time for him to drink something like bantha milk, bone broth, or just water if you’re running low on supplies; and take a nap. Sometimes you or Din will nap with him, especially if it’s a resupply and repair day.

When he wakes up again, he’s usually less needy. He is usually pretty happy to observe whatever it is his parents are doing. If Din is flying the ship, he liked to sit with him in the cockpit and play with the durasteel ball handle on the rear deflector shield control. Or he will sit on one of the crates tethered to the walls of the ship while you meticulously inventory the supplies and their replacement costs. He’s most happy on the afternoons when both you and Din sit in the cockpit together. Din flying the ship, you copiloting at his side. Grogu likes to sit on your lap and listen to the two of you talk. Droning on and on about nothing. He doesn’t always know what you’re talking about, but he likes both his parents to be together, especially if they’re giving him attention together.

Which is why the end of the day meal is his favorite. Even if you and Din haven’t interacted much all day, you would come together for dinner. Sitting as a family in the hull of the ship to eat rations together. After dinner, Din cleared the eating utensils while you would give Grogu a bath and get him ready for bed.

Cradling him against your shoulder, pacing up and down the length of the hull, bouncing him slightly with each step, and humming sweet lullabies. Coming to a stop in front of his pram, just as he was falling asleep. Din would join you, drawing you into his arms, and swaying gently without a word and you finish your last lullaby. Placing Grogu into the pram, you give him a kiss on the head and close the lid.

At that point, you and Din have time to either continue working on your respective tasks, work on two person jobs on the ship, or as you both prefer just spend some quality time together.

But not anymore. Not since Tython.

Less than an hour. Less than a single hour had passed between the three of you stepping off of the Razor Crest, and watching as the four massive, seemingly indestructible, black droids ascended into the sky with your child in tow. In less than 60 minutes the Crest was obliterated with everything you owned on board, you were beaten within an inch of your life by the droids, and your son was plucked from your arms. Left to bleed out on that wretched mountain top.

And less than an hour after that, you sat aboard the ship of a man you had just been threatened by. You felt disoriented and dazed, and not just from the probable concussion. Din knelt in front of you below deck, gripping your forearms as you stared blankly into the visor of his helmet.

“What are we gonna do?” You asked numbly. “A-a-all of our weapons. Our rations. Our home. Our son..... what are we gonna do?”

He squeezes you again, it’s grounding but you are having a difficult time getting your mind to focus on any one thing.

“We’re going back to Nevarro,” he says frankly. But you’re confused.

“Nevarro? You think they’re taking him to Nevarro?”

This worried Din more, it is evident you are more injured that you appear. And he makes a mental note to send a communication to Cara ahead of time to make sure medical staff is waiting when they get there.

“No cyar’ika, we have to get some help before we can go after Grogu. We’re gonna go see Cara,”

This seems to pacify you for the time being. Your head his pounding, and all you want to do is cry and sleep. And hope when you wake up this will have been a horrible dream.

It isn’t though. You wake up in a clean bed with a bandage around your head. Din lays next to you on his stomach. Despite the fact he his dead asleep, he looks exhausted. His eyes are puffy and a little darkened. He’s been crying. And all at once you are overwhelmed by feelings of guilt, sadness, loss and despair. Your home really was gone, and so was your son. But unlike the Crest, you could get Grogu back.

When Din eventually wakes up, he describes how disoriented you were and the utter terror he felt at not being able to keep you awake during the flight. Luckily a heavily dosed bacta shot, and a good long sleep had you on the mend. He tells you of his plan to spring Migs Mayfeld from prison with Cara’s help, and get him to help find out where to find Moff Gideon’s cruiser. You don’t like the idea of bringing in Mayfeld. He had been extremely aggressive and irritable the last time you’d dealt with him... but you didn’t have a better idea.

It was much easier than expected getting Mayfeld to agree to help. Though he didn’t have much room to argue. You felt almost good about the situation as your rag tag group consisting of Mayfeld, Cara, Fennec, Boba Fett, Din and yourself; flew towards Morak. You felt like you were actually working to accomplish something. Getting closer to getting your baby back.

But like Fett said. It was a long journey to get there. It was like being home on the Crest. But you were uncomfortable, unused to being in close proximity to so many people for this long. And you had nothing to do. You felt... trapped in your own mind. Without thinking about it you would stand up, as if moved by some unseen force and walk away from the others and return with nothing new and not a word. Just a sad empty look on your face.

After the fourth time. Mayfeld blurted out “What the hell are you doing? You got a screw loose or something” he was trying to be funny. Trying to cut the tension. You didn’t turn around, you just retreated below deck. This time Din followed. “What’s with them?” Mayfeld asked, directing his question at Cara.

“It’s midday,” she spat. There was a long silence before said quieter “it’s time to feed her son and put him down for a nap”

That shut Mayfeld up.

Below deck, you leaned your head and forearms against the wall of Slave I. Enjoying the cold that leeched into your skin, at least it was something.

“Cyare,” Din called out softly. You turned to face him, leaning back against the wall. Tears brimmed in your eyes. He approached you, extending his arms out to you. Inviting to to take comfort if you wanted it. You accepted, leaning on him as the tears slipped down your cheeks.

“I know” he whispers “we’ll get him back. Whatever it takes,”

Din Djarin Tag List: @spideysimpossiblegirl

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (4/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: T

Wordcount: 7,057

Summary: Jamie  just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian  Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught  up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please don’t expect anything from this story. I’m just doodling in between writing ch11 and ch12 of ‘bring home a haunting.’

read it below or read it here on AO3

IV:

—

“I owe you a favour?” Rebecca said, and her voice sounded amused. “Is that how we’re remembering it?”

“Yup. After that fiasco you put me through in that club on Nar Shaddaa.”

The sound of an incredulous huff of laughter came through the cracked speakers of the transceiver in a staticky burst. “What is it this time?”

“Nothing special,” said Jamie. “In fact, it’s even a little boring.”

“You? Boring?” 

“I like boring.”

“Pull the other one.”

“More boring than last time, then.” 

“Last time you had me move three hundred freed Twi’lek slaves from Hutt space and back to their home planets.”

“And they’ve been singing your praises ever since. I know that for a fact, because one family sent me a holo-card which showed that party you went to where they made you godmother of their newborn child.” 

“Oh! That reminds me,” Rebecca said, sounding suddenly excited. “Do you want to see the latest pictures of the kid? He’s four and adorable.” 

“That had better be a rhetorical question,” Jamie drawled.

“So, that’s a no?”

“Shut up and send me the pictures to my personal transceiver when I see you.” 

Rebecca’s laugh was infectious. Always had been. A smile pulled at the corner of Jamie’s mouth in spite of herself. The Jawas had crowded off to the other end of the tiny room, talking amongst themselves while Jamie used their transceiver. On the other hand Dani drifted closer, hovering just out of range of the transceiver’s camera, which — along with the microphone and speakers — seemed to be the only thing about it that actually functioned properly. 

“It’s been too long,” Rebecca was saying. “I’ve missed talking to you.”

“So, you’ll do me the favour?” 

“You know I hate moving people,” Rebecca sighed. “Pressurising the cargo hold is so expensive.”

“It’s for a good cause.”

“Always is with you.”

"It's not like that."

"Sure it isn't." Rebecca said, then groaned. "Why can't you ever ask me to run something normal? Like food? Or weapons?"

"I asked you to run those emergency rations to Taris that one time."

"The planet was being blockaded by the Empire!"

"And you snuck through like a ghost," Jamie said. "I've never seen anything like it in all my years."

"Flatterer."

"Fuckin' right I am. Is it working?"

A sigh down the other line. "All right. How many people is it this time?"

Jamie opened her mouth to answer, but before she could speak Dani came into frame and sat beside Jamie with a wave towards the camera.

"Hi," she said with as much false cheer as she could muster. "Just me. Dani Clayton. Nice to meet you."

Silence on the other end. Jamie really wished this piece of crap transceiver had a working screen of its own so she could gauge Rebecca's reaction. As it was: the silence didn't seem like a good start.

“I see,” Rebecca said slowly. “Jamie, you always did have a soft spot for a pretty face.”

Heat flushed all the way up to Jamie’s hairline. “That’s not -!” she said, then turned to Dani and insisted, “It’s not.”

Dani did not answer. Her own cheeks were pink and she was studiously avoiding Jamie’s gaze, watching the broken monitor instead where Rebecca’s face should have been displayed. 

Rebecca — damn her — was the one who spoke next. "And where are you from, Dani?"

"Alderaan," Dani said at the same time Jamie hissed, "Don't answer that."

Dani shot Jamie a puzzled look and lowered her voice, “I thought you two were friends.”

“We are, but -” 

“No whispering,” said Rebecca through the crackling speakers in a sing-song voice. “If you’re talking about me, at least let me hear the juicy gossip.”

Rather than continue down that vein, Jamie corrected course. “We need to get to Tython. We’re on a transport through the Hydian Way to Coruscant, but we’ve got some undesirables on our tail. Think you can help?”

Rebecca gave a thoughtful hum. “You know I’m not a Core World girl. Not my speciality.” 

“I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t desperate.” 

“Next time,” Rebecca said in a dry tone, “just call me for drinks and a laugh.” 

“First round’s on me,” Jamie promised with a grin. 

The sound of tapping down the line and a series of beeps as Rebecca did something with her ship’s computer. “I’m picking up your signal from hyperspace just past Bandomeer. I won’t be able to meet up with your transport until you come out of hyperspace for a stop over at Corsin tomorrow afternoon. Think you can survive that long?” 

Leaning back, Jamie exhaled a long relieved breath, her shoulders slumping. “It’ll have to do. Thanks, Becs. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.”

And just like that, the call ended. No fanfare. No goodbyes. That’s how it always was with her — touch and go. Probably why the two of them got along so well, Jamie thought. Not many people could go without exchanging a single word for four years and then pick up where they’d left off as if no time had passed at all. 

Jamie pushed the transceiver away. Dani was watching her with a curious tilt of her head so that a lock of her hair was curled along the column of her neck in a way that made Jamie want to reach out and card her fingers through her hair. 

“She seems nice,” Dani said.

“It’s complicated.”

Understanding lit up in Dani’s mismatched eyes. “Ah.” 

“Not like that,” Jamie said quickly. “We never - I just meant that she’s complicated. For a smuggler like Rebecca, trust is its own currency. And now I owe her a very big favour.” 

Dani nodded but didn’t comment further. She had turned her attention back to the huddle of Jawas, listening to them quibble and murmur together. “As much as I like them,” she said, “I don’t think we can hide here for a full day without imposing.”

That and Jamie could not imagine trying to sleep in a pile with a bunch of Jawas. She made a face at the very thought. It was cramped with two people in one of these rooms. Let alone eleven. Even if the other nine were less than a meter in height and smelled of damp womprat. 

“Please tell me the alternative doesn’t involve the garbage chute,” Dani said. 

 --

The alternative only partially involved the garbage chute. And even then, they only had to use it once to ferry their way up to the mid decks when their transport dropped out of hyperspace and docked at Corsin. Jamie kept checking over her shoulder for sign of the Jedi and the Troopers as she and Dani snuck off the transport with a crowd of others. She did not relax even as they stepped free of the transport and into the hangar bays of Corsin.

The arched transparisteel ceiling was a void of star-speckled ink viewing out into space, and far below the planet was a marble of blue oceans and green islands, white tufts of cloud drifting across its surface. 

“It looks beautiful,” said Dani, pausing to wistfully admire the planet below. 

“It looks unaffordable,” Jamie replied, not sparing it a glance and instead standing up on her toes, craning her neck to get a better look around the hangar. 

“Reminds me of Alderaan.” 

It was said almost softly enough that Jamie couldn’t hear it. Jamie stopped her search and turned back to Dani, who was still staring longingly out the windows. Hesitating for a second, Jamie curled her fingers around Dani’s hand. Startled, Dani blinked at her.

Jamie offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “C’mon,” she said, and gave Dani’s hand a tug. 

Dani did not pull her hand away as Jamie pulled her along further into the hangar in search of their ticket out of this mess. She linked their fingers together and held on tight, her hand cold; Dani was always cold. Jamie needed to think about buying her a set of thermals. 

Pushing through the crowd, they made their way from various bay to various bay. Other passengers who knew their destinations went straight to the cruiser that would ferry them down to the planet below. Most of them wore enough Ottegan silk to last Jamie a year if she sold it on the black market, no questions asked. This was not a planet for people like them, and a few security droids around the place had started to take notice of that fact. Jamie was constructing an elaborate lie in her head about how they were janitorial staff, when she finally saw her. 

Rebecca was standing before a side bay with her hand resting easily on the holster of her blaster pistol. She looked just as Jamie remembered. All in smart and durable beige and black, the cut of her clothes fashionable in a rakish sort of way but unafraid of hard labour. Her dark hair was longer and was bound in a long plait over one shoulder. And her dark skin was slightly darker, too — she must have been visiting a sunny planet lately. Letting go of Dani’s hand and striding forward with a broad smile, Jamie caught her in a fierce warm hug.

“God, but it’s good to see you again,” Jamie said. 

Only one of Rebecca’s hands came up to rest against Jamie’s back to return the hug. When she pulled back slightly her smile had an oddly sad slant, and she murmured, “I really am sorry for this, Jamie.” 

Jamie blinked, her face falling. “What -?” 

Before she could move, Rebecca’s other hand came up and pressed something to Jamie’s flank. A flash of something like fire rippled through Jamie’s body, and then she slumped forwards into Rebecca’s arms, the world spinning and going dark. 

 --

When Jamie came to, she had a splitting headache and her side felt like it had been kicked by a very large very angry animal. She winced and slowly sat up with a groan. Blinking muzzily, she took inventory of her surroundings. Just a small room sheathed in dark metal panels from floor to ceiling, complete with the only door blocked by yellow plasma beam bars, and a Czerka logo stamped into one of the panels on the hallway outside. 

And worst of all: no Dani in sight.

Great. Alone in the brig of a Czerka ship. And given her shit luck, Jamie had an inkling of exactly whose ship this belonged to as well. 

“Fuck,” she said, lingering emphatically over every aspect of the word. 

She had been placed along a bench in the cell, and now she dragged her sorry carcass into the corner so that she could prop her legs atop the bench and lean her head back against the wall. When the world finally stopped trying to tilt with every sluggish beat of her heart, Jamie patted herself down. 

No mining laser, of course. That would’ve been the first thing they stripped off of her. No credit chits in her pocket. No multitools that she always kept on her person in case she ever needed to disassemble some machinery at work. The dogtags were still around her neck at least. At least if she died, whoever found her would be able to identify her body and return it to Tython or wherever the fuck nobodies like her in The Order went after death. Small miracles. 

Nothing for it, then. She staggered upright and went to use the loo. When she’d finished, she returned to her place on the bench and thought about how fucked she was. 

She’d been in plenty of bad scrapes in her time, but this was taking the coveted position of ‘Worst Hole Ever Dug by Jamie Taylor — May the Force Be With Her.’

A door opened in the near distance, then another, followed by quick footsteps. Jamie frowned at the hallway, waiting for some Czerka pillock to come take her away and shove her out an airlock. Instead Rebecca came into swift view.

"Here," she said, sliding Jamie's handheld mining laser along the floor through the bars, then began trying to pry a section of the wall away from the hallway in order to reveal a nest of wires leading to the control panel. "I've disabled the alarms and cameras for the brig, but we don't have much time. There's a cruiser docked in bay three. It has a hyperdrive and enough rations to get you to wherever you need to go. The Czerka fleet won't fire upon it so long as you're quick and you don't let them figure out it's you."

Jamie did not move. Teeth clenched, she crossed her arms and glowered at the opposite wall. 

"Jamie -"

"Nope," Jamie said, jaw taut, refusing to even look in her direction.

"Listen to me," Rebecca gave up on hacking the control panel. She tried to move into Jamie's line of sight but Jamie kept turning her head aside. "There is more to this than what it appears. I know about the infiltration of House Thul. I know about the -"

"I don't care about what you know,” Jamie cut her off.  "If you think I'll listen to another word out of your mouth, then you've got another thing coming."

"I'm trying to make sure I can get you out of here alive, you thick-headed Rim-Rat!" Rebecca snapped.

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place!”

With a bitter laugh, Rebecca leaned against the frame of the cell, careful to not touch the plasma beam bars. “That’s rich, knowing your history. I’ve never met a person who gets into more trouble than you.”

Jamie put on her best sneer and asked, "What's Quint got over you this time, then? Eh?"

Rebecca shook her head and looked away with an incredulous noise, hands on her hips. "It's not like that."

"Like hell it's not," Jamie growled. "All that time you spent outwitting the Empire, and now this? He is Imperial through and through."

"I know exactly what Peter is."

"Yeah. A piece of shit, who'd sell his mother if it means saving his own sorry hide." 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rebecca said and her voice was low. She darted her eyes down the hall, as if watching for any potential eavesdroppers. “And you are in far deeper shit than you could possibly understand. That woman you’re with -”

Sitting up straighter, Jamie swung her legs over the side of the bench and onto the ground, suddenly alert. “Where is she?” 

Rebecca fixed her with a serious expression. Rather than answer, she said, “She’s dangerous.” 

“She’s scared,” Jamie corrected. 

“Which is quite possibly the worst thing for her to be.”

Rising to her feet, Jamie glowered through the plasma bars. Her voice was pure venom. “If you had just helped me get her to Tython, then I could’ve gotten her proper training.”

“The Order won’t take her.”

Jamie had to stop herself from striking out at the bars, even knowing they would give her burns all across her skin. “You know fuck all about The Order!” she snarled, pointing at Rebecca’s infuriatingly calm face through the bars. 

In the distance a door opened with a hiss of pressurized air. Both Jamie and Rebecca tensed and looked over in that direction. Or, well, Jamie tried to look but the view from the cell was pretty limited, all things considered. She'd had better views from the brigs of far less fancy ships than this.

Footsteps approached. Turning back, Rebecca lowered her voice and said in a rush, "Jamie, listen to me for once in your life. You are my friend, and I am going to get you out of this, but you have to do what I say."

Jamie shook her head. "No. Not without her."

Swearing fluently under her breath, Rebecca slammed the section of wall back into place to hide her attempted tampering. She’d only just managed to get everything in place and turn around, when no less than four Czerka guards in green and gold livery marched into sight. All of them were holding blaster rifles and were armoured to boot. They weren’t walking military-grade arsenals like the Republic Troopers from the transport, but they still weren’t people Jamie wanted to fuck with unless she had some serious firepower at her back. Hastily Jamie hid her mining laser in one of her bulky pockets, praying they wouldn’t pat her down. 

“You shouldn’t be down here,” one of them said to Rebecca. 

Rebecca pointed to a corner of the ceiling. “I noticed the cameras were down and came to investigate in case the prisoner managed to escape.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her, then stomped past her to key in a code into the control panel leading to Jamie’s cell. “Next time, alert one of us instead.” 

The plasma bars fizzed out of existence. The leader of this particular pillock squad made a sharp motion to the others, and two of them marched forward, grabbed Jamie by the shoulders, and hauled her upright. 

“Easy does it, lads,” Jamie grumbled. “Could’ve just asked.”

One of them clipped her on the back of the head with his gauntleted fist. “Quiet.” 

After they yanked her hands behind her back and clipped a set of handcuffs around her wrists, they marched her out of the cell. Jamie gave Rebecca the dirtiest glare she possibly could, and Rebecca just rolled her eyes in response, trailing after the group. Two sets of hands remained firm around Jamie’s upper arms as they walked, guiding her further into the depths of the ship. 

When they all crowded into an elevator together, doors sliding shut behind them, a cheerful cantina tune began to play. 

“So,” Jamie ventured. “Don’t suppose anyone’s got a light?” 

No answer. From the corner of her vision, Jamie could just make out Rebecca biting back an ill-timed smile in the back of the elevator. Or maybe she was trying to stop herself from screaming in frustration. Difficult to tell from this angle. 

“Just trying to be neighbourly,” Jamie grumbled.

“Shut up,” said one of the guards whose fingers dug into her arm. 

A light dinged, the music stopped, and the elevator doors opened with a hiss. Jamie couldn’t see beyond the massive frame of the two guards standing in front of her, but soon the four of them were flanking her as they all moved forward, leading her onto the bridge of what appeared to be Peter Quint’s flagship. 

Or at least, that was what Jamie assumed. And given that Peter Quint was standing at the head of the bridge, she reckoned she wasn’t too far off the mark. 

His hands were clasped behind his back and he faced away, looking out through the transparisteel windows at the sleek fore of the ship pointing into space, surrounded by a veritable fleet of other vessels that looked like they were on direct loan from the Empire. The long hems of Peter’s dark coat brushed his ankles, but he did not turn around or indeed take any notice of the new arrivals. In fact, he seemed engaged in deep conversation with someone whom Jamie could not see. The light glinted off one of his hands, the metal dark of his cybernetic limb dark. If Jamie hadn’t been looking for it, she might have mistaken it for a glove of some sort. 

The bridge split into three segments, the centre being command ending in a . Two of the guards veered off to the left, while another marched straight forward to address Peter. The last kept a firm hold of Jamie’s arm and hauled her off to the right, circling around while Rebecca trailed behind them, silent. As they went, Jamie got a better view of exactly who Peter was talking to, and she started.

“Dani -” 

The guard yanked at Jamie’s arm to keep her on course, and the three of them stopped at the head of the right wing, separated from command by a pit sunk into the floor, where engineers and pilots and God only knows who else toiled away pressing buttons or something. Jamie had no idea what was required to run a ship this size. Armed men, apparently, for that constituted the majority of people on the bridge. Guards at the doors. Guards at the helm. Guards along the walls.

Dani’s wrists weren’t bound with handcuffs, but she was kneeling on the ground as if she’d fallen there, and her cheek bore a bruise that was already starting to go purple. Her shoulders were hunched around her ears, and she was leaning away from Peter. When Jamie had spoken, Dani’s eyes flicked in her direction then widened. She opened her mouth as if to answer, but snapped it shut once more, wringing her hands together in her lap. She was not wearing the lightsabre anywhere on her person. 

Peter had tilted his head to listen to whatever report the guard was delivering to him. He nodded and the guard went away with a sharp salute. And then he turned to look at Jamie. 

“Jamie,” he said, “It’s been a minute.”

“Yeah, not nearly enough,” Jamie muttered. 

The guard cuffed her again. Not enough to bruise, but enough to sting. On the other side of her, Jamie saw Rebecca’s hand tighten into a fist. 

If Peter seemed at all troubled by this exchange, he did not show it. “You’ve led us on a bit of a merry chase, you know. Could’ve saved me the trouble and just let me have her back on Telos IV.” 

Nodding towards Dani, Jamie said, "Since when do you care about dead Jedi? Or bounties for that matter? You’re rolling in credits."

Peter let out a bark of laughter. "About - what?" He looked down at Dani, saw the stricken expression on her face, and then he smiled that sickly sweet smile of his. "Oh, I see."

Dani did not move. She did not speak.

When Peter continued speaking, it was not to Jamie. “No, it’s not credits I’m after. Or Jedi. But you know that. Don’t you, darling?” He crouched down before Dani, who shrank back from him. His voice was soft when he said, "You know what I want. Just give it back, love, and you can be on your way. I'll even give you your own personal escort back to Alderaan with enough credits to drown yourself in. How does that sound?"

Dani blinked up at him in surprise. Then her eyes darted in Jamie's direction.

Peter followed her gaze, and Jamie wanted to burn the smirk off his smug fucking face. "Ah, no," he said, turning back to Dani. "I'm afraid that one stays with me."

Dani licked at her lips and straightened her shoulders. "You let her go, or I won’t give it to you."

From this angle Jamie couldn't see the expression on Peter's face. His broad shoulders held a barely restrained tension, as though on the cusp of explosive movement. And when he spoke, even the gentle softness of his voice was a lie, "Very well. You have my word."

