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littlemisspascal · 2 years

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Formula 101 - Prologue: September

Summary:

Vulpecula picks Oddball to replace Juan Badillo for F1 2023

Formula1Daily - 5 minutes ago

Vulpecula reserve driver, known by the racing community as Oddball, is set to replace Juan Badillo as one of the team’s two full-time drivers in the 2023 Formula 1 season…

Pairing: eventual Javi/Fem!Reader "Oddball" (OFC)

Word Count: 7000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Formula One AU ft. multiple Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe characters, Canon Divergence, Switching POVs, Worldbuilding, Social Media Fic, Headlines inspired by true events but edited for this plot, Usernames were created for PPCU characters and if they do exist irl there's no affiliation, Slowest of Slow Burn, Language

Author Note: I've been a longtime fan of Media Fics ever since my days in the Captain America fandom and I decided to finally give it a shot writing one of my own. This might be the most fun I've ever had working on a fic--and it's also been the most challenging by far 😅 Hope someone out there enjoys this! Can't wait to share more with y'all 💗

Also, in real life, CEOs and team principals are 2 separate jobs but for this fic I decided to combine them :)

Special shout out to @beecastle for keeping me sane! Looking forward to documenting our many adventures together with BBB 😉

A03 Link | Series Masterlist

Summer was in full swing, afternoons hot and Sorgan's forests green all around, when your dad took you to watch your first race. It was a karting championship at the track near the Common House. You remember the electric thrum of excitement in the air, the roaring drone of the engines as the wheels devoured the concrete, how the drivers were mere blurs whizzing by, distinguishable only by the colors of their gear. And despite being only seven, you knew right then and there you wanted to race too. Your dad raised an eyebrow when you told him your desire, but he didn’t say no. He didn’t say much at all, really, just got that wrinkle between his eyebrows he always got when he was thinking particularly hard about something.

You hadn’t known that motor racing was a predominantly male sport. Didn’t know how hard it was for a girl to get her foot in the door of the racing community without some kind of connection (usually in the form of a father, brother, or husband). You just thought it looked like fun. Like something new and exciting and nothing at all like the tedious krill farming the rest of your village loved.

That night, your dad brought it up at dinner. You remember your mom had seemed to freeze for a second, biting her bottom lip, meal momentarily forgotten. And then—

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with trying new things.”

Your dad hummed in agreement. “If she starts practicing now, she could be ready to join the local team next season.”

“She’ll need gear, of course,” your mom stood up to grab a piece of paper and pen to start a list of necessities. “And a kart—maybe one of Myra’s boys has an old one we can borrow for now. They haven’t gone down to the track in months. We’ll go ask first thing in the morning after breakfast.”

A grin spread across your face as you listened to her continue to ramble on, your dad occasionally chiming in once he’d swallowed his mouthfuls. The way your mom talked, it all seemed so easy, so simple.

Years later, you’ll laugh at your own naivety. There’s nothing easy about the world of racing. It’s a roller coaster of ups and downs, the thrill of success and the brutal disappointment of failure, never knowing what’s coming next. It’s high speeds and long hours and harsh words screamed in your face, telling you to quit, telling you that you don’t belong.

And later still, when you’re making history in Formula 1 and opening doors for future generations of girls to follow after, you’ll think it was all worth it.

There isn’t anything you would change.

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Formula1Daily

All You Need to Know About Formula 1: A Beginner’s Guide

Ginger Ale ─ June 20, 2022

What is Formula One?

Formula One (aka Formula 1 or F1) is the highest level of international motorsport where 20 drivers compete in the fastest single-seat, open-wheel, and open-cockpit racing cars in the world. The word ‘Formula’ comes from a set of rules the constructors, mechanics and drivers of the car must strictly follow which were devised by the Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile (FIA).

What’s so special about a F1 car design?

