#TARS my beautiful son I love you

[otter-byte]

mad respect to media that tosses any idea of "oooh, is this sentient AI really alive???1? who's to say ¯\_(ツ)_/¯" directly out the window and treats them like a character with agency and importance right out of the gate despite their complete artificiality. Bonus points if they do it without giving the program a human shaped body

#TARS my beautiful son I love you #ODIN from Tacoma is also a top fave #lmao shut up haz #Notable mention for Joi too even though she's fucking awfully written

[katenepveu]

Slightly belated Whale Weekly, Chapter 35, "The Mast-Head"!

I love the joke about how statutes on pillars are the modern land-based mast-head standers.

Ishmael refers to the Sleet's crow's-nest. According to the notes in my edition, Sleet is "[a]nother of Melville’s comic names for William Scoresby Jr., in whose Account of the Arctic Regions (1820) the inventor of the crow’s nest is his father. Melville’s compressed parody attributes the father’s invention to the son." So probably Scoresby doesn't actually claim his dad was drinking heavily up there.

Not just "nowadays," narrator!Ishmael:

For nowadays, the whale-fishery furnishes an asylum for many romantic, melancholy, and absent-minded young men, disgusted with the carking cares of earth, and seeking sentiment in tar and blubber.

(Which he knows and admits immediately before! Making his prompt distancing of himself from such romantic young men both funny in the contrast and also maybe a little poignant, because he's not one of them anymore.)

Anyway this chapter slews wildly between comic and poetic, and I won't quote most of it, though it is often very beautiful. I do want to remark on the very ending, though:

In this enchanted mood, thy spirit ebbs away to whence it came; becomes diffused through time and space; like Wickliff’s sprinkled Pantheistic ashes, forming at last a part of every shore the round globe over.

There is no life in thee, now, except that rocking life imparted by a gently rolling ship; by her, borrowed from the sea; by the sea, from the inscrutable tides of God. But while this sleep, this dream is on ye, move your foot or hand an inch; slip your hold at all; and your identity comes back in horror. Over Descartian vortices you hover. And perhaps, at mid-day, in the fairest weather, with one half-throttled shriek you drop through that transparent air into the summer sea, no more to rise for ever. Heed it well, ye Pantheists!

The essay I mentioned in last chapter's post pointed out how much ambivalence about free will Ishmael demonstrates in chapter 1; I think this also ties into the idea of losing yourself that Ishmael talks about here, dissolving your identity (and, necessarily, your volition) into your environment, and the self-destruction (physical and spiritual) you court thereby.

In conclusion: Moby-Dick continues to be a book of All The Things.

#whale weekly #moby-dick #moby dick #chapter 35 #mine-ish

[moonshinemagpie]

in which I see Real Movies for the very first time

When I looked back on the movies I watched in 2023, I was a little sad to realize I had only watched a bunch of Scooby-Doo movies, Barbie (which was stupid), Jennifer Lawrence's comedy No Hard Feelings (which was also stupid), and Die Hard (which I hated).

Near the end of December I was trying to force myself through the Mario movie, because it was on Netflix and a bunch of people had told me to see it. And I was about 15 minutes in and found myself thinking, I wish I were dead. There's more than an hour left and I have lost my will to live.

And then I remembered: I did not have to watch the Mario movie.

I can't explain this. It was like waking up from a spell.

I stopped the movie. I thought, Movies are for normalizing exploitative, hypermasculine violence and selling toys. I will never watch another movie ever again.

Then I thought: Is it movies I don't like? Or is it corporate, militaristic americana bullshit?

I did not know the answer. I decided to try to find the answer by starting my New Years resolution: Stop Watching Bad Movies I Hate and Watch Good Ones Instead.

Here's what I've seen so far, in order:

14 movies. 4 languages. 4 new releases. 1 classic. 5 women directors. 1 rewatch. An unexpected number of anti-imperialist Irish movies.

Yeah, so. I like movies. A lot, maybe. This month I felt like I traveled to London, Belfast, Lima, Tehran, Kampala, Mexico City, Paris, and New Zealand, and it was awesome.

Mini reviews:

Tar: Literally the best movie I've ever seen. Psychological, surreal, intense. A++

Hunger: Says "fuck you" to traditional storytelling arcs and also to the British. A+

Skinamarink: It didn't scare me but I respect its decisions. C

Charade: At one point Audrey Hepburn dips her finger into Cary Grant's chin cleft and says, "How do you shave in there?" At a later point Cary Grant says to her, "Hasn't it occurred to you that I'm having a tough time keeping my hands off you?" These moments were A+, but: This was like a proto-action movie, complete with chase scenes and shootouts, and I was so bored despite Audrey Hepburn being in it. It made me wonder: What if I refuse to watch any more movies that use violence for entertainment for the rest of 2024? What if?? Who can stop me???

The Wind that Shakes the Barley: A young Cillian Murphy fights the English in 1920's Ireland. Lots of violence but none of it for entertainment. A+

Kneecap: The true story of 3 Irish-language rappers from Belfast. I forgot how fun it is to watch high people perform on stage. A hilarious, well-written, well-plotted middle finger. A++

Don't Worry Darling: This deserves more acclaim than it got and I blame misogyny. The Truman Show but more thoughtful. A+

Lord of the Rings: You don't need me to review LOTR.

Sujo: About the son of a Mexican cartel gunman trying to break a cycle of violence. Slow, well-shot. B

Sebastian: About a gay writer in London who uses sex work to inform his fiction. Overlong. I recommend the French film Eastern Boys instead. B-

Reinas: About a Peruvian family in the 1990's trying to emigrate to the US. Made me remember my own childhood and also made me desperately want to visit Lima. Bright, beautiful, touching, with a dope soundtrack. A+

No Bears: Meta, fourth-wall-breaking Iranian film about a director named Jafar Panahi who's in trouble with the authorities. Directed by Jafar Panahi, who was shortly after imprisoned. A+

Belfast: About 1960's Belfast. A little simplistic. Not as good as the other Irish history films I saw this month. B

Queen of Katwe: Based on the real-life Ugandan chess champion Phiona Mutesi, who recently said she unreservedly loves this film. It's better imo than The Queen's Gambit. Chess isn't about making it to the world championship. Chess is about what keeps you afloat when your house floods. Chess is about showing up even when it's hard. Chess is about fulfilling the dream of one day buying your mama a home. A rare "inspirational" Disney film that didn't feel fake. A+

Going forward:

I want to watch more world cinema! Guys! I'd only ever seen one other film in Spanish in my whole life. This was my first time seeing an Iranian film. This is mostly because I didn't watch many movies to start with, but, again, maybe I would have watched more if it had dawned on me that I don't have to see cars driving fast after other cars in the last 30 minutes of every single god damned film.

I don't want to watch any action films this year. I'm so exhausted. I'm so tired. Hollywood, I think I hate you.

I want to watch weird whacky Japanese New Wave films and films about the Spanish Civil War and films that remind me of parts of my own childhood I haven't thought about in 15 years.

I feel so alive!!!

#movies #films

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.19--Episodes 18-19

I have watched through S2E19; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

—I got my Pinocchio and Gepetto reunion. I asked to have a big emotional event, I have nobody to blame but myself. And the writers, it’s really their fault I’m sad.

—The good kind of sad, though. Gepetto actually gets to help his son grow up. Pinocchio gets a no-holds-barred second chance. That’s a pretty rare bit of pure happiness for the characters.

—I can’t quite tell if Tamara is supposed to be from the fairytale world, or if she’s just a regular person who believes in magic. If she is from the fairytale world, I have no guess as to who she might be.

—I actually don’t like that she’s carrying on with Owen. Working together to take down the town? Sure. But having them be in a secret relationship feels A) cliche, and B) kinda forced. I’m still open to the idea that their relationship’s backstory will get a stronger foundation later on, but as of right now I think it’s a bit of a weak link in the otherwise great story.

—The Dragon was kind of disappointing. Giving me this mystic character who for some reason can see and cure magical maladies and then just bumping him off was kind of weird. On the other hand, I don’t really feel like investigating yet another storyline right now, so it comes out even.

—Oh, good. We’re having nightmares about killing children again.

—At this point, I’d like to believe Mr. Gold wouldn’t seriously threaten Henry, but if he starts descending into evil again I’m not so sure.

—Mr. Gold throwing shade on Granny’s *wink wink* not-frozen lasagna was hilarious.

—I love when Henry calls Charming “Gramps”.

—Bae is a surprisingly decent father. I mean, he hasn’t done a whole lot yet, but he seems committed.

—Him and Henry dueling with their lil wooden swords in the park was fun.

—Lmao, that nurse asked Mr. Gold to describe Belle and he basically told her to look for the pretty one. Gushing about her beautiful blue eyes (that’s just fact) and her unforgettable accent…he’s so in love.

—I am now at about 12/10 on the Mad At Regina Meter. Just because she’s miserable and won’t learn to move on with her life, doesn’t mean everyone else has to be miserable too.

—Also, I really don’t like Lacey. She’s a piece of work. Not to mention, she is exactly the wrong kind of person for Mr. Gold. He needs someone who is willing to challenge him, who can care about him while pushing him to be the best version of himself, and Lacey is the opposite of that. She doesn’t challenge him at all. She doesn’t care about him being a good person. And I’m pretty sure Belle would dislike her, too.

—Despite the fact that Lacey’s clothes are very similar to things Red would’ve worn closer to the beginning of the show, I don’t like Lacey’s clothes at all. (Gee, I wonder why—it can’t possibly be that the girl wearing them is the difference *sarcastic*)

—Seriously, it is unnerving that Lacey can just stand there and watch, smiling, while Mr. Gold beats the tar out Nottingham. I have gone on and on about my love for Mr. Gold/Rumplestiltskin, myself, but his bouts of rage are essentially the one thing about him that are truly off-putting. I don’t find violence attractive, and at some level I distrust anyone who does.

—I much prefer the Belle who is like the Charming to Rump’s cursed!Snow. Episode 19 really reminded me of the episode where Charming took an arrow to keep Snow from killing the Evil Queen. The elements were all there—hell, those episodes even have literally the same bow and arrow! And there’s that oh-so-delicious element of fighting for the soul of someone you care for.

—THE LIBRARY! That’s the best part of Beauty and the Beast. To me, that represents the Beast telling Belle that they are now equals (I could get historical/philosophical on that, but my braincells are much too tired) and not only that, he does it with books!

—The smell of old books is lovely. Or maybe it’s not old ones, but ones made of a certain kind of paper? Whichever it is, books smell good.

—I had kinda hoped Hook died of New York. I am entirely displeased to see him return.

—I think it’s interesting that Lacey wears almost exclusively blue. Now, Belle has worn many different colors, in Storybrooke and in the fairytale world, and blue has been featured in some of her outfits, but it’s also the fact that she’s not wearing yellow. It’s an interesting visual reminder that she’s a different person now.

—Belle is going to be disappointed and shocked and angry with herself and with Mr. Gold when she gets her real memories back. And yes, I continue to be optimistic, even though it’s a pretty stupid strategy for this show.

—Why shouldn’t Emma go to the fairytale world? Literally all her friends, her house, and her life are with the fairytale characters. There’s no reason why she should pick the “real” world. Also, with the magic bean supply, she, Henry, and Bae could work out a travel solution if Bae doesn’t want to go back.

—Something’s totally gonna happen to the beans though. Because of course it is.

#once upon a time #ouat #pinocchio #gepetto #tamara #Owen #the dragon #mr. gold #Henry #baelfire #belle #lacey #regina mills #Captain Hook #Emma swan #martianbugsbunny reviews

[itsyourchoicedevotionals]

Pilgrims

“These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.” Hebrews 11:13KJV

Highway rest areas, throughout Wyoming and Northern Utah, depict the ‘Oregon Trail.’ The pictures show a covered wagon, the wife and child seated in the driver’s seat. Reins leading out to oxen, not horses as western movies portrayed. Cows, bare-footed children, husbands afoot and on horseback accompanied the wagon.

Raw, wild beauty went out as far as the eye could see. Wagons got bogged down in the beauty of the Salt Flats of Utahs— soft salt which became gooey like tar with heat. Mountains of 7000 plus feet had to be scaled, or skirted around on often invisible trails. Always trying to follow close to rivers or creeks meant fording those rivers, moving boulders, falling trees and removing timber from their path. Setting up camp nightly to cook what provisions they’d brought, or found foraging, as supplies dwindled.

Sweltering heat parched some bodies to dehydration. Frigid temperatures and snow brought frostbite and death to others. Family members, friends, loved ones died along the trail and were buried, left with only a makeshift cross to mark the gravesite. Illness, cold, hunger, drought, snow storms, rains, flooding plagued the exodus of those eastern pilgrims headed west. Families left back in eastern states might never hear from loved ones again.

These struggles and troubles all happened before they arrived at their destinations of California and Oregon. Like the pilgrims Paul wrote of in Hebrews, they hadn’t “received the promises, but having seen them afar off” they endured.

Christian— you and I have set up housekeeping long before arriving at our goal of heaven. Do we know one person alive today who is living in real  expectancy of being actually raptured out of the earth perhaps before tomorrow? Most people, I know, live on earth expecting death to part us from this world. Beliefs actually are— most of God’s promises will be received in heaven, not on earth.

Abraham BELIEVED (truly, authentically, and absolutely), he’d be the ‘father of many nations.’ By the end of his great-grandson Joseph’s life, (whom Abe never met), the promise had progressed immensely towards fulfillment. When God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, he spiritually saw the answer of an instantly fulfilled promise, which occurred: “…My son, God will provide Himself a lamb…” Genesis 22:8KJV. “He considered that God was able even to raise him from the dead, from which, figuratively speaking, he did receive him back” Hebrews 11:19ESV

Jim Reeves wrote an old song: “This world is not my home I'm just a-passing through My treasures are laid up Somewhere beyond the blue. The angels beckon me From heaven's open door And I can't feel at home In this world anymore.”

During the 1980s every charismatic and Pentecostal church was having ‘rapture practice,’ jumping in the air while worshipping God. People in those days were often referred to as: ‘so heavenly minded, they weren’t any earthly good.’ What would happen, if we began to live life in true expectancy as a pilgrim? Willing to endure whatever came at us, for the sake of heaven? Assured every promise was ours even in the face of doubt and extreme adversity?

2Timothy 4:8NLT “…now the prize awaits me—the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of His return…” Each of us has a prize set before us. Have we set up housekeeping here, only living for today? Will we be pilgrims living for heaven and God’s promises? It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Lord God, resurrect in us a desire, an excitement for the coming rapture. Take out of our hearts the drudgery of simply passing through this world. Help us to leave Your mark on this world, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

by Debbie Veilleux Copyright 2022 You have my permission to reblog this devotional for others. Please keep my name with this devotional, as author. Thank you.

#Jesus Christ #lord of lords #Word of God #Holy Spirit #God #it's your choice #devotional #pilgrims #rapture #heaven #struggles #troubles #at home #love #hope #faith

[batjmlworld]

Memories of a baby boomer (turning 70's-something older.)

I was born in 1953

And raised on a small farm out in the country.

My dad struggled as a farmer financially

My mom was the proverbial "stubborn german" mom

As was my grandma

That's the way it was growing up out in the sticks

In rural Shelby County

My mom ran the house as she cooked and cleaned daily.

Dad worked at Liberty Folder (now Heidelberg-Baumfolder)

And I stayed home watching Captain Kangaroo and Howdy Doody.

I entered the first grade at Holy Angels School in Sidney in the fall of 1960

I had much difficulty with paying attention in Sister Sarah's class

Whilst the ever violent-tempered (and mentally abusive) Sister John Clare

Was screaming at her six grade pupils practically daily.

My first love was music, as it helped brighten my day

I was facinated by watching the 45 RPM records go round and round

On the family-owned Meteor phonograph

Playing everything from Elvis Presley to Lawrence Welk

Back in that 1950s-60s day.

We gathered around that little (yet heavy) Motorola black and white TV

Watching 'The Real McCoys" , "Gunsmoke", Ed Sullivan and "Sing Along w/Mitch"

12 VHF channels coming in from Dayton

(and sometimes Columbus and Cincinnati).

The country road we lived on was partially paved with pea-gravel and tar

And those bumpy and dusty back roads inundated with chuckholes and more that was felt in my parents' car.

Fast-forward over sixty years later

I now sometimes drive past that little-lowly family farm.

The house (still painted white with the trees) is still there.

But both the old and deteriorating red and white barns are now both gone.

I grew up listening to Top Forty radio

Back when Gene "By Golly" Barry played the hits on "High Flying 1410 WING"

I struggled and worked in that field for only twelve years

Only to be maltreated and exploited by the narcissistic power-tripping powers that be.

And the only real radio freind I was honored to work with was a dear fellow named Gordy.

Here I am now at the age of sixty-eight pushing seventy.

My wife and I are still together by the grace of God

And blessed to have all my three sons still with me.

And as I get older I find myself now listening to "Beautiful Instrumentals" Saturday nights on my Tune In app.

Listening to the soothing sounds of "Tracy's Theme" by the Spencer Ross Orchestra

As I begin to slowly shy away from the rowdy rock of the seventies

That was perpetrated by KISS, Queen, Led Zeppelin and the likes thereof.

I'm getting older

Wishing I was a grandpa.

And even more so for my wife and three sons to return to Church w/me

And as for that abusive principal I encountered decades earlier

I now realize that I must forgive her...

..so I can be in Heaven

..w/my sins forgiven.

...and even more so to be reunited in Heaven

with my long missed Lehman Catholic kindred spirit classmate

...named Mary Lee Koon.

(....whom I still miss ever so dearly!)

JML 06/26/22

Dedicated to the memory of Stanley T. Coning (1923-2010) , owner of WCTM AM-1130, a beautiful music formatted station in Eaton, Ohio which played that tune "Tracy's Theme." among other adult standards before becoming WEDI, now a classic country format station.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WCTM

Medjugorje message June 25, 2022:

"Dear children!

I rejoice with you and thank you for every sacrifice and prayer which you have offered for my intentions.

Little children, do not forget that you are important in my plan of salvation for mankind.

Return to God in prayer that the Holy Spirit may work in you and through you.

Little children, I am with you also in these days when satan is fighting for war and hatred. Division is strong and evil is at work in man as never before.

Thank you for having responded to my call."

BVM 6/25/22

(relayed by JML the bluespoet from https://medjugorje.org)

#poetry #Youtube

[bbrandy2002]

A Beautiful Ending

Prologue

Pairing: Liam x MC

Book: The Royal Romance

A/N and Trigger Warning: I’ve had this one stored away in my mind for a nearly 2 years, the idea itself being based on something I’d watched a long time ago. It will only be a few chapters long. **There will be a character death in this, and it does involve a child. **  I can say though, what you think is going to happen isn’t exactly what happens, not that that makes it any better. 

Word count: 1105

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

Billowing vapors of heat and humidity rose like seas of sweltering fractals across the tarmac. The slosh of softening tar and cement could be heard as a small caravan, led by the Royal Guard in SUVs and motorcycles, drove boldly through the gates that led to the private 757 jetliner owned by the Crown.

The limo came to a complete stop with a squeal of its brakes and dulling engine, just steps away from the plane. Bastien causally departed the front passenger's side, adjusting the brim of his black woolen suit jacket, the bright yellow sun reflecting in the shaded frames of his glasses. Within only a few seconds, beads of warm sweat had already pooled at his temple and slowly crept along his hairline.

A Cordonian summer could be cruel and intense.

Pausing for just a split-second, he winced at the stiffness and throb in his knee as he took his first step -- a constant reminder of what he gave for the crown six years ago at the Costume Ball.

A constant reminder of what was always at stake.

He stepped away with an unremarkable limp to the rear of the limo and placed a firm grip on the door latch; he glanced to his left, then to his right, ensuring his men and women were in their designated positions. Confidence and precision were essential here; everyone knew their part. One wrong move, an error in judgment, or a slight mishap, could make the difference between life and an unthinkable tragedy. Nothing should ever be taken for granted.

For what they are securing inside that vehicle wasn't just royalty -- a young King and Queen of Cordonia -- but a little family, precious cargo, timeless treasures of love and devotion to one another.

A beautiful beginning.

In all of his 25 years of service, Bastien Lykel understood all too well what the King had lost: a childhood marred of its innocence, the untimely death of a beloved mother, the horrific death of an implacable father, and the plans he had prepared for his life as the spare. It was all terribly sad, really, but in the here and now, His Majesty carried on happily with the help of one woman and the two children they lovingly brought into the world. To Bastien, he would be damned if he allowed another deadly incident to take all that away from Liam.

But sometimes, those unforeseen occurrences caught up with a person — destiny and fate bowed to no one.

Nodding to the driver who stood on the opposite side of the limo from him, they simultaneously opened the doors.

Almost instantly, a powerful gust of wind swept through the vehicle, causing Riley's lustrous textured hair to become artfully messy as it hurtled wildly across her radiantly smiling face.

With knees pressed together and her grinning one-year-old son -- whose wispy blonde locks resembled the most yellowish of marigolds -- wrapped in her secure arms, the beaming Queen stepped out into the noisy haze. Her floral print sundress twisted and clashed like a dauntless flag against her thighs, and she had the presence of mind to bunch up the lower part to keep her backside from making its way onto the front pages of newspapers again.

Shifting her son higher on her hip, the Queen whirled around to see if the other half of her heart was behind her.

Across from them, the driver stepped back and lowered his head to the towering figure of the King as he made his way out of the limo. Offering a courteous wave and smile to several dozen royal watchers, all pressing themselves against a chain-length fence several yards away, calling out his name, Liam reached back inside the limo where a tiny hand clamped onto his and scooted her way across the leather seats to join him at his side. A smaller version of her mother, the five-year-old princess shot a curious glance at the boisterous crowd; she could never quite figure out why people were so interested in what her family was doing.

While staff worked diligently on loading luggage onto the plane, the family of four joined Bastien, who would follow closely behind them as they headed toward the rolling steps of the jet.

The enthusiastic crowd roared louder when they got the first glimpses of the monarchs with their small children together. Liam and Riley enjoyed a popularity that seemingly was unparallel to anything the country had ever experienced. None of which would be possible without their generosity and charismatic personalities; the press and the people clung to their comings and goings like magnets.

Liam gently tugged on his daughter's balmy hand while she sluggishly trudged alongside him. He shook his head with an amused grin, taking in her dainty curls, bouncing and bobbing with each change in the wind's direction. There's nothing quite like admiring your very own piece of artwork, whose hearty giggles or cries had the ability to break him into a withering shell of himself.

Placing his other hand on the small of Riley's back as she took the first step onto the stairs, Liam's stoic gaze turned back to acknowledge his citizens one last time with a quick wave before ascending the steps behind his wife. Thoughts of a long, exhausting work week were put behind him, and he looked forward to landing in Greece within the hour. It had been months since the family last got away together and even longer since he'd visited his brother, Leo.

As Liam's foot hit the fourth step, a thunderous commotion of sorts broke out over the blare of the jet's whirling engines. There was no time to turn and see what had caused the crowd to erupt. No time to even process whether their gasps were something nonsensical or cause for concern. It was the gentle hand that had earlier clutched his so tightly, in only the way a daughter who trusted her father's loving protection would, slipping away, that gained his attention.

He couldn't catch her -- a fact that would torment him later. It wouldn't have made much difference, but his long-held beliefs were that a daddy was supposed to be the one to catch his child, not the guard.

But this wasn't a fall or a slip.

Liam's eyes widened, a noticeable expression of worry and panic etched on his face. His Princess laid limply, motionless, outwardly void of life, in Bastien's arms. "El?" he muttered, with a shudder in his voice, before tearing her away from the clutches of his head guard and cleaving her to his breathless chest.

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

@burnsoslow @dcbbw​ @ao719 @jessiembruno @texaskitten30 @janezillow @merridithsmiscellany-blog​ @mskaneko​@callmeellabella​ @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot​ @drakexwillow​@jovialyouthmusic @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @bebepac@kingliam2019 @lovablegranny​ @cordoniaqueensworld​ @amandablink @liamxs-world​ @choiceskatie​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ @hopelessromanticmonie​ @charlotteg234​@annekebbphotography @txemrn​ @thecordoniandiaries @alyssalauren​ @cordonianroyalty @monsoonbloom12 @mom2000aggie​ @theroyalheirshadowhunter​ @princessleac1​ @kimmiedoo5 @graceful-leah @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful​ @thegreentwin​ @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @pink-diamond13​ @walker7519​ @natureblooms24 @yourmajesty09​ @gabesmommie1130 @sweatyrysconnoisour @kat-tia801​ @debmcg1106 @choicesstan650​ @emkay512 @royalromancer​ @queenrileyrose @cordonia-gothqueen​

#tw: death #tw: child death #Liam x mc #king liam #the royal romance #trr #choices fanfiction #a beautiful ending #bbrandy2002 #what the hell am I doing now

[beskarberry]

The Roar of Thunder

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 12, Book Two Finale

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

He couldn’t console Grogu, or even get him to eat most days, and that made him just as worthless as Imp scum. The last bounty lay at the end of the wormhole, a pathetic bail jumper that should take no time at all to capture, and once that was complete and the credits collected maybe…

Maybe he should take Grogu home.

<- Previous

Rating: Extra Explicit

Word count: 24.2k SORRY

Content warnings: *deep breath* Dark themes, self loathing, depression, thoughts of suicide, implied parental abuse, drug induced abductions, use of needles, auditory and visual hallucinations, extremely graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, stupid amounts of murder. Oh, and smut! Yay!

A/N: THE EPIC CONCLUSION (???) OF BARGAINING WITH BESKAR! Holy shit I can't believe we've made it this far! I know those tags are super fucking intimidating but there is a light at the end of this tunnel, it's just a very long, dark ass tunnel and you're gonna have to work to get there! THANK YOU ALL so much for joining me on this wildass ride that I already said I was finished with once before lol. There's a lot that I'm leaving off with so there's a very good chance I'll come back to this story in the future, but for now, enjoy!

The Crest had been silent before, for years actually, but never like this.

When it had only been him aboard the old gunship, long before the child and much longer before you, silence had been the Mandalorian’s only companion. In the wake of betrayal, the eerie quiet of hyperspace had returned like a plague; creeping in on innumerable, chitinous legs through the Razor’s solid walls, taking up space like something alive.

Or maybe something dead.

Silence was heavy, viscous and rotting in Mando’s ears. It slithered through his ear canals and down his throat, seeping over his heart like melted tar. It hurt, the silence. Somehow both burning like acid and freezing like ice in his chest and it hurt. It made his bones ache. It made his ears ring in place of the lack of noise, the lack of life and love that he had grown so fond of.

But the silence was better, a hundred, thousand times better than the crying.

Grogu wailed whenever he was awake, sobbing and choking on the tears that streaked down from his cosmic eyes and stopped up his teensy tinsey nose with snot. The little terror never made so much noise in all his life, and he would frequently cry so hard he would tire himself out and fall into a fretful, restless sleep. Din would try everything he could think of, holding the baby, rocking him and shushing him as sweetly as a mountain of metal could; but the child only cried harder for his efforts.

The child wouldn’t eat, barely slept, and wept relentlessly. Din’s shattered heart broke a thousand more times with each fitful sob that tore it’s way out of the tiny toothy mouth of his adopted son, and every day that it continued he thought the agony would kill him.