Don't, Jamie wanted to shout in warning. Don't do it.

Slowly, Dani reached into her cloak and unpicked a section of the lining, revealing a makeshift hidden pocket. She rummaged around then pulled something out and set it on the floor. Jamie strained to get a better look. Her captor kneed her roughly in the back for her trouble, and she would've gone face first into the ground if not for the hand in her hair yanking her back so that she remained upright.

It didn't stop her from catching a glimpse of what was being exchanged, however. Shards of metal, black gold. All in pieces, like a disassembled puzzle.

Peter was silent. He stared down at the pieces Dani had placed at his feet. Then in a smooth motion he stood, pushing himself upright to loom over her. 

"Do you think this is funny?" he asked in that too quiet, too dangerous tone.

Eyes wide, Dani shook her head. "No, I -"

Peter kicked the pieces away with a vicious swipe of his foot, and Dani flinched back with a startled cry. He darted forward and seized a handful of her cloak.

"Where is it?" he snarled.

"That's - That's all I have! The box fell apart after I touched it, I swear!"

Peter's hand tightened around the fabric, pulling up so that Dani was held slightly off the ground by the scruff of her neck, her feet scrambling for purchase on the metal flooring. "Box?" he repeated. "I'm not asking about a fucking toy box! Where is the holocron?"

"The -? The what?"

With a vicious curse, he threw her back onto the ground. Dani caught herself on her hands with a hiss of pain, and she flinched back when Peter began to circle her. 

"Don't play dumb," he said. "You know what I'm after."

"I don't -"

"You think I'm fucking blind? You think a piece of shit nobody from a backwater in Alderaan can kill a Jedi? You think you just woke up one day with powers?" He stalked around her, his expression a mask of fury. "You are nothing. You are nobody. You're not Force sensitive. You're a puppet. Just a piece of meat to house something greater, and you don't even fucking know it!"

The deck fell silent but for the beep of electronics, the rustle of fabric as pilots kept the ship on course. Jamie darted a look towards Rebecca, but her face was carefully blank and guarded, her thumb hooked through the belt of her blaster pistol in a way that Jamie knew meant she was actually nervous about something. None of which boded well.

“I was so close,” Peter was saying, and he didn’t even seem to be talking to Dani anymore. His words were a ranting mutter, wrathful and desperate. The metal of his robotic arm clicked in a menacing fashion every time he clenched his hand into a rhythmic fist. “This was it. This was my last run. The last deed I’d ever have to do for those evil cocksuckers on Dromund Kaas. Plant a holocron and be done with it. Be free of the Empire forever. Until you -”

His voice trailed off and his steps slowed to a halt. In the muddy light of the bridge, he was a faceless silhouette. He clenched his metal fist so tightly that it creaked and sparked. Dani shivered on the ground at his feet, her shoulders hunched, as though she were trying to make herself small enough to disappear. 

“You went snooping. You took something that didn’t belong to you. And I need it back. No matter the price.” In a swift movement, Peter crouched down on his haunches again. Dani flinched back, but Peter merely watched her for a long and uncomfortable moment before he continued, “So, what’s it going to be?”

From where she stood, Jamie could just make out the defiant set of Dani’s jaw. 

Sighing, Peter reached out and tucked a stray curl of hair behind Dani’s ear, while Dani sat, frozen in place. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t like hurting people,” he said. “Always the worst way of going about it. And, you know, it just doesn’t work as well as you’d think. So, tell me. What’s your price? Hmm? What do I have to do to get you to talk?” 

When again Dani did not answer, Peter withdrew his hand. “Normally I’m a patient man, but as we live and breathe, there’s a Dark Lord of the Sith coming our way. If you don’t deal with me, then you’ll be dealing with him. And I assure you: you want to be dealing with me instead.” 

Licking her lips, Dani said, “I already told you everything I know.” 

“Well, that is disappointing.”

Jamie tried to shift her feet slightly so she could get a better angle on the rest of the bridge, but the guard behind her kicked her in the back of the knee. When she went down with a grunt of pain, her knee slamming into the ground, the guard then yanked her back up by the handcuffs behind her with enough force she felt her arm sockets complain. 

“Get up,” the guard growled, and Jamie shot him a look that should have dropped him on the spot. 

The brief commotion drew Peter and Dani’s attention back in this direction. Peter pushed himself upright and turned, while Dani’s panicked gaze moved from him to Jamie and back again. 

“Or maybe I’m going about this the wrong way,” Peter murmured. He walked slowly across the bridge towards Jamie.  

“Even if I did know something, you and I both know I’d rather cut out my own tongue than tell you,” Jamie spat. The guard tightened his hold on her handcuffs, but she pinned him in place with a fierce glare and said, “Touch me again, and I’ll end you, mate.” 

Peter held up his hand before the guard could react. When Jamie faced him once more, Peter was close enough that she could see the thin scar on his cheek. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been the one to give it to him. She didn’t know where in his sordid past he’d gotten it. 

The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile that never touched his eyes. “Oh, Jamie. I never thought you actually knew something. You’re much too simple to get sensible answers before leaping to a lost cause.” 

In spite of herself, Jamie’s gaze darted to Dani who was watching their interaction with naked dread. 

Peter followed her gaze and grinned. “Aye,” he said. “That’s the one.” 

And without further ado, he drew his blaster pistol, pointed it at Jamie, and shot her. The smell of burnt flesh was an afterthought to the blinding pain that sent her vision white. Jamie staggered, keeling slowly over the charred wound low in her abdomen just above her hip. Something cold was pressed against her face, and it was with a blurred realisation that Jamie found herself lying on the floor. She blinked through the muzzy borders of her vision, trying to move and only managing to gurgle weakly. 

Right. Bad idea, that. 

At least blaster fire didn’t allow for my bleeding. Mass internal burn trauma, yes, but she wasn’t about to bleed out on the floor. Every breath was a sharp lance through Jamie’s stomach. She pushed herself into a crouch on all fours, registering the commotion around her as if experiencing it through water. 

“ - Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare -!” 

“Peter, killing her gets you nothing. You should -”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Becs! I won’t be taking orders ever again! Not from you, and especially not from the Empire!”

“Then get what you need, but Jamie doesn’t have it. And neither, it seems, does she.” 

Three sets of boots surrounded her. The guard beside her, and Rebecca standing between her and Peter. As Jamie tilted her head up, Peter started to stalk away. His footsteps were loud against the metal grating of the floor, and he dropped heavily into the captain’s chair at the head of the bridge. He had holstered his pistol and now he reached down to pick up something that had been propped up against the base of the chair. 

He pressed a button, and the lightsabre leapt to life. The blue light scattered across his face. “The holocron isn’t on Alderaan,” Peter said. “We did a very thorough check. Which means you -” he pointed the lightsabre at Dani, who was now standing at the centre of the bridge facing him, “- must have left it somewhere between there and Telos IV.” 

Dani’s expression was dark, her hands were trembling fists at her side. 

With a sigh, Peter sheathed the lightsabre and set it on the arm of his chair. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs so that his ankle was propped on his opposite knee. Addressing the guard beside Jamie, he said, “Rebecca’s right Jamie doesn’t know anything of use. Take her to the lower decks and throw her out the airlock.” 

The guard did not even say an affirmative. He simply hauled Jamie to her feet, and began dragging her back towards the exit despite Rebecca’s protests. 

“Leave her alone.” 

There was something wrong with Dani’s voice. An odd burr, a hard quality that did not suit her. She still had her gaze fixed upon Peter, but something in the way she spoke made every person in the room tense. The guard shoving Jamie along froze, looking back towards Peter for further instruction. 

There was an internal pressure building in Jamie’s chest, something like desperation, like the acrid aftertaste of gunmetal and blasterfire. All around them, the wall panels groaned. A few crumpled beneath the strain. Rupture of pipe and control panels, and with a screech of metal on metal all the lights on the bridge went out. Steam from the burst pipes billowed along the floor. Every guard in the room — even Jamie’s — raised their weapon towards Dani, glancing nervously around. Moments later, the emergency lighting flickered to life, illuminating the deck with a faint glow. 

Quint’s face was cast from below. Unlike the others, he had not moved, remaining slouched on his captain’s chair like a low-slung throne. He smiled at Dani. “Was that supposed to impress anyone?” 

Dani reached out her hand and the sabre that had been resting on the arm of Peter’s chair was in Dani’s grasp before Jamie could even blink, as though it had leapt into place there. With a press of her thumb, the blade extended, slicing a blue line through the gloom. The air was cold, so cold that Jamie could see her own breath misting in a cloud, and the icy fear that had twisted in her chest was a thing now slicked with darkness. A treachery of black ice beneath every step. 

She watched, handcuffed and helpless, as Dani gripped the sabre so tightly that her hands shook. One of Dani’s eyes gleamed gold and bright, unblinking, fixed upon Peter, and from the hilt a crimson light peeled down the length of the blade, a slow and burning bleed of kyber, until the sabre was completely engulfed in a light as red as a dying star. 

“Open fire,” Peter said, voice trembling, face pale, staring at her with wide eyes. He jabbed his finger in Dani’s direction and repeated in a shout to the room at large, “Open fucking fire!”

Over a dozen guardsmen sighted down their blaster rifles and began shooting. The lightsabre was a living thing in Dani’s hands. It moved in ways Jamie had only ever seen in training manuals, in the hands of Knights and Masters. No motion wasted. Every angle of the blade made with surety of purpose. 

Four guards were dead by their own reflected blaster fire before they could even manage to pull the trigger a second time. Dani reached out, and four others had their rifles ripped from their hands, the weapons warping into useless hunks of metal and cast aside. One of the guards stationed at the exit raced forward, pulling out a long knife that had been strapped to his thigh. Dani did not even pause in deflecting incoming blaster fire; she swept the lightsabre behind her, passing the hilt between her hands and bringing it back around. Half of the guard’s severed body went careening into the control pit, where the pilots and engineers cowered with hands over their heads. The other half skidded to a halt on the floor, dead weight. 

Jamie’s mouth hung open. Blaster fire continued to fly through the air in streaks of red. The guard who had been assigned to her was torn between trying to shoot Dani and trying to keep a hand on his charge. Then Rebecca stepped forward, pressed the muzzle of her pistol to the side of his head, and pulled the trigger. He crumpled into a heap on the ground, and Jamie swore loudly. 

Crouching down, Rebecca grabbed something off the guard’s body and used it to unlock Jamie’s handcuffs. “Don’t just stand there!” Rebecca yelled over the din, and she circled an arm around Jamie’s waist to help her along. “Let’s go!”

The two of them lurched towards the exit. A deflected shot struck the ground beside them, and they ducked down. Smoke and steam filled the air. The smell of blaster fire and burnt flesh was thick enough to make Jamie gag. Cursing under her breath all the while, Rebecca pulled Jamie to the exit, where a guardsman was sprawled, dead on the floor with a hole the size of a fist burnt through his chest. Rebecca had to let go of Jamie for a second to haul the guard closer so she could use his hand to unlock the biosecurity lock on the exit. The panel flashed green, and Rebecca dropped the guard in favour of Jamie again. 

The elevator was eleven floors down and slowly started to ascend. 

“Come on,” Rebecca was muttering under her breath to herself. “Come on, come on, come on -”

Behind them, the blaster fire dwindled to a halt. There was the sound of something heavy and wet falling to the ground. With a thrill of sickening fear gripping her stomach, Jamie turned and felt Rebecca do the same.

The walls were scarred and pitted. A shower of sparks fell from the ceiling where a wall panel had been shot loose. Through the haze of smoke, Jamie could make out the shape of bodies scattered across the floor, and at the very centre of it all Dani stood. 

Her back was to them. She faced the captain’s chair, the lightsabre burning red through the acrid smoke. For a moment it seemed Peter was standing to his feet, but then Jamie realised he was being lifted up. He grasped at his throat with both hands, heels lashing out at the air, making wordless strangled noises, gasping. Then his head snapped to one side with a sickening crack, and he went still. Dani looked up at him and with an almost lazy gesture, tossed him aside. His body slammed into a far wall and fell to the ground in a heap.

Jamie’s pulse skyrocketed when Dani turned around and looked at them. And when Dani started to stalk in their direction, adrenaline coursed through Jamie; every nerve in her body was screaming for her to flee, to hide in some small dark place until this danger had passed over the land like the shadow of night. 

Dani’s cold gaze fell upon Rebecca, and she raised the lightsabre once more. 

“Woah!” Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was the pain doing funny things to her head, but Jamie leapt in front of Rebecca, hands trembling and lifted as though in surrender. “No, no! I mean, yeah, I’m also mad at her, but I don’t want her to die!” 

“Thanks,” muttered Rebecca behind her. 

“Shut up,” Jamie muttered back. 

Dani had gone still, but the weapon was still a gleaming line of bloody crimson held overhead.

“She can get us a cruiser with a hyperdrive,” Jamie said. “We can get out of here. Just - put down the lightsabre? Please?” 

The elevator made a bright ding behind them and the doors slid open. Dani leveled the lightsabre and for a brief terrifying moment Jamie thought she was going to cut it straight through her from shoulder to hip. The blade stopped, pointing at Rebecca just over Jamie’s shoulder, and she made a sharp little gesture with the tip that Jamie could hear burning up the air right next to her ear. 

"Move," Dani ordered softly, and her voice sounded odd. As though there was more than one person speaking in unison.

Rebecca moved, backing slowly into the elevator. Lowering her hands, Jamie followed. Dani watched them with the fixedness of a predator, the air around her cold enough that Jamie shivered when Dani stepped into the small enclosed space with them. The lightsabre still seared in Dani’s fist, pointed towards the ground. Rebecca hit a button for hangar bay three, and the doors of the elevator shut with a hiss. 

The elevator started its descent. If this had been any other time, Jamie might have been tempted to reach out, gently grasp Dani’s wrist and urge her to put the lightsabre away. But this was not any other time, and there was nothing of the woman Jamie had grown to know over the last week in Dani’s face now. She stared blankly at the shut elevator doors, never blinking.

They arrived at hangar bay three and Rebecca immediately rushed over to the console that controlled access to the ship docked just beyond the hangar doors. She hooked something into the base of the console, making the screen flicker before giving her full admin privileges. As she started keying in the right commands, Jamie walked up beside her. 

Dani drifted behind her, blade in hand, completely silent. It felt like being followed by a mute ghost. 

Whatever Rebecca did worked. The hangar doors unlatched, turned, then slowly opened to reveal the sleek polished interior of a luxury cruiser yacht. Jamie stepped into the yacht’s entryway and looked around at the gleaming walls. Finally, Dani hit the button to sheathe the lightsabre and brushed past Jamie without a glance in her direction, vanishing around a corner of the cruiser. The brief contact made Jamie shiver. 

“Right. Okay,” said Jamie, hand pressing on the wound at her abdomen, still jittery from that feeling of being prey in the sights of something with very big teeth. She turned to Rebecca. “Fuck you, I guess?” 

From behind the console, Rebecca smiled weakly at her. “I suppose I deserve that. Does this mean I owe you a favour?”

“The biggest favour,” Jamie said gravely. “Like - seriously huge.”

“Until next time, then. Oh, and Jamie?” Rebecca said, and Jamie paused to glance back at her. “Don’t die.” 

Swallowing thickly, Jamie nodded, then Rebecca hit the button to shut the doors.  

Easier said than done.

[puckyess]

4 Times His Teammates Said “I Love You” + 1 Time He Did | Ryder Donovan

S/o to @penaltbox for being my favorite brainstorm partner and encouraging the hell out of me. Inspo: @that-fandom-stuck-in-your-head 

I found the one TikTok that was deleted, so now all TikToks are linked!!

** FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED **

Words: 7.5k

Shay Donovan 

You weren’t allowed to have favorites on the team outside of Ryder, but if you did it would be Shay hands down. The relationship you had with him was like that of a brother. He watched out for you and you for him. You’d play the part of his best wingwoman and he supported your relationship with his brother. You’d fight like siblings too. He knew exactly which buttons to press and you knew how to get under his skin. You knew each other well and this is what made you two Ryder’s worst nightmare. You constantly ganged up on him with his brother. You were able to get Ryder to do/fall for just about anything and that made you Shay’s favorite secret weapon.

The boys had some free time this weekend and wanted to make the 5 hour drive to Duluth to spend it on their boat since it would probably be one of the last times they would get to do so with the season ramping up. Ryder’s annoyance for you and Shay began promptly at 6 a.m. He was not a morning person and you definitely weren’t either, but Shay insisted you both get up early so that you get to the boat at a decent time in the day. He did not however, set his alarm for 6 a.m., rather 6 p.m. and was awoken by his brother’s shouts to get out of bed. You, on the other hand, were just running late because you thought you could get ready in a shorter amount of time than was realistic. By the time you and Shay make it down to Ryder, who already has the car packed and ready to go, he’s huffy. “You guys know I hate when you tell me a specific time and then you show up late”.  “Well this should be a fun trip, right Rizzer?”, Shay speaks up with fake enthusiasm. You shoot Shay a look from the front seat as a signal to shut the hell up, to which Ryder appreciates.

The first hour is pretty smooth, not a whole lot of talking going on in the car. Everyone just appreciating the sunrise, or at least that’s what you thought until you glanced in the backseat and saw Shay sound asleep. At your “awh” Ryder moved his eyes from the road to the rear view mirror. “So that’s why it’s been so peaceful”. Even though you laughed you gave Ryder’s hand that was on your thigh a light squeeze. “Don’t be so grumpy Rydes. This is going to be a fun weekend, I just know it”. He can hear the smile in your voice without even looking over and he knows you’re right, flashing you his signature bright smile of his own.

As if he knew he was being talked about, Shay begins to stir. The quietness is disturbed immediately upon his awakening. He takes over the AUX and the road tripping can finally begin. Him and Ryder argue over music, whether to play alternative or country and which has more of a summer vibe, until finally a summer playlist, containing both is chosen. You pick up your phone, scrolling through some Tiktoks when you find one you just have to send to Shay. You watch as he gets the notification and opens it immediately. The music is broken up, replaced with the voice of a guy saying, “Send this to someone you don't like. You look like a rat, and you are so fat. I would be so sad, if i looked like that”. You’re dying laughing in the front seat at the offended look on Shay’s face and the death glare he’s receiving from Ryder. “I hate you” is all Ryder spits out, as this is a regular occurrence in any car ride. You love how you can get Shay in trouble without even really trying and how Ryder only yells at his brother when you’re the one who sent it to him.

The rest of the ride is spent on the highway and though you love the singing of the boys in the car with you, you’re getting pretty bored just watching the trees pass by so you say, “Let’s play a game!”. They both look at you like you’re 12.

“What? It’ll be fun I promise”. They shoot you skeptical looks, but ask what the game is anyway.

“It’s like license plate bingo kind of. You see the type of car first, you call it out and then you get to punch whoever you want”, you say with a shrug.

“Ooo, I like this game”, Shay says rubbing his palms together as he studies the list of “rules” you sent him: Slug bug, no punchbacks. PT Cruiser, get a bruiser. Tacoma, put you in a coma. Kia, wouldn’t wanna be ya, could be substituted with kia kick. Big truck, no luck. Subaru slap. Jeep jab. Honda hit. Train, feel the pain. You read them out loud to Ryder so that he can play too while he drives. Ryder shakes his head as you continue down the list, clearly not as impressed as Shay was.

“Where do you come up with this stuff, Y/N?”, but he agrees to participate nonetheless.

The rest of the ride is now much more exciting, everyone on high alert for a vehicle that would allow them to inflict pain on a passenger. You and Shay are admittedly better and much more active in the game since Ryder has to also pay attention to the road. As a result, he also ends up taking most of the hits, both from you and his brother. Everytime you would excitedly jab him, he’d give you puppy dog eyes. He was easy pickings, as he was right next to you, but the sad eyes did make you choose Shay as your target a little more often.

After Shay slugs Ryder in the arm for about the fifth “Kia, wouldn't wanna be ya”, his personal favorite, Ryder expresses his annoyance for the game. “This is abuse. I can’t even play right since I’m driving. The only person I can hit is Y/N, and unlike some people”, he says, shooting you a look, “I don’t enjoy hitting my significant other”.

You just roll your eyes at him, but Shay is quick to jump in, unhappy that Ryder is squashing his fun. “Awh can widdle brudder not take a few punches? You’re going soft, Ryder” Shay says with his fake baby voice.

You know it grates on Ryder’s nerves like no other so you call the game quits before they engage in an argument in the small space. Luckily, you were just pulling into the drive leading to where the Donovan’s call home. Getting out of the car Shay throws an arm around you, “I liked our game, Y/N. Very fun. We should play it more often”.

You all enter the house long enough to drop off the bags and pack some snacks for the boat. Shay leans over to you. “Want to see something funny?”, he asks with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. You raise your eyebrow at him in response. “I’m going to get Ryder in trouble with only four words”, he promises. You use your hand to gesture him on to whatever it is he has planned.

“OW, Ryder! Ryder, stoppp!” He suddenly yells. Ryder, who was digging through the fridge, turns around, giving Shay a confused look as if to say “Wtf”.

“Ryder, seriously! Stop!”, he continues yelling.

“Knock it off!”, their mom calls down from upstairs. Ryder’s clued into what’s happening now, giving his brother a little shoulder check as he passes him to drop the strawberries on the island, just in time for his mom to come around the corner.

“Ryder stop!”, Shay yells at his brother one last time for good measure.

“Seriously, Ryder? You two are home for not even two minutes and you’re already trying to test my patience? And with a guest in the house. Did I teach you boys nothing?”, she reprimands her sons and you have to hide your smile as Shay’s plan plays out accordingly.

She’s bringing you in for a hug then and eventually her two sons the same. She catches up with the boys for a few minutes, but knows they’re impatient to get to the boat so she doesn’t chat for long.

Once she leaves the room you turn to Shay, “I have to say, I’m impressed. I didn’t think it would be that easy.” Shay has a very pleased smirk on his lips.

“I used to do it when we were kids, all the time. Good to know it still works now too, isn’t that right, Rydes?” he says nudging his brother.

Ryder looks back and forth between you and his brother, shaking his head. “You were in on this? You two are the worst. I’m about to drive back to Wisconsin and leave you both here”, he says with a huff.

Unfortunately for Ryder, your antics with Shay weren’t finished yet. While he was driving the boat, Shay had found a Tiktok that he wanted to make, but he needed your help to do it. You were lounging at the front of the boat when Shay brought it to you, explaining his plan.

“Okay, so I’m going to sit over there and just act like I’m on my phone, but I’m actually going to be filming. You’re going to put your fingers like this”, he says showing you  his thumb and pointer finger touching like in the ok sign, “and then tell him to do that on his chin, but put it on your cheek. “I want to see how many times it’s going to take him to get it right. My bet is 5. You in?”.

You felt bad goading your boyfriend like that, but you knew he was the perfect victim for it. You loved Ryder, but he was a little slow to catch onto things sometimes. The punchline of jokes? Not his thing, he’d get it a few seconds after everyone else and even then, sometimes you weren’t really sure if he even got it then. It was a wonder how he played such a fast paced game and came up with chirps on the fly. Mulling it over once more, you finally nodded your head. “Yeah, I’m in, but $10 says it’s going to take him 8”, you say with a wink.

Shaking on it, he says, “I like the way you think. You have a deal”.

Getting up you go over to your boyfriend, trying not to feel guilty. “Babe, I have a test for you”, you say as innocently as possible.

“And what is that?”, he asks, giving you his full attention.

“Put this,” Showing him the same sign Shay showed you, “on your chin”, demonstrating for him, placing the ok sign on your cheek.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Is this a tiktok or something?” he asked, looking around for your phone. Your eyes widened with fake offence as you pointed to your phone over on your towel. “Babe, do you see me filming? My phone is way over there. It’s fine. Just put this on your chin”, you said, once again demonstrating for him.

