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mirkwoodshewolf · 3 years

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Panther Princess; T’Challa x child reader

*Author’s note*

Well this was a LONG time in the making, not only cause of motivation and time schedule wise but I wanted to make sure I GOT THIS FIC RIGHT since this is my first time writing for T'Challa since Chadwick's death last year (MAY HE RIP OUR KING!!!). Hope you guys enjoy this, and I’ve decided that after a few Wattpad requests I’ll open requests up here on Tumblr but there will be some MAJOR adjustments to what fandoms I’ll do. For now just be patient with me and eventually I will open requests here on Tumblr, I just don’t want to be overwhelmed.

Warnings: Malnourishment. abuse, terrorists involved (no action but just the word), some fluff.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@soy-guey

@queen-paladin

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

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It was in the dead of night when T’Challa received word about some smugglers were traveling with some stolen Vibranium, and word has it that they were working for Klaue. Even though he had been dead, Klaue’s business was still running and forging deals with terrorists groups and anti-government parties.

Him and Okoye were flying over towards the drop-off point where the dealers were gonna be exchanging their latest steal of Vibranium.

“The dealers that Klaus’ second Lt. Rosko Lannister is selling the Vibranium to come from an Iranian terrorist group.”

“As usual we will let them make their business transaction before taking any further action. After dealing with the terrorist group and Lannister is ours, he will be put under the same crimes as we would’ve given Klaue.” T’Challa told Okoye. She nodded as the jet continued to fly towards their destination.

It was just before sunset when at an old, abandoned warehouse Rosko Lannister and some of Klaue’s old men waited for their clients to arrive. Soon enough driving in the black SUV’s and Honda trucks, the Iranian terrorist group came out of their cars. Most of them were soldiers holding their AK-47’s close to their chest while out of the head van, 3 men dressed in full 3 piece suits exited the car.

They looked exactly alike for these three men were actually brothers. Two of them were twins and the other was a year younger than his older twin brothers. Hasim, Sami, and Achmed Israeli were the three leaders of the biggest terrorist group in the world. There was even record shown that they made deals with HYDRA back in the day. Mostly smuggled weapons and potential serums for super soldiers.

After the fall back in 2014 when both SHIELD and HYDRA were exposed, the brothers decided to go underground and disappear under the radar. The US and European governments have been trying to find them ever since but they are too clever and can easily cover their tracks both physically and wirelessly.

“The Israeli brothers. I can’t tell you how honored I am to be doing business with you.” Rosko praised.

“We didn’t come for praises. We came for the Vibranium. Do you have it?” the oldest twin brother Sami demanded.

“Getting down to business. That was one thing my former associate Klaue always appreciated. God rest his soul.” Rosko kissed his finger before raising them upward. “Nah I’m just kidding he was an arsehole, I’m actually glad he’s dead.” He changed his tune.

“The Vibranium. Do you have it or not!?” demanded the younger twin Hasim.

“Patience Hasim. Let the white man talk.” Sami eased his brother. Rosko turned to one of his guys and nodded. His left hand man let out a whistle and soon two men come carrying in a large box that was filled with the stolen Vibranium that Klaue had stowed away for himself.

The men set it down before the brothers and Achmed opened the case up to reveal the Vibranium they were looking for. A small smirk came across Sami’s face and he said.

“Excellent. The most powerful material in the universe.”

“It did come at personal cost from Klaue, better him than me. It’s worth billions. Hope you also kept your end of the deal. This transaction is only fair if both parties agree.” Hasim smirked cunningly and turned to his general.

He nodded and exclaimed in Muslim and before Rosko even knew it. Every single one of his men was shot dead by the Israeli brother’s soldiers, leaving only him alive.

Every gun was now turned on him and Rosko had no choice but to raise his hands slowly.

“True. But when dealing with terrorists you should’ve also realized that there is a price to pay. Especially if you’ve been followed.” Sami said. At this point Rosko was confused.

“What-what-what are you talking about?”

“I’ve been in this game for a long time Mr. Lannister, I’ve seen everything and heard it all. Superheroes, aliens, psychotic androids, even real life wizards. So don’t think for a second that your actions hasn’t risen suspicion to the one who rules the very place where you got this Vibranium from.” Sami closed the case and patted it before his brother Achmed took it and had it put in the truck.

“King T’Challa has no idea of this Vibranium that was stashed away. He’s recovered the traces of Vibranium that Klaue kept public. There’s no way he could know about this.”

“Clearly Klaue had a better game face than you Mr. Lannister. For he wouldn’t have revealed such an important fact to me.” At that moment Rosko knew he had been played by the brothers. Before he knew it, a bullet went straight into his head and he died right there.

“Surround the area. We don’t leave till the King is dead.” Ordered Achmed to his security team. The soldiers exclaimed Arabic commands as they surrounded the warehouse with their guns outward and ready to fire.

One guard in particular heard something move behind him and he quickly turned and fired three shots but didn’t hit anything but some old crates. His paranoia was getting the best of him and that’s what gave him away. He was suddenly grabbed by the back of his robes and lifted up and beaten till he collapsed to the floor unconscious.

2 more guards heard what was going on and went to check on their fallen soldier when a flash of a figure ran behind them. They quickly turned and fired their guns when suddenly T’Challa came down behind them, quickly disarmed them and knocked them unconscious.

As more of the brother’s security came in and they open fired on T’Challa, he merely walked towards the security before sprinting forward and disarming the rest of them. His claws tearing their guns apart, and using his quick ‘cat-like’ agility, he managed to take down the entire fleet.

“Israeli brothers!” he cried out. It was then Sami came out and T’Challa revealed his face to the eldest brother.

“King T’Challa. I must say it is an honor to be in your presence.” Sami mocked.

“Did you really believe we would be unaware of this trade?”

“On the contrary, I expected this all along. It was that witless white monkey Rosko who didn’t expect to see you. But never fear, he’s out of both of our hands.” Sami said nonchalantly as he looked down at his nails.

“If you surrender the stolen Vibranium to me, we can resolve this peacefully. But refuse, and you’ll face justice of Wakanda in Rosko Lannister’s stand. You and your brothers.”

“See my brothers and I made a pact. If we can’t escape the system, we’d be—how you say, judge jury and executioner to ourselves. And rather than rot in a cell separated, we shall join together in a blaze of glory. And we’re not afraid to take you with us, suffering the same fate as your own father did.” Sami raised his arms out like he was flying and waiting for a fiery explosion to happen.

But nothing came.

He opened his eyes to reveal that nothing had happened. It was then coming into the open space were Ayo and Okoye who had Sami’s younger brothers. Both men were bruised and battered up pretty badly. The two Dora Milaje members dropped his brothers down at his feet like trash and T’Challa said.

“I told you. This could’ve been resolved peacefully. But you forced our hand, especially when you had planned to blow up the place with all of us inside.” Sami growled but nonetheless raised his hands in surrender.

As the Dora Milaje were detaining the three brothers, T’Challa retrieved the stolen Vibranium when he heard something nearby. It sounded like chains, they had defeated all of the security, Rosko and his men were all shot by the Israeli brother’s defense, and the brothers were all detained so who else was here?

“My King?” Okoye asked.

“Stay here Okoye, I want to check something out.” He told his general of the Dora Milaje.

“My king, it could be another threat we do not yet know about. Let me come with you.”

“I’m not defenseless Okoye. Now you and Ayo just put the men on the ship and let me handle this. It could be some animal or the chains fell down off of something.” Okoye nodded to her king and soon T’Challa headed deeper into the warehouse.

As he explored every bit of it, he soon noticed that there appeared to be a hidden door within the walls that was very faintly cracked open. He opened the door and could hear the sound of the chains getting louder and louder.

It was almost like they were—pacing? They kept a constant rhythm as they would move about, in a circle pattern or something close to it. T’Challa slowly walked towards the direction of the chains and soon found what appeared to be a cage. A glass cage but it was inside that surprised the Wakandan King.

Inside the glass was a child. She appeared to be around the ages of 8-11 years old. Her hair was extremely long and madded like a lion’s mane. She looked malnourished so much so that you could almost see her bones. But for being malnourished, how could she have the energy to pace so frantically like she was now? He also noticed that there around her neck, wrists and ankles were chains keeping her inside.

T’Challa slowly walked out of the shadows and into the light where the child would be able to see him. She stopped her pacing and just stared at him curiously. T’Challa disengaged his full Black Panther suit so that he was in his normal clothes.

“I am not here to hurt you.” He gently told the child. The child slightly tilted their head like a lost puppy. “My name is T’Challa, what’s yours?” T’Challa slowly and slowly got closer and closer to her cage as he spoke in that soft voice of his. When she didn’t answer him he assured you, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just want to be sure you’re okay.”

Suddenly in the blink of an eye, her (e/c) soon turned to a deep cat eye yellow. Her body shifted into a fairly young but still decent size panther and she lashed out at the cage, knocking T’Challa off his feet in slight fear. The child now standing before him as a full panther clawed and roared at the cage furiously.

“My King!” Ayo’s voice spoke in Xhosa and soon her and Okoye came in and when they saw the panther, they lifted up their spears in defense.

“Stand down!” T’Challa commanded them.

“But my king—this animal is feral. It was going to kill you.” Okoye reasoned with him but T’Challa told her.

“She is a human child. She shifted into this panther before my eyes. Look.” Soon enough the panther shrunk down and soon turned back into the young girl who was still pacing back and forth in her cage.

“What sorcery is this?” asked Ayo.

“Not magic. Science. Look closer at her arms.” T’Challa said. At the section of the arm on the other side of the elbow, they noticed dozens of needle injection scars.

“This child was experimented on.” Okoye said grimly with a horrified expression.

“What do we do my King?” asked Ayo. T’Challa looked at the child who was growling and trying to act scary even though she was no longer a panther anymore.

“We take her to Shuri. Maybe she can shed more light on the matter. Get her to the ship. But approach her cautiously. Don’t make any sudden movements.” Ayo and Okoye bowed their heads to their king and walked towards the cage.

The girl would hit her skeletal body up against the cage trying to rattle it and actually roared out a panther’s real roar, her teeth slowly growing into the large infamous canines of a real big cat. Okoye and Ayo then placed a hover bead on each end of the cage and soon the cage levitated just a few feet off the ground.

The little girl roared and began clawing at the glass but it hardly did anything as she was now being guided towards the ship.

When they reached Wakanda after dealing with the brothers, Shuri in her lab was going over the girl’s intel scan that she made of the girl from her cage with her kimoyo beads.

“So what is it you can find Shuri?” T’Challa said as he entered his sister’s lab.

“This may come as a surprise to you brother. But—she has no birth record at all. I’ve contacted some of my people in various places around the world to see if there has been any missing child and all of them have said no. My theory is that she may have been created from a test tube to look like this.”

“Any idea who could’ve made her?”

“The same organization that made the White Wolf into the Winter Soldier.”

“Hydra.” T’Challa said gravely. Shuri nodded.

“I hacked into their old files and it only confirms my theory. Seems like they wanted to create their own Cat-god or something.”

“Any records on what her powers are? She can shift into a panther but can she also shift into anything else?”

“I’m still digging through the files, there’s a lot of files that came to creating her. It’ll take time brother.” T’Challa nodded in understandment.

“Keep me updated.”

“Yes brother.” T’Challa walked away but he turned back towards the young girl and saw that she had briefly stopped her pacing to look at him once again.

A week later after finding the child, Shuri managed to dig up that HYDRA’s plan for the Child was for her to become their Agent Battle Cat. The ability to shift into a panther. She also has enhanced agility, speed, and strength.

However when HYDRA fell back in 2014, they were forced to abandon the project and she had been left alone in that warehouse ever since. Thinking about the enhancing experiments she must’ve been forced to endure or whatever genes they gave her, it allowed her to survive even being chained up in a cage for years on end until she felt like she needed to give up.

While being kept under his sister’s supervision, T’Challa also made it apparent to try and communicate with the Child, just to see if she could either understand or (in a rare case) speak in any language. The first time he had tried to talk to her well—let’s just say she ended up with broken nails and chipped teeth after trying to take a bite of T’Challa’s forearm when he activated his suit to protect his arm from her attack.

He had finally finished his royal civic duties for the day when he decided to try and talk to the Child again.

“You sure it’s a good idea brother? You did cause her to lose her nails and chipped some of her teeth.”

“I learned my lesson last time. But you weren’t there before that happened. She had actually dropped her guard and almost looked like she wanted to communicate with me. I think I’m getting through to her.”

“Okay brother. But if she attacks you again, I doubt that’ll sit well with Mother as well as Okoye and Ayo.”

“I will handle mama and the Dora Milaje. For now see to it that no one disturbs us.” Shuri nodded and told her workers to go home for now, leaving T’Challa and the Child alone.

T’Challa slowly approached her cage to see her lying down on her side licking her broken nails. Some of them had broken off by the top, while the rest had the entire nail broken leaving a bloody mess in it’s wake. She was currently licking her blood stained fingertips when she caught T’Challa’s scent.

She growled and hissed angrily at him, her canine fangs extended out and her eyes shifted into the cold, yellow panther eyes.

“Steady, steady. I’m not here to hurt you.” T’Challa sat down a few feet away from the cage and continued, “I am sorry for what happened to you. I was only protecting myself from getting hurt. It was my fault for overstepping my boundaries.” Her hissing ceased and she closed her mouth hiding her fangs but she would occasionally growl lowly, her tail coming out and twitching anxiously.

They sat there in silence for a couple of minutes when T’Challa said to her.

“You know, I’ve been thinking of a name for you. You know something to call you. I’m betting the men who created you never really gave you a real human name. What do you think about—Ariana?” the Child hissed. T’Challa chuckled, “Didn’t think so. Shuri said you might like it but now I can prove to her that I was right. Now for the real options, what about…….Nala?” the child tilted her head confused. “No? What about…..Diana?” she looked down and went back to licking her fingertips. “That won’t really help them heal. Sure it’ll clot the blood but it’s not that good for saliva to heal a wound like that.”

She looked up at T’Challa and growled lowly.

“I’m just trying to help. We have the medicine that’ll help you. I won’t lie it might sting for a brief second but it’ll help. Will you trust me with healing you, please?” the child looked between him and her fingers before slowly extending her arms out and she briefly nodded.

T’Challa then got some antiseptic and band-aids. He opened up a small section of the cage, just enough for her arms to come out.

“Thank you for your trust.” He then began to doctor her fingertips. She let out some painful roars on the stubbed fingertips that no longer had a nail anymore but at least this time she didn’t try to attack him like last time. He soothed her with calming phrases like ‘it’s okay. It’s won’t last long.’ And ‘Just relax, it’s almost over.’ After bandaging up her left pinkie finger he told her, “There, I’m done (Y/n).”

At hearing that name, she looked up at T’Challa curiously. Her tail perked up and the tip curled inward. T’Challa looked at her to see her tail fall limp to the cage floor. “(Y/n)?” her tail lifted up again and her head tilted curiously. “So you like that name eh?” She looked at T’Challa and her nose twitched as she was trying to sniff him through the glass.

Taking a risk, he slowly reached his hand into the cage once more like before. However this time he kept his hand in a downward position, so that his hand formed the shape of another cat’s nose. The Child slowly crept towards his hand and gave it a sniff, when she saw that he wasn’t moving his hand, she rubbed her head against his hand for a brief second before nuzzling underneath his palm so that it sat on top of her head.

He gently began scratching her scalp which caused her to let out soft comforting purrs. T’Challa smiled warmly and continued to gently give the child—well (Y/n) some more scritches and pets.

“Don’t you worry (Y/n). I promise I won’t allow anyone else to harm you in any shape or form.”