Formula 1 cars are designed to achieve high speeds by generating aerodynamic downforce. They are capable of top speeds of 360km (223mph). Therefore the cars are also equipped with rear wings and diffusers to keep them grounded on the track or else the drivers would have little steering control.

How to become a F1 driver?

Most drivers begin their racing careers in kart racing competitions, then gradually progress through other single-seater series, and then onto Formula 3 and Formula 2. Champions of F2 are commonly recruited onto F1 teams, but it is not a requirement for F1 drivers to have competed in F2.

Drivers must develop high stamina and quick reflexes, as well as intense concentration. They are required to commit a lot of time maintaining their physical and mental health both during the season and off.

When driving around corners, a driver’s head will be pulled sideways by a force of 2 to 6Gs (the equivalent of a force 6 times their weight), making breathing and focus challenging for the duration of the race which could last from one to two hours. Formula 1 drivers are known to spend much of their training sessions strengthening their neck muscles in order to withstand the pressure.

Drivers must also be at least 18 years old, pass an official FIA knowledge test, and have a FIA Super License which allows them to annually compete in the motorsport.

How many people are on a Formula 1 team?

Drivers in Formula 1 compete in teams which are each supervised by team principals, aka CEOs. There are 10 teams overall and they must compete with two cars apiece. There may be upwards of a thousand members on a team when including engineers, mechanics, designers and support staff.

How many races are there?

There are 21 races which take place all over the world during the F1 season. Each race is called a Grand Prix (or GP) and lasts the length of a weekend. Typically, the season lasts from March to November.

How to win?

There are two championships which take place each season in F1: the World Drivers’ Championship and the Constructors' Championship.

The driver who finishes a race the fastest is determined to be the winner. A points system is used at each race and the top ten fastest drivers earn points. The amount of points decreases the lower a driver’s finish. For example, first place receives a hefty 25 points whereas tenth place only earns 1.

At the end of a season, all the points are added up. The driver with the most points is declared World Champion, and the Constructors’ Championship goes to the team with the most points accumulated by both of its drivers.

What’s it cost?

Formula 1 teams must pay an entrance fee per season starting at $500,000. The cost for building a brand new car, staff expenses, and transportation to each of the races are different for each team, but typically every one spends at least $50 million. A budget cap of $145 million was introduced in 2021 to make a fairer playing field for all the teams.

Why should you watch?

If the speed, strategies, and incredible technology of the sport hasn’t already hooked your interest, then stick around for the controversies, the rivalries, and, most hilarious of all, the reaction from social media. Whatever reason prompts you to start watching, it’s a guarantee the endless drama will make sure you always stay invested.

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Present Day - September 5, 2022

“I see no Ferris wheels,” Javi’s father used to say whenever Javi complained about the unfairness of life during his preteen years. The phrase is an odd mix of humorous and poignant, meant to make whoever hears it stop and take a look around at the world, to notice life isn’t a fairground to entertain us. Back then, the words usually provoked Javi’s temper rather than quenched it, but now that he’s older he finds them coming to mind more and more.

“I swear you’ve been looking at your phone every five minutes, Javi,” Frankie says, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. As far as teammates go, Frankie isn’t so bad. He’s quiet mostly, keeps to himself and doesn’t cause unnecessary drama in the paddock.

“You got a secret girlfriend or something?”

If not for his irritating obsession with Javi’s non-existent love life, Javi might even call him a friend.

Javi doesn’t have to look at the man to know he’s smirking. “Or something,” he answers, only a little prickly sounding.

Frankie sits up straighter and braces his elbows on his knees, leaning closer into Javi’s space. He actually looks a little concerned now. “Shit, man, I was just kidding. There really is something going on?”

Here’s the thing: there’s always something going on when you’re an F1 driver. If he isn’t racing, he’s practicing; if he isn’t practicing, he’s reviewing data; if he isn’t reviewing data, he’s standing in front of a camera answering questions for the press or fans or God knows who else; and if he’s not doing that, then he’s usually passed out in a hotel room in whatever country they are in for the week. For as much as it’s a dream come true for this to be his career, it also has the tendency to turn his life into a roller coaster of chaos.