He looked around, still suspicious. “You’re not going to hit me right? This isn’t another one of your ‘beat up on Ryder games’?” You shook your head, promising him you wouldn’t even touch him. Satisfied with that, he gave in to your request, like he always did and copied your actions. Meanwhile, Shay was trying his hardest to remain camouflage but his brother’s predictable actions were making it very difficult to not start laughing behind his phone.

You repeated your phrase again, “Put this on your chin” and he again mirrored your movements, putting his ok sign on his cheek and looking at you expectantly. You tried again, enunciating the “this” as you watched him. He again put his fingers on his face.

You tried not to laugh, repeating the phrase, trying to clue him in as you said the words slowly this time. “Put this on your chin.” He studied you real hard this time, but copied your placement exactly with his ok sign on his cheek.

You tried again, “Put this,” showing him your ok sign in front of his face and speaking slowly, “on your chin”. This time the poor boy grabbed your wrist, bringing your ok sign to HIS cheek and waiting for your approval. This time you had to let out a little chuckle and as you glanced over at Shay he was ready to bust a gut trying to hold back his laugh. You tried to compose yourself, as you tried to get your boyfriend to do the simple task.

“Put this on your chin” you practically yelled at him. Even though he was frustrated with what you were saying, he had a big smile on his face because you did. “I’m not fucking stupid” he said through laughs and grabbed your hand with two hands this time and put it on his cheek.

You were really laughing now, pulling your hand away and trying one last time. “Ryder. Put this. On your chin”, you said hoping this time would stick. But nope. The boy really put that okay sign on his damn cheek and really had the audacity to look at you to say he did it right.

You took a deep breath, trying to catch your breath from laughing so hard. “On your chin”, and he just looked at you, processing what you just said and then finally his hand shot to his chin and he started laughing again. “Oh shit”. You started cheering for him and Shay practically exploded from his spot as he fell to the floor laughing.

“Oh my god. That was too good. I’m so posting this”, he said between laughs.

“I believe you owe me 10 bucks, Shay. Pay up”, you responded with your hand out.

Ryder once again was stuck looking between you and Shay. “You set me up!” he accurately accused. “And you BET on it? You bet against me?” he said, turning to you. Seeing the hurt look on his face you felt bad.

“Rydes I didn’t bet against you per say, I just guessed how many times it might take you to catch on to what I was saying. I love you though”, you say as you run your fingers up and down his arms at an attempt to get him to forget your tricks. He’s not pleased with your answer though.

Now you’re pouting and sticking your lip out at him, throwing Shay under the bus. “It was Shay’s idea!”.

“Dude!” Shay exclaims.

You roll your eyes at him, “Oh like he didn’t already know”.

The slight frown on Ryder's face had turned into a small smile as he spoke to Shay. “I can’t believe you turned my own girlfriend on me. You guys are being extra annoying today”.

“It’s all for the tiktok, bahd” Shay answers with a shrug, unbothered by his brother’s annoyance.

You, however, spent the rest of the afternoon trying to suck up to Ryder.

“I hate you,” you said as you passed Shay to get to the cooler to fetch Ryder a drink for the fifth time as part of your penance. Shay just grins up at you, shooting you a wink. “I love you too, my little partner in crime”.

---

The following weekend you’re out with the guys, walking down State Street and a car passes your group. Shay glances at you and then Ryder and an ear splitting grin takes over his features. Lightning fast he hits Ryder, yelling “Lamborghini, hit you in your weenie!”.

You stop in your tracks as your boyfriend doubles over in pain and you double over in hysterics. The guys, as well as the few passerbyers who had heard Shay’s outburst look on in confusion.

As you finally catch your breath you move to help your still struggling boyfriend. You crouch down so you can see his face as you ask if he’s okay, but his grimace tells all. There’s nothing you can really do for him but let him breathe it out so you stand back up, high-5ing Shay. “That was pretty good,” you say shaking your head at the memory of what just happened and your road trip from last weekend.

“How long did it take ya to come up with that one?”.

He proudly announces that he’s been thinking of new ones to add to the list all week.

“Whoever introduced you two was a real idiot and is 100% regretting that decision” Ryder says from his still bent over position. You only offer your hand to help him stand straight in response.

Shay’s animatedly trying to explain the game to the boys, who all seem very excited to play. They spend the rest of the walk to KK punching each other and calling out the phrases as they search the cars lining the sides of the road. You walk a few steps behind them with Ryder leaning on you for a little support and maybe some protection.

“You’ve really created a monster now” he sighs, watching the boys.

All of a sudden he strikes your arm. “PT Cruiser, get a bruiser!”, he hollers and takes off down the street, suddenly fine. He looks back at you with a big grin.

You shake your head, “Smooth, Ryder Donovan, smooth” and you chase after him.

Mike Vorlicky

Being in a group chat with a bunch of hockey players meant that you were no stranger to your phone blowing up with nonsense, but you knew the boys were at practice, as Ryder had left for it 15 minutes ago, so when you heard more pings from your MacBook- 4 in a row to be exact -  all from Mike, you knew something was up. Quickly checking your phone, your brows knit as you read the succession of messages, confirming your suspicion that something was definitely up.

“Y/N! SOS.”

“I know you have your phone, I NEED YOU”

“Come on my ass is about to be shipped back to Edina”

“Y/N! I hate to do this, but Ryder got hurt on the way to practice. I mean like really hurt”.

The messages didn’t make sense, but the last one had you calling Mike immediately.

“Oh, thank God-'' he answered, but you cut him off, wanting to know about the status of your boyfriend.

“What happened? How is Ryder? Where are you?”. The pause on the other end of the line had your heart beating in your ears, filled with anxiety and worry for your boyfriend, at least for a moment.

When you heard “Dude she’s gonna kill you” from Cole in the background, a different emotion filled you.

“Mike Vorlicky, what the HELL is going on?”

Despite the anger and annoyance in your voice, Mike still let out a smug chuckle. “I knew that last one would get you to answer your damn phone. But listen-“

“So he’s fine? Nothing happened?”, you asked just to be sure.

When Mike lets out a nervous chuckle you release the breath that you had been holding. “I should hang up on your ass right now, Vorlicky. You can’t just-“

“No seriously, Y/N this is important. You can yell at me later, but will you pleaseeee, pretty please with a cherry on top please bring me my practice jersey? I was serious about coach shipping me out. This is like the third time. He’s gonna bench me next game and my parents are coming to this one...”.

Even though you were extremely pissed off at him for even speaking into existence your boyfriend getting hurt, you also couldn’t deny him or any of the boys when they needed your help and he knew that. After letting out a groan you asked him where the jersey was and made your way over to his dorm. Getting into his building was scarily easy and the jersey was surprisingly right where he said it would be, laid out on his bed. It’s a wonder how he forgot it.

Minutes later you were pulling up to the practice facility and walking through the glass doors that led to the rink. You were met with cool air and smiling faces. As the boys noticed you began to head your way, but not before Mike rushed over. He was coming so fast he barely had time to stop before he hit the boards and wrapped you in a hug, “I love you so much right now I could kiss you” he said, taking the jersey from your hands.

“Don’t even think about it, Vorlicky” Ryder called to him as he made his way through the boys to give you a quick kiss before the whistle blew signifying practice starting, just in time for Mike to slip the jersey over his gear.

Owen Lindmark

Cooking had never been your thing, still having never really gained that skill even after living on your own. But as much as it was not your best quality, it was even less so for the boys that were about to come crashing through your door any minute. Dating Ryder was amazing and equally as amazing were the 20 other boys who’ve you’ve come to call close friends that came along with him.

You had just gotten an air fryer and were excited to test it out. You’d been promising the boys you’d cook for them for weeks and figured what better time to do so than now. They had a big rematch coming up that weekend against PSU anyway so you had told Ryder to invite some of his teammates over for a mini team dinner.

You were pretty impressed with yourself you had to admit. Not only had you planned a full meal and dessert, you had timed it perfectly so that everything was just about finished as you heard the door unlock.

“Honey, I’m hooommee”, Shay called out as he dropped his bag in the pathway of the others behind him.

You shook your head as you stirred the marinara sauce one last time, knowing that the pet name bugged Ryder even though it was a movie line and he was so obviously joking.

“Dude it smells amazing in here”

“What’re we having?”

“I’m starving”, and curses could all be heard as the crew continued to pour into the apartment, the noise and chaos level instantly rising.

You cleared your throat and very dramatically tapped your spoon on your wine glass to gather the boys’ attention.

”First of all, everyone is to wash their hands before eating, please and thank you. Salad is already on the table. You guys can grab yourselves a plate, the pasta is over by the sink, the sauce is right next to it and then the chicken’s already been cooked in the air fryer so it follows your guys’ diets (kind of) and parmesan melted on it so you can just put that on top of the pasta. I have bread in the oven that I’ll bring out when it’s done. Oh and dessert for when everyone’s ready”. You barely finished your spiel before the boys were shoving each other to get in line.

Shay of course had battled his way to the front of the line, claiming seniority, Mike unsurprisingly behind him, followed by Lex, Owen, Cole and Dylan. For being as large as Dylan was, he had been easily bullied to the end of the line. Ryder stuck around, wrapping you in a hug and placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“You’re amazing for doing this. The boys haven’t shut up about it all week. You really went all out didn’t you, babe?” He asked with a proud smile on his face. His little acknowledgment coupled with how proud he looked made you blush. You knew he wasn’t lying about the boys obsessing over this meal either, as you had been receiving daily texts from each of them about it.

“Don’t get too excited, you haven’t even tasted anything yet. What if it’s the worst Chicken parm, you’ve ever tasted in your life?” You asked pouring on the dramatics. It was your first time using the air fryer after all, you had no idea how it would turn out and you were a bit nervous, but had warned the boys ahead of time that they may be ordering pizza instead.

Your disclaimer was countered by moans coming from the living room, a chorus of them actually. You and Ryder share a look before busting out laughing. “I guess there’s your answer for ya.” He replies, followed by a “No one better be having sex out there”.

You shoo him along so that he can eat with his friends and you can grab the bread out of the oven. After slicing it and putting it on a plate you deliver it to the vultures in your living room and prop yourself on the armrest of Ryder’s chair, rubbing his back as he eats.

The boys don’t stop gushing about your cooking as they continue to shovel food in their mouths. “This is seriously- the best meal- no, scratch that- food- I’ve had in months”, Cole says between bites.

“Hey, I just made you that really good burger and Mac cheese thing last week and you gave it 5 stars!” Dylan protests.

You and Owen lock eyes and instantly start laughing. “Dyl, did it come in a red box with a glove on the front?” You ask, still giggling. His eyes light up, happy that you recognize it and he nods.

“Dude, that’s Hamburger Helper!” Owen howls.

“And an insult to Y/N’s cooking”, Alex chimes in.

”Even this salad is more gourmet than Hamburger Helper, sorry bro”, Cole adds.

At this point everyone’s laughing at Dylan’s expense, yourself included. He’s immediately apologetic, hoping he didn’t truly insult your cooking, which just eggs the boys on assuring him that he did in fact insult you.

“Yeah, that’s like comparing Wayne Gretzky and Shay in hockey, but for cooking”, Mike chirps, feeling the need to get involved.

”Nice one Mikey. Dylan fucks up, but let’s roast Shay”, Shay retorts.

You grin, loving being a part of the relaxed banter that’s going on but wave them off. Dylan attempts to grumble out his weak defense, claiming that he’s from Canada and didn’t know about Hamburger Helper, just making you giggle harder.

“Okay, okay okay,” you say in an attempt to calm yourself and the room down. You were wiping tears from your eyes. “I’m going to go get the dessert so you clowns can get out of my apartment”.

Once in the kitchen you opened the cabinet by the fridge and felt around for the plate of brownies you knew you’d hidden up there so that the boys, specifically your boyfriend, wouldn’t pick at them before dinner. You felt a pair of hands on your hips. You had expected it to be your boyfriend, but with his body slightly pressed against yours you knew it wasn’t him.

“Need some help?”, the voice confirmed your thoughts. It was Owen.

“Please”, you said, accepting his offer.

He grinned once he pulled the plate down and saw the perfectly proportioned brownies. You had used one of those baking pans that had individual brownie shapes so that every piece had four edges, the best part and Ryder’s favorite.

“I love these, my mom makes ‘em like that. Smart to keep these hidden from Ryder”, he says with a wink. Though his tone is light toward the end with the little chirp at Ryder, you don’t miss the hint of sadness that laced his voice in the beginning. And he doesn’t miss the look of concern on your face either.

He puts the plate down and leans against the counter. “I love you for doing this tonight. I really can’t thank you enough. I needed this, the laughs, the home cooked meal”, he confesses, running a hand through his hair.

“Missing home a little extra?” You ask, knowing exactly how he feels.

”You could say that. I know the guys and I don’t say it enough, but we love you and appreciate how much you take care of us and keep us sane. What you do for Ryder is obvious, but stuff like this that you do extra for us, making a really good dinner and dessert, always letting us hang out here, and come to you with our problems. It means a lot”.

Not really having words for all that he’d just told you, but wanting to show him you really did care for him too, you wrapped your arms around him and gave him a good squeeze.

“Awh, O. I don’t know what to say. You and the boys are like family to me. You always have a second home here.” The sentimental moment is broken up by Mike shouting about dessert and someone telling him to shut up and stop being rude.

“I guess we better get this dessert to the boys so they can get out of your hair”, he says grinning.

Before letting him go you pull back and say, “Tell your mom I said hi when you call her later”. He picks the plate of brownies back up and you make your way toward the rowdy group occupying your living room.

“You know me too well. But I surely will let her know. I’m sure she’ll appreciate you keeping me alive”, he says with a chuckle.

Dylan Holloway

Everyone was huddled close together in the dimly lit booth as it came down to just Roman and Dylan, each with two fingers on the full pitcher in the middle of the table. The two boys were half out of their seats staring each other down. Roman had a smug smirk on his face as he watched Dylan sweat it out across from him, his mind clearly going a mile a minute.

The guys had just swept PSU and were definitely feeling themselves tonight. They decided to opt for the usual celebratory tradition of KK and Fingers, a game that Dylan was historically terrible at.

It was Dylan’s turn and he was still shaking his head, both at himself for overthinking a simple drinking game and at Roman who was continuously chirping him, which was not helping him decide. He only hoped the winning luck of the night would continue as he began counting down, “Three, two, one - two!”, Roman yanked one finger off the pitcher as Dylan left his two on, for a total of three fingers.

The team erupted as Dylan threw his hands in the air, “Fuck! I always lose this stupid, fucking game”.

“Drink up, bud!”, Roman chided him, pushing the pitcher closer to him on the table.

Dylan just groaned and stared at the full pitcher of unknown alcohol with a grimace.

“Come on, Dyl, you know the rules. Or at least you should, you’ve lost enough times by now”, Shay chirped from behind him. You felt bad for the guy because Shay wasn’t wrong. Of the handful of times you had watched and played the game, Dylan had lost all but maybe twice.

“You’re right Shay, maybe we should spice it up this time, eh? What do we think boys?” Mike suggests with a devilish smile and a rub of his palms. You don’t miss the look that he shares with Roman and your eyes narrow in on the boy who suddenly has a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Dylan, I dare you to go ask that girl for her number”, he challenges, nodding toward a blonde who had been looking over at the group.

Following his gaze you notice who exactly it is that he pointed out and you choke on your drink. You want to stop Dylan before he makes a fool out of himself, but he easily gulps down the pitcher and quickly makes his way over to the girl waiting for him. You can’t get your words out as you’re sputtering and coughing from your drink.

When you finally catch your breath you give Roman a shove and hiss “Fuck you Ro. What’re you doing? Aren’t you talking to that girl?”. He doesn’t answer, just shrugs as he watches on with a smirk plastered on his face, as if he knows exactly what is going to happen. Ryder nudges you in confusion at your little interaction with his teammate. Moving closer to him you filled him in on the unknown drama that was going on. “I played wingwoman for Roman a couple weeks ago so that he could pick up this same girl. Of course with my 90% success rate, he got her and I guess kept her. He’s been texting me about her all week”.

Suddenly understanding, he said “You have to go save D. The guys will never let him live this down” and you knew he was right. A freshman hitting on an older guy’s girl? Even if it was on a dare and even if her and Roman were just talking, it would still be embarrassing on Dylan’s part and chirp content for the team for the weeks to come.

So with a flip of your hair and a pat to Roman’s head you strode over to where Dylan was flirting with the blonde. He was really pulling out all the stops trying to earn this girl’s number, you had to give him that. You would even say that it actually appeared to be going well, but judging by the look that was on Roman’s face, you knew it wouldn’t end well.

“Excuse me, mind if I borrow him real quick? No? Ok great, thanks! I’ll give him back in just a second!”. You gripped his wrist with both hands and all but yanked him off the barstool until he was stumbling toward you, very confused. Once you were a few feet away, you steadied him with your hands. He was clearly annoyed with you.

“What the hell, Y/N? what’re you doing? I need to get back there. Things were actually going well”.

“And you will, D just listen to me for a second. I’m trying to help you here”.

“Help me? What’re you talking about?”.

“Dylan, Roman’s been talking to that girl for weeks now. He’s just trying to set you up because he knows she won’t actually give you her number because she’s with him so you end up coming back to the table empty handed and the guys can chirp you for weeks about trying to get with Roman’s girl”.

Realization washed over his face as he took in the situation. He glanced over at Roman’s now displeased but confused face and back at the girl who was seemingly waiting for him to return to the empty seat next to her.

“Whatever you have to do to get that number Dylan Holloway, do it. You can’t come back to that table empty handed, got it?”. He nodded furiously. “Good boy. Now go charm her pants off!” And with that you sent him on his way and returned to the group, all of whom were looking at you with quizzical faces.

You just shrugged it off saying, “He just wanted me to check if he smelled like beer. I guess she hates that stuff, only drinks Claws.” With that, Roman shoots you a look, knowing that was a load of shit and a jab at him. Her hatred of beer and love for white claws had been one of the many “fun facts” he had shared with you over the week. His attention turns as the guys erupt once again in cheers as the girl plants a kiss on Dylan’s cheek and sends him back to your table. He smiles victoriously as he stops in front of Roman. “I hope you don’t mind sharing your girl, she seems pretty into me”, he says and drops the napkin with her phone number on it on the table in front of Roman. The “ooos” and hollers from the boys are golden, but pale in comparison to the look on Roman’s face. Ryder fist bumps him and Dylan leans in to give your hand a squeeze, “I love you so much for that. The look on his face? Totally worth it. Really saved my ass. I owe you”.

+1

Ryder wasn’t one to overuse the phrase “I love you”. He held great value in those three words and reserved them for times when it was just the two of you or for when the moment deemed necessary. Today was one of those moments.

He had gotten home from practice early to find you out on his balcony wrapped in a blanket and your computer on your lap. He hadn’t thought much of it as he shed his bag and went to wash his hands and make a snack, but the door was cracked and he could hear a familiar laugh that wasn’t yours. He stopped what he was doing and listened for it again. As if right on cue, his baby sister’s laugh found his ears. He debated with himself whether or not he should make his presence known. Curiosity eventually winning out, he decided to wait it out and see what his two favorite girls were talking about. He’d be lying if he said his heart wasn’t ready to burst at seeing you voluntarily FaceTiming his baby sister.  

His snack forgotten, he sat himself on the couch out of view and just listened and watched. He watched the way your hair fluttered with the breeze, how you focused your attention on the girl on the screen, and nodded your head in agreement with whatever she was saying. He watched the way you interacted with his sister and couldn’t deny the feeling that was consuming him.

Even more so he watched the way Clara’s face lit up as you spoke to her, a look he’d seen before, one she reserved for her big sister. It was one of idolization, respect, and love. He watched her smile and her head tip back as she laughed with you like you were her best friend. Mostly he watched as the two of you had become part of each other’s lives in a way he hadn’t even known.

He listened to the beautiful sound of your laugh mix with hers and to the way both of your voices were so animated with each other. He listened as you spoke naturally with her, your kindness genuine instead of just treating her as some little kid. He knew she hated that but had unfortunately had her share of heartbreak by girls who only used her to get to him. He hated that he had caused her any kind of pain, but loved that you had somehow found a way to right his mistakes. He knew right then and there that he’d never take you away from her and she wouldn’t let him.

His thoughts were broken up by you reentering the apartment.

“Having a stalker moment there, Rydes?”, you ask him with eyebrows raised.

Deflecting the question, he clears his throats and instead asks what you guys were talking about. “Didn’t you hear the whole conversation already?”, you tease him. He just rolls his eyes, so you divulge as you pull stuff out to make dinner.

“We were just checking in. She was making sure you were still alive, taking your vitamins, treating me right, our usual. She had some drama stuff, but V is busy getting stuff ready for the baby so she didn’t want to bother her. Oh, and we’re planning your sister’s baby shower! Well, Clara’s in charge but she wanted my opinion on some details”.

The feeling he had before as he watched you two only intensified as he discovered what you had actually been talking about.

“What do you mean your usual?”

You’d stopped adding ingredients to the pot as you looked up at him, realizing you had just let Ryder in on something you hadn’t planned on. “Um. You know how you FaceTime Clara every week? Well uh, I do too...that’s ok right? That’s not like weird?”

He processed the information you had just told him. You actually took the time out of your busy life to get in touch with his sister every single week and were asking him if that was ok? He hadn’t even imagined you doing that, but you continued to amaze him. The smile he gave you was so warm and full of love. “Of course that’s okay. I love that you do that and I’m sure she does too. I saw the way she looks at you, you know. The same way she looks at V.” Your heart swells at his comment and you almost start crying on the spot.

“So she’s coming to you with drama huh? Anything I should know about?”. You laugh and default to “girl code” aka Ryder doesn’t get any deets. Despite his best efforts, including puppy dog eyes, he doesn’t get anything out of you.

“You’re MY girlfriend, you can’t let my sisters convert you to their side already” he whines.

You laugh and respond with “Well would you rather I convert to your brother’s side? I’m sure Shay could pitch a good argument.” He looks offended that you’d even say such a thing and grumbles out a “no”.

After he’s decided he’s done pouting he comes around the counter and wraps his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his face into your hair. “You told Clara I treat you well, right?” He questions, still thinking about your conversation with her. You’re surprised to detect nervousness in his question and that he’d even ask that. Turning in his arms you answer him, wanting him to see the conviction in your face when you say “Of course, Ryder. You don’t ever need to doubt that, baby”. He looks relieved and surprises you again with a confession.

“Good. I want Clara to see how she should be treated. What good love looks like, a healthy relationship, ya know?”.

Tears start form in your eyes and it takes you a second to find your voice. Eventually you do and you gently pull his face down to yours, running  your thumb over his cheek. You melt over the way he leans into your touch. Even though your voice is barely above a whisper, it’s strong as you tell him, “You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been. You show me what love is everyday and inspire me to be better for you and for me. You are such a role model to her Ryder. When she looks at us, I promise you all she will see is genuine, pure love.”

His heart is beating so hard as he absorbs your words. He takes your wrist and pulls your hand to his lips. He kisses your palm then cups your face in his hands, bringing your foreheads together. His own eyes are glassy and throat thick as he tries to put what he’s feeling into words that will convey the same amount of strength and emotion. “Every time I think ‘she can't get any better’ you surprise me. Well not surprise me because I’m not surprised you get better, but- fuck! I can’t get my words out right now.” He can feel you smiling and takes it as a sign to keep going.

“What I’m trying to say is you keep loving me and showing me that you love me in new ways that I didn't even know existed. You’re always taking care of me before games, after games and practices. Even just asking about practice and my day and coming to my games, waiting up for me after road trips. The highs of winning and you right there with me are amazing, but what I love most and what are even better are when you sit there and watch us lose, me lose and you just know how to deal with me afterwards. I can’t tell you how much it helps me to have you hold me after a game or offer dessert or just let me bitch about it. The lows are better because you still want me after. Like even if I couldn’t play hockey anymore, you’d still want me. You still believe in me to do better next game. You inspire me to be better. Off the ice especially”, he takes a deep breath then and as badly as you want to say something, you don’t interrupt him knowing he still has more to say. 