He knew why Grogu was so heartbroken, though he refused to accept it, still tasting the bitterness of betrayal on his tongue. Dirty Imp. He wanted to be so angry, he still was, but the exhaustion of trying to comfort his son drained every ounce of fight from the mighty warrior’s body. Din’s decision was final, even if it was starting to feel like the worst decision he’d ever made in his entire life. He wasn’t going to let any goddamn Imps near his son, no matter how lovely they were, how beautiful… how wonderful.

Grogu was just going to have to get over it.

But...what if he never does?

Din was cradling the child against his bare shoulder, trying, and failing, for the thousandth time that week to get Grogu to calm down. The Mandalorian rocked slowly, holding the child’s head to his shoulder and petting him softly, running his thumbs over his ears in the way that used to make the little beastie coo and hum. Made him close his eyes and sleep. If… if he could just get the child to sleep, to relax, maybe he could think straight.

When she was here, what would she do? Din didn’t want to think about the monster that he had let into his life, let into his heart, but he couldn’t stop the train of thought as it left his mental station. She would sing. She would sing him a lullaby and he would conk right out. They were his favorite. He groaned, blinking up at the hazy cabin lights as if the Maker was up there with better answers.

They were my favorite, too.

Din sighed heavily against the weeping creature he loved so dearly, then started to hum one of the songs he thought he remembered. Low and slow, a deep, rumbling baritone that once was as warm as honey, but now felt cold, lifeless and dull.

There was the briefest of respites in the child’s crying, only to pick back up with a vengeance at the memory of his lost buir’s lullabies. Assaulted by the uptick in the wailing, Din wracked his brain for the words to those songs. Stars, there were so many, but there was one that sort of… stuck.

“Hey, womp rat, let me see you.” Din pulled the soggy baby from his shoulder, fishing the edge of his cloak around to wipe the child’s flooded eyes. “There he is. Um, how does it go… I have sailed the… no that’s not… I went sailing in the midnight sea, something something…navigator... wait, please don’t cry. Fuck.”

Singing wasn’t one of his strong points, no matter how many times you had told him he had a lovely voice, soft and dark and velvety. No, it was you whose voice was spun from gold, not his. You had brought music into his world, that very first day, sitting in the passenger seat with the child in your lap you had broken into a star-shanty that dissolved every barrier the Mandalorian had erected around his heart and sang love into his world.

Your voice wasn’t just powerful, it was a siege weapon.

Nothing had ever had that kind of power over him, made him want to rip his helmet from his skull and throw it overboard just to hear your voice as it was meant to be heard in all its glory. And then when he had gotten to hear it clear and true, without the modulation of his audio intake processors, he knew he would never hear anything more beautiful again in his entire life.

His Starsong.

Din tried to bring himself back to the very first song, something about a navigator, guiding a mighty ship through the stars. So long ago, when Grogu had fallen asleep from your lullaby and you were just humming the last verses, you had caught Din staring at you and abruptly cut the song short; thinking that the Mandalorian was ready to slit your throat for being so close to his precious cargo. It wasn’t until later, after a victorious but near-fatal hunt that you had been asked to finish it.

You were cradled against his side, tucked into the crook of his arm with your head on his chest, tired and breathless from critical bloodloss and a foolish bout of lovemaking. You had nearly died, and his son had saved your life, given you back to him like a precious keepsake. Din had felt your breathing slow way down, watched your eyes close from behind his visor, and suddenly he just had to know.

How does the song end?

Mmm? Why, do you need a lullaby too?

No, just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.

Din stopped rocking the child, struck fast by the memory. Grogu was starting to tire himself out, but the tears still flowed, dampening the flack under his squishy baby face.

When you leave.

He had made a deal with you, one hunt and you were off the hook, spared from carbonite and the Guild’s vengeance; but everything about you enchanted him so much that he nearly broke his own Creed just to feel your body against his, feel your lips on his face, your hands in his hair. Even before he heard your singing his ears had fallen in love with your voice. Maker, the sounds that you had made; the soft little pants, the choked cries, the moans. He had to have you.

He had to hear you.

Ensorcelled by your siren tongue he took you for himself, gave himself to you in the sacred way his Creed demanded should have come after riduurok, but he didn’t care. The first time he filled you was heaven, an addiction more fixing than spice. In that moment he was too far gone to try to explain to you that The Way dictated he was bound to you now as your protector, but would have understood if you had told him no. Told him to leave you alone, let you get back to your life. But you had only sunk your claws deeper, given yourself more, entwining yourself with him more closely than the beskar that had been forged around him.

When you leave.

You’d become protective and caring and dangerous, a weaponized testament to the love you’d grown for your two boys. You hunted with the fury of thunderstorms, defended your kin with your own life, loved them like no one else ever had and it was beautiful. Din’s foundling became your foundling, and soon you’d become the foundling’s buir, bound to his little clan by the sacred ceremony of riddurok. Indivisible, inseparable. A pack, a clan, a family.

A lie.

A dirty, filthy, soul crushing lie.

A fucking Imp had been right under his nose, in his fucking bed, whispering in his ear that he was loved, that he meant something. Anger burned behind his eyes at the memories that he once cherished, making their corners sting. Grogu picked up on it instantly, his almost-closed eyes flying back open with another shriek. Din gave up. He couldn’t take it anymore. The child was gently lowered to his pram, still sniveling but at least tired enough that maybe he would fall asleep soon.

With squinty, flooded eyes the baby glared up at his adopted father, his ears nearly falling off his head with how droopy they were. He sank his adorable little talons into the fabric of Din’s wrist, keeping him hostage so the tiny green terror could break his fathers heart just one more time.

“Bubu?”

“Yes?”

Grogu grumbled with a scowl, looking away from Din’s exhausted face, trying to find somebody else. “Bubu.”

Din had heard the baby use the shorthand of buir for the first time when he was storming up the Crest’s ladder after abandoning you on Elgon Station, hatred and disgust deafening him to the sound of his son's first almost-word. When he was blasting away from the sudden starcruiser, he had heard the baby shouting the sweet phrase over and over and over again, his little voice choked with desperation; and he knew that it wasn’t meant for him.

It was meant for you.

Din shook his head, unhooking Grogu from his sleeve. ”Sorry kid, It’s just me now.” Fighting the mist forming in his eyes, he closed the lid, sealing the pram with an ugly hiss at yet another betrayal. Sorry kid.

For everything.

Exhausted and broken, Din flopped down in the little sleeping nook that he had once shared with you, sinking into the bedroll. The Tatooinian bed roll. You had picked up the soft, plush foam mattress on your shopping excursion through the desert bazaar, spitting fire about the quality of the bed he had grown used to.

It was your bed roll.

Din was too tired to yank the thing off and shred it like he had been meaning to, at least that’s what he had been telling himself for the last few cycles. The reality was that it still smelled faintly of you, a scent that was losing its strength with each passing jump through hyperspace. Sleep made him just as restless as his son usually was now, often waking him up in a flop sweat that was slowly replacing the scent in the mattress with wallowing anguish.

Not even an hour after he had laid down he woke up in one such panic, sweat turning to ice on his brow and down the expanse of his chest, and on instinct he reached for you.

But you weren’t there.

When you leave… her. You left her, Djarin. You left her behind. Left her to die. It’s your own fault.

Agony and despair and guilt were his only bedfellows now, grinding against his ribs and chewing through the lining of his stomach. He reached up for one of the thin, utilitarian blankets that he kept in the mesh netting high above his head, maybe more to wipe the sweat off than for comfort. Comfort had tricked him and told him lies. Comfort had made him weak, made him blind to the insurgence that laid next to him at night. Comfort was not something he deserved.

The threadbare blanket fell down from its spot, bringing something else down with it.

Bantha wool.

Growling, Did made to throw the fleecy thing away, hoping it would take his painful memories with it, but the smell of you was all over it. Strong as if you were right there with him, as if he held you in his arms again.

He stopped fighting, hugging the desert fabric to his chest and burying his face in it, breathing in the scent of you as if without it he would suffocate and die. He held the air in, feeling it flow through the serrated hole where his heart used to be. The breath in his lungs let itself out, ragged and broken and threatening.

Alone in his little bunk, the best hunter in the parsec swallowed his sobs down, terrified of waking the baby. The scent of you brought him back to that moment, the moment that he’d snapped. You’d been trying to tell him something, but he had been consumed by his anger, blinded by his hatred of the Empire and the threat that it posed to his son and the memories of what it had done to his people. The Empire that you served.

His body shook at the memory of your confession, I am not an Imp! That’s not who I am anymore! You’d shouted, no, roared, concealing the usage of some kind of… interference device that must have been hidden on your person. His visor had flickered and his audio processors blew, nearly deafening him with feedback. The damage done to his helmet was extensive, and like nothing he’d ever seen, the wires and microchips crushed by some phantasmal force. It took days for him to repair, but it was a welcome distraction from his painful memories.

That’s not who I am any more.

Din chewed his lip so hard he tasted blood, sucking it back down as not to stain the cherished blanket. Did I make a mistake? No. An Imp doesn’t change its plasticast… does it? Even… even one as strong and beautiful as her. He breathed the scent of you in deep, curling up on his cot until his knees touched the wall, digging up yet another tainted memory.

The memory of him kneeling before you, of him asking for your hand.

You don’t know me! You’d sobbed, waving around a sword of pure beskar inches from his throat. You don’t know where I’ve been, what I’ve done!

You’d told him right then and there that you weren’t to be trusted, but... it was too late.

He was in love.

Bedazzled in a pair of opalized fangs far too lavish for such a warrior, he’d sank to his knees at your feet, asking for your hand, or your judgement.

You may now ask him to swear his oaths, and should they please you, you may remove his helmet. However, should he dishonor you, you may remove his head.

It was almost unfair, such an ultimatum of love or death.

You broke every single vow you swore to her, Djarin. How are you any better than an Imp? She loved you, and you threw her out like garbage. You purged that love from your life, forsaking the one that you called ner jate’kara, your guiding star. Without her, you will die in the darkness that you have brought upon yourself.

Without love there was only death left for him, though there wasn’t a single being in this parsec that would be capable of killing him…

Except-

Himself.

The brakes had long gone out on his mental trains, and horrifying clarity wrenched his eyes open in the darkness of the bunk. Maybe death would feel better than the heartbreak he was suffering from now. Maybe giving himself up to the cold embrace of the void would feel less damning, less crushing.

To leave this universe on his own volition, and not on the valorous battlefield, was considered the lowest form of dishonor a Mandalorian could endure. Dar’manda. But… that’s what he was. An honorless cur, an oathbreaker. Though his bond to you had been rendered completely fucking worthless, he was still bound to the baby as his father.

Though...maybe…

Maybe he shouldn’t be.

He couldn’t console Grogu, or even get him to eat most days, and that made him just as worthless as Imp scum. The last bounty lay at the end of the wormhole, a pathetic bail jumper that should take no time at all to capture, and once that was complete and the credits collected maybe…

Maybe he should take Grogu home.

To his people, his real people like he was supposed to do eons ago.

What is it?

It is a foundling. And by Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.

Din had taken that last line to heart. The last memory he had of his own father still haunted his nightmares, the image of his parent’s eyes glassy with frightened tears as they closed the bunker door over him right before the droid army took their lives.

Decades later an opportunity had been presented to him, an opportunity to give this child a father to grow up with; though the child would likely live for centuries after Din died from either old age or, more likely, a bullet hole. His unknown people had not been good enough to protect the baby, to keep him out of harm's way and out of the grasp of the Empire, but a Mandalorian would be.

Or, so he had told himself.

Somewhere out in the vastness of space were potentially more little green creatures that were missing one of their own, and he had selfishly stolen Grogu away from them to live out his fantasy of being a father.

No.

It wasn’t right, it hadn’t been from the start.

And now he was being punished for it.

One more hunt, one last credit haul to fuel his ship up, and he would return the baby to his people, giving Grogu’s real parents every cent he had left in the most desperate hope that they would forgive him. Forgive him for stealing a child.

And then.

Then it would be over.

There would be nothing left for him.

As if there was anything left for him now.

~

It took a couple of cycles to convince yourself that it wasn’t a nightmare, and even longer to come to terms with your waking reality. Your wayward journey through the stars was over just as quickly as it had begun, and you were right back at square one where you had started.

Inside of you a dull, constant ache had settled in the spot where your heart used to be, bitter and stinging against the anger that was growing in your ribs and the nausea festering in your guts. You couldn’t close your eyes without seeing the rage-twisted face of the man you had thought you loved, thought you trusted; the image worse than any nightmare. You ran through the scenario over and over and over until it drove you to silent, secretive tears.

Years of learning to track, hunt, and kill quarry was only a blip on your mental radar compared to the memories you had made with the Mandalorian and his son during the short time you had known them. You wanted to remember the good things, like the sweet laughter of the child or even the funny, gross-ish noises that Din made when he ate. Anything but those furious, hateful eyes and bared teeth, but that was all you saw whenever you so much as blinked.

Behind your closed eyes was the face of rage, but when your eyes were open it was even harder to convince yourself this was your reality, because you kept seeing… something. A flicker here, a flash of blue there. The feeling that someone was standing next to you when you were in an empty room, as rare as that was now that you were back under the ever-watchful eye of the Admiral.

Though your eyes were playing tricks on you, that wasn’t the strangest thing you’d noticed about the old dragon. Aside from the Admiral there wasn’t a single member of the skeletal crew that you recognized, though almost all of them wore some form of duraplast covering their faces. Every bilgerat you had grown up with had vanished, as well as most of the officers that you’d actually grown to like, including Chief Wellers, the engineering deck staffed with more droids now than people.

It was strange to say the least, and lonely, being left with only one recognizable face that you loathed. The unfamiliar officers glared at you while you were being led up the Wyvern’s wide entryway days ago, making judgemental passes at your hunt-fucked attire. To better match the remaining crew you were stripped of your gear and weapons and given a fresh, beige-and-black uniform that rode up under your arms and chaffed your thighs. And to add insult to injury you had even been given a stupid little hat to top it off. You hated it, but at least it had pockets. Pockets full of secrets.

Wrapped up in the red silk kerchief that you had stolen on Canto Bight, the pair of beloved fossils weighed heavy against your thigh, a piercing reminder of another life. Why are you keeping them? He left you, dumbass. He’s not coming back. True as that may be, you weren’t ready to let go, the wound was still too fresh, too recent. You missed those strange boys from the stars, and the tiny collection of trinkets was all you had left of a life that had actually meant something to you.

A set of beskar ear cuffs, a red pocket square, and a pair of krayt’s teeth.

An entire lifetime sitting in the palms of your hands.

You had one in your hand now, the opalized bone glittering under fluorescent lights while you used it to pick at the undersides of your nails, the priceless gemstones reduced to cleaning tools. Glancing up at the ship's clock you calculated how long you had before Forescythe would come around to ‘wake you’, as if you’d slept at all in the last three days.

The Wyvern’s Tongue was surprisingly still docked at the station you had been abandoned on, a scorching reminder of your trauma every time you passed a porthole or walked the bridge, stuck to the Admiral’s side like he had you on a leash. It was difficult to tell what they were loading the ship up with, but every time you saw the station you caught another massive skiff-load of something with the word HAZARDOUS in big yellow letters being hauled aboard from one of the other starships that had docked nearby.

You heard footsteps outside your spartan quarters, getting closer then fading away. Stormtrooper. Though you weren’t being kept prisoner, exactly, the constant vigil between the Admiral and the troopers left you little-to-no privacy, with only the smallests gaps in their overlaps. The rotation of the guards through the hallways was militant with its timing, and it wouldn’t be much longer before you had all of their routes memorized.

The long-strided gait of the Admiral echoed far down the hallway, and you snuck your fangs into your pockets so you could make yourself presentable. Oh-seven-hundred, on the dot. Barely a courtesy knock was given before the detestable man was letting himself into your room, running through the day’s itinerary after a hastily given ‘Good morning, Sparrow.’

Sparrow. Your deadname was dropped frequently, scalding your steeled ears each time, though rarely was it said with anything short of admiration. You almost wanted to be scolded, and you should have been for dissenting for as long as you did, but the way the Admiral talked to you was friendly, dangerously friendly; and the sweet-talking only made you resent him more.

“Today is the last day we will be docked at Elgon, we’ve nearly finished loading up on the...supplies, and will be in hyperspace soon. This old girl’s been fitted with an updated hyperdrive, so we’ll make the trip to our destination in good time.” You nodded, avoiding conversation. It was best that you spoke to him as little as possible to perpetuate the lie that you had become tone deaf, and you could tell that it drove him insane. Good, fuck your shit to hell. He gestured for you to follow him on his rounds, walking alongside him like an obedient puppy. “Come along, little bird, there is much for us to do today.”

“Yessir.”

He froze and turned back at you, a pouty face stretched grossly across his gaunt features. “Now now, Sparrow, I know you’re upset that you’re not my comms officer anymore, but you’re home again, you can drop the formalities when we’re in private.” He crossed the short distance to you, placing his hands on your shoulder and digging his thumbs into the deep-set bruises that he couldn’t see. “You don’t have to call me sir.”

You wished you could vomit on command, spew acid like a voxyn and melt the Admiral's face clean off, peel his smile right off of his skull. You knew what he wanted, but you would rather cut off your own tongue than give it to him. But you knew what would happen if he didn’t get what he wanted, your skin crawling at repressed memories. He left you no choice.

“Yes… father.”

“There, doesn’t that sound better? Almost makes me feel like you never even left.”

No it wasn’t better, it was horrid. You forced your face to stay neutral, but behind your eyes you were seething. It must have been the anger welling up inside you that made you see something flicker over the Admiral’s shoulder. Something that definitely wasn’t there.

You were going to get off of this ship if it fucking killed you.

~

Of course it had to be Tatooine.

The dirtball of a planet lit up the viewport in front of Din, bathing the cockpit in sickly, lemon-yellow light. The Crest slid easily through the thin atmosphere on well-tuned wings, coasting over the infinitely stretching desert until the familiar skyline of Mos Eisley rose into view.

Mando took the old gunship in with rehearsed accuracy, alighting gracefully on the landing pad in the center of hangar 3-5, though not even the roar of the Razor’s engines could drown out the high pitched argument already echoing around the circular space.

“You gotta lotta nerve showing up here again, Mando!” Peli barked, tapping her foot like a disgruntled hare when the Mandalorian started down the ramp. She took a big breath to really launch into a tirade when she saw the foundling, with his huge sad eyes and limply drooping ears. “What… what’s wrong with the baby? Is’ee sick or somethin’?” Din started to hand her the child, but she raised her arms defensively. “Look, he’s cute’n all but I-I don’t need a sick kid on my hands.”

“He’s not sick, he’s... fine.” Din said in a low, level voice, devoid of almost all emotion. Somewhat reluctantly the mechanic took Grogu from him, and the little green baby curled up in a ball of sadness, hiding his head under her chin.

“Alright, if you say so. I don’t mind watchin’ him as long as he don’t upchuck on my jumpsuit.” She glanced past the iron giant’s shoulders, her eyebrows raised almost comically. “Where’s the other one? You get rid of her finally?” Din was still for a moment, then gave a single, slow nod. “Good. Bout time someone turned that Imp in. I’m tellin’ ya, she cheated at sabbac like-”

“How did you know she was an Imp?” Mando asked, suddenly alive.

“I have my ways.” She chided. Din cocked his head vehemently above stiffened shoulders. “Alright alright don’t look at me like that, geez. When she showed up here it was in a Shimian pleasure cruiser, y’know one of those fancy, expensive lookin’ ones. Obviously stolen. She wanted me to take it, even offered to pay me just to take it off’er hands, but I wasn’t gonna fall for that. She had alotta credits too, almost enough to talk me into it, almost! That’s when she pulled out an Imperial officer’s insignia, pure aurodium and easily worth a fortune.”

Peli paused to adjust Grogu, smoothing a wayward ear out of her face. “If she’d’a picked it off a corpse there’s no way she would’a kept it. Nuh-uh, would’a sold that baby the first chance she got. Nah, it meant something to her once, or maybe it was just the last bargaining chip she had, I don’t know.”

The mechanic shrugged. “Either way, I took the token an’ fenced the ship, made alotta cash that day. If she didn’t cheat at sabacc so damn much I’d invite her over more often!” The mechanic snorted a laugh, then a serious look crossed her face. “Hey, um, Mando… you weren’t… you weren’t too rough with her, were ya? When you turned her in? She wasn’t a bad egg, y’know. Bit snarky but- ”

Leather fists creaked at the end of armored wrists, trying to strangle the pain that was constricting his heart. “Can you watch the child or not?”

Surprised by his harsh tone, Peli nodded quickly and watched the Mandalorian spin around on his heel and storm back up the ramp into the Crest without another word. The confused mechanic looked down to Grogu with a playful scowl. “What’s his deal, huh, womp rat?” The child cooed sadly, hiding his face. “Oh, that bad, huh? Wanna tell me about it over some bantha burgers? They’re fresh! C’mon, you look like you’re wasting away, dad not feeding you right?”

“Pa..tu...”

With the child’s care secured, Din started his preparations for the hunt. Dressing-down was second nature to him, and going through the motions helped him clear his mind, tune him into his natural state of being. At the armory, he popped fresh cartridges into his blasters, refilled the slug-strap that crossed his chest, and picked out a handful of vibroblades.

He reached into the bottom of the locker, trying to dig out a whetstone when he heard the sweet ringing of ironsong where his wrist armor chimed against a beskar mask. He’d stashed the engagement present as far down in the armory as he could, somewhere that it would remain hidden, somewhere that it couldn’t stare back at him; the eyeless visage glaring daggers of judgement straight through his skull.

Oathbreaker.

Growling, he shoved the slab of steel out of the way, knocking it into something else in the bottom of the armory: Imp guns.

He stopped digging for a moment, cocking his helmet at the collection of grimey, rust-ridden armaments that were dirtying up the bottom of the cabinet. Din pulled one of the standard-issue blasters up into the slanted daylight coming in from the open door, turning it over in his hands. The guns had been collected on Nevarro from a decrepit squad of stormtroopers caught harassing townspeople for information on the missing mandos.

Stormtroopers that you had killed.

Imps killing Imps? That… doesn’t make sense. Why would she kill her own people? He shook his head. Why would they abduct children or blow up planets? Killing their own isn’t that far-fetched. He tossed the blaster back into the locker, covering the beskar faceplate with the rest of the Imp accessories until it was back out of sight.

Finished with arming himself, he took a deep breath and held it in his chest for as long as he could, letting it out slow and steady. He fished the singular bounty fob from his belt, the tracking light flashing with a rhythmic candor. Nearby, but not close. That means they’re probably in town.

This will be easy.

~

The hour was late, or as late as it could be in a place where ‘day’ and ‘night’ were only concepts represented by the arms of a clock, but it was perfect for what you needed to do. You were dressed and your pockets were stuffed, bag slung over your shoulder exactly as it had been the first time you’d ran away from home. Five fifteen, three minutes before the next pass of guards.

Your plan was flawless. The Wyvern’s labyrinthian hallways and service spaces would lead you to the hangar bay just as they had years ago, it was just a matter of doing so unseen. If you played your cards right you would miss each and every patrol until you could snag another interceptor and get the hell outta dodge. The Wyvern was scheduled to disembark Elgon at oh-seven-hundred, making this your last chance to escape before the ship was swallowed by the stars.

Five sixteen.

Patting your front pockets where your fangs were hidden, you paced the room, running through the pathway again and again. Straight down the hallway past the guard quarters, left at the galley. Unscrew the loose air vent at the end of the breezeway and take that to the main air shaft ‘til you reach the mid deck, then it’s a straight shot-

D̵̫͊o̷n̸’t̷ lea̸̒ve̷.

You stopped your pacing and blinked, glancing around the room for the source of the voice. When you saw no one, you sighed and rubbed your temples. Not this shit again. The incessant voice of your nightmares had stopped being scary and started being just downright annoying. You’d started to get good at ignoring the sound, though it just loved keeping you up at night.

Who needs sleep, anyway?

Five seventeen. Your shoulders crackled when you rolled them, trying to loosen the bruised tissue that the Mandalorian had put in their joints. Asshole. You were about to start counting seconds when you heard the troopers boots echoing faintly from down the hallway. Right on t-

D̷͊o̶n̵͗’̴̕t̷͛ ̵͔͘ḻ̷̛eav̵e!

“Fuck off, spooky.” You hissed to no one in particular. “I’m blowin’ this popsicle stand and ain’t no goddamn ghost gonna keep me here a minute longer.” The bootsteps got louder until they were right outside your door, then continued down the hallway.

Five eighteen on the dot. You waited until the footfalls disappeared entirely, then snuck your way out through the bulkhead door, careful not to make a sound. The long, low-lit corridors echoed with the whirring innards of the Wyvern, but nothing else. Not even your bootsteps.

Much quieter than the ghosts that haunted your dreams, you slinked down the hallway, past the closed door of the guard quarters, hugging the wall by the galley until the five twenty-one patrol passed, then flew to the air vent on the far side of the kitchen.

A knife would have worked better, but a fossil fang was good enough to undo the corner screws that kept the grate in place. You slipped down the air duct right before the five-twenty-three patrol rounded the far corner. Waiting until they passed so they wouldn’t hear you, you belly-crawled down the narrow shaft until you dropped into the main air supply.

Wind rushed around you, delivering precious oxygen to every corner of the ship, but even over the near-howling gales you could still hear Spooky giving you a ration of crap.

Yo̷u̵ ca̴n̷̎not le̸̪̕a̵ve! ̵͒S̷tay̴ ̸̔st̷͐ay ̴s̷t̵̂a̷y̵̾ s̷͂ta̵̍y

“You fucking suck!” You spat, hobbling through the just-too-short-to-stand-up ventilation. “Keep your damn pie hole shut unless you have something useful to-”

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

You hit the brakes, possibly sacrificing precious time. “Who, Forescythe? He’s gotta get his beauty rest, that old fuck’ll be down at least til-”

N̵͒ò̶, n̴o̸t̶ ̴̓hi̵m, Din.

Ice coagulated in your veins before it was replaced with molten rage. “Oh. Oh ho HO.” You laughed, barely keeping your voice down. “Now… now you’ve done it, Spook. Now I know you’re not real, and I’m just completely batshit! Off my rocker!” You soldiered on, a manic grin on your face. “He is definetly not fucking coming. And if you’d been paying attention you’d know that too.”

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming!

“Blow me.” You hustled through the ductwork until you were above the entryway to the hangar. The interceptor bay was on its own air supply in case a magcon failed and vacuumed all the air out, a separate system from the one you were in now. That way the rest of the ship would still have precious oxygen in the event of catastrophe, all you had to do now was get through the door.

The five-thirty-five trooper plodded sleepily along, tilting his egghead back to sip at a steaming mug of caf. What is the point of having a guard rotation if they’re not even awake. Once he’d rounded the corner you set to work on the air vent, quickly spinning the threaded ends of the screws around between your fingers until they clattered to the floor far below.

Carefully you moved the grate out of the way and dropped to the decking in front of the hangar door. Bingo! You dashed to the access panel, slapping your hand on the wide palm reader. Go go go go! The blue laser light slid back and forth, back and forth, lazily reading your fingerprints. Come on!!!

The panel went red. ENTRY DENIED.

“Cocksucker!” You slapped the screen, demanding it take another reading, but instead it flashed another line of text: SPW-7042 PRE-EXISTING MEDICAL CONDITION DETECTED, ENTRY BARRED DUE TO HAZARDOUS RHYDONIUM EXPOSURE.