I see no Ferris wheels.

Javi lifts his cap off his head just enough to drag a hand through his curls, and says, “I’m expecting a call from Gabriela.”

His PR agent is quite possibly the closest thing to an angel on earth. She keeps his schedule organized, his interviews short, and doesn’t take any bullshit from anybody who dares try to stand in her way. Other drivers can only wish to have someone as efficient and quick-witted as her on their team. Javi honestly would rather lose a limb than lose her.

“It’s like pulling teeth with you,” Frankie mutters, shaking his head, though he doesn’t seem truly irritated. Javi can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen his teammate angry and each of those times were out on the track in the aftermath of a shunt. “Wait, don’t tell me you got dropped again?”

The team polo Javi’s wearing does absolutely nothing to hide the way his shoulders tense up. Irritation flares in his chest—not at one particular person, that would have been easy to deal with, but at a whole list of names and things.

At the top is his younger self who agreed last year to be transferred from Black Gold to Triple Frontier for the current season, believing Maxwell Lord’s promise his seat would still be available for him to return to in 2023. Such an idiot. Next there’s Dave York announcing not only was he returning to F1 after two years of retirement, but also that he’d be joining Black Gold.

The media was shocked, the fans were shocked, Javi was shocked. And also hurt and a little—no, a lot pissed off.

Dave York is a two-time world champion so Javi gets the appeal. Hell, if he had to decide between himself and York he’d choose the other man without hesitation. Still, the betrayal from his former team had stung worse than a venomous snake bite, not to mention they didn’t have the consideration to even call ahead and warn Javi they were breaking their contract with him. If they had, Triple Frontier could have arranged to keep him as their second driver next season along with Frankie instead of devoting their time to finding a new rookie to fill the spot.

For the first two weeks of the summer break, Javi’s future looked helplessly bleak. He’d been an F1 driver for four years, barely given the chance to make a household name for himself and it was scary to think it could all be over. His career, his childhood dream— finished. Just like that.

I see no Ferris wheels.

But August proved to be another strange and unpredictable month within a strange and unpredictable year.

Pietro Alvarez announced his impending retirement. Vulpecula wanted an experienced driver to fill the seat. And all of the sudden, after a long phone call and no less than a dozen signatures, Javi’s future didn’t look so miserable anymore. He would be trading his dark green Triple Frontier kit for Vulpecula’s cobalt blue next year.

“No, Vulpecula hasn't dropped me,” Javi says stiffly. Frankie at least has the decency to look abashed for jumping to the wrong conclusion. “They’re supposed to be announcing my teammate today.”

“Poor guy,” Frankie says, wincing in mock sympathy. “He has no idea what an intolerable asshole you really are.”

Javi rolls his eyes. “I’ll miss you, too, Morales. No one else will ever compare.”

The other man beams at that, but his response is interrupted by the chime of a new text message. Javi’s not sure what surprises him more, the fact Gabriela—who notoriously condemns texting, claiming 99% of misunderstandings occur as a result of a text’s tone being misinterpreted—is the sender, or the actual text itself.

From: Gabriela (11:15)

Don’t say or do anything until I’m there

To: Gabriela (11:16)

What’s going on???

From: Gabriela (11:17)

Vulpecula officially announced your teammate

From: Gabriela (11:17)

Next season’s going to be interesting

“What the hell does that mean?” Frankie asks, unashamedly reading the texts. He sounds as confused as Javi feels.

Ignoring him, Javi exits out of the conversation and looks to the internet to make sense of Gabriela’s crypticness. He takes one look at the breaking news headlines and—oh.

After the whirlwind of last month, he hadn’t thought anything else could stun him. And yet here he is, five days into September, gaping at his phone like an idiot.

Frankie nudges him. “So, who is he?”

“It’s—” Javi swallows against the dryness of his throat. “It’s not a he.”