The next couple of months after getting her body weight back to normal and healing any other wounds she had maintained, T’Challa allowed (Y/n) to venture outside the palace with him. Thinking the city itself was too much for her right now, he decided to take her out to the Border tribe so that she could see the outside world for the first time in her life.

Needless to say she was overwhelmed but she was happy to feel the grass beneath her feet, see the beautiful landscape, and hear all the sounds of the outside world from the animal calls to some of the Border tribe members talking with each other.

“Seems she’s getting along well.” Okoye observed (Y/n) who was cautiously watching the rhinos from their pins.

“Slowly but surely she is. Walking on two feet is still a bit of a challenge but she’ll get there eventually.” T’Challa told her.

“At least she’s learned to not attack you.”

“It was one time Okoye, be nice.”

“As your General it is my duty—”

“I understand your duty General. But you must also know that there will be times you can’t protect me. And this attack was very minor compared to the fights I’ve been in before.” It was then T’Challa saw (Y/n) now focusing her attention on some birds that had just landed a few feet away from the rhino pins. Her panther instincts kicked in as she got into pouncing position, her pupils were fully blown and her shoulder blades flexed over one another as her butt raised higher and higher in the air.

Finally she raced forward and the birds immediately took off flying. She leaped well over 7ft in the air and managed to capture a bird in her claws and delivered a fatal bite. She then raced over to T’Challa and presented him the dead bird.

She placed it on the ground before his feet and backed away before tilting her head with a happy smile on her face.

“Seems she has a gift for you my King.” Okoye said. T’Challa grimaced at the gift but he quickly smiled down at her and knelt down in front of her.

“I appreciate the gift (Y/n). But—we cannot keep this bird kept within a cage. Like how I freed you, we must also allow this bird to move onto the next life.” He dug into the earth for a small shallow grave, just big enough for the bird and he placed the bird into the makeshift grave. He buried it under the earth and he sent a brief prayer to Bast in Wakandan. “Right, now let’s head back to the palace. I have a meeting with M’Baku about reforging our alliance and allowing the Jabari tribe into the council.”

Okoye and T’Challa walked ahead when they heard something behind them. At first they thought it was one of the goats but it sounded to hoarse to be one of them. They slowly turned around and saw (Y/n) with a hand over the grave of the bird and she was saying.

“Ba……Ba.”

“Is she……?” Okoye started.

“Ba.” (Y/n) was trying to talk! She was trying to say the Cat goddess Bast’s name. She managed to get out the first constant and vowel but she couldn’t figure out how to do her S and T.

“Her first time talking. She’s trying to say Bast’s name.” T’Challa knelt down and he asked her, “(Y/n), are you trying to give a prayer to Bast?”

“Ba!” she exclaimed again. T’Challa was overjoyed on the inside that the girl he had decided to take under his wing and raise was finally trying to talk. Many of the tutors he and Shuri had growing up had given up saying that she was incapable of speaking because all she did was just hiss and growl as well as throw things at them before laughing like a deranged hyena.

“Here I’ll help you say her name.” he adjusted himself so that he sat down and he placed his hand right next to hers and he said slowly so that she could see how his lips did it. “Say Bast.”

“Ba.”

“Bast.”

“Ba.” T’Challa shook his head.

“Watch me carefully. Bast.” He enunciated the t at the end. (Y/n) growled lowly before taking a deep inhale and finally exclaiming.

“BAST!”

“Yes. Yes that’s it! You did it (Y/n) great job!” at seeing T’Challa’s excitement, (Y/n) began to repeat Bast’s name gleefully as she pranced around.

“A little cocky there isn’t she?” Okoye muttered.

“Let her have this moment Okoye. Besides probably hunting and killing, this is her first real big achievement. A normal milestone.”

“I suppose so.” She agreed. Even though she might not have wanted to admit it, she thought it was adorable how little (Y/n) was finally able to speak a human language and become so happy with herself that she would prance around like a yearling antelope.

Over the next couple of years, (Y/n) continued to not only advance in her human speaking skills, but she now began to show signs of aging. She went from that small child to now almost a young adult woman in just 2 years since finding her. Seemed with the animal enhancement, it also increased her human aging with each time she grew stronger and tougher.

T’Challa continued to raise her as his own and pretty soon all of Wakanda looked at her as their young Princess. Shuri loved hanging out with (Y/n) and teaching her everything there was to know about science and technology. She even took her as an apprentice in her lab. Okoye eventually came around and soon saw (Y/n) as a member of the royal family and took it upon herself to train her like a Dora Milaje so that she could defend herself without the need of her animal powers.

For she was the Panther Princess.

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eponymous-rose · 3 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E123 (Feb. 2, 2021)

After last week’s thoroughly relaxing and brief episode, tonight’s guests are Sam Riegel and Liam O’Brien!

Brian, to Sam: “You look like Tim Curry moved to Nantucket to become a sommelier.”

How did Caleb and Veth approach the ally-ship with the Tombtakers? Sam: “I mean, we got some information, and I think we got a little closer to Lucien and knowing whether he has any of Mollymauk inside of him, which is I think the most important knowledge that we’re seeking right now. Is there someone to be saved inside there? We got glimpses, and we got a little hint that Mollymauk is maybe still in there? Maybe? And we got a little more insight into their plans, so that was useful.” Liam: “We know why we were having that fucking dream.” Sam: “But other than that, it was just a road trip with assholes.” Liam: “All our plans have been ripped in a new direction, and it’s just been improvisation.” Sam notes that it feels like we’re always about to rip into Caleb’s backstory, but haven’t yet followed that thread all the way through. Liam: “It’s partially frustrating, to be sure, but also I like the idea that-- his whole shit has been selfish, it’s been dealing with the trauma that he’s been through and not the greater world, and that’s been shifting somewhat.”

Does Caleb think the book was worth it, and is he still interested in reading more? Sam: “How do you ask Caleb not to read a book?” Liam: “Caleb has spent enough time with the Nein to know you shouldn’t put a hand on a hot stove. After what happened with the book, he knows it’s a terrible idea. But maybe. But it’s a really bad idea. But reserve judgment, but it’s a really terrible idea. I think that Caleb is very aware that mages and people like him very easily fall prey to their curiosity and it can lead to bad places. But there is still that amount of scientific endeavor where you think there is value in knowing and learning, and maybe we can ride that line. He was True Neutral at the start of the campaign, and maybe he’s Chaotic Good now, but part of him is hubris, even if it’s a little bit, still.”

What about Otis has drawn Veth’s focus? Sam: “I mean, he’s a little shit. She was curious about Otis because he’s a small like she is, and in talking to him, he seemed to be real creepy, but he was just creepy and distant and didn’t value his past or family or anything like that. She sees someone who’s like her, but so not like her, and maybe that scares her a little bit more.”

How does Caleb feel about Beau being on this ride with him? Liam: “The dream is another example of how Caleb had very narrow vision of the things he wanted to do. It used to seem so massive to him, but now... To have Beauregard involved feels right. If anyone in the group is going to stop him from grabbing something he shouldn’t, it is probably Beauregard. She’ll punch him in the fucking face to stop him, which I think he needs, to a certain extent. They’re two different kinds of nerds, and I kind of like that, that this group of nine philosophers, they’ve reached out and somehow grabbed the two nerds in the party.”

How do Caleb and Veth see the Somnovum? Sam: “I mean, they seem real bad. Anything that’s a quorum of powerful entities heading towards your planet to unleash an energy of any kind, typically bad? I assume they’re bad, or at least the Tombtakers wish them to do ill.” Liam: “I think they want the kind of peace that comes from snapping your fingers and turning people to dust. Caleb sees them as a cautionary tale; they’re the worst-case scenario for arcane inquisitiveness.” He sees Allura Vysoren as the antidote to that.

Why the staunch refusal to use Halfling Luck? Sam: “I don’t like Luck! I just don’t like Luck. I think it’s cheap, I think it’s a cheat, I think it’s stupid. It just feels like a do-over.” Liam: “I am your antithesis! If I ever voice a halfling, I am going to hammer that feature!” Sam: “What I love about D&D is that you don’t know what’s going to happen. If you roll bad, okay, that’s it. If you roll well, it makes the success more enjoyable to know that it’s a pure success and don’t one where you’re like well actually... it’s so stupid. If someone was about to die, I would probably use the fuckin’ Luck feature. Well. It depends who. If it was Travis, yeah, no, he’s fucked, sorry.”

Liam drops that he’s picked Sam’s character class and race again for a hypothetical campaign three. Sam: “It’s not what I was thinking for future characters, but I’m excited to explore.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Mollymauk by KatofValkyrie!

What was it like to bring the Tombtakers into the tower? Liam: “It is complicated, because he does not like him. Lucien’s just a fucking dick. But Caleb also knows that Molly’s in there somewhere. That tower’s only for the M9, and Lucien’s not in the M9. Their situation with these people is shitty, it’s terrible. Caleb doesn’t feel like they have the upper hand. He doesn’t like that they’re even going on this journey per se, because life is bigger than his bullshit. He feels like they’ve been losing over and over again, so it was a gamble to try to get on equal footing.

What spurred Veth into making sure she and Yasha have some one-on-one time? Sam: “Yasha hasn’t been getting a lot of moments to shine. Now that she’s back, I just got the impression that Yasha feels out of place sometimes, or timid, or unsure of herself. When Veth was Nott, Nott certainly had her share of those moments. I think she sees a kindred spirit and wants to make sure that she’s been giving all the opportunity she can to flourish and thrive. Dani, you’re just laughing at my mustache, aren’t you?” Dani: “Yes, that’s the only thing I’m laughing at through this whole bullshit.” Sam denies all knowledge of trolling, but eventually admits, on the topic of Yasha and Beau getting together: “They’ve made me wait this long... I’m going to make them wait a little bit longer!”

What was it like to show his friends the upper floors? Liam: “I kinda expected somebody to sneak up there before that. That being part of the tower is not even a conscious choice of his, it just is. The reason Caduceus has creeped Caleb out for a long time is because he talks about how-- Caduceus is a really kind person and wants Caleb to let go of the past. And in a really simplistic way, turn that frown upside-down. And that’s just not who Caleb is, and it’s not who everybody is. There is something to be said for trying to stay open and positivity, but thinking you can shut out the past, especially a traumatic one, is just not true. When things happen to us, we carry them. But to candy-coat it and say, ah, I’m free, or everything is good, or I’ve turned the corner... life is way messier than that. It’s not flipping a switch, it’s not bad-to-good, it is such a work in progress. Even when you make strides and start to get to a better place, you can backslide a lot. So the tower is who he is, and the tower is 7/9ths love for his friends, and 1/9th hope, but there’s still a percentage of him that carries everything from the past, and knows that he should, and knows that he should not go back to where he was. And the way to do that is not to say everything is rainbows, but to remember it. The tower is just like an extension of who he is. He’s never going to forget the past, and he’s never going to be like, I’m good, or I’ve turned a corner. He should remember the past, and he should do better, always.”

Does Veth still believe it’s possible to get Molly back? Sam: “Well, she was a person trapped in another body for many years, so has some experience there, and definitely believes that the spirit and soul of Molly is in there and just needs to be unlocked somehow.”

Fan Art of the Week: an amazing group shot by HarpySN!

How are Caleb and Veth dealing with their guilt and fear about being in the middle of this? Sam: “It definitely was a deep conversation that might have repercussions going forward. The problem with all of what we’re doing now is that we don’t have time to deal with our petty problems anymore. It’s all high tension all the time!” Liam: “It’s true; they’re not in control of their situation at all anymore.” Sam: “It’s good to have these check-ins, but it’s not like we can do anything about them. We’re reactive right now.” Liam: “He’s not happy with where they are, but they wouldn’t even be this far if the goblin hadn’t pulled him out of the mud. So part of it is, you saved me from where I was and got me on my feet again, and now it’s disconcerting to see it all just get knocked sideways by something he never could’ve predicted. I think Caleb felt nostalgic for when things were simpler, in a way, for them, when we’re both troubled drifters.”

What was it like to see Gelidon’s return? Liam: “I am the least superstitious person at the table. Ashley’s dice suck.” Sam: “It was fun fighting a dragon!” Liam: “Two massive battles in one episode, neither of which came away with a victory. I guess surviving is a victory.” Sam: “I’d forgotten about the dragon, honestly.” Liam: “I loved it. I was so upset at the idea that we were going to stealth and not get into it.”Sam: “Mercer doesn’t keep a live dragon around and not do something with it. That dragon’s coming back.”

How do Caleb and Veth feel about going to see Essek? Sam: “He can be very helpful, I believe, but as Sam Riegel, a player of D&D, I’m super suspicious. What the fuck is Essek doing up there, so close, now? I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. And I can throw him pretty far because he floats.” Liam: “I 100% agree with you. I do not understand what Essek could bring to what we are going through. I know the audience loves him, I love him too. He’s a really cool character. But he’s fucking toxic. He out of curiosity caused a war between two nations. And Caleb has been changed for the good by the M9 from months of travel with them. Essek has had none of that. Caleb has changed for the good, but not because of people like Essek. Essek is where Caleb came from. We kept the lid on the pot during the whole treaty at sea and it almost all went fucking sideways, and only because we pressed him into a corner. I hope that guy finds some sort of balance and peace for himself, but I do not see how his input here would be helpful. There’s other heavy hitters that I would try to pull in.”

Liam notes that the Cloven Crystal is in the Bag of Holding. Sam: “Do I have Fluffernutter, or is Fluffernutter gone?” Liam: “Nope. 300 pounds of fireworks? Gone. A dead mage, a threshold crest, and fireworks.” Dani: “Your basic essentials.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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jangofctts · 3 years

Text

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

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least some of it is salvageable…

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

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

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

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

Din is right.

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

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A technical difficulty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out like a light.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touching.

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

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

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

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

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

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

“Can you fix it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

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

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like this…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever.

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

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

Fuck yeah.

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not that mean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

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

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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skellebonez · 3 years

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Prompt 76, MK accidentally lets it slip to Pigsy that Monkey and Macaque are “seeing each other” as in not quite dating but been on a few “dates”...again. Pigsy who is on a low profile and hasn’t told MO who he really is, let’s it slip how he thinks “his eldest brother can do better” and MK is very confused.

Feel free to ignore!!!!! I’ve never asked for something like this before and if I did it wrong feel free to ignore it!

I may or may not have a soft spot for protective younger sibling type scenes in media so I had way too much fun writing this.

It could be worse. They could be dating. Wait? They are?!

"I don't understand what that damn monkey is thinking half the time," Pigsy said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his snout with a groan. "Just... let Macaque on the ship, yeah, that totally isn't going to backfire. Not like he has ulterior motives at all, not like we just learned all the stuff he pulled over the last year including trapping three of us in a lantern to fight you and teach you some kind of lesson.”

Things had been tense on the drone ship for the last month. They’d barely begun on their journey before a certain immortal monkey managed to catch them off guard and chase them for multiple days under the White Bone Spirit’s influence.

It became apparent very quickly that she was using him to toy with them, a sort of gloating in her victory. Well, joke was on her. Sending him after them meant they were able to see just how far her influence and control actually reached and they were able to find a way to free him from that with more than a little force and some stolen artifacts.

The fact she hadn’t sent anyone else, however, was... concerning to say the least. If she wasn’t worried about losing her grip on Macaque, of all people, that did not bode well for them.

But for the moment that was neither here nor there. What mattered in the moment was that in the month since the immortal monkey had managed to be dragged onto their ship to recuperate Wukong had become far too comfortable with letting him have free reign over whatever he wanted to do on the ship (within reason).