“‘Scuse me?!” you poked at the screen like an geriatric Gungan, “The hell do you mean rhydonium? What fucking lunatic loads a starship up with rhydonium?! Whatever, fuck your rhydonium nonsense you big goddamn hunk of junk, let me through!”

A third line of text ticked across the screen: CONDITION: PREGNANT.

You BARKED you laughed so hard. “Wooooow, that starfuel must be fuckin’ with your circuits, shitscraps, I’ve been chipped since I was thirteen. Ain’t nobody home.” Loud footsteps echoed further down the hallway, times up. Cursing silently, you poked at the screen until the faulty reading cleared, then booked it in the opposite direction of the incoming trooper. Your plan to escape had been thwarted by the Wyvern’s garbage security protocols, and without another way through you were stuck until the ship made it out of hyperspace.

In a week.

~

Somebody had once equated Mos Eisley to a wretched hive of scum and villainy, and the description couldn’t possibly be more on the nose. A multitude of shady market-goers hustled and bustled down the desert streets, kicking up sand and dust as they went. The Tatooinian bazaar was one of the few places that the Mandalorian blended in, amid the multitude of colorful characters the armored hunter was practically invisible.

Din ambled through the streets, not even trying to be sneaky, though behind his beskar he was suspicious of everyone that passed him by. He wasn’t too concerned about his last bounty, almost nonchalantly making his way to the cantina where the bail jumper would certainly be at with their nose buried in either a deck of cards or a shot of spotchka. Or both.

It was easy to follow the street signs to the local dive bar, making him feel almost lazy with how little effort this would take. Feeling bored almost to the point of pessimism, he took a deep breath, the filtered air bringing with it the smell of street food.

He stopped, holding the air in his lungs before forcing it out quickly, taking another handful of deep sniffs. Though he wasn’t eating much these days, or sleeping, or anything else that humans needed to do in order to function properly, the aroma of whatever was being cooked distracted him until it had his full, undivided attention.

Din followed his nose off of the path he was taking to the cantina, his helmet tilting back slightly with each strong inhalation, taking him down the busy main street until he spotted the source of the familiar spice.

Over a large fire a spit was turning with what looked like oversized root vegetables, slathered in herbs and spices and grilled to perfection. Mando cocked his bucket at the rotisserie, ignoring the chef that was trying to hassle him into buying something, trying to figure out what was so familiar about it.

Then it hit him.

You.

Many moons ago, he’d watched you book it out of the safety of the hangar and dash towards the delicious street food while the Mandalorian began picking off the hunters that were still chasing you. You’d barely even looked up from your meal as the bounty hunter dragged a squirming Trandoshan down an alleyway and slit it’s scaly throat. It wasn’t until a whole drop through hyperspace later that Din had found out that you had bought him one of the grilled veggies as well. Before you even knew his name.

Mando, you never ate your breakfast.

You… got me breakfast?

Yes? I said I would.

Thank you… you’re very kind.

And don’t you forget it!

The memory flooded his synapses with forgotten joy before being replaced with scalding fury. He shook his head, storming off down the busy main road, dead set now on finding his quarry. How dare you let that fucking Imp continue to distract you. Get to work.

The doors to the cantina nearly broke off when the living locomotive plowed through them, barging his way through the sleazy patrons towards the bar. Lively music and inhalant smoke hung heavy in the air, shrouding the far corners of the saloon and the secrets they may have kept hidden.

Din was too annoyed with himself to properly check his surroundings, but whatever, it’s just Mos Eisley, he could whip every fucko in this joint with his hands tied behind his back if it struck his fancy. He strode up to the bartender with an air of disgruntled confidence so strong it rivaled the smoky atmosphere with its potency. The Mandalorian fished the final bounty puck out of his many pockets and slammed it down on the counter, its holoprojection wavering in the heady smog.

“Have you seen this man?” Din snapped at the bartender, pointing at the weasley-looking face of the bail jumper shining above the counter.

The barkeep, a shaggy-looking Toydarian with a torn wing, eyed the beskar clad warrior suspiciously. “Hmm. Can’ta’ say’a have.'' he huffed, clearly lying.

“Are you sure?” Din asked, sliding a couple of credits over the counter. “Maybe this will jog your memory.” The Toydarian snatched the coins off the counter with shovel-clawed fingers, stowing them away on his belt.

He leaned forward, the acrid smell of alcohol and rotting teeth quickly overpowering the stench of tobacco. “Maybe I see’s ‘im, maybes I don’t…” Another couple of credits clinked to the counter and immediately vanished from view. “Ya, I see’s ‘im.” He stroked his thickly bristled chin, seemingly deep in thought. “You know what? You’a seem’a like a good guy, why don’t’a I take’a you to ‘im, hmm? Come come come.”

The creature’s wings flapped unevenly as he rose off the stepstool he was using behind the bar, floating through the cantina towards a door obscured by an ornate drapery. Din started to follow, but stopped, feeling his hackles rise on the back of his neck. Should I actually follow this guy? Maybe it’s a trap. He pulled the fob out from his belt just enough that he could see the blinking light flashing quicker than before. I’ll be fine, let’s just get this over with.

The Toydarian opened the door behind the curtain, and immediately the reek of Spice wafted up from the hidden cellar. Drug den, great. That would make sense, what better way to spend your bail money than Huttese Spice, wasting away in the dark. Cautiously he made his way down the stone steps, the light of the cantina fading away as the door started to close behind him. Before it shut, he knew he heard the barkeep mutter something under his breath.

“Coo ya maya stupa…” You weak minded fool.

Din whirled at the insult, but the door had already slammed shut, echoing loudly through the hollow passageway. Cursing, Mando continued down the stairs into the spice den, the aroma of the coveted drug growing stronger with each step until it was making him nauseous. At the foot of the stairs was a low, poorly lit room, the stucco ceiling strung over with dark purple lanterns that steeped the den in near-darkness. Strewn about the floor, the inebriated lounged on pillows or rugs, or even the bare stone, plumes of narcotic smoke dancing over their shadowy faces, obscuring most from view.

Pulling the fob out again, he hovered the tracking device over each intoxicated body, waiting for the light to change green. His search took him further and further into the basement until he had to switch on his headlamp just to be able to see. At the farthest end of the room the last possible person was slumped against the wall, and the hunter crossed the remaining distance to the limp figure, grabbing them roughly by the shoulder and hauling them into the light.

The dead man’s withered head snapped from its twiggy neck and rolled away into the dark, making Din nearly throw the corpse to the ground, the body rattling in the manacles that chained it to the wall. Startled, he backed away quickly, too quickly, backing into something sharp. He tried to whirl around on his sudden assailant, but the stabbing pain of an addict’s needle immediately pierced through the thick layers of his duraweave and into his flesh.

Reacting on fear more than training, he lashed out wildly, firing his blaster with one hand and his flame thrower with the other. The wall of fire lit the cellar up brighter than daylight, illuminating the alien faces of the falsely-inebriated attackers that had been lying in wait for the barkeep to send another fool into their trap. Fearing for his life, for his son, Din battled his way through the many hands grabbing at him, but even in his fury he started to feel his pulse slowing down, reacting to the heavy dose of Spice he had been pricked with.

The room began to spin, his eyes began to lose sight, and it wasn’t until his skull cracked against the dirty floor that he realized his helmet had been removed in the fray, damning him forever in the eyes of his Creed. As the world began to fade away he felt himself get kicked over onto his face and a pair of cuffs locked around his wrists.

“Skocha-kloonkee, the Imps’a gonna pay’a lot’sa money for you, mister bucket man. Hehehe, should’a known better than’a to go into a spicehole alone.”

Before Din lost consciousness entirely, his spiked mind conjured up an image of you, lounging in the passenger seat with Grogu seated on your lap, watching the stars streak by overhead. He tried to reach you, his arms straining weakly against his fetters, trying to touch the memory of you one last time. You turned to him and smiled, holding the baby’s fat little paw up and waving it at him.

“Beans, say bye-bye to papa.”

~

The hour was still early, but you were already dressed in your stupid little monkey suit, ears clad in your empty beskar cuffs, pockets full of fabric and fangs; backpack abandoned entirely to avoid suspicion. Today you would be finding out where the Wyvern was destined for when she left port, but you didn’t really care. All that mattered was that the hangar doors would be open during the myriad of activities.

Today was your chance to escape.

*Beep!* Dropping from hyperspace in: one hour.

The navigational warning chimed throughout the expansive corridors of the Wyvern, echoing pragmatically in your spartan room, and you danced a little jig with excitement. Toodle-oo, fuckos! Consider this popsicle stand: blown!

In your abysmally small quarters the fresher area left much to be desired, but the Admiral had at least done you the decency of giving you a private room with it’s own washing space, as tiny as it was. The shower, sink, and potty all shared the same square footage, and the mirror on the wall was barely big enough to fit your face.

You were working on your appearance now, making yourself presentable before father dearest came around. The more you looked like you had accepted your position as crewmate, the less likely he was to notice you go missing when you slipped away. You combed your hair with your fingers, brushing it back as to more easily seat the dumb little hat on your head. Turning away from the mirror, you picked the hat up off the sink and started to put it on, but nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw someone else's eyes staring back at you.

Yo̷u̵ ca̴n̷̎not le̸̪̕a̵ve.

Angrily you stomped your foot, startled by the flickering, faceless apparition that wasn’t physically there when you turned around. “Shit balls of motherfucking hell! I can’t get off‘a this ship fast enough! I can’t get away from you fast enough!” You smushed your hat on your head, glaring at the bluish, indeterminate figure.

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

“Listen here, you ectoplasmic bitch.” You hissed with fury, stabbing your pointer finger at the warped image in the aluminum. “I don’t know who you are, or where you’re getting your ‘information’ from, but he ain’t coming!” The deep-cut wounds of heartbreak that had started to scar over split open again, spilling fresh sorrow down over your ribs. “I-I don’t need him anyway. I can handle this myself.”

He n̵ee̵d̶s y̵ó̴̧u̶.

“Bullshit!” You stormed away from the mirror while the Wyvern’s antique wiring faulted overhead, making the fluorescent lights flicker and allowing the shadows to reveal the space where the phantom was standing; casting a faint, ghastly aura on the corners of the room. Snatching a fang from your pocket you whirled on the void, brandishing the pointy end at where a throat might be. “Who’d’ya think you are, anyway, huh? Acting like you know what’s best for me? Telling me that Din’s gonna come back? Ain’t no knight-in-shining-beskar coming for me and I’m sick of you telling me otherwise!”

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

“That’s it! I’ve had it with your games! Your lies! Show yourself, you spookyass motherfucker! Show me who you really are!”

Sweat began to bead on your brow, anger and heartbreak and venom coursing hotly through your veins until it was pulsating behind your eyes. You grabbed the second fang, ready to sink your teeth into the incessant phantom, their edges cutting into the marks they had already put on your palms once before. To any onlookers you would have appeared like a madwoman, brandishing glittering fossils at empty space, your lips pulled back in a snarl, ready to strike.

“I said show yourself!”

Out went the lights.

And in came the ghosts.

Though the bulbs overhead had blacked out completely, the room was radiating with the light of the sudden crowd, the masses of shimmering specters appearing to go on endlessly throughout a space bigger than your room, bigger even than the Wyvern herself, stretching well beyond the edges of infinity. Farther and farther and farther until your eyes couldn’t distinguish them anymore.

There. Were. Billions.

You blinked fast, your breath catching in your lungs until you were nearly hyperventilating, feeling claustrophobic amid the incorporeal congregation. The sweat on your brow turned to ice, your eyes darting between every face, every person, every body, seeing them clearly for the first time.

Some of them wore elaborate robes, some of them were dressed like peasants, and even more distressing were a collection of beskar plated warriors, their visors glowing with otherworldly light. There were species you were familiar with, and many many more that you weren’t. Some of them were even wearing white duraplast, their eggshells cracked to reveal the glowing eyes underneath.

Some of them you recognized.

“We are the victims of the Empire. The citizens of Alderaan, of Jedha, Scarif, Mandalore and countless others. The Republic we once served turned its back on us, and then its weapons, eradicating the very people that brought it into being.”

Many voices spoke at once, the cacophony of it resonating in your skull until you were clawing at your ears, nearly dropping your impromptu daggers to protect yourself from the skull-splitting noise.

“You must stop it from happening again, but you can not do so alone. Only with your soulmate at your side will you save the people from the vindication of the Empire.”

Hot tears stung at your eyes, flooding out from a place of fear and anger. “Soulmate? SOULMATE?! Bullshit! Bullshit bulllshit bullshit! Din is not my soulmate, if he was then he wouldn’t have left me here rot! Dumped me on the Empire’s front fucking door like yesterday’s garbage! Not that I can even blame him anymore, who could ever love an Imp? We are monsters!”

“You are not an Imp, Tra’laar. You are something far greater than they will ever be.”

The sound of your gifted name hurt in your chest more than the broiling hatred that bubbled underneath your broken heart, taking you down to your knees. In front of you, a pair of specters knelt down to your level, a man and a woman in intricately embroidered red robes. The woman’s eyes were warm and adoring, and the way her cheeks rolled high almost made you feel calm, maybe even loved. The man’s aquiline nose stood out beautifully above his radiant smile, giving you the impression that this was a man who would go to the ends of the galaxy for those he loved.

They looked hauntingly familiar.

The woman reached for your hand, and you felt her. You felt her holding you, as if she were really there, her dainty fingers brushing over where the fang was biting into your skin, fading away the pain. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was still smiling, looking at you like someone seeing the stars for the very first time.

“You are Hope Incarnate.”

You bolted upright from your little cot, gasping for air until your throat was so dry it felt like fire. Sweat streaked over your brow and down the dip of your spine, soaking the sheets under you. With wild, bloodshot eyes you searched around your closet-sized room for any trace of the phantoms, but even in the dim night light you could tell you were alone. Angry with yourself, you slammed a fist into the steel wall, furious that you had been duped by hyperspace yet again.

The pain of striking the unforgiving hull stung more than you thought it should. Flipping on the lights, you gasped when you looked at your palms, the healed krayt bites red with fresh blood. It had been days since you sliced your palms on their edges, pounding on the bottom of the Razor Crests ramp, and the skin had long since closed up. But now it was as fresh as the day they had been cut, weeping crimson.

I have got to get off of this ship.

It took the remainder of the hour to compose yourself, getting out of your sweat-soaked pajamas and tending to your wounds; but at least Spooky and Friends let you be. Your mind replayed the omen on repeat until you were certain that you had completely lost your mind. No such thing as ghosts. You are tired, you are stressed, and you are completely absolutely one hundred percent bonkers. Fuck this entire noise.

Dressed in your stupid little outfit, for real this time, you sat at the edge of your bed until the the Wyvern’s navigational warning sounded again, giving you only a moment before the ship was dropped out of hyperspace. Eager to get the fuck out, you ran out of your room so quickly that you nearly smashed into the Admiral as he was coming around. “Ah, good morning, Sparrow. I see you’re eager to start the day. Come, I need you on the bridge.”

Obediently you followed along behind Forescythe without a word, letting the imposing captain carve a swath through the multitude of scurrying crewmates as you made your way to the flight deck. When the blast doors opened on the wide, triangular space, your eyes went right over the heads of the officers and out the window to the bright yellow world hanging beneath the ship.

“Is that… Is that Tatooine?”

“How very observant of you. Yes, it is indeed, though it won’t be for much longer.”

Whispers hissed at your eardrums, you must stop it from happening again. “What do you mean?”

The Admiral chuckled, the sound grating like nails on chalkboard. “It’s been hard keeping this secret from you, little bird, but you know how much I love surprises! Oh, look, here comes the rest of the fleet.” He nodded towards the transparisteel as another, smaller starcruiser came into view. Then another, and another, and another until there were at least a dozen titanium daggers hovering in a semi-circle that spanned out on either side of the Wyvern like wings.

“The Empire has been busy since you left,” he scolded, folding his arms behind his back like some kind of skeletal vulture. “The Death Star is obsolete, though the mere idea of a supermassive planet destroyer was folly from the beginning, taking decades to build and almost as long to fire. No more, now we can vaporize an entire world with just one single ship.” He gestured with a flourish, blind to the color draining from your face. “The Wyvern will be at the forefront of the Empire’s destructive capabilities, and lucky you, you will have the honor of a front row seat. What a pity it is that you cannot serenade Tatooine’s demise with one of your songs.”

Stinging bile crept up your throat, threatening to send you into a panic. “Th-there’s people down there. How can you justify killing so many innocents?”

Forecythe scoffed, “Innocents?! On that dirtball of a planet? Inconceivable. The Maker will thank us for wiping it off of the face-” His monologue was interrupted by a hailing beacon lighting up on the communication officer's holodeck. The officer in your old seat answered the incoming transmission, talking to whoever was on the other line through their headset.

“Sir, they’ve located the target.”

“Excellent! And on Tatooine, no less. How ironic. Have the target transported to the receiving hangar so we may make their acquaintance.”

You’d long since become numb to the Admiral’s prattling, your mind racing to find a way to stop Tatooine from being wiped off the map. The ugly little hunk of rock had done you no favors, but that wasn’t an excuse to add more names to the list of dead. You were startled when you were addressed again.

“Come along, little bird, I have a gift for you.” Forescythe said with a crooked smile. If he was trying to be genuine, the effect was entirely lost upon you, his gummy smile reminding you of the forgotten captain’s corpse you’d discovered on Endor. I don’t want anything from you, monster. You flashed him a pair of raised eyebrows in response, and he turned on his heel, waving for you to follow. Whatever the distraction was would at least buy you some time.

You dutifully walked alongside the Admiral through the ship towards the balcony that oversaw the receiving bay. The hangar was swarming with troopers and officers alike, eagerly anticipating the transport unit that was easing itself through the magcon field. The bloated tick of a ship billowed with steam as its landing gear deployed, and soon the short access ramp was angling to the ground. Out first stepped a pair of troopers, their guns drawn on the open door.

Then, out stepped a man.

He was cuffed with his arms behind his back, escorted by another pair of troopers manhandling him down the ramp. Blood poured freely from a wound on his scalp, matting his dark brown curls and pooling in the exposed recess of his eyes. His gait was unsteady, though he was still futilely trying to wrest himself free of the troopers as they marched him through the hangar. You nearly puked your heart out at the sight.

Din.

The Admiral laughed proudly, “They’ve caught that damned mando that everyone’s been on about, though I’m not entirely sure why Moff Gideon struggled so much to catch him, or even what he wanted from such a loathsome creature. There’s nothing of value on him except maybe his armor.” A vile glint sparked in the man’s eyes. “It will be so much fun to peel it off.”

You barely heard his words over the sound of your heartbeat thundering violently through your ears. No.. no no no no no. Another egghead disembarked from the transport, carrying Din’s helmet like an empty garbage can. You swallowed around the cotton growing in your mouth, fumbling for words. “They took his helmet off...”

“Indeed. Being uncrowned is the greatest dishonor you can inflict on one of those wretched things, it renders them worse than dead in the eyes of their cult. After we remove Tatooine from the sky we should-”

“Before.” You interrupted, your voice cold and level, far cry from the hurricane of turmoil you were choking down. “Before we attack Tatooine. I want... I want to tear his armor off, and then I want him to watch. As punishment for stealing my ship.”

The Admiral’s wicked grin sent shivers down your spine, and you knew your lie had taken root. “Very well! Oh Sparrow, it’s so good to have you back aboard. I’d always wondered if you’d taken after me.” Disgust welled up in your guts at the pride beaming off the vile man, but at least you were going to get close to Din.

And do… what, exactly?

The tall man leaned over the balcony railing, shouting down at the guards. “Take the prisoner to the bridge, and make him… comfortable. Wouldn’t want him to miss the show!” Behind you Forescythe turned on his heel and set off back towards the bridge, and you cast a wary glance down at the prisoner below. Din’s bloody head hung limpy, but when it swung your way his blackened eyes caught you, glaring daggers through your soul before one of the guards cold-clocked him between his shoulder blades.

If Din’s here then where’s Grogu? You watched the transport unit, scanning for signs of life, but it appeared to be empty. Ok, maybe they didn’t get him. Your already sickened heart did a violent backflip in your chest, or maybe they did and took him somewhere else, or worse, left him for dead. Din and the guards disappeared through a sliding bulkhead, and you sprang to life to hurry in the Admiral’s footsteps.

When you arrived at the bridge, the stormtroopers had already magnetized Din’s cuffed wrists to the wall, dangling him just far enough off the floor that he couldn’t support his weight properly with his legs. The blood clouding his eyes dripped down the length of his nose and over his lips, staining his teeth crimson. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, hinting at a broken rib or two; but worst of all were his eyes. Bared for all to see, violating his Creed with every Imperial gaze that fell on his uncovered face, and yet the pools of bloodied earth were locked to only one other pair.

Yours.

“Looks like he remembers you.” Forescythe said with a villainous laugh, striding slowly over to the manacled Mandalorian. “My my, would you look at him, he is quite impressive, or at least he was”. The Admiral hovered just out of Din’s kicking range, cocking his head like a raptor eyeing a weak little mouse. “See this marking?” he said, pointing a bony finger at the mudhorn on Din’s pauldron. “They only get these when they become clan leaders. This one’s probably got a whole nest somewhere, breeding like rats. Is that what Moff Gideon was after, hmm? The rest of your bucket headed zealots?”

Din growled, the timbre of it so low and threatening you felt a chill run down your spine. He shouldn’t be here. Though you were still furious with him for what he did to you, you knew this wasn’t a fate that he deserved. Doesn’t he though? Doesn’t he deserve exactly what he did to me? Bile burned in the back of your throat. No, nobody deserves this, not even him.

Forescythe chuckled darkly at the Mandalorian’s weak show of bravado. “I was there, you know, when they gave the order to eviscerate that pathetic excuse for a planet.” Yellowed teeth shined under cold, soulless eyes in a smile that could freeze blood. “I was one of the first commanders to get to… test out the kyber crystal technology that eventually led to the creation of the Death Star. They made me a captain for it, commissioned a Corellian ship for me and everything.” He leaned in close to Din, grinning wickedly at the warrior’s seething anger. “Doesn’t Mandalore look so pretty now, all turned to glass?”

“Demagolka!”

The admiral scoffed at the searing insult, nodding to one of the guards. An electric prod crackled to life in the trooper’s grip before it was being stabbed into Din’s unarmored side, making him cry out in pain.

“No!” You shrieked, immediately covering your incriminating piehole. Fuck.

-flicker flick-

Forescythe glanced up at the sputtering lights, then slowly, maliciously down to you. He scrutinized you a moment, then readdressed the guard, not taking his eyes away from your failing facade.

“Again.”

-czzt cRaCK cRAcK CRACK!!-

You ground your molars into paste trying to keep yourself from screaming, but tears pricking in the corners of your eyes gave away your distress, and when the Admiral signaled the guard a third time it became unbearable.

“Stop it!” You roared through snarling teeth, ignoring the faulty lighting and the feel of the ship quake underneath you.

Forescythe’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “I knew it.” he hissed, his lips curling upwards in a serpentis sneer. “I knew that voice of yours was special, but I never realized you needed a catalyst in order to unlock your potential. Does this... upset you?” He snapped his fingers at the guard, sending another bolt of electricity through Din’s body and bringing more angry tears to your eyes.

“Stop hurting him! I’ll.. I’ll do whatever you want just let him go!” You yanked the cuffs off of your ears and cast them on the floor, the sound of beskar on durasteel jingling like loose change. “I’ll… I’ll sing. Whatever you want, just stop hurting him!”

“Oh, no... we’re well past that now, little bird.” Forescythe loomed over you, an evil glint in his eye. “Now that I know I didn’t waste all those years training your voice, we’re going to take it for a little spin.”

Little miss well-behaved evaporated from your roster of characters, replaced with the big bad bitch you knew and loved. “I’m not doing a goddamn thing. I don’t know what you’re on about, you old shitbag, but you don’t control me. I’m not afraid of you!” you growled, snarling like a rabid nexu.

“That’s no way to talk to your superior officer, bilgerat.” Boney fingers snatched you by the collar of your uniform. “You think I pulled you from the scuppers because of your pretty little songs? No, Sparrow, I knew there was more to you than that. I knew it when I heard your voice through three whole decks of durasteel, and I knew it when you tried to rip your own ears off after we blew up Alderaan.” Forescythe hauled you to him, breathing gross old-man breath in your face. “You didn’t just watch it get erased from the maps, you felt it die. You felt it through the Force.”

You spat in his face, earning yourself a stinging backhand. “Ungrateful brat. I made you, I can unmake you.” The ship quaked again beneath your feet, and the lights in the helm went off, turning the wide, triangular space red under the emergency lights. “That’s it, you feel it again now, don’t you?” The dark crimson lights sank shadows under the Admiral’s eyes, highlighting the bones of his skull, confronting you with the grinning face of death.

From behind the collection of stormtroopers a weak, grating voice called out. “L-let… let her… go…” Din called weakly before he was electrocuted again.

“I said stop hurting him!” You barked, your words so steeped in anger they almost weren’t your own, like someone else was speaking through you.

Forescythe laughed, villainous and wicked. “There it is! Yes! Does that mando mean something to you, girl?”

“Go t̶o he̵ll!” Your voice no longer belonged to you, it was the voice of your nightmares, many tongues speaking at once, spewing toxically from your throat. Around you the air became thick with energy, making the hair on your arms stand on end.

“Now now, Sparrow, is that any way to talk to your father?”

“You are n̸͈͆ȏ̷̪ť̶ my FÀ̷̜TH̵E̴͘R!” The energy in the air became palpable, tangible, burning through your veins and setting your fingertips ablaze with crackling firepower. The Admiral reeled from the burn, dropping your collar and backing away from you with confused, frightened eyes. You clenched your fists so hard your nails dug into the skin of your palms, drawing blood from the marks of the krayt’s teeth. “And that is n̸͈͆ȏ̷̪t my n̶a̷m̸e̵.”

Fear was replaced with undeserving pride, spreading a pearly grin across Forescythe’s gaunt, haunting visage. “That’s it! That’s it, Sparrow! Look at yourself! Look at your hands!” he screamed, pointing at the blisters that were starting to form along your arms. “There is power within you! Let me help you discover it! Help you use it to raise the Empire to its former glory!” He stretched a claw-like hand to you, “Join me, Sparrow, and together we will rule the entire galaxy!”

“THAT IS N̴̻̑O̶T̵̒ ̶M̸̆Y̴ N̷À̷̜M̶E̵!” You screamed, the fury of a thousand voices knocking Forescythe and the guards down to the unsteady ground and sending the officers running for cover. The burning in your fingertips turned to raw power, sparking lightning from your hands. Electricity danced over the metal decking, snapping at the Admiral’s frantic heels like vicious, bloodthirsty dogs. You didn’t see the firepower you were generating, your eyes burning with hateful tears.

You crossed the room on vengeful steps to where the Wyvern’s captain was scrambling to find his footing, snaps of plasmatic energy crackling underfoot with each stride. You hefted the vile man up the wall by his neck until his feet were off the ground, choking and squirming in your grip.

“What’s wrong, captain?” You purred with as much benevolence as an abused circus tiger. “Are you trying to sing for me? I bet your voice sounds so prĕ̴tty̵͝. Go on then, sing me a song.” Terror shined in the whites of his eyes, blood oozing from their corners and out of his ears, dripping hotly over where your fists closed around his throat.

“You can not hide who you are, Sparrow, you’ll always be a worthless scupperbrat without my help. You need me.”

