#waiting until i can read the chapter until we start coming up with shipping names

[diaclarity]

thank u sv pokespe for the food

#sv pokespe #pokespe #scarnemo #scarlenemo #sorry portmanteau still pending #waiting until i can read the chapter until we start coming up with shipping names #scarlet pokespe #nemona

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty six : crucifixion

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 12.7k

summary : judgement day.

warnings: major character death, above canon typical violence, very brief references to suicide, torture, body horror (briefly), feelings of despair, blood, wounds, general kodo grossness, vomit (reader vomits several times, it is never described in detail), language, angst, brief smut, pregnancy, death, reader is not doing well in this like she's at a breaking point, i may have missed some so feel free to let me know.

a/n: please read the warnings on this chap! it's the most serious of the bks updates, definitely a bit more intense than the rest. gonna work on getting 27 out within the next few day. i've been terrified of releasing this chapter since i started writing it so once i post this i'm going to dig a hole and sit in it and hide for a while lmao.

i changed my editing style so if there's spelling errors lmk!! apologies in advance!!

“My room is too big.” 

He bursts into genuine peals of laughter and you gently smack his arm.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious issue! My room is enormous.” You’re giggling along with him now, it’s the hardest you’ve ever heard him laugh. You both just laugh for a few minutes, as if each other's company is the most amusing thing in the world. 

Once your giggles fizzle out you wait another moment before breaking the silence. 

“Where did you grow up?” You can’t see him but you can sense where he sits in the darkness, you crawl forward so you’re sitting between his legs, your own legs wrap around his waist. “I’m just curious.” 

“Aq Vetina.” You can’t recall anything about the planet. You aren’t even sure you’ve heard of it. 

“Do you remember your parents well? You don’t talk about them very much.” You put your hands on his shoulders, ever so slowly moving them up to his neck until you’re cupping his face. 

“I’ll never forget them.” He whispers. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We can’t change the past.” You rub your nose against his, bumping them together as you hum and nod. “My mother loved ships. We didn’t travel, we never had a reason to, but she would take me outside and we’d watch ships fly past. I could never comprehend how she knew the name for all of them, it blew my mind.” You wrap your arms around his neck, staying silent in hopes that he’ll continue, he so rarely speaks so much. “My father worked a lot but he always made time for us, he was always home in time to say goodnight to me. He was always around when I needed him, he always provided for us. On his day off he’d spend the whole day cooking, I’d sit on the kitchen counter and tell him what my mother and I had done that week. When she’d come home we’d all eat dinner together.” 

“You sound like you were a happy child.” You can’t help but smile. 

“I never had reason to be otherwise.” He says it so matter of factly that you don’t doubt it for a second. He was loved. It only makes you smile wider.         

“What were you like, as a child?”

“Well behaved.” You immediately begin laughing once more. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it. My mother homeschooled me, she always made sure I had manners. I wasn’t particularly athletic or talkative so I didn’t play with other kids a lot. It was just me and mama.” He sounds far away, it makes you want to hold him close and never let him go.

“So what did you do all day?” Your tone has softened significantly. 

“I would sew.” 

“Be serious.” He’s the one who laughs now at the disbelief in your voice.

“I am! I would sit with my mother after my lessons and we’d sew.” His fingertips dance along the back of your neck as he reminisces. 

“What kinds of things?” You don’t tease. When you really think about it you suppose such a hobby is fitting for him. A task that requires precision and care. 

“I would help her make clothes and blankets that she would sell most days. On the weekends she’d let me do whatever I wanted so I would practice my embroidery.” 

“My heart is actually about to explode out of my chest, you’re so cute.” You put on a mocking tone but the thought of such a thing really does make your heart clench. “Little Din Djarin stitching his name into his clothes.”

“You’re a cruel woman.” He leans forward, knocking his forehead against yours, almost as if he were reprimanding you. 

“What sorts of things would you embroider?” Your tone goes back to genuine, you could listen to him talk about himself for days and you’d never get bored. 

“Whatever my mother wanted. I would ask her what I should do and then I’d stitch it onto her blanket or the hem of her skirt. Mostly flowers, she loved daisies.” You’re pretty sure one of your ovaries literally popped at the thought of a little boy with dark curls and big brown eyes sitting beside his mother and embroidering a daisy onto her skirt. Your heart flutters a bit as you think of the necklace he got you. The silver outline of a flower you now realize is a daisy. “If he was ever gone for more than one night for work my father would bring her daisies, one for each day he was away.”

“Do you still know how?”

“I used to fix Grogu’s clothes when he ripped them but I haven’t done much else since I was a boy. He says it with finality but you carry on, not wanting him to stop talking. 

“What were their names? Your parents?”

“Clara and Arin Djarin.”  

“Those are pretty names.”

“What was it like for you? You said you had seven siblings right?”

“Eight actually.” You think of them now. There were eight of you and your parents' love for all of you combined wasn’t even a tenth of how much Din’s parents loved him. 

“Do you like having a big family?” He lifts you off of his lap, laying you back down as he crawls on top of you, laying against your chest. 

“I love it. I miss my siblings everyday, do you think we’ll be able to visit them someday?”

“If it’s safe to, of course we will.” He tilts his head, if you weren’t in darkness he’d be looking at you. 

“I wish they had visited here. They would have loved you.”

“You think?”

“Are you kidding me? The younger ones would adore you.” You tangle your finger in his hair, scratching his scalp. “Kids just naturally like you.” 

“They just haven’t learned to fear me.” You frown when he says it like a fact.

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Yeah?” The hopeful tilt to his voice has you leaning down to press a kiss into his hair. 

“Kids are intuitive, they can sense that you’re a good person.” He tenses up as you tell him he’s a good person. You know exactly what he’s thinking about now, how he punched your husband and then refused to leave. 

Neither one of you wants to talk about that though, not today. 

“What kind of room would you want? Since your current room isn’t to your liking.” He’s quick to change the subject and you let him.

“In all honesty, I like the cabin, I wish we could just live there.” You run your fingers through his curls as you think about it, gently pulling through any tangles.

“My cabin?” His voice is full of uncertainty as he pulls back a bit.

“It’s nice.” You feel a bit defensive, you consider the cabin to be the closest thing you have to a home. “Can you imagine getting to stay on Naboo? We could spend our mornings walking the market.” You rest your hand on the back of his neck now. “We could get jobs in the city, and then at night we’d come home.” 

“To the cabin?” He still sounds rather skeptical of your hypothetical future. 

“I’d cook dinner, you’d do the chores.”

“The cabin’s a bit small for us.” 

“We’d make it a bit bigger, add a few bedrooms, we don’t need that much space.” 

“A few?” He turns his head, his lips brush against your collar briefly as he kisses you there, freezing up when you speak again. 

“At least two, one for us and then some for any little Djarin’s who might need space.” With that he sits up entirely, his legs straddle your stomach.

“Little Djarin’s?”

“And Grogu, he would come live with us as well.” 

“You’d want him to live with us?”

“Of course, he’s a little Djarin.” Your hands rest on his thighs now as he seemingly ponders above you. He hums to himself in silence for a moment and you can’t help but grin at how seriously he’s taking all of this. 

“How many?” He finally speaks again and you laugh at the bluntness of his question. 

“Kids?”

“How many would you want?”

“You go first.” You haven’t ever talked about this sort of thing so you want to gauge his answer first so you don’t scare him too much with all the kids talk. 

“Maybe five? Or six.”

“Six?” Your voice pitches up immediately and you feel a rumble in his chest as he laughs. 

“Or five.”

“How about two, counting Grogu.” Turns out you didn’t need to worry about scaring him off. 

“How about three?” Three is manageable. 

“Counting Grogu?” 

“Counting Grogu.” He seems satisfied with that. 

“I suppose we could have three, you’re the one who has to build all the extra bedrooms.” 

“I don’t mind.”

“I’d work at the library and you’d work in a shipyard, we’d take turns staying home with the kids.” You pull him back to you, taking his hands and dragging him to lay his head on your chest once more.

“I’ve got enough savings, neither one of us has to work if you’d like.” It sends a twinge of pain to your heart how real this conversation has become, knowing that this exact dream isn’t possible. 

You could always make parts of it real.

Someday. 

“I’d want to work, to get out of the house, but you could stay home if you’d like.”

“When they’re still ik’aad, at least for the first few years I’d want to be with them.” He’s going to be a wonderful father. 

“Then I’d work, not long hours, just enough to get me out of the house, when I come home I’d give you a break, you could do the shopping and I’d watch the little’s.” 

“We’d go as a family, I wouldn’t want ‘a break.’” 

“You’d want to wrangle three kids in the markets?” You scoff in disbelief but he continues to sound completely serious. 

“They’d be well behaved.” You seriously doubt that. 

“What about either one of us makes you think our children will be well behaved? Is Grogu well behaved?” 

“We’ll manage.”

“They’ll be wild.” They will, not they would. 

“And smart.” He sits up again, hovering above you to give you a quick kiss. 

“And happy.” There isn’t a doubt in your mind that your children would be happy with Din as their father. 

“You’d really want to live here? I could build us a house anywhere.”

“I like Naboo, at least everything outside of the castle. I don’t even mind the castle, I just don’t care for the people inside it.” It’s true, somewhere along the way this place grew on you immensely. You love the city and the people in it. “And they’d get to play in the garden.” 

“I would build you a cabin anywhere you wanted, and I’d plant you a new garden.” He kisses along your cheeks and forehead as he speaks. 

“You wouldn’t need to plant me a garden if we lived here.” You insist. 

“We can’t live here, mesh’la.” He rubs a small circle with his thumb against your cheek. “This is too serious now, we’re supposed to be relaxed today.”

“When did we agree on that?” You muster up a weak laugh. 

“It was a silent mutual agreement.”

“I’m plenty relaxed.” You mumble. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling you as you let out an airy giggle. 

“I’m actually very tense and I think we should take a break from all this talking and take care of that.” He mumbles against your shoulder.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm.” He emphasizes his point by pressing his erection against your hip, you hadn’t even realized that this is where he was going with that. 

“How long have you been waiting to jump me?”

“When we started talking about the five kids I was gonna put in you.” He continues to nip at your neck and shoulders as he speaks. 

“Skipping the agreed upon three and going straight to five already? You’re not even going to attempt to negotiate for four?” 

“So you’re open to four?” He pulls back and you can hear his smile. 

“Let’s start with one and go from there.”

“Right now?” His hips stutter down a bit against yours. 

“Maker, you’re insatiable.” You both burst into another fit of laughter. 

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“I could get pregnant, and considering the lack of sex I’ve had with my husband I’m sure that might raise a few eyebrows.” 

“It would never get to that point, when we’re in the clear with this whole Kodo mess I’m getting you out of here.”

“Like… actually leaving Naboo?” 

“Exactly like that. I’m gonna take you far away from here when this is over, gonna keep you all for myself.” His hands move down, giving your hips a squeeze. 

“I’m already yours.” You laughed, rolling over to be on top of him. He’s right, if you’re going to leave anyway then what’s the worst thing that could happen? 

You never talked about that night after that. 

When everything sorted itself out you realized how crazy your fear had made you. You couldn’t just leave. At least that’s what you’d told yourself, now you feel like an idiot for not holding him to his words. It wasn’t realistic, you both knew actually leaving would take so much more preparation than a few whispered ideas during a time where neither one of you was in any position to be making such promises. 

It was just talk.

Lysa came to get you from the dining room. 

After everyone left you had no motivation to move, you just stood there, frozen in time. After a few hours she found you, she had taken your hand and walked you back to your chambers. She held your hand, she kept you upright when you threatened to crumble. And when you felt a wave of nausea ripple through you she rushed you to the fresher, a hand on your back as you threw up all over again. 

You sat breathlessly on the tile, Lysa rubbing your back.

“Gods, I’ve been nauseous since the wedding. Even before everything fell apart.” It’s the first words you’ve spoken since they took Din, your stomach is still churning. “This has never happened before.” You groan, you’ve had many moments of upset throughout your life, but none that made you physically ill. Lysa looks almost painfully worried. 

“Ma’am… is there a chance you might be…” 

Kriff.

You never talked about that night after that. 

Maybe you should have. 

You both did a lot of things during those days. You had been so angry, and he had done everything in his power to ease that anger, to keep both of you as happy as someone could be in your situation. 

You shouldn’t have used that as an excuse to be reckless. 

“I’d like to go to bed.” 

“Of course.” She helps you to your feet, walking you back to your room, you turn to her one last time before you close the door. 

“I’m sorry. Elaine never should have gotten involved in all this.” You’d trade places with her in a heartbeat if you could. 

“It’s not your fault.” She truly seems to believe that. 

Except it is. Elaine never would have found herself in this situation if she hadn’t so often been helping the two of you keep your secret. 

“Goodnight, Lysa.” 

“Goodnight, princess.” 

You lay on the bed, unable to bring yourself to sleep in the closet. 

It’s cold. Colder than Hoth, as you stare at the ceiling in your far too big bed in your far too big room. Even bigger now that it’s just you. 

You let your hand roam down your torso to rest on your stomach.

Just you, hopefully. 

☆

You’re now having nightly dinners with Kodo. 

You don’t get any respite from him, you just want to stay in bed. You’re nauseous and tired and your head hasn’t stopped spinning since that night. A million thoughts a minute. 

Where is he?

Is he okay?

What the fuck can I do about it?

Mostly that. 

The worst part is your lack of a plan. If the roles were reversed Din would have already rescued you and you’d be living happily ever after. 

But that isn’t how your story is going. Instead you are alone, with no scheme on how to get to him. It’s only been three days but it’s driving you insane, you have never known such hopelessness, it’s maddening. To sit alone in your room all day, staring at the ceiling until Lysa comes to dress you for dinner. Neither one of you ever speaks, afterall, what would you say to each other?

“I’m sorry the love of your life had been sentenced to die?”

How morbid. 

Not that you’re above being morbid. 

You think about it often. How easy it would be to drive your dinner knife into Kodo’s throat. You’re seated beside him now at dinner, both of you at the head of the table, joined by the rest of his family. 

The thought of killing him is the only thing that brings you peace these days. You’ve never once in your life been violent until now. Din is good. He’s a good man. In every way he is the opposite of your husband yet Din is the one locked away, Maker knows where, while Kodo is being rewarded. 

It doesn’t make you mad, it makes you furious. 

It makes you want to poison his wine. 

But you don’t have poison. 

And you can’t put yourself in danger. Because you feel fundamentally different, and even if you refuse to think that such a thing is possible you know you wouldn’t just be putting yourself in danger. There’s more at stake now. 

That’s what you tell yourself to stay calm, a feat that is getting harder by the minute as you’re sat beside Kodo who is currently bragging about how he defeated a Mandalorian. 

“They aren’t as strong as you think they are. Under the armor they’re weak, pathetic.” 

It took six battle droids to keep him down. You didn’t even get near him. 

“Some people just need to be taught a lesson, don’t touch what isn’t yours.” He sneers and the rest of the table erupts into laughter. “I certainly taught that horned bitch a lesson as well, you all should have seen what they brought me last night.” 

You perk up, this is the only thing they’ve said in days that truly matters to you. You’ve heard nothing about the current state of either of them until now. 

“What did they do to Elaine?” Everyone’s head turns to you, all their expressions look as if you’ve announced something treasonous but Kodo smiles as if he were explaining something to a child. 

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.” He puts his hand over yours when he says it. 

You don’t ask for any follow up. 

You don’t think you could stomach it, so you stay silent for the rest of your meal. When you’re finished you stand, the rest of the table is starting to pour more drinks but you simply lean down, mumbling something about being tired before giving Kodo a quick kiss on the cheek and dismissing yourself. 

You’re waiting for the night where he joins you in your chambers, after all his father is dead, but it has yet to happen. He had told you that once he was king he would be in need of heirs but he seems happy enough with his pleasure houses and you’re more than grateful for the women you entertain him so you don’t have to. 

So you return to your chambers alone, peeling off your gown before burying yourself under the covers. 

Sleep evades you as you toss and turn. You aren’t even tired, there’s too much going on in your mind, there’s no room for exhaustion. After about an hour you manage to drift in and out of unconsciousness, earning a brief reprieve from your anxieties until a sharp knocking has you jolting upright. 

You don your robe, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you rush to the door, you’re too tired to wonder who might even be bothering you at such an hour as you pull the door open. 

Lysa?

“We have to hurry, ma’am.” She grabs your arm, frantically tugging you into the hall. 

“Lysa? What are you doing? Are you okay?” 

“I am fine, but we don’t have much time.”

“Surely you have enough to tell me where we are going.” 

“Do you want to see him or not?” 

Din.

You nod, taking her hand as he rushes onward, stopping at each hall to peer around the corners until you make your way to a servants stairwell, skipping several steps in your descent until you run out of stairs. You’ve never been down here, you didn’t even know there were dungeons until recently. 

It makes your stomach twist in knots the moment you stare into the darkness. 

“Are there no guards?” You whisper, squeezing her hand.

“Not for the next hour, I’ve made sure of it.” She begins walking down the poorly lit corridor, pulling you along behind her. 

The stone floor is damp and it smells of mildew. Your bare feet are already freezing after just a few steps.

Every cell you pass is lit from the outside with a hanging lantern, they’re mostly empty, but you catch glimpses of movement out of the corner of your eye every now and then. In all honesty you’re doing your best to take in as little as possible, you don’t want to think about Din being down here in such a place, but there’s one element you can’t ignore. 

The wailing. 

Someone is weeping, a low, sorrowful song filling the vast maze of halls and you realize quickly you’re heading in its direction, Lysa tenses beside you as you continue on. You’re about to turn one more corner when she abruptly stops, turning to face you.

“He needs to eat.” She removes a fistful of rations from her apron pocket, shoving them into your hands. 

“He hasn’t?” He’s been down here for three days. 

“He won’t… let me.” You pause, cocking your head to the side and she gives you an apologetic look when she turns. “He won’t let me uncover his face.”

Oh. 

“I’ll feed him.” You nod slowly, tucking them into your own pockets before turning the corner. The contents of the cell immediately on your right have you stumbling backwards but Lysa is not swayed, pulling a key from her pocket, unlocking the door quickly before handing it to you. 

“He’s two cells down, on your right.” She doesn’t look at you as she rushes in, pulling a roll of bandages from her dress. “Shh… it’s okay, I’m here.” Her voice goes soft as she kneels beside Elaine. You can’t help it as you step into the entryway of the cell. 

Well, you’ve found the source of the wailing. 

She’s sat on a cot, curled in on herself as Lysa carefully peels back a series of soiled bandages from her face. 

“I’ve got you, it’s just me.” She continues to make an attempt to sooth a rather hysterical Elaine as she peels back the final layer of bandages and your stomach flips. “You’re okay, love, I need to change these.” You don’t know how Lysa is so calm, even in the darkness you can see the extent of her wounds. Now you know what they brought Kodo last night.  

Both eyes. 

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.” 

Oh gods. 

You’re worried you may collapse as you watch Lysa tend to her with no hesitation, cleaning them with a careful hand before she begins to redress them. You can’t bear to watch any longer as Elaine begins sobbing once more. You try desperately to force the sight of your mutilated friend from your mind as you count down two more cells before quickly fumbling for the lock, letting it hit the floor as you take the lantern outside the door off its hook, bringing it into the dark room. 

It isn’t like Elaine’s cell. 

There’s no bed or interior light, it’s terribly dark and fetid, his cell running deeper than her’s. It takes a few steps for you to finally illuminate the room enough to see him. 

Maker. 

What have they done to your Din? 

You don’t hear Elaine anymore, there isn't a single thing that could distract you from the scene in front of you. There is nothing but the sight of your kar’ta. There’s too much for you to worry about, you don’t even know where to start, you’re frozen in place, a small part of your brain refuses to recognize the man before you as Din at all. He shouldn’t look like this. 

Armorless. 

They’ve stripped him of any clothing you recognize, the thought alone makes you nearly lose your dinner. 

They took his helmet, replacing it with a linen sack.  

Did they see his face?

You briefly have to shut your eyes, taking a deep breath as you take in the rest of him. His clothes are too thin, he must be freezing, they’ve dressed him in a cotton tunic and trousers that end just below the knee. You can see just how beaten and bruised he is. Unlike Elaine he’s in chains, kneeling on the floor with his hands shackled, taut above his head. You swallow the lump in your throat and finally crouch down in front of him, setting the lantern down beside you as you reach out to place a hand on his chest.

“Din…” Your voice cracks and the moment you come in contact with him he flinches back. Suddenly you know how Lysa held it together so well with Elaine, she just had to. You can’t fall apart, who would care for him now if you did? “It’s me, just me. Just me.” You whisper and place a hand over his heart but withdraw it quickly when he trembles under your touch. You ache at the sight of it but more than anything you’re confused, it only takes a moment for you to realize the issue. 

He doesn’t have his helmet. They’ve not only left him here blind, but deaf, of course any touch would frighten him. 

He assumes you're here to harm him. 

You lean in, careful not to come in contact with him as you speak clearly and loudly. 

“Din?” His trembling stops instantly. You find it a bit troublesome how much worse his hearing seems to have gotten in such a short time, you’re half tempted to reach under the bag to make sure he still has his ears. 

“Sarad?” Oh, Din. His voice is terribly small and it sends you forward, wrapping your arms around him as you pull him into an unreciprocated embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You make sure to speak loud enough for him before pulling back, placing your hands against the fabric covering his face. 

“Are you okay?” He coughs a bit as he asks and you almost laugh at how ridiculous the question is considering the state he’s in. Are you okay? 

Technically no. 

But far better than he’s doing. 

“I’m perfectly fine, what can I do for you? Are you hurting?” You feel his face through the bag as you look down across his body. It doesn’t look like there’s been any permanent damage outside of a pretty nasty cut on one of his legs. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Now’s not the time to play the hero, Din.” He flinches a little and you calm your tone immediately. What the hell did they do to him? “Just let me help.”

“How’d you get down here?” 

“Lysa, she says you aren’t eating.” 

“She’d have to lift my- the bag to do it.” He sounds apologetic, as if you could ever fault him for following his creed. 

“It’s okay… may I?” You bring your hands to the hem of the bag but his head turns sharply.

“I- I don’t want you to look.” 

You have no response. He’s always wanted you to look. 

“I just, I don’t think you wanna see the condition I’m in. I don’t want your only memories of my face to be this.” He whispers when you don’t respond.

You should have looked when he asked you to. You should have done a lot of things differently. 

You shouldn’t have waited so long to look. 

You shouldn't have waited so long to tell him you loved him. 

You should have just let yourself love him. Why did you fight it for so long? It seems silly now. If you could do it all again you would have just taken his helmet off the first night you met him and you would have married him right then and there. You would have left Naboo that night.

And you would never keep any of it from him. You would tell him how important he is and how loved he is, you wouldn’t make him wait. 

Even now you can’t help it though, censoring yourself out of fear. Do you tell him about how nauseous you get every morning? About the way Lysa stares at your belly when she does your makeup? 

No. 

It wouldn’t do either of you any good, not when he’s in this situation. 

You take hold of the edges of the bag once more, gentler this time. 

“I’ll close my eyes.” You lift the fabric completely off of him, setting it in your lap as you simultaneously shut your eyes. You keep one hand on his face, using your thumb to find the corner of his mouth as your other hand fumbles to open a ration bar. You feel him part his lips as you feed him. He’s barely chewing, eating quickly and swallowing most of it whole. “Have they fed you at all?” You whisper as he finishes the first bar in a matter of seconds, his teeth lightly scraping against your fingers before you withdraw them, tearing open another bar.

“No.” His voice is still soft as you go to feed him once more, opening each package until he’s eaten them all. 

“Are you still hungry? I could see if Lysa has more.” 

“I’m okay.” You let your head fall forward, resting your forehead on his. 

“What else can I do for you?” 

“Nothing. Being here is enough.” 

If you had felt helpless before it was nothing compared to this. This is more than helplessness, it’s despair. 

“I’m sorry.” You pull yourself further into his lap, wrapping your arms around him in the process. 

“Hey… none of this is your fault.” It certainly feels like it is. Why does he keep comforting you when he’s the one shivering and alone down here? 

“Please, there has to be something I can do to help you.” 

“There is one thing.” You almost open your eyes, you're so relieved, you just want to ease his pain. 

“Anything. I’ll do anything.” 

“I need you to promise me you won’t look.”

“Won’t look?” Your eyes are already closed, you couldn’t look any less if you tried. 

“When they do it. I don’t want you to see it- it won’t be pretty.”

When they separate his head from his body. 

“I won’t.” You can’t deny him this, you’ll give him anything he wants. “Do you know how much I love you?” You whisper before leaning forward another inch to kiss him. 

The question is genuine. It terrifies you to your core to think that he may not know just how much you love him. 

“Of course sarad.” He murmurs against your lips until you let your head rest on his shoulder, fighting back tears. 

What do you say now?

What do you say to a man condemned to death? 

“I love you.” You mumble into the thin fabric of his tunic. 

“I love you too.” After a moment more with him you hear metal jingling as Lysa locks Elaine's cell once more. You quickly pull back from him, pulling the bag back over his head, once you know he can’t see you anymore the tears flow freely. Lysa steps into the cell and you remove your robe, wrapping it around him, immediately he begins to protest. 

“Mesh’la, you can’t leave this here.” His voice is strained and it makes you sick to think he started crying once he was out of sight as well. 

“Please, y-you’re gonna freeze.”

“They’ll know you were here, sarad’ika.” 

“Din…” You’re practically babbling as Lysa removes your robe from his shoulders, an apologetic look on her face as she grabs your arm. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we need to go.” Tears sting your eyes as Lysa urges you to hurry but you don’t want to leave him, you want to stay, no matter the consequence. You pull away from her, wrapping your arms around his torso. 

“You need to go.” His voice is urgent through the fabric as you cling to him tighter. 

Would it be easier to just stay? Get caught and join him at the executioners? You’re genuinely considering it when you feel your stomach churn once more and you’re reminded of the exact reason why you can’t stay. Before you lose your nerve and shatter completely you lift the bag, just enough to give you an eyeful of his split lip and bruised jaw as you gently lean in and kiss him one more time. 

Doing everything in your power to remember exactly what it feels like.

The curve of his lips and the shape of his chin, the overgrown stubble brushing against your skin as you press your face harder against his, desperation taking over as you taste salt on his lips. You hold him as long as you can, until you hear Lysa urging you to make haste once more. 

“I love you.” You press your forehead to his through the fabric, feeling the familiar shape of his face against yours. 

“I’ll always be yours.” 

That was the last thing he was able to say before you let Lysa drag you out of the dungeons. 

☆

It’s like everythings suddenly back to the beginning. 

You wake up alone, you go to bed alone, and you wander the castle alone.

There is no plotting or scheming to free Din. 

Even if you were a trained killer or bounty hunter, it would be more than difficult to get him out of the dungeon and on a ship off Naboo. It would be even harder to do so when you’re one of the most recognizable people on the planet. 

He is buried deep beneath the ground and there is nothing you can do about it. 

After all, you're just a doll. 

You don’t know when it happened but all your clothes are blue again. Every dress Lysa fetches from the closet is a different shade of blue and all your nightgowns are the color of the sky. A personal brand put on you by Kodo. It’s clearly more than just a preference now, it’s a reminder to you and everyone else that you’re his. 

And time blends. 

You know a date was set right around the time you visited him. One week until Kodo’s coronation and two until the execution. His first public event after being crowned king will be a death sentence, how fitting. 

So you wake. 

And you sleep. 

And you walk. 

Kodo never replaces Din and you haven’t seen Leo since that night, so you’re completely alone. It’s like he’s rubbing in the fact that you’re powerless. There’s no need for you to have a guard, you can’t leave. If you tried you’d be escorted back in an instant. 

You tried to convince Lysa to let you see him again last night. 

“Please, just a few minutes-“

“I’m sorry ma’am, it’s just not possible. The only reason I was able to get you down there the first time was because the guard that usually lets me in was working nights, he won’t be working nights again until next month.”

Din won’t live to see next month. 

“Is he eating?”

“He won’t let me-“

“You need to insist. Tell him I insist, and tell him you’ll close your eyes.” 

She pins back a bit of your hair, leaving half up and half down. You both bask in the silence for a moment.

“I’ll make sure he eats.”

“Thank you.”

That had been the last conversation you had with Lysa. 

She doesn’t come to dress you in the morning. You think nothing of it and dress yourself in the gown she’d laid out last night. It’s a bit difficult, putting your coronation gown on on your own but eventually you manage, when you’re fully dressed in the obscenely decadent blue fabric you begin to worry. 

You have no reason to assume that everything is fine. It would actually make sense for this to be a worst case scenario situation, everything else in your life is right now. 

You’re about to leave in search of her but you decide against it. Sitting at the vanity and doing your makeup as quickly as possible, the last thing you need to do right now is give Kodo a reason to be upset with you, you have to be presentable. You smear the shimmering blue eyeshadow across your lids before rushing out of your room. 

The halls are full. Servants move quickly from room to room, cleaning every inch as you carefully push through the crowds, making a beeline towards the dining room. 

Kodo is seething when you push open the large doors. 

He stands at the end of the table, shoving an armored guard as the veins in his neck jut out in his rage. 

“Where could she have possibly gone? She’s blind. You’re telling me some blind bitch outsmarted my entire guard?” 

Your heart flutters at the thought.

They escaped.

Your hope is shattered the moment Kodo begins speaking again.

“At least we still have the Mandalorian… I want security tripled, guards stationed outside his cell at all times.” He continues grumbling for a moment until he realizes you’re there. “Happy coronation day dear wife! I’m afraid we’ve had a rough morning here, somehow in the night the Togruta girl escaped, do not fret, we’ll find her.” 

God's you hope not.

Even if things are worse than ever regarding Din there is one flicker of light in that darkness. Lysa got Elaine out. Knowing that almost puts you at ease.

“Happy coronation day.” You actually manage a smile when you look at your husband, it’s weak but it’s genuine. You want to be mad that they didn’t help Din escape but you just can’t be. You know they most likely tried but if the roles had been reversed and you could only get one of them out you wouldn’t hesitate. 

So there is no animosity. Just a flicker of happiness for them.

They got out.

☆

You were under the impression that a coronation was a happy event. Yet when you step out onto the castle steps it seems to be quite the opposite. 

They look miserable. 

All of their faces are sullen and dejected. How shocking, no one is excited about Kodo being crowned king. He didn’t have any of the outside of the castle decorated or made presentable in any way. No one reacts when Kodo reads from an ancient looking book until a crown is placed on his head. 

A moment afterwards you’re instructed to kneel and a tiara is placed onto your head. 

The audience is silent and you feel shame when you stare out at them.

Even if you don’t have very much power you still feel as if you’ve failed them. The feeling follows you when you’re directed to the dining hall with Kodo.

“I have a couple gifts for you, wife.” His twisted smile makes your stomach turn as you enter the dining hall, now decorated with blue and gray banners.  

“A gift? You shouldn’t have, my king, I- I didn’t get you anything.” You feign remorse as you take a sip of the wine in front of you on instinct before spitting it back up into the cup. 

“That’s more than okay, you’re my gift, sweet wife, all mine.” The thought of such a thing makes you sick, you smile despite yourself. 

“That’s very kind.” You’ll only ever be Din’s. No amount of blue fabric and faux smiles can change that. He snaps his fingers and a large box is brought to you by a servant, they set it directly in front of you on the table. You look at Kodo who nods, sitting back in his chair as you stand, the box is wrapped in checkered blue paper, a large bow adorning the top. Your hands tremble a bit as you take hold of the edges of the ribbon, tugging on them until the bow slips free, much to your surprise the entire box falls open, the sides collapsing giving you an immediate view of the contents. 

The silver, shimmering contents. 

Din’s helmet. 

Polished like new, it sits before you, and the room suddenly empties. It’s as if you are completely alone, despite all the eyes that are most definitely pinned on you right now. Your hands continue to shake as your fingers wrap around the beskar steel, like you would when you held Din’s face, lifting it to glare into the visor. 

Empty. 

You can’t help but stare at your own emptiness reflected back at you. 

You want to hold it close, press it to your forehead but you’re snapped back to reality by the grating sound of Kodo’s voice breaking you from your focus on the helm between your hands. 

“That’s only one of your presents, open the next one.” He hisses gleefully. 

You set the helmet down, realizing there was another, much smaller box underneath it. Silently you scoop it up and cradle it in your hands. It’s a larger than a ring box, it just barely fits in your palm as you ever so gently open it, swinging the top open as if it were a tiny treasure chest.              

Huh.

It takes a moment.

You aren’t exactly sure what it is you’re looking at at first but when it registers your entire body tenses up, your grip tightening on the gift box. 

Bloody and pink, a tongue. 

Of course you know better than to assume Kodo would give you any old tongue. This is a special someone’s tongue. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

You had loved his tongue before anything else.

He can’t do this, he cannot do this to you.

You had fallen for his sharp wit first, it was what drew you into him. His sweet words had won you back, his declaration of devotion.

Now you hold all of that in the palm of your hand. 

“What do we say?” His nasally voice breaks through your mental anguish. 

No.

“Come on, where are your manners?”

Please. 

“Thank you.” Your whisper is nearly silent as you struggle to keep down the scream bubbling in your throat.

“What was that?” 

You clear your throat. 

“Thank you.” 

He makes you take it with you. You don’t bother telling him you won’t be attending the coronation ball in a few minutes, it’s not like you’ll be missed. 

In one arm you’re cradling his helmet, in the other the little blue box. 

You set each one down carefully onto the bed, even if it’s a bit demented these are the only parts of him you have left. You stare at the little box. 

You have never been hateful. 

Kodo made you into this. You are full of hate, for most things at this point. You hate your husband, you hate your room, and most of all you hate the little blue box on the bed. 

And the music starts. 

It must be deafening in the hall for you to hear it from your room but it’s there, loud and demanding of your attention. 

You’re moving before you even have a chance to think about it, in a few quick strides you’re standing beside the vanity, your hands gripping the top of the mirror as you pull it down in one swift motion, the contents spill everywhere and the glass shatters in an instant, shards splattering the floor but you take no time to process it. 

You move on to the next thing.

You yank each drawer from the dresser, throwing them to the floor, clothes strewn about until it’s light enough for you to push the entire dresser over. In your frenzy you go about the room toppling every stupid fucking table over. So many fucking end tables in  one room, and you throw everyone to the floor, trinkets and vases clattering to the ground as you destroy the room. You get a rush of adrenaline as you lift one of your nightstands and throw it against the wall leaving a small dent but more importantly the force of it makes anything hanging on the wall tumble to the floor, glass frames shatter. 

Your chest heaves as you stare at the carnage.  

And it isn’t enough.

Your face is wet with tears and your hands with blood from cuts you didn’t feel upon your skin as you tear open the closet door, the pile of blankets mock you from the floor, you grab them, your vision now blurry with tears as you pull them out of the closet, throwing them onto your bedroom floor. When you return to the closet you’re in a frenzy, you tear at the fabric before you, yanking each and every dress off their hangers, ripping what you can.

There is nothing else for you to do, so you destroy everything you can get your hands on until the only thing left untouched is your bed, left in pristine condition as you let out a small sob. 

Maybe you are a hateful person now. 

You feel as though you have every right to be at this point. 

You step over the shard of glass, giving your bloody hands a glance before wiping them on your gown.

Happy coronation day. 

You sit on the bed, your trembling fingers wrap around the helmet, now that you’re alone you waste no time to hold it against you face, until your body just gives up, too tired to stay awake anymore.

☆

A guard wakes you in the morning, knocking on your door, when you answer it they tell you Kodo requires your presence in his chambers.

You dress in a blue gown that you don’t look too closely at. Stopping at the fresher on the way, rinsing the dried gore from your palms, wincing as you clean your wounds. None of which seem too deep. 

You want to cut Kodo’s tongue out, to make him feel it. But you know that sort of thing would be an impossible task. So you daydream about it as you walk. You’re more than displeased when you open the door and are greeted by Leodall. You hadn’t seen him since that night and from the looks of it he wasn’t expecting you. He swallows loudly when you step inside Kodo’s room.

Normally you’d be curious, you’d probably take a look around but your eyes refuse to focus on anything but Leo as you scowl at him. 

“Why’d you do it?” You don’t hesitate to ask, you have no idea how quickly Kodo will be joining you. 

He simply stares at you, shame apparent on his face.

“You owe me an explanation at the very least.” You cross your arms in front of your chest as he clears his throat. 

“I thought he’d reward me.”

You laugh. A harsh dry sound 

“What could he have possibly given you that you couldn’t have just asked me for?” Your gaze never softens and you’re practically seeing red as you stare at him.

“I thought he’d give me a lordship.” 

You can’t help it as another crisp and pained laugh slips past your lips. 

“You thought Kodo would raise your status? I thought you were supposed to be smart.” Is he an idiot? “He doesn’t see servants as people, if you wanted such a thing you could have asked me, maybe I could have done something.” 