And Pigsy didn’t like that. Aforementioned soul trapping in a lantern and trying to turn MK against his teacher and all that. Pigsy didn’t trust Six-Eared Macaque as far as he could throw him.

"It's been a month and nothing's happened yet?" MK offered not so helpfully, shrugging with an awkward nervous chuckle. “I mean... unless he’s playing a really long game he’d probably have done something by now, right?”

"Well... It could be worse," Pigsy admitted with a chuckle as he stretched out and started to cut up the ingredients for his lunch dish. "They could be dating."

MK made an awkward choking sound as he inhaled his water.

"Wait...?" Pigsy turned around slowly, leveling the young man with a half glare. He stared for a moment, watching as MK refused to meet his gaze. Looking left and right and literally anywhere not at Pigsy’s face. "THEY ARE!?"

"I didn't tell you!" MK shouted, jumping up and hiding behind the table and pointing at Pigsy dramatically. "I said nothing, you cannot pin this on me!"

"YOU KNEW AND YOU KEPT IT A SECRET!?" Pigsy yelped, tone not angry but loud enough to make MK freeze with wide worried eyes. The chef stopped, sighing again as he took in a calming breathe before continuing. "Ok... ok... MK, I ain't mad, being mad at you would be ridiculous. But exactly how long have you known?"

MK frowned, looking up at the ceiling in thought before a tentative but curious look passed over his face.

"...I can neither confirm nor deny that I caught them smooching in the med bay two weeks ago."

"TWO WEEKS!?"

“You didn’t hear it from me!” MK said, pointing at himself as he backed away with another nervous laugh. “I have plausible deniability, you figured it out on your own!”

“Of all the hard headed thick skulled bad decisions that stupid-” Pigsy mumbled to himself, burying his face in his hands as he held back a scream of frustration. “There are so many men. So many men! So many ex-enemies even! But no, he had to go and hook up with his actual ex that tried to take over his identity and kill his entire travel party!”

“To be fair he kinda seems to be changing for the be-wait...?” MK started to offer, watching at the chef paced around the kitchen. “How... do you know they used to date? I don’t think even Tang knows that.”

“He could have dated literally anyone else and he chose to get back with Macaque,” Pigsy said with another sigh, removing his hands from his face with a scowl. “I knew he was dense but elder brother can do so much better.”

“I’M. SORRY?” MK yelled, this time being the one to startle the other. “ELDER. BROTHER?”

Pigsy froze, eyes wide in horrified realization. “... you didn’t hear that.”

Pigsy ran out of the room, MK hot on his heels.

“PIGSY COME BACK YOU NEED TO EXPLAIN AND NOT MAKE RASH DECISIONS!”

Pigsy did not go back to the kitchen, instead heading straight to the rec room that he knew the two monkeys were spending most of their recent time in when not off alone who knows where (now he knows where). MK was following right behind, trying to both get an explanation out of him and to dissuade him from confronting the Monkey King and also looking generally very confused and concerned.

He didn’t succeed before the pig demon slammed the rec room door open.

"WUKONG!" Pigsy shouted from the doorway, startling the two immortal monkeys from whatever conversation they were engrossed in . "You. Me. Deck. Now."

"I-"

"NOW. ELDER BROTHER."

The facial journey through confusion to realization to horror on Sun Wukong's face was worth the delayed reaction shout of "WHAT DO YOU MEAN ELDER BROTHER!?" from the other immortal sitting next to the Monkey King.

“BAJIE!?” Wukong yelped.

“YOU’RE ZHU BAJIE!?” MK yelped in much the same tone.

“Oh fuck,” Macaque whispered under his breath.

“DECK!” Pigsy repeated.

“BAJIE WHAT THE FUCK!?” Wukong repeated himself.

“ZHU BAJIE!?” MK also repeated.

“How many other enemies did I piss off that are on this ship?” Macaque continued, seemingly resigned to his fate.

“YES I’M BAJIE STOP YELLING MY OWN NAME AT ME!”

Needless to say that conversation was the most incoherent non-productive mess they had on the ship in the last month. Until Sandy burst into the room and forced them all to talk it out peacefully.

Macaque did, in fact, learn how many old enemies he had on the ship when Sandy came clean that he was also Sha Wujing.

And Pigsy did not, in fact, manage to talk any sense into his elder brother given how much MK was yelling at him for keeping his identity a secret from him.

Wukong just sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands wondering what in the actual hell his life had become.

(The next day, after a night of rest and a day talking to MK and apologizing and explaining everything, Pigsy caught the two immortal monkeys asleep cuddled on the couch of the rec room and decided that his elder brother could make his own decisions. And maybe MK had a point, given Macaque hadn’t done anything. Yet.

If he pulled a blanket over the two of them while they rested and they noticed no one said anything about it. And if Macaque snuck off the ship and there were, coincidentally, some rare ingredients for some dishes Pigsy missed making and a few scrapes and bruises on the immortal when he resurfaced... well, he didn’t say anything either. But he made it a point to have more mangoes and plums on hand.

Just in case.)

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #fanfic #ship fic #gen fic #pigsy #mk #Qi Xiaotian #sun wukong #monkey king #six eared macaque #shadowpeach #once again i think the highest form of comedy is YELLING AND CONFUSION and i don't know why

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cassianandfenrysaremyboyos · 3 years

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hey! I only recently started reading acotar (i'm on the third book) and I love love love Lucien, and I'm super excited at the prospect of him and Elain... actually they are the main reason I'm reading at this point but all I've seen on twt is about the other ship for Elain 😔 Is there any hope for Elain x Lucien in the later books?? I'm asking bc I don't want to get major spoilers but also I'm tired of getting my heart broken by non endgame ships lol

Welcome to the Lucien and Elucien train!! We're very happy to have to you! 😊💕

I wouldn't worry about what people are saying on twitter. Just because one part of the fandom is more vocal doesn't mean their ship is more popular or that it has more chance of happening in canon. Right now neither ship is canon. But absolutely there is hope for Elucien!!

First Elucien are mates. Sarah loves mates/soulmates. We've seen that with Feysand and Nessian, and I don't know if you've read Throne of Glass but the main ship in that series are also mates and the main ship in Sarah's other series, Crescent City also show signs of being soulmates. Sarah loves writing about that deep soulmate type of love! They might have to overcome obstacles but ultimately they choose each other.

Also Sarah has talked about how in her early planning she briefly considered making Nesta and lucien mates but quickly realised they wouldn't work together/would tear each other apart. If Sarah really wanted to write about a rejected mating bond she could have left Nesta and Lucien mates and had them reject the bond. But she didn't because she loves soulmates.

Sarah has also said this about Elucien "there was actually a great deal of tension, growth and healing to be found for both of them together" She's never said anything ever about the other ship as far as I know? Certainly nothing romantic.

There is so much potential for healing between Elain and Lucien. One of the things I love about Elucien is they have so much in common. They're both gentle souls. Some people might not realise that about Lucien, but he really is. Lucien is someone who is deeply traumatised from violence, you see it in the first book in the scene when the injured Faery is brought into the Spring Court manor and he's deeply distressed by it. It clearly triggers his ptsd from his own trauma, but it also shows us that Lucien is someone who can't stomach violence, at least not in the way some of the other characters do. And Elain, well at this stage, since we haven't really seen her development or gotten her pov yet, being a kind gentle heart is really her defining character trait. They're two characters who would cherish a peaceful life away from war and violence. Two characters with the potential to be so soft together, to provide each other with a safe space to be vulnerable, and show their weaknesses and talk about their trauma. And be comforted by the other and have the other understand. They have such complimentary personalities. Something the other ship doesn't have. Azriel is a torturer (I love Az btw so this isn't a critiscm just observations about his character) he is filled with a cold hard rage, something Elain hasn't seen from him/doesn't truely know about him. And currently he's most definitely not one to open up and share about his own trauma, which certaintly doesn't work for two characters making a healing journey together. Something Sarah, as shown above see's as important. Elain and Azriel are simply too different imo. And I know people can argue opposite's attract. But opposite's attract only applies to a certain point, with certain things. If two people are just fundementally different a relationship won't work between them long term.

Meanwhile Elain and Lucien have just enough differences that they're not too similar but have enough in common to mesh really well together.

And even their differences are complimentary. Lucien has a bit of bite and sass about him, and that's something I think Elain needs to help bring her out of her shell. Elain is someone who has been coddled and infantalised and sheltered, people don't challenge her or speak freely to her, they censor themselves around her. Very minor spoilers seeing as you're only up to the third book, but in the 5th book, Acosf there's a moment where Nesta snaps/swears at Elain, and Nesta immediately regrets it because you don't talk to sweet precious Elain like that. But Elain just laughs. Elain wants people to speak freely to her, to stop sheltering her and show her some sass and bite. And who's the perfect person to do that, our boy Lucien!! Again some minor spoilers but I love this comparison

Lucien in Acotar

Elain in Acosf

Look at this parallel between them *chefs kiss*

Like Sarah said these are two characters that will push growth in each other and challenge each other. In a way that Azriel and Elain don't. Azriel, and this is very apparent in Acosf, coddles Elain, he speaks for her, makes choices for her, wants to stops her from doing things, without ever thinking about or asking Elain what she wants. He does it to protect her but is disregarding her choice. Lucien on the other hand, and again some spoilers if you haven't reached the end of Acowar yet this is after the final battle

He's clearly worried about her but he doesn't let HIS worry/fear get in the way of HER agency.

"And I heard you made the killing blow" He sounds almost proud of her, like he would encourage her despite his own worry, and wants to see her strong and flourish.

What I also love in this scene is that again it shows how their both gentle hearts. "Well I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live" Lucien will fight and do what he needs to (and so will Elain if she has to). But Lucien isn't a warrior he would much rather never have to see war or battle ever again.

And then we have multiple references to Elain needing sunlight, needing to get outside, needing light to thrive. Again minor spoilers but there is also a scene in Acosf where Elain is wearing black and it's mentioned how she looks plain, overwhelmed, subdued by the colour, like it doesn't suit her at all. There are a lot of subtle references suggesting Elain doesn't quite truely belong in the Night Court, that it's not where she can thrive. And who is associated with two courts, Spring and Day, where Elain could thrive? Who is associated with fire and warmth and light? Who is the heir of the day court? You got it our boy Lucien. Elain needs light and Lucien is light!! Literally the name Lucien means light! Coincidence? I think not.

Another similarity between them is Lucien is a diplomat, someone who uses words and charm and communication to keep the peace between courts. And Elain is said by Feyre to be be able to convince people to do anything, to charm them, to excel in social settings. And she was the one who kept the peace between her family, was the bridge between her father, Nesta and Feyre. And Imagine if in the future Lucien takes on a role in the day court or (and I'm sorry Helion) for whatever reason becomes the High Lord of Day Court, Elain could be an amazing Lady of Day, would flourish and charm at court balls or social occassions. Not to mention they both have great hair and are always put together/dressed immaculately. Like they would be A PAIR!

Then there's the gifts Lucien gives Elain (again minor spoilers for Acofas and Acosf) which are so thoughtful. In Acofas he gives her magical gardening gloves knowing gardening is something she loves and that she doesn't have any. And in Acosf he gives her pearl earrings, and pearls are somehing that are mentioned in relation to Elain a couple of other times. But it's like Lucien has noticed they're something she likes? These are just minor things but it's interesting that Sarah included them in her writing. It's almost as if she's subtly trying to hint that Lucien notices things about Elain, and see's her in a way that perhaps other's don't?

Also there's that Elain is very traditional and adheres to a quite a traditional type of femininity and Lucien is a complete and utter gentleman, who absolutely respects Elain and her needs. The potential for them to have an old fashioned courting romance asdgjkgfsa my heart the softness!! I also think they're going to end up being the epitome of your lover is your best friend.

And lastly, in Acosf there is a bonus chapter from Az's pov which ends with Azriel's focus on another character, and I would say personally that this chapter very clearly sinks that other ship.

Anyway in conclusion Elucien are going to be the most beautiful, softest, sweetest, supportive, with some sass as well, ship. So don't worry my friend. And even in the very small chance they don't become canon we can still enjoy all of these things about them in fanon. They will be canon though lol

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #lucien #elain #asks #long post #this got really long I'm sorry lol #but i hope this allays some of your fears anon

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

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

It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

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

“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #enemies to friends to lovers #blunt teeth sharp tongue #got some fun banter in this one!#followed immediately by heartbreak #they want to be soft so bad #but they do not know how #i promise they will eventually be soft #you have to remember that this is still less than 24 hours after part 1 #the reader is traumatized

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glassessence · 3 years

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Elriel Hint and Analysis - includes analysis of Feysand & Nessian (ACOSF Spoilers)

I’m pretty new to the fandom, but I am currently obsessed with Elriel. This is my ship and I will go down with it until the day I die. As a fairly casual reader, I honestly had zero doubts the next book would be Elain’s and that the couple would be Elriel.

Then I discovered the existence of the extra POV chapters and Azriel’s threw me in for a bit of a loop. Especially with the ending (which I genuinely believe is a red herring. I lean very heavily into the lightsinger Gwyn theory).

However, stalking Tumblr made me come across this again:

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn.

Love me, touch me, sing me.

And then my brain accidentally vomited an essay on the symbolism in each sister’s journey...

Life and death and rebirth so clearly symbolise Feysand’s journey. Feyre leaves behind her life of poverty for a brand new one with Tamlin. She journeys Under the Mountain for love of him and ultimately succeeds in saving not just him, but all of them. In the process, she dies. Not just in the physical sense, but spiritually too. Feyre the human perishes, giving rise to Feyre the High Fae. In a purely physical sense, this is definitely a rebirth. But it’s stilted, incomplete. She’s the newly born phoenix - young, fragile and yet covered in the ashes of its fiery death. Her spiritual rebirth lags behind her newly changed body. Like a bird in a cage, she is trapped in Tamlin’s realm, unable to finish developing, to spread wings and fly.

That all changes when she is whisked away to the Night Court. She learns to read and some of the ash falls from her body. She makes friends and some more ash is brushed away by the Inner Circle. The final remnants of ash are blown away by the taste of freedom and the kiss of wind, and Feyre’s rebirth is finally complete. Spiritually and physically, she is changed. She becomes Feyre the High Lady. From life back to life, she is returned through the power of love. Take note that while love is important in all the sisters’ journeys, it is the focal point and highlight of Feyre’s. She is someone who has never been loved in that wholesome, selfless way Rhysand loves her. Tamlin was possessive and abusive; Nesta was barbed and sharp. Elain was fragile and ethereal. Love was something she had never really known and consequently something she desperately, desperately needed. That’s why the phrase that symbolises her is love me.

Sun and moon and dark refers very much to Nessian. Nesta is the sun and she is burning. Has been burning for a long, long time. She is aflame, nothing but ashes inside, and her words are fire. She scalds anyone who dares approach, just as everything melts before the sun. Like Feyre, she has had her physical rebirth, but not her spiritual one. She is trapped in her own head, locked behind her own self-hatred, her own raging inferno that yields to no one. Like Feyre, she is also a phoenix, but one whose fire never stopped. In that sense, she has never died. Her spiritual rebirth is not simply incomplete; it has never happened.

Until she starts training with Cassian. Until she starts befriending Emerie and Gwyn. This is what marks the death of Nesta the human and the emergence of Nesta the High Fae. (I use the term ‘human’ loosely here, mostly as a way of conveying my point about her spiritual journey rather than the state of her physical being). She loses her solar flare, that inner blaze that was killing her and blackening her soul. She mellows from unapproachable sun to a softer moon. It’s here that she stays a while, seeming to progress and regress in her healing journey as the moon waxes and wanes. It’s not until the hiking scene that she finally breaks. She weeps despite Cassian’s expectations to the contrary. Through her tears, she finally extinguishes the long-raging fire and hatred that has been destroying her. No more blazing sun, no more wavering moon. Only darkness to cradle her, and acceptance. Through Cassian’s ceaseless efforts and her friends, her journey reaches its apex. She finally becomes Nesta the Valkyrie.