You thrashed Forescythe against one of the consoles, crushing his windpipe under your voltaic claws. “I'm not going to TELL YOU Ā̷̡̲̤̊͒G̶̓A̶̛̫I̶N̵̳̓̋!!.” You could feel his pulse under your fingertips, quick like a frightened rabbit caught in the claws of a mighty, savage beast.

And it felt good.

Energy crackled over his skin where your hands met his flesh, making him writhe in pain from the scorching burn. Under your cataclysmic deathgrip you felt the man laugh, ugly, strained belts of air that made the boiling in your blood rage like molten lava. “Pray tell then, bilgerat, who do you think you are?”

You bared your teeth and smiled, dangerous and threatening. You inhaled, bringing every ounce of air in the room into your tormented lungs, ready to breathe dragonfire.

“I

AM

TR̸̻̰̮̘͘A̷͎̜͔̭͋̽’̸̯͙͖͍̟̾̿̆͐̐͠͝LḀ̵̞̈́́̂̕͝ͅA̶̧̧̠̪͝A̶͎̝̠͖̿̀̇̅̈͜Ă̵͙͎̰̪̿͘A̸̼̥̰̙̱̭̗͆Ȧ̸͙͕̺̫̂̚R̴̨̻̉̊̒́R̷̡̛͕̮̋͊̉͝R̸̫̗̹̻̈̋̃!̴̼͖͕̯̟̖͐̐̽!̴͚͐́͛̂!̵̘̺̮̔͌͊̌̀̓͜ͅ!̶̟̱̹͙͎̀”̵͇̖͙̌̈͠͝

Hate and anger flowed through you in a pyroclast of scorn, erupting from your wicked maw in a firestorm of blinding energy. Your banshee screech overpowered Forescythe’s own terrified screams, but his terror was short lived as the force of your rage started to make the flesh of his face quiver, ripple, and tear until it was peeling off, revealing meat, then bone.

When only a ghastly skull was staring back at you did you silence your scream, dropping the Admiral’s faceless corpse to the floor. You wheeled back around in time for one of the rising stormtroopers to goad you with the electric prod, making you wail. The pained cry tore at the raw meat of your throat until your voice evaporated entirely, taking your siren strength with it. You stole a krayt fang from your pocket and drove it upwards into the soft spot at the edge of the trooper’s helmet, carving downward and splitting their jugular wide open.

Finding the other fang you lashed out with reckless fury, sinking your teeth into the meat of the second guard, blood splashing out over your hands. The third guard didn’t stand a chance as they were caught in your whirlwind of carnage, their blood spilling to the floor with that of their crewmates.

Surrounded by your kills, breath heaving in your chest, you turned your enraged eyes on the man still chained to the wall. Din’s bootheels scooted out from under him, struggling to get away from the blood splattered banshee that was glaring him down.

He looked so helpless, so… vulnerable. You remembered his hateful words, his malicious actions, the heartbreak that was still so fresh and stinging in your chest.

The coppery tang of blood hung heavy in the air, burning in your nose and fueling the rage that surged through your veins. He left you. He left you for dead. He took everything from you. He took your heart and your home…

And your son.

“Where is he?” You seethed, numb to the hot splashes of blood pouring over your hands, from both your killstreak and the charred gashes that streaked down the length of your forearms where the meat of your flesh had melded with the duraweave of your uniform.

“S-safe. He’s safe.” Din stammered, “What… what are you?” His bloodied brow furrowed, “What’s wrong with your eyes?!”

Confused, you glanced at his chestplate where two white-blue lights were shining back at you, and realized with horror that it was your own reflection. The world around you finally started to sink in: the dark red lights, the still-warm corpses, the splatter of viscera on the console that had once been the Admiral’s face.

The klaxon blaring overhead.

Whatever phantom force you wielded dissipated like mist, nearly taking you to your knees as it left. You fell more than leaned over Din to his cuffs, fumbling with the unlocking mechanism until he was freed. “Don’t think this m-means that… that I… woo, that I forgive you, ya big fuckin’ jerk.” You were starting to feel woozy, making you wonder if this was how Grogu felt whenever he used his funky baby powers. “The ships got… got some kinda weapon on it, ‘nother planet popper. I gotta fi-fi-find some way to… to stop it.”

“The hell do you mean ‘popper’?

You flailed your arms around in a grand gesture, sending droplets of scarlet flying “Kaboom!”

“Fuck! Grogu’s down there! Millions of people are down there!”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Din tried to wipe the blood that had pooled around his eyes with the back of one armored hand, but the beskar did little to help clear it away. You grumbled and scooted closer on your knees, trading the fangs for the red silk cloth in your pocket and going right for his orbits. He recoiled from your touch, and instinctively you hissed at him to hold still. Reluctantly, he obeyed, watching you with distrust until he spotted what was in your hand.

“You kept that?”

Shrugging, you dabbed harshly around his eyes until they were as clear as you could get them. “Kept a lotta things.” The talking and the cleaning was making you exhausted, and you sank back on your haunches, nearly falling over into the sprawling pool of blood.

Din caught you before you fell, holding you gently, but even his careful touch burned like acid on your rendered flesh. In the corner of your eye you caught his brows fly high when he clocked your wounds, his breath catching when he saw the whitish tint of bone. “You need bacta...”

You ignored him, glancing around the room for a solution to your predicament when one presented itself to you. Under the smear of gore that had been belittling you just moments prior, the ruined console of the main power controls flashed a desperate warning:

WARNING, RHYDONIUM COOLING CELLS OFFLINE. DANGER! UNSTABLE TEMPERATURES DETECTED!

Oh the irony. Sparks danced from the shattered screen, raining down over the bloodied skull of the murdered captain and catching in his empty sockets, glaring back at you. You forced a laugh. “That’s what you get for tryna mess with me, you sick fuck! Gonna blow your own ratsnest sky high!” Your laughter knocked you off your haunches and into Din’s arms, leaning on him heavily.

Looking up at him you smiled, though his face was a disaster, fear and blood etched into his handsome features. It befuddled you that you could still see his face. “Where’s your bucket?”

Din scoffed, “This entire ship saw me without it, not to mention the shitheads on Tatooine that sold me out. I can’t put it back on.”

“There won’t be anyone left alive to remember your face after the ship blows. How’s that for a loophole, eh?” He scrutinized you a moment, swallowed hard, then nodded. It took a great deal of effort for him to pull both himself and your boneless body up from the floor, and even more strength to stumble over to where his helmet had been stashed, sinking the metal over his head and pocketing the beskar cuffs that laid close by.

The impenetrable beskar slid into place not a moment too soon, his visor flickering to life right as the blast doors to the bridge slid wide, opening on a platoon of troopers.

The eggheads fired with reckless abandon into the delicate consoles of the bridge, aiming for the malnourished Mandalorian and his bloodrending banshee. Even in such a sad state, Din was still faster, whirling you behind his blaster-proof body and setting off the salvo of whistling birds from his vambrace; obliterating each and every Imp in sight.

Hugged to his chest, you blinked at the pile of corpses, then glared at the one who had slain them. “Why don’t you use that fucker more often?”

Din ignored you and blasted the door controls apart, locking the two of you in before dragging you both over to one of the escape pods that dotted the prow. Behind your fleeing duo the console was flashing even faster:

WARNING, RHYDONIUM COOLING CELLS OFFLINE. EXPLOSION IMMINENT! DANGER!

Din set you carefully on your own two feet so he could pry the door to the escape hatch open. The little, single-seated pod was just barely big enough to fit the Mandalorian as he backed into it, his arms outstretched to take you.

You started to squeeze in with him when something out the window caught your eye, and your heart sank through your boots at the harsh reminder that Forescythe had been named Admiral because he now controlled a fleet. The dozen or so starships hovered ominously on either side of the Wyvern, their points aimed right towards Tatooine, poised to make the killing blow.

Din growled at you “Come on, you’ll fit. We gotta go before this damn thing blows!”

You turned up to him slowly with glassy eyes. “I… can’t. The other ships…”

“Fuck’em!”

“No!!” you screamed, dimming the lights. “If I don’t do something about them then Tatooine is still lost!” You pushed away from him and stumbled back through the bridge, your eyes going from console to console until you spotted the flashing light on the comms station. Hand-over-hand you dragged yourself over to your once-prestigious seat, flopping down in the familiar chair and slamming the frequency wide open.

“Come in Wyvern, this is Jabberwocky, what’s your emergency, over?”

“The weapon’s unstable! I repeat! The weapon is unstable! Abort mission! Abort mission! Scramble all ships! I repeat! Scramble all ships!!”

“Who the hell are you? You’re not the Admiral!”

“The Admiral is dead, the damn rhydonium has been leaking radiation into the water supply and the fuel lines! The damn thing’s gonna blow! Save yourselves!”

“Seriously?! I mean, roger! Aborting mission!” You watched with a big, shit-eating grin on your face as the surrounding ships winked out of existence, disappearing into hyperspace. The rhydonium’s warning screen was flashing faster than a bounty fob now, and it wouldn’t be long before it blew the old dragon sky high.

“Ok, let’s go, please!” Din pleaded, trying to urge you to the escape pod. You leaned back heavily in the officer’s chair, the edges of your sight going dark as exsanguination took its toll. Raising your arm, you watched with a silly look on your face while you flexed your fingers, the tendons squirming over your exposed bones beneath what was left of your char broiled flesh. Most disgustingly of all was the shiny piece of metal on your palm, the Admiral’s aurodium insignia lodged in the sundered krayt bite, fused to your flesh from the heat of your rage.

Haha, gross.

“Why… why are you even still here? Go on, escape!” You sneered at him, still angry.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” he said, crossing the room with his hand stuffed under his ribs, trying to hold himself together. “I’m not leaving you behind again.”

You strained a laugh, the noise grating in your shriveled throat. “Y’don’t need me, y’made that perfectly fuckin’ clear. Leave me to die with the rest of the scum. Besides.” You chuckled, raising your withered hand so the emergency lights danced over the gold plating your palm. “I’m the captain now, and the captain should go down with the ship.”

There was nothing left for you outside of the Wyvern anyway, maybe it was time for you to join Spooky and Friends for good. The Empire would surely hunt you down for your crimes, an even more vehement organization than the Guild, and that would only put Din and Grogu in even more danger than they had been when they still called you family. On a dragon you had risen to the stars, how fitting it would be that on a dragon would you leave them. Poetic, really.

Din cast a worried glance at the rhydonium thermometer. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Tilting your head back until your skull met the headrest, you relaxed and closed your eyes, feeling the hot drip drip drip of blood running down your arms and pooling at your feet. “Why bother? Why do you even care what happens to me?”

With enormous difficulty he pulled his helmet back off, leaning in close to you. You flinched when two armor plated hands came up under your face, gently lifting you by your chin until you were met with his eyes. Even in the crimson-soaked lights his enormous honeywells shined with more depth than any ocean, glittering with stars.

“Because I still lo-”

*kaBOOM!!!*

Somewhere in the bowels of the ship the overheated ore blew its top, shearing the ship in twain. Din was nearly thrown to the ground from the force of the explosion, nearly dropping his helmet to hold on tightly to the arm rests of your chair. He threw the bucket haphazardly back over his head and scooped you into his arms, roaring in your ears about how stubborn you were sometimes. Under his boots the dying dragon began to angle towards the planet below, starting her final journey to meet the ground.

Din hustled to the escape pod, backing into it and hugging you to his chest, pressing you against the hexagonal divot in his beskar that you missed so much. The little hatch slid closed, sliding over your backside and squishing you up against the Mandalorian. Your guts did a nasty flip-flop as you were launched into space, dropping you towards the planet below.

Before you lost consciousness, whether from the blood loss or the inertia, or just plain old exhaustion, you squinted out the tiny transparisteel window at the ship you’d left behind. The front half of the Wyvern’s Tongue was just starting to break the atmosphere, a colossal blade pointed straight at Tatooine's sprawling desert landscape, breaking apart as it lost the battle with the desert planet’s robust sky.

Breaking the sound barrier, dragonfire erupted around its bow as it tore through the dusty air, sending tendrils of flame fanning in its wake. It was falling fast, but the sheer size of it made it appear to be sinking in slow motion, almost like a dream.

Maybe it was a dream, you thought as you felt the plated arms of your podmate tighten around you, his gloved hands burying into your hair as you plummeted towards terra firma. There was a good chance you wouldn’t survive landing, it was an Imperial built shuttle after all, but at least you wouldn’t die alone.

The roar of atmospheric reentry drowned out any words you may have said to each other, any last words of wisdom or heartfelt apologies would be forever lost to the winds of time, so you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him back; a final act of forgiveness before the darkness took you.

~

Far away from the sinking ship, the tiny capsule skittered over the sand dunes like one would skip a stone over a lake, bouncing over the sand until it lodged itself in the side of a hill. The hatch door launched off, sliding away from the two bodies it had protected. Raising his bucket, Din watched as the Wyvern met the ground, the enormous beast of the ship blocking out the suns as it crumpled into the dunes. Dragonfire erupted around the monstrosity, consuming it in a column of flame and ash that whipped up a sandstorm to rival any fallout.

Against his chest plate you laid limply, making it difficult for the Mandalorian to roll you underneath his body. He boxed you in with his arms and legs, putting himself between you and the oncoming sandstorm as it bore down on your pod. Gritting his teeth behind the visor, he curled over top of you while the deadly storm roared overhead, determined to keep you safe if it was the last thing he did.

The desert sands whipped over his back, flinging superheated shrapnel and massive chunks of durasteel flying as if they were toys. Din held your body to his, just waiting for the fallout to crush you both dead, or the sands to blow you away; but an eternity later the storm passed, leaving you both unharmed. Exhausted and in agony, the Mandalorian shook the sand from his back and hauled your near-lifeless body from the newly carved dune, brushing the dirt from your face. “Tra’laar? Are you ok? Can you hear me?”

No answer.

He tugged a glove off and stuffed his fingers up under your jaw, hunting for a pulse. Your heartbeat was weak, but steadfast, and he sighed heavily with relief. “This is all my fault. I never should have left you behind, cyare! Please… please wake up!” Kneeling over you, he ran his hand down your face, gently brushing away the grit stuck to your skin. When you still didn’t respond he dug his arms under you and hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the feel of his broken ribs grinding together. With you in his arms for what he knew could be the last time, he set off across the dunes towards the city on the horizon.

~

A warm desert breeze passed softly over you, the first herald of the Tatooinian dawn coming up over the mountains to burn away the mist that hung in the air. It felt nice on your skin, gentle and promising as the new day. It would be so nice to lie like this forever, eyes closed, stretched out and comfortable, basking in the double sunlight. Your eyelids were so heavy, but as much as you would like to laze about til the stars fell down, you knew you had slept long enough.

Slowly, achingly slowly you started to pry your lids open, the world around you blurry and faded. Turning your head was a chore, and was accomplished more through the aid of gravity than muscle. At your side you saw two blurry figures, their features distorted by the haze behind your eyes, but to you they looked like a man and a woman, both wearing intricate red robes like the people in your premonitions.

The familiar lady leaned over you, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your sticky brow. Her radiant smile shined with love and adoration, rivaling the warmth of the twin suns themselves. When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if it was already in your ears.

It’s time to wake up now, Starsong. He’s waiting for you.

The stranger smiled and glanced over at the man who was sitting down in a little chair next to whatever you were laying on. You followed his eyes to where he was holding your hand, quizzically furrowing your brow at his forwardness and giving yourself a headache that made you squeeze your eyes shut.

When you opened them again, the man in the chair was replaced by a different character, this one dressed head to toe in beskar and bandoliers, his helmeted head tilted forward until it was resting on his chest plate, slowly rising and falling in time with his breath. Even in his sleep he was drawing languid circles on your palm with his thumb, his fingers twitching slightly to hold yours closer.

“...Din?”

The fingers on the back of your hand squeezed tight as he bolted upright, nearly jumping out of his seat and frightening the attending nurse droid. “Hey, you’re awake! Are you alright? How are you feeling?” The Mandalorian asked frantically, taking your bandaged hand in both of his and clutching it to his chest.

“What… what’dya mean how am I fe- oh.” You looked down at yourself, finding the long glowing tubes of bacta needles sticking from your other arm between long strips of gauze, making you immediately nauseous. A leather gloved hand came up and caught your face, pulling you back over to meet his infinitely black visor.

“It’s ok, cyar’ika, nothing’s missing, just keep your eyes on me. You were in bad shape when I got you here, but the infirmary had e-bacta infusions on hand. You’re healing up well! They were able to remove the metal piece from your hand and debride the duraweave from your burns, and most of the skin on your arms has already grown-”

“Ok ok ok enough!” you grumbled, starting to feel sick. You leaned back against the cot, relaxing into the feel of a gentle hand brushing over your cheek and down the side of your neck. Din’s caresses made you hum from his comfort, but your hums soon turned to growls. “Din, why am I still alive? I should have gone down with the ship.”

The hands withdrew immediately back to the lap of their owner. “I… I couldn’t let you.”

Your lips pulled back to bare your teeth, adding fresh agony to your growing migraine. “Fuck do you mean couldn’t let me, You don’t get to ‘let me’ do anything! How dare you act like you care!” You hissed with a sting in your voice. “Why do you even give a shit what happens to me?”

“Because!” He barked, fidgeting with his gloves, watching his own yellow tips go round while he twiddled his thumbs, searching for the right words to say. “Because I… because Grogu would never forgive me if I had let you die.”

Something about that last line made your heart ache, maybe it was the reminder of losing your son, or maybe it was the way that Din was clearly trying to hide deeper feelings. “I’m surprised he’s not in here, wouldn’t have to waste credits on bacta then.”

“He tried to heal you, but something about your wounds wouldn’t let him. I-I can’t explain it but… but he tried.” Din’s helmet snapped away from you, fixating on something of interest on the bare stucco wall. “He tried and tried until he passed out, then woke up and tried again. It was too much for him, I-I c-couldn’t keep letting him run himself dry.” Din sighed, letting his shoulders droop. “...He misses you.”

Sorrow and fury nearly broke the circuits of the heart monitor, summoning the nurse droid to come check your lines. You ignored the fussing robot to interrogate the Mandalorian further. “Why? Didn’t you tell him I’m a traitor? Didn’t you explain to him that I’m a lying, filthy Imp?” Your teeth flashed in a snarl. “Didn’t you tell him I’m not part of your clan anymore?”

Din’s laugh startled you, “The day that boy listens to me is the day the universe collapses in on itself. You’re the only one he ever listened to.” Fidgety hands toyed with the strap that crossed over the widest plate of beskar, fingers stopping at each slug to set them perfectly in line as if they weren’t already. “I can’t get him to eat, or sleep, it’s almost like I’m not even there. He… he cries nonstop, especially when he’s looking for you...”

You blinked at the itching in the corners of your eyes, your tear ducts having long since dried out. Though he was talking about Grogu, you knew by the guilt that steeped his words that the little green terror wasn’t the only one suffering from the Mandalorian’s decision to abandon you.

“He… he needs you…” Din trailed off, slowly tilting his visor over at you again, his hands stilling. “I…”

Din paused, letting the unspoken words hang heavily in the air, bringing with them a silence that would rival the infinite void of space. The nurse droid seemed to fade away, followed shortly by the beeping heart monitor, then the walls, then all of Mos Eisley, consumed by the roar of silence.

You could hear it though, the sound of those three little words that would change everything. Three tiny, insignificant words that even ghosts knew how to use. Powerful in their simplicity. You stared at where his eyes should be, imagining his furrowed brows, his tear-streaked cheeks, the corners of his lips twitching as they fought the floodgates that threatened to burst.

Just say it, Din, say what you need to say. Fix what you have broken.

“I...I’ll go get him.” Swallowing around your dry tongue, you nodded, dropping your gaze to the floor. So close. Din stood and brushed imaginary dirt from his clothes, “There’s someone else who wants to meet you as well, if it’s alright.”

“Who?” There wasn’t a single living being in all the galaxy that you wanted to see right now besides Grogu, plus you doubted there was anyone you knew who would want to see you anyway.

“Um… someone who’s been looking for him. His… people.”

You felt your heavy heart sink right out through your spine, dropping like a slab of raw meat onto the dusty hospital floor. “His… h-his people? Does… does that mean he’s going ho-”

“Just hang on, ok?” Din rose hastily and sped from the room, leaving a thick aura of unanswered questions in his wake. When he returned, he gestured to someone behind him, indicating that it was safe to enter your room. A young man with tousled blond hair and long black robes crossed the threshold to the medbay, but you couldn’t care less about who he was or what he looked like, because your eyes were locked to the little green baby he was carrying.

“Bubu!!!” Grogu cried, flailing in the man's arms until he was brought closer.

“BEANS!” you reached out with your good arm to take the squirming little monster, hugging him to your chest while he sobbed.

“Bububububububu…” He babbled, tears streaking down from his cosmic eyes while he patted your cheeks and dug claws into your skin. You curled up on your side and hugged the baby close to your chest, ignoring the dampening fabric beneath you as your own tears trickled down onto the threadbare sheets. You tried to comfort him by kissing his wrinkly head between choked sobs and carefully smoothing his ears, but the joy of having your baby back only made you cry even harder.

“Boo-boo? Wh-what… what’s he trying..?”

“Buir.” Din answered, his voice strong with reverence. “He is trying to say buir.” You burrowed your face against the shaky baby and reached out towards Din’s voice until you found his hand.

“Thank you.” You whispered between tears. “I thought I’d never see him again.” You pried your flooded eyes away from Grogu to glance up at the stranger standing politely in the corner, remembering what Din had said about Grogu’s people. “Who’s mister sunshine over there with the cute boots?”

The young man smiled and bowed slightly. “My name is Luke Skywalker, I came to investigate a disturbance in the Force that led me here. When I met Grogu I thought it may have been him reaching out to me, but now that I am standing in the same room as you, I realize that you are the source of the shockwave that I felt.”

You cradled Grogu against your chest, “The Force? Isn’t that just a saying the New Republic uses? Live long and prosper, may the force be with you, to infinity and beyond, blah blah blah...”

Luke laughed, “It is, but the Force is very real. It is the life energy that flows through all living things, even after they have passed on.” The young man crossed the room to your little trio, his robes and cape swishing dramatically with each step. “Tell me what happened to the ship that crashed out on the dunes, something tells me you were involved?”

You recounted your tale, from your hyperspace premonitions to your whispering nightmares, describing the ghosts you’ve seen and heard. You held up your arms for him to look at the damage the lightning had done, and pointed to your throat when you told him how you shouted the admiral apart. He listened intently and without interruption until you were telling him about the rhydonium bomb that blew the ship to smithereens. “And then I woke up here.”

“That’s fascinating, I’ve only read about Thunderfuries in the ancient texts, I never thought I'd meet one in real life, they’re exceptionally rare. Some scholars have even described them as mythological. Their charismatic voices have been described as ‘more powerful than a siren's song and a thousand times more deadly, able to lull insomniacs to sleep or shout the stars down from the sky.’”

You kissed Grogu’s head and propped yourself up on your elbow. “How come it's only manifesting now? I mean, I’ve had some weird shit happen in my life but never like that.”

“You’ve probably used it before without realizing it. Have you ever been so mad your voice changed? Or convinced someone with an unbelievable lie? Maybe even called someone back from the brink of death?” You nodded at each of his questions, feeling the color drain from your face. “Your powers may become more volatile when you’re threatened, or when someone important to you is in danger, a catalyst, if you will. May I have your permission to touch you?”

You shrugged, not really caring, but Din stiffened visibly at your side before backing away to let the man through. Luke placed his left hand on your forehead and closed his eyes, concentrating. “Yes, the Force is strong with you.” He moved down to your throat, touching your larynx softly. “Even stronger here, I’m willing to bet that the midi-chlorian count around this area is where it is highest, but I still feel something else.” He palpated your sternum though your ratty hospital gown, then your stomach, and finally the bottom of your belly, making you flinch. “Here. There is something here as well. It’s faint but-”

“No…”

“Your youngling…”

“NO.” You shouted, making the man recoil from the energy you gave off. “Not you too! First that damn robot and now this dude. I am not pregnant, I'm chipped! I’ve been chipped since I was a teenager. Get that damn nurse droid over here and I’ll prove it!” You barked at the droid organizing the bacta. “C’mere and scan me!”

The animatronic healer rolled over to you, a long scanner unfolding from it’s chassis. A hologenic light flickered over you, scanning up and down your body, making an extra pass over your abdomen that beeped when it had completed its investigation. “I-am-sorry-miss, but-your-chip-appears-to-be-missing.”

“MISSING?! The hell do you mean…” You trailed off, too many thoughts hitting you at once until one of them struck you like a bell. “Hoth. I probably left it on Hoth. Fan fucking tastic.” Oblivious to the needles in your skin you squished your eyeballs under your palms and slid your fingers into your hair, trying to yank it out.

When you opened your eyes back up you flinched from the collection of boys staring at you. Luke looked respectfully embarrassed, Grogu’s eyes were full of stars, but Din looked like he’d been frozen in time, not even breathing. He managed to croak out a single word: “Ch-chip?”

“Yeah, my standard-issue contraceptive implant’s probably sitting in a pile of goo in that fucky cave. You must be packin’ some pretty potent spunk to have already knocked me up.”

“Con... con-con-con… c-con..tra-”

“Din?”

“C-con…” Din short circuited and fell silent, his mental cogwheels grinding to a halt. A heavy silence filled the small infirmary for a time before he was moving with agonizing slowness. He brought one hand up and set it so gently on your tummy that it was almost non-existent. “...Mine?”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost fell out of your skull. “Yeah bucket boy, ain’t nobody else got to tap this.” You shimmied in a terrible attempt at seduction, bobbing your bacta lines more than your boobies. He nodded solemnly, still trying to reboot, but the silence gave the poor sidelined Skywalker a chance to speak.

“Congratulations, I think. If it’s alright I would like to speak frankly.” You shrugged and nodded, not waiting for Din.exe to come back online. “Yours and Grogu’s Force powers are very special, but also very dangerous. While it shows that you both have extraordinary talent, without training that talent will go to waste, or worse, could fall into the wrong hands. With your permission I would like to take you both to the Jedi Temple where you can learn to master your abilities.”

You started to try to sit up, struggling against the pain that still permeated your body, but Din sprang to life, helping to ease you comfortably to a seated position with Grogu on your knee. Setting your hand on your collar bone you rubbed at your throat. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. I dunno jack shit about this Force whatsit, but it was pretty cool to melt Forescythe's face like that. If I go with you, will you teach me how to do that without burning my arms off?”

“The lightning is a byproduct of the Dark Side of the force, it is only manifested through hatred and anger. The more you use it, the more it will destroy you.”

“Oh...”

“I will teach you how to use the Light Side, which is achieved through patience and dedication.” He laughed, “And also won’t burn your arms off.”

“What’d’ya think, Beans, you wanna go to school?” Grogu chirped sweetly in your arms, rubbing at his eyes with fat little paws, then yawned. “I’ll take that as a yes. Alright, sunshine, it’s a deal, ain’t nowhere else for me to go anyways.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Once you have made a full recovery we will be on our way. It was nice to meet you as well, Mandalorian. May the Force be with you always.” The nice young man bowed slightly before turning on his heel and heading out the door, his cape billowing behind him as he went.