“You’ve shown me what it feels like to be loved. Really, truly loved. You take care of my friends, regardless of what they need and you do so out of the goodness of your heart. Watching you with my family, I can’t ever imagine you being anywhere else but a part of my family, Y/N. The fact that my favorite people in the entire world love you makes me so happy I can’t even describe it. You’re FaceTiming my baby sister of your own free will, planning a baby shower with her for my other sister? You keep up with Shay and get Boden out of his shell. I couldn’t dream it up better if I tried. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but somehow I was blessed with you and I swear to you, promise you I will never stop loving you, ok? I love you with my whole heart and then some, Y/N”.  

The tears are absolutely streaming down your face and into his hands and his into yours. The moment had gotten so intense and so fast. These were rare between you two, preferring to keep the relationship light and fun, but occasional moments like this where you attempted to pour your whole heart and soul into each other would occur and you were left breathless every time. But of course, you couldn’t resist a good chirp.

“You’re gonna have a hard time topping that for a proposal, Donovan”.

[buzzyandbadatmath]

Dancing Around the Point(Hunter x Jedi!reader)

warning: feelings of guilt, mentions of death, fluff hehe

1.5k words

Traveling with the Bad Batch was fun at times. A group that consisted of such contrasting personalities that complimented the other’s so perfectly, as well as fighting alongside each other since they were created. It made for some fun but also scary situations, the kind of stuff you joke about years later that you reminisce over despite being terrifying in the moment. While those moments were common in your line of work, they were almost every day occurrences with Clone Force 99.

Though with all the excitement, moments where everyone could leave their guard down and just enjoy some semblance of normalcy were extremely rare. Moments like those held a special place in your heart.

Sometimes you felt guilty for indulging yourself with these moments. You were fighting for a cause that was bigger than any one individual, and people were dying while you were sitting there laughing at Wrecker awkwardly attempt to dance around small bantoins. The guilt started getting to you, and your expression slowly drained into dread. Your grip on your cup of bantoberry gin tightened and you took a sip to try to drown out the intrusive thoughts.

Hunter, who was sitting next to you, noticed your sudden change in body language and instantly became concerned. He knew you were prone to feeling guilty whenever you were starting to have a genuinely enjoyable moment, so he figured that must be what caused your mood switch. “Hey,” he nudged your shoulder. “General, I’ve got a question.” Hearing Hunter’s voice gave you a spike of adrenaline which you cursed before turning to meet his gaze. “What is it Sergeant?” You asked. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “So, what’s the heaviest thing you’ve ever lifted with the force?” He asked, trying to get your attention onto something more lighthearted.

The question was unexpected, and you wondered what the purpose of his question was but you decided to indulge him. “Uh, maybe a cruiser cannon?” You said, unsure of your answer. The story behind that was one long before you had met Clone Force 99, when you were just a padawan. “What? When was this?” Hunter questioned. You smiled at how invested he was, turning your whole body to tell him this rather short but exciting story from your past.

Life started seeping back into you as you relayed the story to your friend. His bellowing laughter in response to the more silly parts of your story attracted more listeners. The rest of the batch and some Bantoins decided to hear you ramble, and while you appreciated the audience, you were mostly just talking to Hunter.

“And all I had was a blaster and a minute of oxygen left on in my tank to take down the separatist battleship, so I did the first thing that I thought of.” Using your hands to simulate your actions during that moment, relishing in the engagement of your listeners. “With the force, I tore a nearby cannon from the cruiser that was about to crash into a nearby star and hurled it towards the separatist ships, destroying the entire fleet and causing considerable damage to the bridge.” As the crowd clapped at your retelling of your valiant efforts that ended one of the early battles of the war you caught Hunter giving you a look of playful skepticism with his arms crossed.

The crowd dispersed and you turned to look at Hunter. “What? Don’t like my story?” You said as you used the force to bring your refilled cup to your hand and taking a sip. “I did, but I find it hard to believe you singlehandedly took down an entire separatist fleet as a padawan.” He raised his eyebrow and you laughed. “Well I may have added a few... embellishments to keep the story exciting.” He rolled his eyes and took a swig of his drink. “Aren’t Jedi supposed to be humble?” He asked. “Well... an unorthodox Jedi paired with an unorthodox team of clone troopers is bound to break a few rules for the sake of excitement.”

While you had no intention of insinuating anything with that answer, it sure sounded like it, and you weren’t sure if Hunter picked up on it’s possible double meaning. To be blunt you would leave the order at the drop of a hat if it meant you could spend the rest of your life with the sergeant. The order was like a family to you, and you would do anything for your fellow Jedi, but there were just too many rules that, in your opinion, lead to the creation of so many sith lords, and you’re not going to put the order before your own mental health and the ones you cared about.

Hunter on the other hand was SO DAMN OBLIVIOUS to your advances. Seriously, you’d think someone who could literally sense electromagnetic frequencies and had enhanced senses could recognize that someone had a crush on him, but it was apparent that he was so perceptive about everything but anything that had to do with him.

You’ve kind of came to the conclusion that if he did like you, you would have to do a big gesture in order to tell him, but you were too scared of rejection to do anything more than subtly flirt with him.

The rest of the batch watched with amusement as their brother continued to be so hopelessly blind to your advances. Crosshair was particularly annoyed by it and made throwaway comments to the two of you as you interacted in hopes to end the painfully awkward stage of your relationship. Tech wasn’t interested but would occasionally made comments thinking they were obvious observations but instead made the two of you panic and try to change the subject. Wrecker outright teased the two of you while Echo just watched in silence.

Echo wanted the two of you to be together, so sometimes he would “accidentally” push the two of you together, or lock you into a tight space. He was just being a good wingman. Today he planned to get the two of you to dance together at least once.

He was about to go suggest the two of you to start dancing when he noticed you nodding your head to the beat of the song that was playing. It was a pretty energetic song, a traditional bantoin jig.* He stopped to see what Hunter would do, and surely enough he didn’t do anything for a little bit.

After a little bit, Hunter gathered the courage to ask you if you wanted to dance. Maybe you wouldn’t mind him indulging his fantasies for just a few minutes. Once he got your attention he took a deep breath before asked the question. Well he more of just nodded his head towards the dance floor, but you got the message. You nodded your head enthusiastically, taking his hand into yours and dragging you out to the dance floor.

The two of you stood in front of each other, Hunter awkwardly swaying off rhythm while you were dancing wildly, not a care in the world. You noticed his stiffness and calmed your dancing to a sway. Not wanting to him to feel left out, you grabbed his hands softly and guided him into a sloppy waltz type dance.

You were going back and forth while pushing each other’s along with the song. As you got more comfortable you started attempting to dance like the bantoins. It was a little more complicated and you were both stiff at the beginning but you loosened up and started laughing at yourself. The look in Hunter’s eyes as he looked at the pure joy in your face was loving. He was so enticed with your smile that he couldn’t look away, even when you caught him staring.

It was the moment you had been waiting for, the conformation of his feelings. The two of you weren’t blinded by your feelings, if anything they put everything into perspective, Hunter apprehension melted away as you slowly leaned into him. His hands subconsciously slid to your face and yours were holding them against your cheek.

The whole room felt like it was holding its breath as the two of you paused. So tantalizingly close to each other, you could feel Hunter’s breath on your face. He relished in the pause, the warmth of your hands and face, the slow methodical circles you were drawing on his skin. Hunter looked into your eyes for any desire to pull away. When you gave him his answer he closed that gap and embraced everything about the newfound contact.

Neither of you were experienced in this kind of intimacy, so the kiss was sloppy. You were out of sync, you didn’t know what to do with your lips, and your teeth were bucking together. However, it was the best feeling you’ve ever experienced. Both of you knew this was officially the beginning of your lives together.

When you pulled away you giggled, inevitable awkwardness overtaking the two of you. It was an endearing kind of awkwardness, admiring each other’s nervous ticks before continuing to dance.

You laughed nervously and burrowed your face into Hunter’s shoulder. He laughed and stroked you hair, the hum of his laughter ringing against your face. “I love you Mesh’la.” He said, the mandoin nickname rolling off of his tongue like it was nothing, like it was natural. You smiled, “What does that mean?” You asked with that endearing curiosity Hunter adored.

“It means ‘beautiful.’”

* (Look up Botany Bay by Blaggards and that’s the song that’s essentially playing)

[redrobinhoods]

Fresh Starts | Secret Santa

AO3 Link | 1,200 words (approx)

A/N: Hey @dom-i-nic ! I thought about what I wanted to write for you for a while, and while I was eyeing the list of boys pretty hard, I’ve been in a romantic mood lately and I ultimately chose to write you a Barissoka fic. I hope you like it! 

And a big thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for throwing this event together with @starwarssecretsanta ! I am so excited to read and to see what everyone has put together!

Summary: Recovering from the attack by the Geonosian brain worms, Barriss and Ahsoka sit down to contemplate the events that led up to this moment.

Ahsoka sat perched on the side of her bed looking out the window of the medical station. They were too far away from Ord Cestus to see the planet, but she could watch the medical transports as they went in and out of the facility and the rotation of the station gave her an ever-changing field of stars to look out upon. Even after all the time she had spent on cruisers, the vastness of the galaxy and the sheer number of stars and planets it held amazed her. It was so full of life, unlike the medical station, which was sterile and cold. She shivered and pulled the blanket around her shoulders closer.

“Are you cold?”

Ahsoka looked to her left as Barriss settled herself on the medical bed beside her. “No. What makes you think that?”

Barriss snickered and set her gaze to the window. “Just a hunch.” Her medical blanket lay loosely around her waist, obviously not being used to keep warm. Ahsoka figured that Barriss didn’t need it, her layered robes would be far warmer than Ahsoka’s. “Space is so sterile.”

“This facility is sterile.” Ahsoka protested. “Out there, the galaxy is rich, full of life.”

“Full of more species who could try to take over our brains?”

Ahsoka laughed and drew her blanket tighter around herself. “Can’t argue with that.”

They looked out at the slow-moving frame of stars in silence for a while until Barriss spoke. “Ahsoka, I am so sorry.”

“It wasn’t you.” Ahsoka reached over and lay her hand over one of Barriss’, warm under her touch. Barriss may have been the only warm thing in this room.

“Maybe not, but it was me. I could see everything it made me do. I could feel it. If it had killed you, it would’ve been the same as if I had killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” Ahsoka squeezed Barriss’ hand gently. “You and the worm didn’t kill me. We made it.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

Ahsoka glanced over to see Barriss practically gleaming at her. “You don’t have to, really. I’m just glad you’re alive.” She turned back to the rotating field of stars before them.

Ahsoka saw the flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t register what it was until she felt a press against her cheek. She closed her eyes as she felt the soft fabric of Barriss’ hood falling against her lekku, and the warmth of her skin against Ahsoka’s as Barriss pressed a gentle kiss to the white mark on Ahsoka’s cheek. “I’m glad to be alive.” Barriss murmured as she pulled away.

Shocked and a little dizzy, Ahsoka turned back to kiss Barriss’ cheek in return only to find that Barriss had yet to fully turn back towards the window. Her lips brushed against the corner of Barriss’ and she pulled back much sooner than she had intended to, bringing a hand up to the side of her face and turning away from Barriss. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to-.” She stopped herself from continuing. Of course she had meant to kiss her, and she didn’t think that she would mind if she kissed Barriss’ on the lips, but never without Barriss’ permission and Barriss hadn’t had a chance to give her permission.

“No, it’s okay.” Barriss’ voice came from Ahsoka’s left, then her hands were on Ahsoka as she replaced the blanket Ahsoka hadn’t realized had fallen from her shoulders. “I’m the one who started it.”

Ahsoka let her hand fall back to her lap and tilted her head towards Barriss. “But I’m the one who pushed it too far.”

“Nonsense.” Barriss reached over and stroked the back of her finger along Ahsoka’s left lekku. “Can I confess something to you?”

“Of course. We’re friends, Barriss.”

Barriss withdrew her hand and folded it in her lap. “I’ve been thinking a lot the past few days, since we were stuck in the tank, actually. Have you ever wondered if it was right to ignore your emotions?”

That hadn’t been where Ahsoka was expecting the conversation to go. “Well, my master would say ‘our struggle as Jedi is to move past them’.”

Barriss shook her head. “You make it sound so easy.”

“No, it isn’t easy.” Ahsoka agreed. “But it’s possible.” That part she wasn’t so sure on. While Anakin had always stressed moving past your emotions, in her talks with Obi-Wan he had not been so dismissive of emotion.

“What if you didn’t want to move past them?”

Ahsoka really wished that Obi-Wan was here. “Well, Master Kenobi would say that while we should not ignore our emotions as Jedi, we cannot allow fear or attachment to guide them. As Jedi, we are encouraged to love, but we must not let our love get in the way of following the Force’s will. I think that’s the part that Master Skywalker struggles with.”

“But what do you personally think?” Barriss prodded.

Ahsoka shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought. I’ve never needed to before-.”

“Before now.” Barriss finished the sentence.

“Yes.”

Barriss brought a loose fist up to her chin, gently tapping the side of her fingers against her jaw in thought. “Ahsoka.” She drew her name out as if thinking aloud. “Would you mind if we tried that over? Properly.”

Ahsoka hesitated. “On your cheek?”

“No. On…” Barriss let the thought trail off, her brows drawn together in worry.

“Oh.” Ahsoka resisted the urge to reach up and hide her flushing lekku. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Barriss turned her body towards Ahsoka, who mirrored the action, before hesitating. Having decided on a course of action, Ahsoka lay her hands on Barriss’ far shoulder and began to lean in, tilting her head to the side. At Ahsoka’s touch, Barriss’ hesitation ended and she too leaned in, permitting their lips to meet in the middle. This close, Ahsoka could smell the earthy scent of Geonosis still on Barriss’ skin. She wished now that she had had some form of lip salve with her, but Barriss’ lips were chapped from the sand like her own and still so inviting.

Still hesitant to push Barriss’ boundaries, Ahsoka slowly worked her lips against Barriss’ for a few loud heartbeats before letting go. If her head tails hadn’t been flushed before, they were now. Barriss’ own face shone dark green under the tattooed diamonds that graced her cheeks.

“Are you…?” Unsure how to finish that sentence, Ahsoka let the question trail off.

“That was really nice.” Barriss said softly, reaching a hand up to readjust the hood of her robes.

“Yeah, it was.” Ahsoka brought one arm back, leaving the other wrapped around Barriss’ back. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” Barriss shrugged. “I didn’t think we’d ever get this far.”

Ahsoka felt some of the tension leaving Barriss’ body when she laughed. “Me either.”

“I suppose that we’ll just have to see what happens from here.” Barriss smiled sweetly over at Ahsoka, who beamed back at her.

“I think I’d like that.”

When Anakin Skywalker returned to the medbay to check on his padawan, he found Barriss and Ahsoka sitting side by side on the bed, looking out into the vast blanket of stars that stretched before them.

[trojantoast]

Cold is the Night (Day One: Reunion)

 Zutara Week 2020

@zutaraweek

AO3

“Once he's gazed upon her, a man is forever changed

The bravest men return with darkened hearts and phantom pain

Ages come and go, but her life goes on the same

She lives to see the sun and feel the wind and drink the rain

Her colors change to mark the passing of the days

No Earthly sight can match the beauty she displays

And when I die I want her lying by my side

In my grave, in my grave”

- La Belle Fleur Sauvage (Lord Huron)

___

The arctic wind was bitter cold, but the sight of the Southern Water Tribe as he rounded the iceberg filled him with warmth. Unlike its northern sister, with its white, impenetrable walls. Only a wide harbor filled with ships and sea birds, separated the frigid ocean from the village.

 No great citadel greeted him, no sparkling palace. Yet, it was not the same tribe as years past. Gone were the huts and animal skin tents. A broad path in the snow led from the port to a neat cluster of igloos nestled at the snow covered foot of the mountains, cradled by a low wall. The only permanent settlement was the low rotunda of sculpted ice and snow that crowned the village. The home of the Southern Tribe winked with fire light in the eternal dawn.

Fire Lord Zuko breathed in the crisp, familiar scent of brine and metallic snow, as his cruiser dropped anchor in the harbor. In minutes his motor boat reached the shore, and his breath of fire was the only thing keeping him from shivering right out of his parka. Summer or not, Zuko was chilled to the bone. 

Three figures greeted him on the docks of ice. All were male, tall and broad. One broke away and as he grew closer his voice carried over the arctic wind, until he was only a few feet away.

“Gran Gran will be happy to see you wearing the parka she made you, though… the matching toboggan seems to be missing.”

Zuko smiled as he was enveloped into an embrace, “Hello, to you too, Sokka.”

The warrior gave him a quick squeeze and pulled back, his characteristic grin plastered on his face.  Zuko looked down at his previously mentioned navy blue parka. It was cut in the Fire Nation style, and lined with white fur. “Well, I couldn't refuse a gift from a foreign dignitary, especially one that was handmade for me.”

“Certainly not, parkas of that quality can take an entire winter to hand stitch. To have one made for you is a declaration of trust and allyship, sacred to our tribe.” Zuko looked up to the second Warrior, taller than Sokka, but narrower in the shoulders. The firebender bowed formally, 

“General Bato,”

There was a bark of laughter, and the third man joined the group, “General... that’s a good one.”

The tall warrior rolled his eyes, “What would you prefer, Hakoda, ‘Igloo-maker in Chief’?”

The leader of the southern Water Tribe threw his arm around the warriors shoulders and smiled, “As long as it's not my igloo.”

There was another round of chuckles, and Hakoda grasped Zuko’s forearm in a formal greeting.

“You really should take care of that parka. Bato’s not kidding, they do take all winter and you know how long those are around here.”

“I’ll be sure to express my gratitude to Kanna when I see her.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hakoda smiled softly, but his eyes turned more earnest, and he placed a strong hand on Zuko’s shoulder. The Fire Lord’s guards didn't even flinch. Snow swirled absentmindedly around the group in the moments before the chief spoke, “I believe we have some things to discuss.”

Zuko nodded, his hand dipping unconsciously into the pocket of his parka, “yes, we do.”

___

Talking could wait, apparently, as Zuko and the rest of his crew were loaded up into sleds (recently reintroduced to the tribe's way of life, after they finally had enough food to feed arctic dogs as well as themselves) and taken to the village. It was bigger up close, but barely larger than the smallest of villages in his home country. Children trailed after them, and Zuko smiled as Captain Jee sent little spirals of sparks, like fireworks, towards their awed faces. 

Sokka was giving him a very speedy tour, pointing out new landmarks and trying to explain who lived in what igloo, before they passed by in a shower of kicked up snow. The main gathering building of the tribe was circular and sprawling. Multiple branches and bubbles of different rooms peaked out of the drifts of snow. The ship's crew was taken to the temporary barracks to get cleaned up before the feast that the tribe's women had prepared. Zuko was led to the guest house he usually occupied on his visits.

Zuko tried to refuse any big ta-do about his arrival. It wasn't even an official visit. He knew that even if the tribe was quickly bouncing back after the war, that there wasn't much food to spare. However, the tribe members had been insistent, and he couldn't really argue. 

He followed Sokka around the backside of the rotunda to the igloos and huts that Chief Hakoda’s family and visitors used. 

He tried not to let his eyes drift to the home nestled between his and the chief’s. It’s doorway was dark, no smoke curled from its chimney, and from the snow drifted against the door, it had not been entered in a while.

That’s a good thing, he said to himself. 

He wasn’t very convincing.

“You know, I'm surprised you haven't asked about her yet.”

Zuko stilled at the door of his igloo, a now familiar place. He let his eyes linger on the other home.

“I know she’s not here, and that’s how I wanted it to be, so…” he trailed off.

“What has it been? Six months?” Sokka continued past him carrying Zuko’s trunk with little effort. He set it down by the large cot and bed roll. Zuko sighed and followed suit. The space was immediately warmer than the outside air. The curtain of a door settled behind him. 

“Seven… and three quarters.” He grabbed a tea kettle and set it on the small cooking fire at the center of the single room house. Sokka plopped down on the cushions around the pit, arranging them so he could comfortable lounge back.

“Hey, I haven't seen Suki in almost five months. I mean,” there was a grunt as Sokka removed his boots, “It's not quite the same, since me and Suki are technically married and you guys…” Sokka seemed to struggle for the right thing to say. In the meantime Zuko removed his own boots and parka, which had grown hot, and ran a hand through his unbound hair. He had kept it roughly the same length for the past five years. 

“We agreed that this was the best thing for everyone. Katara’s where she's needed, and so am I.” Sokka raised a critical brow, but just shrugged.

“And, I'm sure your visit here has nothing to do with ‘being where you're needed’” Zuko shot him a withering look. Sokka had the decency to look sheepish.

“Hey,” the warrior raised his hands in surrender, “I only speaking the truth.”

Zuko wasn’t quite ready to face the truth.

He wasn’t ready, because the truth frightened him. It kept him up at night. It made him lose focus in meetings and it made him count the days between every time he saw her. He knew the truth, and he didn’t want to hear it.

“Well, buddy, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Zuko looked up from inspecting the tea pot, and smiled, ever so slightly, 

“Me too.”

___

The meal was no feast or ball, but the entire village gathered in the largest and center-most room of the rotunda. The tribe’s numbers, with it’s warriors returned, and half a decade of peace, had grown to nearly 200. Yet, the room didn’t seem cramped as everyone piled onto cushions around low dining tables. Even when Zuko’s crew and personal guards (who where only there on principle, Zuko had never felt safer than among the Southern Water Tribe), joined the company, the crowded space felt comfortable and warm.

Zuko had been placed in the seat of honor, at the left hand of chief Hakoda, and the right hand of Kanna, the chief's mother, and the village’s elder. As per tradition, the youngest of the group and the unmarried women served the rest of the tribe before eating. Sokka told him once, that the action was to reinforce loyalty and represent how they serve their tribe first, until they marry, or become adults. 

The food was traditional water tribe cuisine, made by collective effort of the women, both married and unmarried, of the tribe. 

Platters of roasted fish, and savory rein-caribou meat was served, alongside various stews and cooked greens. sea prunes, clams, and other crustaceans were also distributed. The food, like the tribe who made it, was hearty. It was salty, and fatty, and so unlike the hot spices and complicated recipes of his Zuko’s homeland. The Fire Lord hadn’t had a meal as delicious in a long time. 

The room was filled with chattering voices and laughing children, muffled by the animal pelts and cushions they all lounged on. Everyone had striped their outer clothes off, and the parkas joined the piles of furs surrounding the group. People moved from table to table, catching up on the day's activities and trading jokes and stories. The older warriors took special interest in comparing notes with his crew on sailing techniques. Every member of the tribe, from the oldest widow, to the mother’s with their tiny babies, came to Zuko’s table and greeted him formally. Zuko gave them a warriors handshake or a bow, according to their age. Some of the children brought him tiny, crude, carvings of bone, made in the shapes of animals or people. In return, he bestowed a carefully wrapped cake from the satchel at his side into their tiny hands. The pastries were crunchy on the outside and impossibly soft on the inside; shaped like lotus flowers. They were straight from the royal kitchens, and Zuko pretended not to notice when they came back for seconds. 

Zuko barely had time to eat the food that had been piled onto his plate, between greeting the tribe, and joining into the discussions at his own table, but he made do. 

“So, young man,” Zuko turned from giving a little girl her third pastry, to Kanna. The older woman had finished her bowl of stew, and was now working on the delicate and complex embroidery on a deep blue parka. “What is it you plan to do with all those carvings the children are giving you?”

Zuko smiled, and turned to look at the small army of animals he had absentmindedly arranged in rows next to his table setting. 

“I’ll probably put them with the others. I have a glass bureau in my office that holds some of the gifts I’ve received from other dignitaries. The children’s carvings have their own shelf.” The carvings had become a sort of tradition every time he came to visit. 