A glimmer of something similar to hope flashes through his eyes. 

“Would you- would you consider doing so now?”

“You cannot be serious-” Your expression goes from fury to disbelief as you stand. 

“It seemed worth asking.” He puts his hands up defensively as you storm up to him, poking a finger into his face. 

“You slimy little weasel, it should be you on the chopping block, not him. If it were up to me I’d have them put your head on a spike.” The words pour out of you like venom. 

“I would be nicer to me if I were you.” He sneers and your incredulity only grows. You can’t help it, you scoff in his face. 

“I would rather die.” A part of you really means it. 

“You might if you aren’t careful, I saved your life by letting Elaine and your Mandalorian take the fall, I could have told the king that you were a willing participant. I saw the two of you together, I read your little rules. He never forced himself on you. I wonder what Kodo might think about that.” You aren’t a fighter, you’ve never so much as thrown a punch in your life but you grab him by the collar of his shirt and slam him into the wall, the back of his head hits the stone and you don’t feel an ounce of remorse as you do so. 

“Do it.” You tilt your head to the side, almost as if you’re taunting him. “Tell him.” Any of the confidence he briefly had is gone in an instant. “The moment you do I’ll tell him that you’re covering your tracks, and that you made a pass at me. I wonder how Kodo would reward you for trying to touch what’s his?” Leo’s head turns as you both hear Kodo’s piercing voice in the hall. You release your grip on his shirt, brushing off your gown as you turn towards the door. Kodo and three others make their way into the room as Leo coughs behind you. 

“Dear wife, I have another gift for you.” He takes a step to the side, gesturing at a line of three people you don’t give so much as a glance. He doesn’t even seem to notice the obvious tension in the room. “A new staff!”

“I don’t need a new staff, I’m fine on my own.” You abandon the pleasantries. You’re in such a state of upset right now, what's the point? 

“You’re the queen now, staff is required. These three will replace the ones you've lost in a week, until then Leodall will be training them intensively to tend to your every need. Two guards will also be assigned to you but I promise they will be much less loathsome than your Mandalorian.”

All five of them will be trained to keep an eye on you. To report back to Kodo, after everything with Din you should have known he’d keep you on a shorter leash. 

You barely look at them. 

You hate them. 

You shouldn’t, they’ve done nothing wrong, but you hate them. 

You give each one a quick up and down, naming them in your mind. 

A BD-3000 droid commands the most authority just based on how she stands so you mentally note her as Elaine's replacement. You’ll call her new Elaine. 

New Lysa is a pasty young blonde woman with rosy cheeks. You truly wonder how well informed she has been on your circumstance. She’s smiling from ear to ear and seemingly couldn’t be happier to be here. 

And new Leo is somehow even more nervous looking than actual Leo, practically shaking like a leaf at the sight of you. The bags under his eyes are worse than your own. A lanky thing with messy brown hair. 

There’s no reason for you to fight this, Kodo always gets his way so why bother. So you nod. You don’t pretend to be grateful this time, instead you shove your way past all of them, content to return to your room and never leave. 

☆

The morning of the execution comes before you’re ready for it. 

Of course you didn’t sleep last night, how could you?

You dress yourself, apparently your new staff isn’t starting until tomorrow, not that you mind another day to yourself. You manage to find something that isn’t blue, a gray dress trimmed with gold, the closest thing you’ll find to funeral attire. No one else will dress with any respect for him but they can’t stop you. Your vanity is destroyed so you don’t bother with your hair or your makeup, you simply don’t care enough. 

For the most part you feel nothing when you open the door, only emptiness until you look down. 

Someone left you a small vase of flowers. 

You pick them up, taking a closer look but your heart skips a beat when you do so.

Daisies. 

After a few short breaths you throw the vase into the wall across from your door, tiny shards of porcelain fly everywhere as two servants at the end of the hall give you a look of horror. Your shoes crunch over the remains of it as you make your way down the hall and to the entryway of the castle. 

Kodo insists that the two of you get to see him first. 

You’re sweating wildly out on the steps as you wait.

Long before you’re ready for it they bring him out. 

A shivering skeleton of a man with a linen bag over his head, immediately bile rises in your throat. Kodo is grinning ear to ear when his legs are kicked out from under him and he’s forced to kneel.

Kodo himself reaches forward and tears the bag off, too excited for any decorum or finesse. 

You gasp as you stare down at the broken man before you.

In all honesty he isn’t at all what you envisioned. 

His eyes verge on being hazel; they're such a light brown. You’d always pictured them to be nearly black. It doesn’t matter what color they are though, when you see the tears forming in his lash line you flinch, clutching the ring on your necklace to silently let him know silently just how much he means to you. 

He’s a mess. 

You don’t like looking at what those weeks in the dungeons did to him and the last thing you need to do right now is empty your stomach on the palace steps. 

He’s too thin. Far, far, too thin, it’s like his entire being has shrunk down. He’s hollow.

Your breath hitches when Kodo grabs a fistful of his dark hair, forcing him to turn and stare at the crowd. They must have cut it while he was down there it’s a mess, jagged edges and shorter than you’re used to. 

“This man has committed an act of treason against the crown.” His voice is loud and booming as the city goes quiet. “For such a crime he shall face the proper punishment.” He yanks him downawards, you watch in horror as Din’s head hits the stone, an incoherent mess of sounds pour from his bloody mouth and you have to look away. 

He didn’t want you to look.

You remind yourself to try and calm your breathing. You can hear the scuffle as they drag him to the guillotine, placing his neck into the wooden divot, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest as you turn to look. His eyes are everywhere but on you as he looks at the people around him, desperately pleading for his life. Not a single person so much as glances at him, afterall, it’s just nonsense, no one can understand him without a tongue. 

You can’t stand it, you almost cover your ears but you manage to resist as Kodo puts an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. 

“You’re welcome, sweet wife.” He whispers, his breath hot and wet against your ear. 

Fuck it. 

You don’t suppress the shudder in your spine as you shoot him a look of disgust. In a matter of moments everything you care about will be gone, why pretend any longer.

A bellowing chime plays from a nearby clock tower and you know it’s time, you straighten up as you stare at the guillotine in abject horror. 

This is it. 

Your chest rises and falls in sharp short bursts as everyone prepares themselves, a hush forming among the crowd on the street. 

And it begins, a chain reaction that you cannot stop now that the executioner has his ax raised above his head.

You had expected more. More time.

A part of you thought that time would slow, that you’d have a chance to stop it. 

But no. 

There is no epic fairy tale moment where the sun glimmers off of the blade and the executioner raises his ax, giving you this perfect moment to run to him, to shield him from the inevitable, to beg them to take you with him. 

That moment never comes. 

You barely have enough time to close your eyes like you promised him. In one unbroken motion the rope is cut, the blade falls and boom. 

Just like that, he’s gone. 

When you hear the metal slicing through the air you squeeze your eyes shut, hearing only the wet crunch as it cuts through flesh and bone. A soft, squishy thud when his head hits the stone. 

In fashion with your decision to no longer hide your disgust from Kodo you vomit. Bending down you puke onto the stones, spraying your own, and Kodo’s feet. The triumphant smile on his face vanishes as he realizes what’s happened. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, refusing to look at Din’s limp body as you give Kodo one last look of detestation before turning around and running back into the castle, not caring what anyone thinks anymore.

The moment you’re inside the reality of it all settles in as you feel tears falling wildly as you run up the steps to your room.

☆

You have been good, and kind, and in return the maker rewarded you by killing the love of your life. 

So when you stand in the center of your demolished room you do the only thing your body can do at this point. 

You scream. 

From deep within your stomach, you scream, loud and raw. 

If anything was left unbroken in your room you’d be throwing it at the wall. But there’s nothing so you scream. 

You shriek.

You howl. 

And you wail.

You scream until there is no more noise. Your voice, like the rest of you, gives up. 

You aren’t sure how late it is when you finally stop. You’re tired and it’s dark outside and your throat is raw. 

And you lay on the floor. Because the bed is too big, and too cold, and the closet is so empty. So the only place left to sleep is there. You lay on the floor with no more tears to cry and no more sounds to scream as you stare at your bed, only from this angle can you see a rectangular shape under your bed frame. 

You wipe your nose with a stray piece of fabric before slowly crawling over to it, you sit on the floor and when you retrieve the item a brand new lump forms in your throat as you stare down at the box Din had bought all those days ago at the market. 

Your failsafe. 

With quivering hands you open it, staring into the small space containing a mess of items but what catches your eye is a piece of folded paper with your name on it. You take it between your fingers, opening it, careful to not let your tears fall onto it. 

Sarad’ika,

If you’re reading this then I’m afraid things aren’t going all that well for me. There are plenty of possible reasons as to why I’m no longer with you, but what’s important is that I plan on doing everything in my power to get back to you. There is only one thing in the galaxy that could keep me from your side, and if that is my fate then this box will ensure you’re taken care of. 

The most important thing is for you to get off this planet. I have included a few possible plans for you, do what you have to to survive. Elaine will help you escape. 

You can seek out Greef Karga on Nevarro. Tell him Din Djarin sent you, tell him what’s happened and he will see to it that you are cared for. Explain our circumstances and I am certain he will provide you with safe lodging. 

Tatooine is also an option. You’ll find a Mandalorian there by the name of Boba Fett, he will not turn you away. You will be protected there, if you need to relocate for some reason after that he will help you locate the Mandalorian convert. Show the Mandalorians your ring and you will be cared for the rest of your life, the convert will protect you. 

As an absolute last resort there is a planet located in the Outer Ring called Ossus. There is a school there, taught by a man named Luke Skywalker. I doubt he would be eager to take you in but you must insist. Bring the chainmail, they’ll know who sent you. Take care of each other. 

In this box you will find enough credits to get you off planet and take care of you for several months, a year if you’re frugal, I suggest you take a few jewelry pieces to pawn off for extra credits as well. You will find a small chainmail shirt, and a necklace of mine. 

And lastly you will find your vibroblade. 

Protect yourself. You’re strong, and more than capable of doing so.

I have one request for you, please, I will only ask this one thing of you. 

Be smart. 

You are the smartest and kindest person I have ever had the honor of knowing. Be smart, take care of yourself. If the roles were reversed I know that I would go to extremes to either get you back, or find justice for you. And all I can do is ask that you do not attempt any such thing, the only thing I would ever want for you is safety and happiness. 

So seek those things out. 

Be safe. Be happy.   

I was lucky to know you, and even luckier to be yours. 

an ner kar'taylir darasuum, 

Din

All my love. 

You flip the paper over, desperate for more, more Din, but all you find is scrawled coordinates to each location. Your fingers sift through the items, everything he promised is found inside but you latch onto the blade. Laying back down on the floor you clutch it between your fingers as you think of Din.

Din, who was yours.

Din, who they took from you.

Who Kodo, took from you. 

And your grip on the knife tightens. 

☆

Two guards stand outside your door round the clock now. 

They never follow you or come into your room but they’re there, silently watching as you direct all your anger at your new staff. As promised Leo trained them to be as persistent and infuriating as he was. 

When the two new girls come to fetch you in the morning you can’t help it when you scream at them to leave you alone and to stop trying to clean the ever growing mess of things. 

It doesn’t matter that it isn’t their fault, you can’t stand the sight of anyone. 

All three of them try. New Elaine and Lysa show up three times a day, trying to dress you and squeeze their way past you into the room but after enough shrieking they always leave you be. 

New Leo usually tries once or twice a day, you don’t even look at him. You always stare at the floor, when he tries to speak you give him the same treatment as the girls, screaming at him and slamming the door. 

Why should you let them in? You know what they are. They’re here to spy on you, to be Kodo’s eyes while he’s busy being king. They’re easy to evade. When you leave to fetch yourself food or a book from the library you easily outrun them. The two girls are worse at navigating the castle than you were when you first arrived and new Leo has a bad leg, sometimes he’ll make attempts to limp after you but they’re always unsuccessful. 

You think of nothing, day after day because there is nothing to think about. 

Except for the fact that Kodo took your future away from you. He took everything from you. 

If you thought time was blending before Din’s death nothing could have prepared you for now. You don’t track the days as well, you keep your curtains drawn and only leave when you get hungry or start to think of Din. The last thing you need to do is have another screaming fit so you keep him locked away in your heart, an ache that’s always there that you don’t address. 

One day, in a fit of tears you took your knife and decided on a whim to kill Kodo. You didn’t care about the repercussions at that point you just wanted him to suffer but the moment you opened the door you nearly tripped, stumbling backwards the guards didn’t so much as glance at you. 

Another vase of flowers.

You’re tempted to just kick them down the hall but you can’t help yourself when you lean down to pick them up. 

A bouquet of blue lilies. Your nose twitches at the sight of them, out of the corner of your eye you see new Lysa and new Elaine approaching so you take the opportunity to slam the little glass vase into the stone floor. Glaring at them when you do before returning to your room. 

☆

Maybe it’s been three days since Din died. 

Maybe it’s been three months. 

You aren’t sure.

You aren’t sure when you made plans to kill Kodo either but suddenly you have them. A fool proof way to get him alone. 

And suddenly you’re dressed for the first time in, well, however long it’s been. In a baby blue nightie with a robe you march out into the hall. The guards watch in silence as you walk away, your bare feet scampering down the stairs until you find yourself watching the main entrance. Waiting for your loving husband to make his nightly trip to a pleasure house, a trip that is typically accompanied by guards. 

You grip the handle of the knife in your pocket as you wait until you finally hear footsteps approaching. 

“Kodo, honey?” You step out from behind the stone column, holding your robe closed as you bat your eyelashes at him. He stumbles around drunkenly until his eyes focus on you. 

You’ve only used your voice for screaming for so long you sound meek, exactly as you want to right now. 

“Wife?”

“I thought maybe you’d like to join me tonight…” You hold a hand out towards him, putting on a sickly sweet tone of innocence. His mouth twists into a grin. 

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

He doesn’t question where you’re taking him, he simply follows.

What a joke. 

You pull him up the stairs, you know from hide and seek where to find an empty room so you guide him there in calculated silence until he trips a bit, laughing to himself as he stutters.

“I knew if I got rid of the Mandalorian you’d realize how much better I am than him.” The statement doesn’t sit right with you and he can see it on your face, even in his drunken state he can sense your confusion. 

You both stop, you’re above him on the stairs as you turn and stare into his eyes.

“You- you knew?”

He simply nods, that sickening smile of his is plastered on his face. His icy blue eyes shimmer with delight. 

“How long?”

“When Leo told me I remembered everything. That little altercation in the hall when your boy knocked me out came right back to me, from there it wasn’t hard to figure out.” Your eye twitches as he speaks.

He knew you loved him and he took him from you anyway.

Any hesitations you had are gone as you nod, pulling him onward until you reach the large vacant tower room. He’s so drunk you decide to just drop the voice, pointing at a spot on the floor. 

“Lay down.” You mumble, reaching into your pocket once more.

He eagerly does as he’s told, laying down on the cold stone, you take a deep breath, in one swift motion you grab your knife, holding it behind your back as you toss your robe aside. He gives you a toothy grin as you ever so slowly walk to him, standing above him before sitting, straddling his waist. 

You look him up and down, one last time. 

Your loving husband. 

One of his hands plays with the blue lace of your nightie as you collect yourself. You look up at the ceiling briefly. 

I’m sorry. 

Not for Kodo, but for Din. This is exactly what he didn’t want you to do. 

You aren’t a killer. And you aren’t hateful, but a person can only be pushed so far before something breaks. 

Be smart. 

You think of Din’s note one last time before you bring the blade out in front of you and slam the blade into Kodo’s chest. 

He makes a sickly wet sound, coughing as he stares at you in shock.

You remove the knife, the hot steel cauterizes his wounds, there isn’t so much as a drop of blood as your face twists with fury and you bring it down again into his stomach now. 

How dare he look surprised by any of this. 

After what he took from you? He deserves galaxies worse. 

So you remove the knife. 

And you stab him again.

And again,

and again,

and again,

and again,

and again.

Until there is no more shocked look on his face. You don’t have a snarky remark or a statement to commemorate your revenge, you’re all used up at this point, all you have is this, this stabbing motion. 

He didn’t even have a chance to fight back.

You crawl off of his body, sitting on the stones as you toss the knife to the side, waiting for a rush of euphoria. 

But it never comes. 

It doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would. 

Staring down at Kodo’s lifeless body. You let yourself crumble. Collapsing down onto the floor, gasping for air as you sob. 

This was never going to bring him back. 

You lay there on your hands and knees for quite some time, just wailing, because what else are you supposed to do right now? You realize far too late that this was never an act of malice, some demented and shattered part of you thought that this would somehow bring him back, that it would give you peace. 

They won’t execute you. 

You planned this exactly so they wouldn’t.

Kodo didn’t tell anyone about your relationship with Din in much detail, not enough for them to assume that you could be with child. Everyone will assume that it’s Kodo’s. They won’t kill you, they can’t. 

Not if they think you’re carrying Kodo’s child. Now that Kodo’s dead, there’s no one to tell the royal family that you never consummated your marriage, your child is the most well protected person on the planet. The future monarch. It’s almost funny, you haven’t permitted yourself to think about the stirring within you as a child until just now, in this moment of weakness. A child, your child. 

Who will most likely grow up without a mother because of the decisions you've made today.

You bite your fist, swallowing a scream as you sit back on your heels. 

Your child will never know how loved they were. Your little one will never get to sit beside their mother while their father teaches them to sew. You put your head in your hands as you wail, no longer caring who hears. Your fate is sealed, what does it matter? 

You don’t turn when you hear someone coming up the stairs. When they pull you into their arms you try uselessly to shove them away. Your vision is blurry and filled with tears as you stare up at the unfamiliar figure now holding you. They rub your back, drawing swirls and stars against your spine as they pull you closer. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” They mumble into your hair. You dry your eyes hastily on your sleeve, confused by the voice you’re hearing, it’s painfully familiar, on instinct you wrap your arms around their torso, pulling yourself into their lap as you both sit on the floor beside Kodo’s body. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

“I’m- I’m sorry.” You whisper against the stranger's shirt. You knew you weren’t hateful. You’re certain of it now because even though he took quite literally everything from you, you still feel bad when you look at Kodo. 

A large hand cups your face, pulling you back to their chest so you can’t see the corpse anymore. 

“I didn’t mean it- I- I didn’t mean to kill him. Well I did but I just-” You begin to ramble as a fresh flood of tears begin sliding down your cheeks. 

“Hey- hey it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. We gotta get you cleaned up, okay? I’ll take care of this, I’ll fix it.” Their arms tighten around you, giving you a reassuring squeeze. You finally find the courage to look at your companion and it takes a moment for you to even realize who you’re looking at. 

New Leo. 

Why would he help you? You treat him like shit. When you look at him he looks like he’s about to cry and for the first time since Din was taken from you drop the walls you’ve put up and you let yourself feel bad for him. You show an ounce of kindness to him because in all honesty he’s the first person to make you feel safe since the night Din was taken from you. 

A lighthouse while you sail through a storm.

So you hug him. 

You pull yourself closer to him and you offer him a comfort you haven’t known for days.

“I’m sorry… for all of it, but especially the flowers, I should have told you, I just- you wouldn’t let me and the guards wouldn’t let me in without your permission and you just wouldn’t look at me.” He begins to mumble his own apologies, sending a surge of confusion through you. 

You furrow your brows, pulling back once more giving him a perplexed look as you search his nearly black eyes for some kind of answer. 

And it clicks. 

All at once it snaps into place and you want to say his name, so desperately, but you’re terribly afraid of being wrong. 

And then he smiles. A soft smile that makes you feel okay and you don’t even care if you’re wrong and you don’t care if it doesn’t make sense you just have to ask.

“Din?”

☆

a/n : yeah so uhhhhh yeah uhhhh this is the first chapter i've ever written where im actually very fond of the writing and nervous about the plot stuff so im gonna go hide?? and just vanish for a while lol

//

I don't have a tag list anymore !! follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #pedro pascal #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you

[stormy-river]

Transcripts from the Humanity Hotline 7

As I finished this, I discovered it's been exactly one year since I posted the last Transcript. A lot has happened in that year; I've graduated college :) . I want to thank everyone for the support I've received, and I hope to get back into some of my creative projects and give you guys an opportunity to laugh, and maybe learn something. This one is inspired by a request from @a-romantic-twst from forever ago; I hope it was worth the wait (sorry about that). (It's about periods if anyone's uncomfortable with that and wants to skip this one.)

------

Operator: "Hi, my name is Mindy. How may I help you today?"

Caller: "Hello, Mindy, I am very concerned about one of the humans on my ship."

O: "What seems to be the problem?"

C: "Well, I'm the chief medical officer and this particular human has been on the ship for just over two Earth months now. On two separate occasions during that time, she has requested strong painkillers citing 'Shark Week' as the reason. I looked into what 'Shark Week' is, and found an Earth television special about certain aquatic predators, and I'm unsure how that could cause a human physical pain lightyears from Earth?"

O: "Interesting, is there anything else you can tell me about this human during these events?"

C: "Yes, I've also received reports from other crewmembers around these events that this human is not as outgoing as usual, and shows signs of discomfort with facial expressions and changes in appetite, but does not respond well to the standard psychological protocols for team building and social connection."

O: "What about the timing? You said this has happened twice, correct? How much time was between them?"

C: "Yes, I've documented both with dates. The human requested the painkillers twice, 28 days apart. The crew reported signs of distress for a few days following each request, and two times in the day before the first request."

O: "Alright, I believe your human is using the phrase, "Shark Week" as a euphemism for the start of the menstrual cycle, which is often referred to as a 'period'. To put it simply, one of the female reproductive organs sheds its inner lining roughly once an Earth month, lasting anywhere from a few days to a full week."

C: "Similar to how the Rythyani shed and replace their stomach linings?"

O: "Yes, though the uterus has blood vessels that extend into that lining, so shedding also causes bleeding."

C: "Bleeding? How much blood is lost? Why has she not requested bandages or a transfusion?"

O: "For most, a period is not life-threatening. The amount of blood loss does not require a transfusion to replace, or bandages to stop, though iron deficiency may be a concern for some that can be easily remedied through their diet. Ultimately, your human will know her body and how to handle her cycle best. We learn to deal with periods from a relatively young age. You should have received a human anatomy and physiology textbook when the first human joined your crew. Do you have it?"

C: "Yes, though I do admit I have not yet had the time to read it."

O: "That's alright. The chapter on human reproductive systems goes into more detail about the biology of the menstrual cycle than I can tell you. For the time being, make sure your human knows that she can ask for support if needed, and inform your crew that not all humans will be happy all the time, and they don't need to be. Over time, you will gain a better understanding your humans' patterns. Until then, trust them to express their needs, and talk to them if you have specific concerns. I can give general advice, but they will know themselves best."

C: "Thank you for clearing up the confusion, Mindy, I will look into this and update the protocols as necessary. I have no more questions for you at this time."

O: "You are very welcome, please don't hesitate to call again if something else comes up."

End Transmission

#humanity hotline #humans are space orcs #humans and aliens #humans are weird

[starberry-cupcake]

I have made up from last time that was about only one chapter, this time we have 5 in a row. We finished act one, fam!

previously, in harrowbean the ninth:

this happened

I want to also thank you for all your nice comments and replies, I read every single one, I promise ♥

ch. 7 to 11 summarized terribly, here we go:

it's time to cross the river

difficult task to perform

as someone who lives literally surrounded by rivers, in every direction, I can relate

my rivers don't carry ghouls though, as far as I know

I mean, there are ghost and cryptid legends, but not ghouls that stick to the windshield of a spaceship like bugs

like these ones do

so harrow and yandere twin aren't doing fantastic

yandere twin loses it in like the first 2 seconds

harrow sees the ghosts of all the ninth kids who died for her to be alive

there's water also, but that part sounds very relaxing, actually

getting covered by water but not needing to breath

I'd be there forever tbh

but we can't, because ghoulies

mercygirl is still doing sound effects like kronk

btw we're changing her name to mercygirl because it's what I've been calling her now

I have been told by a number of you that mercygirl is your camilla so I apologize for disrespecting your blorbina

I might do it again, if the situation arises, though

mercygirl is piloting the ship and emperor the fool is just chillin' until he realizes harrow is walking about and doing theorems, which they didn't think she'd be in a state to do, so they didn't tell her not to do it

these people half-assing plans, who would have thought

mercygirl calls the emperor john

emperor johnnyboy tries telling harrow to come back from her state because she's in too deep and it's becoming dangerous

mercygirl stars talking about the death of cassiopeia (another name that's easy to remember)

says cassiopeia had a ceramics collection, which makes her worthy of all my respect

harrow was thinking "five", idk what it's about

next thing we know, we're back to our gideonless retelling of gideon

in this version, teacher explains things

he says the house was inhabited previously by "ten normal human beings of the Resurrection, though half were blessed already with necromantic gifts"

I'm tired of MATH

he says they left blueprints, he tells them about the Sleeper, he tells them how not to awaken it, he tells them about the trap door, he tells them what's under the trap door, he asks them to work together...

you know what this is like

it's like reading gideon was entering a new game and skipping every tutorial they give you

and reading this is like clicking every NPC's info and reading all that they say

ANYWAY, here is where ortus 1...

wait, this is going to be confusing

I want to call ortus from the ninth "ortus 1" and the new guy "ortus 2"

because ninth ortus was the first to show up

but new ortus is actually older and also is ortus the first

we're gonna go with ortus and lyctor!ortus, for now

so, as I was saying, this is were ortus starts becoming much more insistent in these "flashbacks" about him not being the right choice

which, he's not wrong

we know he's not wrong

and harrow is saying stuff like "unless you can summon matthias nonius" (matthias nonius is becoming a recurrent thing, let's remember harrow compared gideon to him at one point)

and ortus goes "I don't understand why you chose me" to which harrow says "there was nobody else" and ortus exasperatedly says "you never did posses an imagination"

VERY IMPORTANT THING

a skeleton turns around when they're walking and says "is this how it happens?"

we'll come back to that shortly

REMEMBER IT

(I know you all remember it, you've read this already, just act like I'm dora the explorer and play along)

next chapter starts in not!dulcinea's funeral

I'm sad I used the oliver queen grave meme already, I can't use it again to express my feelings

I'm gonna use the steel magnolias scene where they laugh at the funeral instead

so, we are introduced to the famous augustine who's name I will remember

there's some conversation about first and second generations and about not!dulcinea being chosen, and Emperor Johnny Bravo says "we were all there to meet her, all sixteen of us"

MORE MATH

I guess she was the last one of these, but maybe we knew that already, I feel we knew that already

apparently, not!dulcinea was the most reluctant to slurp her cavalier, but that didn't stop any of them, not even her, so

Emperor Johnny Quest says "for god's sake" and harrow thinks "the god who became a man and yet still invoked himself, apparently"

when she's right, she's right

that's better commentary than I could make

I have to respect augustine a little bit because he asked "which one of the kiddies did her in?" and I thought that was hilarious

he is called the saint of patience, which makes my previous comment about them being named via sarcasm very correct

it's like captain planet or the power rangers but chosen as funnily as possible

they start summoning lyctor!ortus by saying that he's interested in "you-know-what", which is both suspicious and childish and the vibes of these lyctors are all over the place

augustine thinks something's wrong, which is an understatement at this point, but ok

lyctor!ortus comes in as if summoned by the gossip and harrow calls him "the next terrible part of your life" which is saying something

lyctor!ortus comes with news of the seventh beast or whatnot that's trailing them

harrow bleeds from her ears and smashes her head on the next available surface to pass out

the mood

who could blame her

this lyctor job is terrible

it's like the end of drop dead gorgeous and harrow is kristen dunst

I'm not explaining that, in case you haven't watched a classic

we are back to the "flashbacks" and we've got a special appearance from the fifth

*studio audience claps and cheers*

they say they prefer to look into books than going downstairs, which is something one would consider if one had known what the fuck was downstairs from the start

abigail also does sound effects like mercygirl, it's catching on

abigail finds a piece of a recipe note that mentions an M and a Nigella

still no G&P

we know nigella is the cav of cassiopeia, the ceramics collector

I remember nigella's name because of the cook, which makes it funnier that it's a recipe

M could be mercygirl

abigail also gives harrow a note

abigail says that she'd like to summon the ghost of a lyctor but she's not sure how that could work or where they go when they die

ortus, magnus and abigail, in this gideonless version, are a polycule

I am convinced of that

while they're talking, magnus says "is this really how it happens?"

REMEMBER I SAID WE'D BRING THAT BACK

IT'S BACK

abigail starts telling harrow that she's got the energy of a lot of dead kids in her and harrow storms out

harrow gets angry when ortus calmly agrees about things and she doesn't want to look into why

I WONDER WHY THAT IS

harrow looks at abby's note again and now there's text on it

it's a longer version of the note she found before

it's a rant

it mentions dead eggs, implantation, some guy being sent after the OP, said guy taking pity on OP

OP is mad about all of this and doesn't use punctuation

what ortus reads isn't what harrow reads, once again

NOW THIS BIT

"ortus, I need a cavalier with a backbone" "You always did and I am glad, I think, that I never became that cavalier"

the gideon points keep adding up

harrow then goes to sleep and is like this

final thing in act I, in chapter 11, is harrowbean stabbing not!dulcinea again, which

always make sure, it's like resident evil in here

just in case, let's stab her a bunch of times

so, are these "flashbacks" happening in real time whenever harrow isn't conscious?

is it her trying to remember what actually happened?

or is it her trying to hide it?

was there actually a longer period of time between the defeat of not!dulcinea and the emperor Jon Arbuckle coming to pick them up?

a period of time in which harrow learned things that made her write those letters?

and in which something happened regarding gideon?

is the note of the implantation also related?

why was gideon born in space?

of course I'm not asking you, please don't spoil anything, I'm just asking the void of desperation and chaos right now

we'll see if any of this gets answered soon or if I just get more questions

also, guess who wasn't mentioned

see you on the next one!! I'll try to get back to the awesome replies I've been getting soon ♥

#luly reacts to tlt #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb #long post #gif cw

[verycharismaticdragon]

Currently reading a Korean webnovel instead of Chinese ones and this is making me conceptualize something, let’s see if I can put it in words…

My musings started with realizing that I’ve become very used to this cnovels thing where the main pairing is literally stated in the summary. Not the case for the k-novel I’m reading, and therefore I’m experiencing Pain and Suffering, — torn between my every instinct screaming that the author is setting up the OT3 endgame, and trying to lower my expectations to avoid disappointment. (And the novel is ongoing so I can’t even get spoilers for the ending :) girl help.)

As you may’ve guessed, I found myself strongly preferring the Chinese variant; but as to why exactly it was so important for my enjoyment to know the main couple… it took me a bit to figure out.

I mean, it’s not like I’m reading exclusively for romance, okay? Fannish activity-wise, sure, I tend to get fixated on ships (though even then, not all the time), but when it comes to reading (or any media intake, really), it’s not necessarily what I’m most interested in. Among my beloved titles, there are many where there’s no canon or fanon couple I'm attached to — and more than a few where there’s a canon couple that I neither love nor hate, just accept. So why did I get so attached to the concept of being, essentially, spoiled the endgame couple beforehand?

The key word that made it click was: promise. After all, it’s not like knowing the names of the characters that get together tells me anything about if they will be interesting or boring together, if they will be good for each other or make me scream “break up!” a million times. But it is a solid promise that these two people ARE gonna be a couple. 

And thinking about the word promise reminded me of discussions on plot twists that I’ve seen on here, about what makes a good plot twist and what makes a bad one — specifically, the phrase “narrative promise” that someone came up with. Basically, narrative promise is in the set up and the build up. If the plot twist betrays the narrative promise, it will not work, and it will be hated by the audience, who’ll feel like their emotional investment into the story was mocked.

The thing about the narrative promise, and why this term stuck with me, is that it’s actually applicable more broadly than just for shock-factor plot twists. For example: what is queerbaiting, if not betraying the narrative promise that the two characters are gonna be together? The fans see the narrative promise — the set up and the build up that would be unequivocally romantic for a het couple — and expect it to be fulfilled; only to be called delusional by the very creators that gave them this expectation. 

And this brings me to the next point: the catch of the “narrative promise” is that it’s never a guarantee. You can be completely sure the author is setting up X, only for them to turn around and do something completely different. (Possibly while calling you a little bitch for having the stupidity to invest your feelings into their creation, too.) After a while, a fan learns to manage their expectations. To not bet too much on anything, even if it feels like there’s no other way it can go. To wait until the end of the season or the last chapter before allowing themselves to get attached; to hold back on deciding whether something is good or not, lest they hype up something they will want to bury and forget later.

And this is where we circle back to c-novels, and to spoiling the main couple in the summary. Except I hesitate to call it “spoiling” because, as discussed, it actually heightens my enjoyment. For a simple reason: this practice takes the narrative promise from its nebulous, uncertain status to something concrete and real. Only for this one aspect and with the minimal-est amount of information possible, but still. That’s one thing I don’t have to guess about or doubt myself on (am I seeing things? is there a heterosexual explanation another way to read this? will the author simply kill off one of the characters before the end so that they don’t have to decide whether to make them explicitly queer?), and one thing I can count on (whatever else happens in the plot, I’ll still have this). It’s easy to invest emotionally into those characters and their relationship, when you have an assurance of their happy ending.

Ofc, I’m not saying that I don’t invest emotionally into relationships or characters other than the main CP — just that it is easier. And I would even say having this one(1) hard promise makes it easier to invest into other elements of the work, too, as it makes for a sort of safety net even if something else is disappointing or painful. 

Like, say you are invested in one couple with great chemistry and one side character. In case of a pre-stated ship, even if the side character dies, at least you still have the canon couple. So it’s not like all of your emotional connection to the book is lost, and you can probably bear with the loss of that character by writing everybody lives AU or something. But if the side character dies AND the couple you were invested in gets broken up or killed off or straight-married with other ppl… then doesn’t that make the entire thing into one massive disappointment? to the point that you might even regret picking up the book that made you care only to slap you in the face?.. 

So yeah, having even just one ship guaranteed is very comforting. And then I thought, well, doesn’t this apply to another type of fiction that I’m very familiar with?

Fanfiction?

Which, since very early on, has adopted the practice of putting the endgame ship in the header of the fic. And which, probably not coincidentally, is often a response to a broken (or at the very least not brought to its logical conclusion) narrative promise. And which always felt uniquely easy to read for me… 

See, prior to getting on this little thought train, I always assumed the ease was due to pre-existing familiarity with canon. You know, not having to learn the entire new setting, already having attachment to the characters… But now that I’ve connected these dots, I thought about times I read fics for fandoms I wasn’t familiar with, and originals formatted as fics — and really, wasn’t it always about the narrative promise made solid? 

Esp with how fics make it even broader than cnovels, by having extensive tags and ratings and such. Getting into a fic, you have a pretty clear idea of what may or may not happen in the story, even if you don’t know what exactly will happen or how. And a fic can fail to live up to the premise set up by ship/rating/tags — but not completely turn its back on it. 

(Well, normally. But in those exceptional cases where tags are misleading, at least you have something to point to when saying, “this is not what I was promised”. The ficwriter can hardly claim they don't understand why you expected [ship] to happen when they personally tagged their work as containing that ship — unlike the traditional media creators, who can always play the "you were totally misunderstanding my intentions the entire time" card.)

And having a solid promise like this, it turns out, takes lotsa pressure off starting a New Unfamiliar thing. I do, in fact, trust like that! So it’s no wonder that there were periods in my life when I would only consume fanfiction, because it was so much easier than extending trust to new titles. And it’s no wonder that what brought me back to being an avid reader were Chinese webnovels that use a practice very similar to what we have in fandoms.

I guess I understand myself better now! Still wish I knew if that k-novel's author is /j or /srs about the ot3 though.

#fandom #fanfiction #cnovels #danmei novels #idk just a lot of musings that i wanted to organize a bit. and since i already typed it all might as well set it free here

[etherealspacejelly]

ok so. i am currently working on a fic. its a story that has been rotating in my brain for years about an avengers OC. idk if i want to start posting it as a WIP or wait until it's finished.

what im gonna do is post the prologue here, under the cut. it is entirely worldbuilding because. i came up with a new alien species with Lore™️ that i made as canon compliant as possible because im a fucking nerd. so you kinda need to know all of that before i can tell the actual story.

if you're interested, please give it a read and tell me what you think and whether you would want to read more! if it gets enough attention i'll start posting the chapters i have to ao3. i have a tag list for my fics so lmk if you want to be added to that too.

quick summary of the fic as a whole: The last surviving member of the Light Elf race, Einar, is taken in by the Avengers when they are orphaned at 10 years old. They nurse Einar back to health, and slowly form a bond with them, helping them to process their grief and heal from their trauma. There's a lot of fluff, a lot of angst, a lot of hurt/comfort, and of course found family.

It starts during the events of Thor: The Dark World and follows the storyline of the MCU from there.