Grogu curled into a ball on your lap and fell asleep faster than you’d ever seen, and carefully you brushed your hand over his ears. “Poor baby, so sleepy. You rest now, you’ve earned it.” A heavy silence filled the room, punctuated only by tiny snores. When you looked up from the sweet little baby you were surprised to see Din’s visor locked on you from where he sat, frozen solid. “Well, bucketboy? You gonna say something?”

Wordlessly he started digging into the pouches on his belt, fishing around until he pulled the remains of a microchip out into the dusty sunlight. Although it was nearly crushed beyond recognition, you knew by its broken legs and shattered insignia that it was all that was left of your contraceptive implant. Fresh, scalding rage bubbled in your chest at the sight. “Din… Why do you have that?”

“I found it that night on the Sunskate when you sent me to find you some soap. It was in the canister we used to capture the egg-pod-thing. I should have told you about right away but… but I was worried that maybe the pirates planted it there. Then I got it into my head that it had come from you and… and…”

“And what?!”

“And I’m sorry!” He cried in a strained whisper, careful not to wake the blessedly sleeping baby. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it, but… but I’m sorry.” His modulated voice cracked with something, maybe faulty wiring, maybe tears. “If… if I’d just asked you about it from the start none of this would have happened.” He gestured vaguely at all of you, sitting at the end of the cot in your shabby gown, your bare feet swinging freely. “I’m sorry for how I acted and what I said. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“You’re only saying that because you stuck a bun in my oven.”

“No, what I did was wrong, it was cowardly.” his visor snapped up to meet your eyes, “I have dishonored you and myself. I broke every vow I made to you without giving you a chance to explain. I shot at you, I shot at my wife.” His voice faded away, weighed down by shame. “I am a monster.” His helmet tilted away from you towards the ground, studying his boots.

You thought for a moment, watching the warrior coming to terms with his own judgement. Licking your dry lips, you asked him coldly: “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Try to shoot me.”

He turned away from you shamefully, “Because you were… b-because I decided that you were a threat.”

“A threat to who? To you?”

“No.” he paused, his breath hitching in his lungs. “A threat to… to Grogu.”

“That’s what I thought.” You chided, cocking a brow at him when he turned to face you again. “You saw a threat to your son and you acted, though maybe you could have, oh I dunno, listened to me before you went off your rocker.” His hands twiddled with the edges of his legplates, his eyes avoiding your gaze. You readjusted the bundle on your lap, tucking his goofy potato sack robe under his butt. “If I thought you were a threat, I would’a shot you too.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No, it doesn't, though I probably shouldn’t have been keeping secrets from you.” Now it was your turn to look away, turning your gaze up to the stucco ceiling where maybe the Maker was watching you. “However, if you hadn’t broken my heart and dumped me on the Empire’s doorstep then I’m guessing Tatooine wouldn’t be here anymore, or whatever planet they decided to fuck over. So I guess…”

“You don’t need to justify it. What I did was wrong and hateful.” He scootched the little chair closer to your side until his knees bumped against the cot’s edge, barely inches away from your own. “If you never want to see me again, I- I would... understand. I wish you and Grogu the best with your training. And the youngling too if… if you decide to keep it.”

His visor sank back to the floor before he was pulling himself to his feet, making to leave you and take his guilty conscience with him, but you caught his hand before he got too far. He whirled around, gawking at you with that big metal bird impression that he does so well.

“What do you mean if? Why wouldn’t I keep it?”

You heard something rattle behind his modulator, accompanied by the strained quake in his shoulders. “I can’t force you to, or even ask you to. I know you said you w-weren’t ready for children, and to have to raise one alone would be-”

“What makes you think I would be alone?” You squeezed his captured hand, running your thumb over his knuckles. Din cautiously stepped closer, brushing his hand over Grogu’s wrinkly little head.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. You’ll have Grogu and Luke to look after you. The boy seems trustworthy enough, and once you master your powers-.”

“That’s not what I mean, Din.” You tugged on his hand, scrounging up the courage to find out the truth, even if you had to use a crowbar to get it. “What… what were you going to say to me, before the rhydonium blew?”

His armored shoulders rose with a sudden intake of breath, going stiff while the air stuck in his lungs. His response came out slowly. “Does... does it matter?”

“If it didn’t, would I be asking?”

Yellowed fingertips flashed in the fresh dawnlight filtering in through the infirmary window, fidgeting on the ends of armored wrists. Din squared his shoulders and stood straight and proud, his modulated voice giving away his timidness. “I...”

“Yes..?”

“I…” he took your hand in both of his, careful not to upset the bacta lines growing from your flesh or the precious bundle swaddled on your lap. “I… I still love you.”

You cocked your ear at him and waggled your brows. “What? I didn’t-”

“I still love you!” Din fell to his knees in front of you with a mighty racket of metal and munitions that shockingly didn’t wake Grogu. “I love you, cyare, I need you! I love the sound of your voice and the warmth of your smile. I love the way you laugh, the way you cry. I love that you terrify me like no one ever has. I love the way you feel, the way you smell, the way your fingers used to tangle in my hair when we slept together.” He carefully lifted your hand until your knuckles rested on the brow of his helmet, “I miss you, beautiful creature of the stars. I would give anything to have you back again.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You pondered a moment, letting him wallow in his guilt until you could hear his breath getting ragged from the suspense. “Alright, give me your ears.”

“You... want me to cut them off?”

“Pfft, no, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.” You said with a laugh. “I want you to listen.” You pulled your hand away from the cool metal of his forehead to pick at the bacta tubes on your other arm. “I was an Imp, but not because I wanted to be. When I was a child I was stowed away on the Wyvern before it left Corellia’s port, which happened often enough on that skughole of a planet that there was a name for us. We were called bilgerats.” You met his visor, watching the way his head cocked to the side. “The Empire adopted me, I didn’t have a choice.”

“Like… like a foundling?”

“Mmhmm. When the captain decided that I had potential, or apparently magic, he gave me a name and a real job, but it was never my choice. I chose to leave them behind. I chose to become a hunter. I chose…” You paused, flitting your eyes between the corners of his visor where you knew his eyes were, wishing that you could see them for yourself. “I chose to love you.”

A broken sob rattled his helmet as his composure started to break down, his hands coming up to caress gently at your cheek. You held your hand over the back of his, leaning into his palm. He took a series of deep, desperate breaths before he found his voice again. “C-could you e-ever love me again?”

“Only if you promise to never dump my ass over stupid misunderstandings again, think you could do that for me?” He couldn’t speak, he just nodded so fast his helmet almost flew off. Laughing, you stretched your arm out to him, careful not to lose the foundling on your lap. Din clambered up from the floor so fast his boots nearly went out from under him, plowing into your chest with a hug so fierce you felt your ribs creak. “I sure hope so, tinman, because I still love you too.”

Not even the dry desert air could stop your tears anymore, and you let them flow freely into the fabric of Din’s cowl, burying your face between his shoulder and the edge of his helmet while he hugged you like his life depended on it. The sharp metal cut your skin and made you frustrated that he even still had the damn bucket on. “Din can you take your helmet off? There’s nobody here but the droid. I want to see you.” He shook his head ‘no’, dragging his palms over your back, his leather gloves snagging on the ties that held your gown closed. “Can we go somewhere you can take it off? Maybe… maybe somewhere more comfortable?”

“You’re in no shape to move.”

“Please?”

He hated it when you begged, or maybe he fucking loved it, either way he was nodding and rising to his feet, stuffing your collection of trinkets into his many pouches. He cast a suspicious glance at the nursebot before helping you pull the bacta lines free. Immediately the attending droid started to protest, but was met with the business end of a blaster. Din cocked his helmet arrogantly, a mused laugh sneaking through his modulator.

“We’re checking out.”

~

You were giggling like a schoolgirl as you were carried up the ramp into the Crest by the Mandalorian, cradling Mr. Sleepy against your chest. The armored warrior set you down gently on the edge of the bed, jabbing at his vambrace to close the ramp. You sniffed the musty air, crinkling your nose. “Holy shit what is that smell?! No wonder the kid can’t sleep, It stinks in here! Open a window!” The singular transparisteel viewport didn’t ‘open’, but the ventilation did, and soon slightly-less-stinky desert breezes circulated through the cabin. “That’s better, now off with your damn head!”

“Alright alright.” Din chided, fishing for the edge of his helmet and pulling the offending beskar away, setting it down gently on a nearby crate. Though the blood had been washed from his hair days ago, a crudely placed cauterizer burn still shined red with swelling, but that was only the start of his worrying features. His hair was unkempt and ratty, his eyes sunken and hollow, even more than they had been when you’d seen him uncrowned aboard the Wyvern. His shaggy facial hair did a poor job of hiding his pale, nearly translucent skin.

But his smile, his adorable, lopsided smile was exactly as you remembered it, rolling the swells of his cheeks right up into his deep brown eyes. Dazzling canines caught the hazy cabin light while he beamed at you sheepishly, his eyes glancing at your face then bashfully away, aware that he must look terrible.

Carefully you set the foundling down on the bed by your side, brushing a wayward ear from his face before reaching out to the baby’s father. Gloveless hands found your cheeks, his touch more cautious than if he were handling porcelain, pulling you into a long awaited kiss.

Din kissed you like it was the very first time, chapped lips brushing yours softly, tentatively, like he was afraid that touching you would wake him from this dream. The dream of having you in his arms again. You slid your bandaged hands up his armored shoulders until you were at his scruffy jaw, pulling him closer.

At the feel of gauze on his skin he pulled away, worry etched into the creases around his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, maybe we should wait til-” Huffing, you dug your hands into his messy hair, dragging him back to you and kissing him so hard you felt your teeth knock together. He inhaled with surprise before melting into your hands, tilting his head to chase the taste of you deeper.

The bristles of his mustache tickled at your nose, but you were too lost in his love to notice, tangling your fingers in the curls that hung at the back of his neck. The hands at your cheeks glided down to your shoulders, then your sides, then around to your back, deftly picking apart the knots that held your ugly gown together. He pulled away from you again, “May I?”

You nodded and laughed, “Please, it’s itchy! Though I’m pretty sure half of Mos Eisley already saw my hooha flappin’ in the breeze today. Hey what happened to that cantina on the corner? They used to have the best spotchka…”

“No idea. Must have been a big fire though…” He laughed at his own poorly-veiled lie, kissing at your jawline while he tugged the last knot free. The ratty hospital gown fluttered to the floor unnoticed, the two of you lost in each other’s eyes. Though you were naked save for your bandages, he couldn’t take his off of your face, reverence stretched across his features. “Is… do you think what the nice man said is true? That you’re… um…”

His versatile hands that could snap necks like twigs or tear flesh asunder came up to settle gently on your belly, rubbing softly back and forth and sending scalding heat to your cheeks. You shied away from him, studying the cabin wall like the secrets of the universe were written there. Flustered, you found your voice, “I don’t know, maybe. Pretty early to tell, but he was right about everything else. Probably right about that, too.”

He caught your embarrassment and withdrew. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… If you don’t… I’ll support any decision you-”

You silenced him with a finger on his lips. “No, I want to. I’m just… I’m scared.” You hugged yourself regardless of the warm desert breeze, fingertips fiddling with the edges of the gauze that rode up to your elbows. Nestled against your thigh you saw Grogu twitch in his sleep, half sunk into the smelly Tatooinian bed roll, his sweet little smile matching your own. “You’re such a good dad, Din, like you were made to be one. But…” You brushed your hand over the foundling's supersized ears, “But I don’t think I'd make a good mom.”

“You already are.” Din whispered with more conviction than you’d ever heard, his hand finding your chin to tilt your eyes back to him. “You always have been. From the day you met Grogu you’ve been his mother. You’re strong, and fearless, and terrifying.” He smiled when you laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear for you. “But you’re also loving, and sweet, and compassionate. And did I mention you’re the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life?”

You giggled again, rolling forward until your brow met with his. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not. I think you’ll be amazing.” He kissed you again, stronger than before, breathing in deeply with the scent of you, of his mate. “I know you will.” You studied his face a moment and nodded, feeling your breath hitch threateningly in your throat. Din heard your hidden distress and backed away, tearing his remaining armor off and gently setting it next to his helmet until he was bare chested before you, a large bacta patch holding his broken bones together.

He dove towards you with passion, his chest pressed to yours, his kiss hungry but gentle. Though his flesh was warm and inviting against your own, your fingers quickly found where his ribs were showing through his sides, rippled like a washboard from not eating properly. You made a mental note to grab some of those roasted taters you liked so much later, but for now you let yourself get lost in the Mandalorian’s touch.

Though his hands were careful, you could tell that there was a hidden desperation behind his movements, his touches frantic to confirm that you were really here. His fingers slid up your back to tangle in your hair, holding you close while he experimentally licked his tongue into your mouth, eager to meet your own. A wide, calloused hand braced on your thigh, supporting his ever-growing weight over top of you. You hummed into his mouth and patted his chest, asking him to give you space.

He looked at you quizzically, but before he could start another long winded string of apologies you nodded down to where Grogu was sleeping peacefully. By the look on his little princely face it had been a long time since he’d slept so well, and though you knew he deserved his rest, he was very much in the way of what you and Din were after.

Maybe it was the bacta still flowing through your system, or maybe it was the fact that you’d survived yet another near-death experience. Or perhaps it was true what the ghosts in your visions had said, that the man before you really was your soulmate, destined to return to you again and again. Either way your body craved him, flooding your belly with heat at the sight of the robust warrior that would rather let himself waste away than live a day without you in it.

You needed him.

And he needed you.

Right now.

You scooched off the end of the bed, covered the baby with a thin blanket, and slid yourself into Din’s arms, kissing your way up his neck to the bottom of his jaw. He shivered under you, groaning with pleasure until you reached his ear, nipping at his earlobe where you whispered: “Do you remember the first time you made love to me?”

He growled, the low timbre of it making your skin prickle with goosebumps. “How could I forget?” His scruff brushed your cheek as he nuzzled you, dragging his teeth along the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his palms squeezing into your hips. You took a slow step backwards, luring him to follow until your knees bumped against a crate, a subtle laugh escaping your lips when you plopped down on it. Din fumbled for the sleeping cubby controls until he found the button that closed the protective door, shielding the foundling from your erotic courtship dance.

Not an inch of space remained between the two of you when he pressed his body to you again, slotting his mouth to yours, hands gripping the stubborn crate to support his slow, demanding ruts against your heat. You wrapped your legs around his waist, catching your heels in the pockets of his duraweave pants, trying to kick them off. His rich laugh rumbled against your chest, reverberating in the warmth flooding in your heart, and pussy. “Please, riddur’ika, let me take care of you.”

Lost in the kisses that he was planting down the length of your chest, he didn’t see your brows furrow at him. “Do… do you still get to call me that?”

He froze, his lips poised just above your pebbled nipple, so close to getting a taste of you. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “That...that is your choice to make.” His pleading eyes looked up to you, so big and full of sadness you almost cried. “I would… I would like to again, but only if-”

“Yes.” you pleaded, running your fingers through his hair, skimming the long, jagged scar. “Yes, please, don’t ever stop calling me that.”

“Ner riddur.” He moaned, sucking the tip of your breast into his hot wet mouth, arms coiling around your waist. The hastily renewed vow tumbled from his lips in between each languid roll of his tongue, mumbled like a prayer to your altar of forgiveness. You sighed and arched your back into his affections, gasping when one of his nimble hands snaked around your front and sank into your folds.

Stars you’d missed this, you’d missed him. Missed the way his lips sought every inch of your chest, missed the way his fingers curled perfectly against the spongy spot hidden in your walls, drawing beautiful gasps from your parted lips. You’d even missed the way he ran his mouth, spilling muffled praises against your skin between greedy laps of his tongue.

He released your swollen bud with a pop of his lips, kissing down the softness of your tummy. You leaned back until the cool metal of the crate met your spine, offering yourself to him fully. Din’s whiskered kisses ticked at your sensitive middle, each one slower and more deliberate than the last until he was just below your belly button. The fingers buried inside you slowed, rubbing careful circles that couldn’t distract you from the loving way his lips met your skin, his kisses lingering.

“Mine.” he whispered with a secretive giggle, his unoccupied arm scooping under the small of your back, holding you steady. He kissed you once more, then pressed his entire face into your belly, rubbing his scruff over the tender flesh, almost like he was scenting you.

Still speared on his fingers, legs flung wide to accommodate him, you lifted your head to get a better look at his foolishness. “Tinman…?”

“I’m sorry, I just.” He planted his chin on your pubic bone, slipping his fingers out and smiling up at you with adoration in his eyes. “I just… I can’t believe it.”

“Really? After all the times you said you wanted to breed me, you’re flummoxed that you’ve actually gotten me pregnant?”

Din popped up like a whack-a-mole at the magic word, a hundred emotions spread across his face. “S-say that again.”

“Breed me?”

“No!”

“Flummoxed?” His brows sank with frustration over his lust-blown eyes, making you laugh. “Fine fine. Din.” You propped yourself up fully, your knees hugging his chest where he was kneeling between your legs. With his head in your palms you brushed your thumbs over his cheeks, reveling in the way he was waiting on bated breath for your words. “Din, I’m pregnant.”

The joy that radiated off of this man could have knocked the suns from the sky if they were any closer, his laughter so full of hope and happiness you couldn’t help laughing along. This was how it should have been presented, not flickering across a screen or coming from a polite stranger. Just this, the two of you alone together, both of you looking like complete garbage and not even caring.

No, in that moment you were the two most beautiful creatures the Universe had ever made, painted so brightly in excitement and love that it was blinding. Din kissed your palms, his face already starting to bubble over with emotion. “I’m… I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Mhmm, now c’mere, give mama some sugar.” You hauled his beautifully wrecked face up to yours, kissing him deeply. His tongue was sloppy, needy, spearing into your mouth between groans of pleasure. You heard the fumble of buckles and zippers, then the flump of pants hitting the floor. His heavy cock bobbed against your belly, leaving kisses of precum above the womb it had filled. You rocked your hips, trying to notch him in your slick folds, but his fingers met your cunt again, scissoring you open.

“I said I wanted to take care of you, buir’ika.” He groaned into your mouth before disappearing down your body and burying his face between your legs. Din’s wicked tongue spun delicious circles around your engorged bean, slurping and sucking away as if it was the only thing he’d ever eat again. You were just starting to feel the knot tightening in your guts when his dutiful mouth slowed, licking experimentally into your cunt, humming curiously.

“Wh-what? What is it?” You panted, rocking your hips against him, trying to fuck yourself on his face.

“You taste different.” He caught your questioning groan and shook his head, the motion making you convulse with need. “Not bad different, just different. Sweeter.” There were a plethora of excuses you could have made, maybe it was that he’d just forgotten how you’d tasted, or maybe it was the fact that you’d been living on Imp food. It couldn’t possibly already be from your changing hormones.

Could it?

Nothing but cries of pleasure made their way past your lips when he dove back to his feast, pulsing his expert fingers against your core and spiraling you towards devastation. Locked to his face, you squirmed on his tongue until he brought you the stars, your pent-up orgasm soaking his scruff and dribbling down his chin. Greedily he lapped your arousal away, humming at the taste. You’d barely gotten a chance to catch your breath before he was rising to his feet, angling his throbbing cock up into you and stretching you full.

“Din!” You whined, your cries swallowed by his mouth on yours, letting you taste your own release. Shit he’s right, I do taste good! His kisses became messy, then lost all together, his head falling from yours to bury against the crook of your shoulder. His cock eased itself out, making you feel every ridge, every vein before it was slamming back into the cradle of your body, the sound of him fucking you resounding wetly throughout the hold.

“Riddur’ika” he moaned into your skin, sinking his sharp teeth into the meat of your neck to mark you as his once again; leaving a blooming patchwork of welts in his wake. With his teeth holding you in place he started giving you what you both so desperately needed, pounding deeply into your flooding cunt. Your walls clenched around him, making him groan and strain, his hips snapping with frantic, frenzied thrusts. It was all you could do to hold on.

Eyes closed, lips parted, head lolling back, you were consumed by his passion; digging your nails into the skin of his back and surely drawing blood. Under your fingertips his muscles coiled and bunched, rippling with each powerful thrust, his cock demanding to be swallowed whole.

Your weeping wellspring sucked up every inch of him, drawing him all the way inside to the gates of your precious womb. The head of his cock bumped haphazardly against your cervix, his length shifting the ring of muscle even deeper into your body, the delicious stretch making you obscenely wetter.

Releasing your captured throat, the Mandalorian leaned back from you, throwing your legs over his shoulders so that there was nothing to stop him from burying himself to the hilt. Each ragged thrust scraped his curls over your sensitive clit and sent his cock spearing into something devastating inside. You cried out from the force of it, your muscles squeezing around his girth as you were catapulted towards ecstacy’s edge.

“That’s it, mesh’la, soak my cock. Claim me as yours!” His oaken voice sent you spinning, obeying his command and drenching his swollen member in your divine nectar. He groaned at your fluttering muscles, your silken folds caressing him and drawing his own gushing orgasm from him. Under your calves you could feel him straining to keep from shouting the heavens down, his face contorted almost painfully while he painted your insides with rope after rope of hot, potent baby batter.

Broken panting echoed in the tiny space of the Razor Crest’s interior, carried by the wisps of desert air breezing in through the ventilation. Din fell heavily forward, his sweat-streaked chest just inches from your heaving breasts, barely giving you room to breathe. Slowly he sank further down, the skin of his abdomen sticking to your belly, then your chest, sealing you together. His hands found your face, brushing the hair from your sticky brow and planting a kiss there, paving the way for him to rest his forehead against yours in sacred unity.

Hot breath mingled in the space between your mouths, bringing with it the spice of lovers bodies, a mix of lust and sweat and adoration, flooding your synapses like an addiction. Though he would happily let himself melt into your body the threat of crushing you underneath him made his exhausted arms shake, especially now that you were harboring precious cargo.

He butted his head against yours once more before pulling himself upright, offering a hand to you. You took his gentle gesture, but the shift in gravity made your soaked cunt gush with your combined cum, oozing down the side of the crate and pooling on the floor. Din couldn’t help himself, his agile fingers sneaking down to your wrecked pussy, stretching it around his fingertips and watching his pearly conquest slip out of you.

Humming with adoration, Din took you by your elbows, careful not to upset your bandages, and hugged you close. The Mandalorian felt like a furnace pressed against you, trailing his fingers up and down your spine and giving you conflicting goosebumps. “You’re so beautiful, mesh’la.” He purred, nuzzling into your neck. “There can be no other as beautiful as you.”

“Yet.” You chided, turning to meet his confused eyes. Stealing one of his hands you pushed his palm to your belly, laughing when he put your puzzle together.

“Our baby…” He cooed, still mystified by the concept. “Our baby will be beautiful, and terrifying if their mother is anything to go by.”

“Rude.” you barked, tugging playfully on his ear. He chuckled, splaying his wide palms over your belly, rubbing tenderly and no doubt imagining you all full and round with his warriors, your breasts heavy with milk, your skin glowing. His spent cock twitched between you, making him flush red. You laughed at his thoughts clearly plastered across his face. “I wonder what they’ll be like, the child of an Imp and a Mand-”

“You are not an Imp.” He retorted with ruinous conviction. “That’s not who you are anymore. You proved that when you sank an entire star destroyer to protect the people of Tatooine.” His hands cupped your face, holding you where his big beautiful eyes could see you, really see you. “I’m sorry that I let your past blind me to how much I love you, but now I see you for who you really are.” He kissed your forehead again, a slow, meaningful kiss that conveyed all the words he couldn’t find. Stars glittered in his lashes when he met your eyes again. “You’re not an Imp, cyare, you are a Mandalorian.”

Some kind of noise busted its way out your throat, maybe a laugh, maybe a sob. Either way you were shaking your head. “Thank you, but I’m not a Mandalorian either according to the Jedi boy.”

“I don’t see why you can’t be both a Mandalorian and a Jedi. Your son is a gremlin and your husband is an ass. I think you can be whatever you want. What was it that he called you?”

“A Thunderfury!”

“A Thunderfury!” He waved his hand dramatically, his eyes shining bright. You snickered at his antics, the melodic sound inviting him to spin you around in his arms, your thighs slicking with lovespunk as you danced. Instantly you wanted the fresher, but your heels knocked against his belt on the floor, making something in the pockets jingle. Bending down, you rifled through the many pouches until you found the one that had your things: two krayt teeth, one blood-stained rag, a pair of beskar cuffs, and surprisingly one other item.

An aurodium insignia.

“This was the Admirals.” You groaned, turning the half-melted token over in the light. Disgust overwhelmed you, and for a moment you considered opening the ramp door and chucking the emblem out into the hangar. Peli could probably find a buyer for it, but another thought snuck its way into your frontal lobe, spreading a grin over your face. “How much beskar do you think this will buy me?”

Din’s brows nearly shot off into space. “The insignia of a high ranking Imperial officer that you slaughtered? As much as you want, a full set even, but what about the Jedi? He’s supposed to take you-”

“But daaaaaad, I need a new outfit for the first day of school! Besides, I can't show up saying I’m a mando when I don’t have any beskar! Also I think the scary sewer queen would kill you if you didn’t tell her we’re expecting.”

“You’re absolutely right, but you do have some beskar.” Din padded over to the armory, throwing munitions and gear out of the way until your faceplate was brought into the light. “I think this belongs to you.”

You took the beloved slab of steel gingerly, turning it over in your hands. Din found the beskar cuffs and lovingly set them over each of your ears. When you set the armor on your face, the visor automatically flashed to life, presenting you with a fireball of a man standing before you, his chest and cheeks burning scarlet. Rolling the iron to your crown, you grabbed the krayt fangs from the pile and handed them to him. “And these belong to you.”

The opalescent Impkillers looked tiny in his wide hands, their whitish shimmer almost glowing in the cabin light. He nodded and thanked you, sniffling back his emotions, trying to remain steadfast as though you couldn’t see right through him. His fingers tightened over the sharp teeth, their edges creasing his callouses. “I’m going to miss you while you’re away.”

Just like that your beautiful, illustrious moment was cast in a dark, cold shadow. “Away? You’re going with me, right?”

“I don’t know if I can. I’m not a sorcerer like you or Grogu, and I’ll have to do something to earn credits for the baby. You go to school, grow our child. I’ll find work, there’s always bount-”

“Woah woah woah. Abso-fuckin-lutely not! You’re coming with us! I’m not going through this pregnancy or my forcefuckery without you.”

“The boy flew an X-wing here, there’s not exactly room-”

“Then we’ll get the coordinates for the school and just… meet him there? You said you’re never leaving me behind again, well I’m not leaving you behind either, ya big fuckin’ jerk.”

“I don’t think he’s going to just give you that information. What makes you think you can convince him?”

“First of all, something tells me he’s desperate, and secondly,” You planted your feet wide, ignoring your sticky, cumsoaked thighs and jabbing your fists to your hips, beskar crown glittering like royalty and making Din realize that one of these days he was going to have to tell you that as an Alor’s wife, you were technically were.

“I’m Tra’laar, the Thunderfury!” You roared, channeling your Force power to make the Crest shake on it’s fat little legs. Dins wide eyes were a stark contrast to your beaming smile, but the sound of scratching and chirping caught your ears before either of you could say something.

The sleeping cubby’s drophatch slid out of the way, revealing the disheveled little baby. Grogu glared at the two of you, rubbing his squinty eyes and squeaking on about how you’d interrupted his beauty sleep. Giggling, you took the baby in your arms and sat down on the bed, cradling him against your bare chest. “Aw I’m sorry, Booger, I got carried away.”