She chuckled, it was a rumbling, gravelly sound, “I can’t imagine these next to the rich items you must get.”

Zuko picked up the carving closest to him. It was a black wolf-whale. The little boy who had given it to him, had charred the bone to mimic the pattern of black and white splotches of the animal in real life. 

“Yeah, but these are my favorite.”

He ran his hands along the upright fin on its back.

Kanna smiled quietly to herself and returned to her embroidery.

Slowly, as the night went on, the children grew tired, and their parents bid last goodbyes to the members of Zuko’s table. And as the kids were rebundled up and carried, sleepily, back to their own homes, the rest of the village filed out as well. The younger men and women left in groups, or pairs, laughing heartily together, to spend time among themselves. The widows and widowed warriors bore their own farewells. Soon, even the village elders grew sore of sitting and talking and eating, and went their own ways, wishing the guidance and protection of the spirits in the dreams of their chief, his family, and the Fire Lord. 

The dishes had been cleared away much earlier in the night, so when Hakoda led them into a hall toward a small study, they left the gathering room quiet and empty. 

Zuko rose from his seat, and extended his elbow to Kanna, who excepted it with a pat to his for arm and a smile. 

“Such good manners.” She praised. Zuko felt himself blush.

The adjacent room was furnished with low couches and a stone fireplace that peaked out of the white ice walls. More thick pelts lined the floor. Zuko recognized the large maple shelves and desk as those he gifted Hakoda himself, made of the finest Fire Nation lumber. 

Sokka, Kanna, Bato, and Zuko all settled into the couches, as the Chief pulled out a dark blue glass bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk. He poured each member of the group a drink of the clear liquid, before he sat another one of the couches, instead of his high backed desk chair. 

Zuko took a sip, and tried not to wince as the alcohol burned his throat. Immediately, he was warmer than before. He watched the others. Zuko knew what was coming.

Hakoda took a very slow sip of his drink, and turned to the firebender.

“I’m assuming you didn't sail all the way down to the South Pole to take in the scenery.”

Zuko swallowed, as they all turned their attention to him.

“No, no I didn't.” he took another drink, stealing his nerves, then placed the glass down. 

“Me and Katara have discussed it, at length.” Zuko found that Kanna’s stare was level and calm, he felt reassured. “She thinks it’s the best thing for us, and I agree.” Zuko looked around the room.

“We want, no… we're going to get married.”

Zuko didn’t know what reaction he would receive. He had been obsessing over what Katara’s family would say, what they would do, since the idea of marriage first entered his mind. He expected it would involve being forcefully thrown into the arctic ocean. The sensible part of his mind knew there was nothing to worry about, since almost immediately after him and Katara had announced their courtship her family, and her tribe, had taken him in as one of their own (Bato had even teased them about step-grand children). Yet, the other voice in his head still haunted him with fears of rejection. But, Hakoda only sat up, placed his glass down, looked into Zuko’s eyes, and waited for him to continue.

So Zuko did.

“We know that it’s not going to be easy. We know that it will be dangerous. We know that we each have responsibilities and duties, and I respect hers and she respects mine. We’ve been considering it for a while now, and it's what we both want. I know that relations between my nation and yours, are...tense, but they're getting better, and there's people where I’m from that won’t like it, but I think that together, we can show that the four nations can coexist and that the Fire Nation cares about reperatio-”

Hakoda held up a hand, Zuko went silent, he swallowed again. 

The chief looked deep into his eyes, Zuko didn't break the contact.

“I don’t care what your union means politically. I don’t care what message it will send to the other nations, what message it will send for your people, son. I just want to know one thing.”

“Anything.” 

“Do you love her?”

Immediately, he answered, “Yes,” his hand settled on his chest, between his two lungs, where he knew the scar sat, “with all my heart.”

Zuko looked around the room, each pair of bright blue eyes were fixed on him. 

“I don’t know when I started to, maybe it was the day of the comet, maybe before, maybe after, but when I asked her to come with me to fight my sister and regain my throne, I knew it had to be her that came. I love Katara, but before that, I trust her. I trust her with my life. I trust her with my people and my country. I would die for her.”

Zuko felt it then, the ghost of the pain, the exhilaration, the fear as he watched Azula take aim. “Taking that lightning was the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and I would do it again, ten thousand times over.”

Bato spoke next, “And she feels the same way?”

Zuko thought, for a second, replaying the last five years in his mind. The image that lingered in his mind was the flashes of blue fire through clear water as she battled Azula, risking her life to defeat the most dangerous firebender in the world, just to save him.

He smiled, gently, “Yes, I know she does.”

Kanna’s face was stone, “You swore an oath to serve your people and your country? Is that correct Fire Lord Zuko?”

He nodded. The elder looked him in the eye. He felt like she was looking deep into his soul.

“In our culture, the marriage vow outweighs any oath to lord or land. Katara must come first, before your throne, before your crown. The binding of two souls is far more ancient than any border or king, as old as the very first marriage of the spirits Tui and La. The promise you will make to each other trumps any other loyalty, and will last beyond your last breath, into the next life. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.” he instinctively reached into his pocket, “The only reason Katara doesn't know I’m here is because she would say that asking for permission from the bride's family was an outdated tradition” Sokka smirked at that, “but I also know how much your good opinion means to her, and I don’t want to hide anything from you.

“I want to do this by the book, so I’m here, to ask you personally,” he looked from person to person, “do me and Katara have your blessing for our union?”

There was silence in the room. No one moved. Zuko barely breathed. 

Then Kanna rose, slowly. Instinctively Zuko moved to help her but she held up a withered hand and crossed over to him.

“Kneel, and close your eyes.”

Zuko did. 

He felt her brush her fingers across his forehead. 

“Now,” he looked up, “I, Kanna, matriarch of the Southern Water Tribe, mother to Hakoda, grandmother to Sokka and Katara, grant you my blessing, and the blessings of the spirits for your union.” She looked behind her, “Does anyone present of the bride's family object to the bestoying of the blessing?”

The only response was Sokka’s wide grin. Kanna nodded, and returned to her seat. Zuko stood, he couldnt hid the joy on his face, he bowed, low, to each person in the room.

“So,” Hakoda dawned a smile for himself, “have you carved the necklace?”

___

Later that night, Sokka walked Zuko back to his igloo. After Zuko’s announcement there were multiple rounds of celebratory drinks, and the pair was distinctly drunk. The southern warrior threw his arm around the other man’s shoulders as they neared the entrance.

“You know, Zuko…” He burped, “we all knew it was a matter of time before you asked her. Dad just put you through all those formalities to make you sweat.”

Zuko chuckled, “Well, it worked.”

His friend, and soon to be brother-in-law, turned to him, seriously, "You also have to know Zuko, that if Katara was here she would object to you asking us not just because it's and 'outdated tradition' but because there's no question that our answer would be 'yes'."

The Fire Lord looked at the ground, "I just... wanted to be sure."

Sokka shook his head, placing a hand on Zuko's shoulder, "We love you, Zuko. Everyone does. Honestly, I think Gran-gran likes you more than me, which hurts, but whatever," he shrugged, "bottom line, your an important part of this family, and you were long before you an Katara started sucking face." Zuko couldn't hold back a snort of laughter, 

"I know, but sometimes it's hard, I'm not used to the whole 'unconditional love' stuff." he looked back, across the shining tops of the tribe, "you all just make it look so...easy."

Sokka laughed, "Yeah, tell that to dad the next time I loose blueprints." 

He ruffled Zuko's hair, and returned to his position leaning on him.

“So, when are you formally popping the question?”

Zuko’s eyes traveled over to Katara’s igloo next door, then to the lights of the harbor beyond, and the twinkling stars and moon reflected in the still water. 

“She comes back from Ba Sing Se in three weeks, so I figured as soon as she got home.”

Katara’s brother nodded, then grasped each of Zuko’s shoulders, making him look into his eyes, “That means you're staying long enough for bro time?” his brow was furrowed in absolute seriousness. 

“I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

___

!!PLEASE REBLOG WITH THOUGHTS AND CRITICISMS!!

You guuuuuuys... it’s officially Zutara Week!!! YEE HAW!!!

Anyway, I’m sorry there was only indirect Katara in today’s submission. That will be rectified tomorrow. My plan for this year (though I haven't followed any plan for Zutara Week yet) is that all of my submissions will be apart of a linear narrative. It starts with today’s prompt, five years after the war, and goes from there. All of the submissions can be stand alone, but thay can also all be tied together. The only day that won’t follow this is Day Three: Celestial. I really love that particular one so its special. All of this could change, so don’t quote me on that. I hope you enjoyed :D

P.S. I’ll be tagging all my Zutara Week submissions for this year #ems zkw2020 

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Helmeted Hunter: Chapter 17

Boba Fett x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Blaster fights

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

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Chapter 17: Only Improvising

The three of you, without saying anything, began walking into the shipyard as casually as possible, careful not to draw attention to yourselves as the stormtroopers got organized just behind. But one of the officers took notice just as you were descending an unfortunately noisy metal staircase and called out to halt.

Maz and Boba slowly turned to face the man as he approached, but you had another idea. Being the furthest on the steps, just far enough below the level to be hidden, you quickly slid under the railing and into an alcove in the wall. No one would be able to see you unless they were standing directly below and happened to look up.

You could hear the officer addressing your comrades above.

Who are you and what is your business here?

Maz Kanata, with my personal mechanic. We are picking up my ship and heading home.

Wasn't there another one of you?  

No, sir, just us. I came to catch up with some friends for the Festival of Stars, but one can only take so many days of that sort of thing. There was a malfunction with my ship's landing gear but Robert here has her all patched up now.

You wished you could see Boba's face as Maz gave him that pseudonym.

Sorry, but no flights are permitted to leave today.

Oh, but that nice man inside just gave me my access card.

Imperial orders, ma'am. No one leaves before these ships are inspected.

Inspected? Is this for safety violations? Because I can assure you Robert is one of the best mechanics in the galaxy. I'd fly home in a bucket if he was the one who made it.

Ma'am, please, I need you to vacate the premises. You can try again tomorrow once the inspections are clear.

Only a day? Well then it's certainly no safety inspection. I've dealt with enough scoundrels in my lifetime to know you must be on a man hunt.

Ma'am...

I can't imagine what sort of person you'd be looking for out here, but who am I to ask anyway. I'm just going to need some time to sort this out with that gentleman in the office. It'll be another day of rent to leave my ship here, and these outer rim yards aren't cheap, you know.

Ten minutes. Make it quick.

There was some shuffling as they left with the officer to head back to the entrance. And then it was just you and your thoughts.

Your thoughts were wild, running on an anxious energy that made all your senses feel on edge. You'd ducked into hiding on instinct. Even with a head wrap, you could've been recognized. Your concern had merely been self-preservation.

But now that you were successfully off the Empire's radar, you had the advantage, or rather, the responsibility to help your friends out, too. If these soldiers truly were looking for someone, it was not by coincidence. They had either found the Slave I and were on the hunt for a helmeted Boba Fett and his prized bounty, or had heard about Hondo's heist and were ensuring he couldn't run away. Neither of those options meant any of you could stay on this planet another night.

You'd first need to (somehow) get out of this alcove undetected, then you'd have to (somehow) help Maz and Boba sneak away while they still had that access card for the ship, and then you'd all three need to (somehow) get over to the ship undetected and (somehow) pick up Hondo before blasting out of here.

You could feel sweat pooling on your hairline under the scarf. Your eyes cast about, as if a plan of action would be written in the sky for you. You were not good with this sort of thing; the planning and scheming was much more Boba's forte.

But then you suddenly recalled something he had once said to you. Don't pretend you have a plan...You've only been improvising this whole time. He had meant it as an insult, but now it was giving you a new sense of self-confidence. You had been improvising this whole time, and so far, it had worked pretty well.

So without further thought or ado, you jumped out from your hiding hole and onto a concrete ledge below. The bag you wore across your body thumped heavily against your side, so as you scurried along the ledge, you dug into it to see what could possibly be in there. Your fingers brushed by your music player, your alphabet chart, and then landed on an object you instantly knew was a gun.

Boba had packed your bag early that morning, paranoid about missing the train again. You'd thought the extra weight was food or something, and had been too mad at him to check. But despite his own frustration with you, he apparently trusted you enough to give you his gun again. You decided to leave it in the bag for now, remembering all your failed attempts at using it back on Jakku.

You continued to slink around the shipyard, darting around corners and skipping up stairs. It was like your first days after coming through the portal. You had no clue where you were going, but knew you had to try going somewhere. Occasionally you'd catch glimpses of the entrance through some scaffolding, and all the stormtroopers piled in front of it. It was going to be next to impossible to help Maz and Boba get past them.

After a while you passed by a group of shipyard mechanics, some human and some droid, as they reluctantly set down their tools and were made to clock out for the day. You watched from the shadows as they swiped cards through the electronic gates that surrounded each ship, and then silently followed as they grumbled their way into a sort of locker room. Most kept their cards with them as they packed up, but a one had his strapped to a belt that he threw into a cubby before stomping out.

Maybe you wouldn't be able to get your friends over to a ship, but you could try getting a ship over to them.

Before the thought of piloting a massive spaceship could scare you, you slipped the keycard into your pocket and rushed back into the shipyard. You had your pick of vehicles, but realistically you'd have to pick one close by so as not to waste time running through the entire industrial space. You settled on a smaller cruiser nearby that seemed unassuming, in case you'd need to blend in later.

But no sooner did you start making a beeline for the ship did a line of stormtroopers start snaking their way down into the yard just in front of you. Two of them noticed and peeled off from the pack, ordering you to state your business.

You panicked and took off running, which ended up being a bad idea. They pursued, firing warning shots from their blasters, giving you flashbacks to the last time you'd run from stormtroopers. That time you'd ended up paralyzed on the ground. This time, you decided to try firing back.

Crouching behind some nearby boxes, you brought out the gun from your bag. You took one big breath before popping up and pulling the trigger.

Nothing.

You cursed and crouched back down, a blast nearly missing your head. The soldiers called out for you to cease firing as you fiddled with the gun, trying to find the safety. Their voices were growing closer. You finally found the switch and tried again, firing as many blasts as you could. The gun kicked in your hand more than you thought it would, throwing off your aim, and as the stormtroopers returned fire, you crouched lower and continued firing blind.

Suddenly, their blasts stopped. You peered over the boxes to see both soldiers fallen with one sizzling hole in each of their chest plates. Had you done that?

"I really need to teach you how to use a gun," Boba said from behind you.

His tone was disappointed, but his face had a touch more... concern? No, you were imagining it. You shook your head as he held open a door behind him. You wanted to say something snippy in reply, but the commotion was drawing more stormtroopers your way, so you swallowed your sass and followed him inside.

It was a hallway just outside the lockers you'd been in earlier. Boba jammed the door shut and led you down it, gun poised for action. He moved differently than he would in his armor, more cautious and stiff. You could tell he felt exposed and was trying to compensate. But you were relieved to have someone else carrying a gun for you.

"I got one of those access cards," you told him.

He looked over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow. "Oh? Planning to steal a ship are we?"

"Commandeer," you said with a smirk.

He laughed a little, but you could hear his nerves through it. He really was having a hard time without his armor.

"Where's Maz?"

Boba poked into a room, found it empty, and moved on. He did this all along the hall. "She's taking the speeder out to Jedha City. We're pretty sure they're looking for Hondo. He must have finished the job early. She'll look for him and we'll pick them up."

A bang came from behind; the soldiers were trying to get through the door. You both sped up your pace, eventually running through the hall, unsure where it was leading you but trusting it'd take you somewhere deeper into the shipyard and further from the Empire.

The hall eventually led into a large break room of sorts, with news monitors lining one wall. There was a door on the opposite wall that appeared to lead back outside. Boba rushed for it, but you wound up stopped in front of one of the screens.

You could hear him call your name a few times, but couldn't tear your attention away from the images flashing before you. News of war, of the Empire forcefully expanding their influence to new planets in unknown regions. One such planet had resisted recently, and in return, had been completely decimated.

His hand on your upper back pulled you out of your shock just enough for you to whisper, "It's my home."

[ladyanput]

Part2 of Mari adopting Alya's kid (I forgot if I said boy or girl). Mari had briefly dated Adrien but both prefered to be bffs and when she got together with Nino they fell in love and after 6 months they get married while Alya's kid was 2 years old and adopted the kid. Mari and Nino had 4 kids together 2 sets of twins a year apart and the fashion and movie industry love the family. (Nino got famous as a dj and movie director while Mari a fashion designer who helps Nino in his movies)

It was a place of love. Nino was so happy, to have the love of a beautiful, hard working wife, a daughter that grew into a sensational movie star, and twin teen boys who enjoyed their time in the limelight.

"The movie is trending." Marinette said from her side of the bed, smiling over at her husband, soon setting down her cell phone and snuggling into his side, only to receive a soft kiss from Nino. "I told you it would be."

"It was because of Daphné. She's the star of the movie." Nino said, shrugging as he embraced his wife. He had gone over many actors with Adrien, who remained a close friend of the family, so close that he and Kagami were the children's god parents.

Adrien and Nino made sure neither put their children into any big industry like modeling or acting. They wouldn't submit their children into that kind of abuse like Gabriel had done to his son. But when Nino's daughter got older and begged to act, he gave in. And as he read the reviews, he knew she would quickly become a big name in the film industry. And he was proud.

"It's also because of you." Marinette beamed as they shut off their lamps and settled into bed, cuddling close. She grabbed his hand and their fingers laced together. "Prepare to be known worldwide now, Mr. director."

"I love you, Nette." Nino whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"I love you too, Nino.."

---

Daphné Lahiffe rolled her eyes as she kept getting texts from her twin brothers . Florin and Hadrian were pains, but she loved her brothers. Brothers with large blue eyes, mops of messy black hair, and made girl's hearts throb.

While Daphné had grown into a real beauty. And now she was an actress. The attention was already starting, many people staring after her as she walked along the streets of Paris. Many ran up and asked for her autograph, she even took a few photos with some people.

Though it was a bit much, the attention wasn't unwelcome. She had signed up for this, afterall.

"Excuse me, Daphné?" A woman's voice brought Daphné from her thoughts. She turned around and saw a woman at around forty years away, standing not too far from her. "Daphné Lahiffe?"

"Yes?" The young actress eyed the woman. She was tall, a bit of the bigger side, dressed in jeans that were far too tight, and a blouse. Her reddish brown hair, streaked with a lot of grey, was pulled back into a bun. A pair of hazel eyes peered through her thick rimmed glasses. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Alya." The older woman walked up to her, smiling brightly at her. "I'm your mother."

---

"You're my mother?" After her initial shock, Alya had offered to take Daphné to a nearby café to talk. So here they were, seated and talking. " Why should I believe you?"

"No, you didn't think you got your good looks from your father, now did you?" Alya laughed, then slid a small, folded up photo across the table. It was of a younger looking Alya and Nino, on a hospital bed with Alya holding a small baby. "I'm your mother, Daphné. I loved you more than anything, until your father kicked me out."

"What?" Daphné's brows drew together in confusion.

"You were barely two months old... Your father was having an affair with that horrible woman, Marinette... He kicked me out so that he could be with her." Alya wiped away a year she managed to force up. "He wouldn't let me have you, he threatened me to keep me away."

"Then why come just now?" Daphné's eyes narrowed as she stared at her birth mother, crossing her arms.

"Because you're old enough to understand now. You can realize how much he's hurt your mother." Alya reached out, setting a hand on her daughter's arm, only to scowl when she stood. "Where are you going?"

"Even if a fraction of what you said is true, my mother and father are nothing like what you said." Daphné snapped, taking a few bills out of her purse and tossing them onto the table. "If you're wanting money, here! Don't ever talk to me again!"

And with that, she stormed out of the café.

---

"Mama, papa!" Daphné came storming into the living room, tears in her eyes.

Nino and Marinette, who had been watching a movie with the twins, were on their feet in an instant and rushed over to embrace their daughter.

"What's wrong, are you hurt?" Her mother whispered, stroking away the tears gentle.

With a sniffle, Daphné began to tell them everything.

Once she was done, Nino and Marinette exchanged a look. They had always thought this was going to happen someday.

"Daphné, while some of what Alya said was true, such as her being your birth mother, me kicking her out of the apartment... But Alya never once asked to have custody of you, to meet you. I met Marinette again after I divorced her." Nino explained, kissing his daughter's forehead. "You know we love you."

"Does it bother you, that I didn't give birth to you?" Marinette whispered, a nervous expression flickering across her face. Daphné turned and hugged her tightly.

"You're my mother, why would it bother me? I love you. You're my mama, not her.." Daphné whispered, and Marinette embraced her tightly.

The family enjoyed a nice dinner together, their phones off as they didn't want to be disturbed. Adrien and Kagami came by, and had a little party, a celebration for last night's big hit at the premiere.

There was a knock at the door. Nino, joyful, went and answered the door. His smile vanished instantly when he saw Alya, who threw her arms around him and kissed him fiercely.

"Alya?!" Nino shoved his ex wife away and stared at her in shock. "How the hell did you get past security?!"

"I have my ways." Alya grinned, stepping into the main hall, admiring the glamour of the house. The house that should have been hers. "I'm here to take you back, Nino."

"I beg your pardon?" Nino wiped the lip gloss off of his mouth and shot her a glare. Adrien stepped into the main hall with Marinette and Kagami, but he quickly pulled them back, out of sight, to eavesdrop. "Alya, please, leave, before I call the police."

"You know that you've missed me, Nino. I mean, look at out daughter, she looks just like me. You must have thought of me every day. And you bought this house! This is the house you and I planned on buying once we got famous." Alya grinned, stepping up to him, setting her hands on his chest.

It scared Adrien how much Alya's actions reminded him of Lila. She's the one that most likely taught Alya these moves.

"I bought this house with my wife. I thought of building my life with HER here, you never crossed my mind once." Nino roughly grabbed Alya's wrists and shoved her away. He looked pissed now. "I don't ever want you back, you assume too much, you don't appreciate the things you have, Alya, and you're selfish! You push and push and push, but don't like it when life pushes back! That's why I'll never ever want you back! You're ungrateful and spiteful, and take a liar's word over your own husband's!"

"I agree." Marinette stepped into the hallway, taking Nino's hand as she glared harshly at her former friend. "I highly suggest you leave, Alya."

"I'm not going anywhere! I am his wife! Alya says since he still has my daughter, I have every right to everything he has!" Alya pointed hard at Nino.

"... Why the hell are you still listening to Lila?" Adrien stepped into the room, Kagami close behind, talking into her cell phone.

"Because she's married to an important CEO in Italy, she has to know these kinds of things." Alya looked smug as she crossed her arms. "You really missed out on her, Adrien."

"She's a waitress downtown." Kagami spoke up, meeting Alya's shocked gaze. "Single, leeching off of older, rich men to survive..."

"You still don't do your research, Alya." Marinette sighed sadly, as police lights lit up the windows. Panic filled Alya's expression and she looked ready to bolt, but Nino reached out and grabbed her arm.

"You're not going anywhere." Nino hissed.

Alya looked at the faces. The faces that were once her friends. Her eyes darted around, before landing on Daphné, who was lingering in the doorway to the kitchen. A smile of relief crossed Alya's face.

"Daphné, please, you know family is important, right? Come help your mother!"

Daphné's eyes narrowed and she strode right up to Alya, until they were nose to go.

"You never have been and never will be my mother. My mother is Marinette Dupain-Cheng Lahiffe, twenty times the person you ever will be.." Daphné hissed, stepping back, and taking her mother's hand.

Alya stared. She kept staring when the police entered the house. She stared at the police handcuffed her and took her to their cruiser. She stared back at the house that should have been hers. At the husband that should have been here, the daughter that should have been hers.

But now, now Marinette had it all. Every single thing Alya had wanted.