Prologue:

In the beginning, there was only darkness. The only world to exist in that darkness was a tiny, desolate rock named Alfheim. This was the home of my ancestors, the Elves, before time, before space, before light.

No one knows how long they lived like that, alone in the dark. All we know is that at some point that darkness ended. The universe began, and light and life exploded into existence. For most of the Elves, this was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. They swore to protect and nurture all life and to serve the light. But others believed that this was a perversion of the natural order, that the universe belonged in darkness and should be returned to that state. They vowed to destroy the light by any means possible.

War broke out between the two opposing sides, an Elvish Civil War that lasted for many billions of years, with both sides only ever coming together to kill each other. And so, they evolved separately into two species: the Dark Elves and the Light Elves. Each side became stronger and stronger with each generation, evolving new abilities and traits to give them an edge in battle.

A few millennia ago, a great battle ensued between these two sides on Svardalfheim. The Dark Elves tried to use their most powerful weapon, the Aether, to destroy the universe. The Light Elves fought with all their might, but the Dark Elves had the upper hand. That is until the Asgardians arrived.

Odin's father, King Bor, and his army tipped the scales and won the battle for the Light Elves. They confiscated the Aether and sealed it away where no one would find it. Malekith, the leader of the Dark Elves, fled in his ship and bombed the planet behind him hoping to destroy what remained of the Light Elf army, not caring if his own perished as well.

Only two Light Elves survived.

They fled to find a place to hide, to recover their strength for what they knew would be the final battle of the War. They needed a primitive, unknown, safe planet to seek refuge. They found one.

Earth. Dominated by a bipedal, fairly intelligent species descended from tree dwellers. No one would think to look for them there. It was on this planet in the middle of nowhere that these two Elves decided to take a risk, one last desperate attempt to give them an edge against the Dark Elves. They had a baby.

That child, the last Light Elf baby to ever be born, came to be in England, Earth, in the spring of 2003. They named the child Einar, an old Norse name meaning 'the lonely warrior', for that is the future they believed their child was destined for. Little did they know how wrong they would turn out to be.

#fanfic #fanfiction #space jelly writes #marvel fanfiction #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu

[kyberblade]

Shatter - Gone Rogue (Din x Reader)

A/N: They’re back! These weirdos that I love poked my brain until I couldn’t ignore them. I really hope you love it. We have Fennec and Boba making a guest appearance, too! This is Part 3 in the Shatter-verse. The reader has a name in this fic, but that’s the only descriptor of her. Past that, nothing else, I don’t think. I still use “you” mostly, the name is only used a handful of times. This was meant to be a multi chapter fic, but it’s just not wanting to translate that way, so it’s going to be a series of one shots and a whiff of continuity. Please feel free to send me scenarios, prompts, requests for these crazy kids! Just remember to stick to the rules.

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Warnings: Snark, Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, Din is a warning in and of himself in this one. Typical show violence. Light swear words. Space swearing. Mando’a. Like a lot of it. (Translations at the end of each sentence as I go.) My Mandalorians do what they want. Banter. So much banter. And you’ll probably fall in love with them like I did. (I don’t make the rules.)

Word count: 11,934

Thanks to @grippingbeskar​ for encouraging me, looking over this for me, and being the one to introduce me to Din fanfiction in the first place, getting me hooked. You are fantastic and I always love our chats.

Also a shout out to @what-the-heckin-heck​, @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis, @lloweryourstandardss​, and @fordo-kixed-rex for reading it over for me as I went and telling me I wasn’t crazy. (And @deceiver-of-gods​ for helping me with the Mando’a - You’re a life saver.) (Any mistakes are my own.)

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Xxx

You twisted the wrench as you tightened the bolt under the Crest, the ship’s shadow blocking you from the scalding heat of Tatooine’s twin suns. 

“There. I think that’s it, Peli. Wanna test it out before I move?”

“Sure!” She called, jogging up the ramp and into the cockpit. Her voice came over the comm in your pocket a few seconds later, “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you muttered, wiping sweat from your brow. “Wait!” The engines that had started to power up came to an abrupt halt.

“What?” Peli asked urgently.

“Do I need to have Mando hand me my helmet or something? As protection? In case, I don’t know, something pops off and flies straight for my-”

Her loud guffaw rang throughout the hangar from your comm as you glared at it, unimpressed. “You’ll be fine,” she wheezed, trying to catch her breath as she muttered your words back under her breath in a fit of giggles. “Starting the engines now.”

The ship roared above you, vibrating just slightly to show its displeasure at being finely tuned. Oh well. It was better than the clunking. 

“All looks fine up here,” came her voice over the comm as the engines powered down. “You can close her up and come out. Good job.”

Smiling, you mumbled a thanks, starting to scooch out of the tight space when her voice crackled through again, making you pause.

“Hey, wait. When did you finish this interior?”

You squinted as the suns moved just enough to be in your eyes. “Um, in the last few days, I think. You mean on the lower level?”

“Yeah….” Her voice sounded distant, amazed, moving away from the comm like she was turning around.

“Within the last few days. Mando finished it up while I did the wiring with you in the cockpit.” You dragged your gloved hand down your face, bringing it up to block out the suns. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Looks very good,” she agreed. “Almost makes me wish I could go somewhere in this ship. Almost.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Din said dryly, standing by your head.

Pulling your hand down quickly, you glared up at him, reaching out to whack his leg. “Kriff! You scared me! Don’t do that!”

Peli’s laughter barked over the comm once again, soon coming around the corner to join Din’s in real time as she stood beside you. “Need some help? I can get R5 to tow you out a few feet if you need-”

You glared at her, making her snicker. “No, I’m good, thanks. I can manage.” Wiggling back a few inches, you let out a huff before holding a hand out toward Din. “Help your bodyguard out?”

“If anyone attacked right now, I’d be-”

“Don’t say it,” you grumbled.

“I mean, you’re just laying down on the job,” he continued, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you the rest of the way out before offering you a hand to help you up. 

“You’re-”

Once you were on your feet again, Din pulled you close, speaking in a low and teasing voice, “It’s a wonder no one’s snuck in here yet.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” a familiar female voice rang out behind him, making you both turn with blasters drawn. “Hello, Mando.”

“Fennec,” he said on a sigh, lowering his weapon.

“Again?!” Peli lamented. “There is a door, you know.”

“And a lovely door it is,” a familiar man’s voice drawled. A tall bald man in beskar walked up casually, one hand resting on his belt, the other cradling a matching Mandalorian helmet against his side. He tipped his head in respect towards Din. “Hello, old friend.”

You moved to stand in front of him, the man and the woman chuckling. 

“You can tell your attack dog to stand down anytime now,” the woman said in a droll tone, making her way down from the rafter she sat on.

The man laughed softly. “Attack dog? No, no, this is his shadow!” He gestured to you with his free hand. “Everyone knows the shadow of a Mandalorian is the most dangerous part, because if you’ve lingered long enough to see it, odds are you’re probably within striking distance.”

You smirked. “I don’t mind you.” Turning your blaster on the woman, you gestured to her with the weapon. “You, I’m not so crazy about, but I have a feeling that’ll change.”

Din put his hand on your shoulder, sliding it down your arm to make you lower your blaster. “Ti, this is Fennec Shand and Boba Fett.”

Disengaging your blaster, you holstered it. “The ones who gave us the piece of shi- I mean ship.”

Boba laughed loudly while Fennec rolled her eyes with a small grin. “That would be me,” he chuckled. “She was in horrible shape when I found her, but look at her now!” He gestured to the ship behind you. “Got you here in one piece and she’s sparkling.”

“Because I flew her here,” you grumbled, smiling when Boba laughed again. You liked him. He brought a joy into a room. Walking up, you offered your hand, which he took and gave a firm shake. “Ti Jyrr. Head of strategy and tactics, and temporary head of security. Also currently a bodyguard to the Mand’alor and the child until we can get back home.”

Boba’s eyes lit up. “Speaking of, where is the foundling?”

“Asleep on the ship,” Din stepped up beside you. “He’s her shadow, follows her everywhere. Tired him out early today after she convinced him to chase Peli’s droids around the hangar for a few hours.”

Peli let out a surprised huff of laughter. “That was you? That was the cutest thing I have ever seen. Plus, getting R5 to finally wind down and connect to a charging dock for once - ah! Blissful silence - you’re a magician!”

“I think it was just trying to get away from Grogu,” you smirked, shrugging. “But hey, it all worked out.” Turning back to the newcomers, you jerked your head back toward the ship. “Would you like a tour? I need to wake the kid up, anyway, or he’ll wake up right when I go to sleep and start jumping on my bed or something.”

“That would be lovely,” Boba smiled before his features adopted something a little more serious. He set his helmet on a nearby table before he brought his hands together to rest in front of him. “Then, after that, if we could have a….” He looked at Fennec before turning back to you and Din. “Discussion of sorts? A business proposition is more like it.”

Sharing a look with Din, you nodded once to him. “I can watch the kid so the three of you-”

“Oh no, this would involve you, too.” Boba’s voice made you stop short.

“I can watch the womp rat,” Peli chimed in softly, her hand raised as if you didn’t know who was speaking. “I owe ya one after you got R5 on the dock earlier.”

You shared one more look with Din before he turned to Boba and Fennec. “Sounds like a plan. Now come on. I want to show you what we did with the hyperdrive.”

Xxx

Grogu squawked across the hangar in Peli’s arms as she fed him, the sound bouncing off every surface and echoing into the cool night air.

You and Din sat across from Boba and Fennec at a small table off to the side, parts for all sorts of craft shoved out of the way so you could see one another.

“I have a proposition for you,” Boba began on a sigh, leaning forward on the table to brace on his forearms. “Someone has stolen from me. Wormed his way into my inner circle and as soon as he had an opening, made off with a small fortune in credits.”

He leaned back in his chair, lounging almost. “Now, you know the credits aren’t a problem for me, I don’t care about that.” He leaned forward again, his eyes determined as his finger jammed into the table to emphasize his words. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“What do you want us to do about it?” Din adjusted in his seat to recline slightly, one hand resting on the table.

“We have enough people to keep the ports and ways out of town under surveillance,” Fennec took over. “He’s not going anywhere. But by keeping everything under watch, we don’t have the manpower to actually look for him.”

“And you think just the two of us is enough?” Both of them looked at you in amusement.

“Two Mandalorians is more than enough.” Boba chuckled. “He’s not a genius by any means.”

“He was smart enough to get past you.”

Din kicked your foot under the table with his own, making you roll your eyes.

Boba looked on in amusement. “That he was,” he agreed with a nod. “Probably because I don’t have someone like you keeping watch for me. Then again, we did sneak up on you today, did we not?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked across the hangar absently, not willing to dignify that with an answer.

“These things happen,” he continued, his voice softer. “I just want to make an example so it doesn’t happen again.”

“We wanted to give you first go at it before we put out a puck.” Your eyes finally landed on Fennec as she explained, a smirk growing on her face. “Figured you’d want some fun before you had to get off planet. And like Boba said, credits aren’t a problem, so your finders fee should help keep your life on the run well funded.”

“What are friends for,” Boba drawled teasingly, his focus across the table on Din.

“I’m assuming you want him alive,” he finally said after a long moment, sitting up straight in his chair.

“Preferably,” Boba nodded, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “But should something…. happen, I’m not going to deduct anything from the final total.”

“Can you send us copies of city maps we can add to our navs in our helmets?” All three heads turned to you. “It’ll be much easier if we’re not getting lost in the maze of back alleys and market stalls.”

Boba looked at Fennec before he turned back to you with an amused look and nodded.

“I’m also assuming you don’t want any damage done to the city? Or at least, as little as possible?” You turned to Din. “I have some blasters with decent stun features I picked up at the market the other day when I made a food run. Might be best to avoid the most civilian casualties and property damage, then if we get close enough to him and get a clear shot, should we need to, we can switch it over.”

“You went blaster shopping on a food run?” Din asked after a moment of silence.

You shrugged. “I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion.”

“This is the way,” Boba teased.

Din groaned, making you smile. Leaning forward to offer Boba his hand across the table, they shook on it. “We have a deal. We’ll start first thing in the morning.”

After getting the man’s details, talking over the prices, and getting the necessary maps, you all said goodbye.

“It was an honor to meet you,” you said as you stood beside Din near the doorway on their way out.

“The honor is all mine,” Boba said, his head inclined as he looked down at you. “I’m excited to see you work, Ti.”

“If it all goes to plan, you won’t notice a thing.”

He chuckled at that, looking to Din and bowing his head respectfully. “Mand’alor.” Then they disappeared into the night.

Turning to Din, he turned to face you before you both began walking back into the hangar. “Why don’t you go grab Grogu, let Peli get to sleep, and I’ll meet you on the ship. Show you what all I bought.”

He nodded, his steps speeding up as he headed toward the little alcove where R5’s bleeps and Grogu’s squeaks were heard echoing softly.

You went up the ramp of the Crest, going to the weapons cabinet where you had stored your recent purchases and pulled a few out.

Din padded up the ramp quietly a few minutes later, a sleeping Grogu in his arms, making you smile as he passed by. “He passed out almost as soon as she handed him off,” Din said on an amused huff.

Setting Grogu in his small hammock before he closed the door to the bunk area, he turned back to you and sighed, rubbing the top of his helmet absently. 

“What’s wrong?” You set the blasters down and turned to fully face him.

“She can’t watch him tomorrow. Has some job she agreed to before we got here.” He leaned on the wall next to the bunk door. “I used to take him with me on bounties, but….”

“That was when you were on the run because of the bounty on him. Now we’re on the run basically because of a bounty on you.” 

Din lifted his head, his visor meeting your understanding gaze, nodding gently before he looked away again.

“Hey, the bounty is basically on both of us.” You took a step closer, craning your neck back, tilting your head just slightly to try and catch his eyes. “You don’t get to take all the blame, Djarin. Whatever is going on, it’s a problem for all Mandalorians, and we aren’t the kind to just hide under a rock.” Looking over his shoulder, you studied the wall behind him. “Well, except for coverts, but we aren’t talking about that.”

He snorted out a laugh, making you return your eyes to his visor and grin up at him. “He doesn’t care. He loves spending the day with you. Just bring him with.” Your hand came to rest on his upper arm.

“I don’t want to put him in any more danger. If anything happened to him because of me, I-”

“Then I’ll take him with me.” He finally met your gaze again. “I’ll keep him safe. Do you trust me?”

After a moment Din nodded. “You know I do.”

“Then it’s settled.” You squeezed his arm before letting your hand fall back to your side. “I’ll take him in the cradle. I’ll keep him safe. Nothing will happen to him.”

Lifting his head all the way back up, Din looked behind you. Gesturing with a jut of his chin, he asked quietly, “What’s under the tarp?”

Turning to face the nearby crate draped in the dull fabric, you made your way over to it. “They didn’t know what they had. It’s all pieced out and needs a good clean, Peli might even have some parts you could replace these with if they’re too far gone, but…. I thought you might want it after all the stories you’ve told me while we’ve been working on the ship.”

“Stories?” Din looked down at the crate as you pulled the cloth away, showing old rusty pieces that put together would be an Amban rifle. 

“You mentioned you lost it with the ship, and since you have the ship again….”

Din traced the parts with one gloved hand, his fingers barely touching the storied metal pieces. 

“Since we’re fighting for our home, our values, our everything, it only seemed right that you do it with this. Thought it might help restore your faith a little bit.” You winked.

“Thank you,” he spoke softly, his hand coming to rest on your upper arm like yours had on his. “I…. This is…. Thank you.”

“Now, don’t stay up all night putting it together,” you warned. “You need sleep. And it’ll be here later.”

He looked at you with a tilt of his head that said, you’re crazy.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You smirked. “I’ll help.”

Xxx

As the suns began to peek over the lip of the hangar the next morning, Din stood just inside the Crest admiring the completed Amban rifle.

He held it in his hands, tilting it back and forth to see it from all angles, his head tilting fondly the longer he stared. 

Letting out a massive yawn from where you sat on a nearby crate, you smirked at him. “Why don’t you just ask it to marry you already? That’d be faster than whatever this is.” You made a small circular gesture to him with your hand, arching your brow when he lifted his visor to look at you for the first time in hours.

Before he could say anything, the bunk door slid open to your right, Grogu already bright eyed and chittering happily after a good night's rest.

“Jate vaar'tur, ad’ika,” you said softly, yawning again as you reached for the tiny green creature ambling over to you as fast as his little legs would carry him. “Did you sleep well?” Reaching down, you scooped him into your lap, chuckling when he screeched joyfully. (“Good morning, little one.”)

The kid reached out and grabbed the mudhorn pendant you wore, his eyes going wide as it caught the light just right, before he promptly began gnawing on it.

“Kid,” Din groaned. “Hey. Stop that. Grogu.” He began to walk over, reaching out to tug the metal out of his son’s mouth. “That’s not what that’s for, kid.”

Making a sound of displeasure, Grogu looked between both of you before trying to take his new toy back from between Din’s fingers, letting out an annoyed huff and glaring up at his father when it was pulled further away from him.

“It’s too sharp, ad’ika. You could get hurt.” Grogu looked up at you with the biggest eyes you’d seen yet, blinking slowly as if to plead with you to give in. “I know. How about we get you some food instead?” A laugh painted the last few words as Grogu’s face changed instantly and he began trying to scale your front to get face to face with you, slipping down your chest plate with a screech.

It quickly melted into another yawn, Grogu following suit a few seconds later, and Din a few moments after that. 

Shaking your head, you got to your feet. “I’ll get him something to eat, and grab a cup or seven of caf. Want some?” Din nodded, turning back to admiring his rifle again, making you roll your eyes as you began down the ramp. “I’ll be right back. Give you two a moment alone.”

Din mumbled his thanks, not looking up from the weapon as you glanced over your shoulder, smirking.

Headed for the kitchen, you mumbled almost conspiratorially to Grogu, “Your dad is something else, kid.”

Xxx

As your little clan of three stepped through the door of the hangar, Peli’s voice sending you on your way ringing off of every hard surface behind you, both you and Din shared a look before turning to the kid where he sat in his floating cradle.

“You got that set to stun?” Motioning to Din’s new Amban rifle that sat on his back, attached to a leather strap slung across his chest, you tightened your gloves.

He nodded once in confirmation, his head slowly turning to survey the nearby area.

“What about everything else?”

His visor turned to lock with yours. “All but one. I’m not leaving myself defenseless.”

You let out a snort of laughter. “I think if anyone had to use a word to describe you, ‘defenseless’ wouldn’t be on the list, even if you didn’t have a single weapon.”

“Then remind me the purpose of your job, then, if I don’t need protecting?” You tilted your head at him in annoyance. “I like to be prepared,” he amended, pulling your hand toward his and fixing the clasp on your glove you had been fiddling with. “What did you do to this? It’s like it’s been through a trash compactor.”

You couldn’t help but snort once again. “Not far off. R5 rolled over it a grand total of three times before I could get him to stop moving- hey!” You cried in protest as he yanked the buckle from the fabric with a precise tug, tucking it into the pouch on his belt and tying a simple but effective knot in its place.

“I’ll fix it before we leave. But right now, you need to focus, and you can’t if you have a buckle- if it can even still be called that- flopping around while you're trying to aim.” Cinching the knot tight, he let your hand fall back to your side. “There. Ready to go, ner cabur?” (“My protector.”)

You shook your head at his antics. “Elek, olaror, ner verd'ika.” (“Yes, come, my little soldier.”)

Din scoffed at your teasing tone, following a few paces behind as you both ventured into the market, the kid following alongside you in his cradle. “Mir'sheb.” (“Smartass.”)

“The smartest,” you quipped playfully, looking at the kid with an affectionate tilt of your head as he grinned broadly back up at you.

“Sheb'urcyin,” Din grumbled, making you bark out a laugh. (“Butt-kisser.”)

Looking at him over your shoulder as you continued forward, you spoke over a laugh, your words bouncing with the effort. “Now what about me has ever made you think that?”

“You’re right. Your pure shereshoy blinded me for a minute and I had to look away. I only saw what the sarcasm allowed.” (“Lust for life and much more.”)

You turned to face him, walking backwards, your voice the most sarcastic he had heard it in days. “Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?” (“Are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?”)

Din smiled under his helmet, glad to finally be back to the banter the two of you had slipped into since first going on the run days ago. The closer it got to leaving Tatooine, the more business minded and mission oriented you had been, focused on making everything run smoothly for all three of them, and it seemed to come at the cost of some of your lighter moods. Seeing the teasing tilt of your helmet now, the almost literal spring in your step, hearing the lilt in your voice…. The world was spinning the right way again. “Now, now, don’t be stupid, that would be a jare move.” (“Kamikaze - someone taking a fatal, foolish risk.”)

Barking out another laugh, you turned to walk forward again, Din shaking his head fondly once your back was turned. “I’ll show you a jare move,” you grumbled.

Grogu began to coo happily as he looked between the two of you, giggling softly as he looked up at you with a broad grin, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight.

Looking down at him, you huffed out a laugh. “You think that’s funny, ad’ika? You think I’m funny when I threaten your dad?” He giggled again. “That’s kinda copikla, kid.” (“Cute.”)

“Be careful who you jurkadir, burc'ya.” (“Threaten/Mess with.”) (“Friend.”)

You turned to face him, your hands held behind your back in feigned innocence as you leaned toward him to tease, “That works both ways, burc'ya.”

“Sha'kajir?” Din held up his hands in surrender. (“Truce?”)

You thought for a moment before bowing your head in agreement. “Sha'kajir. Oya!” (“Let’s hunt!”)

“Should we split up?” Din stepped up beside you, surveying the sea of market stalls sprawling in front of you.

“Not yet. Let’s move as a unit for now, let everyone see us together. Then, later I’ll take the market while you take the alleys, and if we happen upon him- or anyone else who wants to cause us trouble- they’ll assume the other is nearby and they’ll be distracted looking for someone who isn’t there.”

Nodding, Din followed behind you as you started into the crowd, people watching your little party with weary glances, but they didn’t keep their distance like people on other planets tended to do.

It only took a few minutes before you stopped and turned to Din, your voice low. “I see him. He’s in the cantina.”

Looking to his left, Din saw the man sitting at the bar, surrounded by a group of locals, all guffawing as he told some story. “Too many other people. We’ll tail him.” Reaching up to touch the side of his helmet, he overlaid the map of the alleys behind the building. “I’ll go around the back and wait, make sure he doesn’t get spooked and try to run.”

“What are they even laughing at?” You muttered, staring blatantly into the dingy watering hole. “He’s probably not even that funny.”

“Why do you say that?”

You looked up at him. “Have you seen his face?” Turning back to the bar, you shifted your weight to one side. “He just doesn’t have it.”

Din let out a snort. “They’re probably just doing whatever gets them another drink. Looks like he’s waving his new found wealth around without much worry.”

“Di'kut,” you grumbled, moving to lean your back against the front of the building with a soft groan. (“Idiot.”)

“Kaysh mirsh solus,” Din agreed with a chuckle, stepping into the shade next to you. (“He's an idiot.” (Lit. “His brain cell is lonely.”))

“Go ahead and wait by the back door. I’ll stay here with the kid.”

“And what’s going to keep you out of trouble? You’re not known for being the best at waiting.”

You turned your face to him slowly, ignoring his satisfied shift of weight, the teasing tilt of his helmet as he waited for your response. “Myself,” you grit out, leaning your head back to look down your nose at him.

Turning your attention back across the street, you saw a little nest of scurriers tucked under one of the booths. Tilting your hand until the suns caught the armor on the back of it just right, light reflecting off the raw beskar triangle and bouncing onto the sand near the nest. The creatures lifted their heads, cautiously investigating the light as it danced with every slight movement of your hand, running in circles as you made it go this way and that.

The kid watched with rapt attention, clapping and squealing with delight as the scurriers stumbled over one another in an effort to catch the light.

Turning your visor up to Din proudly, you paused when he tilted his head down to peer what felt like straight into your soul.

“What? Oh, come on! It’s harmless!”

“Ner ver'gebuir, anade.” Din gestured to you with a flourish, bowing at his waist in a mock introduction to no one as he spoke in a low tone. (“My bodyguard, everyone.”)

You pulled your hand back into the shadow of the building to shove him to the side, the scurriers following the light as it streaked across the market, making a cart pulled by a droid slam to a stop to avoid hitting the creatures. All was well until a landspeeder crashed into the back of that cart, then a speeder bike into the back of that.

Smoke curled into the marketplace, causing patrons to begin to vacate, the passengers of the vehicles involved all hopping out and beginning to yell at one another as the scurriers returned to their nest safe and forgotten.

People in all the nearby establishments began to pour into the streets to see what the commotion was, the lane filling with bodies faster than you could process what was happening.

“Kriff,” you mumbled, taking in the scene before adding a hissed, “Osik!” Turning you surveyed the bar, finding no sign of the quarry. (“Shit!”) 

“Dank farrik!” Din grumbled, taking a few steps out onto the street and pressing the side of his helmet as he scanned the crowd.

“What are you looking for? Heat signatures will be useless right now. It’s Tatooine, so it’s hot, plus everyone and their bantha is on the street right now-”

“K'uur!” Din snapped, making you pull up abruptly from where you stood, standing at attention. (“Hush!”)

“Me'ven?” You deadpanned, staring right at him. (“Huh?”)

He sighed, still surveying the street. “I need to concentrate. Please. Just five seconds of silence.”

Pushing a button on your vambrace, you closed the cradle to protect the child, but a repetitive knocking from inside made you roll your eyes and pop it back open. Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked at the kid, one hip jutting out to the side as you gave him the look. 

“Really?” You signed to him in Tusken, shifting your weight to the other side when he giggled in response.

“I think he took the alleys,” Din finally said, turning to face you, and finding the kid giggling as you signed away to him. “Ti,” he grabbed your attention, ignoring the attitude he felt when you tilted your head at him questioningly. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you signed, standing up straight again.

“That’s not nothing, that’s-”

“Uur,” you whispered sarcastically in explanation, leaning toward him as you did. (“Silence.”)

Din huffed in annoyance. “I had his chain code programmed to an old puck Fennec brought me. I rerouted it and sent the signal to my display so I can track him without tipping off the mark, or anyone seeing the fob and getting in the way.”

You stared at him. It was all you could do. Arms still across your chest, you shifted your weight under his gaze. “Is there a way I can get my hands on that, too?” Your voice was small, and you hated it.

He reached out, tapping the side of your helmet twice, and your display filtered through settings before landing on a blinking red dot moving rapidly back behind the buildings to your right. 

“I did it last night when you fell asleep while we were putting the rifle together. You left your helmet on a crate next to you. Only took a second, in and out, no problems.”

“I didn’t-”

“You drool.”

Again, all you could do was stare wordlessly, hoping your brain would catch up with something in time to snap back with. And it did. “You snore louder than a kriffing bantha fart.”

Din just held your gaze, neither one of you moving an inch as the child babbled mindlessly, watching the chaos ensue throughout the streets. “Sounds like we’re both a party, then.”

“Bal'ban,” you mused quietly in agreement, huffing out a small laugh. (“Indeed.”)

This was the most Mando’a the two of you had spoken since leaving Mandalore days ago. Slipping into it was effortless, and it helped logistically in the chaotic din left behind by the accident. It was easy to pick out the familiar words above the rest of the noise, allowing both of you to communicate painlessly.

Din chuckled, nodding as he turned to find the bounty again. “He’s moving toward the port. Fennec and Boba said they have the area well guarded, so he won’t get far, but I think it best we split up and head him off before he tries anything stupid.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” you muttered. “Man’s a or'dinii. Stole from the richest man in the city, okay, kinda smart. But that man is also a crime boss who wears beskar, and is probably one of the most lethal people on the planet, present company excluded.” (“Moron.”)

“Comms channel two. Head to the port through the streets, I’ll go through the alleys like we planned.” Din turned to the kid, sighing heavily after a moment.

Narrowing your brows, you followed his gaze and found Grogu letting out soft happy squeals as the cradle spun in circles by some unseen force. 

Moving as a unit, both you and Din reached out to grab the sides of the hovering orb, bringing it to a gentle stop, Grogu’s head still moving in a small rotation as the world continued to spin around him.

“At least he can entertain himself. And quietly,” you chuckled, turning your attention from the little green ward back up to Din’s visor. 

“Mmm-hmm,” he agreed on a hum, moving his hand from the edge of the cradle to his son to stabilize his still woozy wobbling, tugging down the front of his robe about an inch to check he had the beskar shirt on.

“I put it on him myself, Mando.” Din’s visor turned to you as he let the robe go, smoothing the fabric back in place before withdrawing his hand altogether. “He’ll be safe. I promise. He’s my aliit now, too, remember.” Din nodded once. “You have my word, no harm will come to him.” (“Family/Clan.”)

You couldn’t help but smile. Here was this large, dangerous Mandalorian, and his level of care and concern for arguably the smallest little ward in the galaxy never failed to make you stop and stare. Their meeting went beyond just fate, beyond just chance bringing a protector to a child in need. Something greater was at work here, bringing two lonely, damaged souls together to help pick up one another’s pieces. 

They were forged with fire, stronger than any beskar, hardened and tempered against the strongest of tests. And now not even the greatest blacksmith in the galaxy would be able to pry these two apart. But it loved to try. And you’d do everything in your power to keep them from breaking, keep them strong, no matter the cost. Ne shab'rud'mhi. (“Don't mess with us.”)

You smiled broader at the thought of staring fate down in the face, should it ever try to do your family harm. Ne shab'rud'ni. (“Don't mess with me.”) 

“Now go.”

Din took a few steps backwards, keeping his eyes on you, then the kid, before turning and disappearing down an alley, the smoke from the accident curling around him.

“You saw everything!” A man walked up to you, covered in black streaks of soot and smoke, probably grease from whichever of the three vehicles involved was his. “I need you to tell the authorities.”

Reaching out, you patted his shoulder in what he probably took for kindness, but you were just tamping out some embers smoldering through his tunic. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have the time. I-”

“I wasn’t asking,” he ground out, grabbing your wrist where your hand still sat on his shoulder, squeezing it much too tightly. He gave it a good jerk toward the wreck, but you pulled back, making him stumble, before turning a glare on you.

Without fuss, you adjusted your grip on him and yanked him to you, stooping down slightly while swinging your arm before straightening back up as he flipped in the air, landing flat on his back at your feet with an oomph.

You looked down at him, unamused, as Grogu peered over the edge of the cradle, cooing gleefully. 

“I said,” you leaned just slightly closer to him, tilting your head when he flinched away, “no.”

Lifting your visor back to the streets, you switched your display to the city map, overlaying it with the tracker with a press of a button on your vambrace. Another press opened comm channel two. “You there?”

“What took you so long?” Din sounded relieved as you began to venture through the mess of market stalls toward your target. 

“Don’t worry about it. Locals,” you brushed off, turning abruptly to bypass a thick group of pedestrians.

He grunted. “Explain.”

“Someone wanted me to make a statement about the accident,” you sighed, navigating back to the main road. “Didn’t understand the word ‘no’.”

“How did you explain it to them?”

You grinned. “You know me. It was fast and only slightly painful.”

“Ti, you better not have-”

“I didn’t kill him,” you protested loudly, veering to the right. “Why did you jump to that?”

“Have you met you?”

“No. No, I haven’t. How am I? Am I great? I hear I’m amazing.” He let out a soft snort. “Yes. I can confirm, I’m amazing. I live up to the hype.”

Din’s soft chuckle filled your ears before a blaster shot replaced it, making you pull up short.

“Din?” He didn’t answer. “What’s going on?”

“Kriffing Jawas,” he grumbled. “Tried to jump me and take my jet pack.”

You snorted, shaking your head gently as you began moving again. “At least tell me-”

“It was set to stun,” he ground out as if the thought was physically painful to him, making you laugh a bit harder. “I know why you jumped to that.”

“Good, so you’ve met you.” Teasing, you pushed another button and a yellow dot popped up showing Din’s location.

“Yes. I can confirm, I’m amazing. I live up to the hype.”

“That’s what you think,” you mumbled under your breath, smiling again when he hummed in question. “Nothing.” Stopping, you watched the red dot start to head in a totally different direction. “He’s deviating.”

“I see. Looks like he’s doubling back. Headed your way.”

Nodding, you turned and headed back the way you came. “I’ll cut him off at the bar. The accident mess will add enough cover to not draw attention to us.”

“Good idea. Plus, then you can give your statement.”

“Nu draar.” Din chuckled at your response. “I would rather eat a mouthful of this sand.” (“Absolutely not.”)

“That’s commitment.”

“You sound like you speak from experience. You ever gotten a mouthful of Tatooine before?”

“Once or twice. I did kill a krayt dragon not long ago, remember.”

“How can I forget? You tell that story at least once a week if not more.”

Din grumbled.

“At the rate you’re moving, we’ll be at the bar at the same time.”

“How do you…. You’re tracking me?”

Dodging under a cart as it crossed the road in front of you, sliding on the sand in its shadow before hopping back up, you smiled at Grogu’s happy squeal of approval at your side. “You sound surprised. Of course I am. You and the child are my first priority.” Glancing over at the green smiling face at your side, wide eyes taking in the world around him, you moved a bit faster. “You aren’t the only one who did some display modification last night. I ran the upload while I was comforting Grogu after his nightmare.”

“How-”

“I have two hands. He fits in one, I can press buttons with the other-”

Din’s heavy sigh cut you off. “No, how are you tracking me? Chain code?”

“It’s a program I made a few days ago before we even left Mandalore, believe it or not. Chain codes would be too dangerous if anyone got their hands on it, especially for the kid. Too universal of a tracker. This is a regional proximity sensor, condensed to a certain mile radius I can set each time I open it. Right now it’s just three miles, the size of the city from the port to the hangar. It’s following your comm. Specifically the one in your helmet.”

He hesitated. “When did you-”

“I told you. You snore. Loudly.” He said nothing. “You didn’t wake up the entire time I plugged in, uploaded, modified…. You just kept snoring away under that dome, oblivious.” You grinned. “You’re lucky I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“I think that would have woken me up,” he huffed. 

“Would it have, though?” The smile grew in the silence. “I’m good at my job, remember.”

“How can I forget? You remind me at least once a week if not more.”

It was your turn to grumble. 

The bar was just up ahead, the red dot of the quarry now still behind a few buildings to the right. “He’s stopped. The area behind the accident. Maybe he’s not so stupid after all….”

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to admire him.”

“Why? You jealous, Djarin?”

“No,” he answered after a moment. “Just…. Concerned. You called him a moron less than an hour ago.”

“Even morons have their moments,” you said absently, turning in a circle as you searched for a clear way to the target. 

That’s when you saw him.

He was leaning up against a wall, arms crossed easily, ankles crossed leisurely as he watched them begin to pull the vehicles apart, a small grin on his face. 

“He’s here.”

“What?” Din must have stopped, because his voice no longer shook from the impact of his footfalls. A quick glance showed his yellow dot was indeed stationary. “But the tracker-”

“Is wrong. I’m looking right at him.” 

Just then he looked up and held the gaze of your visor for a long moment, realization dawning on his face before he pushed off the wall and turned down the alley, disappearing in the smoke just like Din had. 

“Osi'kyr!” You took off running after him, pressing a button on your vambrace to make the cradle go faster, shaking your head when Grogu let out an approving cackle. (“Strong exclamation of surprise or dismay.”)

“Ti?” Din’s voice rang in your helmet, and he was once again in motion, grunting as he dodged around the many obstacles Tatooine always provided. “Which way?”

“South. Turn your display off and back on, it should reset. I don’t have time, I have eyes on him, I’m not losing that.” Jumping over a large crate, you had to vault over an even larger one on the other side, and your feet went out from under you when you landed, making you roll before quickly popping back up and resuming the chase. “The sand tastes like shit, by the way.”

A soft laugh filled your helmet, growing steadily with each second.

“Never give Tatooine an ultimatum. She’ll make sure you eat your words. Literally.”

Smacking your lips in distaste, trying to get rid of as much of the grit as you could without doing anything to your helmet and losing sight of the target, you made a sound of disgust. 

“Was that for my joke or the sand?”

You chuckled, licking your lips as you ran faster still. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The cradle kicked up a notch, speeding along beside you, dodging crates and civilians with ease. Grogu screeched with excitement, holding on to the front rim of the orb as his ears flapped behind him in the wind.

“Display is back up. He’s right in front of you.”

“I can see that, thanks.”

He huffed. “You have a dead end coming up. Two turns to the left and one to the right. Corral him there.”

Nodding, you turned sideways to shimmy past two tight walls. “Got it.”

The quarry was desperate, throwing whatever he could get his hands on at you, clothes on lines between buildings, pottery in people’s windows, contents people were carrying. 