Snuggling the child, you were surprised when Din came over to you with a warm washcloth, offering to clean his mess from your thighs. You held Grogu close so his eyes were covered while Din tended to your needs, gently wiping the evidence of your reforged bond away.

When you were as clean as he could get you, you thanked him and scooted back up the bed, resting your weary head on the bunched-up bantha wool at the back of the cubby. You cooed at the fussing baby. “Do you need a lullaby, sweetie? I need to practice before bucket-baby comes. Would that be ok?” Grogu’s enormous eyes seemed to light up even in the dark recess of the alcove, his little head bobbing with a nod.

“He’s missed your songs, cyare.” Din hummed, crawling into the bed with you, laying so that he faced you and his son. You shot him a cynical glance, but he didn’t shy away. “I’ve missed your songs as well. I-if your voice hurts too much, it’s fine, we can-”

“I’ve missed singing to you as well, and to your son.”

“Our son. Just like it will be our baby. I’ll never make that mistake again, you have my word, and should I ever break it again I want you to put a bullet in my skull.” You were about to protest that last line, but his stern glare told you he wasn’t joking, so you nodded, agreeing to his terms.

“Anything in particular you want me to sing for you, husband?”

He smiled, running his hand over your bandages until his fingers tangled with your own, dancing lightly over the foundling’s forehead. “There was one a long time ago, it was the very first one you ever sang to Grogu, before he even had a name. Something about a navigator?”

“Of course.” You played with his fingers and cleared your throat, dropping your voice into a low whisper like you’d done a hundred times before.

“Oh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.

Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.

But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,

That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.”

Across from you Din’s eyes fluttered, fighting the pull of sleep so he could listen to you for as long as possible. You nestled closer to him until your foreheads bumped together, your faces curled towards the child that was already starting to drift back into his afternoon nap.

“So call the navigator, set the course and go!

We’ve stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by.”

Neither of your boys made it to the last line, so overcome with stress-induced exhaustion that they were both sailing off to dreamland on the words of your song. Later you could find Mr. Sunshine and sort this whole Jedi nonsense out, but regardless of what the stranger wanted you weren’t going anywhere if Din couldn’t be by your side, the two of you having already suffered enough apart, missing your soulmates.

No, come what may, your clan of three, soon four, would not be splitting up again. Come hell or high water, you were in this together.

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TAGLIST

@mrsparknuts @cookiejuicedesu @kaermorons @ironbabey @theflightytemptressadventure @emesispo @what-iwish-youknew @misscamptl @t3a-bag @poppunkdee @misscamptl @pandastasia @simpingmess @lilychristine01 @inaturenymph @buttercup--bee @blackd0gdesignuk @tanzthompson @transientblueseraph @jasmincita @sunnnygiiirl123 @beskarboobs @doin-stuff @marvelranger

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #bargaining with beskar #bwb

[lesbiansforboromir]

Impossible LotR Quiz Answer sheet with explanations!

As an addendum, since people have been doing the quiz I’ve seen a few mistypes and awkwardnesses that are my own fault so I’ve corrected them. This means some people got a higher score than was shown, know that when I looked over your answers I saw your actually right answers and fully appreciated them! It’s good to not that the ‘fill in the blanks’ questions will not take two words in one space, so I’ve had to get creative with how I apply two named folk like Mardil Voronwe, or people who have numbers like Hurin I.

I would also like to say, to everyone talking about how they’ve never read the Silmarillion, this quiz is very purposefully almost entirely based outside of the Silmarillion. This is Appendices stuff! Indeed there is only 1 question even tangentally related to elves in here, this is by design. 

@magaramach, @brynnmclean and @apojiiislands asked to be tagged in this! Answers under the cut. 

Q2. Who was Dora Baggins in relation to Bilbo Baggins? - Second cousin on his father's side Dora Baggins is a very elderly woman who was the daughter of Bilbo’s father’s brother. She likes writing people a lot of unsolicited advice! THIS WAS WRONG AND SAID FIRST COUSIN FOR SO LONG AND I AM DEEPLY SORRY FOR IT.

Q3. How many pairs of biological twins are mentioned in the whole of Arda's timeline and what races do they belong too? - 2 for men, 1 for elves and 3 for half-elves Fastred and Folcred, Haleth and Haldar (men) Amrod and Amras (elves) Elured and Elurin, Elrond and Elros, Elladan and Elrohir (half-elves) Now, admittedly Elladan and Elrohir are never actually described as twins. However they appear completely identical and have the same birth date, so it is assumed.

Q4. Baldor is who the skeleton scratching at the door used to be. When Aragorn and co pass through the paths of the dead they find a skeleton clawing at a door to the mountain. It is finely dressed and described as mighty and was later essentially confirmed to be Baldor, the eldest son of King Brego of Rohan, also called Baldor the hapless, who foolishly wandered into the paths of the dead on, apparently, a dare. (the answer to this was originally Brego because of a foolish typo from me, many apologies!)

Q5. When was the Ondonóre Nómesseron Minaþurie written? - During Meneldil's reign. “Enquiry into the Place-names of Gondor” was a text written by settled numenoreans about their new kingdom during Meneldil’s reign, who was the first sole King of Gondor after both Anarion (his father) and Isildur had perished.   

Q6. Farmer Maggot's particular friend was Tom Bombadil  It is stated that Farmer Maggot sometimes peacefully passes through the Old Forest to go and meet Tom Bombadil, who very much enjoys his company. However! Those who answered Merry or Pippin still deserve excellent recognition, Farmer Maggot was indeed fond of Pippin and respected Merry greatly.

Q7. What was the office of the Steward originally created to do? - Keep the Tradition of Isildur When Romendacil I went to war in the east, he realised that if he died then the secret of the Tradition of Isildur would die with him. Hence he wrote it down in a sealed scoll and gave it to a trusted confidante, to be given to his heir if he should perish. This tradition was maintained by further kings and those trusted confidantes became the Stewards of Gondor. This, admittedly, is a more suggested progression than explicit, but it’s a Impossible evil quiz so :) Q8. What was the 'Tradition of Isildur'? - Remember where Elendil was buried. Elendil had been secretly entombed in Calenardhon, supposedly the midpoint between Gondor and Arnor. This was a hallowed space for only Kings at first, but in later years when the Stewards came to rule Gondor they also were permitted the secret. Cirion had the remains moved when Calenardhon was gifted to the Eotheod to eventually become a part of the Kingdom of Rohan. 

Q9. At the time of Pelargir's founding, is the world flat or round? - Flat. Pelargir was founded as a ‘Faithful Numenorean’ haven on the river Anduin. Therefore it was built before Numenor’s destruction in the Akallabeth, the reason for which being that Eru turned the world from flat to round. 

Q10. Which of these monarchs were indolent and had no interest in ruling? - King Atanatar I - King Narmacil I - Tar-Vanimelde King Atanatar I ruled during Gondor’s richest generation and seemed to believe that meant he didn’t need to put any work in. Narmacil I, his son, didn’t want to put any work in, but he at least assigned his nephew, Minalcar, as ‘Karma-Kundo’ or regent during his reign. So he at least did something to keep the country going. Tar-Vanimelde had no interest in ruling and allowed her husband to do most of the governence. This backfired when she died and he organised a coup against his son to hold power.

Q11. When looking back on the Ship-Kings of Gondor, King Tarannon Falastur began the invasion of Harad and expanded Gondor's borders, King Earnil-I finally took Umbar but died at sea shortly afterwards, King Ciryandil spent most of his reign trying to defend Umbar and died in it's seige and King Hyarmendacil defended Umbar against seiges for 35 years before making war upon all Harad and claiming Harondor as a province of Gondor, ending the line of the Ship Kings.

Q12. What happened during the reign of King Romendacil II? - I don't know! Nothing? Yes I know this is particularly evil of me but Romendacil II was originally called Minalcar, yes the same Minalcar who became REGENT of Gondor due to Narmacil’s indolent nature. Minalcar indeed did everything else listed as answers to this question, but none of them happened during his reign as king. Indeed, his reign was said to be peaceful and we have no real information on it, so technically saying we don’t know, and suggesting nothing happened, is actually the most correct answer :)

Q13. Who succeeded Tar-Telperien of Numenor? - Her nephew, Minastir Tar-Telperien was a lesbian Queen of Numenor who never married and never wanted too and did an excellent job and I love her. Her nephew built a tower to mope in about how much he wanted to be an elf. They are not the same. Absolutely terrified about what Amazon could do to her. 

Q14. Whilst his brethren, the nazgul, were attacking the Prancing Pony, The Witch-King was waiting in the Barrow Downs and probably had a really nice time. Not much to this! Witch King was chilling with the Barrow Wights. 

Q15. Which of these characters are described as 'beautiful' at least once in the Lord of the Rings? - Galadriel, Denethor, Eowyn, Frodo, Elanor, Celeborn, Boromir Yes, Arwen is never described as beautiful, but Denethor is :)

Q16. We all love Boromir II, select the similarities he and Boromir I did NOT share. - Renowned relationship with the Rohirrim. - Destroyed the Bridge of Osgiliath - Feared by the Witch King - Retook Ithilien. - Had a brother. In case you’re wondering, yes, I love both Boromirs. But this question is a fun highlight of how many similarities Boromir II has with his namesake. These are the only things they didn’t both do. Although! Boromir I’s son was Cirion who allied with the Eotheod and created Rohan in the first place, the Uruk-Hai destroyed the Bridge of Osgiliath in Boromir I’s lifetime, Boromir II was PROBABLY feared by the witch-king we just don’t know, Boromir II held Ithilien and Boromir I had two elder sisters like Denethor II did.

Q17. Hey, did you know that, from Boromir I's war with the Uruk-Hai of the Morgul Vale, Gondor didn't know peace until Sauron's death on the 25th of March, 3019? Hah hah! How gut wrenching is that? About how long do you think it has been since Gondor knew peace then? Hey wait does that mean Boromir I's valiant victory that came at a personal sacrifice was the beginning of Gondor's wars and then Boromir II's valiant sacrifice was the end- oh god... oh fuck - 550 years To everyone who answered the crossed out answer,,, you’re correct in my heart. You get bonus points. Also hey! What the fuck :) 

Q18. Who was Borondir? - The rider sent to find Eorl who made it to him after starving himself for two days but who then rode to the Celebrant with Eorl anyway and died in that battle. Literally couldn’t love this fellow more. Big Hirgon energy. A hero of Gondor for time immemorial. 

Q19. The Ruling Stewards, from first to last (with their numbers typed as so Turin-I Hurin-II etc), were as follows; Mardil ; Eradan ; Herion ; Belegorn ; Hurin-I ; Turin-I ; Hador ; Barahir ; Dior ; Denethor-I ; Boromir-I ; Cirion ; Hallas ; Hurin-II ; Belecthor-I ; Orodreth ; Ecthelion-I ; Egalmoth ; Beren ; Beregond ; Belecthor-II ; Thorondir ; Turin-II ; Turgon ; Ecthelion-II ; Denethor-II ; and for like two seconds ; Faramir ; Alrighty, we had a bit of a fight in my discord about this but eventually I did relent in agreement that Faramir IS... very briefly... legally considered a RULING Steward. Ruling Stewards being Stewards that ruled a Kingless Gondor. But! With Aragorn RIGHT THERE is just seemed very redundant. Still! I’ll allow the pedant to win out, ten minutes is still a Ruling Steward. ALSO! I decided that having an extra box for the ‘voronwe’ part of mardil voronwe was just mean as it set everyone’s answers off kilter, so I removed that. ALSO for all of those calling me a bastard for adding this question, @illegalstargender was the one who requested it! I wasn’t going too! 

Q20. The Stewards, despite ruling through very tumultuous and violent periods, were often known for boring things (because they simply ruled better than the Kings did, I said what I said) But what boring thing was Steward Turin I remembered for? - Being the only monarch of Gondor that married twice This skeezy bastard really did marry a second time during his OLD age just to father a son. I can only imagine what a dreadful cultural and social effect this had on this prude country. It’s so unnecessary! He had daughters, many of them! One of them certainly had a son before he did. He was just being a controlling arse, down with Turin I!!!!

#my quiz

[galadhremmin]

silm asks - 1, 9, 13, 22

1. Favorite Section (Ainulindalë, etc.)? The end, because it breaks my heart! The sense of loss is so palpable. You really experience a feeling of mourning for the destruction of a world that never existed in a way I have never experienced with other fantasy. I do love the Ainulindale because the idea of a world made of music and responsive to it is incredible appealing to me. ‘Is that not a silmaril,’ or! that sentence about the death of Miriel...  ‘ and the sky reeled, and the hills slid, and Númenor went down into the sea, with all its children and its wives and its maidens and its ladies proud; and all its gardens and its halls and its towers, its tombs and its riches, and its jewels and its webs and its things painted and carven, and its lore: they vanished for ever. And last of all the mounting wave, green and cold and plumed with foam, climbing over the land, took to its bosom Tar-Míriel the Queen, fairer than silver or ivory or pearls. Too late she strove to ascend the steep ways of the Meneltarma to the holy place; for the waters overtook her, and her cry was lost in the roaring of the wind.’ Painful; beautiful. But yeah, I can’t really choose. Though I’d still say the end.   9. What Age of Arda would you like to live in? I love reading about heroic and tragic events and enjoy dramatic irony, but I want none of those things in my own life! Years of the Trees in Valinor. Every time I try to think about what Valinor would be like in a slightly more concrete way it grows stranger and more intense in my imagination. Even if it would speed up my death-- fine. See Valinor And Die. ‘ And tales and rumours arose along the shores of the sea concerning mariners and men forlorn upon the water who, by some fate or grace or favour of the Valar, had entered in upon the Straight Way and seen the face of the world sink below them, and so had come to the lamplit quays of Avallónë, or verily to the last beaches on the margin of Aman, and there had looked upon the White Mountain, dreadful and beautiful, before they died.” -- That’s the spirit. If it actually existed I’d swim upstream towards the blessed realm like a salmon in season, right here right now.   13. Would you want The Silmarillion to be made into a film or tv series? Only if it was animated, and only if it was done by people like the ones who made Song of the Sea, The Red Turtle or similar. I don’t think the entire thing would really work in the same style; an anthology of separate stories by different creators might work best. The only live action version of a Silm story I’d like to see would be Del Torro in the spirit of Pan’s Labyrinth. But overall I think the Silm material and the way people interact with it would suffer from a big studio laying claim over it. Copyright and capitalism don’t go well with this sort of story.  22. What is your opinion of Fëanor? He’s interesting. This is getting a bit long, so cut.

I think it doesn’t do the character or the story justice to make his conflict with Fingolfin entirely about his father’s affection; there’s a interesting sentence in one of the versions of the stories that indicates Fingolfin was at least perceived as threatening not just Feanor’s but also Finwe’s authority, in favour of the Valar;  Whispers came to Feanor that Fingolfin and his sons Turgon and Fingon were plotting to usurp the leadership of Finwe and of the eldest house of Feanor, and to supplant them by the leave of the Valar-- for the Valar were ill-pleased that the Silmarils lay in Tuna, and were not given in their keeping. [..] on the high day of the Valar Feanor spake words of rebellion against the Valar, crying aloud that he would depart back to the world without, and deliver, as he said, the Gnomes from thraldom, if they would follow him. And when Fingolfin sought to restrain him Feanor drew his sword. ' Combined with from yet another version; 'said Finwë: ‘While the ban lasts upon Fëanor my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people.’ ... I think there’s room for more than just a narrative about a child insecure about his father’s love. That is also there; and it is fascinating all on its own, because he is the first person in Valinor to lose a parent, the first for so many things. But this is there, too; a potential politico-religious conflict about authority supported by Noldorin tradition vs. the Valar. Given that Ulmo called Feanor’s birth a result of Marring and Indis line the good to come of it I think this makes sense on both levels.  Anyway, aside from that I think his devolving into a state of horrible, selfish paranoia and grief leads him to do entirely awful things in an interesting way. I don’t read the character as a parallel for real world fascists/nationalists because that just doesn’t make sense in context of, well everything. Being a King in a feudal society is only the start of it... But given Tolkien’s life experiences I’d say when he uses a sentence like ‘no other race shall oust us’ the wording is deliberate, and you’re supposed to feel those associations; the way his spirit starts to twist, the wrongness of the words he uses to motivate those not convinced by the need for vengeance etc. Feanor is a character who often plays the oracle without knowing it. He predicts his own son’s final fate (Maglor) without realising it. When he sees the future he doesn’t know it, and when he is justified in his emotions or even opinions he reacts in the worst possible way. It makes him fascinating. He is too much of everything, and you get the distinct sense that he doesn’t truly understand himself.  Aside from that; well, the slender dexterity of Feanor’s fingers... haha. He was Tolkien’s favourite, clearly, and it shows. I really love what seems like his intense curiosity and need to engage with the world he lives in. I love that his heraldry seems related to the spectrum of visible light, when so much about him is about light. I think Nerdanel might be the only woman in Tolkien’s work who is not loved for her beauty but her spirit, and that in turn tells me something about Feanor’s spirit. I could go on, probably verging into headcanons. I enjoy the character; I think of his actions and eventual implied ideology are indefensible. I also think that the circumstances being what they were (no one born in the blessed realm truly understood loss, or having to let go of a possession, for one) and with the qualities ascribed to him his choices make sense. 

#feanorianethicsdepartment #'her cry was lost in the roaring of the wind.’ is ....like what happened to all of beleriand. underwater ruins reduced to legend

[reginarubie]

Next chapter of Wind of Ice soon to be updated, meanwhile...

Last time we've met everyone (almost) of the Yellow Faction, the faction of the Targaryen party that supports the claims of Rhaenys And Aegon Targaryen and of their mother, princess Elia Martell of Dorne, in Kings Landing.

As always spoilers ahead!

this is from my requested fic, Wind of Ice which takes place around the time of Robert's Rebellion and entertain the thoughts that more of the children that Rhaella and Aerys had survived birth and infancy and between them also a princess, Avaelya, who is married to Brandon Stark heir to Winterfell and the consequences such a marriage and love may bring to the whole Rebellion affair and the balances of the Seven Kingdoms.

If you are interested in the fic and have not yet read it, I'll put the link before the cut so that you may read that and after (if you wish) return to this and the previous post dedicated to this story that I will link down as well:

Under the cut the link to the previous post and the presentation of the Silver faction.

Previous post (about the Yellow faction):

Now, always in support of one of the Targaryen factions, we have the Silver faction, so called because it answers directly to the silver prince, Rhaegar Targaryen and in formed under his mistress, lady Lyanna of House Stark (whose House colours are grey and white and green).

The Silver faction

The Silver faction formed under the lady Lyanna of House Stark, a girl of five and ten, of surprising beauty and with a lovely face, wilful and stubborn, intended of Robert of House Baratheon lord of Storm's End, supposedly abducted by prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the young Stark lady actually ran away with her princely love convinced to support his claim to the Iron throne and sharing his plight over the conditions of the Realm.

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, crown prince to the Iron throne, firstborn of King Aerys second of his name and his lawful wife, queen Rhaella of House Targaryen, already married to Elia princess of Dorne (from whom he had, had two children - Rhaenys And Aegon of House Targaryen) fearing an attempt to set him aside from the line to the Iron throne by his father in favour of his second born prince Viserys of House Targaryen; rose against his father with the supports of loyal lords to win the Iron throne and then re-establish peace and glory to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

He was supported by lady Lyanna of House Stark, for whom he tried to set aside his lawful wife and children and:

His mother, the Queen Rhaella of House Targaryen, queen consort of the Seven kingdoms of Westeros to her brother-husband King Aerys II. Already convicted for having took part in a coup to dethrone her husband and enthrone her oldest son, prince Rhaegar, she stole away from Kings Landing in the depths of the night to reach her son. From the moment she left Kings Landing on she styled herself no longer as Queen consort but as Queen mother supporting her son's attempt to claim the Iron throne from his father.

Prince Aenys of House Targaryen bent the knee to his oldest brother, prince Rhaegar, swearing to never entice thoughts of seizing the Iron throne for himself as long as Rhaegar and his offspring still lived, promising imperiture fealty in exchange for his brother's blessing and intercession to make possible a marriage with their sister, the lady Vael.

Lord Jon of House Connington, the Red Griff. A treasured friend and valued advisor to the prince, the red griff had already counselled his liege the prince to seize the throne before the birth of his son and again after the birth of prince Aegon. He had at first suggested that, after princess Vael had birthed healthy and robust twins, both males, the prince take his sister for wife, annulling her marriage to lord Brandon of House Stark, heir to Winterfell, supported also by Lord Varys on the matter, but his counsel was overlooked in favour of Lyanna Stark and the support they hoped she might bring through her northern family. After prince Rhaegar and lady Lyanna formerly put forward the prince's claim to the Iron throne Lord Jon Connington was named Hand of the King by his prince, though he would be referred at as the Hand of the Prince due to prince Viserys' propaganda.

The Silver Kingsguards, deserted the king they were sworn to, to support their chosen king, prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Famed warriors they swore a blood-oath in front of the Old Gods and the New to put prince Rhaegar on the throne and defend him with their life. At this time they consisted of ser Gerold of House Hightower and ser Arthur of House Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.

The claim of prince Rhaegar as king was supported by Lord Varys as well; the Master of Whispers, grown fearful of King Aerys' madness and his impossibility to control prince Viserys - half mad already but strong and charismatic still - decided to throw his support behind prince Rhaegar, albeit him as well planned to have him married to his sister to later have legitimate, pure Targaryen children to inherit the Iron throne as he considered the lady Avaelya to be a most suitable prospect for a Queen consort.

The stauncher supporters of prince Rhaegar and his claim were the loyal bannermen of House Targaryen of Dragonstone.

The main goal of the silver faction was to put Rhaegar Targaryen and the consort he chose for himself — whether she be Elia Martell, Avaelya Stark or Lyanna Stark — on the Iron throne, dethroning Aerys.

#Wind of Ice #fanfiction #regina_fanfics

[basilhearsanoise]

Guardian Angels - Chapter 1

A Memory Formed, Then All but Wiped Away

Dean Winchester was born on a cold January morning in 1979, when the sun had not yet risen. He wouldn’t hear his name for a few years after that, though. You see, when Mary, Dean’s mother, found out she was pregnant, her husband John said, “We should name the kid after your folks. Always talk about how you miss ‘em. Be a good way to keep ‘em alive,” and Mary liked that idea very much.

So when the doctors told them they were going to have a baby girl - because doctors like to play god in these situations almost as much as God does - Mary knew that she would name the child after her mother. Deanna was a beautiful name, after all. It was only a few hours after they got home from that visit, however, that their two sons burst in from over 30 years in the future, and brought the preamble to the apocalypse with them. One of whom, they’ve seen before - as a hunter on a case, as a car enthusiast. As a man. Who says to her, “It’s kind of hard to believe. I’m your son.”

Mary doesn’t get to remember her son’s face for very long, because angels are meddlesome creatures and time travel doesn’t usually rest easy on the human psyche. But she finds herself thinking of the strange hunter who was there that night with the yellow-eyed demon. He’d really been trouble, but he’d tried so hard to help. Her memory of him became more sentimental, somehow, without her even really noticing the change. She wonders if that hunter was some kind of spirit, a ghost sent to warn her about that night. The night she tries to not ever think about, but yet, always comes crawling back to the front of her mind. It all seems to have so much - so much meaning, something more that she can’t quite put her finger on. Suddenly, she feels a cosmic presence in her life, and she knows, deep down, it’s because of her baby.

“I’m tellin’ you, this kid is gonna be somebody,” she says to John as she dotes over their newborn. “Isn’t that right?” She coos. “That’s right! You’ve got angels watching over you!”

—

“No. Dean,” Dean corrects his mother, chocolate melting in his tiny three-year-old hands. It’s all over his face. Some of it’s in his hair, too, like tar stuck to a bail of hay. His voice is garbled, a toddler unable to properly enunciate to save his life, but still, alarmingly clear and concise.

Mary, exhausted, at her wit’s end, holds the dress out to him for the millionth time. “Deanna, pl—“

“No!” Dean is more hurt, now, and the tantrum is well on its way. “I won’t! I don’ like it!” The rest is mostly unintelligible screaming. Smearing his chocolate all over the dress, he turns and runs, crying.

John tries to pick him up and cradle him but he kicks and yells and punches. They have to have a talk about violence after that, that it’s not nice to hit and scream. It’s the first and last conversation on the topic Dean will ever get from his parents.

Not long after that, the preschool calls, says Dean has “caused a scene in class.” They tried to separate the boys and girls for a game, and he went with the boys. When they tried to stop him, he threw a fit and had to be excused for the rest of the day. And then the next day, and the next, and the next.

Mary and John are at a loss. Their son is insisting he is their son, but like any parent, they are having trouble believing it. Mary thinks about the hunter from that night more and more now. What did he say his name was again? There was something so familiar about all of this, almost like Mary was back on an old hunting case. But no, she gave that up…she couldn’t call any of her contacts and see if they know anything about her kid…could she?

…Ring, ring.

“Hello Mary,” Missouri answers, the grin already apparent in her voice.

No matter how many times she did that, it always freaked Mary out, just a little. But at least you knew she was the real deal as soon as she picked up the phone.

“Hi Missouri, it’s good to speak to you.”

“Mm. I don’t think it is. At least, the subject matter doesn’t seem like it will be good.” Missouri twiddles the phone cable around her finger. “John’s not going to like it. You’ll warm up to it though. I’ll be over soon.”

Click.

Laughing, but mostly out of shock, Mary puts down the receiver. After all this time, you’d think she’d stop being surprised by how good Missouri is. But that level of psychic ability is uncanny enough to throw anyone through a loop. Better make sure John would be gone that afternoon. She was not ready to explain this to him.

When Missouri walks in, she throws her arms around Mary warmly. “Now,” she asks, looking around. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you Mary, I haven’t even met your boy. Go and fetch him, I want to meet him before we get down to whatever nasty business you called about.”

Mary pulls the sides of her mouth back in a gesture that could only be interpreted as: yikes.

“Missouri, I…I don’t quite know how to say this, but our…” The words feel strange in her mouth, but what’s really strange is that…she thought they’d feel stranger. “….my son…is what I called about.”

Missouri raises an eyebrow.

“Is there something wrong with him? I haven’t sensed any evil presences in the house.”

Mary still doesn’t quite know what to say, stutters a little.

Perplexed, but intrigued, Missouri says, “Well go and get him. I’ll see for myself.”

With a shrug, Mary goes to the kitchen. “Honey…put down your toys, Mommy wants you to meet a friend.”

Dean waddles into the living room, still clutching his favorite toy car. He clings to his mother’s skirt, but waves at Missouri, who looks him up and down from his dirty shoes to the top of his baggy overalls.

“What have you got there?” She asks.

“Vroom!” Dean answers, showing her how the car shoots forward when you wind the wheels back on the floor.

Missouri laughs heartily in agreement. “Yes, sweetheart. What a lovely toy. It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

His little eyes shimmer up at her, his face slowly peeling into a wide, wide grin. He giggles and keeps playing with his car.

Mary stares at Missouri in disbelief, opens her mouth to speak, but can’t find words. She slowly sits down on the couch. Dean follows his car back into the kitchen and can be heard vrooming about the house. For a moment that’s all the noise there is, until Mary can finally gather herself enough to say, “Missouri, I…I don’t understand.”

Missouri walks over and sits next to her, gently takes her hand. “Mary, you know that there are things in this world that are not easy to understand at first, but that doesn’t make them any less real.”