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[kylorenfanfic]

Long Away - chapter 6

Kylo Ren x Female Reader

masterlist

Words: 2.6k Sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes, that can happen :\  Make sure of reading the ending note :)

It has been one week since you arrived in the First Order cruiser. You already knew better the inside of the ship, although there were places where you weren’t allowed to go – such as the Supreme Leader’s chambers.

You haven’t really saw more of Kylo Ren ever since the training session, and you also didn’t try to contact him. You didn’t want to sound desperate to be closer to him – and by that you meant you wanted to gain his trust so you could know better how to help the Resistance somehow, at least that was what you were telling yourself.

Hux saw you the other day walking towards the cafeteria.

“I see you are adapting yourself” he commented walking next to you in the large hall, his hands were on his back.

“Just going to get some food” you replied.

“Just because I’ve helped you to join our Order doesn’t mean I trust you. Neither does Kylo Ren, even though you are being trained by him.”

“Where all of this came from           ?” you stopped and stared at him.

“Things are going all too easy on you, that’s not normal. And now knowing you are Force sensitive, who knows what you are doing.”

“Well, Hux, only more experienced people than me can control the Force well enough to do something really useful with it, like manipulating people. Also, only weak-minded people can be controlled. Are you, General, suggesting that either you or our Supreme Leader are weak-minded?” his gaze stared at you with such an annoyance that you could felt it in your soul. You smirked at him and he turned away, you kept walking to the cafeteria.

You sat by the table alone, it was not the first time that it happened. On a table next to you a few Stormtroopers where chatting and you started to over hear their conversation.

“They said he was merciless at Tah’Nuhna” one said

“So I heard, but it is not like they didn’t deserve it.” Other replied

“I guess it just doesn’t justify destroying a whole civilization because of that”

“Where’s this planet anyway, it’s not like they matter.”

“It’s in the Mid Rim, and even though it’s a small planet, they were still live-beings, I heard that they were a very welcoming people.”

“And that was their doom.”

           “It’s still not fair, you know, they did nothing wrong, they were always neutral.”

           “You are starting to sound just like a deserter. If you think that helping the Resistance is doing nothing wrong maybe I should arrest you.”

           “That is not what I am talking about, LM-763. Just nevermind.”

           “Better.”

           They both stood up to leave, LM-763 went faster ahead and you asked to the other one.

           “What happened in Tah’Nuhna?”

           “The Supreme Leader destroyed it” he answered and left.

           Kylo Ren destroyed your temple and now were destroying entire civilizations and for what? To show off his dominance? You felt anger. You haven’t even finished your food when left the cafeteria, you walked to your room, your hands closed on fists. You entered your room and felt like hitting stuff. You used the Force to get the small table you had there to make it fly across the room and hit the wall with strength – that was just a ridiculous use of the Force. You tried to control yourself by closing your eyes. It wasn’t proper of a jedi to feel anger. You opened your eyes: you weren’t a jedi, nor ever would be. You couldn’t go to the Dark Side of the Force though, you couldn’t let that happen – you couldn’t become what he was.

           You got the table across the room, it was broken now and you called a droid to pick it up and bring you a new one. No one could know about it.

             You left your room only at night. You woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t go back to sleep, no specific reason actually; it wasn’t the Force calling you out. You felt bored and decided to go out for a walk. Since there wasn’t really a night – overall you all were in a ship in space – there was always movement inside the ship, the sleeping time was usually the same for most people, but for others it was the opposite, so the cruiser would be always protected and the First Order working. Still though, usually there were less people around at this time.

           You walked towards the training center, it was empty, which was odd since there were always someone in there. The cafeteria was also empty, just some janitors cleaning up. Instead of going back to your chambers you decided to walk a little more, since you had nothing better to do in your room and couldn’t sleep. Most of the ship were long halls and a few places where you weren’t allowed to enter, still though, you did enter one of the rooms, your curiosity spoke higher.

           It was a little different from the other rooms, and you noticed it were someone’s chambers. It was huge – you felt a little jealous, yours was so small. You wondered who lived there, who could need so much space; also asked yourself if that person’s chambers were that big, imagine how big Kylo Ren’s would be. You thought that the important chambers were in the superior floor. At first sight there were just tech things, some objects, the white walls calling out attention for being different from the rest of the ship that was all so grey. In the other room, you saw a large bed, everything was so clean and organized. Nothing much to see in there, there was a data-pad on a table with other objects, none called out your attention, there were probably no good information in that data-pad, it wasn’t like it belonged to someone important.

           Turning your back to find your way out you saw it. On the top of a large white pillar there was the remains of Darth Vader’s burned mask. Your eyes opened wide in a surprised reaction. In all of the rooms that you could sneak in you had to choose Kylo Ren’s chambers. You fastened your steeps to the exit, and in no time you were almost running in the hallway, you weren’t paying attention, your mind covered with thoughts. Maybe his chambers being in that floor explained while you two met days ago, when the Force wanted to connect you two for some reason. Did someone see you in there? No one could know, they would think you were trying to spy. Well… you were a spy somehow, but ending up in there was an accident. What if Kylo Ren had figured it out and was already on his way and he would get inside your mind? You weren’t as strong as him, you wouldn’t be able to hide your thoughts and memories again. A flush of panic were starting to get over you and you were trying to control it, you were almost getting to your own room when you hit someone.

           It was a woman, she was wearing a military First Order uniform, her blonde hair tied up with a hat on.

           “I’m sorry…” you started.

           “Where were you going in a hurry?” she asked. By the way she was dressed up, she probably was some kind of captain or major.

           “Going back to my dorm” you pointed to your room’s door, a few feet away from where you stand.

           “You are that hunter, aren’t you?” she was still serious, you nodded. “Where were you?” she asked

           “I was out for a walk since I couldn’t sleep, but I’m sorry, have I done something wrong, is that some short of interrogatory?” before she could answer, a trooper arrived next to you two and asked for her attention.

           “General Hux requires all the officials presence. He wants to discuss about the Fondor situation.”

           “Which Fondor situation?” you asked. She gave you a very annoyed look.

           “None of your concern, bounty hunter.” And both of them left. You stared at them while they walked away, you waited a bit before following them.

           While walking in a large hall that would lead to the superior floor you heard many Stormtroopers marching to the inferior floor. That called out your attention more than the Hux’s reunion; those troopers were probably going to the mission that had to do with the “Fondor situation”. You followed to the inferior floor, where the hangars were, trying to not be seen. You hid yourself behind some large boxes, you could see the ships getting ready, Stormtroopers going inside of them and Kylo Ren getting ready to leave with them.

           You felt a blaster on your back.

           “Who are you?” you turned your head back, putting your hands up and saw a trooper who caught you spying.

           “I am (Y/N) Lacer” you replied, hoping that your name would ring a bell in the trooper’s head.

           “We have a spy here” the trooper said in the communicator. The troopers in the other side walked to your direction and that called out Ren’s attention. He saw you. He started walking in your direction.

           While the Supreme Leader was walking in your direction, the trooper was escorting you, with your hands tied up on your back by their hands, in the Leader’s direction. Kylo stopped walking in front of you and stared at you, no expression, no words.

           “So, when were you going to tell me you guys are going out to a party?” you said with an amused look on your face, maybe it would get you out of trouble.

           “What are you doing in here?” he asked

           “You know, the usual, spying around, trying to destroy the First Order, trying to kill the Supreme Leader, etc. etc.” you rolled your eyes he sighed deeply.

           “Is everything a joke to you?”

           “Is everything so serious to you?” you replied.

           “I asked you why you are here, in the middle of the night when-“

           “Technically there’s no night since we are-” you saw the way he was looking at you “I couldn’t sleep and started walking around when I overheard about some ‘Fondor situation’ and I ended up here. I really just arrive. I am sorry, I wasn’t spying around” this last part was a lie, but he wouldn’t suspect you since you joked before. You hoped so at least.

           “Leave” he said turning around and the trooper released you.

           “Wait!” you yelled running after Kylo. He turned back to stare at you once more

           “What is it now?”

           “That’s it? No complaining? Explanation? Telling me why we haven’t trained yet?”

           “I’m busy.”

           “You are so…” you wanted to say annoying. You wanted him to give you attention, you felt like a child. His eyebrows raised waiting for your answer, and you could tell it wasn’t wise of you to insult the Supreme Leader – again.

           “Can I go with you?” you simply asked, not completing your previous sentence.

           “No” and he started walking again towards the ship.

           “Oh, come on! I am you apprentice, aren’t I? Give me some action, please. Give me a trust vow also. Let me prove my loyalty.” You said again going after him, he stared at you and while those deep brown eyes were looking into yours, all you wanted to hear was his yes. You didn’t even remember that you should go to get information for the Resistance, you just wanted Kylo Ren’s attention. By now, you wanted to know him. You wanted to know the man that destroyed everything you loved and made you run away to hide for years in a distant planet all alone. And maybe get your revenge. No, that wasn’t you. Or was it?

           “Yes” he said and you widely smiled.

           “Yes!” you replied smiling with an excited little jump. You were really acting like a child. You couldn’t tell but at that moment, Kylo Ren also wanted to smile at seeing your excitement. He didn’t though.

             The “Fondor situation” was worse than you expected to be. Actually, you had no idea what you were actually expecting, but it ended up with Kylo Ren decapitating Fondor’s leader with his lightsaber.

           “I have already told you” the Fondor leader was laying down on the floor, troopers around them with blasters in their hands “we have done nothing wrong. A Resistance contingent passed through here, but we refused to assist them.” He declared.

           You were quite behind the whole situation, watching it as an outsider, you were among the Stormtroopers in the entrance of the room. Kylo Ren was next of the Fondor’s leader.

           “So you admit that you have had contact with enemies of the First Order.” He spoke with such an imposing voice “such an act of treason necessitates extreme measures. Effective immediately, the First Order will take control of the shipyards.”

           “But Fondor has always been independently run! Even the Empire…” the Fondor’s leader tried to speak again. Kylo got his saber on his hands and lighted it up, the red color reddening the ambient.

           “We have learned from the mistakes of the Empire. They were too lenient.” He raised the saber “the Resistance is looking to replenish their lost ships and weapons… it is imperative they find none.” And with a single movement he cut the leader’s head. You didn’t close your eyes, you watched the whole scene, but you heart was beating so fast that you wouldn’t be surprise if it came out of your chest. You had seen Kylo Ren killing before, killing your people and this… your anger grew. You were supposed to help him doing that… killing people who have done nothing wrong, that just came in the way of something that that spoiled bastard hated?

           “Make sure the word is spread from here to the farthest corner of the galaxy” he last declared turning his back to the decapitated body while the tiara on the leader’s head fell on the cold floor. Kylo started walking to the exit, the same place where you were, you saw his face, he had no expression on, no feelings. You clenched your chaw and turned your back, you didn’t wait for Kylo reach you, a trooper put his hand on your shoulder so you wouldn’t leave, the Supreme Leader noticed that.

           You followed the troopers back to the main ship, along the Supreme Leader, while the so many others stayed on land to destroy that civilization.

             You sat on a chair looking at the viewport that gave view to the planet outside, you could see the light of the explosions on land. You couldn’t wait to go back to the First Order cruiser to be in your room. Maybe you should just leave and go back and fight aside with the Resistance.

           “They were traitors and needed punishment” you heard the deep voice behind you. It was just you and him in the room. You didn’t look behind to see him. You remained silent. “The Empire failed and I will not commit their same mistakes, there won’t be independent planets in my galaxy, there won’t be resistance.” Was he explaining his actions to you?

           You looked at him with a blank expression, your face didn’t say anything but maybe your eyes did, you still felt anger.

           “I won’t accept any complains towards my actions” he declared at least staring at you.

           “I didn’t say anything” you said at least.

           “Your actions did, so did your feelings. You felt anger.”

           “I thought you wanted me to feel angry, wasn’t that supposed to guide me in the Dark Side? I didn’t disagree with your actions neither to your authority” he remained quiet. You took a deep breath and asked, looking into his eyes “why do you even care?”

           “I don’t” he replied exiting the room, leaving you alone. A/N:  HI! Thanks for reading!!! If you want to know when the next chapters come out, just ask me to be add on the taglist :))  Sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes, that can happen :\ I looove feedback, so please, share, comment, like, whatever, that keeps me writing, it gives me a lot of motivation. Well, I have nothing much to say except that reader is starting to realize some things about herself and Kylo ;))  oh, also, the whole Fondor scene was inspired by the “Star Wars: Allegiance” Comic book, here you can find the page of what I described Thank you so much once again. Lots of love and see you in the next chapter,

chapter 7 

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[solynaceawrites]

Wires [1] A Fresh Start

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-«« 

“Everybody has a geography that can be used for change; that is why we travel to far off places. Whether we know it or not, we need to renew ourselves in territories that are fresh and wild. We need to come home through the body of alien lands.”   — Joan Halifax

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Holding an aspirin tablet between her teeth, craving a drink, Lir listens to the clacking of the keyboard and blinks against the watery light streaming between the blinds. The office of Red Grave’s chief of police is smaller than the one in Fortuna, but neater: gone are the numerous potted plants, the maps and spreadsheets tacked to every available surface, the bookcases littered with little knick-knacks and family photographs. Those personal touches have been ignored in favor of something that is neat, organized, the little bit of warmth the room has coming from the soft bulb of the desk lamp and the mahogany of the furniture. It’s a bit of a relief, really. Sanctus had been old—too old, in the opinion of many—and took on a fatherly role that often left Lir feeling chafed and angry. At least here, going from first impressions, there will be no blurring of the line between duty and her personal life.

Seated with his back rod-straight is her new superior. A gold nameplate on the desk reads J.D. Morrison, and as he reads whatever file he’s pulled up on his monitor, Lir wonders what the initials stand for. James Dean is her first thought, and she finally crunches the aspirin, using the bitter flavor to smother her budding laughter. Sure, yeah, why not? Red Grave is a big city, and maybe Morrison’s parents had been so attached to the ill-fated actor that they’d saddled their son with his name. Certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’s heard of.

“Detective Thorne,” Morrison says. He opens a drawer and pulls out a cigar, which he lights in clear disregard of the signs posted on the doors to the building. “Says here you transferred out for personal reasons.”

“Yessir.” The dull throbbing behind her temples grows at the scent of smoke. “Wanted a change of scenery.”

He coughs, clears his throat. “That so? Well, we’ve had people do it for less. Though your track record . . . You seem to have been on a fast path to promotion. ” Lir says nothing. The expectant silence stretches between them until it turns uncomfortable, but she’s not in any particular mood for niceties. She has an apartment to unpack and a bitch of a headache brewing and she wants to get this introduction over with as quickly as she can. Finally, Morrison sighs, silver plumes curling through the air. “Normally, you’d get a tour and time to sort out your desk, but we got a call this morning and it’s all hands on deck. You up to fieldwork?”

His shrewd gaze rephrases that question nicely. You willing to actually work? “Sure.”

Morrison studies her for a few seconds longer, then nods and stands up, raising his voice to a shout that makes her wince. “Officer Simmons!”

A young man with untidy white hair tucked messily under his cap stumbles in. “Yes, Chief?”

“Take Detective Thorne here to the alley.” Simmons’ face pales, and Morrison barks, “Now!”

“Yes, Chief!” Simmons snaps into a hasty salute before scurrying out of the office.

Lir gives one of her own to Morrison and follows, feeling a sort of bemused pity for the officer. She’d been there once, bright-eyed and eager to please, thinking that the law enforcement they showed on television, with its friendly camaraderie and kind-yet-stern chiefs, was the truth of it. Simmons must still be clinging to that, and she pops another aspirin into her mouth and chews it as they weave through the bullpen to the doors that lead outside.

Simmons doesn’t say much, though he opens her door when they reach the cruiser, flushing under her raised brow, and his uneasy quiet persists well into the ride. Definitely fresh, Lir thinks. Probably still spit shines his shoes in the morning and tells people he’s a cop with pride.The thought is bitter, and angry, and distasteful. Not that it really bothers her anymore; her mind has been particularly not tasty as of late.

They drive through cramped, winding streets that turn unexpectedly into one-ways and cross over themselves into a maze, closed in by the dingy buildings until it all feels more than a little claustrophobic. Red Grave City is coastal, just like Fortuna, but it’s much larger, with more crime, and rumors of rampant corruption and greased pockets give it an unsavory reputation with other law enforcement agencies. Yet in stark contrast, it’s as much of a tourist hotspot as Fortuna, its historic district and scenic parks and ritzy downtown drawing numerous crowds every year, regardless of the season. Lir takes all of it in, the cafès and hotels and convenience stores fighting for space, their colorful signs and banners almost garish against the dull brick, and it’s not until they pass into a more modern area with skyscrapers of steel and glass that she decides to ask where the hell Simmons is taking her to.

“What’s in this alley?”

Simmons jumps, the wheel jerking under his hands and sending them partially over the white lines. A minivan behind them lays on the horn, and Lir watches the driver raise his middle finger as he speeds by once Simmons has corrected. “Sorry, ma’am. Uh, Detective. I thought the Chief filled you in.”

“No.” She straightens. “Just that it’s serious.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he mumbles. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Yes.” The sight of his momentary pout sends irritation flaring hot and thick along her spine. Lir swallows it and rubs her temples. “Just crack the damn window.”

“Sure thing.” He does, and then reaches for a pack on the dash and. Drawing a cigarette from it, he says, “Call came in maybe twenty minutes before you showed up. Jane Doe found in an alley. She, uh . . . Well, it might be better for you to see for yourself, but it’s . . .” His fingers tremble as he tries to flick his lighter. Lir takes pity on him and pulls her own from her coat, and he smiles gratefully as she holds it to his cigarette, though his face is pallid and shiny with sweat. “First body?” At his nod, she sighs. “You’ve probably heard it gets easier.”

“Does it?” Simmons looks at her hopefully.

Lir snorts. “No. Eyes on the road.”

He retreats into a silence that’s not quite sullen, leaving her to her thoughts. Which mostly center around whether or not she’ll have time to find a new bar, one of the nice and private ones where no one wants to get friendly or gives a shit that she’s a cop, only that she pays her tab. When they arrive at the crime scene, Simmons stays in the car, looking ready to puke. Lir raps on the door once it’s closed and jerks her chin, signalling for him to head out, and she waits until he gives a shaky thumbs up and pulls away from the curb to head towards the yellow tape strung between a nightclub on one side and a sports bar on the other. An officer at the corner stops her until she shows her badge, then lifts the tape for her to step beneath. Immediately, she’s assaulted by the wet, mossy stench of death and viscera, and she takes the gloves and shoe covers and slides them on to buy herself time to adjust to it.

Cops swarm outside of the alley, keeping the rabid press contained. Inside, there’s only four others, three men and a woman, but Lir ignores them in favor of taking in all that she can before she’s forced to talk. Four dumpsters are present, two on each wall with the city’s waste disposal logo printed on the side; bits of trash and litter surround them: used condoms, soda cans, scraps of newspaper, all of the usual findings. There’s no spray paint graffiti, and a security camera faces out into the busy street. Maybe they’ll get something useful from it, though she doubts it. In her experience, they’re usually for show, just a weak-hearted attempt to prevent crime or a way to deter violence on the premises of businesses who host rowdy crowds.

The scenery accounted for, Lir turns her attention to the misshapen body in the center. Nude and pale, the woman is covered from chest to knee in red that’s gone black with time, her unseeing eyes staring at the sky with a terror that won’t disappear until the medical examiner closes them on the slab. She walks towards her, offal and iron making her throat constrict against nausea, and the woman kneeling next to the corpse looks up at her approach with a friendly nod. Dressed in a black jumpsuit, she’s no doubt the M.E., or someone affiliated with them, and she stays quiet as Lir kneels to fully take in the mutilation inflicted on the victim.

While the rest of her is untouched, her throat is slashed, and she’s been split open from rib to hip, the skin and muscle peeled away to reveal her organs beneath. As far as Lir can tell, nothing has been removed, but something has certainly been added: a pendant rests on top of her stomach, glistening wetly in the daylight. “I pulled it out,” the maybe-M.E. says. “Dante wanted to see it.”

“Dante?” The woman tilts her head, and Lir turns to see a man speaking quietly but furiously to two uniforms. “Uh-huh.”

“You must be the new detective. My name’s Trish.” Lir looks blankly at the hand she holds out before taking it, and Trish’s handshake is firm and cordial. “I’m the medical examiner, coroner, whatever you’d like to call me. Your stiffs go onto my slab, anyway.”

Her dry humor draws an unwilling smile from Lir. “Okay. Trish. I’m Lir, Detective Thorne, take your pick as long as it’s not Lily. What can you tell me about our Jane Doe?”

“Not much, other than the obvious.” Trish points to the wound. “This was more than likely done pre-mortem, going by the amount of blood—there wouldn’t be so much of it if she was already dead—and there are a couple of hesitation marks at her throat. But as to which of those killed her, and how long ago, why she didn’t fight back, I won’t know all of that until I take her out of here.”

Lir considers all of that. “Why do you think she didn’t resist?”

“No self-defense wounds on the hands or arms. At least, not that I can see.”

“Mm. Your guys get pictures?”

“Not yet.” Trish smiles wryly. “Chief wanted you to see it first. It’s why Dante’s giving those two a lashing, though he’s just shooting the messengers at this point.”

“Right.” Standing, Lir peels off her gloves and drops them into the bag Trish holds out to her. “Guess I should go save ‘em.”

“Good luck.”

Lir snorts as she turns. On first sight, she’s already unimpressed with the so-called Dante. He’s handsome, sure, model or film star handsome even, with his straight nose and strong jaw dusted with a five o’clock shadow, but he’s dressed like a detective from a noir novel: pinstripe trousers and a matching vest, a red tie, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, brown Oxfords polished to a dull shine. The only things that break the illusion that he’s stepped off the silver screen are the watch at his wrist, the gleaming handcuffs clipped to the back of his belt, the radio at his hip, and the Beretta in its holster next to the radio. She more than half expects him to pull out a flask from somewhere and take a swig mid-tirade, but the only time he pauses is to draw in a breath.

“—how the  hell  he expects us to carry out an investigation when he’s waiting on some country bumpkin—”     “Howdy,” Lir drawls.

He whirls on her so fiercely that she instinctively rests her hand on the butt of her own gun, her pulse roaring into her ears. Dante seems to catch himself, straightening to his full height to scowl down to her, and she’s startled by the pale, frozen blue of his eyes. “You Detective Thorne?”

She shrugs. “Country bumpkin works, too.”

Dante doesn’t have the grace to look embarrassed that she overheard him. “I’m Detective Redgrave. Yes, like the city, no, I don’t give a shit. You done lookin’ at the body?”

“Sure.”

“You hear that, Trish?” Dante hollers. “Take her out.”

Behind her, she hears the telltale metallic clatter of a gurney being placed on the ground, followed by a bit of huffing, the rasp of a zipper, and more heavy breathing and the rustling of fabric. “Are you going to give me the details or am I going to guess?”

He barks a laugh. “Morrison sent you out here blind? Doesn’t surprise me. Sure, I’ll humor you.” With a grin that’s more mocking than genuine, he says, “Call came in at 7:45. Some poor schmuck takin’ out the trash found our body and had the decency to lose his breakfast outside of the crime scene before he called. No witnesses so far, no clothing, no I.D., just—” “What about the camera?” Lir points over her shoulder with her thumb.

“Can’t get to it until the owner shows up, which, according to his staff could be anytime between noon and midnight.”

“Alright. What do you need me to do?”

Dante considers her, that cruel smile still playing at his lips. “You want to help?” She nods. “Go keep those fuckers away.”

“The press?” His expression doesn’t slip, and she shakes her head. “That’s uniform work. Send them to—”

“Either deal with them or go home. I don’t have time to hold your hand.”