Her journey hinges heavily upon the fact that nobody could reach her through the flames. Nobody had kept trying after getting burned again and again. Nobody except Cassian. He reaches out, time after time, even when she hurts him. Even when she burns him. Until he succeeds and touches her soul. That’s why the phrase that symbolises her is touch me.

Of course that leaves only the last line: rot and bloom and bones. I wonder who this could symbolise! Surely not the Archeron sister who is associated with roses and has a complicated romance dilemma with someone from the Autumn Court (rot) and someone else from the Night Court (bones)! Surely not!

Jokes aside, I strongly believe this line reveals Elain’s journey. If we continue thinking of the words as a progression, I think it makes a lot of sense. Keeping in mind the theme of life, death and rebirth, this is how I think of it:

Life / Rot / stagnation, the start of the journey

Death / Bloom / change, the start of healing

Rebirth / Bones / ascendance and acceptance, the start of the future

There are several interesting things to note about the sentence:

The word bloom is nestled among rot and bones

Elain’s two potential love interests both have strong associations with those words

I’ll address each point as we delve into Elain’s analysis.

Let’s start with Elain the human. As previously established, this is when the character is at their worst, blind in the dark before the dawn. I see this as Elain’s forced transformation by the Cauldron. Everything she knows is ripped away from her and her marriage crumbled to dust. She is thrust into a world both unknown and at war. She emerges changed and cursed with powers she cannot control and does not understand. Her life, once a slow-blooming flower, has just rotted into nothing. She is lost, confused and deeply depressed. Her physical rebirth may be complete, but her spiritual rebirth cannot begin until she gathers the shattered pieces of herself back together.

This happens slowly. So slowly, in fact, that it’s hard to notice and easy to dismiss. She befriends Nuala and Cerridwen. Begins gardening again. Talks to the Inner Circle and buys them gifts for Solstice. Slowly, so very slowly, she is starting to piece herself back together. Off-page, she quietly unravels Elain the human and emerges from her cocoon as Elain the High Fae. Like a wilted flower that has dropped its petals, a new season has come, bringing with it new buds. She is blooming, opening herself to new possibilities for companionship, love and for a new self to rise to the surface. But blooms are fragile, newly born things. Elain hasn’t dealt with the full force of her trauma, of her lifelong lack of choice (I’m not going to delve into this as there are so many amazing analyses out there!). She is a trembling fawn, still trying to learn how to walk.

But her spiritual rebirth will remake her. Bones. It’s so different from the previous two words that it really leaves an impact. Blooms rot and fade. Flesh breaks and dies. But bones are strong, the frame that holds up our entire beings. Bones are unyielding and solid, taking no other shape like blood nor bruising like flesh. I see this as Elain standing up for herself, unswayed by external forces that have always governed her life and breaking away from the fragile flower people have always thought she was. By cutting away the rotting flesh, she will reveal the backbone beneath and ascend as Elain the Kingslayer/Seer.

Of course, closely tied to each sister’s personal growth arc is her love interest. For me, I don’t see it going any other way than Azriel.

SJM chose rot not only to represent the ‘life’ section of Elain’s personal journey, but also to represent Lucien. He has connections to the Autumn Court, a season that is often associated with decay and rot, but also with harvest and bounty. Highlighting the negative aspects of autumn invokes a strong sense of wrongness. Lucien is not right for her. Not to say anything bad about his character; he’s just not right for Elain. His presence in the books eats away at her newfound boldness; he rots away the path she is trying to carve for herself.

On the other hand, Azriel is closely tied with death, with blood and bones and shadow. He’s not only Rhys’ spymaster, he’s also his torturer. His association is with bones, a word that invokes a sense of everlasting, of persevering beyond death. Bones is also used to describe the ‘rebirth’ section of Elain’s personal growth arc, the final aspect that leads to ascendance, and acceptance of one’s past and present. Meanwhile, bloom represents Elain herself and the ‘death’ portion of her story, the aspect that heralds change and healing.

Rot, bloom and bones represent both her personal journey and her love interests. It’s all intrinsically linked. Lucien is ‘life’ and stagnation, Elain is ‘death’ and change, and Azriel is ‘rebirth’ and acceptance. As a progression, this is how I interpret the sentence:

By rejecting the bond with Lucien, she is stepping into herself and forging something everlasting with Azriel.

Lastly, let’s not forget that the phrase symbolising her is sing me. This didn’t make much sense to me until I read Azriel’s bonus POV. In it, he confesses to Gwyn that he does sing. Why include this if it’s not a subtle callback to this prophetic paragraph in ACOMAF? It feels like a treat to hardcore fans who like finding all the little connections (since they’re the ones most likely to have read the bonus chapters). The fact that Gwyn also sings signals to me there’s an important plot point regarding song. Maybe homegirl Elain will be forced to throw a hardcore metal concert to save Az XD Wouldn’t that be a plot twist HAHAHA.

I don’t know when SJM started planting seeds for Elriel in any serious capacity, so perhaps I am reading WAY too much into this. Either way, I am super keen for the next book!

Please feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts! I am desperate for Elriel right now hahaha. Thanks for reading!

OH, BUT ONE MORE THING.

The greetings are really interesting. Sweet thing obviously refers to Feyre. Lady of night and princess of decay are clearly meant for Nesta.

Fanged beast and trembling fawn are left for Elain. It’s easy to write this off as being about her LI and herself, respectively, but I don’t know. The sentences build upon each other. A single moniker grows to two - the first separated by a comma, the second expanding to use an and. It’s something you see a lot in poetry, generally used to emphasise a point. I’m not entirely sure what the point is; it might just be a nice writing flourish, but wouldn’t it be interesting if both those statements were referring to Elain herself? Wouldn’t it just be juicy?

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ackerpreach · 3 years

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This ending .... I can name 500 reasons and I will name them right now, because I don’t think I’m the only one who is upset with how things turned out. (Also, A positive message for all of you at the end)

MAJOR LEAKS SPOILERS/ READ WITH CAUTION

Update: after reading more theories from fellow RM bloggers, and sleeping over it one day, this entire chapter might be an april fools... Don't fully lose hope yet beautiful people. It's me just giving a review on a possible fake April fools chapter

After following this franchise since 2013, so nearly a DECADE. this ending is a pure disserve to the entire fandom. I feel like Yams has rushed it just for the sake of being done with the entire manga. So many things are left open, characters and their developemt are reverted back all the way to chapter 1 or are left even worse than that...

Mikasa’s worthless character development/ Aaronmika’s horrible toxic codependent relationship

Oh honey... Let’s start with how horrible Isayama has treated her. We were all rooting for her, because we all felt like she was so misunderstood. She had a horrible childhood and imprinted on a guy who treated her like trash 99 percent of the story. And then, slowly but surely, she starts to realize she has to stop obsessing over him in the uprising arc with the help of a real man who treats her like a queen, more importantly, he treats her like a real human being. This man sees her for her abilities and that she has the power to be self dependent. She learned parts of herself, that she was able to work together with him like no one else could. She learned parts of herself she was unable to do so if she kept obsessing about Aaron. All this love, care, mutual understanding and RESPECT these two shared.

but...NAH FUCK THAT, right Yams?? Throw all this development away, all this bonding. Let’s make the main female lead even more yandere than she already was in the first season. Let her make out with his decapacitated head (like dude, this is also pure disrespect to Aaron’s dead body btw) and let her obsess even more about the guy who has treated her no better than a piece of toilet cloth 99 percent of the time. The guy who was never really appreciative in front of her for saving his ass billions of times, who always pushed her away, who yells at her and snaps at her whenever he can instead of reasoning and talking calmly with her in mature way. (EVEN PARODY YOUTUBE CHANNELS WHO DONT SHIP ANYTHING MAKE IT A TROPE WHERE AARON TELLS MIKASA HE HATES HER GUTS WHENEVER HE CAN)

Then after all that, suddenly Yams tries to last minute persuade us Aaron’s always been head over heels for her??? He should have build their relationship better which he hasn’t even tried to do so... He must be thinking his fans are stupid for eating this from his hands.

Like seriously??? What is this???

Isayama is just fully contradicting himself. It’s like someone tipped him off with a buttload of money for him to write Aaron like this to satisfy shipping needs and to cash in those extra money’s from it. Even if he tried to cater to Erem*ika, this is not how you write a loving and caring couple which people will root for.

This next two panels just freaking infuriates me to the core of my soul. I can’t even describe how dissapointed I am with Mikasa.

Why is she clutching that head so obsessively like that? Why is she walking and turning her back away from her comrades? After everything they have done for her, after all they’ve been through?! After everything Armin has done? Standing up for Mikasa, beating up Aaron for hurting her. I feel like even Jean, Connie and Sasha have cared more for her in a healthy way. Sure, Aaron cares for her romantically too apparently (What a twist Yams :)), but has he aided her to becoming a mentally healthier individual? Has he aided in her mental stability? The answer is a big fat NO! All I see between these two after today’s raw Chapter’s are too Yandere obsessed individuals who have no clue on how to maintain a healthy relationship.

Love should only go as far as the heart can endure and it seems like her character is not willing to be aware of that. Even Armin was able to let go of Aaron in those latest panels. Why does her entire character resolve around this guy??? I really do not understand. Her Ackerbond and her age is not an excuse for her to throw her life away like this.

Shonen’s disgusting portrayal of women

I’ve seen this countless of times in the many years I’ve watched anime. SasuS*ku from Naruto, Ichih*me from Bleach, Shinji and that oranged hair girl from Neon Evangelion.. Why do these women get decreased to simpletons with one single goal? And that is to obsess over a bland male lead who either treats them like trash or doesn’t notice them up until the last last chapter (LITERALLY WHAT YAMS HAS DONE). Some go even as far as the male leading wanting the kill the female love interest and yet the female lead is still in love with them???. It’s disgusting for him to write the MAIN female character this way.

It’s dissapointing we believed in Isayama doing Mikasa’s character right. That she’s finally being able to let go of her codependency and to live for herself maybe live in Hizuru and find more about her roots???, but every single time she shows some improvement, it’s burried deep in the ground again by the Author. It almost seems like a lowkey kink of some of the male Mangaka’s to write about a girl obsessing over them no matter what. I see this so many times to the point that I truly stand behind it that some of them might have this fantasy.

I wished he didn’t portray her last panels like this. Everyone else is living their lives while Mikasa is still grieving about him. I’m not saying she’s not allowed to grieve and everyone takes it at their own pace, but cmon... Show her living her life too. This is too much. Her being next to his grave and grieving him as her last panels just shoves it in our faces that YET AGAIN, BEING OBSESSED WITH AARON IS ALL HER CHARACTER STANDS FOR.

I truly despise how Isayama handles her grieving, kissing his decapacitated head, carrying it around like some handbag, and her last panels being thissss.

The world leaving Paradis alone miraciously after all that???

It’s so weird and out of place with so many political feuds and disagreements between the world and Paradis, the entire Rumbling happening and we can see Mikasa just chilling outside in Paradis with no one bothering them. You can see the rings of the walls in the picture below. I don’t know the exact reason behind as the manga is still in Korean, but from what I see, the story went the route of: throwing a happy ending without enough proper reason and it was all fixed just like that in a snap! It doesn’t fit the entire narrative of attack on titan for things to be so peacful out of nowhere. When it comes to the narrative, how things work in that world, how hard it is to achieve peace, everything made somewhat sense up until chapter 138. 139 seems so so out of place... It’s like I’m reading a chapter from a totally different manga.

Aaron Yoghurt got defeated so easily/ Aaron’s character assassination

The build up on the first part of the rumbling was great, those kids carrying coins. You could feel humanity’s fear and Aaron’s hatred in those pages. As if he truly had a goal and he has turned away completely from his comrades and his closest friends with no return. The world seemed truly doomed, but he got defeated just like that. He was in the nape all this time (because screw the warhammer power of hiding yourself elsewhere in his ginormous titan body). There is no master plan as we all expected, and in the end he just acts all yandere in the paths with Armin and that’s it... They massacared his entire character as well. Many fan theories created a better ending with his character. Him being reincarnated as Historia’s baby would be so much better. For him to still keep on seeking and to strive for power. It has always been his motive. It’s his personality from the start until chapter 138. Even if things are okay, to keep on going and to seek that adventure, but then.. He’s so weak and directionless suddenly.. It’s so weird... This is not Aaron at all???

Using Aaron for him this entire post, because I don’t want others to invade our tags... :)))

Historia’s baby

The only panel we got from Historia’s child was this. Just a normal kid, normal life... Why did Isayama put so much effort in highlighting Historia’s pregnancy if it was nothing too spectacular anyway? It seemed he had major plans for this kid and for their development too??? It’s again, big plans, big developments, big relationship dynamic, but all got thrown out of the window...

Don’t read the next sentence if you are a minor :’)

It’s like almost ejaculating, but stopping right before it and repeating that every single Arc.

My energy when writing about this chapter is the same as Nostalgia Critic and his hatred for atla the live action

In Conclusion...

I know us fans should not be deciding on how this story should end, because this is Isayama’s story after all, but I truly wished for him to wrap up things much more rounded. There are so many unanswered questions... Again, I think for the sake of being done with this manga, he rushed all of it. He’s become a millionaire from this story and now his pockets are jammed full, I guess he doesn’t need to put in any effort anymore, right? Perhaps a controversial opinion, but I really wished he cared for his fans a little bit more with this last chapter by giving some answers that make sense at least. It’s his fans who gave him this platform and the opportunity to tell his story and for him to at least give in a bit of effort especially in the last chapter is the least he can do. Rivamika being canon or not, he truly rushed it without thinking much about the entire story line. He expanded it so much, he didn’t know how to bind it all together.

Even after all this, I’ll still ship them in the headcanon type of way. I do give credit to Isayama for giving us a template for such a beautiful dynamic between Levi and Mikasa. He decides to waste it, but that doesn’t mean we have to. I want to thank all the people with amazing writing skills, the ones who give us beautiful art like @carmenlee @phit chan @vialesana and many more. I want to remind all of you that we can create something beautiful of our own and we don’t neccesarily need canon lore for that. The art I’ve seen, the fanfictions I’ve read have touched me deeper than Isayama ever could at times.The Mikasa in our mind is appreciate of Levi, is mature, classy and has a strong will for herself. They spend their remaining days together peacefully. Keep writing, keep drawing, stay creative.

I love you all so so much, I’ve only been publicly active since March, but thank you Rivamika fandom for giving me so much joy as a lurker these past 7 years <3

#rivamika #snk leaks #snk 139 leaks #levimika #mikalevi

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 3 years

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What if... Family Portrait

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something is wrong.

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

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

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

Din nods. Corin merely sniffles again.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a piece of a cookie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His sister.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are not.” That is an order.

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

“You are staying here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Davarax marches back to his room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Paz, I don’t have time for this!” Davarax makes Paz’ visor focus on him. “Dulcy is in serious trouble. These Imps are dangerous.”

“I can fight!” Paz snaps back at him, his voice both angry and shaking.

“I know you can fight.” Davarax reassures him, a little impatiently. “But you are not coming with me. Go home, Paz. Look after Corin. And the others. Go!”

“No!” Paz shouts, but his next words are soft and broken. “She has to come back. She has to.” He struggles to keep speaking. “She’s always so nice to me. To all of us.”