“Well, yes,” Mary replies, flustered, afraid. “Ghosts, ghouls…but you’re not saying he’s a monster, are you?”

Missouri’s expression darkens a little. “The world will surely tell you he is one. But nothing could be further from the truth. People like Dean have always existed, just like people like me have always existed. It’s perfectly natural. Most people just don’t believe we’re real.”

Mary is still completely at a loss. Missouri squeezes her hand. “Your son is transgender, Mary,” she continues gently. “I can see into his soul and see that he’s a little boy, just like any other, except he’s in a world that can’t see him the way I can.”

It’s as if someone took a needle and jabbed it into Mary’s brain. Flashes of Dean’s adult face begin to swim through her mind.

“I’m your son.”

Could these memories be real or was she going mad? It was all so overwhelming. She throws her arms around Missouri and begins to sob. Missouri can sense that something in her mind has opened up, that had been locked tight, and it unnerves her to think what could have turned the key. She holds her dear friend close until she can recover enough to catch her breath.

“What do I do?” Mary whimpers, looking towards the kitchen, towards Dean.

“You love him,” Missouri replies. “You respect him.”

“H-…how?”

“Well…” Missouri tries her best to be matter-of-fact. “First you have to talk to John and get him on board.” Mary’s eyes roll a little. Getting John to change his mind about anything was going to be a hassle. “Then…you call the school. Tell them to call him by the right name. Tell your friends to call him by the right name…not much else to it, darling.”

“But…what happens when…he grows up? How will…”

“I have some friends who might be able to help you,” Missouri says warmly. “But you can cross that bridge when you come to it. It’s all about doing what’s necessary now, and simply listening is the most important thing when children are young. Follow his lead, honey. He knows what he needs.”

Dean runs into the living room again. “Mommy, sammich?” He beams.

Mary can’t help but laugh as she wipes away her tears. Dean notices and instantly hugs her knees. “Don’t cry, mommy,” he pleads. “I love you.”

“I love you too…Dean,” Mary shakily replies, rustling his hair the way she always does.

Dean looks up, his face somehow happier than before. He reaches up to her in the way all toddlers do when they want to be held, and she scoops him up into her arms. Missouri smiles at the sight.

“You want a sandwich?” Mary asks her, still processing, but trying to inject some humor into the situation now.

“That sounds lovely,” Missouri answers. “I think I’ll have mine with the crusts cut off, too. That’s your favorite, isn’t it, Dean?”

“Yes!” Dean gurgles happily as Mary places him at the kitchen table.

“Alright, three sandwiches, hold the crust, comin’ right up,” Mary laughs. Later, she knew things were going to get messy. But for now, they could all sit down and enjoy a nice snack.

#i'm in the process of getting an ao3 account idk how that shit works #i've basically never written fanfiction before but this story has been 10 years coming #so like. here we go #supernatural #dean winchester #spn #hellers #trans dean #trans dean winchester #guardian angels #fanfic #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #ao3 #me #my stuff #writing #prose #trans #transgender #queer #queer writers #trans bi bastard time

[thecandywrites]

The Beginning of Stormbreaker Part 4 Finale

Ok, so unless you haven’t figured it out, Butternut- is my version of a Shae Nut, But the nuts are in this lovely fruit pictured above, that in my mind tastes like a creamy mango with hints of melon and papaya. And this lovely red apple looking fruit on the right is Dragon Heart Fruit which in my mind has the flavor of Lychee, mango and pinapple, still very tropical tasting. Also the lovely ladies above, on the top row on the left, that is Grat, Drad and Sarg’s mother, and on the left is Shari, Rhos’ and Esri’s mother. 

Part 4

It took over a week of going back and forth to the dragon’s lair to get all the scales and usable leather, sinew and good bones along with the dragon’s small horde of gold, jewels and other precious items, which when divided evenly between Rhosland, Esri, Drad and Sarg along with equal portions allotted to their mothers and Orcoth in addition to Rhos and Esri’s already gathered pearls which Rhos and Esri gave a portion of the pearls to their mother, Grat and Orcoth so that all seven of them would be richer, despite the failed raid while Esri and Rhos kept all the beautiful shells to keep to make jewelry later. 

Drad and Sarg happily ground down the good left over dragon bones into a fine powder back at camp while they rested and healed at remarkably fast rates, thanks to the dragon bone. By the time they had managed to forage all they could and the suits of armour for all four of them and three breast plates at least for Rhos’ and Esri’s mother as well as Orcoth, were done, they decided to head back to Skull Screamer, the four of them in the little row boat with extra large rafts tied to the boat behind them, that Sarg and Drad had built to carry all the smoked and preserved meat and fish and other foraged goods along with a few cuttings of the tree in the dragon’s cave and baskets that Drad and Sarg had woven themselves while they hung out at Rhos’ and Esri’s campsite out of the tall grasses to hold all the fruit from the tree and others and all the seeds left behind from the tree that had fallen in previous years that had been in a heap under the tree along with the fruits of the Butternut bush and hundreds of wild rose buds to make rose soap along with the ash from the smoker to get the lye to make the soap needed. 

However when they came rowing back up Skull Screamer’s main river Rhos and Esri looked worriedly to Drad and Sarg as everyone in the village looked at them like ghosts before they noticed that once they came upon Drad and Sarg’s mother’s house both of their mothers and Orcoth came out of the house as both their mothers were so happy and overjoyed to see their children come back as Drad and Sarg pulled the boat and the rafts up onto the shore as they were immediately surrounded by everyone. 

“You’re alive!” Shari cried as she embraced her daughters as her daughters embraced her in turn. 

“Of course we are alive, why did you think we were dead?” Rhos asked her mother. 

“Because Zash and his sons, got lost in fog and attacked Hurricane Breaker. And when Drad and Sarg’s horses along with many others came back without their riders and blood on their saddles, we assumed the worst and imagined that you and Esri had camped too close to the accidental battlefield and got caught up in it.” Shari cried. 

“We heard the battle but it was at a distance and we stayed inside the tent until the sounds of the battle stopped, and after the battle ended we were approached by Captain Tilge of Hurricane Breaker and her warband of shieldmaidens. But once we explained what we were doing there and that Skull Screamer must have gotten lost in the fog and had no intention of attacking and thus, we had no intent to harm them or their clan and they believed us and believed that we were younglings because of our size and saw that we were unarmed and therefore not a threat, they had no quarrel with us and left us in peace and safety and even discouraged anyone else in Hurricane Breaker from coming to us and to leave us alone. In fact they happily shared a meal with us and struck up a friendly peace with Esri and I and to signify that peace, I gave her the tribute necklace I had given to Shadi and Esri gave her the bracelet that she had made for Baka as tribute that they gave us as bride gifts when we left but when they said that Tar had been killed, we knew we weren’t going to be marrying him and when Drad and Sarg found us and we healed them from their own wounds. And when they were healed enough to walk on their own we came back.” Rhos explained to her mother and others who had come to see her for themselves. 

“What happened here while we were gone?” Rhos asked her mother. 

“Well after Zash unwittingly got lost in the fog and accidentally attacked Hurricane Breaker, he and his men died in the raid. As did all of Zash’s sons, we thought only the few men of the other warbands survived and came back and reported that everyone else had died. So almost all the people who came to deliver bride gifts before you left, came and demanded them back since you would not be brides to Tar. And it’s only because Grat opened up her home to me that I had any place to go. The whole clan thought that you and Esri’s joining Tar’s family was a bad sign of disapproval from the gods and would confuse them and thus sent the fog that caused us to lose everyone that we did, so Shadi and Baka, they burned down our house in retribution for losing Tar and in the commotion they gave birth only a few days ago, both to girls.” Shari revealed as Rhos and Esri gasped in horror as they stared at their neighbors in outrage who by now were lowering their heads in shame and backing away. 

“What kind of madness is this?! No! It was Zash’s and Tar’s own stubbornness and confusing leadership that led to us unwittingly attacking Hurricane Breaker and if it had not been for Shaman Orcoth who gave me prophetic advice that I and Sarg listened to his words and survived. And it was Rhosland and Esri who took us in and healed us and concealed us from Captain Tilge and did so in such a way to keep themselves and us above suspicion. Which takes courage and faith and loyalty. They have been blameless and Sarg and I both saw over the last week or so how Esri and Rhosland have been nothing but blessings for us. They healed us with medicine they instinctively know, they fed us from the game they were able to kill all on their own and they even shot down a bear and had victory over it. And then they found the hissing rocks which they realized wasn’t actually a cursed place but discovered that it was an old dragon’s home, the dragon had been trapped inside and had a tree growing from it’s chest to the roof of the place and when they investigated it, they collected the dead dragons scales and leather and made us these exquisite suits of armor and these weapons that have no compare and even used the bones to heal our own broken bones. Which is why we are at full health after only a week of sustaining almost fatal injuries. They are not a curse, they never were, they are our blessing and salvation and I am more than honored to have Rhos as my mate as is Sarg to have Esri. And just look what they were able to capture when they were given the right tools- they were more than successful.” Drad pointed out as he gestured to his suit of armor and then gestured to all the food and other supplies on the boat and on the rafts for emphasis as proof of what he was saying. 

“So Mother Shari- I would be more than happy to build you a house of stone and timber to replace the one of bricks that you lost. And don’t worry about anything that you lost, I will see to it that you are given at least twice what you have previously lost. Thank you Mom for doing the right thing by taking her in.” Drad declared as he grasped her hands and comforted her. 

“So, I have an announcement. Since Shadi and Baka had girls and that no one from Zash’s male line survived, as Tar’s First Commander of Captains, I hereby take the position of Warchief and I appoint Sarg as my Warlord and we will claim the neutral land that is just south of Hurricane Breaker and North of here since Rhosland and Esri are in a peace treaty with them. Since that land already gave us so much, it will give us more- still. And all those who did not get to take back their bride gifts to Rhosland and Esri are free to do so now that they are back. But know that if you do, you will not be welcome in Stormbreaker which is the clan I will be starting there, and all those that did and had a hand in burning down Shari’s house, will also not be welcome in Stormbreaker either and you will reap such unforgivable disrespect and never again will such things ever be permitted let alone tolerated.” Drad announced as Rhos had never been more proud of him as Esri and Rhosland put the tanned bear hide over their mother and comforted her and gave her, her fair share of the dragon’s horde.

Then Shari told her daughters exactly who had come and wanted what they gave back and remembered still who had given what before Esri and Rhosland spitefully got all of it out of their row boats and rafts and forced it back into the hands of those who had given it  in the first place and wanted it back even though the others, out of fear of Drad and Sarg and their new announcement had tried to go back on their word and their previous choices before Rhos and Esri simply let the gifts fall to the ground at the giver’s feet and wanted nothing to do with them before they unloaded everything else into Grat’s house which she didn’t have that big of a house to begin with but all of them did their best to squeeze themselves and all that they had foraged and hunted into it as Esri and Rhos gave Orcoth, Grat and Shari some of the dragon bone powder as it healed Orcoth immediately so that he did not have to limp as Shari and Grat both seemed to regain some of their youth and vigor and soundness of mind and body. 

“I tried to tell the clan that all of you were still alive and well but they didn’t believe me, but I think they will now.” Orcoth noted to Drad and Sarg who had readily accepted Sarg as his father also while they feasted on the smoked and preserved venison’s tenderloins and backstraps, the best parts of the venison along with the mushrooms and other foods that they had managed to forage for.  

“You should take Rhos home with you and prove to the whole clan that you’re verile though Warchief Drad.” Orcoth suggested to Drad. 

“Oh he already did.” Rhos laughed as she blushed prettily and beamed happily. 

“But he needs to prove it to everyone else. Here, burn this in the fireplace. It will help Warchieftess.” Orcoth said to Rhosland as he gave her a small sack of incense. 

“Come on, let’s show Shadi and Baka how it’s done at least.” Drad grinned giddily with a wink that made Rhos blush even harder.

“Ok fine.” Rhos agreed before she hugged everyone goodbye and took what meager possessions that her mother was able to save as Drad carried their portion of the food and other belongings to his own home that was close to Shadi’s and Baka’s house since he was the First Commander of Captains, he had the “privilege” of having a house close to Tar’s as they noticed that Rhos and Esri’s boat was now empty boats and rafts getting filled with the previous gifts that they had been given along with even more gifts and notes of deepest and most sincere apologies before Drad built a good fire in his stone fireplace before Rhos threw in small handful of incense into the fire and noticed the smell was heavenly as her whole body immediately reacted to it and she felt her whole body relax and her spirit soar and become happy as Drad then reverently made love to her with so much love and passion that Rhos lost count of how many times she had accepted her pleasure from him as the incense helped her forget all about the clan around them and Drad encouraged her to not hold back but to moan and keen and cry out in ecstacy as loud as she wanted so that he could make no mistake if he was truly pleasing her and quietly made her promise and swear to never fake her pleasure with him which she was all too happy to do as she was so overwhelmed with bliss she would have agreed to just about anything he asked of her. 

Come morning, Shadi and Baka were disgusted that they had to endure the sounds of Rhos’ and Esri’s love making and demanded that Drad and Sarg take all who wanted to follow them with them but that they needed to leave sooner than later, while anyone who wanted to stay true to Skull Screamer was welcome to stay but that anyone from Skull Screamer that left to join Stormbreaker were never going to be welcome back again when Stormbreaker failed and imploded as Rhos readily agreed to those terms as an equal Warchieftess to Shadi with the stipulation that any from Skull Screamer who wished to come into Stormbreaker would first need to make their peace with herself, her sister and especially their mother before they would be welcomed into Stormbreaker as this was announced in Skull Screamer’s town hall for the whole clan to hear. 

It took another week for everyone to pack all of their things and break their houses down to reuse the lumber and load them onto new boats they built themselves but over three quarters of Skull Screamer left to join Stormbreaker as Drad and Rhos used the stones from the Dragon’s own old lair as the foundation stones for their own house since just nearby was the wild rose bush that would take up the front yard of the home and easily pushed the stones over to make a large, surprisingly flat and even foundation that had plenty of space to dig down to make a root cellar and have a lovely inner courtyard where the original tree that had been growing from the dragon’s chest still stood. 

Others in the clan followed suit, using the very large but smooth stones from the rivers and streams to first dig down to set the foundation stones securely then build up with more stone and motar made from the clay from the little islands as they redirected all the little side streams into the main river and used the forrest of stone timbers to use for their houses before they all happily made new markers and marked out their territory, leaving a little space between Hurricane Breaker to the North, and Skull Screamer to the South and Bone Crusher to the East. 

Rhos and Esri were pleased to learn that Captain Tilge was now Warchieftess Tilge since she led the victory over Skull Screamer and between Tilge and Rhos, they made their own peace and alliance that Drad and Tilge’s husband Warchief Murzol agreed to as well as Rhos readily offered a good sized cutting of the wild rose bush to Tilge and a cutting of the Butternut Bush as well as a cutting of the tree that was in the dragon’s cave and gave them to Tilge to plant in her own home’s garden so that she could continue to have the wild rose scented soap and the fruits of the tree as Tilge taught Rhos how to make it herself and many other kinds of soap as well which Rhos readily learned and took to heart as Tilge and Rhos exchanged seeds and seedlings and saplings for the gardens of Stormbreaker and Hurricane Breaker. 

While Rhos and Drad were still living in Drad’s re-erected home on Stormbreaker’s territory next to their new home that they were building on top of the dragon’s lair, while they both worked on cutting down stone timbers to construct their new house over the stones. No sooner had they fell the first tree before a storm blew in but didn’t topple any tents or other homes but when the storm cleared, they found a fleet of ships moored and marooned on the shore of their beach that they had claimed. 

The crews of the ship were sick with scurvy and other ailments and close to death, had all the older commanding officers die from the sickness, just leaving the younger, newer orcish sailors who were barely bigger than grunts left alive. Drad offered them a choice, give up the vessels and all their cargo and they would be welcome into Stormbreaker’s clan and Rhos and Esri would use what was left the fruits and bone powder to heal them. Which the younger orcs readily accepted but they immediately knew that the fruit was known as Dragon Heart Fruit. It usually only grew on the islands that were the birthplace of dragons in the world after the convergence of the spheres and that dragons often came back to the islands to mate every so often and always had at least one seed of the fruit in their gut and when they died somewhere in the world, often the seed would sprout in a dragon’s dead guts, close to it’s heart so that it always looked like the tree sprouted from the dragon’s chest and the fruit was vaguely heart shaped and did best when planted in a gut pile of another animal when not planted as a cutting or sapling. And was famed for it’s taste along with it’s nutritional value and it’s ability to heal as well. 

The sailor orcs did not know where they were, only where they were from and have a vague where they were going and had lost their maps in the storms and their cargo was actually the goods to go into a palace of a king. And so Rhos and Drad got the first picks of all the cargos as Rhos put a special piece of paper with a mark to tag all that she wanted from all the holds, then Esri and Sarg were given their turn to stake claim to what they wanted, then Orcoth, as Stormbreaker’s shaman was given his pick of what he wanted and then Shari and Grat were also given their picks of whatever they wanted from the holds and the rest was given to the rest of the clan including the young orcish sailors who were excited to claim the goods they had coveted all this time, especially the large barrels of spices that were distributed to everyone in the clan evenly, except for Drad and Rhos who each got a triple portion, being Warchief and Warchieftess. Sarg and Esri, Orcoth, Shari and Grat were all individually given double portions as well to signify their high status as Orcoth happily claimed Grat and Shari as his wives, each of them equal in his eyes and in his heart and loved and cared for them the same way Drad cared for Rhos and the same way Sarg cared for Esri as both Shari and Grat were happy to finally have a husband who cared for them and took care of them they way they had always wanted and needed but never could manage before. 

Drad insisted that the first house to be built and finished should be Orcoth’s as his father and shaman which Orcoth happily accepted and Drad made good on his promise that both his mother and Shari both received more than double of whatever they had lost, the replacements being of much better and finer qualities than what Shari had previously lost as their house was built right next door to Drad and Rhosland’s house, Drad and Rhosland’s house being the second house to be built and finished and furnished and thanks to som ingenuity on Rhosland’s part, the foundations were stone, the floors, tiled, the walls were of stone timbers but covered in special oil and tar to preserve the timbers and then covered with a special plastar that had been in a powdered form in barrels on the ships. That once it mixed with water- became a white paste that she and others used to coat the walls and the cielings and then used the paint powders to mix special batches of plastar to paint all the rooms inside and outside the room, the most beautiful vivd colors as the house was now large enough to have dozens of rooms and a courtyard with it’s own special garden on the inside and a medicine garden and food garden on the outside, the wild rose bush being cut into two, so that she had wild rose bushes on either side of the front porch of her house and even used the special glass domes that were on the ships as skylights in her own house and even made a second story and a roof with walls and ledges and built in benches and the little stream that had been flowing into the original dragon’s cave served as her home’s own personal plumbing line to get water in and out of the house. Happy that her own years of having a mud and mudbrick house serving as the finest teacher to help her build her new house to exactly how she wanted it as Drad was only all too happy to help her realize her dream and fell in love with the sheer beauty of it all and it only served to show off how much of a beautiful person inside and out that he married and once it was done, it was just as much of a work of art as it was a home as others took what was left to decorate and build their own homes in such ways, happy to have bright, beautiful colors to decorate their homes that the warm tones of wood only accented and accentuated as they noticed the homes now had naturally warming properties in the cooler weather and cooling properties in the warmer weather. 

Sarg and Esri claimed the best captain’s quarters on the best ship as their home as once all the cargo was unloaded and the ships renovated into big fishing boats and docks were built on the beach so that the ships could anchor and be pulled up to the piers and decks and helped build a lighthouse and then the whole clan helped everyone else build their own homes all while Rhos’ and Esri’s baby bumps grew in size every day as the Shaman was adamant that Rhos and Esri were both definitely carrying sons. 

Meanwhile Shadi and Baka were fighting a losing battle. More and more of the remaining few clan members of Skull Screamer stayed because Shadi and Baka ruled and behaved in the same way they had always done which now that they didn’t have the Clan Cheif and his eldest son backing them, now others did not hide their offense to their behavior and when Shadi and Baka tried simply taking what they wanted and what they felt they were owed, for the first time in their lives- it was denied to them. 

Especially once the fleet of ships ran aground in Stormbreaker’s territory and Stormbreaker had effectively more than tripled in size and multiplied in wealth and success, to the point that the young sailors happily took on the widows and previous children of the fallen warriors of Skull Screamer after they grew bigger into full grown adults and after the widows had made amends to Rhos, Esri and especially to Shari as the widows were happy that instead of daughters being seen as a disappointment, but instead that every child was precious, they had no desire to go back to Skull Screamer. 

Plus Rhos and Esri were the opposite of Shadi and Baka. Where Shadi and Baka were domineering and demanding, Rhos and Esri simply asked how they could help each family be successful, from having full gardens with all the medicinal and flavorfull herbs and other produce to each house having at least one if not several dragon heart trees growing. Using the gut piles of the all the kills of the game to plant the seeds themselves along with Butternut saplings and wild rose saplings and to never take whatever they wanted but only when the family’s needs and wants were met, if the family truly wanted to give anything as “tribute” they would accept it but never demand it and such behavior endeared them to the whole clan as Drad, Rhos, Sarg and Esri all encouraged each family to really pursue their interests and passions and took to fishing and trading instead of raiding as almost every woman in the clan now had at least one necklace of fine pearls each woman had collected from the shellfish in the waters of the river and the sea. 

The sailors especially took after Drad’s example, along with Sarg’s and Orcoth’s and cared very lovingly and respectfully of their wives and adopted children since Drad always treated Rhos with the utmost care, respect and dignity so that all that was left of Skull Screamer now was Shadi, Baka and their mothers and their daughters, all living under Zash’s old, and by now, very leaky roof as all that was left was now their home and the clan’s old townhall, which had stood empty, unused and now forgotten as it was abundantly clear that the old prophecy was true, that Skull Screamer would fall when under the guidance of a lone Clan Cheiftess or Warchieftess with no Clan Cheif or Warchief. 

Once Rhos and Esri both went into labor at about the same time and both gave birth to sons- who Drad and Rhosland named their son Brock and Sarg and Esri named their son Cugas as both boys were almost identical and had heard that all who got to see them praised how big and healthy and handsome both baby boys were before even more babies were born the clan and much rejoicing took place. 

Shadi and Baka had to humble themselves and admit defeat. They were almost out of food, soap, clothing, wood for their cooking fires and hearth even after taking down the other remaining houses and using them as fuel for their fires and what was left of all the gardens and thus- out of options. And came for Brock and Cugas’ birth festivals when they were one month old and out of danger and came wearing the best garments they had left to offer Rhos and Esri congratulations and to see Brock and Cugas who were themselves the most handsome baby boys they had ever seen because they both took after their mothers but they could still clearly see some of Drad’s and Sarg’s strong and handsome features in their sons. 

“We have come on this most blessed day to offer our congratulations and a truce.” Shadi began. 

“What was wrong with the agreement we agreed on a year ago?” Rhos asked curiously as she sat in her rocking chair on her porch and rocked Brock who slept blissfully away in her arms as Esri was next to her and also sitting in a rocking chair doing the same to Cugas, each woman having special puffed quilts over them and their sons. 

“Skull Screamer has fallen, all that is left of it is us. And if you do not help us, we and our daughters will die of starvation, we can find no fish or any game or anything to eat on Skull Screamer’s lands. And all those who had at first agreed to stay true to Skull Screamer have left it to join the greater Stormbreaker and seeing it’s success, we can not blame them and we hold no grudge against them or you. In fact, if you will agree to help us, we give up all rights to all of Skull Screamer’s lands to Stormbreaker, and all we ask in exchange is a place in Clan Stormbreaker. And a space to have a home.” Shadi explained as she bowed her head submissively. 

“But since we are the warchieftess’ and warlordess’ won’t you take us into your home? We will happily submit to Rhos as Warchieftess and or Esri as Warlordess and be second and or third wives to them, just like they were going to be to us had Tar survived.” Baka pleaded as Rhos gave Drad a meaningful look as he gave her a reassuring smile from his place next to her before he got up from his chair and stood on his porch above them and crossed his arms over his chest, still wearing that dragon scale armor proudly. 

“I, Clan Chief Warchief Drad of Stormbreaker do accept all of Skull Screamer’s lands from your hands, and since you all have humbled yourselves to come and ask, you are now welcome to stay as clan members of Clan Stormbreaker. However, I will never let you into my home or my household because I will never tolerate any disrespect to my Clan Cheiftess Warchieftess Rhosland, who is my wife, my mate, my better half and my greatest friend and ally. Because lest you forget, I was there, sitting in the grasses when you came to Rhosland a year ago, to offer her- her own tributes to you- as your bride gifts to her - when Tar had announced that he would have her then but never got a chance to fully claim her. And I listened as both of you threatened Rhosland with death by drowning if she ever tried to usurp you or come between you and Warlord Tar. And I will never tolerate any threat or disrespect in any way, shape or form to her. And I honestly do not trust either you or your mothers to not harm Rhosland or her mother or sister or especially our son or Esri’s son who are still young and could still fall victim to you.” Drad leveled as Shadi and Baka both balked at him and stared in terror at him and flushed with shame or embarrassment. 

“We did no such thing!” Shadi insisted. 

“My girl is a good girl, she would never do that!” Shadi’s mother insisted. 

“Really? Because I was there with Esri, also sitting in the grasses, out of your sight but well within hearing range, as you came and put those bracelets on her wrists and threatened her with similar things, are you calling the Clan Cheif Warchief and the Warlord of Clan Stormbreaker liars?” Sarg challenged angrily as he stood up and stood next to his brother and took a similar stance, with his arms crossed over his chest, standing between them and his own beloved wife. 

“Shaman Orcoth, would you please shed light on this matter and make things clear for the whole clan?” Drad invited as he looked over at the other rocking chairs on his porch which Orcoth, Shari and Grat had taken up as Shari and Grat were still knitting baby clothes for their grandsons.  

“Of course Warchief Drad. It would be my pleasure.” Orcoth grinned as he cast a spell and showed the whole thing, including all the cursing Shadi and Baka had done on the way too and from meeting with Esri and Rhosland as the whole clan gasped and murmured as they watched in horror the way Baka and Shadi were so domineering and just awful and led the attack on Shari and her humble old house and Grat’s kindness and compassion in saving Shari and what meager possessions she could before the show ended before Shadi and Baka’s mothers took the babes from their daughter’s arms and forced Shadi and Baka to kneel and bow down on their hands and knees with their foreheads touching the ground and started yelling and berating their “wicked” daughters for behaving so indecently and disrespectfully and pleaded for Drad and Sarg to show mercy and leniency on account of Baka’s and Shadi’s daughters who had started to cry by now which woke up Cugas and Brock and got them to start crying as well which upset Rhosland and Esri along with Drad and Sarg as Esri and Rhosland did all they could to comfort and console their sons as they brought their sons into Rhosland’s house to take a rest on the wonderfully comfortable couches that had been put there. 

“What do you think we should do?” Drad asked Rhosland. 

“Well now that everyone effectively knows that they are a bunch of liars. No one will trust them not to fall into the same pattern of behavior. But at the same time, their daughters have no choice in who their mothers are and they are still young and they shouldn’t have to suffer on account of their mothers. So let’s let them stay, but a very far distance away from our home, let them keep their old home, and they can turn it into a brothel for all I care.” Rhos answered him. 