Just like that, he turns away in a clear dismissal. Lir stares at his broad back, her head throbbing from the night before and the rage that’s been building since she stepped into Morrison’s office: rage at the incompetence of her former chief, at the glares that had followed her once she entered the precinct, at Simmons’ earnest naivety, at whoever butchered a woman and left her in an alley like she was no better than the trash already there, at Dante himself. It’s familiar, and choking, the same burning that’s festered within her all her life with every snide, “Are you sure you can handle that? Wouldn’t you rather answer phones and let the men handle the rest?”

Instead of giving into her urge to punch him in his smug mouth, she inhales deeply and holds it until spots dance in her vision. Then she exhales and heads towards the bright yellow tape and, beyond it, the reporters and photographers craning their necks to get a look at the violence that’s visited their city. Two steps, and cold fingers curl around her wrist, sending numbness crawling along her skin from where they touch. Lir closes her eyes, counting to ten, and then she pulls free. Only on the other side of the tape does she look back, and the sight of a woman in a red dress with pale hair staring back at her sadly, her lips moving soundlessly, is exactly what she expected.  Definitely getting a drink, she muses.

The reporters are no different from the ones Lir dealt with in Fortuna, just more persistent. She repeats the phrase, “No comment,” so many times that it begins to lose meaning to her, until a uniform comes to relieve her and she’s able to hail a taxi. But she doesn’t go back to work straight away. The cabbie drops her at a liquor store, waiting at the curb while she hurries in to buy a mini bottle of vodka and hurries back out, and she cracks it open and takes it like a shot, stowing the empty bottle in her pocket as they reach the precinct. Lir tips him double, then heads inside, and the bustling and noise is so at odds with the sullen silence of only hours ago that she nearly stops in her tracks. It’s only force of will that keeps her moving to the stairs in the back and up them, to where her desk sits just outside of Morrison’s office.

Dante is seated at the desk across from hers, a phone clamped between his face and shoulder while he writes on a notepad. Lir waits until he hangs up to say, “You’re an ass.”

“Been called worse,” he replies distractedly. “Trish’s report get in yet?”

“Not in my inbox. You got a problem with me?”

“No offense, sweetheart, but city crime is different from country crime.”

“I’m from Fortuna. Not the mountains.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure you dealt with a lot of purse snatching.”

Lir bristles. “Listen, jackass—”

“Go see Trish. See if she’s got a report yet or not.”

Her mouth hangs open. Then she stands, slamming her chair back into her desk loudly enough that Morrison looks out from his office with a frown, and stalks back the way she’d come, heading for the elevators. On one hand, she understands Dante’s shit attitude; she’s new to Red Grave, new to their force. On the other, she transferred from Homicide to Homicide, and there were enough of them in Fortuna that the sight of another isn’t going to send her running, and he’s a sour bastard with a chip on his shoulder who probably thinks he can do nothing wrong and his word is law. Which she’s only proving, she realizes, running his errands for him, and she jabs irritably at the button that will take her to the basement and the morgue. Next time he demands she do something, she’s going to tell him right where he can shove it. In the back of her mind, however, disappointment is bitter. So much, she thinks, for a fresh start.

[legendarysharpshooter]

Lost Prince (S1) Prologue Pt. 1

A/N: My entire tumblr account got deleted for... really stupid reasons, so now I’m  reposting this because I enjoyed having it on tumblr and I’ve had a renewed interest in writing.

Pairing: Shance

Next,

A03

Sirens blare all around them as the Castle takes hit after hit. He stumbles into the bridge and spies Coran running about, struggling to check everything at once. His father, King Alfor, stands in the center of the room. He makes his way over.

“You called?”

“Akiva,” Alfor replies, turning to look at him, expression grim. His son stands tall before him. The two are nearly identical in appearance, though Akiva is lither, less filled out. Alfor knows, however, that his son is just as strong as him, and just as tactical as well. Allura may be too young to understand his decisions, but his oldest certainly will.

The ships jolts as it takes another hit. Coran scrambles back to the front of the bridge, brows furrowed in concentration as he reads the screens.

“We must hurry!” Coran shouts. ��Zarkon is getting closer!”

“Akiva,” Alfor says, looking back down at his son. “I have a special task for you.”

“Where are the other Paladins?” Akiva asks, glancing once more around the room. His father sighs.

“They’ve gone to hide the Lions,” he says. “You too, must take the Black Lion and hide it away from Zarkon’s reach.” Akiva’s gaze slides past Alfor to Coran as he takes in the scene. He knows Zarkon is powerful, but to send their only chance at winning away?

“Please, my son,” Alford pleads, stepping down from the podium. He places a hand on Akiva’s shoulder. “You are the only one capable of piloting the Black Lion, you must use that connection and build a stronger bond with it. It’s the only way to protect it from Zarkon and give the universe a fighting chance.”

“And what of Allura?” he asks. “And the remaining Alteans? We can’t just leave them to die!”

“Those that have chosen to stay will remain here to hold off Zarkon as long as possible. Some have volunteered to go with you and help protect the Black Lion. They are down in the hangar, waiting to leave with you,” Alfor answers. The Castle shakes and the pair stumbles.

“We don’t have much time left!” Coran shouts, fingers flying across the screens. Akiva stares out at the ships growing closer. He watches one charge up its ion cannon.

“And where is my sister?” he asks. Alfor places both hands on his shoulders.

“There are many paths to take in life,” he says. “Allura has her own path to walk. I can only hope that one day your paths may cross again.” Akiva watches his father for a long moment, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“This is goodbye then,” he mutters.

“My journey may end here, but yours must continue so that one day Zarkon can be stopped.” Akiva sucks in a breath and pulls his father into a hug. Alfor returns the embrace quickly before they’re pulling apart and his son is disappearing down to the Black Lion’s hangar.

The hangar is full of Alteans of all ages, moving quickly back and forth as they load the Black Lion up with supplies for their journey. Akiva takes a moment to watch the organized chaos, wishing he had had time to prepare himself.

“My Prince.” A young Altean, no older than Allura, approaches him, bag in her hands. She bows and holds the bag out to him. “King Alfor requested we pack your most essential items for you.” He smiles and takes the offered item.

“Thank you,” he says before getting right down to business. “How close are we to departure?”

“We are loading the last of the supplies,” she responds. “Once everyone is on board we will be clear to leave.”

“Prepare to leave in five doboshes.” She nods and runs off. Akiva watches her go before looking up at the large sentient creature. The largest of the Lions towers over them all, mouth lowered to allow everyone access. A faint growl rumbles through his mind, and he knows it’s the Lion reassuring him. He knows it’s Black’s way of acknowledging and accepting the situation.

It’s Black accepting him fully as its new Paladin.

They traveled by wormhole to a star system far, far away from war and landed on a young, primitive planet. The inhabitants, at first, were wary of the newcomers. They feared the Alteans’ strange technology, leagues ahead of their own. Soon, however, agreements were reached among all and treaties laid out to help the planet grow but also protect the system from the Galra’s looming threat.

Many years passed, and the planet, known as Earth, grew. Prospered under the peaceful guidance of Altea’s Prince.

Sadly, peace would not last and with the Prince’s passing, war reigned supreme across the land. Alteans learned all too quickly the folly of man and the greed of Mankind. They feared what would happen if war returned to their home, reminded all too much of the Galra’s destruction.

Fearful of their home being destroyed, they fled and hid away where none would find them. War on Earth waged for years until finally, Akiva’s granddaughter stood up as a champion of peace. She followed in her grandfather’s footsteps and, with the help of the Black Lion, brought peace once more to Earth.

The Black Paladin became a symbol of peace, and Alteans, warriors and protectors. Together, they-

“Lance, what are you doing?”

A young boy sits by the window of the classroom, papers spilling off his desk. His white hair glints in the sun as his pencil scribbles across the page before him. His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth in concentration. Bright blue Altean marks rest on his cheeks. His feet swing back and forth, too short to reach the floor.

“Drawing,” he answers, pushing away his paper and starting on a new one.

“Maybe you want to do that later?” she suggests. He shrugs.

“I have to do it now,” he says, hand feverishly scrawling across the paper.

“And it can’t wait until recess?” He shakes his head and frowns, blue eyes scrunching up in frustration but never leaving the paper. The teacher sighs and steps over to his desk. “And why is that?”

“Because I’ll forget.”

“Forget?” she asks, confused. He nods. “Forget what?”

“What it’s showing me,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He starts on a new picture, the old one fluttering off the desk.

“What it’s showing…” the teacher’s eyes follow the picture as it lands on the floor. She stares at it a long moment, taking in the old, scraggly looking cat. Her gaze takes in all the pictures around the desk then. They range from landscapes with strange flower and two moons, to hooded figures with strange masks.

Her attention lands on one particular piece. This one contains a young Altean with long, curly white hair. Her eyes remain closed and she slumbers inside some type of pod. A tiara circles her head.

Eyes wide, the teacher looks at all the other ones. Of the one of a planet long thought destroyed, yet here it is fully intact. An image of large creatures with purple fur, yellow eyes and sharp teeth. She looks at a picture, clearly of the Black Lion, and four other lions with it; below them the Paladins of old.

She sees a ship, sleek and elegant in design; one created to maneuver quickly through space. Another ship appears in a second picture, this one cut in half through some type of hole.

A prince with white hair and purple skin, gazes back at her, surrounded by four others.

“What are all of these?” she asks, but Lance shakes his head and continues to draw. “Lance?”

He breaks his pencil and rips through the paper but continues trying to draw. He drops the pencil and picks up another, shoving paper off his desk until he finds a new, clean piece.

“Lance!” The teacher tries grabbing his arm, but he shrugs her off, determined to see this one through as well. His hand slows as he begins to take his time with this one.

Slowly, a boy with big, yellow eyes, shaggy black hair and large, fuzzy ears emerges on the paper. Next to him is another boy, this one with a scar across his face and a splotch of white in his hair. He places the pencil tip on the paper and begins drawing another person but stops and drops the writing utensil.

Tears begin streaming down his face as he stares blankly at his desk. They drip onto the paper, smudging details on the drawing.

The nurse rushes in then, an Altean herself, long blue hair pulled back into a braid. She kneels beside the boy and leans over to try and catch his attention.

“Lance?” she asks, voice gently. He continues to stare down, eyes seeing something that nobody else can see. Carefully, she places a hand on his shoulder and give a small shake. It snaps him out of whatever trance he had been in. He blinks and looks over at her.

“There you are,” she says, smiling. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I…” Confused, he looks at all the pictures around his desk, and then at his teacher. Weren’t they talking about something important? Why is everyone staring at him? His head swims, trying in vain to piece together something he can’t seem to remember. It dances at the edge of his mind, just out of reach.

“Why don’t you come lay down in my office for a bit?” the nurse suggests. His teacher begins picking up the pictures, haphazardly stuffing them into a neat pile. He watches her for a moment before slowly rising out of his seat.

The whole class watches him gather up his things and disappear out of the room.

The day Krolia shows up is one Lance will never forget. It had been a day like any other, up until Galra cruisers are spotted by Earth’s moon.

Lance is with the Black Lion when the sirens go off. He jumps up, startled, and runs over to the wall. There he activates a switch that sends the Lion further into the ground and seals it off from danger. He watches it go before running out of the cave himself and finding his way home as quickly as possible. Once he’s out, the path itself closes giving the outward appearance of being a rocky wall.

His half-sister finds him wandering the halls of their home. Her short, curly brown hair bounces in the air with every step she takes. Deep, dark blue Altean marks are the only indication that they’re even remotely related; a result of his Altean mother marrying their Altean father after their human mom passed away. His sister stops him in the hall.

“Everyone’s been looking for you, you know,” she says.

“I was busy,” he mutters. She eyes him skeptically.

“With?”

“Lance! Veronica!” The pair jumps and slowly turn to face their mother. She stands at the end of the hall, hands on her hips and frowning at the both of them.

“Can’t you hear the sirens? Now is not the time to be playing around,” she hisses. “Come here at once!”  

They slowly skulk over to their mom and step into the security room with her. She mutters to herself, chastising them both as the door shuts with an audible click. Lance’s other half siblings sit around the room with Altean military personnel and government officials.

All eyes remain on the screen on the far side of the room. Footage of three Galra cruiser plays on a loop.

“They triggered our alerts after entering the inner ring of the solar system,” a Garrison official say, voicing somewhat distorted over the phone. The footage changes then to show one ship shooting down the other two. “For some reason though, this one shot the others down. It is currently enroute to Earth as we speak.”

“Have you sent out a hailing frequency?” Lance’s mom asks.

“They’ve been unresponsive to all our attempts. Would you like us to shoot it down?” She stares at the screen for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons.

“Disable the craft but do not kill,” she answers. “I wish to speak with whoever is in that cruiser.”

“Understood.”

It seems like forever to Lance before the Garrison is arriving with their prisoner.

Lance stands with his mom as they bring the Galra inside. He watches, curious as she stops before his mom, handcuffed and disarmed.

Her skin is purple. Hair a deep, dark purple on top and a magenta below. Her ears are pointy like an Altean’s. The sclera of her eyes is yellow with her irises matching her skin. She has two dark stripes on her face, one on each cheek.

She kneels before Lance’s mother.

“Queen Ourania,” she says. “I am Krolia of the Blade of Marmora.”

“And what business do you have on Earth, Krolia of the Blade of Marmora?” his mom asks.

“We picked up frequencies similar to that of the Lions of Voltron. I was sent on a scouting mission with the Galra to locate the source,” Krolia replies. The Garrison officials beside her raise their weapons, preparing to shoot if necessary. Ourania raises her hand, silently asking them to hold their positions.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks.

“I believe there is a Lion located on this planet,” Krolia says. “And seeing Alteans here only confirms my suspicions.”

“Alteans came to this planet many years ago to be away from Zarkon and his war,” Ourania confirms. “We have found peace and prosperity with the natives of this planet…. And your presence is a clear threat to that peace. Are we meant to leave you free or shoot you where you stand?”

“I shot down the only ones who will bring harm,” Krolia argues.  

“To lull us into a false sense of security, perhaps,” The queen responds.

“I want to help.”

“And why should I believe that?” Krolia huffs, expression conflicted as she weighs her options. She slowly shifts her attention to the boy at his mother’s side, eyes soft  yet tightwith worry. Lance watches her back, a sense of comfort washing over him. Something tells him she’s friendly… but still… his mom seems hesitant to trust her. Maybe there’s something he doesn’t know?

Krolia sighs in defeat, realizing she has no other choice.

“The Blade of Marmora i-”

“I know of the Blade,” Ourania snaps. “Do not recite their creed to me. My ancestors were there at their founding.”  

“Then you should know of what we do,” Krolia says instead. “I have been working undercover in Zarkon’s ranks to put a stop to his empire.”

“What proof do you have, then, of your allegiance to the Blade?”

“My blade,” Krolia responds, gesturing to the guard on her left. The Garrison official shift, eyeing her warily.

“Do you have her blade?” The queen asks him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds. “But… we removed it from her when she landed.”

“Give it to her.”

“Bu-”

“Anyone can claim to have a blade,” she says. “Only true members of the Blade, however, can activate them. Please hand it to her.” Hesitantly, he pulls the blade out and hands it over.

Lance watches, eyes wide, as the knife glows and grows longer. When it finally stops glowing a sword rests in her hand.  

“Lance,” she says and the boy jumps. He looks up at her with wide, blue eyes. She smiles and affectionately runs a hand through his hair. “Sometimes for the sake of peace, one must fight. I know that your lessons have said some bad things about the Galra... Zarkon’s reign will forever be a dark stain on their long history. It’s important to know, though, that even Alteans aren’t perfect. The Galra are not inherently bad, they have become misguided. It’s important to know that too… and to remember that they were once our allies and they can be our allies again.” She looks to Krolia and then the guards.

“Release her,” she says to them. “She can be trusted.” The Garrison officers, lower their weapons as Krolia turns to be released from her handcuffs. Ourania looks back to her son. His eyes swim with confusion and curiosity. A desire to know more, lurks in the depths of his conflicted gaze. She smiles softly.

“There are pieces of history not even your teachers know about,” she tells him. “Secrets that only those of Akiva’s heritage are privy to, and I think it’s time you learn about his involvement with a young prince and their mission to take down a corrupt leader.”

[insidious-intent]

What Dreams May Come

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY @andrea-lyn​!!!! This little, month-late gift for a wonderful person and friend, and an incredible writer! 

A/N: This fic takes place before the events of s1 and therefore before Alex is injured. 

READ ON AO3 INSTEAD

Alex came to with a big gasp, feeling his lungs expand with air in a burst. His vision swam from the sudden movement, and his whole body cried out in protest. It felt like resurfacing from underwater, his body feeling loose and heavy. He waited for the dizziness to pass, before trying to get up again. The room he was in was clearly a hospital, small and white-washed, with equipment beeping, and sounds of machinery surrounding him. He fumbled out of bed, trying to see if he could find his prosthetic or a set of crutches, and almost fell out. His right leg was still there. 

The realization knocked over him like a slow cresting wave - Alex had just woken up, after a long lucid dream. He hadn’t even deployed for his second tour yet. It was almost Thanksgiving of the year 2013 and Alex Manes was only twenty three years old. 

Alex sat on the hospital bed and tried to breath through the panic of reality reasserting itself. He had just been somewhere else - a car, he was driving, coming back to Roswell when his car was T-boned. The last thing he remembered was his consciousness fading, as people ran over to hopefully help him out of the car. And now he was here, in a hospital room, back in real life.

He finally got out of the hospital bed, and saw that he was still in his fatigues. Old training regimen resurfaced, and he moved to the door, finding and slipping on his shoes silently. He needed to find out what was going on, why he was in a hospital since he should have been in his barracks. 

The hallway was dark and silent, and Alex felt dread build up in his veins. This wasn’t right, no hospital was this ever this dark and isolated. He walked slowly, the need to compensate for a prosthetic on his right keeping his gait uneven. He tried to think why anyone would need to make him think he was in a hospital and kept coming back to a single answer - Project Shepherd. It wouldn’t have been quite three years since the project had been formally shut down, and his father would still have enough to pull to keep things afloat. Alex needed a plan. He needed to make sure nothing about his dream was recorded by the Project Shepherd team, and he needed to get to Roswell. He needed to make sure his friends were ok, that Kyle and Liz were safe, and Michael. 

Michael, his brain screamed. He needed to find Michael. He needed to protect Michael. 

He finally found a room that wasn’t fully dark and abandoned, and circled around slowly to make sure he wasn’t going to run into anyone. The room had multiple screens running, a lot of them showing people in white gowns attached to machines that kept them sleeping. PASIV, he remembered that’s what it was called. He remembered when he was dragged into his CO’s office, surrounded by military men who talked about Alex as a potential candidate for a top secret assignment. 

He had been lucky to have a CO who wasn’t part of the Manes circle of influence, and within the first year of basic he had been selected for Officers training. He had been lucky to have the team he had, and he wished he had listened to his gut instinct on why he did not want to go on some top secret assignment. He didn’t know back then, but only now did he realize that his father had clearly stolen more than one PASIV, and was using it for his own purposes. 

A noise disrupted his thoughts, and Alex froze, making sure to not make any movement. Footsteps came closer and the click of a gun had Alex moving, turning to move out of the way of any potential shots. The man in the room was military, holding a gun at Alex’s head. 

“Subject 235N, you are not supposed to be here,” the man said, his gun still held high. 

“I’m sorry, I just woke up. What is happening? Where am I?” Alex tried to project as much of a confused aura as possible. He couldn’t let this guy hold him here, but he didn’t have a weapon. Yet. He let his hands move behind him, grabbing hold of a pen. He needed to make this quick. 

“You shouldn’t be here, you need to go back to your room,” the guard said, coming closer, the gun still aimed at Alex. He needed to act fast, and he needed to act quietly. Alex had no idea how much his father already knew, and what proof they had collected. That guard was his only way of finding out more and getting out of there. 

The guard never saw it coming, one minute he was coming close to grab Alex, the next minute he was on the floor bleeding from his carotid artery. Alex moved quickly, grabbing keys and key card from the guard. 

Alex ran down the hallway, hat and jacket stolen from the guard. He thanked the universe for his father’s lack of technical prowess or paranoia, because he found the typed reports of all his conversations - with Kyle, with Jenna, with Michael - only they never happened. They were all one intricate dream. 

***

The phone number Alex had memorized for Kyle was picked up after only three rings. The voice on the other end was not Kyle, but it was a shockingly familiar one. 

“Jim Valenti,” said the voice of a dead man. Alex flinched hard from the shock, before remembering reality. Jim was still alive. 

“Jim? This is Alex Manes,” he said into the cell phone. He knew he needed to ditch this phone soon, the guard the phone belonged to would be discovered very soon. But he needed an assist first. 

Jim was silent long enough that Alex had to check if the call was dropped. “Alex Manes? I was told you were deployed to the middle east,” Jim finally replied. 

“Jim, I’m not in the middle east, and I need you to come get me. I don’t have a lot of time, but I need you to meet me at the coordinates I just texted you,” Alex spoke quietly but quickly. “I won’t have this phone for long, so please move fast.”

***

Two days later found Alex in Jim’s old hunting cabin, although it wasn’t as old as Alex remembered. The floors and kitchen were still clean, and the grotesque hunting trophies of stuffed animal heads were still on the walls. Alex’s memories glitch with the overlay of his dreams where he had removed the worst of the stuff, upgraded the rooms for accessibility, and the living room rug had revealed the existence of a bunker. But none of that had happened yet, and Alex still had a chance to change things. Fix some mistakes. 

Jim hadn’t kicked him out of the car when Alex talked to him about the dream share program, and he hadn’t immediately sectioned him, so Alex felt more confident sharing the details of the dream itself. Jim’s shock at the alien revelation from Alex cemented some things, but he still needed more information. 

“Jim, I know what my dad is up to, and I know that you’re involved in it too,” he said over a plate of churros, freshly delivered from Michelle Valenti’s kitchen. He sat there chewing, watching Jim struggle to divulge the truth. Alex could be patient. Not infinitely, but a little. 

“Alex, you have to know we were guarding against a large scale threat,” Jim started. Alex tried to stay still, letting Jim have the space to confess. “We thought we were saving lives by containing dangerous entities.” 

“Are you listening to yourself, Sheriff Valenti?” Alex couldn’t keep a lid on his anger anymore. “Are you telling me that the unlawful detention of and experimentation on hundreds of people for decades is your idea of saving lives? Is your moral compass that corrupted?”

Jim looked at him with sad and knowing eyes. “No son, my moral compass was temporarily skewed. I saw the error of my ways years ago, but it’s too late for me to walk away from this mistake.” Alex knew what he meant. Once someone was ensnared in the web of hate and violence that was Jesse Manes and Project Shepherd, they couldn’t leave of their own volition. In the dream world, Jim Valenti had paid the price of such thinking with his life. Alex wasn’t going to let that happen this time. 

Alex started pacing the tiny space in the cabin. He still had a visible mismatch in his gait, his brain not able to match up to the reality of his not yet missing limb. But this wasn’t the time for fixing psychosomatic hangups, Alex needed to focus. 

He had to do something to fix things, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He couldn’t just march up to Michael’s door and demand answers. He needed a plan, and an ally. 

He looked over where Jim sat with his head down, staring at the floor. 

“Is Max Evans a sheriff’s deputy yet?”

***

Max Evans looked young, but still burdened by a truth. Alex had watched from the living room as his cruiser had pulled up, a couple hours after Jim made the call. Max’s hair was cut short, and he hadn’t quite bulked up the way Alex remembered him looking five years from now. Youth and the strenuous nature of his job had very likely kept Max still looking like a cross country runner. He approached the door warily, one hand close to his weapon, as he knocked. Alex could see all that from his perch, conveniently hiding him from the front door. 

Jim was the one who opened the door. “Come on in Evans,” he said, greeting Max at the door and letting him inside.

Max walked in slightly more relaxed now that he could see Jim was unharmed, but his eyes immediately landed on Alex and he jumped a little. He was clearly not expecting Alex and Jim had obviously not cleared up anything from the way Max immediately looked on the defensive.