“I know…” Davarax whispers. Paz had been abandoned by his birth mother all those years ago and now he is ready to rush into battle and get himself killed to avoid losing Dulcy. The only woman who had cared enough to act like an actual mother to him. “I’m going to get her back, Paz. I promise. But I have to go now.”

“I’m going with you.” Paz repeats in a stubborn reply.

Sighing, Davarax knows more words are pointless. While the helmet hides Paz’ face, he knows the boy well enough to hear in his voice and read from his body language when he’s too determined to be persuaded otherwise. “Go home, Paz.” He tightens his grip on his arm and drags him out of the ship, kicking and screaming.

Paz’ fury is frightful and Davarax is fairly certain if the boy had a weapon; he would have shot Davarax when he lifts the ramp and blocks him out of the ship. He might not forgive Davarax for this, but he will be safe and alive. And that is what Dulcy would want too.

Dulcy…

-You and Corin are safe here, he’d told her.

She had trusted him when he’d said they’d know if there was danger nearby. He’d told her those words because he’d believed them too. He’d failed to take idiocy and dislike towards outsiders into consideration. The idiots hadn’t meant for any harm to come to her, they just didn’t put any effort into the safety of an outsider.

She’s okay. Dulcy has to be okay. Davarax will get to her long before Macero Valentis does. He will. He won’t fail her, or the children, not as long as he breathes. Davarax had given up on having a family of his own beyond what time he was allowed to spend with his treasured troublemakers and he had settled for being a provider for other families instead, but then Dulcy entered his life and everything changed.

Davarax’ hands shake as he starts up the Razor Crest, driven by red hot fury at the ones who had taken Dulcy away and cold dark despair at the thought of her surrounded by enemies.

He’s going to get her back.

Going after the Imp ship is part guessing, part experienced calculations and part luck. There is no way for Davarax to know their exact route or destination as he has no clue where Macero Valentis is currently located, but he knows which routes are most commonly used by Imps ships as he tends to avoid them like the plague and he has contacts to ask along the way.

It feels strange to deliberately enter areas where he is bound to meet Imp ships.

Constant attacks has left the Imp army jumpy so there are a couple of ships who take his presence and him scanning them the wrong way. The Razor Crest has to make a run for it several times and ends up with scorch marks on her hull, but that’s not enough to make Davarax stop.

He can’t.

Eventually Davarax manages to lock on to the one moving against the stream of Imp ships and with single-minded determination as if there is some place it needs to be and as fast as possible. He can’t be sure, but his heart tells him he’s found his prey and Davarax always trusts his instincts.

Unaware of baring his teeth like a furious beast and the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing up, Davarax can only register one thought: the hunt has begun.

Food and sleep have become a distant memory on this trip. When did he eat or sleep last? Yesterday? The day before? He can’t remember and Davarax doesn’t care. He simply keeps pushing the Razor Crest and himself to catch up with the Imp ship before it reaches the clutches of Macero Valentis.

Eventually he does catch up with the ship.

Others tend to shake their head at Davarax’ attachment to the Razor Crest, but he knows what she’s capable of and how to us her strengths in ways that his enemies never expect. People underestimate his ship all the time and Davarax hopes they continue to do so – as it makes his victories all the more sweeter and drastically reduces the risk to his life and his ship’s safety.

When the Imp ship slows down, for whatever reason, Davarax goes for it.

Setting loose two decoys with signals meant to impersonate much larger ships than the Razor Crest, Davarax gives a powerful boost with his engine before powering down and hoping the forward momentum will bring him to where he needs to go; the landing dock on the Imp ship’s left flank.

It’s a move he’s only done twice before and he succeeded once, but Davarax decides to risk it.

Dulcy is right there. In that ship. And Macero Valentis is not, or there would have been a second ship to accompany them. There is still time to get her back.

The Razor Crest does not fail him. She slides through the darkness, under the Imp ship’s radar and drowsy attention, their arrogance brought on by them thinking themselves superior in every way can be quite helpful, and once she’s powered back up it only takes the gentlest of nudges to make her move up to where she can latch on to one of the boarding docks.

Davarax is on his feet before the attachment to the other ship is deemed secure by the Razor Crest’s sensors. Three blasters and an unseemly amount of explosives join his arsenal hidden in his armour.

It’s time to put all of his concern and anger into his weapons.

He goes for stealth at first. He needs to know where they are keeping Dulcy. And while Davarax knows he’s a skilled fighter, he’s just one man and this ship is crawling with soldiers. He needs to be clever about this and not let his anger rule him.

He’s told Din countless times to control his anger instead of letting his anger control him, and this is one of those situations where that could be the deciding factor of the outcome of the mission.

A drowsing guard is yanked around a corner and asked for information, but the guy isn’t much help and is left hidden inside a service closet. He is soon joined by two more.

It’s the fourth guard that finally gives Davarax the answers he is looking for.

Dulsissia Valentis is indeed on this ship. They are keeping Dulcy two levels below this one, in the last cell on the left side of the prison corridor. And there are plenty of guards.

There is no way he can get to her without being detected.

Davarax lets the guard fall to the floor and draws his blasters. Controlling your anger also means to know when it is time to let it loose.

It’s time.

It kind of becomes a red haze after that. Davarax makes his way through the soldiers and guards, using blasters and grenades and his flame thrower to remove them from his path, and every step brings him closer to Dulcy.

Nothing will stop him.

Nothing.

He plants several bombs in strategic places, aiming to injure the ship’s engines and computers as well as draw attention away from himself. Once that is in place, Davarax moves towards the door leading below and gets ready.

Davarax triggers the first two bombs. The ship shakes and groans and he heads below to face the minor army placed there to guard their precious cargo.

The first Trooper he sees standing there spins around at the sound of him and freezes with surprise.

Davarax fires his blaster and moves on to take down the next before the body has hit the floor. He triggers more bombs.

The ship’s siren starts blaring. It howls its long and loud warnings on all floors.

After that, blaster shots hits Davarax’ armour, shrapnel from enemy grenades and his own stabs at him, fists and bots do their best to hurt him, even a blade or two slices through his jacket, yet he keeps moving forward. He won’t stop unless he’s dead.

A well placed grenade takes out the light on the entire level, but instead of darkness his HUD has to adjust to the backup-lights flickering on and off as it appears the electrical system itself has taken damage.

Endless amounts of guards try to stop him. All of them visibly confused as they were under the impression that they are being invaded by a large group of enemies and all they see is one Mando. They soon are too dead to appreciate the lesson Davarax is teaching them: do not mess with a Mandalorian’s family.

Davarax removes a couple of soldiers trying to kill him with a well-aimed grenade and he turns a corner to see what he’s been looking for; the prison corridor.

“He’s here!” Someone shouts in the distance.

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” A voice snaps. “Don’t just stand there! Stop him!”

More soldiers rush forward to protect the owner of the voice.

Davarax removes obstacle (soldier) after obstacle (more soldiers), ignoring everything except his mission. He’s so lost in his anger and battle-haze that he’s not prepared for when he suddenly sees her there. Barely visible through the smoke and blaster shots sent his way, there is no mistaking her.

Dulcy.

Some obnoxious Imp officer is standing next to her, his one hand grabbing her arm and the other holding a blaster muzzle to her head. The officer looks scared. She does not. Her eyes are wide with surprise, yes, but her mouth softens into the faintest of smiles. Her hair is almost as wild as Raga’s and for some weird reason she’s wearing a fancy teal dress that probably costs more than the Razor Crest.

It would have eased Davarax’ anger, soothed the fire inside him, quenched his thirst for blood, seeing her standing there… if not for the blooming bruise on her face. There is a startling discolouring of the delicate cheekbone he’d trailed light fingertips over in a wordless display of love not too long ago...

Unbridled rage explodes inside Davarax. He’s going to rip Vecon Valentis apart!

Completely indifferent to the shots fired at him, Davarax merely keeps stalking towards Dulcy and the soon-to-be-dead-Imp, killing anyone who gets in his way. He’s so angry he can barely breathe. How dare they hurt her?!

A trooper jumps out of room next to him, blaster raised, but Davarax slams his elbow into the helmet so hard it shatters. He then pulls out a vibro-blades and throws it through the air and takes down the one guard left standing next to Dulcy and the Imp officer.

The red lights are still flashing, sirens are blaring, there is thick smoke in the air, and Davarax is finally standing in front of Dulcy and Vecon Valentis. The Imp now looks downright terrified.

“Don’t, Mando.” Vecon warns. “I will shoot.”

“Not if he kills you first, Vecon.” Dulcy says. She’s keeping her gaze locked on Davarax, unfazed by Vecon’s threat and the pain of her bruised face. His brave Dulcy. His heart. His light.

Not bothering to even look at Vecon, Davarax grabs the man’s hand holding on to the blaster and squeezes and twists it until he drops the weapon with a pained yelp. He’s mesmerized by Dulcy’s complete lack of fear and solid faith in him. She even uses the moment Davarax disarms her captor to break free and spin around to stand next to Davarax instead.

“Tell Macero I’m never going back. He will never see his son again. And to leave me alone. And if he comes after me or my family again, I won’t ask nicely to be left alone. I will kill him.”

‘My family’. She said ‘my family’. It might be wishful thinking from Davarax’ side, but her choosing those words instead of just saying ‘me or my son’, it almost sounds like she means… him and the children? The anger deflates as wild hope floods Davarax instead and he glances over at the amazing woman next to him.

Dulcy is glaring at Vecon, who is bending over into an awkwardly twisted position due to the grip Davarax has on him, and she looks magnificent; beauty and fury. And there is no hesitation or trace of softness in her threat. She means it, she will kill Macero, and Davarax loves her even more.

“Tell him yourself.” Vecon sneers.

Davarax is distracted, entirely focused on Dulcy, and he pays the price. The Imp moves and a sharp pain follows as he drives a blade into Davarax’ side. Grunting, Davarax reacts instinctively; he draws his blaster and shoots.

Vecon Valentis is dead.

Dulcy doesn’t care. She seems indifferent to the man being killed and her being deprived of the chance to do it herself as payback for her bruised face. All she focuses on is getting to where the blade is planted deep in Davarax’ body. “Oh. Oh no. What-”

They have to leave. Now. The blade hasn’t done lethal damage but Davarax knows he won’t be able to fight for too long with this kind of injury. Blood-loss will weaken him. He yanks the blade out and grabs her arm to redirect her frightened gaze to his t-visor. “We have to go.”

She nods, a little stunned but ready to get out of there. Good.

Picking up Valentis’ blaster, he hands it to her. “I need you to cover my back, Dulcy. Can you do that?” Blood is seeping through his underarmor and a burning pain is spreading. No time to deal with it as more guards are on their way for sure. He needs her help if they are going to make it.

She nods again. Worried, pale, but determined. She’s got his back. Just like he knew she would.

He loves her so much.

Together, they move, battle and make it back to the Razor Crest.

Stumbling into the cockpit and over to sit down in the pilot seat, Davarax brings the engines online and detaches them from the Imp ship as quick as possible. The bombs he’d set off earlier was to confuse the troops onboard and Davarax hopes they have caused enough damage to the engines for him and Dulcy to make their escape.

The Razor Crest does a slow turn, rolling over, Dulcy buckles herself into her seat, and with a strained shake of her entire hull; the Razor Crest gives a mighty kick and races off into the darkness.

-Run, Davarax pleads the ship. -Run as fast as you can, old girl. If that beast recovers enough to come after us, we’re all dead. So I need you to run with everything you got. Run!

And, again maybe it is his wishful thinking, Davarax swears he feels the ship give an extra burst and her speed increases even more as they race towards safety.

Only after forty three minutes and seventeen seconds of pushing the engines to the limit of what they can take, plus non-stop checking the radar to see if someone has decided to chase them and finding nothing, only then does Davarax dare to ease up and let the Razor Crest slow down while he leans back and exhales.

Adrenaline and stress leaves his body while exhaustion moves in.

This is also when Dulcy unbuckles herself and appears by his side to with an anxious expression on her beautiful face and her hands hovering a little undecidedly over his torso as if she can’t decide where to touch.

Her own bruised face appears forgotten to her. Davarax feels how guilt viciously collides with the relief of having her back. He reaches out, pulls Dulcy close and hugs her tight. “Are you okay?” Her bruised face is bad enough, more than bad enough, but what if… He will never forgive himself if...

“Yes, but you’re not.�� Dulcy replies, too relaxed to be lying and she tries to push him away. “You’re bleeding. You’re hurt, Davarax. I have to-”

Feeling her in his arms, alive and warm and there and forgiving him his failure, Davarax couldn’t care less about his own injuries. He can’t even feel them. All he can feel is her. All he cares about is her. The thought of letting her go after nearly losing her forever hurts. “In a moment.” Davarax’ throat is snared up so tight he has to whisper. “Please.”

And his heart shatters entirely when this incredible woman shivers, once, then wraps her arms around him and hugs him back. Davarax eases her over to sit on his lap where she curls as close to him as she can manage and he holds her as close as he dares.

He’d nearly lost her. This fact will haunt him for the rest of his life; a life he cannot imagine without her. She brought him out of his half-existence, comforted his children when he was unable to and Davarax had started to wake up in the mornings with hope instead of guilt and weariness.

Despite the ordeal she has been through, Dulsissia ignores her own hurt and says that they need to tell the Covert Macero will come for them so they can flee, but Davarax isn’t too worried. They have fought all kinds of governments before and won. He alone had taken on a Destroyer and gotten away with it today, just imagine what his entire Covert could do to a man stupid enough to challenge them.

Dulcy is not convinced, but they compromise and then her focus shifts to his injuries and that is something she will not compromise on. It’s odd to have someone care. Nice, but odd. He’s always tended to his injuries himself.

She fusses about his wounds and notes how Vecon held the blade all wrong to do fatal damage. His girl knows how to stab someone properly. His heart glows with pride.

Dulcy refuses to use the cauterizer and tries to order him out of the pilot seat. As much as he loves her authoritative voice, Davarax declines. He needs to keep an eye on the radar, just in case.

Another compromise is made and she ends up sitting on his lap while tending to his injuries.

It’s no big surprise when she asks about her son.

“Scared out of his mind that he’ll never see his mother again.” Davarax sighs, running his hand along her arm in an absent-minded caress. “When we get closer to Nevarro, I’ll try to reach him.”

“And the rest of the kids?”

That actually makes Davarax laugh a little “I had to physically wrestle Paz off the ship when he heard I was going. If he had a blaster, he would have shot me.” His hand rounds her shoulder and moves up her neck to cup the side of her face. “They’ve all been desperate to get you back. Like me.” It feels almost too good that she’s back. He did it. She’s here. He didn’t fail her again.

“I’m sorry.” Dulsissia mumbles, gently patting down the edges of a bacta patch on his stab wound. “I didn’t see him before it was too late. And then I just wanted them away from all of you.”

“Hey.” Davarax takes a gentle but firm grip on her wrist, halting her movement, making her look at his visor. “This was not your fault. This was all them. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Dulsissia doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe not. But the fact remains that without me stumbling into your life, you wouldn’t be bleeding right now.”

“Without me barging into yours, I wouldn’t be sitting here, that’s true.” Davarax replies, gently caressing her wrist. “I wouldn’t be with you. My days wouldn’t bring happy memories instead of feeling guilty all the time. I wouldn’t come home to my kids smiling instead of crying, hiding away while being terrified for their lives or without a voice because they have been screaming themselves hoarse.” His hand moves up to brush the back of his fingers across her bruised cheekbone, feeling the guilt gnaw at him again. “That’s worth more than bleeding for, cyare. That’s worth dying for.”