You’d successfully dodged all of it, the kid too, his cradle swinging left and right as you ducked and rolled out of the way, making him let out little grunts from the impact of each abrupt direction change. Until a white shirt came flying toward the cradle, covering the kid from top to bottom, forming to him like carbonite from the force of the wind behind it. The impact cut his scream of glee short, silence ringing through the alley as your steps slowed just slightly, your attention turning to him, assessing him for injuries. Suddenly giggles started erupting from under the material, growing by the second, and finally the shirt flew off of him by an unseen force, drifting to the ground lazily as it was released. Grogu looked at you with pure joy, babbling something as he gestured toward the man with one clawed hand, the quarry’s steps slowing down as he looked down at the ground with wide eyes.

“Thanks, kid,” you chuckled, speeding back up, the cradle matching your speed as Grogu gripped the edges again, the bounty regaining control of his limbs and charging ahead. “You’re a little troublemaker, you know that?”

“Patu!” You grinned at his declaration, his own smile beaming up at you before he began to squeal again as you picked up speed.

The man kept glancing over his shoulder, stumbling when he did, but he’d gain the ground right back when he turned back the right way, making you grunt in frustration.

“You’re almost to the dead end.”

“Kriff! Son of a mudscuffer!” You hissed. “I forgot you were there, Din. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” he sounded almost sheepish, before he began again abruptly. “Right! Right! Get him to go right!”

“Hey! Asshole!” The man’s steps stuttered before he leaned into it again. “Whatever you do, don’t you dare go right!”

He hesitated, slowing just slightly, and you matched him, wanting to give him the illusion of control. Finally he came to a stop, turning to face you, a skeptical eyebrow raised as he asked, “Why?”

You grinned under your helmet, trying to control the glee in your voice that he was falling for the trap. Stopping a few yards away from him, you slouched slightly, feigning catching your breath. “Because I can’t follow you there. My nav stops at this point and I’d be going in blind. Help a girl out, huh?” You held your hands out to the side, showing you didn’t have a weapon drawn. Grogu cooed questioningly as he tilted his head at the man.

“Well, in that case, I think that’s exactly where I’ll go.” He grinned.

“No,” you cried out, trying to sound convincing, and starting to head his way again, stumbling slightly for dramatic effect with a hand reached toward him as if it would do any good.

When he disappeared down the dark alley, you dropped all pretenses. “Or'dinii,” you muttered under your breath, watching after him. “Headed for the dead end, Din.” No answer. “Din?” Looking around, you saw his yellow dot stalled nearby, his comm crackling through. (“Fool.”)

A growled, “Jawas,” was all you heard, before some grunting, the comm crackling in and out, then the telltale “Utinni!” made you roll your eyes before you headed into the darkness after the mark.

“So long as I don’t hear the….” A distinct shot echoed in a nearby alley, making you lift your hand to cradle your face, shaking your head. “….Amban rifle.”

You walked up slowly, casually, enjoying the sight of the quarry staring up at the dead end, frantically trying to find a way up and over the massive wall. One hand resting on your hip as it juts to the side easily, you watched for a moment in amusement before clearing your throat. 

The mark went stiff before turning to face you, glowering fiercely. “Couldn’t come this far, huh?”

“To be fair,” you began, gesturing needlessly with your free hand as you spoke, “I did tell you not to come over here.”

He huffed an unamused laugh as he looked off to the side, ignoring the sound of a shrieking Jawa somewhere a few buildings over. 

Din’s yellow dot still blinked steadily despite the broken connection, and it seemed he was finally making his way over to you. You just had to stall.

“I’m assuming this is because I stole the credits?”

“That would be correct.”

“How much is my bounty?”

You tilted your head at him in amusement. “More than you took.”

“Okay, look lady,” he was starting to get desperate. “If you let me go, I’ll give you what I have left, plus interest!”

“Interest?”

“I didn’t just steal from Fett! I’ve been making my way across all the crime families of Tatooine. I’ve got a mountain of credits back at my place, stashed under the floorboards.”

“Gar cuyi or’dinii,” you whispered under your breath, but he heard you. He must have thought it was an exclamation of joy or disbelief at the information, though, because he simply smiled smugly, nodding as he offered a quiet, “It’s true.” (“You’re a moron.”)

And, well, you couldn’t really disagree.

“Where is this place?” You asked instead, jutting your chin toward him as he began to smirk.

“Right beside the bar across the street from where you first found me. There’s enough there for you to buy anything you want. New armor….” Din’s yellow dot was coming in fast. “A new ship….” He was almost here. “A friend for your, er,” he eyed Grogu, the child narrowing his eyes at him, unamused, “pet….” He finally decided on, earning a grunt from the kid.

“He’s not a pet,” you corrected calmly, taking a step closer to the man, and his smug demeanor all but crumbled instantly.

“I’m not scared of you!”

“I’m not the one you need to be worried about,” you replied simply with a shrug. Tilting your head back and to the right, you smiled under the beskar. “It’s his kid.”

The bounty barely had time to register your words, mumbling, “Kid? What is that thing?” before Din’s armor clad fist was slamming into his face with a clang.

As the engine of his jet pack powered down, Din took a few extra steps from the momentum before stopping, breathing heavily like he had just got out of a fight for his life. “We don’t know,” he said decidedly to the unconscious man. “But he’s my son.” 

“Utreekov,” you muttered, nudging the man with the toe of your boot. (“Idiot.”)

Slapping binders on the quarry, Din slung the man over his shoulder before turning back to you. “Kriffing Jawas,” he seethed, shaking his head before taking off again with his jet pack.

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t have one of those, why?!”

Din just laughed softly, the sound buzzing around the inside of your helmet.

Looking up as he disappeared over the buildings, his cape flapped dangerously close to the flames. “You’re just a fire hazard!”

Xxx

Boba and Fennec were there to meet you once you returned to the hangar. 

Peli was blushing at something the older man was saying, waving him off with a quick laugh as she turned to see your clan of three come through the door. 

“Oh, thank the Force, you’re all alive!”

“You thought we wouldn’t be?”

“With you I never know.” She leveled you with a look.

Din let the man flop to the floor unceremoniously, leaving him in the heap he landed in. “Here’s your thief.”

“That’s him alright,” Boba sighed, turning the bounty onto his back with a shove to his shoulder from his boot. “Thank you.” His eyes flicked between you and Din. “I heard about an accident by the cantina. That didn’t happen to be either of you, by chance?”

Din shook his head wordlessly while you copied him a few seconds later, adding, “No. Saw it happen, though. They swerved to avoid some wildlife.”

Boba nodded, looking between you both for a long moment. “Okay, then.” He began to turn away, but you stopped him.

“Wait.” He paused, looking at you with a curious tilt of his head. “The quarry spoke to me at the end, tried to bribe me. I think you might be interested in what he had to say.”

Boba gestured for you to continue with a bob of his head. “Go on.”

“He said he’s been making his way through the crime families of Tatooine. Offered to give me what was left of your credits plus interest.” You explained the rest about his house and stash, their faces a mix between frustration and surprise the further along you got. “He seemed to be telling the truth, but I wanted to know what you both thought before moving on it.” 

They exchanged loaded glances before asking you to go look into it. “Take Fennec, she’ll get you out of any locals asking too many questions. We’re from Mos Espa, but they know us here, too. Mando, I’ll help you get this one,” Boba shoved the man’s shoulder with the tip of his boot, earning a groan from his still unconscious state, “to my cells.”

“I’ll watch the kid,” Peli offered softly, pulling the cradle to her as Grogu snored gently.

Nodding, you turned and followed Fennec out the front door of the hangar. 

Xxx

Knocking on the door of the house, just as a precaution, you slammed your shoulder into it when nobody answered, busting it open. It was sparsely furnished, the only real defining thing a giant rug over the middle of the floor. Letting out a huff of laughter, you shook your head as you knelt down, flipping the corner back as you scanned the bare floor with your display, looking for a varying heat signature. Finding it near the middle of the rug after you pushed more of it to the side, you pried a board up, slipping the rest out easily and handing them to Fennec to set to the side. Pulling back once they were all removed, you let out a low whistle. 

Sure enough, under the floorboards there was a pile of credits, almost tall enough for you to stick your arm in up to your shoulder, and wide enough it’d take two containers to get it out. The ground underneath had been dug out, leaving behind a hole filled nearly to the brim. 

“He’s been a busy little thief, hasn’t he,” Fennec mused quietly as she stared at the glinting pile of credits with wide eyes. 

“Too bad he wasn’t also a smart one.”

Turning your visor her way, you met Fennec’s gaze in silence, holding it for a moment before you both broke down in snorts of laughter, warm chuckles filling the night air.

She sat back on her haunches, grunting as she settled in. “You know, I’ll admit, I was a little leery at the beginning. I’ve worked with Mando before, I didn’t really know why we needed you, too.” 

Turning your visor back to the pile of credits, she was quick to continue.

“But,” she said pointedly, “Boba was quick to help me see the error of my ways.” Smiling fondly, she waited until you turned your gaze back her way before saying anything more. “You two work well together.”

“He’s easy to work with,” you countered with a shrug.

“No he’s not,” she said with a snort, making you shake your head as you chuckled. “But he’s a good man. A good leader. And he loves that little foundling with a love that’s dangerous for anyone willing to get between them.”

“I would never do that,” you said quietly. “They belong together.”

“I’m not saying you would, but you’re quickly becoming someone he shares that same type of devotion for.” She reached out and took the mudhorn pendant around your neck between her thumb and index finger, a smile beginning up her face, her voice softening to something almost friendly. “And I’m beginning to understand why.”

Taking the mudhorn between your own fingers as you looked at it, you grinned. “Just a few days ago he couldn’t stand me, believe it or not.”

“Not,” Fennec huffed on a laugh, turning to look at you after another moment of silence. “I’ve known Mando for a while now, and he’s just…. like that. It’s hard for him to show his emotions sometimes. Boba, too. The way they grew up…. Well, I don’t have to tell you. I’m assuming you probably had the same type of childhood.”

Hesitating, you finally nodded briefly, looking down to your hands in your lap where you sat on the floor beside her.

“They don’t trust easily, they love fiercely, and they don’t do anything halfway. It’s all they’ve known. If you’re lucky enough to be welcomed into their circle,” she tugged the pendant lightly, “into their family,” she sat back as she continued, “there’s something special they see in you, something worthwhile, and you just need to keep being yourself to live up to that everyday.”

When you lifted your visor back up to meet her eyes, she smiled kindly.

“So, like I said, not. He was probably just watching and waiting for the right time.”

“Grogu is my little shadow. I think he was just relieved someone bought him five minutes alone.”

She threw her head back and laughed, her hand lightly gripping your upper arm. When her gaze landed back on you, a mischievous smirk took over her features. “I could be wrong. Maybe he was just waiting to ask you to be a babysitter full time,” you snickered, “but I’m thinking that signet tells a different story.”

Fennec reached into her pocket for her comm, mumbling something about needing to call Boba, but you held up your hand to stop her. “I have a secure connection straight to the comm in Mando’s helmet. Guaranteed private, and he’s with Boba. Let me call him and relay the information.”

She nodded, tucking her comm back into her belt.

Pressing the side of your helmet, you waited until you heard it connect. “Mando?”

“Ti? Everything alright?”

Pressing a button on your vambrace to project the conversation through your modulator so Fennec could hear, too, you nodded. “Yeah, we’re fine. We found the credits. What should we do now?”

“Hold on, I’ll ask him.” Silence filled the room before he came back. “How much is there?”

“Enough to fund your life on the run for over a decade, comfortably,” Fennec said dryly, her eyes darting across the pile of credits as she did some quick math. “Very comfortably.”

Silence again filled the line as you assumed he was relaying the amount to Boba in a much more concise manner. Finally his voice crackled back over the line. “He said he’ll send the Mods to come pick it up. Wait for them then leave and go back to the hangar when they get there.”

“They don’t need protection?” You had no idea who they were, but this was a lot of money to just let someone move without any sort of backup.

Fennec grinned. “They can take care of themselves.”

Xxx

The Mods dropped it off at the hangar a few hours later and left, leaving the five of you standing around the two containers, staring in silence at the mass of credits just sitting there.

Peli let out a low whistle like you had when you’d found the stash.

“How does someone steal this much and not get noticed?” Din’s voice was thick with disbelief.

“Little by little,” you answered, looking up at him when you felt his visor turn to you.

Looking at him for the first time today without your own visor in the way, you scanned over his armor, noticing a few scorch marks, and some scuff marks near his jet pack.

You smiled. “Those Jawas really did a number on you, didn’t they?” Reaching out, you tried to rub one of the scuffs away with your glove, digging your thumb into his beskar. 

Reaching up, he grabbed your wrist gently, turning it toward him with a soft grunt. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled, untying the knot he’d tied to keep your glove on earlier. He pulled something out of the pouch on his belt and began attaching it. “Fixed this for you.” When he let his hands fall to his sides after he finished, you saw it was the buckle he’d torn off this morning. “Don’t let R5 get this one,” he joked.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, looking up at him with a smile as he nodded at you before he turned back to the pile of credits. Your eyes darted across the containers in front of you to find Fennec already looking at you, a sly smirk already firmly on her face.

“Told ya,” she said lightly.

“What?” Boba asked, looking across his shoulder at her.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “Nothing. I was just saying,” she gestured to the credits, her gaze falling back to them before lifting to yours. “I told ya it’s a lot.”

Boba nodded, turning back to the credits, not noticing the look Fennec gave you, eyebrows raised. “I’ve not heard anything about this money going missing from the other families. It could be they are just keeping it quiet, in which case, letting them know you know is just adding another enemy to your list.”

Din looked between the older man and Fennec. “So what do we do?”

Shrugging, Boba looked at him as if the answer were obvious. “Keep it.”

As he took a few steps back, Din shook his head, lifting his hands to begin gesturing as he spoke. “No. Absolutely not. We don’t need this much.”

Shrugging yet again, Boba sighed, arms crossing over his chest as he stared at the pile of credits like it was a problematic hyperdrive instead of the not so small fortune it was. “Fine.” He let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll take back what was stolen from me.”

Din took the few steps back toward the pile he’d pulled away. “That still is beyond too much.”

Turning to your friend who had been silent this whole exchange, you began speaking before either of the other Mandalorians could start in again. “Peli?” Her head snapped up to look at you, eyes wide. Separating a small stack of credits from the pile, you pushed them her way with the toe of your boot. “Would this cover your hangar fees for say, a year?”

Eyes wide, Peli gulped as she stared at the smaller pile, her gaze darting back up to yours as she nodded emphatically. “And then some.” 

“Good.” Breaking off another pile just a bit larger, you added it to the first, Peli’s eyes going comically larger still. “Consider this payment for babysitting up till now, and keeping you on retainer for whenever we need to stop by, storing the N1, and watching Grogu.”

Peli stammered for a moment, her mouth opening and closing as she stared at the small mountain of credits at her feet. Her eyes lifted to meet yours before they shot to Din, then the child sleeping soundly in her arms before landing back on the credits, nodding rapidly again. “As far as I’m concerned, this makes us square.” She studied the pile for a moment, before adding softly, “For life.”

Din pulled his hand down the front of his helmet, letting out a sigh of exasperation “That still leaves quite a bit.”

You shrugged like Boba had, making the man chuckle. “Running isn’t cheap.”

With a heavy sigh, Din finally nodded, his hands resting on his hips, shaking his head as he continued to stare at the pile. “We still use it sparingly.”

You nodded. “Agreed.” He turned to look at you one more time. “We have to save some for the foundlings.”

“The foundlings are the future,” Din said quietly in agreement. “This is the way.”

All five of you turned away from the credits for the first time since they arrived, looking at Grogu where he slept in the cradle Peli had just set him in.

“This is the way.” The smile on your face that only came in the presence of the child wasn’t going anywhere. “The future is in amazing hands, then.”

“The best,” Din concurred.

Xxx

“Drop by anytime!” Peli called after Boba and Fennec, waving at them as they walked down the street after leaving the hangar. “Just remember to use the door next time. Maybe?” She flicked her wrist in front of her. “Bah. They heard me.”

Laughing softly, you gestured Grogu’s cradle up the ramp of the Crest, walking alongside it until you got to the bunk. Turning to lift him up, you set him in his hammock before gesturing the now empty cradle over to the corner.

Closing the door to the bunk, you turned to find Din just coming up the top of the ramp.

“He’s down.” You stretched, hands on your back as you let out a loud yawn. “And honestly I’m not that far behind him.” You smiled at the sound of Din’s chuckle. “Did the credits get stored?”

He nodded. “Yeah, they’re right there, below the bunks. It’s a false bottom.”

“Sounds good,” you yawned again. “Well, I’m gonna head to bed-”

“Wait,” he stopped you, making you turn back to face him from the small bit you’d already turned away. “I have something for you.”

He made his way over to another crate along the wall, and pulled out a bundle wrapped in the tarp you’d used to cover the pieces of the Amban rifle. 

“While Boba was looking at the Crest yesterday, I asked him if he could help me get my hands on this for you. It needs a good cleaning, like everything else on this planet, but it’s in good shape, all the same.”

He pulled the material away from the object, and your breath caught in your chest. 

A raw beskar jet pack, like his own.

“How-”

“They didn’t know what they had.” Repeating your words about the Amban rifle as he looked at the jet pack for a long moment, he tightened his grip on it, his leather gloves creaking in protest. Lifting his gaze to yours, he held it as he gently set the gift in your hands. “But I do.”

The meaning of his words is not lost on you. He wasn’t talking about the jet pack anymore, at least not just about that. It was as close to a complement as he was going to get, and that made a smirk start to twist up the side of your face.

Reaching behind you to attach the jet pack, Din reached out and pulled your cape gently to the side out of your way, releasing it when it sealed with a whirr.

“How fortunate for me, then.” Your voice was soft, much softer than you intended, but it fit. 

Everything about this moment seemed fragile, precarious. But at the same time, something about it also seemed forged of steel, tempered and holding steady in the strongest of tests.

“Indeed.” He was smiling, you could tell. 

It had only been days of truly spending time with him, but something about Din just clicked. You could read one another under the beskar or from across the city over a comm. Never had you felt so in tune with another being, and it felt like something special.

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

It was unexpected, but you found yourself wrapping him in a quick embrace, arms around his neck as you pulled him close. He went stiff at first, but soon melted into the touch, his arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you impossibly closer still. Tightening your grip around him, you mumbled another thank you into his neck, the fabric of his flight suit rough against your skin as you pressed even closer, sighing into the warmth that was him.

This was different. This was new. It was exciting. But also terrifying. 

Your feelings seemed to have gone rogue, pulling you into him without your permission, and keeping you there. But then again, his seemed to be doing the same, if the way his hands were spreading across the expanse of your back below the jet pack was any indication. It was drawing you both in, and holding you tight, not giving an inch.

Growing up in a society that kept a barrier between you and everyone else, it was just inherent to keep your distance. And you didn’t realize until right now, faced with what you’d been blatantly denied, that you realized just how much you needed it. Like the jet pack, it finally made you feel complete, the missing pieces falling into place to paint a beautiful picture of what could be if you just…. Let it. 

Pulling back to look up into his visor, you smiled, hands falling to rest on his arms. “No, really. Thank you.” You gave him a gentle squeeze. “For everything.”

“I’d say you’re welcome, but since it’s your job to keep me alive, let’s just call it even.”

You narrowed your brows at him. “I’m good at my job.”

He chuckled softly. “And that’s the second time today you’ve said that.”

“And counting.” You grinned up at him, rolling your eyes when he groaned. Taking a few steps back, you headed for the ramp of the Crest. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a jet pack to clean up.” You paused after a few steps, your eyes narrowing at him curiously. “Wait. You said you asked him for this before we even agreed to help them?”

Din nodded. “I know it’s something you’ve wanted. The Armorer mentioned as much right before everything happened, something about I needed to sign off on something…. I don’t know, to be honest, I hardly listened sometimes. It was all a bit….”

“Much?” You offered.

He sighed. “Yeah. Too much. One of the only things that helped make it easier was you, actually.”

You scoffed. “I thought for sure you hated me.”

He let out a huff. “Oh, I thought I did.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Believe me. I tried to convince myself I loathed you. But truthfully? We’re just too much alike, that I was frustrated that you were doing so well at your job and thinking of things before me.”

Grinning, you looked down at your feet before lifting your gaze back up to his visor. “What were the other things? You said that was ‘one of the only’….”

Din sighed, his hands resting on his belt as his weight shifted to one side. “Time with Grogu.”

“Of course,” you said, because obviously.

“And target practice.” You grimaced. “What?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, boss, but…. Right before everything happened, I may have beaten your high score at the range.”

He was silent, his hands moving from his belt to rest on his hips as he stood up straight, visor leveled on you. “You what?”

You began backing up slowly, holding up a finger and lightly waving it at him. “I’m good at what I do, remember?”

“That’s three.”

“No, that’s technically different.” Your feet hit the sand at the bottom of the ramp. Pointing over toward Peli’s shop, you began moving that way. “I’m gonna go get started.”

Din began down the ramp, his tone dry and amused. “Are you going to paint it? I can go get some tomorrow.”

Looking at him over your shoulder, you shook your head, scrunching your face up at the thought. “Nah. I think the raw beskar looks best. Plus it matches yours.”

Din shifted his weight to one side. “You want ours to look the same?”

You shrugged. “I like people knowing who I belong to.” Turning back to face the workshop, you went on. “Let’s make clan mudhorn…. What was the word Boba used for the ship? Ah! Sparkle.” You chuckled. “Shiny big ship, shiny tiny ship, shiny big Mando, shiny smaller Mando…. You see the theme?” Looking back over your shoulder, the smirk slid off your face when you didn’t see Din anywhere in the hangar. “Great. I’m talking to myself.”

With a sigh, you turned back toward the work area, only to run straight into a wall of beskar. “Dank farrik, Din!”

“If you belong to clan mudhorn, you’re not going to be sparkling.” Din unfastened your jet pack. “You’ll be dral.” He set it to the side. “Dralshy'a - ori'shya ka'ra.” (“Glowing.”) (“Brighter - more than stars.”)

You grinned. “Ni emuurir gar jate'shya.” (“I like yours better.”)

Xxx

Tags: @lam-ila​, @oliviajdjarin​, @peonyophelia​, @what-the-heckin-heck​, @Itsavicf, @just-shut-up-kid​, @noodlesavailable​, @mildlyhopeless​, @multifandomsw​, @professionalfangrrl​, @tizylish​, @whoodattt​, @heyitsaloy​, @djarinsimp​, @athenasproverbs​, @aliens-apricot, @snow30285, @jallen0126​, @jxvipike​, @kodzuvk​, @untitledarea​, @crazyworldofsiani​, @adora-but-ginger​, @momc95​ What’s This?

#din x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x y/n #din x you #din x y/n #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars x y/n #din imagine #din djarin imagine #mando reader insert #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #mando #grogu #grogu x reader #the mandalorian reader insert #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n

[errorryx]

blood moon – part two

read on ao3 | read part one | gemcyt / life series, 2.5k words

An AU-within-an-AU of the wonderful gemcyt AU by @chrisrin, and the fic series by @sixteenth-days!

This part introduces two more characters, Mumbo and Lizzie, but since they're Homeworld gems, they don't use those names yet, and Lizzie doesn't use she/her pronouns yet. All that will change in the next chapter, but in the meantime, Mumbo is Peridot and Lizzie is Rose Quartz.

—

“I can’t believe this,” Grian said, looking at Pearl with a new eye. Now that he knew it was his old friend, he could see the resemblance, though it was mostly in Pearl’s expressions—her new form bore no resemblance to her previous one. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, obviously.” Alex gave him a gentle bump with her shoulder. It hurt a lot less than usual now that she was only twice his size.

“I have so many questions.” Grian tried to organize his thoughts, but it was a hopeless task. “Why do you look like a pearl? Should I be calling you Pearl now, or Alexandrite? And why are you red?”

“I don't care what you call me, Gri. I’m just glad I finally found you,” Pearl said. “The pearl thing started out as a disguise, but I have no idea why I'm red. I was actually hoping you’d know.”

“I've never seen a gem change color before.” Grian landed on Alex’s shoulder and took a closer look, poking her arm in curiosity. “Maybe Scott or Cleo would know something, but I haven’t got a clue. Is this the first time it’s happened?”

“As far as I know. We landed last night, but I didn't leave the ship until morning because—”

“Hang on,” Grian interrupted. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me and Peridot,” Alex said. “Oh, and this rose quartz we picked up on the way, but he ran off the second we touched down. Haven't seen him since. He was such a ditz, he probably tripped on a rock somewhere and shattered himself.”

She laughed, but Grian didn’t join her. His days of considering quartz soldiers expendable were over now that he knew some of them personally. If anything happened to BigB, he’d be inconsolable.

“How did you convince Peridot to come with you?” he asked. “I figured he’d never leave Homeworld again after hearing that I disappeared.”

“He’s currently refusing to leave the ship,” Alex admitted. “But he came because he had to, Grian. We both did. We couldn’t just not look for you, knowing you could still be out there.”

A horrible thought occurred to Grian. “This isn’t a Homeworld mission, is it? You’re not reporting back to them or anything?”

“Course not. We left the main ship three solar systems away and took an escape pod here. They can’t track us.”

Grian breathed a sigh of relief. If there was one thing Alexandrite was good at, it was hiding things from the diamonds. He should have more faith in her. “I thought I’d never see you or Peri again,” he said. “I still can’t believe you’re just here.”

“I’m here,” she said. “Come on, bring it in.” She spread her arms open, and Grian moved forward to let her hug him. He could actually sort of hug back this time, since she was smaller than usual. “I missed you so much, Gri. I wish I could have come sooner.”

“I missed you too,” Grian admitted. “Living with Scar is kind of a nightmare. Makes you seem level-headed and rational in comparison.”

“Me? Level-headed?” Alex laughed. “I get it, though. Peri’s been driving me up a wall with how much he talks about you, but I can’t blame him. We were so worried you’d been shattered, but I kept telling myself, Gri’s a survivor. He’d never just die on an alien planet like that. And I was right!” she crowed. “He’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“You think if we’re both there, we can convince him to leave the ship?”

“Who cares about that? We can catch up on the way back, right?” Alex said, her red eyes shining. “Come on, Gri, let’s get out of here!”

“Wait, what?”

Grian stopped dead, replaying the conversation they’d just had in his head. Alex had been glad to see him, she’d been shirking her responsibilities to come find him, but she’d never said anything about staying—in fact, the first thing she’d said to him had been the exact opposite.

“We’re going home, silly.” Pearl tilted her head in confusion. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

Maybe if she’d come earlier, Grian would have jumped at the chance to get off this planet and return to Homeworld. But now, he’d gotten used to the freedom of doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it. He couldn’t imagine returning to his old life just to have the Diamond Authority constantly breathing down his neck.

“I can’t just up and leave,” he told her.

“Why not? We’ve already come up with the perfect cover story.”

“That’s not the problem,” Grian said. “I’ve got a whole life here now. I’m making new friends, fusing, working on this base—” He gestured behind him. “I just put in a chimney. You don’t even know what that is! I don’t even know what that is, but I’m not going to find out if I return to Homeworld.”

Pearl just stared at him. She clearly wasn’t getting the message. “So…you’re not going to come back with us?”

“No,” Grian said firmly. “I’m not going back to Homeworld.”

“Oh.” Pearl stepped back, her eyes going blank. “Okay then.”

“It’s just—” He sighed. “I thought you liked it here. I thought this place would be right up your alley.”

She shrugged. “It’s alright.”

“I was hoping you’d want to stay.” Grian couldn’t blame Pearl for having reservations. He’d had plenty of his own, and it had taken him a while to shake them. “I know it sounds insane.”

“It does,” Pearl agreed. “I’ll have to think about it.” Her voice was flat and unconvincing. She was upset, Grian realized, and trying not to show it. She took a few steps back, glancing off in the direction she’d come from.

“You don’t have to decide yet,” Grian said. “I know it’s a lot.”

“I get it,” Pearl said. “I’ll just—I’ve got to work on some things. I should go.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone from Homeworld that we’re here, are you?”

“I wouldn’t,” she said, sounding offended. “We’re still friends, Gri. I’d never get you in trouble.”

“Or anyone else,” he insisted.

“Or anyone else.” She started walking away, but stopped after a few steps. “You’re not going to blow my cover, are you?”

“You mean tell them you’re not really a pearl?”

“I am a pearl,” she said, but faltered. “I mean—yeah.”

“We’re still friends,” Grian echoed her. He still didn’t know why Alex was in disguise, but he’d get it out of her eventually. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Pearl nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she told him, and left.

—

Pearl’s return to the ship was concerning, to say the least.

When she left, Pearl had assured Peridot that she’d be back with Gri at her side. Not only was Gri nowhere to be seen, but Pearl had somehow managed to turn herself an entirely different color.

It may have been a trick of the light, but Peridot wasn’t willing to leave the ship to get a closer look. He hit the button on the wall to deploy the landing bay so she could come in.

“Don’t just stand there,” Pearl said, gesturing for him to join her. “Get out here.”

“I thought you said I wouldn’t have to leave the ship.”

“Change of plans.” Pearl crossed her arms, fixing him with an exasperated glare. “It’s perfectly safe, Peri. I’ve been out here for hours now without a scratch on me.”

“But—”

“Do you want Gri back or not?”

“I don’t want to change color,” Peridot said. “Can’t you just come in here?”

“Nope. You’ll be fine.” She walked up the ramp and grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him down with her. “See? Look, you’re still the same.”

Peridot winced as his foot touched the ground, but nothing happened. Pearl had told him the truth. His usual shade of green had gone a little dull from the dim light, but it was nothing like Pearl’s dramatic shift in hue. “Goodness,” he said, staring down at the earth beneath him. The soil was obscured by a thick layer of organic matter. “What is this stuff?”

“Don’t scan it. You can’t access the database here,” Pearl reminded him.

“I know, I know.” His arms stayed in place, his fingers tapping nervously against his elbows. “So what happened?”

Pearl let out a loud noise of frustration, making Peridot jump. “It went horribly,” she said. “I don’t know what Gri’s problem was. I showed him my gem and everything, and I even told him you came with me, but it was like he didn’t even care.”

“Even though he knows I’m here?” Pearl nodded, and Peridot pulled his arms a little closer around himself. “Oh,” he said softly. “I see.”

“I asked him to come back here with me,” Pearl said. “I told him you were waiting for him, but he refused. He wants to stay here, Peri. He doesn’t care about us anymore.”

Peridot didn’t think Pearl would lie to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Gri would have rejected them so harshly. “There must be some kind of misunderstanding,” he said. “Maybe he was just upset over something else. We can’t give up after getting all the way here.”

“I’m not giving up on him,” Pearl said. “That’s why I called you out here. We’re going to march right back over there and get this sorted. He can’t say no to us both.”

Peridot stared out into the darkness. Other than the light from the ship, their surroundings were rather dim. If he were to follow Pearl to wherever Gri was, he might risk unwanted contact with all manner of unseen creatures. “Can’t we wait until morning?” he asked her.

“I told you, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Besides the other gems, I haven’t seen a single motile organism since we arrived.”

Right as she finished speaking, something began rustling around in the greenery close by. Peridot immediately ran up the landing bay to hide inside the ship, but Pearl didn’t move. Instead, she drew her gem weapons, a pair of curved blades as long as her forearms, and held them aloft, ready to strike.

“Reveal yourself!” she shouted. “Who’s there?”

“What are you doing? Don’t draw its attention over here!”

“Guys, relax! It’s just me.” A few more branches snapped, and the bushes parted to make way for Rose Quartz, dirty and disheveled but no less chipper than the last time they’d seen him. “Did you find your little friend yet?”

Peridot had never met Rose before this journey. The only reason Rose was here was because he’d overheard Pearl and Peridot discussing their plans. Instead of ratting them out, he’d asked to join them, and they hadn’t had much of a choice but to agree.

“Where have you been all day?” Pearl asked Rose, letting her weapons vanish.

“I was looking around for other gems,” Rose said. “I followed the sun like you told me, but then it disappeared, so I turned around and came back.”

Pearl pinched the bridge of her nose. “Rose, I told you that the previous mission landings were in that direction,” she said, pointing east.

“You said they were towards the sun,” Rose said. “And the sun moved, so I followed it.”

“Are you like this on purpose, or are you really just that stupid?”

“Hey!” Rose crossed his arms. “Don’t call me stupid!”

“I’m glad you’re safe, Rose,” Peridot said, trying to steer the conversation away from an argument. He couldn’t make sense of why Pearl was acting so hostile. Until now, she’d had no problem being kind to Rose, keeping all her frustrations with Rose’s cluelessness between the two of them.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Rose said with confidence. “I’m a lot stronger than I look. Hey, Pearl, why are you red now?”

“That’s not important,” Pearl said. “What matters is that I saw all the missing gems today, Rose. None of them were shattered.”

“Wait, all of them? Really?”

“I cross-referenced every gem I saw with the reports of gems that were lost on Life. Everyone was accounted for.”

“What about Pearl? Where’s Pearl?”

Peridot pointed at Pearl immediately, only to find that Pearl was also currently pointing at herself. Rose laughed, waving them off.

“I know about that pearl, don’t worry,” he said. “I’m talking about Pink Pearl.”

“Wait, that’s who you’re here for?” Pearl asked. “Not one of the quartzes?”

“You know,” Peridot reflected, “maybe it would have been a good idea to ask that question before we let a random gem join our illegal top-secret mission.”

Pearl ignored him. “What do you want with Pink Diamond’s pearl?” she asked Rose.

“Erm.” Rose looked stumped. “That’s…classified?”

“We’re not playing by Homeworld rules anymore,” Pearl said, drawing her gem weapons once more. “You agreed to be a part of this mission, so you’d better tell me the truth.”

“Hey, woah, no need for violence!” Rose threw up his hands in surrender. “I kept seeing Pink Diamond really sad without his pearl, so when I overheard you guys talking about Earth, I figured I’d come too! That way I could bring the pearl back and make my diamond happy.”

“You didn’t tell anyone, right?” Pearl asked, stepping closer. “You’re not in contact with anybody from Homeworld?”

“No, no, of course not! Nobody knows I’m here.” Pearl took another step forward, undeterred, and Rose began backing away. “I’m telling the truth, I swear!”

“Pearl, what are you doing?” Peridot asked, his voice betraying his panic.

“Come on, Peri. You don’t find it suspicious that Rose is here for a diamond’s pearl?”

“I suppose, but…” If he was being honest, Peridot thought Rose’s story made sense. He’d never seen Pearl like this before. “I don’t think this is going to help. Please just put the knives away, Pearl, you’re—” You’re scaring me.

“Fine.” Pearl rolled her eyes and let her weapons dematerialize. “But if I find out you were lying, Rose…” She gave Rose a death glare, and Peridot shivered.

“Well, I’m not.” Rose briefly met Peridot’s eyes, but all Peridot could offer him was a helpless shrug. “I just want to find my—my diamond’s pearl. That’s all.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause before Pearl broke the silence. “I’m taking Peri to see the other gems in the morning,” she said. “You might as well come with us if you want to see Pink Pearl.”

“I never agreed to that,” Peridot said, before he could think better of it.

“Well, there’s always Plan C,” Pearl said. “Where I go out and poof Gri and take him home with us by force.”

Peridot grimaced, imagining Gri’s reaction when he reformed on the ship back to Homeworld. “I don’t think we should try that one.”

“Then it’s decided.” Pearl gave him a dangerous grin, and Peridot shuddered. He was not looking forward to this.

—

<Previous part | Next part>

if you read this all the way through and enjoyed, please consider reblogging!

#gemcyt #pearlescentmoon #grian #mumbo jumbo #ldshadowlady #3rd life series #traffic series #my writing #my stuff

[iheartgod175]

Some Thoughts!

Man, I haven’t done a post like this in a while! But I figured I might as well before I work on one of my numerous WIPs XD

—So, I’ve been back on a Zula Patrol kick like you wouldn’t believe. Though that should be obvious with all the memes I’ve been making, haha! I promise this won’t become a Zula Patrol only blog, haha!

—I’ll be working on building my graphic design/editing skills so I can properly redesign my blogs ^^ You can expect a few graphics throughout the month! :)

—Chapter 4 of The Zula Patrol: Dreamscape Crusade Remastered is also coming along pretty nicely. I’ve been enjoying adding the layers of mystery and horror to the world that Multo ends up in. Oh, and a couple of new characters are making their appearance, too. And that’s all I’m going to say about the subject!

—I’ve also been steadily working on Love Language for the last couple of months. I thought FOR SURE that I’d be posting its first chapter by the end of the month, but life happened—not to mention that I keep coming up with MORE headcanons for Multo and Zeeter that I just have to write down and put in the story. XD Also, the story’s grown to the point where I had to break it up into FIVE chapters, now, with the fifth being the actual conclusion. This story’s been so fun to work on, and I hope you’ll all enjoy it when I finally publish it.