Jim walked up behind him and put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Easy, Evans. Take a seat, this is just a conversation.”

Max slowly sat down and stared from Alex to Jim. “Everything alright, Sheriff?”

Jim took a deep breath before speaking, and Alex remembered the way he had to do the same - back when he had those conversations. Back when he never got a chance to plan any interaction. 

“Max, Alex needs to talk to you about something, but I need your assurance that you will hear him out.”

Max glanced at Alex for a moment and hesitated. Then to Alex’s immense relief, he nodded. 

Alex took a breath himself, bracing for Max’s reaction. 

“Max, I know what happened in Roswell in 1947.”

***

The wiring of the cabin had been old, and Alex felt a moment of deep annoyance at all the work that would be needed to recover and upgrade the wiring. Max’s reaction hadn’t been surprising, but Alex was still kicking himself for not talking out in the middle of the desert. Oh well. 

Max hadn’t taken kindly to the revelation of Alex’s knowledge about him. He had been even less understanding about the imprisonment and torture of alien survivors of the ‘47 crash, but had flat out refused to believe that Noah was dangerous and they were now at an impasse. 

“Ok but if Noah is who you say he is, you wouldn’t mind running a full background check on him, right?” Alex tried a new tactic. 

“Absolutely not! He’s my sister’s boyfriend. And a lawyer. And a golden retriever personified, there’s no way he’s this creepy killer just because you saw it in a dream!” 

Alex pinched his brow between his eyes, but Jim was already moving towards Max with a folder. “Your sister is in danger, Max. And you need to start seeing things for what they are.”

The folder had everything Alex had been able to compile about the identity of Noah Bracken in the couple days he had. It had the evidence of identity fraud and degree fraud, coupled with his presence around people who disappeared and were eventually found dead. He hoped Max would see reason. 

That night Jim brought over food, while Alex told Max the entire story of dream share, Project Shepherd, and what ended up happening to Max, Isobel, and Michael in his dream life. They sat outside the cabin, Alex enjoying a rare slouch on the stairs of the cabin, beer bottles hanging from their fingers. 

“I’ve been afraid of people knowing our secret my whole life,” Max said, stretching out his legs. “And it turns out not only did a lot of people know, they’ve been hurting my family for decades.” He chuckled sadly. “Some protector I am, huh.”

Alex was stunned to find that he could relate to Max in the moment. He was reminded of that moment after the Caulfield explosion, watching Michael’s hope and desires of a family go up in flames. All of Alex’s hopes of finding a sliver of happiness for Michael going up in flames. 

“You still have a chance to make things right, Max,” Alex said, an answer for a rhetorical question. “We can still help your brother and sister escape this psychopath, and if you trust me, we can go save some of your other family too.”

“Are you doing this for Michael?” Max’s question came out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Michael. Is all this for him? You both had a thing in high school and I always thought Rosa’s death put an end to it.” Max’s face was open and curious. “But that wasn’t it, right?” 

Alex had an entire moment of hesitation, when years of fear and violence had honed his reflexes to respond with deflection and protecting himself. But he also remembered the consequences of hiding his relationship with Michael. The hurts it led to, the bridges it burned, the people it hurt. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake. 

“Michael has been the one and only man I’ve loved in my whole life,” Alex responded, voice crisp. “And yes I want to protect him from my violently homophobic father who destroyed Michael’s hand just for making the mistake of loving me,” he pauses, fortifying himself, “but this is about more than just Michael. This is about you and Isobel, and the many living breathing people imprisoned for decades for no other reason than that they are different.” 

***

Alex was trying to remember the exact words Michael had used that day. The fated day when he came back to Roswell, trying to clear our the Foster Ranch under orders of his father. He was practically drunk on memories as Max’s cruiser rolled up to the ranch, coming to a stop by the airstream. 

He remembered the desert dust swirling around him as he had walked inside, Michael throwing himself on top of him. 

Max strolled up and knocked on the airstream door, waiting for Michael to open it instead of barging in. The deference in his movements looked a little clunky, but Alex appreciated the way Max had immediately internalized Alex’s comments about all the small ways Michael had suffered over the years. Alex knew Max intellectually understood that Michael had a rough life, but he would never understand the mundane exhaustion of this life. The way years of violence, poverty, and neglect leave you constantly exhausted, physically and mentally. 

He stood back to give Max some space, but also to give himself the distance he needed to prepare. To see Michael again, without the hurt and anger and loss between them. And never if Alex had anything to say about it.

The sound of someone walking up to them was probably drowned out by Max’s yelling around for his brother. 

“That’s private property, Deputy Evans!” Michael yelled from behind them. Max and Alex whirled around simultaneously. There he was, the love of Alex’s life. 

Michael’s face registered shock for a moment, and smoothed out into a sarcastic smirk. “Alex,” he drawled, “back from Baghdad.” 

Alex couldn’t help but grin, he had missed Michael. It felt like years, and in Alex’s dream world it had been years, but here standing in front of that ridiculous airstream, he couldn’t help but be overjoyed. 

“It’s good to see you, Guerin,” he said. Michael’s smirk faltered, brows pinching in confusion. He looked great, young like Alex and lithe like Max. Alex couldn’t believe he didn’t see the familial similarities, not in their appearances but their manners. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you were deployed overseas still,” Michael said. 

Max answered instead of him. “Michael we need to talk to you, and we need to do this inside. Right now.” 

Michael’s hesitation was clear, and Alex realized he must have had all his spaceship research strewn around if he didn’t want them inside. He decided to make things easier.

“Guerin, it’ll be ok. You can trust me,” he said. Michael looked up, confused.

Max looked at Alex and then at Michael, “he knows,” he murmured at Michael. 

Michael’s eyes widened, shock and fear tangible. 

“Guerin. Michael,” Alex started, “I have so much to tell you. Please give me a chance.”

Michael didn’t move right away, standing for a moment and staring at Alex. He must have found the answer he was looking for because he finally moved forward and opened the door of the airstream. 

“After you, Deputy,” he said to Max, who walked inside without a single word. Before Michael could follow, Alex quickly grabbed his good hand and brought it up to his lips. 

“Michael, I was not lying when I said it’s good to see you,” he said. “And I don’t plan on ever leaving you. I love you Michael Guerin.” 

The slow incredulous smile on Michael’s face was everything, and Alex grinned, young and happy and in love. 

[darkestwolfx]

Long Haul - Re-Review #48

Okay, I think I managed to reply to most people yesterday, but I had over a hundred odd notifications to scroll through - so if I missed your comment, I’m really sorry! So, moving on to today’s review.

It’s all nice and steady, business as usual, and there’s even some lovely peaceful music until we get to the ‘duh-dun’ part and in comes trouble.

“All ships divert from bay 2:1 and await further instructions.”

“Bravo Two Four, I gave an order to divert.”

“Sorry control, missed that.”

Okay, it wasn’t their fault, as such, there’s very little you can do about radio interference, but these things will happen and cause chaos. At least it wasn’t deliberate for once!

“We hit something! How bad is it?”

“We’re going into meltdown!”

That bad is your answer, mate.

“Space Hub One, come in. This is International Rescue. Do you need assistance?”

“This is Controller Conrad. Our core is ruptured, the coolant unit is leaking, and we’re going into meltdown. Apart from that, everything is fine.”

Yes, that makes everything sound just peachy! I wouldn’t cool that everything is fine. Apart from what? Everything is dying on you basically. Meltdown is pretty... finite?

“Do you have an EVAC in progress?”

“Yes, I’m riding the power controls to buy time until everyone is out. But I’m only delaying the meltdown. I can’t stop it.”

“Alan, you reading this? You need to get up there.”

“FAB John, I’m on my way.”

Hooray for Thunderbird Three! Although, did Alan leave with any plan other than to get Conrad who was going to evacuate anyway? It seems like John was predicting a rescue would be needed here, which isn’t a bad thing, I just wasn’t entirely clear on the reasoning. On the one hand, you’ve got predicting something before it happens which is great; but on the other, you’ve got acting too soon, which then dragged Thunderbird Two up, when maybe Virgil could have just gone with Alan? I know it’s all for the sake of story, so I’m not going to dwell here for long.

“Conrad, time to get out of there.”

“Okay, I’m heading out.”

Apparently, according to the writers with their hands of God, you are not!

“Alan, Conrad was still on board when the comms went down. He was about to evac, but I don’t know if he made it.”

“If he’s there, I’ll find him. I got him! But he’s not moving, and life signs are very weak. One wrong more and the whole thing will break apart.”

Just to my penny’s worth in here, very cheery start to the episode! No, really, it was nice to see an episode which did just get straight down to business and save the humour for later, really heightened the tension. I do love episodes where we just get to dive right into the deep, there’s something rewarding in them me thinks.

“This is the duty log of Space Controller Conrad, Space Hub One. I’m running out of air and time. I don’t know if anyone will hear this... I hope everyone else made it out. This is all my fault, I should have spotted that cruiser. I’m sorry.”

I really liked this guest character! They gave us so much backstory for him too and the music! I just loved it all. I will be honest, teared a bit at that speech. It’s like he was leaving a message on the log, expecting it to be his last, expecting to die there, and still thinking of others regardless.

“Brains, how do I get into this thing?”

The music behind this conversation was also awesome!

“You can’t cut through. That chute is designed to withstand meteor hits and collisions with space debris. And I’ve got worst news.”

“Of course you do.”

“Oxygen levels have reached critical. Conrad is running out of air.”

Skipping a bit here and keeping the focus on these two, all alone in space - I really felt for Alan and Conrad here. They were so close an yet so far.

“Alan, I don’t want anyone else to be put in danger because of me.”

“Hey, we’re International Rescue. It’s what we do! And I’m gonna stay right here until we open the door.”

Alan really has grown. If this mission had been put on him in Series 1, I don’t think he would have been able to cope, what with his focus then on being able to go on missions, and being allowed to spread his wings. Series 2 for Alan is really an example of how he begins to balance his love and excitement for what he does, with a practical working attitude like his brothers. and actually, he is really good at in this episode.

“So, Conrad, how do you become a Space Controller?”

“You’re making conversation to try and take my mind of the meltdown, aren’t you?”

“Nooooo....”

He so is!

“It’s okay, I haven’t got anything better to do. I always wanted to see the world. I mean, really see it.”

Uh, perfect description of how John feels?

“Now all I want is to see my home again.”

“And where is that?”

“Slough. My family still live there. And they’re all heroes. My brother’s a firefighter, the other’s a paramedic, and my sister’s a police officer. Do you have any idea how much pressure that is?”

Uh, perfect description of Alan? Of course he knows what that feels like.

“I can try to imagine.”

“I just wanted to make them proud of me. I mean, space! That’s a pretty big deal right? And I blew it. I didn’t react fast enough.”

“It was an emergency situation. You responded as fast as you could and you got everyone out safely.”

“Everyone but me.”

One of the most emotional discussions in TAG? i think so. And it didn’t matter that it was involving a guest character, because they said everything which needed to be said. The Tracy boys may be our heroes, and they may battle with much higher levels to live up to, but there are families out there who have the same struggles. I really think this will have resonated with people out there. It’s hard to not resent elder siblings when you feel like they are constantly above you and we sort of saw Alan going through that in Series 1. Conrad was a good person for him to meet - this scene was thought-provoking, powerful, and reflective. Everything it should have been.

Now back to the whole Tracy Island interlude.

Personally, I love the silent moments we had which begun this scene. Virgil and Scott silently walking into the room, and the looks whilst they wait to find out whether they’re too late... I really felt that. Sometimes we don’t need words in a scene to convey emotions. I mean, did you see the way Alan’s shoulders dropped when he thought there wasn’t going to be an answer, and the way the boys looked at Brains? Said it all.

“Then we need a plan fast. The temperature is still rising and we’re running out of time before the whole thing blows!”

“Ok, Brains, give us a run down of our options.”

“I admire your optimism in thinking we have more than one.”

Brains, please try not to pessimistic for one episode? It’s hard, I know, and it’s ironic of me to ask him that, because I am also a pessimist so would probably be doing the exact same! Ironic, I know, but really, that got me.

“Without a working coolant unit, the power core will keep overheating until meltdown. But it’s too damaged for repairs. we need to replace it.”

“Ok, where do we get a replacement?”

“Right here. We use the same cooling system for the power system on Tracy Island. And I have a back-up.”

Of course he does, this is Brains we’re talking about! Always ready, like a Scout right? I wasn’t a Scout, so I might be wrong on that one.

“Great! Problem solved.”

I love how Scott was turning to leave, striding away all purposefully to go and get everything!

“It’s not that simple. That coolant unit is massive. The one at the space hub was transported bit by bit. It took weeks.”

“And we don’t have weeks. Is there a vehicle that could take it in one piece?”

“Thunderbird Three, but-”

And we all know what’s coming next!

“But disconnecting it from the hub means no life support for Conrad.”

Thank you, Scott.

“You said we had one option?”

Yes. Yes he did. Shall we find out what it was?

“Thunderbird Two could carry it.”

“Uh.. I think you’re forgetting the whole ‘in space’ part of the mission. Thunderbird Two is not a space ship.”

Listen to Scott, ever the obvious! No, really I love how ‘eldest brother’ he acted in this episode.

“I think it could break free of Earth’s gravity and make it to the space hub.”

“You think? We need to be sure.”

See, big brother! I really love it when he acts like that.

“I don’t know about this, Virgil, what do you think?”

“Well, Scott, I think Thunderbird two is going into space!”

Space, Space, Space! I feel like it’s a new catch phrase! Let’s see how many times I can fit the word into this next section of the Review.

“Hey Brains, when you’re done here, can you make Thunderbird Four into a spaceship too?”

*Watch as Brains’ face literally lights up, and then Scott proceeds to crush his dreams. Payback for Gordon and the Panda?*

“Uh, let’s not get carried away here guys! Besides we need Thunderbird Four standing by as a submarine!”

“FAB. But could you blame a guy for asking?”

“Right!”

Look at those faces! Scott is sick of it already.

New version of the countdown? Love it.

“Thunderbird Two is go-ing into space! Woo-hoo! Going into space! Going into space! Going into space! Going into space!”

Virgil has been to space before, this is nothing new for him... except it’s in Thunderbird Two and that must be like his absolute dream! It’s one thing to go in Thunderbird Three with Alan as a co-pilot, it’s another thing entirely to take your own ship up, and on a maiden voyage of sorts. I love the excitement in this scene - and I’m a little surprised Scott didn’t admonish the whooping over the radio!

“Ok, but keep monitoring. Closely.”

Oh, wait, that’s why, he’s too busy worrying his every last nerve! Fairly so though, I think I would have done the same.

“Come on, old friend, you can do this.”

And the faith here? I don’t think I could ever have as much faith in technology and machinery as these boys do and I think that is a testament to them, what they do, and their equipment. Connections really do mean everything, and I know we had this discussion in one of the comment sections, but I think it really is possible that these 2060 epic works of machinery are sentient.

“Only a few thousand metres to go.”

“We made it!

And we have lift off! The dream is a reality.

“You have pizza?”

“No, I was joking.”

Meanie. Alan took you seriously. Although why I don’t know!

And the rescue is pulled off with success! Back to Earth we go, after another ‘Thunderbird; debate;

“This way, I get to ride in Thunderbird Two. I mean, it is the coolest Thunderbird.”

“Right?”

New catchphrase for Virgil?

“I’m choosing to ignore that.”

“Virgil, it’s your heat shields! They took took much damage on launch. Thunderbird two is going to burn up on re-entry!”

“Virgil, I’m coming for ya’!”

“It’s too late, Alan. Thunderbird Two is caught in Earth’s gravity.”

Yes, Scott, just shove Brains out of the way! I must admit I love that scene.

“Virgil, you guys have to bail out in the pod.”

“Negative, Scott. Can’t do it.”

“We can build another Thunderbird Two. We can’t rebuild you!”

That line still gets me. It’s so poignant.

“Eject, now!”

Virgil won’t do that. He’s a go down with your ship kinda guy.

“He’s right.”

And that is Brains’ way of saying that he should have thought of that! Really, Conrad is actually very, very smart. I think he should have been offered a job on the spot. I mean, that’s a pretty good interview performance, right?

“Conrad’s plan just might work.”

“Might?”

“It might definitely work!”

“I hope so.”

So do we all, Scott.

“Come on Thunderbird Two...”

And Thunderbird Two does. Hooray! The underwater landing was quite entertaining as well.

Now for a happpy shot.

“I should have reacted quicker.”

Stop being so hard on yourself! I think he’s one of the good ones.

“Hey, your quick thinking up there saved us. And Thunderbird Two.”

“So Conrad...”

Little shoulder bump! Love it.

“What’s next?”

“I’ll drop in and see my family in Slough and then it’s back to the Hub.”

He’ll have one heck of a story to tell.

“Hey Brains, how long would it take to re-fit Thunderbird Two to take Conrad back up to the Hub?”

“Thanks, but this time I’ll get a ride designed to go into space. Alan?”

“And which Thunderbird is the coolest?”

“Thunderbird Three is the coolest.”

“Yes, it is.”

He deserved a visit to the Island after saving Virgil’s (and his own of course) life like that. He seems like a really smart, switched on kid who just got stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time in a tough situation. I love episodes like this one because it reminds us that everyone on this show is human - even those in the Tracy family.

P.S. Shall we have the coolest Thunderbird debate? Now seems like a good time since the boys have instigated it. Stick your thoughts below if you want to!

[dcnatural]

Getway Car

Word Count: 1446

Pairing: Reader x Joker

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: You and the Joker escape Batman, and you make a hard choice.

“Faster! Faster!”, the Joker screamed, his voice barely hearable above the loud noises of the machine gun.

You hit the accelerator, bringing the car to full speed. The city lights became a blur as you drove faster and faster into the night. Behind you, the Batmobile, as well as many police cruisers, followed suit.

Your heart beat loudly in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your body as you maneuvered just in time to avoid hitting a bus. Your partner in crime continued firing, and by the rear-view mirror you watched as the cars crashed one by one: some because of flat tires and others because their drivers fell dead. Either way, soon they were all gone, leaving only the Bat chasing you.

The Batmobile was seemingly bulletproof, and no matter how many times the Joker shot it, the bullets fell harmlessly to the pavement. “Hand grenade”, the Joker yelled,  and you quickly reached into the passenger's seat where the weapons bag rested. Grabbing one of the pineapple shaped bombs, you threw it to him, who removed the ring and sent it flying into a water tower on the side of the road, causing the structure to collapse, flooding the street and, most importantly, blocking the way with it’s massive pillars.

The Joker laughed maniacally, jumping over to the seat beside you and throwing the bag on the floor. “Now, that should take care of Batsy for a while”, he chuckled. His laugh was contagiating and you couldn't help but grin.

“Where to?”, you asked as you stopped the vehicle, waiting for your next orders.

He raised a gloved hand to tuck a loose lock behind your ear, the soft material caressing your skin in the process. “Home, darling.”

* * *

You still remembered the night you first met the Joker as clearly as if it had been just yesterday. You had attended a black tie party, exactly the type of event you hated, but in which your boyfriend, Roman Sionis, just loved to parade you around, like you were the newest shiny prize in his collection. You put up with it, smiling and playing the part of the lovingly girlfriend, just like you put up with his abuse and his lies. You didn't have much choice, even though you didn't love Roman, you couldn't leave, not when he owned half of Gotham's underworld. Leaving him would be a death sentence. 

You had been playing with the diamonds in your bracelet when he caught your eyes: a mess of disheveled green hair, pale skin and purple fabric. He stood out in the gray crowd and you found yourself staring at him with increasingly curiosity. And then you froze. For as you watched him carefully, he turned his face, his bright green eyes locking with yours for a second, before trailing down your body. Then, he smiled and made his way towards you. His presence was enough to scare away whoever it was you had been talking to.

Meeting the Joker was the push you needed to finally leave Sionis for good.

* * *

You parked the car in front of the current hideout, an abandoned toy factory. The Joker whistled blissfully by your side, creating a melody that was terrifying and wonderful at the same time. Just like him, you thought. The factory door opened, and three henchman came hurrying to help carry the stolen goods. You let them do the job, turning your back to the car and entering the building. Even with the furniture you had brought in, it still didn't feel like an inhabited place. The air was damp, dust covered the floor and the windows were so stained almost no light passed through.

"Wasn't that one hell of a night?", the Joker asked, passing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. Your whole body went stiff with his touch. Lately, every time he approached you, you felt like running away. His hand slid down your back, fingers playing casually with the waistband of your jeans.

“Not today, J”, you told him, shaking your head and twisting out of his hold. “I’m tired.”

He sneered, lips curling in a weird fashion. “Always a party pooper.” 

You sighed. “J…”

He weaved his hand, cutting you off. “It’s fine. Go sleep or whatever. I’ll fend for myself.”

You rolled your eyes, hating that he always made a big deal out of nothing. His drama was very tiring. Leaving him in the makeshift living room, you climbed the narrow staircase and made your way to the small space in which you slept. What once had been a control room, now had been converted into a bedroom: the wide windows were covered with purple curtains, the desk and shelves stored clothes and other personal items and, on the floor, laid a double mattress. 

You kicked out your shoes and, not bothering to change clothes, slid under the sheets. The factory was always chilly at night, but this night, it seemed to even more so. You curled yourself into a ball, knees to your chest, chin resting on top of them. You could hear the faint murmuring of the television and the Joker’s laugh coming from down stairs, He’s probably watching one of his stupid old comedy shows. You closed your eyes and tried to ignore the noise, focusing instead on how tired you were. It seemed it took you hours to fall asleep, but when you finally did, you were rewarded with a dreamless night.

* * *

The night you ran away with the Joker was the most exciting one of your life. You felt free, as if you had escaped from a prison. Except that the Joker didn’t care about anything, and you soon realized you had got out of the frying pan and into the fire. You drowned the disappointment of this new life in whiskey and vodka. 

But Roman didn’t take the break-up easily, and, feeling like you had been stolen from him, soon was chasing after you. During the months that followed, there was a waging war between Sionis and the Joker, with hundreds of innocents dying from the cross-fire. And while it would have been much simpler to just hand you back to Roman, the Joker protected you. And you began to think there was something in him after all, maybe you hadn’t been mistaken. Perhaps there was a chance of a better life by his side. The end of the war came only when the Joker shot Roman in the heart.

And then, just like Bonnie and Clyde, you and your new lover raided Gotham, killing and stealing, partying and drinking. Nothing could stand in your way, not the cops and not even Batman.  

* * *

You woke up to an empty bed. Sunlight crept in through the cracks in the wall, making the metal floor glint. You quickly changed clothes and threw the old ones in the growing pile of dirty laundry.

Downstairs, the Joker slept soundly on the couch, the television still on, displaying an old cartoon. Empty beer cans littered the floor, and there was a large bloodstain on the carpet. You avoided looking at it as you walked towards the kitchen, where you prepared a cup of coffee for yourself. You jumped back as a mouse squeaked and ran past you and into a hole in the cabinet. 

You looked around the decrepit place, and couldn’t help but think it was a perfect parallel with your relationship. It was a ruin of what it once had been. There was no saving. And if you stayed, you would go down with it.

Returning to the living room, you watched as the Joker chest rose and lowered with his breathing. Forgotten by his side, the large bag containing the profits of yesterday rested. Not far from it, the car keys laid on a table. 

Taking one last gulp of the bitter coffee, you picked up the keys, leaving the empty mug on its place. Not making a noise, you crept near where he slept and collected the bag, which felt light on your hand. Since there was still space in it, you walked back upstairs and into the room in which the Joker hid his safe. You had seen him opening it so many times that you had memorized the combination. Typing the code, the door unlocked and you shoved as much money as you could into the bag.

You didn’t leave a note. He had to know this day was coming, you had met him running away from somebody else. He had to have seen it coming. You glanced at the factory one last time before speeding away. Not a tear fell from your eyes.