Closing her eyes, Dulsissia takes a hold of his hand and moves it down to press her lips to it. “Other than the love I felt for my son, I didn’t know what love was until I met you.” She shivers. “Don’t talk about dying because it feels like tempting fate and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

“Then, maybe, if you feel like that, would you…” Davarax says, tensing up a little. He had asked her to marry him and she had said no. It’s just… He wants them to be together, forever, so badly. He wants to be able to take his helmet off in front of her. He wants to kiss her lips and feel her hands on his face. He wants her to see his smile and how happy she makes him. He wants… What he wants doesn’t matter. As tempting as it is to ask her to at least reconsider, he won’t. He had asked and she had said no. Davarax is going to have to respect that.

Dulcy kissing his hand snaps him out of his thoughts just before she asks; “Would I what?”

Davarax exhales and lets go off his dream. He then tilts his head and tries to divert the conversation. “Would you let me compliment you on the dress? It’s lovely. And really brings out the colour of your eyes.” Vecon Valentis might have been a jerk, but looks to have had a sense of fashion.

Laughing, Dulsissia shakes her head and goes back to focus on cleaning and bandaging him up. “Thank you. I kind of like it myself. Impractical, but pretty. I was thinking about keeping it.”

“I think you should.” Davarax drawls, toying with the thin shoulder strap to distract himself as well. “Definitely.”

When Davarax finally manages to contact the children over the comm system, it’s both a relief and painful torture. Relief in that Corin gets to talk to his mother, hear her voice and know she is safe, same with the other children, but Davarax is also tortured by guilt upon hearing their distress and knowing he is to blame. He had said Dulcy was safe and she had been ripped away from them.

His heart aches the most, however, when Dulcy, his sweet Dulcy, makes sure she hears the voice of every child to reassure them all, like the amazing mother she is. It makes him want to collect every neglected child in Galaxy and bring them to her so they can feel happy again too.

In the five hours it takes for them to return to Nevarro, Davarax persuades Dulcy to return to his lap and merely drowse in his arms until they land. It feels so good to hold her. He will happily share her with the children when they get back home, but for these hours, knowing everyone is safe, he will allow himself to be selfish and savour every second where it is just the two of them.

Stepping inside the Covert, Corin is in his mother’s arms before the door has closed behind them. The boy is clinging to his mother with desperate determination, eyes squeezed tight and his entire frame shaking. Dulcy is struggling to keep from crying and she’s stroking and kissing his dark hair, his cheeks and his forehead. It’s the kind of open affection that Davarax can only dream about...

Which means he is not prepared for Din running over to wrap his arms around his waist and burying his face to his stomach with a half-choked sound. His grip is frightfully strong. Surprised and humbled by the rare display of affection, Davarax runs a gentle hand over Din’s hair. While Din has eagerly soaked up every hug and encouraging pat Davarax has given him, this is the first time he has initiated a hug. It almost feels like Din had been equally scared of losing him as Corin had been about losing his mother. That… It’s…

Glancing over at Dulcy, trying to blink away the fog that appears to be assaulting his eyes, Davarax sees Raga and Barthor have joined Corin in her embrace. It seems wrong that Din should have to settle for him so he gently ushers the boy over to Dulcy as well and loves her even more at how quickly and naturally she includes Din with the others.

It would be perfect if only… Davarax’ heart sinks as he sees Paz standing there alone, arms crossed, older than his years. He’s not been the same since the battle at the new Covert. It’s a part of growing up as a Mandalorian, but it still hurts to witness. Yet another thing he can’t protect them from.

Lost in thought, Davarax is then again not prepared as Dulcy unleashes Corin, Raga and Barthor in his direction and they all throw themselves at him with gusto. Davarax grunts at the impact when Raga actually jumps at his chest, Barthor smacks into his left hip and Corin to his right, Din’s arms goes back around his waist, all of them grabbing a hold and hugging him. Din laughs while Davarax staggers a step backwards and tries to pet each head, support Raga to prevent the little space-monkey from falling and not dislodge any one of them at the same time.

Dulcy walks over to stand in front of Paz. “No hug?”

“Kids first.” Is the stern reply.

She simply pulls him close, hugs him even closer and whispers something. Something that has Paz relax and hug her back. That woman must surely be a Jedi witch…

But Davarax doesn’t get to linger on the sight or speculate on her magical powers as he’s quickly distracted by Raga climbing up to perch on his shoulder and he has to support her with one hand while Corin decides to hang off his other arm, using him like a swing like he’d done during their initial meeting back on that smoke-covered planet. Din actually laughs.

“Maybe we can head inside?” Davarax asks, his voice a little strained under the children enthusiastically mistaking him for a playground.

Dulcy looks over at them and smiles like the angel she is. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They walk towards Dulcy and Corin’s room. She reminds him of the need to warn the Covert about the danger of Macero Valentis, but Davarax is in no hurry to see his sister just yet. And Davarax does not believe for one second that Valentis could be a threat to the Covert. If the foolish man was to try to attack, they would eat him alive.

Inside the room there is a whirlwind of exchange of information. Dulcy is as curious about how Davarax had been able to find her as the children are about what had happened to her. Corin gently touches the bruise on his mother’s face with agonized tenderness.

“It still sucks that Davarax had to go alone.” Raga states angrily. “He even had to defy ‘her’ to do it!”

Startled, Davarax doesn’t want Dulcy to know he’d raised his voice to his sister. “It’s late.” He states, stealing their attention away from Raga’s words. “You kids should head home.”

There is nothing but disappointed faces among the children, but there is one who looks downright… depressed. “Can…” Din clears his throat, shifts his position awkwardly. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Corin nods. “He has bad dreams, mom. He dreamt the droids got you.”

Davarax’ heart clenches. He knows how tormented Din has been by the memory of how his birth parents had perished. He’s seen the raw fear in him whenever the boy sees an android. And when Dulcy sends him a pleading look, Davarax isn’t difficult to persuade. Sighing, he nods and starts to contact Din’s Mandalorian parents via his vambrace. “I’ll ask them” And they will say yes. He won’t settle for anything else. The boy needs a little cheering up after all this.

That triggers a landslide of requests to stay as well. Davarax adores those kids for how Raga meekly promises to behave and Paz finally reverting to his real age by demanding to stay if she gets to stay, yet Barthor’s quiet resignation awakens the anger in Davarax.

“My mom will never let me sleep over.” Barthor scoffs with bitter conviction.

Davarax feels his eyes narrow. “Want to bet?” Barthor is one of his kids. If Barthor wants to join the sleep-over, then Barthor will sleep over as well. He is just about to press the final button to contact Din’s parents when his beloved witch strikes again.

“How about… we all spend the night in Davarax’ room?”

Davarax’ face snaps up to stare at her. She couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d slapped him across his bare face with a fish. “Say what now?” Nobody said anything about them sleeping over in his room, with explosives in every corner and the memory of Dulcy’s soft whimpers in his bed.

Din lights up with utter delight. “Oh, can we?”

Davarax clenches his jaw, Dulcy gives him the sweetest smile of fake innocence, and he folds with a heavy sigh. As if he can deny her or these kids anything. “Just… let me talk to your parents first.”

As expected, Din’s parents give their permission without much trouble. They trust Davarax.

Davarax fears he suffers permanent hearing damage after connecting with the Saxons and quickly blurts out his question.

There is a moment of silence before Raga’s mother states: “Anything she breaks, I’m not paying for it.”

“It’ll be on me.” Davarax replies, and then she starts screaming at either her husband or her sons and he just shouts his goodbye and disconnects.

Dez is a problem because of course he is. That man thrives on being difficult, especially around Davarax. If Davarax states something obvious, Dez will disagree just because he said it.

“A sleep over? Are you kidding me? My boy has put on the helmet. He doesn’t do kid stuff like that. I will not have you make my son soft, Davarax.”

“Dez…” Davarax has to take a deep breath and not lose his temper. “It’s a sleep-over. All his friends will be here. Don’t be such a hard-ass. Let the boy have some fun.”

“We are Mandalorians. We don’t do fun. Fun doesn’t make you into a great warrior.”

“A little fun never harmed a kid. He’s a kid, Dez. Helmet or not, he’s still a kid. Let him have this.”

“He should be training.”

“He is training. Every day. That boy is dedicated and you know it. He’s among the best fighters I’ve ever seen. Let. Him. Have. This.”

They bicker back and forth for a while and eventually Davarax manages to wear down the cantankerous man by a combination of nagging and bribery. It’s worth it when he can give Paz the thumbs up to show he’s allowed to stay as well.

And yet Dez Vizla is nowhere near as frustrating as Barthor’s parents. There is no room for negotiations, no compassion or empathy, just a stubborn ‘no’. Davarax tries everything. He flatters, he tries to bride, he tries to reason with them, he even gets dangerously close to pleading, but it doesn’t work. They won’t budge. They will not allow their son to have one simple sleep-over.

And that is when Davarax turns mean. Dangerously mean.

Thirty seconds later, he can give a very surprised Barthor a thumbs up.

That is how they end up gathering all there is off mattresses and blankets and pillows and march over to Davarax’ room. After hoarding and hiding away his weaponry, Davarax helps to arrange their haul all so his kids can be comfortable before he steps up next to Dulcy. “The kids are set. You take the bed. I’ll, uh…” He scouts for where he can fit on the floor, have a good view of the door in case of danger and be close enough to the kids to keep an eye on them as well.

“You and me are sharing the bed.” Dulcy states, as if it is the most natural thing in the world and her words doesn’t hit him in the gut like she’d fired a slugthrower. “The bed is for old people. Like us.”

“I said I was sorry.” Barthor groans. “Let it go.”

“Never.” Dulcy snaps, then she sends Davarax, who can’t stop staring at her, a puzzled look. “What?”

What? She’d just said they would share a bed, a bed with sinful memories, with the kids in the room and she’s asking him ‘what’?? Davarax shakes his head and looks over at the kids again to calm his stuttering heart. She can’t be that oblivious, can she? Well, he can handle this. He can-

“And would you mind taking the armour off?” Dulcy continues to torture him. “You can, inside the Covert, right?”

Closing his eyes, wondering what he’d done wrong to deserve this sweet punishment, Davarax manages a tiny nod.

He handles it like a champ. Davarax removes his armour, settles himself on the bed closest to the door to keep an eye on it and the children to ensure they are safe. Din often has nightmares and might need calming down, though he currently looks quite comfortable between Corin and Paz. Davarax got this. He can handle this.

Dulcy curls up next to him and rests her head on his chest.

He… He’s got… got this…

After a while, Dulcy lets out a soft laugh. “You’re going to have to breathe eventually, you know.”

“No.” Davarax declares. She’s too close and too tempting for him to dare to breathe.

Dulcy giggles and that catches Corin’s attention. He pops his head up and asks what is so funny. If only he knew. Of course Davarax’ evil witch isn’t content with tormenting him solely by being this close to him. Oh no. She hoists herself up on her side and places her hand on his stomach. Her fingers dig gently into the fabric of his shirt and making it slide across his skin in a deliberate caress. “Nothing, baby. Go back to sleep”

Oh. Oh, this means war. Davarax reaches down and grabs a good handful of that divine behind of hers. He grins and savours her strangled squeak like the finest battle trophy.

Corin’s head pops up again. “Mom?”

“It’s fine, Corin.” Dulsissia takes revenge by prodding two fingers next to one of Davarax’ wounds

He jolts with a muffled grunt. Oh, she is really pushing her luck right now...

Corin’s head goes down again.

Davarax’ takes a firmer grip on her behind, hitching her abruptly closer, so she places a hand to an unharmed area on his chest to push herself away. Davarax counters by using his other hand to grab the one she has to his chest and removing it before pulling her even closer. She squirms to free herself while they both struggle to muffle their laughter. Davarax can’t believe this is happening. He wasn’t this childish even when he was a child.

Paz’ helmet comes up and he lets out a very annoyed; “SHHH!”

Davarax and Dulsissia both withdraw their hands amidst quiet laughter.

“Sorry.” Dulsissia stutters through choked giggles.

“Yeah, sorry.” Davarax adds, struggling hard to silence his own snickering.

Grunting, still very much annoyed, Paz lies back down again.

As the laughter calms and a warm peace settles in instead, Dulsissia finds Davarax’ hand. She takes it, lifts it up to hold it between their chests, and smiles as their fingers begin their slow, pointless dance of just touching and braiding and feeling like they had done that very special night.

Looking at her face, seeing the warm affection in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks and the trust in her features, Davarax considers just how lucky he is. How the smallest change in the past might have lead both him and Dulcy on very different paths. How he could have never known the happiness he’s feeling now.

Coincidence or fate, he doesn’t care, it had brought him and Dulcy together and nothing is ever going to tear them apart.

Not his sister.

Not Macero Valentis.

Not even a nightmare of a mercenary who specializes in collecting trophies...

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #what if au #Davarax #Dulsissia #Corin Valentis #Din Djarin #Paz Vizsla #Raga Saxon #Barthor #Fearsome Five #cacodaemonia is an art deity #I HAVE SO MANY FEELS OVER THIS IMAGE

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

Stubborn (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Summary: Din Djarin is a difficult man, and well, you’re just as difficult. To your surprise, the stone wall of a man might have some weaknesses too: one of them might happen to be you.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: some cussing

A/N: This was written as part of an art swap for a friend of mine! Reader is heavily inspired by her, but gender neutral- Miki, if you’re reading this, I love youuuu <3 Follow her on instagram @miknickles, she’s a FANTASTIC artist!

You were starting to fall in love with him, you had to admit to yourself, and you hated it. You might be too hardened for love, you thought, even if you knew hardened was one word that more aptly fit the Mandalorian you worked with. His steely exterior was perpetuated by few words and his imposing physicality. He was scary, you acknowledged, when he wanted to be. Your hardness was far different; you were a warrior too, growing up on a harsh planet with harsh citizens and a harsh family. Your hardness was made of your resilience, not your fear-striking abilities. The two of you were similar: hard-headed, intelligent, committed, and damn if you both weren’t stubborn. Stubborn is one word commonly tossed around on the Razor Crest, used to describe you and Mando- Din, you catch yourself, he had told you his name- and the little green baby who lived with the two of you. Stubbornness was what drew Din to you when you first met, repairing droids in the hangar of a local port. Your obstinance was what convinced him that you could hold your own on the Crest when he’s off hunting a bounty, that you could tame the equally stubborn child he had taken into his care.

Pushing aside the revolting emotions curling inside you, you bite your lip and spit out a cuss as a spark flies between two wires you attempt to connect. “Careful, cyare. Little ears are listening,” teases Din from above you, holding the little green child that put you in this very situation.

“Shut it, tin can,” you grumble from your crouched position in the wiring console. “The brain between those little ears is exactly what caused this.” You shoot the baby a teasing glare, and the green being giggles in response, causing a smile to light up your face. “Yeah you, you little womp rat,” you tell him with a teasing snarl, scrunching your nose in pretend anger. That earns another giggle from the kid and the snarl falls, leaving you smiling. “I can’t stay mad at you,” you coo at the baby before turning back to the wiring. “Well, Mr. Djarin,” you drawl, appreciating the intimacy of finally using his name, “did you have something to say or did you come to stare at me?” You ask drily, focusing on the pieces in your hands.

Din shakes his beskar-covered head. “I came to ask if you needed help, and clearly you do. One more spark like that and you’ll make this whole ship burst into flames.” “I don’t need help. Maybe the ship’s so flammable because this thing is a piece of junk,” you retort back, looking up at him again and holding back a smile by biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s the only pre-imperial ship that hasn’t become a fireball by now.” “It can’t be such a piece of junk if it’s still running,” he fires back, setting down the baby and scooting into the wiring console before squatting down next to you. “Let me help you, mesh’la,” the Mandalorian man offers, grabbing one of the various tools scattered around the floor.