—That being said, I did have a few insecurities regarding the writing of Love Language. I wondered if anybody would actually read this story since 1. ZP isn’t a very well-known cartoon, and 2. Even for rarepair standards, Multo/Zeeter sure seems like it came out of left field. And for about a few weeks, I did leave it alone, out of worry that nobody would read it. But then I came across posts in my feed that said that it’s important to write the stories that you’d like to read, even if they don’t get any readership, because telling your story is what matters. I’ve dealt with this a lot since writing all of my stories, namely my Zula Patrol series. And while I struggle with it occasionally, I’m not going to let that whole “nobody will probably read this” mentality stop me from writing about these goofy aliens, and my favorite opposites-attract ship, of which I’m the sole captain.

—While I’ve been working on Blazin’ Trails content off and on, I’m having a deuce of a time trying to work on the final chapter of the original BT. I’ll literally sit down and open the document, looking for something to leap out at me and inspire me to work…but nothing’s working. And I really want to get things started with Blazin’ Trails Redux as well…*sigh*

—As for Super Why stuff, I’m looking forward to seeing the new shorts that are debuting next month! I got to see the first short, and it’s adorable. And I also can’t wait to see more of Power Paige in action! I just really hope that Woofster and Alpha Pig aren’t written out of the show :(

—Speaking of PBS Kids stuff…I kinda sorta got back into both WordGirl and Arthur. GOD, I feel old! And now, I’m half-tempted to have WG guest star in SRBA like Santiago will. The SRBA ‘verse? More like Into the Reader-verse, LOL XD

—Sodor Magic Crusaders MAY be getting an update in the near future. I thought about working on it for the first time in months, and I remembered that I only have a few episodes left until I can get to write the second season.

—Slowly but surely getting back into Honkai Impact 3rd. I still haven’t gotten a chance to watch the part 2 trailer, but it looks like it’s gonna be interesting!

—One thing’s for sure. Power Paige will definitely appear in the SRBA ‘verse. I just have to figure out what her backstory would be as well as her powers and what kind of fighting style she’d have. I know for sure it won’t be a sword—we already have four sword fighters in SRBA thus far (Super Why, Presto, Muse and Jackson).

—In Super Why news, I HAVE been working on the fifth chapter bit by bit, and I’d like to say that it’s about 65% finished. I don’t think it’ll be quite as long as the last update, but I don’t want to speak too soon ^^;

—I haven’t drawn anime in ages, not since I first started uploading on DeviantArt. And I admit, the pic that I’m going to post of Usagi isn’t the best..but you know what? Screw it! The only way I can improve is to practice, even if it’s wonky or incorrect! ^^

#hanna-barbera #the zula patrol #super why #sailor moon #pbs kids #ramblings

[nochi-quinn]

candela obscura chapter 3 episode 1: oh god everybody's fucked up

I'm here, I fell asleep and missed the start but I'm here

lmao the immediate note-taking

ur really committing to that voice huh liam

marisha made an older character and liam said hold my dentures

STEAMPUNK JAZZY

heyyyy someone else makes the joke I picked up from a stargate episode 20 years ago

liam what was that look

absolutely love ashly's wig

sam looking like he got hit with a cattle prod

what's a sam reigel

why are we getting oscar's CV

"are they hot"

listen I saw the trailer he 100% uses that chain to beat people with

"no one calls you carey, oscar"

oh no he's hot

oh he's kotallo, that's why

the flat cap does look good on sam, I can't lie

y'all that's gay

I like cordelia's little halo

eloise best character

(maybe that's the look liam was giving ashly, eloise vs elsie)

elsie's a werewolf calling it

yesss the old people guilt trip

liam

oscar: I'm gonna punch a ghost

"you're wearing a ball gown. it's the morning."

the maw??

haha it took me until literally this moment to remember ashly is aloy, my ship is reunited

"I'm using my bullshit detector" did you get that cleared with the gm

I like the term "blood and guts doctor"

I've been watching S1G play Slay the Princess and the more they describe her the more she sounds like a Princess variant

oh no lights

liam you did that on purpose

oh Aadtika (?) is a very pretty name

"lung, heart" liver, nerves

"you have an extra house?" "you don't?"

rajan

"you slick son of a bitch"

he IS a slick son of a bitch

oh sam's being THAT character

prepared to spend three episodes threatening to punch oscar in the head and throw him in the pool

("nochi nobody read your free! livetweets" well maybe they should have)

sam doesn't watch the product

liam always wants to roleplay fish and chips

[picks elsie and raj up and shakes them until backstory falls out]

"I'll be as subtle as I can be" smash cut to him beating someone to death with a chain

the docks seems like a terrible place to play baseball

sam

did they do a dndbeyond for candela?

they did!

sam forgot he was short

"high stakes not for harm" but bc it's funny

rajan: oh I am NOT involved, you made that VERY clear

"don't waste that on me" "I agree"

I'm being gaslit bc I've always pronounced "copse" like "cope" with an "s" in it

shades of the old man at my previous psych office yelling about obama's secret weather machine

"I help by SCREAMING"

grandpa's making a wheel for it

[mabel pines voice] grappling hook!

the way sam rolls dice STILL kills me

oh good, everyone else also thinks they should fuck

"why can't we just be friends? oh right, because I don't like you."

what the fuck's a flashlight

"yeah! temperature play! :D" aabria

"do you go down my little hole" "of course!" aren't y'all divorced

oh no an ot3

don't say degloved that means something else

oh I dig that

werewolf!

lights!

were….thing!

oh no aabria's doing the voice

everything goes black, and you die

l…lights?

breathing?

how could crcw not have prepared me for this

immortal asshole oscar grimm

EXCUSE

oh he's an asshole because he gave up the non-asshole bits to bargain with death

hey sam what the fuck

oh hey ashly. ow.

thump thumps? why?

loud??

imagine if oscar coming back just freaked elsie right back into beast mode

there's another hour left of this wtf happens

yessssss "I'd take a bullet for him but I wouldn't go drinking with him" my beloved

local woman realizing that everyone around her is an absolute freak

liam's startled old man noise

"ohhh I'm not good at that"

ACTION GLASSES

wait I don't understand what he just did

oh he did a drug

little bird ;-;

his WHAT

chairsword!

it glows blue when there are nuns nearby

where's that one digital devil saga monster

I desperately need an artist's rendition of this orca-mantis-thing

excuse me

I keep missing the spelling of his sister's name

"oh god everybody's fucked up"

A WHAT built in his WHAT

augh eye stuff no quiero

is noshir lefthanded?

I kind of half-called that

"that felt like twenty. that was a season."

BEEKEEPER

"do you know you're covered in bees?"

I like my women like I like my coffee

"because yours is super chill"

liam you can uncommit to the voice

(he will not)

"drop the skincare routine"

#candela obscura #critical role #spoilers #liveblog #reaction post #candelatag #crititag

[aebi12]

"Sinful Desires" - Chapter 30 (Part I)

"Your cousins' ship is already at the docks, princess"

Alyssa looks up from the embroidery she is finishing, “Thank you, Enid. Please bring my cloak and gloves."

The maid helps her to wrap herself up and the princess sighs, looking at her reflection in the mirror and trying to calm the doubts plaguing her insides before leaving the room and going in search of her brother.

"Where is Aegon?"

"With Lord Lannister, princess."

"Again?"

"The prince insisted"

Alyssa then goes to the council room, where she finds a focused Aegon looking at a book of illustrations in the company of Tyland Lannister.

“Aegon, Lord Lannister,” she greets politely. The man bows his head, "I hope my brother is not bothering you once again."

Lannister smiles and shakes his head, "Not at all, princess, it is an honor to be able to help the prince."

The meetings between Aegon and Lord Tyland had started a few days ago. Apparently, the boy had found in the man a good substitute for Aemond to read stories with. Alyssa had been leery at first, but considering that the prince had told her that Lannister was the only one who supported the idea of Aegon being king when he initially proposed it, and that the man seemed to genuinely enjoy his time with her little brother, she had not objected further.

"Thank you, although Aegon has to come with me anyway," she looks at her brother, "Your sisters will be arriving at the Keep soon and we must welcome them."

The boy grimaces, "Must we go?"

"Yes, Aegon, it is important," she replies.

"Go, my prince, we can continue reading later," Tyland Lannister says, scrambling to his feet with the aid of a cane.

Alyssa looks away from him, fully aware that the Master of Coin is still reeling from months of torture by her mother's allies.

"Okay, later," Aegon finally answers, getting down from his chair and offering his hand to his sister.

The princess guides the boy through the corridors of the castle until they reach the front door. The cold winter wind causes both of them to shiver, feeling it full on their faces.

"Cheer up," she tells him, noticing that the little boy seems to get bored as the minutes go by, "I know you cannot wait to see your sisters."

“Where is Jaehaera? Why isn't she here?"

"Because she is studying with her septa," she replies, waving her hands nervously. The truth is that she had not wanted her niece to be present at their first meeting with her cousins. She doubted that the girls would be rude to a small child, but she preferred to make sure that they would be civil before exposing Jaehaera to their presence, "She can meet your sisters later."

"I guess," he shrugs, "when will Aemond be back?"

Alyssa once feels a pang of nostalgia at the mention of his name.

“Soon,” she replies, though she really has no idea if it's true.

Thankfully the gates are flung open and a carriage enters the keep courtyard, stopping in front of the gate and opening almost instantly to admit Alyssa's twin cousins.

"Aegon!"

It is Baela who gets out of the carriage first and goes directly to her brother, kneeling by his side and hugging him tightly. The boy returns the greeting with the same emotion.

Alyssa fixes on Rhaena, who slowly climbs out of the carriage, a smile on her lips as she moves closer to her.

“Hello Alyssa,” she greets, “It is good to see you again.”

"It is, Rhaena."

After their brief exchange, Rhaena fixes her attention on her little brother and Alyssa notices Baela's gaze fixed on her.

"Hello Baela," she greets politely.

"Alyssa," she nods.

“Lord Corlys regrets that he could not be here waiting for you, but urgent business in the realm required his attention. He asked me to escort you both to his quarters so you all can have lunch together."

“That sounds lovely, a family lunch,” Rhaena smiles.

"Yes, yes, let's go inside at once, it's too cold in here," Baela comments.

"Wait a minute," her twin returns to the carriage and pulls out a cage that contains a dragon slightly larger than the children's and that is sound asleep, "Now, shall we go?"

Aegon squeals with excitement at the cage and goes to his sister, letting her know that he has a dragon too.

“Mine is called Stormcloud,” he says proudly.

Aegon begins to drag Rhaena along, filling her with questions about Morning, her dragon. Alyssa walks behind them, next to Baela, and is able to see the tension and ill-concealed annoyance on her pretty face as she looks at her twin and Aegon bonding over their dragons.

“I heard that you are going to marry our cousin Alyn soon,” she says after long seconds of awkward silence, “Congratulations, I hope it is a happy union.”

Baela seems to abandon her thoughts, and looks at her for a few seconds before nodding, "Thank you, Alyssa."

Fortunately for Alyssa, they are already in front of her grandfather's rooms, although he is not there yet to act as an intermediary between them.

“I don't know what else to tell you, Aegon,” Rhaena gives a nervous giggle that ends in a coughing fit.

Alyssa watches her cousin place her hand on her chest and close her eyes. Now that they are inside, she can notice the deep circles under her eyes, as well as how thin she looks under her cloak.

“Egg, let your sisters rest, it was a long trip for them,” she says going over to her little brother but looking at her cousin, “Are you alright?”

Rhaena nods and tries to give her a smile.

"We'll talk later, yes Aegon?"

The boy seems to notice how weak his sister looks because he nods and doesn't press further, "I'll go find Jaehaera."

"Yeah, do that," Alyssa smiles at him, "I'll see you two in a bit"

The boy almost runs out of the room and the guards do their best to keep up with him.

“Jaehaera? Does the girl live here too?"

Baela frowns as Alyssa looks at her

"Of course. Jaehaera is a Targaryen princess, this is her home."

“She is the daughter of the usurper”

Alyssa forces a smile, "And to a part of the kingdom, I was the daughter of a usurper as well."

"Surely you don't think that of your mother, the true queen!" her cousin looks at her indignantly

“No, of course I don't think so, but that doesn't change the fact that, whether we like it or not, there are two versions of this story. Some houses supported my mother, some supported Aegon. The kingdom was divided and it took a lot to put it back together. We are still working on putting it together."

“And playing happy family is your idea of… what? Heal and move on?”

“We are all one family, Baela. House Targaryen must show unity and strength, especially now that dragons are nearly extinct, surely you understand that."

Bitterness reflects on her face, "Unity and strength,” she giggles, "I suppose your plan is for them to get married?"

“When the time comes, yes, it is most likely to happen,” she admits. “Aegon will be king. Jaehaera being his queen is more than fitting. It is a symbol of union, it is an opportunity to…”

"I don't give a shit about the symbolism, that girl's father murdered Aegon's mother, your mother, do you intend to just forget about that and condemn my little brother to marry that girl?"

Alyssa does her best not to show the anger she's feeling. “If we are to remember crimes, Aegon's father, your father,” she mimics her words, “Ordered the murder of one of Jaehaera's brothers. My mother took it upon herself to order the death of the other one. So, do not pretend to show moral superiority, Baela, because we all lose out"

"Especially you, betraying your real family"

The princess smiles sideways when listening to her cousin. She knew it would come to this, “The family that abandoned me, you mean? Because they never even tried to rescue me. Assassins and spies could enter the castle, but they couldn't rescue one of their own."

Baela grimaces, "Maybe it's because we knew you were too comfortable here sharing the bed with the enemy"

“I was on my way to get married to help my mother's cause when I was kidnapped,” she replies, “But I guess it was easier to just believe that I had betrayed everyone and focus on more important aspects of the war.”

“Enough, both of you, please,” Rhaena stands up and steps between them, though her gaze turns to her sister, “Baela, we're here to make sure Aegon is well taking care of, we said it would be a courteous visit, do not turn it into an opportunity to raise claims”

"How are you so calm?" she tuts, "She has our brother surrounded by snakes, living with the man who murdered our father."

“Your father challenged Aemond,” she points out, “The result was not what Daemon expected and he ended up losing. It was a lot more honorable than he deserved, actually," she says unable to contain her tongue.

"Alyssa, please!" Rhaena sighs.

"I will not tolerate my brother living here with these people"

“You do not have to tolerate anything, just to accept it,” Alyssa cuts her off. Her discussion with her cousin begins to tire her, so she stands up to her full height, and uses her strongest voice, “Aegon is the crown. His place is here, in the Red Keep."

"I am his older sister, I have the right to ensure his safety"

“And if you want to keep that right, you better understand how this works once and for all. Aegon will be king and Aemond is now the regent. His word and my word, as his future wife, is the prevailing authority,” her voice doesn't even waver despite the uncertainty of her future.

“He would be better off with me in Driftmark”

Alyssa smirks, “And what place would Aegon have on the island? I imagine he would be no more than an honored guest or squire to the Velaryon heir, Ser Alyn."

Alyssa knows that she has touched on a sensitive subject when she notices Baela's expression darken.

“I understand the reluctance of both of you, and I know it can be difficult to understand this situation,” she says after a few seconds of silence, once again attempting the path of diplomacy, “But Aemond and I will take good care of Aegon. Believe it or not, those two are very close to one another. The prince will rule the kingdom until our brother can take his place."

"And what will happen when you two have a child?" asks Baela, “Will he not seek to have his heir sit on the throne?”

A stab to the heart would have hurt less than her question, Alyssa thinks, though she maintains her fake calm expression.

"Aegon will be king regardless of other possible heirs," she replies simply, "I'll leave you now to settle in, cousins."

Alyssa leaves the room without waiting for another answer, tears stinging her eyes as Baela's question still burns inside her.

***

"Lady Rhaena requests to speak with you, princess."

Alyssa lifts her face from the scrolls she's been reading and orders Enid to show her cousin in.

"Rhaena," she greets, standing up and going over to the girl.

"Alyssa, I am sorry for coming unannounced, I was hoping we could talk for a bit."

“Sure, come here,” they both sit on the sofa in the anteroom, “Enid, bring a snack for us, please. Perhaps an infusion as well," she asks, noticing how pale her cousin still looks

The maid leaves immediately and Alyssa smiles hesitantly at her, "I hope all is well you’re your accommodations."

“Oh yes, we are quite comfortable,” Rhaena returns her smile, “Grandfather said that you personally oversaw everything being arranged for us. I appreciate that you have made time for taking care of such things. With your new position, surely you do not have so many free moments"

Alyssa feels her cheeks flush, "It is true that, in the prince's absence, some responsibilities fall on me."

Enid returns with a tray of sweets and a tea for both of them. Alyssa pours a cup for her cousin, who seems to appreciate the warm contents.

“I feel like I owe you an apology, Alyssa,” Rhaena says after a few seconds of silence, “Baela was very rude during our talk earlier, but it's because she's worried about Aegon. We both are."

“I know, cousin, I understand, believe me,” she nods, “And I probably owe you two an apology as well. I could have handled the situation much better, I imagined that you would have questions and well… it has been a long time since we last saw each other”

"Don't think that we intend to judge you or complain to you, please," she responds, understanding what Alyssa meant with her last comment, "We came because we wanted to see our brother, to know that he is fine and that his future is guaranteed."

“That is all I wish for Aegon,” Alyssa assures her, “The last time I saw my mother, she herself entrusted me with our little brother and asked me to take care of him. It is what I try to do. Everything I have done…” she cuts herself, swallows and smiles, “I am only looking out for his well-being”

"I know we don't have a chance to take him away from you and, frankly, I have no intention of doing so,” Rhaena sighs, “Now that he's king he's safer here than anywhere else. Although I understand my sister's doubts"

Alyssa sighs as well, “If I am honest, cousin, I didn't want Aegon to be king. It was Aemond who had the idea and I know it is only logical, but I never pressured him to delegate the crown to our brother”

"Especially since he also has a strong claim, being the brother of the former king."

“Yes, that is right,” Alyssa agrees, “But trust me, as impossible as it may seem to you to believe, Aemond chose to be regent. I know that he genuinely loves our brother and that he does not pose a threat to him," she dares to take her cousin's hands, "I understand that it must be shocking for you, that you must see him as a natural enemy, but does not have to be this way. He's going to take good care of Aegon. Right now, he seeks peace in the kingdom on his behalf."

Alyssa looks directly into the brown eyes of her cousin. Her words are honest, although they are accompanied by the usual sadness that she feels when thinking of the prince.

“You put too much faith on him”

“I know him well,” she admits with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, but if her cousin notices, she doesn't say anything.

"I should have realized that something had changed in you when we returned to Dragonstone," Rhaena says with a wistful smile, "Well, I knew there was something, but I didn't imagine that something was one of our green cousins."

Alyssa sighs and feels her eyes water, “Rhaena…”

“No, please don't take this as a judgment,” she says quickly, “I fully understand how complicated matters of the heart can be."

Alyssa wants to ask what she means, but she is distracted by watching her cousin bring her hands to her belly, a wince on her face, “Are you okay, Rhaena? Should I call the maester?"

“The masters have already examined me,” she says, shaking her head.

"Are you ill?"

"Not really," she sighs, "Shortly after arriving in Driftmark I lost the child I was expecting." Her surprise must show on her face, because her cousin says, "Didn't you know I got married in the Vale?"

"No, I had no idea," she admits, "Who is your lord husband?"

“It was Lord Corwyn Cobray,” she replies, lowering her gaze, and when she turns to face Alyssa, the princess notices she’s fighting back tears, “My husband died shortly before we found out I was carrying his child.”

“Rhaena, I am so sorry,” Alyssa takes her hands once more.

“Thank you, Alyssa. I thought this child could comfort me in my pain, but…” she shrugs and smiles sadly.

“I understand your feelings well,” she says, swallowing hard, “because I've experienced it myself.”

“I didn't know that… I'm sorry, Alyssa. I hope the future is kinder to you."

“Not in that regard, no,” she sighs, and Rhaena looks at her blankly, but doesn't press her for further explanation either.

There is no use in keeping it quiet, she thinks, In time the whole kingdom will find out about your condition.

"I cannot have children," she says softly, "Not now, not ever."

"Is it that final?"

“Yeah, I found out a while ago and… well… I've already made my peace with that idea,” she replies trying to smile, “Aegon and Jaehaera are the closest thing to children I'll ever have. And I know it might sound selfish, but I can't let anyone to take them away from me."

Her voice breaks at the end, and suddenly Alyssa feels her cousin's arms around her. The princess hugs her too and smiles. Although they were never overly affectionate with each other growing up, there is closeness and longing in that embrace. And, above all, there is relief in being able to open up to someone who, in one way or another, understands her pain.

“Fear not, cousin,” Rhaena cuts the hug and takes her hands, “The children will remain here with you. Baela can say what she wants, but she knows that we have nothing to offer our brother. My husband was a second son with no land or property in his name, and my sister doesn't have much either. Driftmark will be hers only by marriage, and she will have whatever authority Alyn wishes to offer her."

“I want you to know that I was against Baela being displaced from what was rightfully hers. It was unfair and I told that to my mother when it happened. I hope that is not what prompted your sister to join ser Alyn."

Rhaena shrugs, “It probably is. I think there is some physical attraction between them, but I highly doubt it is love. I feel that Baela sees Driftmark as hers and this is her chance to have it."

Alyssa nods, “What about you? Will you go back with her?"

“It's the plan. She has offered it to me, but perhaps I will return to the Vale. Lady Jeyne was very kind to me and has invited me to live with her for as long as I need,” Rhaena seems to hesitate and finally says, “There is distance between me and Baela. The time we lived apart after our mother's death, and the fact that I was sent with the Arryn as soon as the war began did not allow us to be there for each other. I know she resents the losses we suffered and the expectations she had created for her life, but she doesn't share that with me."

"I understand," Alyssa, "The war left us all with deep scars."

Rhaena flashes her a smile before getting to her feet, "I've distracted you long enough, I'd better let you rest."

"I liked talking to you, Rhaena."

“I like it as well,” her cousin nods, “And don't worry, I'll make sure Baela behaves for the rest of our stay here.”

***

Alyssa can't help but breathe a sigh of relief as she watches her cousin's ship sail away into the sea.

Though Rhaena had been true to her word, and the thankfully short visit had passed without major incident or quarrel between her and Baela, it was obvious that her older cousin was still irritated by their conversation of the first day, and Lord Corlys's failure to take her side in the matter of bringing Aegon to Driftmark.

“I hope she finds contentment with Alyn,” Rhaena says when they're back at the castle.

The girl, at Alyssa's request, had decided to spend a time in the Red Keep.

The last few days they had spent their afternoons together walking through the gardens or having fun with the children. It had been good for Alyssa to have someone by her side to share happy memories of her years on Dragonstone, someone close to her age to talk with about her day, and Rhaena, with her serene demeanor so much like her own, had become the closest thing to a friend she'd had in a while. Homesickness and loss had brought them together in a way that the happy years on the island had not.

"A message for you, princess"

Enid hands her a scroll and Alyssa pales as she reads the contents.

"Bad news?" Rhaena asks, noticing her expression.

"No, not really," she replies softly, her heart pounding in her chest and her hand crumpling the paper, "Aemond will be back in a couple of days."

Alyssa interrupts her cousin's response by quickly getting to her feet, “I am sorry, Rhaena, there are a lot of things I need to take care of. The prince… Aemond… returns with other lords and… they will all have to be accommodated”

The princess quickly leaves the room and spends the rest of the morning ordering that everything be ready to receive the noble lords who accompany the prince on his return. It is expected, Lord Corlys informs her, that a great council will meet and there will be a ceremony to pledge allegiance to her brother.

"A feast would be ideal to mark the occasion," Lord Tyland says, "The official end of the war."

"Not a bad idea," Alyssa nods, "I'll take care of it."

Though she keeps her mind busy, her body betrays her and a throbbing headache accompanies her until she returns to the nursery.

"Do you feel better?" Rhaena, who has been drawing with Jaehaera, goes over to her when she sees her drop on one of the sofas.

"What? Yeah, it is just a headache, it was a long day, a lot to organize and…” she makes a vague gesture with her hand

"Is it true that my uncle will be back soon?" Jaehaera approaches both of them

“Yeah, he will,” Alyssa sighs, “Did you have dinner yet?”

Alyssa tries to talk to Jaehaera, but she is too excited and goes with Aegon to talk about Aemond's return.

"Maybe it's not my place," Rhaena begins, "But you don't seem too happy about the idea of your husband-to-be coming back."

The girl closes her eyes and tilts her head back, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down.

"Am I that obvious?"

“You haven't mentioned him more than necessary during the times we've talked,” she explains, “And you get tense every time the kids talk about him. And they do it frequently”

"Yeah, I know," she sighs, opening her eyes and facing her cousin.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to"

Alyssa nods. She knows she can't tell her everything, but she would like to talk to her cousin about Aemond, "We had a fight before he left the city."

"Was it about something grave?"

She nods again, "It felt final and I'm afraid that… I'm afraid that he's going to call off our betrothal”

Rhaena gasps and moves closer to her, “Alyssa! Do you think he would be capable of that?"

"But it would not affect Aegon, I assure you that his position will not change, I was honest with you and Baela when I told you that Aemond does not want power for himself"

“I wasn't worried about that,” Rhaena clarifies, shaking her head, “I was just thinking about what it would mean for you if that ever happened.”

“Believe me, I've thought of that too,” she replies, clearing her throat when her voice cracks.

"But maybe now that he's back, you can talk and fix what's going on between you."

"Maybe," she shrugs, "but I feel like he's very disappointed in me."

"Disappointed?"

“I did something that I regret and I wasn't honest with him. I did it… I did it deliberately behind his back,” she explains, lowering her gaze, “When he found out, he got very upset, for good reason, and even though I explained to him that I did what I thought, what I know, was the best for us, he… he looked at me…he looked at me as if he didn't know me, as if I was a stranger to him…he said he didn't think I was capable of doing what I did, and he made me feel like I couldn't live up to his expectations”

"Well that is pure bullshit"

"What?"

"Alyssa, you don't need to live up to anyone's expectations," Rhaena looks annoyed when Alyssa looks up at her, "You don't have to live trying to please him or anyone else for that matter"

“But Rhaena, what I did…”

“You yourself admit that it was for a good cause,” her cousin shakes her head, “So why overthink about it?”

"It is not so simple"

“I know I don't know the whole story,” she replies, “But I do know that you deserve someone who doesn't make you feel like you're not enough.”

Rhaena's words echo in her mind. Insufficient. Is this how she feels? Does she feel inferior to Aemond? Hadn't she wanted to marry him because she felt that next to him she wouldn't just be a pretty trophy? At what point had she stopped wanting that? Fighting for it.

“I have no idea what binds you to him. My father said it was just desire, your mother that he had poisoned your mind with his vile promises, I don't know. I don't know his story, but I know it must be something strong enough to have made you stay by his side after Luke."

"No, Rhaena, please..."

“I know you've forgiven him, you've told me, and I accept it, even though I may never understand it,” she says sincerely, “You're probably a much better person than the rest of us,” her cousin smiles, “And that's why you deserve more, Alyssa. You forgave things that many people could not forgive, and Aemond should be forever grateful that you still remain loyal to him." She interrupts Alyssa’s next words, “Yes, he should be the one here, apologizing for making you think for a moment that you don't deserve him. If something, it is he who does not deserves you"

A tear falls down Alyssa's face, although a smile appears on her face.

“You deserve so much better,” Rhaena takes her hands, “I watched my mother settle for the love my father could give her because he didn't get to marry the one he wanted. And I watched your mother suffer in silence and accept my father's mistakes when they were finally married. Baela says it's our nature, that dragon's blood makes us irreverent and impetuous, but I know better than that. I had something much better than that with my husband. He was kind and loving and we were happy. And you deserve the same. You deserve a love that doesn't make you feel miserable."

“I don't even know what to say,” Alyssa admits.

“Just think about what I said,” her cousin shrugs, “You're a good person, Alyssa Velaryon. Don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise."

***

Rhaena doesn't bring it up their talk for the next two days, but Alyssa can't stop thinking about her words.

Many doubts have arisen in her head. Doubts that she had not been able to raise before, when the idea of surviving was the only thing that occupied her mind.

Alyssa realizes that she has lost a bit of herself in the course of the war. She had been a determined, cheerful, and affectionate girl on Dragonstone. And, upon meeting Aemond again, had been brave enough to face him. Even while she had been held hostage in the city she had let the prince know what she really thought and she remembered making it clear to him, long ago, that she would not marry him unless he considered her as an equal.

She had also been able to confront her mother, claim her for her actions as sovereign, she had crossed part of the kingdom with her little brother on her back, she had sought justice against Talya and Alicent.

But then at what point had she turned into a nervous wreck who did nothing but cry and think of the worst possible scenarios? Had it been because of the grief over the death of her family? Had anxiety and fear turned to paranoia altered her mind?

It is partly so.

The last few months she had barely recognized herself. Her problems with Aemond had started since her arrival in the capital. The secrecy, the acting behind his back, hiding things from him…

You deserve a love that doesn't make you feel miserable.

She knows it's true.

When had she become so dependent on the prince's opinion?

It wasn't right. She couldn't go on like this.

She couldn't just continue to feel like the world was ending every time they argued. She couldn't fall back into her vicious cycle of sadness for thinking that Aemond wouldn't love her anymore.

She had survived the war.

She had survived the terrible pain of losing almost all of her family.

She had survived having her womb poisoned and being left without a chance to be a mother.

She could survive whatever came her way.

Even living without Aemond.

Her heart squeezes at the possibility, but she refuses to shed another tear, because now an emotion that she had tried to suppress because she didn't believe she had the right to feel has surfaced in her: anger.

Anger at Aemond. Anger at him for simply abandoning her and running away in his dragon. Anger for not having given her a chance to fix things. Anger at making her feel like a terrible person for daring to act the way he also did. Rage for leaving her in the castle, alone, thinking that she is insufficient.

Because, she realizes, she is enough. Alyssa is good enough for him, and she isn't about to let him make her feel otherwise again.

If she could forgive him crime against Luke, why can't he just put Aegon’s incident aside? Why does he have to torture her by leaving her for weeks without even deigning to send a letter to her?

Alyssa understands his anger, his frustration, but she doesn't plan to tolerate any more of his reproaches or his painful behavior.

If he backs off from their betrothal, then he's a hypocrite who doesn't deserve her.

And she's going to be okay no matter what.

At least, that's what she tells herself as she walks the children to the entrance of the Red Keep to greet Aemond and the other lords.

***

Aemond hates parades.

He hates the pageantry that the council has organized, the trumpets, the cheers of the crowd receiving them as if they were victors just for having reached a peace agreement.

He would have been much better off riding his dragon, but he can't let the pompous Lads and Stark get all the glory.

In the end, he is the prince regent. It is him that the common people must learn to cheer and respect.

Even so…

Aemond looks up to the sky and smiles as he sees Vhagar's figure. His dragon is glad to return to her familiar beaches, and he is glad to be reunited with his home.

To meet Alyssa again.

The prince can't wait to get this over with and just be able to hold her, smell her familiar scent, and kiss her. To apologize for having been so obtuse and to be able to spend the night together, sleep nestled next to her and rest as he hasn't been able to for months.

As the main gate of the Keep finally looms before them, Aemond quickens his horse's pace and quickly dismounts, a page taking the reins of his mount and moving the animal.

It doesn't take long for him to see her.

Alyssa is, as expected, standing by the doorway, a solemn look on her face. Aemond strides toward her with a purposeful step, but is interrupted by two small figures hugging his knees.

"Aemond!"

"Uncle!"

The children demand his attention and Aemond looks away from Alyssa to watch them. That's when he realizes the...

"Dragons?" he asks with a smirk at the sight of the two creatures on their shoulders, "Did your eggs hatch?"

“Indeed,” Jaehaera nods smugly, “This is Morghul.”

"And this is Stormcloud"

Aemond can't help but chuckle at the contrast between the names chosen by his nephew and niece, and kneels down to better examine the little creatures, who seem to sniff Vhagar on him because they let out a flame.

“You are going to have a hard job training them,” he sighs.

“They are still very young,” Aegon says without concern, “Cousin, where have you been? And where is Vhagar?

 "Did you go far, Uncle Aemond?"

Aemond turns his gaze once more to Alyssa, who is now greeting Kermit Tully and seems oblivious to his presence. A knot forms in his stomach as he realizes that she seems to be intentionally avoiding his gaze.

The prince intends to tell them that they will talk later, but when he sees their faces full of emotion, he gives up on the idea. And, he realizes as they hug him again, how much he has missed them.

"When your dragons grow we can fly together to the places I've been," he assures them.

“Do you know that I now have a master?”

"I have a new septa"

Aemond stands up and looks back at Alyssa, who is now in conversation with Stark and seems surprised by something the man tells her. The prince doesn't like the way the northerner takes the girl's hand in his and places a kiss on her knuckles.

Alyssa, for her part, is well aware of the moment when Aemond enters the castle and is grateful that the children run straight for him, allowing her to delay their inevitable meeting for a few more minutes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, princess," says Lord Tully with much pomp.

"Thank you, my lord, it is an honor to meet you as well"

The young woman politely greets Aemond's companions, welcoming them to the castle.

"Princess"

“Lord Stark,” Alyssa greets, recognizing the direwolf emblem on his cloak.

“I want to offer my condolences on the loss of your family,” the man says, “I am very sorry for what happened to them, especially Prince Jacaerys.”

"Of course, you knew my older brother," Alyssa agrees, recalling Jace's time in the North.

“The prince made a great impression on me,” the man admits, “It was because of him that I joined the war, though I wish I could have done more for all of you.”

"I appreciate your sentiments, Lord Stark."

The man says goodbye and Alyssa spends a few seconds thinking about her older brother.

It is when the crowd disperses that she finally dares to meet Aemond's gaze, which she has felt on her for quite some time now.

Taking a deep breath to cheer herself up, she walks over to where the children are chatting animatedly with him.

“Aemond,” she says when she reaches them.

"Alyssa"

Hearing him say her name causes a current of heat to pass through her body. And his gaze... the blue of his eye stares at her and she finds reflected in it a mixture of fear and adoration that she doesn't know how to interpret.

"Alyssa, I..."

The prince tries to get closer and she instinctively backs away. Her rejection deepens the fear in his gaze, but Alyssa is reminded of her resolve from earlier and stands firm in her position, her voice sounding as emotionless as possible when she speaks.

“I am sure you are aware by now, but there will be a feast in the late afternoon. You are expected to give a speech.”

Aemond nods, unable to say more, his mind still trying to interpret Alyssa's behavior.

"Like a party? We can go?" Aegon asks

“Yes, you can attend for a moment,” Alyssa answers, looking at her little brother and offering him a lopsided smile, “Now, let's go inside, you have to get ready if you want to get to the party on time.”

“But my uncle…” Jaehaera protests.

“You can talk to your uncle later,” she replies, taking both of them by the hand.

And she walks off with the children at a determined pace, leaving a confused and frightened Aemond in the middle of the courtyard.

***

As the hours pass, Aemond's restlessness grows and his patience runs out.

The prince understands that Alyssa is upset. He hadn't expected her to greet him warmly, but their brief encounter had been unexpected to say the least. The girl had been so cold to him, so distant...

"Where is the princess?" he hisses at one of the maids who enter in with the clothes he will wear to the feast

It's not long before the festivities begin, and Alyssa hasn't peeked into their room to get change. Could it be that she prefers not to attend the feast in order to avoid his company?

"Princess Alyssa is in her private rooms, my prince" the young woman answers, lowering her gaze.

“These are her private rooms”

"The princess asked that her belongings be moved to new apartments, my prince," the girl almost trembles as she answered.

“When?”

“Several weeks ago”

"Alyssa has a new room?" he asks more to himself, his fear from earlier coming back to seize his insides, “Why…?” he cuts off his words. The maid will not know how to give him the answers he needs, "Where is she now?"

Aemond follows the maid's directions and soon finds Alyssa's bedroom.

The prince enters unannounced and finds her in front of the mirror accompanied by a servant he does not know.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

Alyssa sighs, turns and walks over to her maid, “Leave us, Enid, please. I'll finish myself"

The young woman nods and quickly leaves, closing the door behind her.

"What do you need, Aemond?"

"What do I need?" he asks sarcastically, "For starters, I need to know why in the name of the seven hells, did you leave our room?"

“You said you wanted distance between us,” she replies calmly as she brushes her wavy hair

"This was not what I was referring to"

“No? And how was I supposed to know what you meant?" Alyssa asks in return, pushing her brush aside and glaring at him with a rage that she clearly struggles to contain, "You left Kings Landing without looking back, I am sorry for not understanding exactly what you expected of me."

“I was an idiot, I know, I should never have left,” Aemond sighs, “I was angry and hurt and…”

“And you had every right to be,” she cuts him off, “I admit that I hurt you and I apologize for it. I explained to you the best I could the reasons I had for doing what I did. I didn't expect you to celebrate them, but I don't think I deserved for you to make feel like an evil creature, leaving me here hating myself either."