“Agreed.” Esri grinned. 

“Agreed.” Sarg grinned too. 

“Very well.” Drad nodded before he came back out to see that everyone was still there, waiting to see how Drad would react and how he would respond. 

“On account of your daughters, who should not have to suffer on their mother’s account. You are allowed to be members of Clan Stormbreaker and you are allowed to either remain in your old house, or you may choose to rebuild here, that is your choice. But I warn any man in Stormbreaker from taking either of you as a bride, for no man would want such a wife as what you two have proven yourselves to be. Use whatever talents you have to earn your living here. And if you have none, then you can always turn your old home into a tavern which would be helpful, or possibly a brothel which in that case, neither Sarg or myself will ever use, your choice.” Drad announced as Baka and Shadi gasped in horror before their mothers slapped their hands over their daughter’s mouths to keep them from saying anything more. 

“A tavern it will be then, thank you Clan Chief Warchief Drad.” Shadi’s mother graciously accepted on her daughter’s behalf as their old friends agreed to help build them before Drad went back into his house to be with his family and disbursed everyone so they could go about their day. 

“So, a tavern it is.” Rhosland grinned since she could hear from the window in the wall. 

“Yup, the first, of hopefully many.” Drad smiled before he sat next to his wife and enveloped her in a hug and kissed her sweetly as they both looked down at their son who was now awake and cooing softly to both of his parents. 

“Just one thing, you’re not allowed to marry Shadi’s or Baka’s daughters when you grow up unless they are nothing like their mothers and you really, truly love them.” Rhosland told Brock which got Drad to laugh before Esri repeated that to Cugas too before there was a knock on the door and Drad got up to answer it before he found one of Sarg’s first mate. 

“Warlord Sarg, there is a small merchant ship, that is trying to go up river to a city further up river, it’s requesting assistance in help guiding the ship up the river to the next clan’s lands, they are headed to the mountains in the east, said that there are towns called colonies in the mountains that they are trying to sell their goods to and are willing to pay us a fee of gold now and another fee in gold on the way out if we are willing to do it.” He reported before Drad and Sarg shared a meaningful look and both nodded to each other.  

“Hell yeah, that’s an easy yes.” Sarg easily agreed before he got up and left the house to direct the other sailors on the shore to guide the ships using ropes on the shoreline to maneuver through the twisting and winding river before more and more merchant ships came to do the same, grateful that there was now a settlement here so that they could simply pay these orcs a small fee both to and from the mountain colony of Suchi as they brought in their vessels full of goods and would leave, having the boats laden with heaps of gold, happy and grateful that they didn’t have to use Hurricane Breaker’s river because Hurricane Breaker was bigger and stronger and demanded to inspect them and their cargo and demanded a portion of the goods, usually the best ones and half of all that they had, and a half portion of the gold the remaining half of the goods sold for at Suchi’s sister colony Twilla that their rivier eventually led to. And for just a flat fee, they could now make more money using this new clan of Stormbreaker and sell whatever didn’t sell at Suchi as part of their fee too. 

And thus was the beginning of Stormbreaker. 

#Of Heaven and Fire Prequel #The Beginning of Stormbreaker #Tada! #See? Wasn't that cute? #Orctober 2021

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 12: “Aren’t fish meant to stay in the water?”

Masterlist; Pirate terms

This may be the best thing i’ve ever written! Also ahhh we are finished with 12 days of fanfics??? which is crazy?? I hope you guys have enjoyed because this has been so much fun for me!

Pirate/Siren AU

Percy Jackson can hear the whining of the sails from his little cabin and it soothes the jagged edges of him that continue to grip the life he once had. A life of peace; a farmer’s son, plowing at the earth underneath scorching sun and buzzing insects. It is honest work, but it is mind-numbing and his hands work too quickly for the plow, and his thoughts race too fast for the field, and he just needed more. Now, almost a year later, he has plagued the seas, knotting ropes and digging his nails into the rich wood of his ship. Andromeda. He loves her with every fibre of his being he should have loved his farm life with. She is sleek, a deep walnut colour, and has bright blue sails that can be seen from miles away. It is to tell his mother he is safe, should she ever look out to sea and wonder if he lives. His heart squeezes as he remembers their last conversation, so full of tears and words left unsaid. He hopes she understands, he hopes time has healed her wounds even if it hasn’t healed his.

The white buttoned shirt hanging open exposes his chest and the flat planes of his stomach to the elements. The cold draft that always seems to sweep through the hull, pebbles his earth brown skin. He breathes in the familiar scent of the ocean, letting it fill up his tired body, as he makes quick work of the ties holding what’s left of his shirt together, before shrugging on his emerald coat, the exact colour of his eyes, and his most prided raid possession. As he’s slipping his compass into his pocket his door is flung open, slamming against the cabin wall with a loud crack.

“Captain!” His quartermaster, and best friend, gasps, black eyes as wide as saucers. “You should come see this.”

He frowns, unused to seeing Frank so excited. “Are we under attack do we need to-”

“No Captain,” He shakes his head vigorously, “It’s a wreck.”

Percy is out the door and racing up the staircase before anyone can say Andromeda. The scene he is greeted with above is enough to raise the hairs at the back of his neck. His crew members all hang over the side, peering down at the floating pieces of wood, and cloth, and disaster littering the grey seas. The air is quiet, too quiet. As if nobody dares to break the silence because it is stringing the moment together in fragile balance. 

“What happenings?” He asks roughly.  His crew jumps, all turning to stand to attention.

“Captain,” His sailing master, nods, “She’s wrecked, bilged on her anchor.” 

“That does not cause this.” He frowns, moving towards the edge to see the wreckage up close. “This looks like she was blown through.”

“We didn’t hear any fire,” Frank says, getting nods of confirmation from the crew.

“Survivors?”

“But one Captain,” Reyna, holds out her telescope and offers it to him. It is usually attached to her, used to navigate them to his needs. His sailing master is nothing but talent and sass, but right now she looks stricken. “Northwest of the mast.”

He focuses his eyes, adjusting to the size of the telescopes frame, and sees only a flash of bright, gold-spun hair, and white hands clinging to wood. “A Jack Tar?”

“A beast.” The quarter-master mutters softly.

Percy whips around, green eyes ablaze. “Manner?”

“Siren, we believe.” Reyna’s voice is soft with disbelief.

“Bring them up,” He growls, handing her telescope back, “And do no harm.”

He can see the crew exchange looks at his request but with a thump of his sword against the deck, they all race into motion. Grabbing rope and sails in order to slow the movement of the ship. Reyna climbs up the mast and directs the crew from the crows nest, trying to get the ship as close as possible to the bobbing body, floating further away from them with every second.

Percy stands on the bowsprit looking through his own miniature telescope as he watches the figure get bigger. He hears a splash and knows someone has thrown a life-line over. He hears Frank shout to the creature, telling them to grab the float and hold on. They don’t move, don’t even look up, and for a heart-wrenching moment he thinks they’re too late.

But someone shouts again and ever so slowly the creature looks up, directly at him, and that blue gaze shatters every part of his soul. He stumbles back onto the deck and helps the crew in hauling the stranded up. Their skin, almost translucent, like moonlight, glitters as they lift an arm to wrap around the buoy. With two counts they heave, and heave, and heave. Until the creature is on the deck, ocean eyes hollow, and body shivering like they aren’t used to being exposed. 

Faint scales, the colour of coral, line the undersides of their arms, and wrap around their neck, but their torso is bare, and smooth as glass. The tail, gorgeous and gleaming in the rapidly rising sun, is the same soft pink, with flecks of green and sapphire running through it.

Percy crouches down, near their head of gold, and leans over them. “Aren’t fish meant to stay in water?” He smirks.

The creature doesn’t even bat an eyelash, continuing to stare up at the sky in devoid trance.

“What is your name?” He asks, and this time his voice is carefully constructed; the captain issuing a command.

They turn their head, finally looking at him. “Your human tongue cannot pronounce the name of the sea.”

“What should we call you?” He is not deterred. 

They blink their eyes, surprise there and gone in an instant. “Jason.”

“Why were you hanging around a ship wreck?”

Their face curls in disgust, “Stupid humans were having a battle and blew up their ship. I was-” They choke, as if it pains them to admit it. “I was too slow, and got injured in the crossfire.”

“Where are you injured?”

“I cannot say until i have gotten my legs.” They shrug, and he hears the scrape of their scales against his deck.

“You can acquire human legs?”

“Yes,” They purse their lips, “It is a painful process, but a protective measure should we ever be captured by humans.”

“Should it take this long?”

“It takes longer when I’m injured.” They sigh, “I will have to give it time.”

“What are we to do with you until then?”

Jason whips their head towards him, emotions flying across their face faster than he can comprehend. “You are giving me a choice? You are not going to slaughter me, or sell me?”

Percy frowns, the deep lines between his brows shadowing his beautiful face. “Why would we do that? What belongs to the sea should stay there.”

“I-” They blink, “You are not like other humans.” Before Percy can ask them what that means they are grabbing his hand, cold skin pressing against the pulsing heat of his own. “Please take me somewhere safe. The pain is starting”

And with that they close those hypnotic blue eyes and the hand in his goes limp. He doesn’t say anything to his crew as he tucks an arm behind Jason’s back, and another underneath the curve in their tail. Standing up with the grace of a dancer, he turns towards his cabin, stopping at the stairs, and looking out at his crew.

“Haul wind for Narcissus island, and do not stop unless attacked.” And then he is disappearing into his quarters, deliberately ignoring the questions he can see in his quartermaster’s eyes.

“Weigh Anchor!” He hears Frank shout, “Smartly!” before he shuts the door to the outside world.

He sets the creature down on his bed, holding their hand tightly in his as he watches their face bead with sweat. The pain is excruciating and it is a wonder the siren does not scream out. But slowly their legs appear, as translucent as the rest of their body, and the beautiful scales across their body fade into nothing.

They open their eyes, which glow in the darkness of the space, and look down to see their legs. They look up again, and a smile blooms across their face, as wide and glowing as the stars.

“Hello my love,” He grins, brushing a hand across their cheek. “I have missed you.”

“Please come home.” Jason whispers, leaning into his touch. “Your kingdom needs you. I need you.”

Percy smiles unrestrained, and captures their lips in his own. “You are here. I am already home.”

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

Tags:

@nishlicious-01​

@spoopylucy​

@leydiangelo​

#jercy #12 days of fanfics #pjjg series #pjjg fanfic #jason grace #percy jackson

[aaello-w]

You know... The more I learn about the todoroki's and where Endeavor is coming from specifically, I have come to terms that Enji is so painfully human. Then I also find my dislike for Touya only growing.

Of course, no one wants to be number 2 all their life but the moment he decided on a quirk marriage was where it all went wrong. Touya was right. He DID light that flame in him! Beating All Might WAS his purpose and for an immature superpowered kid promised the world one could see why he thought he was being thrown away.

Endeavor had the audacity to 'try again', calling Touya a mistake or a failure without words and without a little thing called foresight for the life he brought into their demanding world.

Touya's anger towards Shouto is also now understandable because without Shouto he could say there wasn't anything wrong with him. He could have been the perfectly fine one, not the perfect Shouto - the one his father 'loved'. His anger is understandable but not justified - its no one's fault they are freaking born.

So his hatred towards himself - since he continues to use his damaging quirk - which is self harm btw-- and the rest of his failure siblings, the parents that brought him here and the perfect son falls easily in line with the saying:

The Child Who is Not Embraced by the Village Will Burn it Down to Feel its Warmth.

And no one would really ever perceive Endeavor's actions or words as coming from a place of love - look at Shouto, Natsu and Rei. Though Rei admits that she did not have a handle on Touya as she should have.

I don't like Touya and neither do I sympathize with him because from what I've seen his driven by emotions of rage and refuses to see logic - If Endeavor continued to train him despite his quirk literally scarring him, that would be horrific child abuse and Enji wasn't like that yet- but then again no person who's not seriously mentally ill would behave like that.

I actually feel bad for Enji because he has the perfect quirk for going Pro Hero and as we have already seen with Bakugou- before he was somewhat humbled - He had probably been taught all his life that his power made him supreme and his overbearing nature would only become worse since he wasn't. He's a full grown man with those toxic thoughts and teaching built into his very foundation and had Yagi been younger Enji may have learnt what Bakugou did with Yagi as his Izuku.

If not subtle Horikoshi has beautiful talent in making what-could-have-been parallels.

Back to Touya - Aside from obvious reasons with Endeavor - Touya does not love his family and I have a sneaking suspicion that in chapter 302 or the next todoroki family chapter we will find that Endeavor gave him Dabi's signature scars not his quirk.

The reason? Because Touya as seen in Chapter 301 ending was about to seriously hurt a defenseless and blameless baby Shouto with the rest of their family as collateral damage as Enji was to watch. An overreaction with with a powerful flame quirk at the threat of an entire family's lives would be due.

Dabi took lives. Just because he wanted Endeavor to look devastated when Enji's only transgression to Touya was to tell him to stop hurting himself for a mission that even Endeavor agrees is not worth hurting himself over.

Touya, a kid - who grew up in a society where heroes are gods - at the time didn't understand but he's an adult now wallowing in tar black emotions for reasons that should make sense but don't. It wasn't like Enji abused him or ignored him.

It was messed up to continously have kids for his goal of surpassing All Might but Enji would not have Touya potentially killed over that. Hero business is unexpected and rough and with just the right villain Touya wouldn't stand a chance. The public wouldn't want to praise a hero who literally harms himself every time he uses his quirk.

He would NEVER surpass All Might and if Enji had allowed Touya to continue he would just become another Enji - though exponentially worse in his obsession to beat All Might - and Enji knew it.

Another parallel I'd like to draw would be between Touya and Izuku.

Izuku had nothing. He was told all his life that he couldn't do it for no other reason than he was quirkless but we all know damn well KNOW he would have clawed his way to Profesional Heroism without OFA. With OFA, yeah - he hurt himself but he learnt to control it. It wasn't a genetic problem or something he couldn't control. He could do it and he did.

Touya on the other hand had it switched up on him. A spotlight future's yes to a normal life's no. "No" wasn't a death sentence and with the Todoroki name as backing he could live a glamorous life as ANYTHING else but he chose to fly off the handle. He chose to become a murderer for no other reason that to hurt Endeavor's reputation and I think that's disgustingly petty.

Endeavor was no saint but Touya decided to be a devil.

And a devil has no friends.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #dabi #touya todoroki #endeavor #todoroki shoto #todoroki family #my rants #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #all might #B**CH wtf I wrote a WHOLE ESSAY

[middleinthenight21]

With the heart in his hands

Credits and dedicated to @deep-in-mind67  Thank you for your art and Malik! I hope you like it and @ravenfan1242 so beautiful and kind. 

Stay safe and fight for justice. 

He had heard stories about fatherhood, men looking with love at their children, feeling that they had gained a precious treasure, could change their lives forever. They promised that they would protect them, it was like a roar inside, something beautiful and unexpected and they would never be the same again. It marked a before and after.

Damian never had that. His mother was a murderer, a cold-eyed woman who was used to every day being a struggle. A part of him assumed that she had loved him in a twisted and dominant way. She loved him the same way you treat a valuable object, she worried when he strayed from the path they had carved out for his life, and his grandfather was a man who put himself in a high position, always forcing him to look up and disguising his dominance and control under discourses on belonging and devotion. Damian thought it was the best he had and if he ever faced the world it would be for Ra's Al Ghul, they both left him at some point in his childhood. Then, his father came, who is someone who dedicated his life to a city consumed by crime and corruption, lived in an eternal search for justice that consumed everything around him, including his own family. thought it was the best he had and if he ever faced the world it would be for Ra's Al Ghul, they both left him at some point in his childhood. Then, his father came, who is someone who dedicated his life to a city consumed by crime and corruption, lived in an eternal search for justice that consumed everything around him, including his own family. Bruce Wayne watches him with love and earns his appreciation, but he will never be his top priority, just as he was not for Talia and Ra’s Al Ghul.

He has never complained about his life. Complaining and lamenting is for the weak, and Damian Wayne would never be either, but he wants to have better references for his son, so he could hold him in his arms without feeling like an idiot.

Damian can maneuver all the weapons in the world, assemble and destroy any object using only his intellect, but his three-week-old baby was different.

He had been gone for two weeks. Just over five days after the birth of his son, as he had to train the new killers for the league, which involved intensive preparation before the new recruits joined the League of the Assassins and he trusted no one but himself, but that had separated him from his family. Two weeks might not be long, yet it was long enough for his son not to recognize him.

Damian knew it, but Raven insisted there were other reasons why he cried when he got close. Still amazed at her ability to do her homework and tend to their son, Raven is caring and dedicated, in a way that makes him envy her and wonder what would have happened if she stayed instead of attending to her duties as head of the League of Assassins.

Looking out the window, the snow falls, and that morning in the Himalayas the wind sounds like the roar of an angry leopard. Damian had had a quiet night. Since it was Raven who took care of the baby by letting him sleep after he appeared last night acknowledging his tiredness, secretly thanking her, since he would not know how to recognize the requests of his son.

He is sitting on the bed drinking tea with a slice of lemon and brown sugar, it is a family drink, but the situation is different. He would be missing fingers to count the times he has had tea looking at the landscape with Raven at his side. They would simply lean against each other in silence, he would be full of secrets and confessions. He had never felt that way with another person, but the space between the two now a new person fills it.

Titus sleeps near the fireplace. Alfred the cat who had been adopted a few months ago was lying a few meters from them, curled up with green eyes fixed on the couple and the baby, as if watching them.

The room is warm, the fireplace is lit with a low fire and looks like an island of warmth in the middle of winter. There is an intricately patterned rug in gold tones that they had chosen together a few years ago, and the bed was comfortable with no exorbitant luxuries. Different from what the Demon Head would be thought to have, but this room in Nanda Parbat was a corner of privacy; no one would disturb them here. There are little memories imprinted on these four walls, secret moments and reminiscent of the engagement ring that they keep in a drawer that they never used. They don't need it, they don't have to wait for white dresses, bouquets and altars.

I don't want a ceremony. Raven had confessed after his proposal and had felt the disappointment and pain hit her face as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown at her refusal. My father played the ceremonies with my mother and ended in evil. I don't need a ceremony, protocol and jewelry, just ... need you, Damian Wayne.

Damian had understood her, her reasons were clear and for a person like Raven with a tragic past involving rituals and ceremonies it was easy to understand her rejection of marriage, it was not a refusal to be together. It was at that moment when the lights were off, her eyes were illuminated by the faint moonlight that appeared from the window and he analyzed the features of his girlfriend and realized that they did not require names or labels. The curtains rose and the room was dark as night lit up, like a new dawn and he swore no one would make him feel this way.

Peril of hope, resonates in his head, but it is only the name of a poem, since this is very real and he would share his entire life with her. It is not an illusion, it is not a promise that was taken by a glow that would change the world, this is their future. They could be two stars that orbit around each other, finding some point in their lives.

There are more hopeless futures.

Damian had lived his entire life with third-party plans for his life. Promising that they would bring out the best for him and put out all his thoughts of having an everyday life. He accepted it and raised his head, like a winner, but everything that surrounded Raven was soft and his life was imprinted with small moments in which he was surprised of himself, of the words that come out of his mouth when they are talking and of the actions that he dedicates. He had become accustomed to being with Raven, now he needs to learn to take care of their child.

Damian wants to be a better father.

"You know I'm empathetic, right?"

Observes his girlfriend. His eyes are fixed on his son, the baby is lying on the bed, on top of a small cloth in a pastel tone and he is amazed at how small he is. He is wearing bluish clothes, a miniature hat that drops dark strands like the tar, his skin is of a golden tone very similar to his; He would like to see aspects of Raven, but he looks a lot like him.

It is puzzling.

Looking at his son leaves him stunned. He can't take his eyes off each time he meets him and wonders how he could conceive of something so beautiful, innocent and pure; It makes him feel like a dirty person when he touches him, because he has taken lives. His life was full of authoritarian figures, how could he be what he deserves?

"I can feel your emotions, Damian Wayne," Raven reminds him. She leans towards the baby; he watches him move his little hands. Squeezes her little finger, holding on as if his life depended on it, and it seems like such an alien scene, he feels like a spy. She makes it look so easy. "It's not easy for me either", she whispers, and Damian is surprised. "Some days I think I won't be able to, that I'm not enough for someone who watches me with so much love and devotion and a person like me doesn't deserve a family" Raven adjusts her clothes. Even if he doesn't need her and the baby moans, but he is silent when he hears her voice and watches her with his eyes wide open, as if something about his mother's face had surprised him greatly "but I have him".

He remains silent.

"I was born with a purpose. It would be a door to destroy worlds. There was no other future for me, and my mother sometimes observed me as a stranger realizing my powers… You know my relationship with my father" She looked away. The baby grimaced and clenched his hands into two perfect fists as if the mention of his maternal grandfather would displease him. She ran her fingers over his palms, relaxing her son's hands, just like she did when she thought he needed to relax. "I feared for many things, but not for this. Not from Malik. "

The name echoed in his head and its meaning could not fit better, his son could be the king of their hearts. Damian had inadvertently given him a part of his heart ever since he learned of his existence.

Raven strokes Malik's small foot covered in a woolen sock "You're afraid".

He crossed his arms. One part yelled at him that this was not the case, but it was no use arguing because it is the truth.

Instinctively he moved to be by her side as if to demonstrate with actions that this was not the case, but it was useless because as soon as his son saw him, he began to complain and his mouth twisted into a grimace that threatened to cry.

He was about to get up and leave, in order not to disturb his baby. All his theories about what he considered a stranger were confirmed, but Raven stopped him with a glance and he remained in his place on the bed as if supported by a rope on the edge of the precipice.

He clenched his fists on the blanket covering the bed and watched as she carried Malik who was crying. The boy twisted in her arms and continued to complain, but now he was silent because he was being breastfed.

Alfred the cat yawns and turns his back on them, falling into a deep sleep.

Damian grimaces, wants to be more helpful and not just sit around not knowing what to do. He brushes her hair away so that she could breastfeed more comfortably. Stroking her shoulders with a massage, and Raven sighs intently at her son when he decides he's had enough.

Malik is looking at him now.

"Hold him" He almost protested, but by then she had already put him in his arms.

His eyes fell on Malik, the baby was looking at him with a frown and he wonders how someone so small can do such a thing. His eyebrows are black and thick, it seems that he was analyzing him, checking if they had a similarity or not.

He's light, barely weighs in his arms, and let’s Raven guide his hands holding his head and back. His hands are big compared to his baby, he was full of calluses and he is afraid to break him from the pressure, he seems fragile and is so small ...

"Just relax".

He lets out a breath, and she abandons him completely, but is looking at him.

Malik is still frowning. For the first time in weeks they look into each other's eyes. His son has green eyes with purple specks, as if two jewels had fused inside his iris and he is giving it different meanings, he invents theories and processes.

This is a different kind of love, one that almost filled his eyes with tears and would travel the world if this being asked him, but he also feels impure, not worthy of his son.

He doesn't deserve it.

"He looks like you," Damian says, wanting to break the order of his thoughts. He concentrates on his slightly bluish hair, it catches the light and turns it into a bluish glow, he wants to think that something so beautiful belongs to Raven and not to him. "He has your features."

She lets out a snort that sounds like tongue-in-cheek laughter, gently runs a hand down the baby's chubby cheek and he tries to capture his fingers to hold on to them.

"You are kidding, right?" Damian does not stop observing the face of his son, but he is listening to her. Trying to find places that belonged to Raven, the shape of the eyes, the subtly upturned nose and the way she clung to someone. "He looks like you", Raven leans closer and leans her head against his shoulder. "Malik has your features and expressions, he frowns just like you, he clenches his fingers into a fist when he feels threatened, he usually growls when he is irritated. He is serious and he has your temperament", she enumerates" Someone help us", she jokes.

Damian smiles to himself, tries to find everything she had said about their baby.

He has his eyes, the elongated shape marked by the lashes is his. Damian recognizes the tan tone of his skin, the eyebrows widened in the middle and he almost seems to see traits of his father that have touched Malik. See’s how his lips twist into a grimace, he has a small mouth and with each babble a dimple is marked on his right cheek.

Raven has no dimples.

How can someone like him make something so beautiful?

"This is our life now." She kisses him on the chin, he almost leans towards the touch of her lips and wonders how he has been able to deprive himself of this for two weeks, he would never have enough. "We can do it" He smiles at her. "Even if we are wrong, we always try to make the best of each other".

His mouth drops open as he watches Malik yawn and close his eyes in his arms preparing to sleep. He fights against unconsciousness as if he doesn't want to miss this moment and almost rolls his eyes with grace to see how he insists on staying awake.

"You have to sleep" he whispers to him. His voice is in a tone that he never hoped to ever use, different from the voices of the authority figures who had ruled his life, it is charged with sweetness and brotherly love. He guides one of his fingers towards his small hands, he clings to his index finger and is strong "You must have had a long day".

Raven smiles placing a kiss on his shoulder.

"A tired day for a three-week-old baby."

He rolls his eyes, prefers to focus on his son who opens his eyes every time they are talking and babbles, as if he wants to participate in the conversation.

"You have to go to sleep, Malik."

The baby closes his eyes, allowing himself to be overcome by sleep, a thread of saliva comes out of his mouth and he smiles. Raven wipes the saliva with a piece of cloth and is laughing.

"I can't believe he has that about you, too."

"What?"

"You also drool when you sleep. Don't worry, I haven't told anyone. "

 "Intelligent" he murmurs.

He gathers his son in his arms, he sleeps with his head resting against his shoulder and feels his breath against his neck. It reminds of someone.

"You do this."

Raven raises an eyebrow as she folds Malik's clothes down onto a piece of furniture. "What?" She asks absentmindedly.

He clears his throat "You hide your head on my neck when we are sleeping, Malik does the same".

A smile appears on Raven's lips and she feels that she is complete.

In his past he never imagined that he would have a partner. That he would be willing to wait for her and give in, fight against the whole world for Raven. He always thought that love is an idea in collective thought, it was a deal, that if he were with someone it would be to get resources or benefits of any kind. He thought that if he had children it would be so that his bloodline would remain.

Here he is years later wanting to share his life with someone beyond contracts. Wanting to burn formalities in front of institutions and authorities, accepting this force of gravity in the form of a person that she was, holding his son in his arms vowing to protect him and would do anything to keep a smile on his child's lips like a deity promise.

"We've had so many wounds and scars," Raven whispers. Their eyes are fixed on Malik and both join their hands, intertwining their fingers. "Sometimes I feel like I will open my eyes and it will be a disaster again."

Damian says nothing but understands her. He feels the same way.

He watches his son, who is sleeping, hiding his face in his neck. His breathing is the flapping of the wings of a bird. He is so small and fragile, his chest rises and he does think that in his life he has performed acts that he has never thought about doing much more now, he leans forward and places a kiss on his forehead. Presses his lips on his forehead, feels how he relaxes in his gesture and finds himself smiling.

Maybe he would live his whole life thinking he didn't deserve this, but he's willing to explore that kind of love that couldn't hurt and makes him feel like a better person. One who would build a family and swears he won't see the same thing that marked him, in his infancy. His Malik, his child in his arms, paints his future in green and purple, just like his eyes.

Raven leans in, sighs against his shoulder and wishes she was nowhere else but here.

#damirae #Damian Wayne #raven #damian x raven #demonbirds #Malik Wayne #Malik Roth Al Ghul