“No. I have this under control. I’m almost done anyway,” you tell him, picking up the tape and ripping off a piece with your teeth.

“Need I remind you that the Crest has been mine for longer? Maybe you’re better suited to droids,” he says, playful yet stoic as he takes the wires from your hands and applies the tape to fix them together.

You scowl at him and then start fiddling with a filament implanted in the wall, letting him deal with those wires. “If that was true, I could’ve and would’ve hit your reset button a long time ago. Leave me alone, I can do this on my own, Mando,” you turn to him with a playful fire in your eyes.

He shakes his head again under the helmet, bending and picking something else up. “We both know that isn’t true. I’m helping you and you’re going to like it.”

“Aw, you almost made me think there’s a human under that beskar,” you taunt, raising your eyebrows at him and challenging, rapping on the beskar of his chest with a closed fist’s knuckles. “Nope, it’s empty,” you say with a mocking frown.

Smacking your hand away, Din almost laughs through the helmet, the quiet sound he makes too low to pass through the voice filter. “I could say the same about you, cyar’ika.”

“I’m fully human, Mando, all flesh and blood,” you say in a jokingly seductive voice, pouting in a flirtatious way at him. Just like always, you remind yourself, this is just normal flirtation between two friends. As you think about what he just said, you look at his helmet, studying the curves and sharp lines chiseled into the indestructible metal. “When are you going to tell me what all these goddamn Mando’a words mean?” You ask suddenly, curiosity getting the better of you, turning to him and looking him right in the eyes through the visor of his mask. You’ve asked many times, and he always deflects it, giving either a bullshit answer or making something up to chide you.

It always amazes him how you can always find his eyes under the helmet. No one else has ever been able to always see right into his soul, through the beskar and everything, when they look at him. He turns his face away from yours, the direct eye contact too intense even though he knows you can’t see his eyes. “When you stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you.”

“Maker, Din,” you groan and continue to look at him. “You’re really trying to call me the stubborn one? You won’t even take off the helmet when I promise not to look. You won’t tell me about your life, you hide everything about yourself from me even though I tell you all of it. The only damn thing I know about you is your name. You never let me come on a hunt, even after I prove my aptitude to you.” You unintentionally start venting your frustrations with him, angrily ratcheting a bolt into the control panel to hold something else in place. “And yet you still like to call me the stubborn one,” you grunt with a particularly hard push on the wrench.

The honesty of the words takes Din back for a moment. He didn’t expect you to actually criticize him, only be playfully harsh as the banter between the two of you normally is. The words sink in and he gives a soft nod. “Maybe I am stubborn,” he sighs and stands, leaving you to it.

It surprises you that he left that easily, and that he almost seemed like he had shown his emotion. It was rare that he gave anything away. “Wait, Din,” you call and sigh as you stand, shimmying out of the wiring space hidden in the wall. He’s already walking away, dramatic as always, and climbing up to the cockpit. You follow after him, climbing up and standing behind his chair, daring to rest a hand on each of the beskar pauldrons covering his shoulders. “Din,” you say, somewhat sharp, needing his attention back on you. He spins in his chair and you remove your hands, bringing them to rest on your hips. “That’s new, you listened,” you mutter to him.

“Do you really want to know about me, cyar’ika?” He asks you, a hand reaching out and taking one that hangs at your side. After a beat of silence, you nod and he pulls you to him, setting you on his lap and continuing to hold your hand. “Well, then I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me what those words in Mando’a mean first,” you ask him, tilting your head and looking down at the black line carved into his mask, where his eyes are hidden.

He sighs and you can feel it in his chest, which your shoulder leans against. “Cyare means beloved. Cyar’ika means... something like sweetheart.” Your heart flutters in your chest. It’s hard to believe he’s been calling you these things the whole time and you had no clue, his brazen flirting in his native tongue being indecipherable to you. He takes a deep breath. “Mesh’la means beautiful,” he admits, voice lowering softly.

The butterflies in your chest have moved to your stomach, settling there and fluttering aggressively enough to cause a hurricane. Your natural coping mechanism comes out again, as always. “Aw, you mean it?” you ask teasingly, moving a hand to the side of his beskar helmet.

He’s baring his emotions now, so he might as well continue, he figures. “I do,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper as it comes out of the modulator.

You’re taken aback, truly. Your mouth opens softly to say something else, but you stop, biting your lip and looking away from him. You turn back, a smile falling across your face. “I have to admit. I’ve never seen your face, but I think you’re beautiful too, Din Djarin,” you say, voice soft, and press a kiss to the beskar, exactly where his forehead rests beneath it. His breath hitches for a moment and the smile widens a little. “I like you, Din. A lot,” you admit, hand moving to his arm and gently rubbing the space between the beskar armor.

“I like you too, mesh’la,” he breathes out, a hand coming to your waist. “In fact, I absolutely adore you.” He brings you into a keldabe kiss, his forehead meeting yours with the layer of armor between them. It’s the most intimate gesture he can give while in armor, you’re fully aware, and it makes the butterflies scatter all over your body, making you absolutely tingle with the appreciation the Mandalorian’s voice held for you.

“Din,” you ask softly, breaking your face away from his and smiling gently down at him. He cocks his head in response, waiting for the question that’s sure to follow. “What do you look like under this?” you ask, caressing the cheek of his helmet with your fingertips.

He chuckles, a low rumble through the modulator. “You can find out when you stop being so damn stubborn, cyare.”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #baby yoda #grogu #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #din and grogu

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lunnybunny12 · 3 years

Text

Sirius Black x Reader (Soulmate)

A/N: This a soulmate AU (Takes place after deathly hallows and lets pretend Sirius is alive shall we)

REQUEST: @graniairish hello love. i love your stories and for the first time i really dare to ask a request. could you maybe write a short story for me? reader is a muggle, and the great love of Sirius Black. she is his soulmate, his one. Because of the things that happened in the first war, she was bewitched with the obliviate spell to save her life. after Sirius is free again he finds her and tries to awaken her memories of him in the hope that she still loves him inside her soul. because for him she is still the one great love.

Word count: 1438

No warnings

Master list

You were about 5 years old when you were told what soul mates were, why your parents and other peoples hearts would glow. You were told that when you met the love of your life, you'd get an overwhelming burn and as you got to know each other it would fade into a warm buzz. From what you'd heard it was the best feeling you could imagine. The youngest recorded soulmates were found in Edenburg in 1880 when they were 3 years old. As you got older however you fell out of love with the concept. Over the years you'd seen your friends, family even strangers find their mates and fall in love, have a family. You thought that you would have found yours by now. For all you knew they could have been in another country or even dead. There had been plenty of recorded cases of that on your time on earth.

Rain everywhere. Rain up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; Rain down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside of a great city. Rain on the garden, rain on the gnomes. Rain creeping into all the nooks and crannies of your roof; Rain running down your fogged window as you refined the details of your painting. The brush strokes had to be as careful and controlled as possible.

A sudden gust of freezing wind choked the warm air around you, breaking your concentration. You were not in the mood for talking the day you had to get the painting finished by that afternoon (or at least that's what you told yourself) and you weren't exactly dressed for guests.

"JACK!" you yelled throwing down your brush and marching to your front door. "You better have a good reason for being...." Your eyes widened in fear.

It wasn't your brother as you expected but a man you recognised in one of Jacks papers. He was looking right at you, his piercing eyes staring right at you, cementing you in place. By the way, he was dressed, he wasn't some hobo off of the street. He wore a green and yellow pinstriped coat that stopped at his knees, navy blue trousers with a matching shirt underneath and a dark waistcoat.

"I didn't hear you knock" you gulped, eyes looking to the closest vase in case you needed to defend yourself. "Why are you in my house?"

"(y/n)" the man smiled taking a step closer in which you took a step back and grabbed the vase.

"Don't take another step closer or else the vase won't be the only thing smashed into a million pieces." He stopped, face in shock.

"Who are you and why are you in my house?"

"I understand, you're scared but listen to me..." He extended his hands to shield himself. That's when you saw the wand on his hip, he was a wizard... and if he was going to hurt you he would've by now.

"You're a wizard? You here for my brother because if so he hasn't lived here for a year." you breathed slowly lowering your "weapon".

"I'm a wizard yes. My name is Sirius black" He breathed regaining his composure, his hands still out in case you changed your mind. "And no I'm not here for your brother but he did sent me here."

"Jack (your last name)? Tall, black hair..." "Has a mole on his left eyebrow and a tattoo of an owl on his hand yes that Jack"

It checked out your brother did indeed fit that description. You sighed and told him to follow you into the kitchen.

"Are you going to keep that with you? he joked talking a seat at your kitchen table.

"Yes, yes I am," you stated, turning on the kettle. "You're a complete stranger who just broke into my locked house, I assumed you used your magic. which begs the question... What was so important that you couldn't have wait long enough to knock on my door?"

Sirius just sat there with a smile on his face. Like when you haven't seen someone in a long time and you were catching up.

"Were not COMPLETE strangers, (Y/n). In fact, we're far from strangers and be happy to explain if you'd drop that vase. Id feel allot safer." He looked so smug and you were having non of it.

"Fine, but hand over the wand"

"Why?"

An equally smug smile was plastered on your face "Id feel allot safer."

"Touche"

Since your brother was a wizard, you understood most of the lingo. What each spell meant and how it worked. The manes of important places like Hogsmead and Azkaban were words you had to learn to simply have a conversation with people in the wizarding world. But there was one spell or charm or whatever the hell they called it that had slipped your mind quite literally, "obliviate". Sirius told you it was a memory charm, that could be used to erase specific memories from an individual's mind.

"Why would anyone want to use that charm on me?" you asked pouring the pair of you a cup of tea. "I mean sure I'm a muggle but Jack is a wizard."

Sirius had sunk in his seat a little bit, he knew that you wouldn't believed him if he just treat out said it so he did the only thing that he could think of. When you went to place his tea on the table in front of him, he grabbed your wrist, accidentally making you drop it.

"What the hell!" you began to yell until you felt an unfamiliar feeling in your chest. When you looked and saw your heart it was... glowing?

Where was the burning? why didn't it hurt? When you looked back at him, his chest was glowing too. That couldn't have been right, the only way it wouldn't hurt was if you'd already ... met.

Your heart was going a million times a minute and your breathing was too quick for it to be doing anything. Sirius stood up, still holding your hand. He was so close he couldn't lose you again.

"listen I know, I know it's confusing and scary and all over the place but if you give me my wand... I can give back your memories. Make you understand" before he finished the sentence you fished the stick out of your pocket and shoved it into his chest.

"Hurry up before I pass out!"

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

It was overwhelming at first when you met him. Like a fire was burning its way through your entire being, from the bottom of your toes to the tips of every strand of hair. It was a good burn, felt the same as blushing but internally. Then as if in sync, your hearts started to glow. For the first time in your life, you didn't feel so alone and he felt the same.

The pair of you were young and fresh-faced. Right out of school not knowing how ether of your worlds worked quite yet but you stayed together through it all. Years of emotions, conversations. arguments and apologies seemed to morph themselves into a relationship that worked for the pair of you. He was happy. You were happy.

Every smile and kind word, every annoyance, dances and songs you shared came flooding back to you. The day he was taken from you was the hardest thing you had to live with, you begged and pleaded with him to make you forget him and to save you from years of torturing yourself over what you could've done.... he did as you asked.

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

You woke up on the floor, Sirius arms wrapped around you with his head on your shoulder. He was holding you like you were about to shatter into a million peaces. He was always gentle with you, even during the times you didn't want him to be. He would always stroke your hair and kiss your head and... you remembered.

It was so quiet. The rain was still thundering on your window. The worlds still turned but you didn't care.

A content smile curled onto your lips as your hands glided to hold his face. He still held onto you.

" Its good to be back, Padfoot. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me"

He leant down and kissed you. It was so long and heated and filled with so much love you could've exploded. Your hearts still glowing with a warm buzz you had become so familiar with.

"How could I forget my Soul mate?"

#sirius black x reader #sirius black #Sirius #sirius black fluff #sirius x y/n #sirius black smut #soul mates #soul mate #marauders smut #marauders x reader #marauders #harry potter fandom #harry potter #x reader #padfoodblackdog #padfoot

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bunny-hoodlum · 3 years

Text

Asynchronous With You: Ch 5

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (maybe mature later)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication/Noncommunication, Found Family

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

Neji met them outside the dorm gates. As generous as his dorm-mate Lee was, he couldn't ask him to step out for their sake.

They followed Neji to a nearby linear park that segregated the school grounds from the business park on the other side. It felt like a glass-less greenhouse, with polished granite beneath their feet and a vine-carpeted roof overhead. The benches were slabs of granite, as were the other fixtures, like an orb fountain in the center, with flawless skin of water running over its surface. The full trees muffled the night, with its crickets and distant chugging cars. The gentle, steady trickle contrasted against their footsteps, like two off-tempo drums and hers a mournful castanet.

Now that they were finally here, she was beginning to lose her nerve, she was forgetting what she had to complain about.

All that mattered was that she was healthy, right? All that mattered was that they were actually taking good care of her.

But the last thing she said to her, telling her to go home, saying that at least one of them should be loved by their parents, it began to eat at Hinata.

Could it be that she doesn't have any love to come home to?

Like resonance, her soul trembled and her ribs ached. The heel of her palm pressed against the skin between her wet eyes.

"I've become like them. I messed up."

The bench caught her before she could sink down to the ground.

"What're you talking about?" came Naruto's voice, barely reaching her ears.

"You mean Aunt and Uncle?"

Hinata nodded.

"What??" Naruto smacked his forehead rather hard. "How were you supposed to act?! They knew where you were! Nothing was stopping them from taking you guys back--"

"We don't know that." Hinata argued.

"Bullshit!"

"We don't," Her shoulders lifted, turning rigid. "They could barely take care of the two of us. It would've been the same if they had to take care of two daughters--"

"What about visits? What's so hard about keeping in touch?!"

She stayed silent. It wasn't that she hadn't considered that, it was that it was too upsetting to ruminate on any deeper.

"Ten years, Hinata. They had to have lied to her, right? Raised her believing she was an only child? C'mon, why aren't you angrier about this?!"

She wasn't sure if it was defiance that lifted her chin, but the eyes she chose to meet were Neji's as she implored him join in.

His eyes closed as he released a pensive sigh. "What's she like?"

"Don't change the subject," Naruto snapped. "Hinata needs to vent."

She prodded Neji with her stare. He shook his head.

"Who are you talking about?" Neji punctuated his rhetoric with a sidelong glance, causing Naruto to bristle. "This Hinata?"

"Yeah, this Hinata. Our Hinata. What the fuck, we've shared the same home for ten years! Hinata! You vent! You vented the other month about your-your shirt!" His face reddened as he brought up, perhaps, the worst example he possibly could.

"I was in a weird mood," Hinata said quickly, giving Naruto whiplash.

"A--A 'weird' mood?! What, like you just felt like messing with me kind of 'weird'??"

Hinata lamely shrugged her shoulders before curling in on herself like an armadillo. She could only imagine how exponential his irritation was to increase. She should've answered Neji's question right away instead of trying to convey her complaints to Neji, because now they were getting way off topic. Which was ironic for Naruto, who thought Neji was the one diverting attention away from her pain.

Neji pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what the story is, and I don't think I want to know."

"Good. 'Cuz I don't want to talk about it." Naruto huffed as he crossed his arms.

Silence lapsed around them. Somehow Hinata was rather surprised their arguing managed to fizzle out on its own and so quickly. The past was almost laughable in how different it was from the present.