“That was never my intention, I swear,” he hastens to say, his heart pounding with fear at the resentment he hears in her voice.

"No? Maybe not, but you know me, Aemond, you knew exactly the effect your words would have on me and yet, you didn't care,” she replies, her voice finally breaking.

“Alyssa, I'm so sorry, you have no idea how difficult these weeks have been for me. I missed you from the first moment and…”

The princess can't help but laugh at his words, which ring hollow in her ears. "Did you miss me? Oh really? And yet you did not even deign to send a letter or a simple message"

Aemond falls silent and looks down. The truth is that he does not have a good justification for that.

“I supposed it wasn't worth the effort,” Alyssa takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, “In the end, why encourage a relationship with someone who let you down and didn't live up to your expectations?”

"I never said that!" Aemond's voice reflects the dread he feels after hearing her say what he had thought a while ago

“Not with those words, no,” Alyssa sighs, “It doesn't matter, Aemond, this distance is necessary. We could not continue to share a room with so many visitors at Court. It wouldn't be appropriate."

"I don't give a shit about what's appropriate"

She shrugs, “It is best if we keep up appearances for the duration of the council, but do not worry, I've had plenty of time here to think, and I don't intent to force you to share your life with someone you find unsuitable for yourself. If you wish to break our betrothal, I will not object."

There is a tense silence between the two of them in which their eyes meet and Aemond's heart stops as he observes determination on her face. A lump form in his throat, and the inside of his head fills with an annoying buzzing that doesn't let him think or act. Break the betrothal? Alyssa had to be kidding right?

But when he is about to ask, when he intends to approach her and demand that she gives up such an absurd idea, the door to the room opens and a surprised Rhaena Targaryen interrupts them. Aemond turns to see her and glares at her as she frowns. What the hell is she doing here?

“Cousin,” Rhaena greets, approaching the princess, “Alyssa, the children are ready, shall we go?”

“Yes, Rhaena, let's go,” Alyssa linked her cousin's arm with hers and looked back at Aemond, “Don't be late. Remember that they will be waiting for your speech”

***

"I'm sorry if I interrupted your conversation, Alyssa, I didn't mean to."

"No, Rhaena, you came at just the right time," the princess says as she tries to control the tremor in her hands, "I told Aemond what I had to say and there was nothing more to add."

She knows it's a lie, that there's still a lot to discuss between them, that maybe there always will be... but it had taken her a superhuman effort to control herself in his presence when what her body asked of her was to run into his arms and never let him go.

"Are you certain?"

Alyssa nods and a smile spreads across her lips as she watches Aegon and Jaehaera in their specially tailored outfits.

"Oh gods! Look at you two!" she says with a giggle, "You already look like our future rulers"

The traditional colors of the Targaryen house bring out the Valyrian traits of both children. Jaehaera wears her hair in intricately designed braids similar to her own, and Aegon has his hair, now reaching to his shoulder length, in a style much like Aemond's.

"No dragons this time?"

"Rhaena says that wouldn't be a good idea," Aegon shrugged.

“Too many people would scare them away,” Jaehaera agrees.

Alyssa gives her cousin a grateful smile and motions for the children to walk ahead of her.

As the guard at the gate announces the children's names, everyone falls silent and stands, staring at Aegon and Jaehaera, who walk around with a mixture of wonder and amusement until they reach their seats of honor at the main table.

Alyssa and Rhaena take their respective seats as well, the music playing back as the conversations resume.

“I thought you would come with the prince,” Lord Corlys comments from beside her.

“I preferred to come with the children”

His grandfather examines his face, "Did you argue again?" The princess nods, "Did he break the betrothal?"

"No, he did not. Actually, I think he meant to apologize."

"That's good. I guess that must be a relief to you, is it not?"

“No, it is not,” Alyssa restrains herself from rolling her eyes and drinks from her wineglass, “His apologies won't be enough this time.”

Lord Corlys looks at her intrigued, but he can't press her any further as silence falls again as Aemond enters the hall.

Alyssa stands up with the others present, preferring to focus her gaze on her hands as Aemond walks over to the vacant seat next to her. His familiar scent reaches her and the princess closes her eyes as she sits, wishing she could get away from his nearness, though she knows it's unthinkable under the circumstances.

“I am not the most eloquent of men, so I will be brief,” Aemond begins as he raises his glass of wine, “For peace to settle once more in the kingdom. And for the future reign of my nephew, Aegon III."

"Aegon III," the voices resound in the room while toasting the health of her little brother

Alyssa feels Aemond's gaze on her, but she doesn't look at him, though she is acutely aware of the heat from his body being so close to hers, their arms practically brushing against each other.

The arrival of the servants with the food saves her from the prince's scrutiny and she focuses on conversing with her grandfather and Rhaena as she struggles to eat the delicious dishes prepared by the castle's cooks.

Beside her, Aemond chats with lord Blackwood and lord Tully, although from what Alyssa can hear, it is the latter who are conversing while the prince intervenes from time to time.

As the music starts to get louder, her grandfather and Rhaena join the various other couples in the room, and Alyssa leans back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the children, who look a little bored after eating.

The princess is about to stand up and go to them when she feels Aemond's hand brush hers, his long, slender fingers touching her skin delicately, moving up her palm to her knuckles.

“I thought we'd keep up appearances,” the prince whispers next to her, close to her ear.

“Aemond,” she replies, shuddering at the feel of his closeness, her eyes closing instinctively.

"Alyssa," he gently cups her chin and tilts her face to his, "Please look at me."

The girl bites her lip hard and sighs, finally opening her eyes and meeting the blue of his gaze.

"Let's talk, please."

“This is hardly the place to do talk,” she retorts, pulling away from his touch.

Aemond's response is silenced when Cregan Stark stops in front of her and extends his hand, "May I, princess?"

Alyssa, grateful to be able to put some distance between herself and Aemond, stands up, "Of course, Lord Stark."

The girl is no stranger to the murderous glare Aemond gives the northerner as he escorts her to the dance floor.

"Are you okay, princess?"

“I am, thank you,” she tries to smile at him, “It is just that the night is quite warm despite the winter, don't you think?"

"Yes, that's right," the man nods.

Alyssa quickly examines Lord Stark. Despite being a large man, his movements are quite graceful and he dances delicately next to her. The contrast would seem interesting to her if her mind were not still fixed on the moment shared with Aemond instants ago.

“Is this your first time in the capital, my lord?” she asks trying to get the prince out of her thoughts

"It is, I’ve never been this far south."

"And do you find the city to his liking?"

“I suppose it has it’s charms,” he replies with a smirk, “Do you enjoy being here, princess?”

Alyssa finds the question strange.

 “I was born here, Lord Stark. King's Landing was my childhood home."

"And is it still your home?"

She doesn't miss the look Cregan Stark directs at Aemond as he asks the question.

“The castle will always be the home of the Targaryen,” she finally answers.

Stark seems to examine her face and she meets his gray eyes, though she doesn't know how to read his gaze.

“I had wanted to speak to you, Lord Stark,” Alyssa continues after a few seconds of silence, “You mentioned that you had met my brother Jace.”

"A prince like few others"

Alyssa gives him a sincere smile despite a lump forming in her throat at what she is about to ask.

“I suppose you can imagine I couldn't keep in touch with him when the war started,” she explains, her heart racing, “Did he ever… mention me?”

"He always referred to you with great respect and affection, princess"

Alyssa locks her gaze with Cregan Stark's, trying to find any hint of a lie, but the man seems sincere, "Really?"

“He was still in Winterfell when he received the news of you kidnapping. Prince Jacaerys defended your honor, and never blamed you for what happened. Even later, when he returned with your mother, we continued to correspond and he never made any judgment or complaint against you. He remained steadfast in his certainty that you would meet again at some point and clear up the whole story."

Alyssa feels tears come to her eyes, "Are you being honest with me, Lord Stark?"

"I would have no reason to lie to you, princess"

She nods and the weight that seems to leave her body, one that she didn't know she had been carrying until the argument with Baela had made her realize that she had never been able to say goodbye to Jace. Not knowing what he thought of her, whether or not he considered her a traitor.

"I am also sure that you brother did not write those words lightly, but that he believed in them"

This time a tear rolls down her cheek, "Thank you, lord Stark."

"Thank you? Quite the opposite, I have upset you"

“Your words have touched me deeply,” she assures him, “Now, please excuse me, I… need a moment.”

Alyssa moves away from the man and makes her way through the dozens of guests until she leaves the room and advances through the corridors, arriving at one of the balconies with views towards the inner courtyard of the Fortress, where she takes a deep breath of icy air that manages to calm her down even though the tears continue to flow.

But this are tears of relief.

She had been able to have a final moment with her other brothers and her mother, to say goodbye -in a certain way- to them, but not to Jace. And now she has managed to put a kind of closure to the pending chapter with her older brother. And that's a remedy for a wound she didn't know she still carried.

"Should I hit Stark for making you cry?"

The princess hasn't heard him approach, but somehow, she isn't surprised by Aemond's sudden presence.

Or of the half belligerent half mocking tone of his question.

“On the contrary, I'm grateful to him,” she replies wiping away her tears and adds, “We were talking about Jace.”

“Ah,” Aemond replies, moving to her side and leaning on the balcony, “I understand now your sudden emotion.”

Alyssa nods and plays with the rings on her fingers, "He was kind enough to share his memories of Jace with me."

“I imagine,” he smirks, “the honorable and handsome Lord Stark. The ladies of the court seem very enthusiastic about him."

Alyssa meets his gaze and notices the suspicion in his eye, “Don't be ridiculous,” she replies after making sense of his words.

"Ridiculous? Ridiculous is what you suggested this afternoon about breaking off our betrothal, how did you even think that I would want to do such a thing?”

She glares at him, “Perhaps from the fact that I’ve received nothing but silence from you for the past few weeks? Don't you dare ridicule me for thinking you wouldn't want me in your life anymore, Aemond. I asked you if I had lost you, I asked you to come back to me and you couldn't even say goodbye, you just turned your back on me and left”.

“I was upset and didn't want to talk to you anymore or I'd end up saying things I'd regret,” when he sees the sarcastic look she gives him, he sighs, “It was easier to leave, that's true, because I didn't know how to deal with everything that I was feeling. I'm sorry Alyssa, I really am. I was wrong, but I'm here. I came back to you And I don't want to leave your side never again."

"But maybe now I am the one who doesn't want you with me," she blurts out in almost a whisper.

Aemond's heart stops and a buzz fills his head as their gazes meet again. Her green eyes reflect sadness, but they also seem determined, which only fuels the panic that begins to build inside him.

“You can't be serious,” he replies in a shaky voice.

No. It couldn't be true.

She shrugs, “What I can't…what I don't want is to be around you feeling like I'll never fit in with your idea of me, feeling like I'm not enough for you or that I have to follow a pattern of behavior that you want so as not to disappoint you”

“I should never have even hinted at that,” he hastens to say, taking her hands, “I was a jerk, it was a petty idea I'll admit I thought, but it means nothing, because you're more than enough, if anything…”

"I know, I know what I deserve." Now I know, she thinks to herself as she laces her fingers with the prince's and offers him a sad smile, “And that makes it all the more difficult. I am too hurt, Aemond. I feel hurt by you and I'm angry, and I try to let go of all those suffocating feelings because I love you…” her voice cracks, but she swallows and encourages herself to continue, “When I saw you I just wanted to run to you and forget everything, put aside the last few weeks, accept your apology and move on, but…”

"But?"

“I don't know if I can,” she admits, a lone tear rolling down her cheek, “I deserve a relationship that doesn't make me feel this insecure. Sometimes…sometimes I don't like who I am when I'm not okay with you."

It takes Aemond a minute to recover from the pain her words cause.

"And where does that leave us?" he asks almost afraid of what she might tell him

“I honestly don't know,” Alyssa looks down, “I don't know if we work well together. Maybe… maybe we were just clinging to each other in order to survive”

"That is not true. You know it's not true,” he replies, his voice louder than he wishes, fear making him exasperated at her words, “What about our future? We fight together to be able to have a life next to each other, to be happy with our family. The four of us, remember?”

She nods, “I've been thinking about that,” she says, “I know you have all the power here, that you are the Prince Regent, but I couldn't stand being separated from the children. If it turns out that we don't work as a couple anymore…let… let Aegon and Jaehaera go with me to Dragonstone. For a while, at least, until Aegon is old enough to come here to do his duty."

Aemond doesn't even know what to say, the idea of getting away from Alyssa and her nephews is so absurd in his head that he has no way to respond.

"Have that last consideration with me, please" she asks, misinterpreting his silence.

"Would you really go?" Away from me?

Alyssa just stares at him without answering, because she really doesn't really know if she has the strength to carry out that resolution.

“If that's what you want, so shall it be,” he finally ends by saying, his voice sounding strangely calm though that is not how he feels in the inside, “But I wish you could forgive me and stay here with me. I would prefer that you choose to move on, that we both move on."

“I know,” she replies, removing her hand from his, “Good night, Aemond,” she says as she walks away down the hall.

#prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond kinslayer #aemond x original female character #aemond targaryen #ao3fic #sinful desires #sinfuldesires #angst

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Chapter 16: Aka (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Aka. n. mission.

Chapter summary: The mission, to no one's surprise, goes awry. You really should have slept beforehand.

Chapter warnings: being shot at; being chased; some angst, with the promise of fluff; feelings; if I missed any please let me know!

Word Count: 3,456

Read it here on AO3!

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Evidently, your time in a Coruscanti prison cell spawned rose-tinted glasses over your expectations for this mission. Even though it’s not one sanctioned by Cid, perpetual bad luck seems to follow wherever you go. First, the Redthorn acted up during its pre-flight check, giving you what you assumed was a faulty calibration readout, easily fixed by whacking the control panel with your fist. Then, once the ship dropped out of hyperspace just beyond the gravity well of this planet you never caught the name of, the proximity alarms blared—scaring you half to death until you realized the ship was just picking up on the Marauder as it reverted to realspace a few klicks away.

Now, having landed in a shade-dappled clearing, you stand on soft, spongy ground, breathing in the warm, sweet spring air. Under other circumstances, you might actually appreciate the white ash trees that reach for the blinding blue sky, chartreuse leaves rustling in the pleasant breeze, the twittering birdsong somewhere nearby. But these are, as always, not the best of circumstances, the heavy drape of exhaustion notwithstanding.

Fists on your hips, you hang your head in frustration. Hunter emerges from underneath the Redthorn, wiping his palms on his pants, and gives you a sympathetic look. 

“Landing gear is stuck, alright,” he says. 

You groan. “Kark it all to kriffing hell!” 

“Maybe the Marauder can pull it free when the mission is over?” Omega pipes up, her brown eyes wide with concern. 

Dropping your hands to your sides, you nod, more for her benefit than yours. “Yeah, maybe, kiddo. It’s a good idea. We gotta complete the mission first, though.” 

You catch the glance that Omega and Hunter share, but all you can do is sigh, brushing past Hunter to lock up the ship. The clearing you’ve landed in is a fair distance from the base the squad is supposed to infiltrate, so you’re not too worried about the ship being found by the Imps. No, you’re more worried that you won’t be able to locate it again. You wouldn’t put it past the Force, or whatever, if the tracking beacon on your wrist comm goes on the fritz. It will be just another item on the list of Reasons Why We Should Stop Being Contract Mercs. 

“The rendezvous point isn’t far from here,” Hunter reassures you. The warmth in his voice feels genuine, and you can’t help but nod in response. 

“I know.” You try for a smile, and find that it helps the tension in your shoulders loosen marginally. “Come on. We don’t want to keep the others waiting.”

The farther you move from your ship, the more you start to relax. You’re not sure what’s going on with the Redthorn today, but once it disappears from your line of sight, you feel like you can breathe easier. You’ll figure out what’s wrong with her later. Right now, there are other things to focus on. Like how beautiful this planet really is. Inhaling deeply through your nose, a smile curls over your face. A small critter leaps between tree branches overhead. Several leaves dislodge and float, unhurried, to the ground around you. 

You catch a glimpse of the wide-eyed, joyful smile on Omega’s face. Sometimes, you’re reminded that despite her maturity, she’s still a child, one with a stolen childhood, forced to grow up too fast. Even so, the childlike wonder she brings to every new environment is...you’re not sure the right word exists. It’s familiar, comforting, reflective, lovely. It feels like family.

Something in your heart—in your soul—shifts a few inches to the left, something deep and profound and debilitating. You trip over your own feet. 

Hunter’s hand catches your arm and steadies you. “You alright, Nav?” 

Blinking in embarrassment, you nod. “Y-Yeah. Sorry. Two left feet.” 

His eyes search yours; you know he doesn’t believe you, but right now is not the time to fall to pieces over how much you care for the little girl peering up at you with concern. How much you care for the man supporting you here, his gray eyes alight with worry and curiosity, his hand scorching its imprint into your bicep, his soul touching yours. 

You’re exhausted and delirious; that has to be the explanation for the way your heart hammers against your ribs. 

Shaking yourself out your thoughts, you straighten. Hunter releases you. When Omega places herself between you and Hunter, grabs each of your hands, and pulls you along, you swallow past the lump in your throat. 

Family is the right word for this. 

Tech chatters your ear off as soon as the three of you are in earshot, shattering the peace of the quiet walk. “There you are! Perfect. I gathered high-altitude aerials of the base and confirmed that there is a nominal Imperial presence, no more than a skeleton crew. Nav, with your distraction, we should be able to infiltrate the base, gather the intel, and be gone without anyone knowing we were even there. I calculate a 95 percent chance of success.” 

“What about the other five percent?” you ask. Pulling free of Omega’s hand, you set about double- and triple-checking your gear. 

“Ah, yes.” Tech adjusts his goggles. “That is reserved for the fact that Phee could be completely wrong about the intel being stored here, you being captured, the size of the garrison, or any other unknown variables.” 

“Suppose I should be grateful it’s not higher,” you grumble. 

Tech holds out a shiny metal ball. “Here. A smoke bomb. I am aware that you do not possess any in your provisions, which is an oversight I am sure you intend to rectify soon.” 

Taking the smoke bomb, you have to laugh. “Thank you, Tech. I will make sure to get some as soon as I can.” 

“Excellent. Ah, Hunter, I would like to review the schematics for the...” 

You tune out Tech’s voice as he strides past you. With another chuckle and shake of your head, you slip the small bomb into your pack. Hopefully, you won’t need it, but knowing your luck, you may even come to wish he’d given you a detonator instead. 

Phee approaches you, a carefree, easy grin on her lips as you sling your pack over your shoulder once more. She says, “I’m glad we get the chance to work together again. I was sorry to hear about what happened to Arien.” 

You expect the world to tilt on its axis at the mention of Arien, for your stomach to turn inside out, for tears to immediately well in your eyes. Instead, there’s only a faint, aching tug at your heart and a wistful smile that plays over your face. “Thank you. I.... Well, I can’t say I enjoyed the last time we worked together, but Tech likes you, so that’s enough for me.” 

“Brown Eyes?” She laughs, throwing her head back, the sound of her mirth echoing off the trees. A few birds flap away, startled. “He’s sweet. You won’t regret this one, (y/n).” 

You can’t resist the broad smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth, so you don’t. Phee claps you on the shoulder before moving off, leaving you alone in the center of this small clearing. Nearby, the quiet babble of a stream reaches your ears for the first time. The prospect of fresh, clean water sets your mouth salivating, so you unhook your canteen from the side of your pack as you move away from the group. The trees serve to dampen the sounds around you; you can still hear Wrecker’s booming voice, so you’re not too worried. 

Shoulders dropping, you rub your empty hand over your face, scrubbing at your eyes. Kark, the past 48 hours have been a maelstrom of activity and emotions. Rescued from prison, told your best friend left on an important mission, reconnected with the man you’re falling for, immediately shunted back into the mercenary lifestyle—not to mention Hunter’s confusing oscillation between pulling you closer and pushing you away in the next breath. As you crouch by the edge of the clear, cheerfully gurgling water, you resolve to confront Hunter about that after this mission. If you’re staying with this squad, you need his transparency as much as you think he needs yours. If you’re staying, you need things to move at your pace now.

The small stream is only two or three feet wide, and looks less than a foot deep. At the bottom, a bed of smooth, polished river rocks spreads in colorful patterns, the tumbled stones fitted together as tightly as the best woven shimmersilk the fancy ladies on Coruscant wear. On impulse, you roll up one sleeve after your canteen is full. Gasping at the coolness of the water, you plunge your hand to the elbow and grasp at the first rock your fingers bump into. 

It’s about the size of your palm, flat and smooth and gunmetal gray—nearly the same shade as Hunter’s armor, you realize, turning it over in your hand, the water on it glistening in the speckled sunlight. Shaking off your hand, water droplets spray through the air. 

“Wondered where you’d gone off to.” 

You whirl, heart in your throat, hand reaching for your blaster, before the sight of Hunter registers in your distracted mind. 

Relaxing, you laugh. “Startled me.” 

“Sorry.” He glances at the stone in your hand. “What’s that?” 

“Hm? Oh.” You shrug, the heat of embarrassment smoking up your spine, though you don’t know why. “Just...a rock.” 

He nods like he didn’t already know that, and you sigh internally, kicking yourself. 

“Are you—” He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture you can’t stop noticing when he does it. “Are you ready to head out?” 

“That’s not what you were going to say, was it?” 

He huffs. “No. I was going to ask if you’re alright, then realized that’s a stupid question.” 

You hum noncommittally. “It’s certainly a question. Can I ask you one?” 

The openness in his eyes when they flick to yours nearly knocks you off balance. 

“Of course,” he says. 

“How are we, really?” 

Brows furrowing, the lines on his forehead deepening, he cocks his head. “What d’you mean?” 

“You and me, Hunter. How are we? Because I— I keep thinking about what you said last night. About no more mistakes. And how you pushed me away after that, but today, you’ve— I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I just want to know if we’re okay. If I still have a chance.” 

“A chance for what?” His voice is quiet. He looks like he wants to step closer, to reach out, to feel you, but he holds back. 

You don’t want him to hold back. “A chance with you.”

Emotions flicker over his face. You catch notes of surprise, apprehension, affection, but they’re gone quicker than you can catalog them. For the space of a heartbeat, you both stand, eyes locked, breaths held. 

“I—”

Wrecker’s shout cuts off whatever Hunter is about to say. “Hey, Hunter! Nav? Where’d you go?” 

Hunter’s eyes screw shut, nostrils flaring. A matching burst of irritation and disappointment pulses in your fingertips. Dropping the rock, you trudge past Hunter, gripping the straps of your pack tight enough that your fingernails bite into your palms. He doesn’t stop you. Rather, he follows a moment or two after you; the weight of his silence drags your shoulders down. 

Kriff, you just want to sleep.

Phee and the boys set out towards the east, trailing in a wider arc to avoid detection. Omega remains with the Marauder, much to her dismay; you’d tried to raise her spirits by reassuring her of the importance of the getaway driver, but the empty smile she’d given you let you know your efforts fell flat. For your part, you walk in nearly a straight line northward, heading to the base directly. Bag secure on your back, one blaster holstered and the other drawn, you try to let the steady rhythm of your boots on the squishy earth lull your brain away from the interrupted conversation earlier. 

Left foot, right foot, one in front of the other. At some point, you jerk upright, heart pounding. Kark, you haven’t been tired like this since basic training; you never fell asleep on your feet like some of your fellow cadets, but you’d come close. Why hadn’t you slept last night? 

“No use crying over spilled milk now,” you mutter to yourself. With a sharp shake of your head, you hold your eyes wide open. 

You’re not sure how long you walk, but it can’t be for very long. You know Tech parked the Marauder just a few klicks away, nothing drastic, but as it is, you nearly walk out of the treeline into direct sight of the base. Mouth running dry, you stumble to halt, catching yourself on the peeling bark of a slim ash tree. You sink into a crouch using the tree as support. 

Ahead of you, the small, thinly garrisoned base sprawls over a field of permacrete. Cracked slabs of the synthetic rock are broken up by stubborn weeds forcing their way through to the sunlight above. There’s no fence. In the center of the base, a tall, rusted satellite dish that probably used to be white idles dormant, pointed directly at the horizon. Maybe Phee’s intel was actually good. This is a tiny, defunct little base, barely worth the Empire’s continued maintenance in your estimation. 

Except, you know that what lies inside is probably more valuable than this entire planet. And if that dish is no longer functional, it means the Empire can’t transmit or receive whatever intel is being stored here. 

Nor can they reliably call for backup.

Squinting against the bright sunlight, you pick out the finer details your initial surprise glossed over. Two AT-ST walkers, parked and lifeless, near the base of the satellite; one set of doors just a few dozen feet to the left of the walkers that leads inside the base; and, in lazy, careless patrols, at least two sets of guards shuffling along the perimeter. 

Sweat slicks your palms, forcing you to adjust your grip on your blaster. After a moment’s deliberation, you slide the blaster into its holster and secure it. You linger under the trees for a few minutes longer, trying to time yourself with when the squad should be reaching the base and the rhythms of the patrols.

Your legs protest when you stand to your full height, but you ignore them, striding forward into the open. The warmth of the sun kisses your shoulders, a sensation that would be more welcome if the pit of anxiety in your stomach didn’t drop out below you at the same time. This will go as planned, you try to tell yourself. 

The two patrols are about 100, maybe 150 feet away from you. At first, none of them react, but then the pair to your right seems to spot you. One of them points. The other pair halts in their path and turns to face you. All four troopers, in identical white plastoid armor, raise their blasters to half-height and advance. 

“Hands up where we can see them,” one of them calls to you when they reach earshot. Then, into his comlink, he says, “Possible situation in sector three. Requesting backup.” 

Hands slowly raising into the air, you aim for a disarming smile. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m lost. Got separated from my party. Can you point me in the direction of the nearest town?” 

Four helmets tilt toward one another in a silent exchange. The same one who spoke before says, “Let’s see some identification.” 

“It’s in my bag.” 

“No sudden movements.” With a hand signal, each of them move to form a loose semicircle around you. Their defensive stances don’t relax, but they also don’t jump into combat ready positions, either. 

As you shimmy your pack off your shoulders, you catch sight of the doors of the base opening and another four troopers step into the open. Kriff. You narrate each action before you take it, crouching down, opening your pack, reaching in.

You slip your hand in, fingers searching blindly for your ‘identification.’ 

One of the clones steps closer, his blaster raising a fraction. “Hang on.” 

You freeze, fingers half-gripped around the smoke bomb. “Problem?” 

“Hotshot,” he says, “isn’t there a bounty out for a deserter that matches their ’scription?” 

Well, that took less time than you anticipated. Quickly glancing up, you’re relieved to find that the approaching troopers are still halfway across the field. Only the trooper closest to you has his blaster held in any kind of threatening position. 

“Good eye, Screwball,” the one you assume is Hotshot says. “You, stand up, no funny business.”

Rising to your feet, you gulp. “There must be a mistake, I’m only—” You press the smoke bomb’s activation button, yank it out of your pack, and then you’re sprinting, the spherical metal ball bouncing on the permacrete. 

Several shouts ring out behind you as blue blaster bolts fly wild through the smoke screen, none of them remotely close to you. Boots slapping the pavement, you leap over a downed tree, knees jolting with the impact as you land. You don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life. 

It takes only a few moments for the troopers to begin gaining on you nonetheless. Risking a look back over your shoulder, you curse as blue fills your vision. You duck on instinct. The blast splinters the tree trunk above your head. 

You veer hard to the right, feet slipping on the soft ground. You’re already hopelessly lost, but that means these men chasing you might get lost, too, or they’ll give up pursuit before they reach that point. You just have to keep running. One foot in front of the other.

The stitch that forms in your ribcage makes you wheeze, pain lancing into your side with every breath. You run for what feels like a lifetime. All of the trees look the same to you, white and gray trunks blurring together as you bob and duck and weave between them. Behind you, the sounds of pursuit, of heavy plastoid armor crashing through underbrush, never falter or fade. You don’t know how much longer you can hold out.

Ahead, there’s another break in the trees. Pushing your already-exhausted energy to the limit, you pump your arms harder, heading for it. Your sleep-deprived, adrenaline-fueled brain tells you it’s a hill, or a river, something to help you get away. You burst from the treeline and—

A scream tears from your throat as you windmill, feet skidding through mud as your stomach heaves at the chasm that yawns before you. 

Several hundred feet below, a thin blue ribbon of water threads through the shaded canyon. Behind you, the troopers close in, their shouts becoming clearer. Ahead, the other edge of the chasm lies out of reach, at least fifty feet away.

Panting, you make a split second decision. Unslinging the rope that hangs from your pack, you hastily tie it around a nearby boulder, throw it over the lip of the chasm, and then you take off along the cliff’s edge. Vision blurry. Lungs aching. Body so very, very drained.

Your shoulder clips a tree as you re-enter the forest, but the pain doesn’t register. You keep running, stumbling over roots; you think you cut your face on a low-hanging branch. All you can do is keep moving. If you stop, you’re dead. If you stop, the others are dead.

“Nav?” Hunter’s voice crackles to life from your wrist. “Nav, we got what we came for. Rendezvous at the ship.” 

You press the button to answer, but words won’t come out of your parched throat, only harsh panting.

“Where are you?” Hunter asks. In the background, you can hear the others shouting at each other, the sounds of boots on permacrete, a blaster shot or two. 

“Lost,” you choke out. 

“Kriff. Tech, can you lock in on their position?” 

“Affirmative,” comes Tech’s muffled answer. “Tell them to stay put.” 

“Nav, you hear that?” Hunter says. “You can stop running now. It’s okay.” 

Everything in you wants to stop, but there’s a part of you, the part conditioned by years of looking over your shoulder in an orphanage, in the corporate world, in the military, that whispers that stopping isn’t safe. 

“N-No,” you gasp. “Find me.” 

There’s a long moment of silence, punctuated only by your gasping breaths and pounding heartbeat in your ears. Then, quiet and firm, Hunter: “I always will. I’ll be there soon.”

Taglist: @the-hexfiles @fjordg @idoubleswearimawriter @skellymom

#tbb hunter x reader #hunter x reader #hunter x gn!reader #second chances #rhiwrites #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

no tags today; I'm late to the party!

from the next chapter of stars through our fingers like grains of sand

It was a sunny afternoon in Akila City, and for once Sam didn’t even mind coming back to the old hometown. Despite the events of the previous day, he was in a great mood. He glanced over at the ship tech’s office; Cait was deep in conversation with the ship tech. She was wearing her deputy uniform today—tan wasn’t a big improvement on the monochromes, and he still wanted to see her in something more vibrant—but she was here on official business, and if nothing else, it meant she’d have no trouble with security. He leaned against the entrance to the city and set himself to wait. The delay didn’t bother him; wasn’t like he was short of things to chew on.

Last night, for example. It’d been a revelation in more ways than one. The more disturbing parts—well, he and Cait were united in an unspoken agreement to let those lie for a time. They’d follow up on them in the future; whether Cait was able to realize it right now or not, she needed answers. And to get those, they needed to see if it was possible to fix some of that damaged wiring in her head.

He knew exactly what she’d been put through. There were a few places in Neon that specialized in short-term “treatment” for Aurora addicts; they kept their prices lower than a dose of Junk Flush and made their money on volume and desperation. The more reputable places made it clear that it was a psychological patch only, and tried to encourage follow-up with Reliant or another medical practice to deal with the physical effects—the Rangers had put him through one of those when Lillian had recruited him. That, too, was a topic he resolved to set aside for later.

Not too much later, though. Cait wasn’t the only one whose past cast a long shadow. He could have said ‘no’ to tagging along when she did Ranger work, but he’d promised to watch her back, and a Coe kept his promises—it was one of the few things he and Jacob had ever agreed on. Wasn’t her fault it was dredging up old business and old memories. He just needed to get ahead of his past before he ended up under it.

Because last night had told him something else: that whatever feelings he might be developing for Cait, seemed she was starting to incline the same way. He let out a soft chuckle. Handsome. He wouldn’t mind hearing her admit that again, no sir. Maybe next time she’d be a little less flustered—though she’d been a damned adorable sight, tongue-tied and stammering, until she realized he was teasing her and gave as good as she’d gotten.

Sam tilted his hat against Cheyenne’s brightness—the old girl was at the peak of her brightness today—just in time for a shadow to fall across his face. “You look any more pensive and steam’s going to come out of your ears,” Cait said with a smile. “Dare I ask?”

“Little of this, little of that,” he said easily. “Everything okay?”

“Not entirely,” she replied, “but it can wait until we see Ranger Hadid.” He joined her as she headed for the opposite gate. They’d been back to Akila City a few times without incident, but a faint tightness in her shoulders suggested that she was still a little wary.

Time for a distraction. “I wonder why Solomon named this place Akila,” Sam mused as the guard waved them through. “You’d think I’d know the answer to that, but I don’t.” It was one of those questions that nagged at him now and again, and he’d never found a good answer for it.

“He never said outright in anything I’ve read,” Cait said, sounding a little hesitant, “but there’s clues there.”

Sam paused, then reached out to guide her out of the way of the people following them, ending up in the shadow of the Hitching Post. “Okay, you’re gonna need to unpack that one.” A blush crept up her face, and he was hard put not to laugh. Cait was one of those people that blushed from the neck up (maybe even lower, but a gentleman didn’t look—unless invited), and it was utterly endearing. He was hard put to understand why she was blushing this time—and then it hit him. Cait hadn’t ever needed to ask about Solomon’s background. The few times it had come up, she’d seemed pretty damned well versed in it, in fact. “You’ve read his bio,” he stated.

“Um.” She was looking everywhere except him—and the damned statue. “The 2240 bio is slander, the 2272 is hagiography; Solomon Coe: A Man and his Times is really good, but that’s because it was published in 2301 after his autobio The Stars My Destination came out in the early ‘90s and the author obviously used it as a primary source.”

Sam stared at her in disbelief. “You’ve read all of those?” He hadn’t read all of those—but then, he hadn’t had to, not with Solomon’s notes and recordings so easily to hand. And even then, he hadn’t paid attention to the boring parts of government; he’d been laser-focused on the exploration. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You made your opinion pretty damned clear when we first started out,” she whispered. “And after. And I like you for you, not because I think you’re Solomon-lite.” She ran a hand through her hair, disordering the curls. “Sure, he was a hero of mine when I was young, up there with Glenn and Gagarin and Armstrong and Chen, and I admire the man for most of what he accomplished… but he was far from perfect.”

He laughed, a little uncomfortably. “What, and I am?” He shook his head ruefully. “No, don’t answer that. I’m not sure I want to know.”

She looked at him, finally, her eyes shadowed. “Not perfect, no, but in a lot of ways, you’re a better person than he was. A better father, for sure.”

Sam didn’t think anything she could have said could have warmed his heart more than that. “I sure hope so. If I get anything in my life right, that’s what I’d like it to be.” He reached out and gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “I appreciate you being so considerate, though.” She was smiling when he let her go—and that gave him a warm tingle all the way down to his toes. “But you were saying?”

“Um.” She seemed a little shaken for a moment; she must’ve been worried about his reaction. Took her a moment to settle herself. “Akila. Right. Sam,” she cocked her head inquiringly, “what’s the Freestar emblem?”

“An eagle,” he said promptly, wondering where she was going with that. “No surprise there, that was Solomon’s favorite bird. Said it reminded him of freedom.”

“The spelling’s different, but ‘Aquila’ is the Latin for eagle,” Cait said.

Sam felt a smile cross his face. “I never thought of that,” he said, making sure she heard the admiration in his voice. “You’re smart enough to give Sarah a run for her money, you know that? Remind me to buy you dinner when we get done with this.”

Her smile faltered. “That’s—I appreciate the offer, but—” Her face started to pale and her eyes fell away from his, but she set her jaw and muttered, “Chocolate’s not the only food I have problems with. Restaurants can be iffy.”

“Well, damn,” he said, keeping his voice light—though he wanted to lay some serious harm on the ones who had done such a number on her. “Looks like I’ll just have to get creative.”

She gave him a penetrating look. For a moment he thought she’d seen right through him. Finally, the smile returned, an impish little dimple at the corner of her mouth. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Sam was more than happy to play at words with Cait. “Darlin’,” he said with a grin, “Threat or promise, a Coe always follows through on his word.”

#starfield #sam coe #eridani writes #caitlyn lynch #sam coe x spacefarer #fanfic #stars through my fingers like grains of sand

[hangmanssunnies]

Let's Drink Coffee At Midnight

Summary: The truth was, in many ways, Carole understood Pete like no one else ever would, and the same could be said for vice versa. Pete understood Carole in a way no one else ever would. It's no mystery where it started; their shared love, their shared tragedy. Goose dying was the epicenter for them.

Pairings: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Carole Bradshaw

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick 

Word count: 12k (phew don't look at me)

AO3 link ( broken into chapter view)

Warnings: Maverick centric, Dad!Mav, Young Bradley Bradshaw & Teenage Bradley Bradshaw, Maverick has PTSD, part 5 is Dad!Mav and Brad centric, Drinking, Grief, Mourning, Mentioned Nick "Goose" Bradshaw, Implied/Referenced Character Death, minor modern history references, Canon Compliant technically at least close ish, Carole Bradshaw is strong and tired, Rarepair

Authors Note: I don't know what to say about this. This work has been haunting me for weeks. These two haunt me, I really never shipped them until suddenly I was writing this, now here we are, I guess. IceMav. Please forgive me. I hope you enjoy this! My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Likes and Reblogs with your thoughts and tags are always appreciated as well! I love reading through them.

–9 months– 

The truth was, in many ways, Carole understood Pete like no one else ever would, and the same could be said for vice versa. Pete understood Carole in a way no one else ever would. It's no mystery where it started; their shared love, their shared tragedy. Goose dying was the epicenter for them. 

It's almost 11:45 when Maverick hears his phone ringing. He ignores it at first, hoping the person will realize they are calling at an entirely unreasonable time. Then he hears Carole's voice on the answering machine, hardly stringing a complete sentence together for her message, asking him to call her back when he can. 

Pete launches himself out of bed, trying to shake sleep and drowsiness away. He picks up the phone and immediately calls Carole back. 

Her name is the first word that spills from his mouth when she answers. He can hear the way her breaths are catching, and the way sobs are shaking her body. 

"Carole," he repeats, "Are you okay?" 

"No, not really." She manages to tell him after a few shaky breaths. "I don't think I will ever be okay again."

"I know," Pete sighs, leaning against the kitchen and living room doorway with the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. 

"Are you physically okay?"

"Yes," she whispers. 

"Bradley too?" 

"Yes," she answers between sobs. Pete feels some tension built up in his chest release, but not all the way. 

"Take some deep breaths with me?" Pete doesn't wait for her to respond and instead starts to count them out. 

"In," he counts five seconds out for her. Then tells her, "Out, one, two..." Mav maintains the cycle and pace of breathing, counting into the phone. After a while, he can tell that Carole's sobs are less all-consuming. 

Cutting him off mid-number on an inhale, Carole says, "I miss him." 

"I miss him too," Pete whispers like it's a secret. He may have gotten his head on straight enough to fly again, but that doesn't mean that Maverick isn't still filled to the brim with grief. 

"I always knew the risk. He did too. I just never thought it would hurt this bad." She stops speaking to cry more after saying that. 

"Thank you for calling me back. I just didn't know who else I could call now." Pete suddenly remembers the time difference and that it is three in the morning for her. 

"You can always call me Carole. I'll pick up if I can."

"Thank you."

"What can I do to help you?" 

"No, there's nothing." He can hear her hesitate, it's in the way her breath catches, and she draws out the o slightly in her response.

"Come on, Carole, there's something I can tell."

"My mind is racing, and everything is piling up. Which doesn't make sense; there have always been times I did it all alone when y'all were on the carrier."

"Nothing is the same anymore. Even the same familiar actions feel heavier." Pete supplies. He empathizes. He knows precisely where she is coming from. 

She just cries, but Mav knows it's a confirmation. 

"You haven't been sleeping, have you?" He asks her. Carole had always struggled with insomnia, and Pete couldn't imagine the condition had improved in the last 8 months. 

"No."

"Okay, forget everything piling up, and let's try and let go of a little bit of weight. Right now. How can I at least help you get some rest tonight?"

"I just need a distraction."

Pete looks around his living room trying to find something to distract himself and her. Finally, he lands on the manual sitting on the coffee table he had been going through that evening. "How about I read to you? I've been studying anyway. Big test coming up."

She hums into the phone for a moment. It's a sound that briefly raises gooseflesh on his arms. "What for?"

"The F-16."

"Yeah, I've always wanted to know about those." 

Pete laughs at the comment and almost recoils when a broken sob falls through the other side of the phone. After a shaky inhale on her part, though, Carole descends into an almost chuckle. 

"Okay, I just need to make some coffee." He tells her as he turns in the doorway to the kitchen. It only takes a moment more of fumbling before he starts heating the kettle. 

"Coffee at this time of night?" Carole asks, almost chastising. Using a tone not dissimilar to what he has heard her use with Bradley. 

"Steadies the hands," Maverick tells her. "A splash of Bailey's never hurts anything either." 

It's a small but real chuckle that falls from her mouth now. "You better not be wheels up in less than 8 hours."

"No, Ma'am. Tomorrow is my day off." Maverick reassures her. 

"Oh, good," Carole sighs. 

He pours the water not yet boiling into a mug before adding a packet of instant coffee. He is in a bit of a rush, so he just impatiently swirls it waiting for it to bubble. When he determines it is mixed enough that he won't gag, he adds a splash of the beige liqueur. 

Making his way to his couch, he asks, "Are you ready to learn all about augmented pitch control?"

"Well, I was hoping to learn about the landing gear, but I think I can live with that."

"If you really want," Maverick seriously tells her, with a heavy sigh,  adding a touch of sarcasm. Then, taking a big gulp of his gritty coffee, Pete flips open his manual.

Carole's laugh was genuine and authentic at his lackluster joke. Pete isn't sure that the flash of warmth in him is just from the alcohol, but it is gone as soon as he considers it. 

"Thank you, Pete," she sighs into the line. 

"It's no problem."

Mav flips open the manual, starting to read. 

He hears a few more stifled sobs from Carole, but they are sparse. She occasionally peppers in tired questions asking about something he read. However, the longer he reads, the less frequent her questions. Eventually, all she makes are drowsy hums, and her breathing evens into the phone. Pete keeps reading to her for ten more minutes while finishing his coffee, even though he knows she is asleep. 

"Goodnight, Carole," he finally whispers into the phone before hanging up. 

 Pete absentmindedly rinses his mug in his tiny sink, staring out the window into the dark night. He promises to call Carole more to check in.

He muses how it's not fair for her to do this alone. Pete knows he should try to help her and make up for some of the weight —the loss —she is bearing. That he is failing Goose, letting Carole freefall through all of this alone. After all, wasn't Carole, in a way, his responsibility? As his Godfather, Bradley certainly was. 

 Turning off all the lamps and making his way back to bed. Pete also briefly thinks it's not fair he has to do this alone either. 

— 2.5 years— 

Pete' Maverick' Mitchell is a broken man. He knew that but tried his best to be a good man. So Maverick started visiting the Bradshaws as often as manageable.

He wasn't at top gun anymore. However, Maverick has been working hard at playing friendly and responsible long enough to finally secure a position in the Atlantic fleet. It was going to allow him to be significantly more present. 

Maverick was always trying to make up for what he had done in the smallest ways. But, he knew it would never make a big enough difference, never replace what was lost. Regardless, he had a responsibility to Carole and Bradley to help them. 

After all, Pete often thought ruefully, wasn't he the reason the man who was supposed to help them died?

The first-day Maverick would spend with the Bradshaws was always dedicated to chores. The laundry list of things that Carole would mention or Pete knew needed to get done. Getting things done for them helped ease the guilt that bubbled in his chest and made him feel like he was compensating for his stay. 

Today was one such day; Maverick spent all day with Bradley in the garage, tuning up the Bronco and Carole's Jeep, changing oil, and checking everything on them so he knew he wouldn't have to worry about them driving until his next visit. He didn't mind the work and keeping his hands busy, being useful.

 It was an added bonus that time with Bradley in the shop was one of Pete's favorite things. Mav would talk Bradley through every step of what he was doing. Letting him help with the smaller, simple tasks. Bradley would still sit close to Mav, watching intently, even if he was playing with his toys; otherwise, the boy would be perched on Pete's hip or hugging his leg. Rock would fill the garage, punctured only by Pete's explanations and answers to Bradley's hesitant questions, along with the sound effects Bradley liked to make with his toy cars and planes. 

Days in the shop, doing chores, making dinner, and other similar moments on his visits, are what he secretly treasures the most. In the night, long after, Maverick is back on the carrier, and his mind feels more timorous than the raging sea he lives in; he will briefly masquerade as a pirate, not a sailor, and steal some of that treasure to tide him over. Pete would think back and savor those moments, recalling what a blossom of peace feels like.  

Then Carole had come into the shop kissing Bradley's cheek and loudly informing them she made dinner; it was a hearty lasagna. Pete scooped Bradley onto his hip. Walking them to the sink, Pete washed the grease and dirt off their hands before settling at the table to eat. 

After only two prompting questions and Pete's extra encouragement, Bradley animatedly told Carole about the things he learned in the shop that day. Bradley was getting more talkative again. A colossal comfort to not just Carole but Pete as well. After Goose had died, it was two months later when Bradley stopped talking entirely for a while.  

When Carole had taken him to the doctor, their best explanation was that the little boy might finally understand that his Daddy wasn't coming home this time. So, when Bradley started to talk again, they were as encouraging as possible. Encouraging his small words to the full-blown sentences, he was at again now. It made Pete appreciate every word the little boy decided to bestow on him. 

When they finished eating, Maverick picked up all their plates and started to clean them in the sink. All the while staring at the mother and son sitting at the table. His heart squeezes so hard in his chest that it feels like it might burst. Not wholly dissimilar to the feeling of fighting G-lock, Pete briefly considers if he is too young to have a heart attack. 

Then Carole laughs, that enchanting, consuming laugh of hers. Where she throws her whole head back, and it's reflected in her body. Where her shoulders shake, and her eyes crinkle almost closed. The laugh that comes from deep in her belly filling the extra space in a room. It is quickly followed by Bradley copying his mother. He has almost the same laugh — his miniature body following the same actions. 

Bradley has Carole's laugh, not Goose's. 

And Pete finds it a beautiful realization. His heart squeezes even tighter at the idea. Carole helps Bradley dip their spoons into Pete's ice cream bowl, still on the table. They share a secret look like they are getting away with a crime, stealing the ice cream. It's followed by both of them laughing again. With that sight in front of him, his heart gives one, then two, beats more before it bursts in his chest. 

Warmth floods his whole chest spreading throughout his body, and it all feels so simple: he loves his family. He had always loved this little family, but this is like everything has changed —no shifted — because they are his family. Pete realizes he really loves this woman, and there is no denying that Bradley is a son to him in everything but blood. With his hands covered in dish soap and water and a kitchen full of warmth and laughter, Mav's heart knits itself back together two sizes larger. 

As soon as that realization fully settles with Pete, he lets go of the plate he was holding. It clatters in the sink, and two pairs of eyes, both concerned and searching, look over at him. He doesn't know what the look on his face is showing, even though he likes to claim he only had one. However, the way Carole was looking at him says otherwise. The joy on her face is instantly shadowed by concern. 

He picks up the plate from the bottom of the sink and shoots them a forced apologetic smile. "The plate slipped." he supplies and then rededicates himself to cleaning the kitchen as quickly as possible. 

He can tell Carole is still worried, but she returns to her conversation with Bradley. While he finishes cleaning, that weight of guilt on his shoulders triples, pressing so hard into him that he feels like he can hardly breathe. 

Pete feels like he might break apart at the drop of a pin. He had killed his best friend, his brother. And now Maverick is here —in love with his wife, loving his son more than anything else. And Pete may love even more than he loves the Navy, more than he loves flying. 

What was he even doing here? Trying to replace Goose? How fucked up would that be? The more Pete considers the idea, the more his stomach flips. He regrets having such a large portion of dinner. He excuses himself to go to bed soon after the kitchen is clean. 

 He doesn't even read Bradley a story like he usually would before tucking him in each night. Reading to Bradley is something he typically insists on doing during his visits. Pete always justifies the action is to give Carole a break. Not because he loves the little sleepy sounds and questions Brad makes, insisting that he can turn the book's pages. Or how Bradley likes to explain the pictures to him. Not the heavy feeling of Bradley's head pressing into Pete's arm when he can't fight sleep anymore. 

It was a sight Maverick knew he couldn't take, not tonight. Not when the fantasy of Carole on the other side of the bed pops into his mind. Bradley sandwiched between them, angled into his side, Pete's arm over Carole's shoulder, her making silly sound effects to accompany the characters in the book. He tries to banish the vision to the far recesses of his mind, but it refuses to dissipate entirely. 

The ideas had been planted, and some part of him knows he will never be free again. 

That night, he dreams of kissing Carole, her warmth pressing against him, the sun shining. A dream where they are having a picnic at the park, and Bradley is flying a kite, shaped just like Pete's Nighthawk, moving around like it was caught in jet wash. Maverick wakes up in a cold sweat. He wakes up and packs all of his things, filling the duffle bag he had emptied the day before. 

Pulling the sheets off the guest bed and remaking it with the fresh set Carole kept in the guest closet. The crisp edges of a perfectly made bed. The other sheets, still damp from sweat thrown into the laundry hamper. He knew he should throw them in the wash for her instead of leaving more work. However, more than that, Pete knows he can't stay any longer. 

It is still night, and he wonders if he should wait or leave a note before hightailing it on his motorcycle. If he waited to start the bike until the end of the street, Maverick knew he wouldn't wake anyone with his departure. Maybe he could call later and tell Carole he forgot about some emergency orders or other semi-plausible excuse. 

But then there she is, sitting in her knitting chair with the lamp on at her side. It paints the living room in soft light. The shadows all creeping in around them, around him, sliding around Carole. A safe harbor in the storm, the lamp providing a gentle glow.

Pete is a deer in the headlights, looking into Carole's tired, resigned face. A cup of coffee next to her. She hates coffee, only keeping it in the house for when Maverick comes to visit. So, the sight of the steaming mug next to her can only mean she is waiting for him. 

"Good morning Pete," she says quietly, her voice the tiniest bit rough from the night and however long she has been waiting. The record player in the living room is playing a Dolly Parton album softly. 

He doesn't say anything, only waiting and ready to flee at the barest sign of weakness from her. It is a fool's errand on his part. 

Carole Bradshaw has never been weak. Not one single day in the years Pete Mitchell has known her. When the world shifted when they lost Goose, she was the better of them because she was strong. Only becoming stronger because she had to deal with it herself. Then Carole had to deal with it for Bradley, too, bearing the extra weight of his heartbreak. It was a battle he would never have won; A battle against Goose's ghost, Maverick was still losing.

"I made you coffee," she says then, turning her eyes back to the yarn in her lap. Her southern accent felt a little thicker and a little slower, coating his ears like honey. 

Maverick gingerly sets the bag on the floor. Carole is like a lighthouse or fog light —some guiding presence — drawing him through the dark home. Pulling his feet forward until he enters the safe bubble she creates in the living room. 

Pete perches on the edge of the couch, close enough to her side that she won't have to raise her voice. His chest is filled with a sinking feeling, free falling towards the ground. His heart already preparing for the crash and subsequent burn to follow. If he were a lesser man, his hands would have shaken, reaching for a sip of coffee. The warm liquid has a little extra kick telling him she added a splash of whisky. It was how he would always take coffee in the evening. The intimacy of her knowing him so well only makes his heart feel rawer. Pete isn't able to take his eyes off of her. 

"What's wrong, Mav? I need you to be talking to me, sugar."

That was a question with a dangerous trajectory. Maverick can never tell Carole what has happened. If he put it into words, it wouldn't be just a thought; it would make it real. It would be alive and fragile, a heaving little thing that would claw Pete apart from the inside out. 

He knew because he had seen it before; loving Carole Bradshaw is nothing short of all-consuming.

He rips his gaze away from her and stares into his coffee instead. Carole sighs heavily and shifts the yarn and hooks from her hands to the basket beside her. She faces her whole body towards him. Those shining blue eyes betray how tired she is, and yet, she is patiently waiting for him. 

"I need to leave," he grits out. 

"You don't need to leave."

"I need to leave," he repeats again. 

"Don't do this, Pete." She says, almost begging him. The kindness in her face fading from the surface. 

"I'm not doing anything. I just have to—" Carole cuts him off, which is good because Pete doesn't know where he was going with that thought. 

"You don't get to do this to Bradley or me."

"I have to, Carole. I can't. You don't understand." His words are halting and jumbled. 

"No. I think I do understand," Carole says the words slowly.

It couldn't be possible for her to know that he loved her, could it? Was Maverick so far gone that it was written all over his face? How his eyes would constantly seek her before anything else. Did she see the twitch in his arms, resisting the desire to pull her close? Can she know that most of his waking and dreaming thoughts are now consumed by her and Bradley?

"If you understood, you would be throwing me out on my ass," Pete tells her, staring down into the coffee he is gripping. The dark liquid threatens to slosh over the sides, prompting him to take another drink. 

"You think it's that terrible then? I should kick you out of the house?" 

"Yes. Carole, what I am doing is wrong." 

"Why, because of Nick?" Carole asks him not unkindly, but it still feels like a slap across his face. 

"Of course, because of Nick," Pete tells her. 

Pete is surprised to see her burst into tears. The saltwater baptizing the blue of her eyes, making them shine brighter in the dim living room. He can't identify anything similar to the feeling her tears inspire in him. 

"You're right. It is wrong for you to help care for a lonely, hurt little boy. And it is so wrong for you to be there for a struggling widow. He would have detested you for all of this. The worst thing you've ever done."

"Taking care of you two isn't what the problem is. If I was just taking care of you, with no alternative motives; if I was doing it because it is the right thing, then it would be okay." 

"So, the problem is that you–" Maverick quickly cuts her off mid-sentence. Refusing to let her say those words, refusing to make this conversation's realities worse than they already are. 

"Stop, Carole. Don't say that. It. I don't." The words come out so jumbled that Pete feels like a sock is in his mouth.  

"You don't?" She raises one eyebrow, not believing him. 

"No, I don't."  

"Don't pretend I don't know you."

"I'm not," Pete defends himself. They sit in silence for several long minutes after that. The ticking of the grandfather clock and the Dolly Parton album were the only thing disturbing the quiet. Then Carole finally decided to speak again. 

"It eats at me, too, Mav. You know that, right? Because sometimes it seems like you don't think I miss him." 

"I would never think that, Carole." Of course, he wouldn't; Maverick knew if there was anyone who missed Goose more than him, it was Carole. 

"It's been almost three years. Have you had alternative motives the whole time or just the last few visits?"

"It's more recent."

"I know," she sighs. Carole runs a hand through her hair in frustration. Pete can see the agitation lingering under the exhaustion in her. 

"Well, maybe you can answer this honestly. What's more messed up, Pete? What you are doing or what I am?" 

Pete slouches heavily into the couch, briefly pressing his hands hard into his eyes until stars spark behind them and then fade. Only then does he find the energy to look at her again. "Carole."

She holds up a hand, stopping him. Then, standing up from her chair, she stretches, causing her back to pop. Then she levels him with a melancholic look, "Enough, Mav. I'm tired, too tired to deal with this."

She set about turning off the music tidying the yarn in her bin and then drifted towards the hallway. The way she exits the space sucks all the warmth with her. Pete immediately lost that feeling of safe harbor. Carole was at the edge of the living room when she turned back to look at him. 

"I can accept you leaving me in the middle of the night. But if you ever leave without saying goodbye to that little boy?" Carole points in the direction of Bradley's room. "Don't come back." 

Pete stays. 

He waits for Bradley to wake up and then makes him breakfast before taking the boy to a local Baseball game. Carole doesn't leave her room until the late afternoon. His heart only hurts a little bit when she pretends like nothing happened in the early hours of the morning. Just another one of their conversations drifting into the wind. 

The want in his chest doesn't abate, nor does the echoing of Carole's question. Maybe they are both equally wrong, or maybe it isn't as wrong as he thought. One thing is clear to Pete on the minimal list of things Carole could do wrong in his eyes, the possibility of her loving him isn't on it. 

And it's okay that they don't talk about it, that it doesn't come up, because he never said that he loves her. Maverick had made damn sure those words didn't pass between lips. So, maybe these things can just go away. Give them a little time, some space to breathe, and the tension would dissipate between them. Maverick was sure of it.  

The part of him that now only craves her thinks about pursuing it. The traitorous part of him wonders. Hasn't Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell always craved relationships with just the touch of forbidden flavor? Whether with an admiral's daughter, an instructor, or his equal and rival. Pete never considered it genuinely deterring. 

On the contrary, some part of him saw the taboo as encouraging. But his best friend's widow? That was pushing it too far for any man —even for Maverick.  

The tension does dissipate, and the hopes he hides close to his chest don't matter. Not even three days after their unfinished conversation, Maverick is deployed to Panama. The realities of combat snapping him back into the realities of loss.

Maverick tries to give up those moments of 'dress up' of playing pretend and plundering his hidden treasure filled with laughs, too much food on the table, and slim arms holding him close. He is too afraid of tainting the memories with his stained touch. 

But to forget the Bradshaws? Let them go? That is impossible. One way or another, Maverick knows he will always return to them. 

— 4 years—-

"Who would it go to?" Maverick asks her one night. 

He silently thanked God that Bradley was already asleep when he got to Carole Bradshaw's front door that night. He had walked 8 miles from the bus stop. Maverick hadn't registered any part of the walk except the eight turns he needed to get to her door. 

She didn't say a word when she opened the door, just widened it for him and went to start a pot of coffee, and pulled a bottle of Baileys out. They were sitting together on the porch swing. It was swaying just enough to be soothing in the still of the night with the cicadas buzzing around them. 

Pete's hands still have the slightest bit of a shake to them since he had left his friend's funeral that morning. And he clutches the coffee cup Carole gave him like a lifeline. Its warmth provides more comfort than any of the liquid inside of it. Jim hadn't even been an aviator, but the image of his sister sobbing and holding that perfectly folded flag was burned behind Pete's eyes. 

The humidity in Virginia made him feel like his ghosts really were connected to his skin. They were hanging right there off of him. He had gotten better at pushing them away. Better at not letting his ghosts shift his hands and mind, only listening to them. It was a practice he only perfected in the sky. 

It is always so much harder on solid ground anymore. A fresher, newer hurt, one Maverick has not even started to examine, feels like he is back under the middle east sun. Pete has to remind himself that it is nighttime and that this humidity doesn't have the same oppressive force. He reminds himself it's okay because he is here with Carole. 

"Me, of course," she tells him, no question in her voice. 

He saw it the moment she said it; the image tweaks his soul, like when you suddenly hear a flat note in the middle of a melody. Two perfectly folded flags, sharp, crisp edges, red, white, and blue triangles, pressed behind glass. Pete's portrait and flag, sitting right next to Goose's— a home with more flags than men. Bradley growing up with not one but two looming shadows over his back. 

"No," it falls out of his mouth unsolicited. He moves to stand up from the chair, haphazardly setting his cup on the porch. He feels like a caged animal. He leans heavily against the nearby porch post, gripping it tightly. 

"No, it can't go to you." Maverick finally chokes out. He tries to take a few deep breaths to calm himself and banish the new image flaunting around his mind. 

"Who else would it go to but us?" She poses it as a question. 

He knows the answer, and so does she. There is no one else anymore, not really. 

And had there ever even been anyone else since Pete's mom died? 

No. Pete refuses to look at the horror blooming in his chest or the little voice whispering the truth:  It had always been Carole. Hadn't it?

Pete can only slowly shake his head. There is nothing he can say. Anything appropriate exits his mind to make more room for the idea of her being left alone again. The raw acceptance on Carole's face reflected in her eyes is too much for him. So, Pete closes his eyes, refusing to stare into her gaze any longer. Those blues were piercing his soul. 

Carole's eyes reminded him too much of the sky. A perfect clear sky, glistening blue. The blue that is born where the ocean and sky meet to form the horizon. That blue is the one thing he can't ever seem to stop himself from returning to. The blue that calls to him understands every part of him. That same blue: the defining characteristics of what he loves most in this world. 

"No one, but you two." Pete manages to force it out of his throat. Then brokenly, immediately, he has to remedy the words he allowed to slip out. "Anyone can have it, but not Bradley. And never you, Carole." 

Pete flinches in anticipation, registering the reverence with which he just spoke her name. He waits for the loud manifestation of his guilt, one he hears in Goose's voice, but it isn't there this time. Instead, it is drowned out by the dread of hurting this woman again. The idea of still making her pick up the pieces he has been dropping for years, even after he dies. 

Carole is still swinging in the porch chair, her feet brushing the ground just enough to continue the momentum. She looks thoughtful, her hands shuffling in her lap, absentmindedly pulling at a loose string in her skirt. 

"Would you like to be cremated or buried?" Carole asks him like she is asking what he wants to have for dinner tomorrow. 

The sound Maverick makes is one he isn't sure he ever heard before, an odd mix of a whimper, growl, and sob. Carole continues on though not waiting for a response. 

"Do you prefer Lieutenant Commander Peter Mitchell or Lieutenant Commander Peter 'Maverick' Mitchell? Maybe Pete over Peter?" 

"No," Pete manages to growl more firmly this time, forming the word with a scowl. His hands scramble to find something to grip, knuckles turning white as his nails dig into his palms. 

"Is there anything specific you want saved for Bradley?"

"Carole, stop," Maverick begs her. 

"No? Nothing for Bradley, okay. No worries. What about for Ice?" 

"Enough," he bites it out harshly, with a mean edge, desperate for her to cease this conversation. 

"No, I won't stop. These are things I need to know." She is firm in her answer. Her voice remains steady, but Pete can see how much this conversation is also affecting her. 

"You don't need to know."

"I do need to know."

"No more funerals. I promise," his voice breaks. Pete thinks he might fall apart or be blown away by the gentle summer breeze just from this conversation. 

"Will you ever stop making promises you can't keep, Mav?"

The question hangs in the air between them, and Maverick can feel all of the broken promises he has made crawling just under his skin. People think he is cocky and confident and only cares about himself; that's how he got his call sign, after all. But the truth is, Pete is more aware of his flaws and more haunted by his mistakes than anyone else he knows. 

"I always keep my promises to you, Carole. I promise you won't plan my funeral."

"You won't let that happen, will you?" She asks it almost jokingly, a clear indication of disbelief in her voice. 

"No, Ma'am. I won't," Maverick whispers. 

He is serious, his jaw set firm gaze so heavy it could almost be interpreted as a glare. They hold eye contact for a long moment, waiting for the other to look away first, borderline a staring contest. Then Carole deflates a bit, shoulders sagging like he had pressed a needle to a balloon. Finally, she shakes her head at him and shifts her gaze to look away and up as if she is sending a quiet prayer. 

"Good," she finally sighs. Carole pats the seat next to her, indicating he should sit again. 

Maverick releases his death grip on the banister he adopted at some point and sits stiffly next to her. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, holding him close, her side pressed against his. Three breaths later, he sinks into her hug, shifting so that he can pull her closer to his side. So that he can breathe in her sweet honeysuckle scent.  

Carole holds him until he stops shaking entirely. His hands are steady where they grip her, and the sun starts to make its presence known. Every moment with Carole in his arms strengthens Maverick's resolve and determination. Then, when the sun crests the horizon and the sound of Saturday morning cartoons on the TV drift out to them, Carole finally releases him. 

After delicately untangling herself from his grasp, she cups his cheek, staring at him fondly. The blue of her eyes taunt him stealing his breath. She presses a gentle kiss to the corner edge of his mouth. It captures more of his lips than his cheek. The warmth lingers long after she heads back into the house, telling him to join them for breakfast when he can. 

It's a kiss that seals the promise in Pete's heart and mind. A kiss that has branded him. Pete would never let a flag be put into her arms again. He had already cashed that check. 

Maverick would be the best. He would beat the odds every single time; through every test flight, training, mission, deployment, and crash. He would make it for the chance to glimpse that color blue again. 

He wants to imprint that blue on every aspect of his life. It was already tattooed on the inside of his chest. 

When he enters the kitchen, he immediately accepts a running hug from Bradley. The boy smashes into his side and grips him tightly. He is practically vibrating with excitement. 

Holding Bradley, his eyes met Carole's again across the kitchen. Pete decided to indulge and take pleasure this time in the rush those blues give him before hiking Bradley up on his hip, hugging him close, and walking him back to the table.  

"You are getting so big," Maverick tells the boy who is hanging tightly to his neck. Bradley refuses to let him go after that sitting in his lap and sharing a plate of waffles with Pete. Maverick cuddles Bradley close to his chest on the couch for the rest of Saturday morning, Cartoon time. 

Pete feels a strange sense of calm he couldn't even fully imagine this time the day before. His resolve is absolute. He had a flight path set before him, a mission to fulfill: Carole Bradshaw would never have to plan his funeral. He was a cockroach, the world could keep smushing him, but Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell would continue on regardless.

–6 years —

Maverick had made many 'it will never happen again' promises to Goose. So many that he broke, and because of that, he doesn't know how to repent for this sin. He can't promise to never do the thing he just did again because it would only doom the moment. It would create a certainty rather than a likelihood that Maverick would fail Goose again. 

They had been drinking wine, which was the best way to start every night. That morning they had just dropped Bradley off at a weekend-long summer camp. It was the perfect opportunity to let loose, which Carole rarely had the opportunity for. 

It's easy for their nice early dinner or late lunch to shift to something more. It was easy with the way Carole hugged his waist on the back of his bike. Squealing when he reeved the engine or took a fast turn. Turning his head just a little further to the left was easy when Carole kissed his cheek. 

It is easy for one half brush of lips to become one kiss. And it is oh so easy for one kiss to turn into two, to three, until suddenly Pete had lost count. 

It wasn't easy to undress her. The back of the dress she wore had what felt like a million ties. Maverick had no idea how she got it on in the first place. It was easy to carry Carole to her room, her legs wrapped securely around his waist. It was easy how they fit together. 

Then for a while, it was blissful. For a little bit, nothing existed besides the two of them. It was easy when not a single thought ran through Pete's head except her name. 

It was now that things weren't easy. Carole had her head pressed to his chest, and she was tracing random shapes on his skin. In this quiet space, the guilt starts trying to crawl back into his skin. How, even though everything had felt so easy and so wrong. What Pete just did was wrong. 

"We should talk about what just happened," Maverick decides to broach the topic. He squeezes his arm and hand that has draped across her back and settled on her hip. 

Carole props her chin on his chest to look at his face and into Pete's eyes. The moment those blues entrap him, Pete wishes she hadn't looked at him at all. It's so easy for those eyes to pull his vulnerabilities out of him. 

"What is there to talk about, sugar?" A slight smirk shows her lips. "Round three, I hope?" 

"No, we can't ever do this again," Maverick tells her slowly. 

"You better be joking right now, Pete." 

"I'm not."

She rolls her eyes at him and pushes herself up off his chest. Before asking him, "How many years have you been in love with me now? Two?" 

It had been over three since Pete knew. But that didn't really change anything, did it? 

"Carole," he tries to say her name sweetly, placatingly. 

"It's probably been almost four for me. I don't know when it happened. But it did. Then suddenly, I just noticed one day. Like when you are used to seeing something all the time until you forget it's there. But once someone else points it out, now that's the only thing you can see. That's how I realized I was in love with you. It wasn't really any one moment."

"Please don't," he begs her. This isn't a conversation that can end well. They have done so well, never directly bringing things like this up. Only a few close calls over the years. Now, not only did they have sex for the first time, but Carole had also pulled out the L word. 

"It's not a secret, Pete. So why do you want to keep pretending that it is?"

"If we say it, then it's real."

"You don't want anything real with me?" She sits even further up on the bed, and the sheets pool around her waist, momentarily distracting him. 

"That's not the problem," Pete sighs, slamming his eyes closed. 

"I want an answer that isn't connected to Goose, Maverick." 

"I could leave you just like he did."

"You think if you died, I would be any less hurt because you never said you loved me? Because you refused to love me how we deserve? Sugar," she drawls out the word so Pete knows that while not condescending, there was every ounce of judgment she possessed behind the word. 

"If you leave me, I will hurt. It always would have hurt, no matter the situation. Plus, you made a promise to me."

He snaps his mouth shut at her reminder flashes of flags, guns, and flyovers, temporarily invading his senses. Then, with three steady breaths in and out, he returns to the present with her. Carole's blue eyes search his face intently, but for what he doesn't know. 

"I don't know how to stop feeling guilty, Carole." Maverick tries to explain. 

"No," she declares, rolling to the side and dragging one of the blankets to cover herself until she reaches the edge of the bed. "Enough of this, Pete. Stop with the perpetual guilt. I'm tired of it." Carole throws on his shirt that had been tossed aside earlier and starts looking around the room, he assumes, for pants. 

"Here is the truth. If my husband were still alive, this never would have happened. But he's not. He left both of us." A few angry tears are spilling from her eyes, and her voice raises an octave. She points a finger harshly at him. "And no matter how much you loved him, I loved him more. I still love him more."  

She shimmies into some panties and then stares at where Pete is still frozen in bed. Carole starts to button up his top. It seems silly to him that she now wants to cover up the skin Pete had just spent the entire evening worshiping and memorizing. 

"We are still here, Pete. We have been alone for years. So why aren't we allowed to be happy? I think Nick would have wanted me to be happy."

Her words punch a hole straight through his chest. Maverick isn't sure how else to comfort her or how to deal with this situation. So Pete sits up further in bed, pulling the sheet with him, and pats the open space to his side. "Carole, come back to bed."

"No," she says, scrubbing at her tears with the edge of his shirt. Carole gives him one last desperate, hurt look before exiting the room. 

He curses under his breath at her exit, turning his face into the pillows to let out a frustrated groan. But the pillows smell like Carole, and the bed smells like her honeysuckle perfume mixed with sex. It is suddenly too heady there for his emotional state. 

Pete pulls himself from the bed, finding his boxers to throw on. He goes to the attached bathroom and washes his face with cold water, trying to think of a plan to rectify this situation. However, all that turns into is a useless staring contest with his reflection. 

Carole is cooking in the kitchen when he joins her. He fights the urge to tiptoe, which is ridiculous because they are the only two people in the house. 

Carole slams a mug of coffee down on the breakfast bar with more force than Pete would recommend when handling pottery. She motions for him to sit with a flick of her hand. Pete sees her drinking a cup of coffee herself, taking quick gulps of the stuff. Carole sets her own mug down only to add more baileys to replace the new space in her cup.  

"You're cooking?" He asks hesitantly, taking a seat. 

"Yes. Sex makes me hungry," Carole responds matter of a factly. She flips the quesadilla in the pan but doesn't look at him. 

"Three," Pete finally says, deciding to broach the silence between them. Carole doesn't respond, though, only taking the quesadilla out of the pan and starting to make another. 

"It's been three years since I knew I was in love with you."

"I know, she says quietly. She doesn't turn to acknowledge him still. 

"It was your laugh," Pete shook his head at the memory. "I love your laugh. Maybe I always have, and then I realized Bradley has the same laugh. It's what finally did me in. I didn't know I could love as much as I love the two of you." 

"I thought he had Nick's laugh," Carole responds quietly. Pete is pleasantly surprised to find hearing his name only leaves a small squeeze of hurt in his chest. 

"Nope, his real laugh, when he finds something actually funny. That's all you, sweetheart." 

Carole finishes cooking the second quesadilla. She sets it on a plate in front of Maverick. Carole gulps down more of her coffee, which Pete estimates is now eighty-five percent whiskey. Then digs into the quesadilla she made for herself. 

"Are we going to wait three more years? Do you think the guilt will be less then?" She asks him in between bites. 

"No," Pete says. "No more waiting, even if he would hate me for this. Because you deserve to be happy, Carole. We have each other. And I love you more now than I love him. "

"What if I can't give you that?" Carole asks him quietly. 

"I would never ask for that from you. Can I just ask you to love me as much as you are able?" Pete still hadn't eaten any of his food, but he got out of his chair, rounding the edge of the island. 

"Are you going to let go?" She asks, resting her hands on his bare chest when he comes to a halting stop in front of her. Maverick cadges her against the counter with his body dipping his head into the crook of Carole's neck and shoulder. 

"No, Carole Bradshaw. I don't think I will ever let go of you," he mutters into her skin as Carole's fingers thread into his hair. 

There is more to talk about, but it is also oh so easy to fall back into bed again. Pete silently repents and worships at the only alter he has ever found solace. His mind consumed only with the thought of her again: Carole's skin, Carole's thighs, Carole's sweet voice, Carole's sweeter taste, Carole... Carole... Carole... 

— 13 years—

Pete is the lighter sleeper between the two of them. So when the phone started ringing, he was jogging towards the kitchen to pick it up by the next ring before it could wake up Carole. 

"Mom?" The voice on the other side of the phone asks. It only takes Pete's sleep-ridden mind a few moments to recognize Bradley's voice and shock his mind into full alertness. 

"It's Mav. Are you okay?"

"Is my Mama there?" Bradley's voice is heavy and slurring just a bit. 

"Are you okay, Brad?"

"I'm drunk, Mav," Bradley giggles like he is eight years old again. 

"I can tell," Mav says with a chuckle, making Bradley laugh harder. Then Pete hears voices talking loudly, muffled on the other side of the phone. 