'That's right. It's always going to be rocky at first, but it takes time to get used to one another.' This was proof that she and Hanabi could grow into sisters no matter how much time had been lost.

"Her name's Hanabi. Her favorite foods are bananas and milk, and she hates the herb mitsuba. She's cheerful, cheeky, and surprisingly athletic. And... I really want to get to know her better." The tears fell swifter and harder on her lap as she re-conjured the heartbroken betrayal she had put on Hanabi's face.

She really hoped it wasn't too late.

Neji joined her side and rubbed her back, while Naruto kept his distance.

Even though he had been given Neji's explicit blessing years before, somehow it didn't feel appropriate for him to console her too.

Looking at them now, it was like those two had never grown apart, not even a centimeter. And they had been communicating with their eyes, he was sure of it. Speaking around him, because he wasn't actually a part of this.

They're what real siblings look like.

________________________

Taking the midnight train back home, Naruto spent the next thirty minutes absorbed in the things that amused him, from sexy two-minute shorts, to prank compilations and this one guy from Kaminari that totally bites at rapping. Absolutely no one, neither he nor his 745k followers know if he's a comedy channel where he's bad on purpose, or if he's just gotten popular for all the wrong reasons, but watching him never fails to inspire a deep gut-laugh from Naruto.

Because he wouldn't be laughing this hard if something was bothering him, especially not a whole host of somethings.

He ignored how arriving at their station didn't feel quite right, how following Hinata didn't feel normal.

He was surprised when she finally started talking to him, yet the weariness her voice instilled was not lost on him.

"Who was the first girl you liked?"

"Hm? Oh, guess that'd be Sakura-chan."

"I see. And how old were you when you knew?"

"Eight, I guess?"

"Eight," The number floated from her mouth in an amazed whisper, "Do you think somebody already likes Hanabi-chan?"

A blond brow perked up. "Is this that protective Onee-san instinct kicking in already?" When she giggled, his heart sank.

"I suppose it is."

And when the silence closed in on him again, he spoke up to keep it going. "Uh, what about you?"

Her steps faltered for a second, then picked up with an exaggerated bounce. "There's someone."

"Still? Like, ongoing?"

"Mmhm."

Naruto blinked rapidly, whiplash striking again. How? How did he not know his sister liked someone? "Since when?"

"Mmmm," She hummed that note a little too long that bordered on mocking him, and he was about to storm on ahead of her, until she said, "Third grade."

"What?!" Ineloquent as that was, he somehow expected her to answer him. He stood there as she traipsed away, waiting until he was finally fed up. "Well, who the fuck is it?!"

"Guess."

He jogged after her. "Kiba?" His mouth soured at the thought.

She crossed her forearms into an 'X', making the buzzer sound in game shows when the contestant got the answer wrong. "Bubuu."

"Shino?" He didn't know what to think about that if it were true. Guess they were both quiet and smart and a little weird. Is that what compatibility looks like?

"Bubuu," she went again.

What other guys was she in contact with?

Shikamaru was a good friend who came over to game sometimes, but he definitely didn't sense anything there. No, no way it could be him. And everyone was pretty sure Sai was asexual.

"Sasuke?" Why not? He was the school heartthrob nine years running. Didn't matter whether Naruto understood the taste of girls or not, they all wanted him. He kinda wishes he noticed sooner now, because he imagining a plain girl like her pining for someone unreachable and he really hates that for her. When she slows to a stop under the streetlamp, he thinks he's finally figured it out, though the truth ended up being really anticlimactic in the end.

She half-turns towards him, her face blank save for the edge of distaste clinging to the corners of her lips and eyes.

"Gross."

He reeled back. "Gross? Whaddya mean gross?" She continued on her way, forcing him to jog after her. "Hey, I can't believe you think he's gross! Are you just being a contrarian?" Her pace picked up faster. "Y'know, like what unpopular girls do when they can't fit in?"And faster. "You really think he's gross?" She was hurrying on ahead and he was trying to catch a glimpse of her face, just a little bit of veracity. "Hinata?!"

They arrived at the steps of their apartment.

"You have until graduation to guess!" She called over her shoulder as she ran ahead, her voice pitching high at the end.

She was upset.

Her footsteps resounded through the corridors like frantic clapping, but he wasn't being congratulated at all.

It was finally apparent to him that he hasn't paid attention to Hinata in a long, long time. That's why Neji was making fun of him.

He took the elevator to their apartment, and when he reached the hole between their bedrooms, he got down on both knees and crouched his spine. They haven't used this in years, he couldn't believe how small they used to be, this hole had to be over three feet from the floor. It was making his back hurt. "Hinata," He bit his tongue with a pause. "What happens if I can't guess by graduation?" Nothing. Just silence. "Hinata? Are you not going to talk to me anymore?"

"Yeah," If a ghost could croak, that's what it sounded like. "If you can't guess by graduation, I'm not going to talk to you anymore."

He palmed the wall as he drew to full height, then stepped away, neither urgency nor insult registering in his chest. He didn't know what was in there. Maybe nothing. He raised his voice a little, just enough so that she could hear.

"I'm going to take this another weird mood of yours, okay? There's no way you really mean that."

Hovering for half a second more, he didn't give her time to respond as he headed for his bed on the opposite side of the room.

Maybe Sakura had the right idea about family. Maybe it's better to just find your own.

________________________

AN: Lel, I totally forgot to add the summary and ratings thing in the last chapter. 😜😅 Hope you liked this one!

#asynchronous with you fanfiction #naruhina #naruhina fanfiction #naruto x hinata #chapter 5 #modern au

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ahsokasleftbicep · 3 years

Text

Name and Soul: Chapter 4

Alright, let's get this angst moving!! Hope you enjoy it!

@mqgriett @darkangel4121 @thelambandthewolffe @maulscrosshair @trash-dino-5000 @lightning-wolffe @killtherandomness @shadowwing1324

Crosshair x F! reader

Word Count: 2017

Warnings: SPOILERS for episode 4, Tarkin being awful, Rampart being ugh, Sad Crosshair, internal conflict, Hunter and reader tensions, injury, a single curse word

The firing range was dark and empty, just how he liked it. Crosshair moved from his crouched position to his stomach, reloading his weapon and taking aim at the practice droids. Bang. Bang. The droids drop, sending a hollow thud throughout the room. He knew Tarkin was watching, he always did. So did Nala Se. They talked. Anytime Crosshair looked up at the observation room, he saw the two talking. Probably about her. Private L/N. His head hurt, well the right side did. Like a constant headache, it never went away. It was only worse when he was around the regs. Or his squad. They annoyed him. The man paused his training and then stood up, packing his gear. I need to get the mission done. I need to find them. Find her. Kill them. Take her. Easy enough… right. Every time he thought about her, that little metal ring felt heavier than usual. Oh well.

“You be careful okay? Stay with Hunter and Echo, look but don’t touch. Got it?” You brushed off some dust from Omega’s shirt.

“Yep! I got it!” The girl smiled at you before walking over to Echo.

Things had gotten much more complicated over the last few days. There were no more rations and the ship was on a wanted list. These sort of situations could be handled normally, but with Omega, you all had to think of the best way to keep her safe. Some tensions had been growing also, between you and Hunter, everyone felt it. You knew that the Sergeant had good intentions, but he had yet to acknowledge anything that happened on Kamino. With Crosshair. Wrecker tried to tell you that it was how he hid it, but it still irked you. Hunter had been just as devastated as you, and he kept it all in. You drove the past few days from your mind, looking at Echo in his getup.

“Looking good Echo.”

The man raises his hands and turns in a circle. “I know.” The two of you look at each other before breaking out in chuckles.

“Does the headpiece feel okay? Any recalibrations before you guys head out?” You take a quick look at the controls.

“Feels good so far, I think it’s fine.”

The sergeant came over from talking to the Sullustan dock master, securing his pack.

“Let’s head out.”

“Do you have any credits left after paying him off?”

“I have enough to get what we need.”

“Well, be careful.” You speak monotonically.

“Will do.” The two men and Omega start walking towards the market.

You walk towards the ship, towards Tech and Wrecker.

“Why do they get to go sightseeing again?” Wrecker lifts a large metal piece away so Tech can scramble the ship's signature.

You move out of his way, removing your top armor to help Tech with the ship. “It’s a supply mission. And besides, it’s not the first time we’ve seen this planet.”

Tech cleared his throat. “Uh Y/N? Can you get this small piece in here?... Please.”

“Yes!” You walk up to the ship, stepping up on a box and reaching out for the part. “Got it!”

“Much appreciated.” Tech fixes his goggles before heading back towards the inverters.

“Do you need anything else at the moment?”

“I don’t believe so, but thank you Y/N.”

“Sir? You asked for me.” Rampart walked into Tarkin's office.

“Ah Rampart, yes I did.” Tarkin looked up from a datapad. He put the device down and folded his hands.

“Is everything okay sir?”

“Yes, it is. I was curious about your progress on Private L/N’s file.”

The vice admiral sat down. “I have found a little more about her life before the Clone Wars. Nothing that we can use to our advantage yet. She has no family; they were killed in a raid in her village. A civil war broke out shortly after and she was drafted. She got into the Academy based on skill and exceeded in marksmanship among other things. GAR offered her a job when the war started, she joined Clone Force 99 shortly after.”

Tarkin listened and hummed, “Has there been any luck in finding her? Or the clones.”

“No, L/N’s training serves her and the clones well. No sightings nor upsets have been reported.”

Tarkin stands and looks through the glass window. “Very well then. Maintain your search. As I said, L/N’s skills will be useful to your project. Once you find something, send the sniper out to retrieve her.”

“Understood sir.” Rampart rose and walked out. I will find you, L/N. Whether you like it or not.

“Wrecker, Tech, Echo, Y/N. I lost Omega. Someone attacked us.” Hunter’s voice comes out scratchy through the comm-link. Your head shot up looking between Tech and Wrecker.

“Somebody who?” Wrecker responded.

“A woman. Highly trained. She’s after the kid.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Wrecker grabs his helmet, you grab your rifle and run off, the large man following behind.

“Y/N, your armor-.” Tech called out but you were already gone.

You and Wrecker run through the streets.

“I have eyes on Omega, she’s in the maintenance tunnels. Head northwest, at 155. And hurry, she’s got company.” “Wrecker you take that way, I’ll come from the back.” You say as you approach the street.

“Got it.”

You run through the street, hitting a couple of people, not that you cared about being polite at the moment.

“Wrecker, come in?” Silence. “Wrecker. Do you copy?”

“I do not see Wrecker, but Omega is hanging from a tower in the skyway.”

“Oh no.” You breathe out, trying to run faster.

Some speeder pulls up next to you. “Y/N! Get on!” It was Hunter, he held his hand out.

You grip his arm and pull yourself up. “I got the woman, you get Omega.”

Hunter speeds up, and you crouch on the back seat.

“Where’s your armor?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel better. I’m not losing another member of my team.”

“We don’t have time for this, Hunter.”

“He-.”

“Stop! He’s not dead, he hasn’t disappeared. So stop acting like Crosshair just vanished.” You raise your voice. “Focus on Omega.”

You approach the tower only to see Omega fall into a shipping vessel. The woman jumps in afterward. The woman fires at the speeder, but Hunter swerves out of the way. A moment later the back of the vessel starts tilting, taking the woman… and Omega along with it. The woman falls onto another ship. Omega dangles on a strap, way too far above the ground. Hunter is about to grab her-

‘You guys! Look out!” The woman rams into the speeder, tossing you off and sending Hunter in a spin.

“Y/N!”

You’re able to grab onto the back of her ship, pulling yourself up. The woman grabs her weapon but you knock it out of her hand. She kicks you in the stomach before you slam her into the controls of the ship. She kicks back before grabbing a smaller blaster, and then your shoulder starts to burn. Your right shoulder is shot, the skin burned and irritated. Shit. You stumble back.

“Y/N!” You hear two voices at once, one being Omega.

“It’s okay, just stay there.”

The ship starts to shake, when you look behind you, you see that Hunter shot out one of the thrusters. This throws off your balance and you fall over the edge, gripping the end with your good arm.

“Y/N! You need to drop!” You see Hunter hold up a pyro denton. You look around you, seeing a tarp below you, covering some stand.

“Throw it now! I’ll be okay!” You come just above the tarp and let go. You land on the cover before connecting with the ground. The ship explodes and not a moment later, Hunter comes up and puts you on the bike, with Omega.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” The girl looks at your shoulder and winces.

“I’m fine, this isn’t the worst injury I’ve gotten.” Despite the wound being mostly cauterized, the shock and minor blood loss made you woozy. Everything just faded out. Someone picked you up, probably Hunter.

“We need to go. Now. Get a medkit.”

You woke up with a groan, your shoulder was sore and bandaged in a sling. You threw your legs over your bed and walked out into the common area.

“What did I miss?”

Omega jumped up and ran to you. “Y/n, are you okay? You’re going to be okay right? You got hit and then-”

“Omega.” You hug her. “I’m okay, it takes a little more than a blaster wound to take me down.”

The girl hugs you back, relieved. The others gathered around, Hunter looked pissed.

“Did we find out who that woman was?��

“Bounty hunter, based on her skills.” Hunter returned, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Makes sense. And she's after Omega.” You pat the girl on the head. “We need to be more careful.”

Everyone nods and heads back to the cockpit, except Hunter.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t need the lecture, Hunter.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?” You bite back, adjusting your sling.

“Look, I know you’re upset about Kamino, and what happened with Crosshair-”

“No, I’m upset that out of everyone on this ship, you are the only one who has yet to acknowledge him. When Wrecker mentioned Crosshair, you shut it down.” You stood up moving closer to the sergeant. “I know you’re hurting just as badly, but the longer we leave him on Kamino the worse it’s going to get.”

“We’ll get him back-”

“When we stop running, maybe start planning. That’s a start.” You turn towards your room, your eyes brimming with tears. “If you don’t come up with something, and fast. I will. And I will do it alone if I have to. I am not going to leave my husband there to rot and be Tarkin’s attack dog.”

“CT-9904. What is your experience with Private L/N? Is she reliable?” Tarkin asked the gray-haired man.

“Yes, her skills were helpful on missions.” The man tensed, his mind racing. What’s he got planned for her? Don’t listen to him! Leave Y/N alone! Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP! FOCUS!

“When you bring her back, you will be in charge of training her after her conditioning. From there, she will become a part of your squad. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The clone was dismissed and walked past Rampart. He caught a glimpse of a file, your file, on his datapad. Why is everyone so interested in her? It’s not like she’ll come willingly, she’s a traitor. I miss her. She LEFT me. She loves me. No, she doesn’t. She couldn’t.

He sat on his bunk, thankfully the barracks were empty. Images flashed in his head, of you, your laugh, your smile. He grabbed his head and fell to his knees, shaking. Hot tears fell from his eyes as he wept to the empty room.

“Y/N?” Omega peeks through your door. You are cleaning your rifle. “Should you be doing that?”

You chuckle, “Yes, but it’s taking a little longer than usual… Do you want to give me a hand?”

The girl perks up, “Really?”

“Yeah, consider it your first lesson on taking care of your weapon.” You move over to make room for Omega.

“Where do I start?” The girl picks up a rag and looks at you lost.

“Here, see that little gear right there? That’s one of the most important parts. If you don’t take care of it, the rifle can jam…”

You repeated the same words that Crosshair said to you, minus the sarcasm and occasional curse. Word for word of what he said came out of your mouth as if you traded places. For a moment, it felt like he was right there with you. You thought you heard someone crying. Someone weeping. Like they were right there with you.

#name and soul #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #omega tbb #omega #tbb spoilers #star wars #fennec shand #if you want to be tagged in this story dm me

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