"Shut up! I'm on the phone." Bradley yells, and then there are more muffled voices. Pete waits patiently, his amusement almost equal to his worry about the teen. 

"Mom," Bradley sings into the phone again. 

"Mav," Pete gently corrects him, but Bradley continues, not even acknowledging it. 

"I'm at the barn past the other side of the tracks of the east river. Leech won't let me drive. Can you have dad pick me up?" 

Before Maverick can say anything else, the line clicks dead. He sighed heavily and went back to the bedroom. Carole is blinking up at him tiredly. She moves to sit up from the bed, but Pete stops her with a gentle hand on the shoulder. 

"Is Brad?" She asks him blearily. 

"He's okay. I'm going to pick him up right now." 

She sighs and settles back into the pillows. Pete presses a kiss to her lips and then an additional one to her forehead. Then, giving her a wink as he throws on some jeans and a random shirt. Carole laughs and gives him a sleepy smile before nestling back into the pillows.

Pete grabs his jacket off the hook by the door, shrugging it on. He closes the door as quietly as possible on his way out of the house. 

Maverick speeds across town on his bike. He is thankful that he and Bradley took the top and back off the Bronco last weekend in preparation for summer. When he gets to the barn, he puts his bike in the back of the Bronco first. Strapping it down tight before setting off to find his wayward teen. 

Bradley is at a beer pong table, chugging down whatever is in his solo cup, when Maverick finds him. Brad slams his drink down on the table and gives Pete a full-blown goofy grin. Pete raises an eyebrow but smiles back at him. 

"You ready to go home, kiddo?" He asks. 

Bradley enthusiastically nods and starts walking toward Pete but doubles back to finish whatever was in his drink and almost falls down in the process. Bradley's friends laugh at him, and Pete checks on them, too. He is pleased to find them all significantly more sober. 

Leecher, Brad's best friend, helps Mav lead Bradley out of the barn and into the Bronco. Once there, he fishes the keys out of his front pocket, pressing them into Maverick's hands. 

"I had to take his keys," the young man admits to Mav. Pete pats Leecher on the back kindly. 

"Thanks for not letting him drive, John."

"No problem, Mav. I'm glad you came and picked him up. He didn't think anyone would." Leecher responds. Pete has to clench his jaw hearing the comment. 

"Are the rest of you kids going to get home safe? I can swing back and give rides."

"No, Sir. We are good. I haven't been drinking tonight and am driving everyone else home."

"You're a good man," Pete tells him. 

Leecher ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck, almost embarrassed. "Thank you. I made him drink some Gatorade. And Mav? Don't be too hard on him." 

"Have a good night, Leecher," Mav says, shaking the boys' hand. When he gets into the cab, Bradley looks at him like a kicked puppy dog.

"Are you mad at me?" He asks in a small voice.

"No, I'm not mad. You can always call me." Pete tells him evenly. 

"Not mad but disappointed, right?" Brad asks, leaning his head against the car's headrest and closing his eyes. 

"Bradley," Pete sighs softly, shaking his head. 

"Forget it," Bradley says, not opening his eyes. 

Pete is quiet for the rest of the drive until he pulls the Bronco into Brad's parking spot next to the shop at the house. They sit there in silence for a while before Bradley starts trying to fuss with his seatbelt. The action puts an end to Pete's quiet contemplation on how to best deal with this situation and how Goose would've approached it. 

"Hold on, Brad. We can't avoid this anymore. We need to talk."

"Come on, Mav. We can talk some other time."

"No, we are talking right now."

"You promised we would always talk in the mornings when I was sober."

His statement was true. Carole and Pete had always told Bradley that he could call them no matter what, and they would pick him up, no questions, no fighting. And then, in the morning, they could all deal with the aftermath together. 

"I know we did,' Pete sighs and grips the wheel a little tighter. "But this talk isn't about you being in trouble for sneaking out and drinking. And I'm not taking you back into your mother's house tonight until you are sober."  

Pete starts the Bronco back up and pulls it out of the driveway, driving through town until he pulls up at the small 24-hour diner. He helps Brad inside and orders them both waffles, bacon, grits, and eggs, with two cups of coffee. 

Bradley doesn't say a single thing the whole time, except for how he wants his eggs cooked and echoing Pete's "thank you, ma'am" as their waitress walks back to the kitchen. 

Pete switches his water with Bradley's empty glass when the teenager finishes his own in three long gulps. Maverick sips his coffee, savoring the bitter flavor on his tongue. Shitty coffee like this reminds him of being on the carrier. The thought makes him sigh. He would be leaving on another cruise soon, and it felt like all the time was just sand slipping through his fingers. 

"Why don't you talk to me anymore?" Pete asks once the silence has stretched long enough that Bradley is shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

"We talk all the time."

"No, we don't. Not really, not like we used to. You don't talk to me. You don't talk to your mother. We don't even know who you are anymore. You are sneaking out to parties you know we would let you go to if you asked. You're drinking and getting into fights. The coach called and told us how you've been skipping practice."

"I'm just having some fun, Mav." 

"Look, it's one thing to have fun, Bradley, but it's another to risk your future. You almost got behind the wheel tonight. The only thing that stopped you was Leech taking your keys. You were risking your life!" 

He wasn't expecting Bradley to visibly recoil at his words. "You risk your life all the time, and so did Goose."

"That's different than drinking and driving."

"Of course, it's different," Bradley scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

"Flying a plane and drunk driving are not comparable, Bradley." 

"Sure, Mav. Only one of those things killed Goose."

Pete sits further back in his seat. Not letting the hurt and anger show in his face that he feels in his chest. He has to remind himself that Brad is lashing out, trying to hurt him. "Well, your father only did one of those things."

"You know, you can drop this whole duty, obligation, tough love, act you have towards me because you feel guilty or whatever." 

"I don't love you out of guilt or obligation, Bradley."

"You don't love me at all! " The teen hisses back at him. "You loved Goose, and with my mom, you just—" 

"I better not hear one disrespectful thing come out of your mouth about your mother, Bradshaw," Maverick warns him lowly. 

Brad's face flushes, but he does close his mouth for a moment, reconsidering what he was going to say. Pete knows that Bradley loves his mother more than anyone else in this world, and he would only regret saying whatever was about to spring out. Finally, he seems to settle on kinder words.  

"You only put up with me because you feel guilty about my mom."

"You think I 'put' up with you?" Pete didn't ask the question accusatory. Instead, he asks it because he really wants to know what Bradley feels. That is much more important than any of the reactionary feelings bubbling in his chest. 

"Yes. Why else would you bother with me?" Brad says the words plainly like they should be the most obvious thing in the world to Maverick. 

"I know you feel trapped by this idea of your dad hanging over your head. God knows your mother and I haven't helped as much as we should have with that. But you aren't him, Brad, and you never will be." Pete says gently, trying to see where the root of Bradley's problem is where he suspects.  

"Fuck you. Goose was an amazing man."

Maverick sighs and pulls a hand through his hair. So that approach wasn't going to pan out. "Yes, he was. He was my best friend. You aren't him, though. Bradley, you are trying to fit yourself into the shape of a ghost."

Bradley's jaw clenches, averting his gaze to stare out the diner window. Pete remembered the same look he used to have, the one he catches Bradley with sometimes; how his eyes would linger over pictures and then in the mirror, how it felt trying to pick out similarities and measure the differences. The way it hung over him.

Now here with Bradley, Pete finally understands what people were always trying to impress on him when they said to let it go. He understands what Viper saw while Pete struggled against his father's shadow. 

But how do you tell a tall, gangly boy who desperately wants to be a man to let go of his father? His father you killed?  

So, maybe he finally understood where they were coming from. However, he didn't understand what letting it go actually meant. Pete knew he would never let it go. He now understood the want to let go, though. The want for the young man in front of you to understand you; The want to not watch him make the same mistakes you did. Wanting to shield him from suffering under the crushing, unbearable weight of loss and expectation. 

"Look, Brad, you are going through changes and growing up. Right now, you are deciding the man you want to be. It's a choice you can't make for anyone but yourself. You have to be your own man. If that includes parts of him, great. But don't make your goal to try and fill his shoes."

"What do you want from me?" Bradley finally spits out, his face lighting up red in anger. Before Pete can respond, Bradley is barreling onwards, not even letting him get a word in. 

"I know," Bradley's voice cracks, "I know I'm never going to be Goose. Okay? I don't need you to tell me that."

The quiet between them stretches. The classic 50s and 60s music humming in the background, the kitchen sounds, and the few other scattered patrons' conversations fill the space. Bradley starts to sip his coffee now and rearranges his silverware under Pete's heavy stare. 

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You always call him Goose now." 

Bradley pauses at that. Setting the silverware he was fiddling with down. Instead, electing to start folding his straw wrapper, making a tiny accordion before he answers. 

"I don't know. That is all I really know him as. I guess… I realized he isn't really my dad anymore. You are."

A lump forms at the back of Maverick's throat, and he desperately tries to swallow it down. He feels tears start to well up. Bradley's eyes refuse to meet Pete's own searching gaze, but his eyes flit over his face trying to gauge his reaction. 

"I am so sorry, Bradley. "

"You are sorry? Sorry for what? That you are my dad?"

"No, not that! Nick would have done such a better job than me. I love being your dad so much. I'm trying, but I'm sorry you missed out on having an amazing dad in your life."

"I don't feel like I missed out on having a fantastic dad. You have been here the whole time. I just feel like I'm missing out on having known Goose. And it's so hard. Sometimes when I do something, I can see it on everyone's faces that I didn't do it the way they expected. 

"I see it in mom's face, and I see it in yours. When I don't react like y'all thought he would have reacted. Or I don't say something like he would have. I'm being compared to a man I never knew. Everyone looks at me and sees his distorted reflection."

Pete feels shame and guilt fill him. He knew part of what Bradley was saying was true, and he knows that has never been fair to him. Their waitress brings them their food and sets it down, asking if they need anything. Pete brushes her off with a quick thank you and watches Bradley start to cut into his waffles, the exact same way that Pete does. That hard lump of emotion rose up in him again at the sight. 

"I do love your parents. Your father was my best friend. Your mother is the strongest and kindest woman I have ever met. But you, Bradley Bradshaw. I love you for so many other reasons. Reasons that have nothing to do with them.

"I am proud of you. Watching you grow up and getting to see the man you are becoming; it has been the greatest honor of my life. Being in your life..." Pete's voice almost catches, but he clears his throat to continue. "It is a joy. I know you are figuring out who you are, but I am here for you, Bradley. Every step of the way, to support you in any way I can. 

"There is no one I would rather spend a Sunday in the shop with. No one I would rather go to a baseball game with. I love hearing about your classes and piano lessons. I was so proud last month when you refinished the Bronco. I love how you always try to take care of your mom. That you don't think it's embarrassing, even when your friends rib you. I love that you hate meatloaf just as much as I do. That you would rather do any chore than go to the grocery store. I love how you try to find humor in every situation. 

"I love you, Bradley, with or without your parents involved. I will keep loving you, no matter what. It's not something that is going to change because you snuck out to a party or because you don't like something Goose would have. I don't put up with you. I am thankful every day that you put up with me. That you have let me be in your life."

Tears are dripping down Bradley's face, and he is quick to scrub them away. His naturally ruddy cheeks, which were already red from alcohol, are flaming now. The color spreading down the length of his neck too. Brad hangs his head low, pressing his face into his shoulder and taking some big breaths. When the tears subside and Bradley has sufficiently scrubbed them away with the back of his hand, he pulls his face up, looking right at Pete. 

Then Bradley grins, cheesing at him. "Pete?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"It is okay if I call you dad? Right?" The grin hasn't fallen off Bradley's face, but his vulnerability is still written all over his eyes. 

"Of course, any time you want."

A few beats of silence pass. 

"Hey, Dad?" Pete doesn't know how to identify the emotions whirling in him hearing that phrase from Bradley. 

"Yeah?" 

"If you don't want your waffles, can I have them?" 

Pete laughs and smiles at Bradley shaking his head. "Absolutely not. These are my waffles."

The grin starts to fall off Bradley's face, and he looks down at his almost empty waffle plate. Despair and sadness slowly starting to overcome his face. 

"But you can order a milkshake," Pete tells him, finally cutting into his own waffles. He is rewarded with Bradley's grin again. 

They eat in silence together, and Bradley does steal one bite of Pete's waffles. A feat he only accomplishes after an epic fork fight that ends with both of them having a laughing fit. 

Walking back to the Bronco, after finishing their food, Bradley drinks his milkshake in a huge to-go cup. He throws an arm over Pete's shoulder. Brad has been taller than Pete for almost a year and still revels in it.

Pete doesn't mind it, though. It's a comfortable feeling that reminds him of Goose. He tries to dislodge that thought, instead enjoying that it's Brad, pushing the ghosts away to focus on existing in this moment with his son. "You know we will still have to talk with your mom when she wakes up." 

"Yeah, I know." Bradley groans, jumping into the cab. 

"Dad?" Bradley asks as Mav is starting the car.

"Yes, Brad?"

"I love you too. You know?"

"Yeah, son, I know," Pete replies gruffly. 

If Pete has to wipe some tears off his face at the next stop light on their way home, that is between Pete, Bradley, and God. 

— 16 years–

Pete and Carole rarely fight, but when they do, it's normally quiet, solemn, and serious. Not the blow-up, screaming, while throwing things fight they have had tonight. The kind of fight where they aren't even fighting about what they started with anymore, stuck on some twisted tangent. 

Pete is in the middle of an angry monologue where he is puncturing every sentence with a slam of his finger into the table when Carole interrupts him and asks him to bring her coffee. The request resets his brain, short-circuiting whatever thought he was in the middle of. It's a request to allow them both to cool off more than anything, but it also lets Pete know he is in for a longer night than he was already planning.  

Maverick has failed to deny Carole anything she has asked for a long time. He knows this fight is no different, which just works the anger and hurt deeper under his skin. Pete doesn't want to hurt Carole, but he wants her to know how much he is hurting. So, making sure to slam the screen door extra hard on his way out, he leaves the house and hunts down a place that can make her coffee.

Maverick orders the drink sickly sweet and extra hot since that is the only way Carole will drink it; it is a drink order he has always joked would send most people into diabetic shock. He starts to feel his blood pressure lower to a stable level when he has the drink secured. Pete then asks for a cup of Carole's favorite tea too. By the time he gets back to the house with two cooling drinks, he already has a sense of hollow acceptance beating in his chest. 

Carole takes two whole sips of the coffee when he returns to her side with it. She wrinkles her nose during each gulp and then presses the cup back into his hands. 

"You can have it," she tells him with a smile like she had gotten away with a little trick. 

"Thank you," Pete plays along like he hadn't always known that the coffee was for him. He takes a long drink of it despite the sweetness making him want to wrinkle his nose. He will drink the whole thing; drink it for the same reason you have to stomach through cough syrup. 

"We can finish our fight now," Carole tells him after watching him take a drink, setting the coffee down again.

Pete shakes his head and leaves her side to go into the kitchen. He adds a generous amount of honey to the extra cup before returning to her. 

"I got it just in case," Maverick tells her. She knows he's lying but does say anything. Carole only accepts the cup with shaking hands after she gives Pete a soft kiss, cupping his cheek and stroking her thumb along his cheekbone. 

He settles on the other side of the couch, and she sips the tea before setting it aside. Carole doesn't breach the silence between them again. Instead, she waits for Maverick to be ready. 

His chest aches, and he loves that she has always been the one thing, the one person he could take his time with. 

"You know, my dad is the reason I didn't go to Annapolis." He finally says. 

"Yes, I know," Carole tells him with apparent disinterest. 

"Are you okay with Bradley being like me?"

"He already is like you."

"Like me when you met me," Maverick clarifies. 

"Yes, Pete. I am." 

"Why?" The question falls out of his mouth and shatters on the ground at their fragile feet. Pete's vulnerability laid out in front of them. A young Peter Mitchell is one of the worst things he can think of Bradley being. 

She looks at him like he is crazy then. Her eyebrows creasing with confusion. "Because you lived. And Bradley will live." 

The words echo between them, resonating deep within Pete. She says it so simply like it is a given. Something to never question. And it's true; Bradley will live. Maverick knows it, knows it like how he knows Carole won't, knows it how he knows Goose didn't.  

"Haven't you realized yet?" She finally asks him, taking one of his hands and holding it with both of hers. 

"Realized what?"

"We look at him, and all we see is Nick, and he is on the outside. But inside, Bradley is your son Pete. You raised him with me."

"I know," Pete breathes the words, afraid of what owning them too loudly might do. 

"Nick wouldn't be mad, you know. Not anymore." Carole laughs, shaking her head. "He's going to be thankful Brad grew up with a Dad."

It's a conversation that they have had many different times in many different ways. How Goose would feel. How Goose would have reacted. It feels even more raw now than ever before, which Maverick finds a bit funny since time has only stretched. It has been many long years since Goose died. 

"I try to think he would be," Pete says with a sigh. 

"Why won't you do it then?" Carole asks him. 

"I'm going to do it, Carole," Pete tells her. He expects the words to taste of bitter defeat in his mouth, but they don't. He takes another swig of the coffee and sets it on the table. Pete knew he would do it from the first moment she asked. Maverick had accepted he would do it while driving home with their drinks. 

"Do you promise?" She asks him, and it is oh so rare for Pete to hear Carole sound this small.

"Yes, I promise." 

"Why didn't you want to?" 

"Because he is so much better than me. Because I didn't want him to ever go through the hurt, I did. Because I love him too much to not break my own heart while breaking his dreams." 

"Am I wrong, that he isn't ready? That this will protect him?" Pete considers her question for a long time. 

"No, you aren't wrong. It will make him decide if he actually wants to. If he is serious, he will do NROTC. Give Brad the chance to search for something besides Goose's legacy." 

"He's going to hate us," Carole says. 

"No," Maverick says quickly, cutting off her words. "He will hate me, Carole. Just me."

"I'm the one asking you to veto his application."

"He doesn't need to know that. "

"That's not fair to you or him."

"It is fair to him because he loves you, Carole. And I'm not going to let him convince himself otherwise. I don't matter." 

"You do matter, Pete."

"Not more than Bradley. Nothing matters more than Bradley."  

Tears spill from her eyes, and she grips him tightly in her arms. Throwing them around his shoulders and pulling him close. She is thinner and frailer than ever before. No one wants to address the reality that her treatments aren't working. And Pete hasn't even started to prepare for the type of ghost she will be hanging over his shoulder. 

"I don't want him to hate the only person he is going to have left," Carole cries into his neck. "I don't want you to lose him." 

Maverick just holds her tighter. "I'll get through it. I always do. Someday, he will understand." But that was something he didn't know. It is just something he hopes.  

"I don't want to fight anymore," Carole tells him. 

"No more fights, I promise," Pete tells her. It is yet another promise he manages to keep to her. Pete never has another fight with Carole Bradshaw before she dies. 

And Rooster does seem to understand, 16 years later, drinking a cup of black coffee in the hanger that Maverick calls home. Both of them are still sore and exhausted from the mission they flew together. Maverick is sure that he looks borderline haggard.  

While drinking his coffee, Pete thinks it feels like putting on a shirt you forgot you had. One that got lost in the back of your closet. The unexpected joy of finding out it still fits, maybe not the same way it used to fit. But it fits regardless. 

It fits how Bradley cuts his waffles the same, that he still lovingly dedicates time to the Bronco, and roots for the same sports team. But he is different in so many ways too. Pete hasn't adjusted to the hulking filled-out frame, the type of beer Rooster likes, or his favorite artist to play in the shop. 

But Maverick has no concern about learning what's different. Nothing feels too out of reach now that Bradley is talking to him again. Now that he tried to sacrifice himself for his son. Now that Bradley didn't let it happen. When they beat out impossible odds of dying, the trials of repairing their relationship don't seem so insurmountable anymore. Especially not when Pete finds a picture of a ten-year-old Bradley hugging him and Carole tucked into the passenger visor of the Bronco. Bradley's blocky neat handwriting on the back:  Mom & Dad - March 1995.  

#top gun fanfiction #Top Gun Fanfic #maverick fanfic #Pete Mitchell x Carole Bradshaw #rare paring #Maverick Centric #dad!mav #Young Bradley Bradshaw #top gun imagine #TGM fanfic #tgm fanfiction

[eddisfargo]

Not a day will go by (9/?)

Hello my patient friends! Sorry for the wait! It won't be this long again (for real this time)! This is a Christmas fic for last year's Secret Santa, and I've given myself a deadline to finish it before this year's secret Santa. Specifically, I'm trying to finish before December 18, which is mine and @cosette141's birthday! Thanks so much to everyone who's still reading and leaving comments--they keep me going when my brain refuses to write! Thanks especially to @MotherKat for being the best beta EVER! I'm going all out in November, and I've actually already got Chapter 10 written!! So it won't be too long!

Tagging: @resident-of-storybrooke, @everything-person, @teamhook

AO3 Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9

Summary: He may not remember his present, but she doesn't know his past. If she did, she wouldn't have married him… right?

Let’s go home . 

She’d said it so simply, leading him back to the yellow machine, as if the concept of home was a given. A home they evidently shared. With a boy who he supposed was his… stepson. Because that had gone so well for him in the past. 

Home . 

The Jolly was his home. Perhaps he should start staying there, rather than in that house he didn’t remember. Should he suggest it? She’d probably be relieved. Or perhaps she’d worry that he’d simply sail away. Perhaps she’d be right. 

“Babe?” Her voice jolted Hook out of his thoughts, and he realized he’d hesitated outside the door of the building. 

He looked at her, working out how to phrase his intention to return to his ship without arousing her suspicions. “I don’t –” he began. 

She’d started talking at the same time, her face falling. “Sorry, I shouldn’t – Killian. Probably not Babe right now, right?” she laughed awkwardly. Truthfully, he hadn’t been called by his given name for so long that it felt more familiar than any pet name, but he elected not to correct her. Leaning against the wall, she let out a breath when he didn’t finish his thought. “Is something wrong?” 

Hook tried to find the words he’d come up with, but she looked so… tired. “Nothing,” he said finally. 

Emma looked at him for a long moment, searching. Hook had been prepared for the suspicion in her eyes. He hadn’t been prepared for what else he saw there. It was nothing he could easily name, but it made his lips go dry. Breaking eye contact, Hook started walking in what he hoped was the correct direction, if he’d oriented himself correctly – being instantly transported what seemed to be at least a mile was testing the limits of his sense of direction – but he had a feeling that this was the right way. To his relief, Emma began to walk beside him. 

They walked in an uncomfortable silence for a time, until Emma cleared her throat. “So… I guess we’re going to have to tell Henry.” 

Hook frowned. He’d thought he was doing alright at deceiving the boy. “Are we?” 

She looked at him like he was talking nonsense. Again. “It’s a little big to keep from him, right? And maybe… maybe he can help.” She smiled fondly. “This kind of thing is kind of right up his alley.” 

Hook opened his mouth to ask what exactly qualified under this kind of thing . But he couldn’t stop seeing the looks directed his way in that little room just now – the significant glances as certain things went unsaid. He… owns the local pawn shop . 

So he asked a different question. “What are you going to tell him?” 

She looked a bit pained. “ We are going to tell him the truth.” Shooting him a sidelong look, she added, “An… age appropriate version, if you don’t mind.” 

Ahh, after his slip-up, she’d lost any faith in his ability to regulate his mouth. That had been an error, but clearly she had no idea just how much he had managed to keep to himself. And that, of course, was how it would stay. To demonstrate, he only grunted his agreement. 

“And hey,” Emma added after a moment. “Maybe you’ll remember much you – how fond you are of the kid.” 

Hook grimaced. So it was true, his future self had been playing at fatherhood. And here he thought he’d learned from his mistakes. 

Suddenly, the woman beside him took his hand. 

“Hey,” she said, pausing in their walk. “What are you thinking?” 

He was thinking that trusting him with a child’s well being was ill-advised, but he wasn’t fool enough to say it, so he remained silent. It was only when she squeezed his hand that he realized that, almost of their own accord, his fingers had laced through hers. This betrayal by his own remaining limb shocked him into honesty. “That I’m not exactly stepfather material.” 

Her mouth opened in surprise. Fool , he chided himself. He removed his hand from hers and started walking again, faster. 

“Killian,” she said, arresting him. Facing away from her, he didn’t have to see her face. Instead, he saw another face. It had been so long since he’d indulged in this particular remembrance that the face in his mind seemed to have changed, attaining a marked resemblance to Emma’s boy. He felt a wave of grief he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge for longer than he could recall. 

“Killian!” she said again. He turned to face her. “You’re a wonderful stepfather.” She radiated sincerity, but she didn’t know . She looked so bloody sympathetic . “I can see why you might… doubt this, but you’re actually a great role model.” She smiled mischievously at him. “Most of the time.” 

He felt the strange urge to reveal a part of his past that would doubtless make her question this strange opinion she seemed to have formed of his suitability. To unburden himself – no , to make her see why whatever perfect man she thought she’d married was a lie. Then perhaps she’d let him go. 

“There are things…” he said, keeping his voice steady with more effort than it usually took. “In my past… things you couldn’t possibly –” 

Incredibly, her face cleared. She reached out to touch his face, and he managed not to pull away. “Oh,” she said, as if she understood, although there was no way she could. “You’re thinking about Baelfire.” 

Hook froze.

Impossible.

“How…” he breathed. “How do you…” 

“Killian,” she said gently. “Do you really think I married you without knowing the significant events in your life?” 

He found himself unable to answer. How could he open his mouth and say yes, of course he thought that. Why would a woman like she seemed to be have married him otherwise? “I…” he managed to say, with effort. “I told you?” 

“You told me all of it, eventually,” she said. But she couldn’t possibly know what all of it entailed, not if she was looking at him with such… sympathy in her eyes. She bit her lip suddenly, taking his hand. “But some of it… I heard from Baelfire.” 

The words knocked him breathless for the second time in as many minutes. He was vaguely aware that he was being led into the relative privacy of a small alley behind a shop, but his thoughts were a jumble. 

“Baelfire?” he rasped. “You… you’ve met him? He survived?” Hook had always wondered what became of the boy after his escape. When he’d let himself think about it at all, he’d feared the worst, and laid the blame… where it belonged. The guilt hung heavy around his neck–guilt he allowed himself to feel for precious few of his crimes. 

She looked very sad, suddenly. “He survived Neverland, yes. He got out. But…” As Emma trailed off, closing her eyes, Hook could see the truth in her face. He started to ask something – anything – but found himself unable to speak. 

Emma took his hand and held it to her face, which he found strangely comforting. Softly, she continued. “He forgave you, you know. Before the end.” Hook shook his head, denying the possibility. “It’s true, you made up,” she continued, quietly but firmly. He tried his damndest to maintain his skepticism, but the sincerity in her eyes left no room for doubt. Still, he kept shaking his head, because it was all he could do. Baelfire . Milah’s boy. 

Somehow, without realizing she’d drawn towards him, he was in Emma’s arms, utterly disgracing himself. He had never shed a tear over Bae. He’d used the last of his tears up after Milah, he’d always believed. But perhaps the grief had always been there, just waiting for somewhere safe to be expressed. Safe . With this woman? This stranger ? She was probably repulsed by his show of weakness, in broad daylight behind a shop that sold shoes. 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, but as his senses filtered back, he could feel one of her hands rubbing his back, feel fingers running through his hair. Could hear soft words, gentle words, whispered in his ear. No one had ever… no one had ever tolerated such a display from him. Nor would he have given anyone the chance. Not since he was almost too small to remember… Not since he’d realized his father wasn’t coming back. 

Hook jerked up suddenly, mortified. What had possessed him to take leave of his senses that way? He had never, never let himself break down like that in front of another person–if he ever had at all. He couldn’t bear to look at her, to see the expression . A grimace, surely? No, somehow she didn’t seem the type. Pity, then. Any revulsion, she’d be kind enough to hide. Steeling himself, he straightened. With more reluctance than he’d like to think about, he pulled out of her arms, and finally looked her in the eye. 

And found he couldn’t look away. 

There were tears in her eyes too. Not pity, no. But sympathy. Even… understanding. Perhaps even… well. Something more. 

He cleared his throat. “I… apologize,” he said stiffly, “for–” 

“Hey,” Emma said softly. “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I should’ve realized you’d have to grieve him again.” She took his hand yet again. “But you know… in a way, he’s not really gone.” 

Hook frowned. “What way is that, precisely?”

“Well, Henry’s his son.” 

Hook staggered back. Just when he’d thought the earth-shattering revelations were done for the day. “He’s what?” At Emma’s small smile and nod, he shook his head, unable to process. “But how ?” 

“Hoo boy,” Emma said gravely. “I kind of thought at your age you’d have figured out the facts of life. Okay, so sometimes, when a man and a woman–” 

“I know bloody how! ” Hook said quickly. Did she really think–no, of course she didn’t. Her eyes were twinkling at him. Catching himself about to smile back, he frowned instead. “But he was… he was a child! ” 

“Umm, yeah. He was a child. Like twenty through two hundred years ago. The thing about not being in Neverland is… you grow up. By the time we met, even physically, he was older than me.” 

Hook tried to readjust some things in his head. Of course Baelfire was older than Emma–Bae had likely been older than anyone else alive, saving himself. And perhaps the Crocodile, if he somehow still walked the earth. But it still felt strange to think of him with a son . A son with… Hook’s wife? He put a hand to his head, trying to understand. Realizing he’d started to pace the alley, he used his nervous energy to resume their walk. 

Perhaps it was a lie? But no… he’d met the lad. The resemblance was there, now that he considered it. Gods, but he’d even mistaken the boy for Bae – for his father – at first glance. 

A sudden realization hit him. “Did I… steal you from him?” The thought of it bothered him more than he would’ve expected. It wasn’t as if he’d considered a married woman off limits, but breaking up the same boy’s family twice seemed rather bad form. Especially after everything else he was responsible for, where Baelfire was concerned. 

“No,” Emma said firmly, “you did not. We didn’t formally get together until after he was gone, but even before that… Neal and I weren’t together. There was a lot of baggage between us, and… it would never have worked out anyway.” 

Hook walked silently for a moment, trying to figure out what he’d missed. He’d heard that name recently… He finally placed the context in which he’d heard it, but that just created more questions... With a sigh, he finally asked. “Who’s Neal?” 

“Oh! Sorry! I meant Baelfire. Neal’s the name he went by when I knew him.” 

“Ahh,” he said. But no, that didn’t solve the puzzle. “And why was he… teething?” 

There was a moment in which Emma looked as confused as he felt, before she burst out laughing. 

“Okay, that’s a different Neal. The little munchkin my parents were holding? Baelfire’s namesake.” 

It took him a moment to connect those particular dots, the unfamiliar word “munchkin” not particularly helping, but it was clear enough what she was telling him. Evidently his wife’s first husband was beloved enough by her family that they named their son after him. That was a lot to live up to.

Not, of course – he reminded himself – that he was going to try. He was going to get on his ship and sail away. Leave this town that did nothing but confuse him. Leave this woman who kept looking at him in that infuriating way, as if she understood him. As if he mattered to her. She didn’t know him. Regardless of what shameful secrets she apparently knew, had apparently forgiven him for. 

She’d be fine if he left. He was beginning to think she might cry for a while, but… He walked faster, as if to escape the idea. Beside him, Emma sped up, staying by his side. She gave him a warm smile as they reached the door to their house. Hook started. He hadn’t even been thinking about where he’d been going, but he hadn’t been following Emma, either. Once again, his feet had led him straight here. 

The word home entered his mind, unbidden. Shivering, he walked inside. 

#Captain Swan #Killian Jones #Emma Swan #OUaT #once upon a time #fanfiction #Not a day will go by

[rinchfest]

It's coming baaaaaack! 🎉

Coming this September to an internet near you: Rinch Fest 2022, a ship week for Harold Finch/John Reese from Person of Interest! This is a low-pressure event meant to encourage the creation of more fanworks for Finch/Reese or Finch & Reese's friendship. Fic, art, gifs, vids, podfic, you name it—all are welcome, as long as they’re Rinch-centric.

Posting for Rinch Fest will run from September 24 through September 30 October 8, 2022.

PROMPTS:

Day One – September 24 Firsts • Angst • Belly Wings • The Cushion • Recovery

Day Two – September 25 Weather • Headquarters • Hobbies Setting/Genre Change AU • Be Nice To John

Day Three – September 26 Birds • Music • Misunderstandings/Jealousy Soulmates/Soulbonds • Be Nice To Harold

Day Four – September 27 Ice Cream • Dark • Hanahaki Kids/Babies/Pregnancy • Canon Divergence

Day Five – September 28 Reese Whump • Food/Drinks/Cooking Blood Stains • Undercover • Bed Sharing

Day Six – September 29 Finch Whump • NSFW/Kink • Fix-It Domesticity • Crossover

Day Seven – September 30 Free-For-All/Catch-Up Day

Keep reading for more info!

Who's running this? ArgylePirateWD. Hi!

Any changes since last year? More prompts for each day and Finch and Reese friendship works are now allowed.

Why not call it Rinch Week? It started out as Rinch Fest on The Rinch Loft on Discord, and that’s what stuck.

Plus, Rinch Fest and Reese & Finch share the same initials.

What’s allowed? Complete fanworks focusing on Harold Finch and John Reese in a romantic or close platonic relationship with each other. Fic, art, vids, remixes, sequels, you name it! No length requirements, no style requirements, all ratings allowed—do what you want!

Anything not allowed? Works where Finch/Reese or Finch & Reese is not the primary relationship (additional ships are fine), works that are incomplete at the time of posting, and remixes or other transformative works for other people’s fanworks that are done without the original creator’s permission. Anything else is fair game, as long as it’s labeled.

Also, don’t be a jerk.

What about [insert controversial topic here]? Can I make something with x?/OMG someone made something with x! Anything else is fair game, as long as it’s labeled. This includes works featuring tropes and kinks that you may not like or approve of. As long as it’s warned for, it’s fine and allowed.

Please warn for the usual AO3 warnings (Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-Con, and Underage) and any subjects others may find deeply unpleasant, and clearly label any NSFW works.

What about poly? Gen? Poly is wonderful, but this is a Finch/Reese or Finch&Reese event. Sorry.

Finch & Reese gen is now allowed!

What do I do with x prompt?/Can I do [insert concept here]? Anything goes! Seriously, however you want to interpret a prompt is fine.

Do I have to make something for every prompt? No! You can if you want, but it’s not required. Feel free to skip days, combine prompts, create multiple fills for each day, anything! This is as flexible as it gets.

If it fits multiple prompts, when do I post it? Whatever day works best for you!

What if I want to do something NSFW for another prompt? Do I have to wait until Day Six to post it? Nope!

What about a multi-chapter/piece thing where each chapter fulfills one day’s prompt? When do I post that? Post an update each relevant day until you’re done! (Just make sure you can finish it by the end of the event.)

What if it doesn’t fit a prompt? That’s what Day 7 is for! :D

What if I need to post my fill(s) on a different day? Life happens. The AO3 collection is set to Unrevealed, so I can reveal early submissions on the right day, but if that doesn’t work for you, I’m sure we can work something out.

Can I work on a previously-posted WIP? As long as it’s finished when you make your post for the event, sure! If you’re just updating a WIP without finishing it, no.

Can I start working now? Absolutely! That’s why I’m announcing it now—so there’s plenty of time for people to make things.

Can I talk about/share previews of what I’m working on? Sure!

Wait, there’s a Rinch Discord server? Do I have to join to do this? Of course not. We’d love to have you at The Rinch Loft, and it’s a fun place to hang out, but Rinch Fest is for anyone into Rinch.

If I want the Discord link… Send in an Ask to the @rinchfest Tumblr, contact ArgylePirateWD somewhere, or ask around. It’s open to anyone who likes Rinch or Person of Interest. I’m happy to give it out to anyone who wants it.

Where do I post? On Tumblr, post to your blog and use the #rinchfest22 or #rinchweek22 tags. You are They are being watched. 👁 And maybe add @rinchfest in your post to be sure. Tumblr is as hungry as Bear and Shaw.

Submissions are also open.

On AO3, you can post it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/rinchfest22/

Do I have to have a Tumblr? AO3? As long as you’re on some kind of platform and can get a link to the work to me somehow so I can share it with the world, you’re welcome to play.

On October 1st, I’ll make a round-up post full of links to all the shiny things people made. If I know you made it, it’ll go in!

What time zone? The daily prompt posts will be going up at 12 am Central Time, but as long as it’s the relevant day for your fill somewhere in the world, go ahead and throw it in!

(And if you want to sneak in some Day 7 things a little after, as long as they get posted before the Master Post goes up… 😉)

Sounds fun! How do I sign up? No signups! Just post your stuff somewhere on the right day(s), and you’re in!

Finally, thank you to everyone who participated last year, and to everyone on The Rinch Loft that contributed prompts for Round 2!

#harold finch #john reese #rinch #person of interest #poi #rinchfest22 #rinchweek22