_________________________________________________

HoloNet

September 2022 Latest News

Vulpecula picks Oddball to replace Juan Badillo for F1 2023

Formula1Daily - 5 minutes ago

Vulpecula reserve driver, known by the racing community as Oddball, is set to replace Juan Badillo as one of the team’s two full-time drivers in the 2023 Formula 1 season…

Third female driver in F1 history has signed a multi-year contract with Vulpecula

BBB - 1 hour ago

Oddball makes it to F1, taking over for Badillo, what a turn of events! She’ll compete with Gutierrez…

Vulpecula F1: Oddball will partner with Javi Gutierrez next season

Weekly Motorsports News - 2 hours ago

“We’re ecstatic to have Oddball join us as a F1 Vulpecula driver,” said Vulpecula CEO Vivian Etten…

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“I hate you so much right now,” Ben says, appearing out of nowhere. You look up at him, tucking your phone away back in your jacket pocket. He glares back at you, expression indignant. “How the hell did you get a seat before me? And with Vulpecula? Seriously?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer, Benny,” you retort.

“Takes one to know one,” he shoots back, pointedly looking at your chest.

“Wow, a joke about my boobs.” You slowly clap your hands in mock applause. “How original.”

“Oh, don’t mind him, Odds,” Eggsy says just as his arm drapes loosely over your shoulders. He pulls you in for a side hug. “He’s just mad he’s not the center of attention around here anymore.”

Ben scowls. “I hate you too.”

You’ve known the two boys for several years now, moving up the different series from karts to cars together. There’s a common misconception that anyone who is a rival is therefore an enemy, but Ben and Eggsy have become as close as brothers to you. Ricky, too, even though you scarcely see him nowadays since he’s too busy being one of the best rookies in F1. He’s already texted you congratulations about your promotion, followed shortly by: When I podium, I promise I’ll wave down at you amongst the peasants :)

It was nice to see Ricky’s trash talk game hadn’t improved in the slightest. Poor kid uses proper grammar and emoticons like he’s a seventy-year-old man. It’s ridiculous. Even your own father knows how to send gifs every once in a while and he’s one of the most technologically impaired people you’ve ever known.

“Oh, quit it already,” you say with an eye roll. “Everyone knows Santiago’s gonna pick you for Triple Frontier next season. He’s just being a drama queen and taking his sweet time getting the contract ready.”

Ben grumbles under his breath and crosses his arms. He doesn’t deny it though.

“And then there was only one,” Eggsy says with a chuckle, but the way he fiddles with his glasses gives away his nervousness.

You and Ben exchange subtle looks. It’s been a tough season in Formula 2 for all three of you, but while you and Ben have been vying against each other for first place, Eggsy’s been struggling a bit further behind. With only two races left before the season ends, he’ll have to have high finishes for a chance at fourth or third place in the Drivers’ Championship. And the higher he finishes, the better his odds of impressing the F1 team principals.

“It’s only September,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “Plenty of time left for recruitment.”

“You’ll make it.” Ben’s voice is uncharacteristically serious, full of such raw certainty it has you and Eggsy blinking at him with surprise. “We’ve been through too much together to be torn apart now.”

“That,” you start, just as serious, pointing a finger in the air, “might be the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Benjamin Miller.”

Ben offers you the sight of his middle finger as a response.

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Wonder World Sports

Oddball: The young woman set to make Formula One history

By Steve Trevor, WWS

Friday September 9 2022

(Picture : Oddball, brow furrowed with concentration and lips pursed, studies her recent track data alongside Vulpecula engineers. Caption: Oddball is on course to become the third female F1 driver in history.)

(WWS) – It’s a cloudy September morning when I meet Oddball at a coffee shop in downtown Los Angeles. She’s dressed casually—a National Treasure graphic tee, blue jeans, and well-worn sneakers—looking like a local university student rather than someone who was recently announced to become the third Formula One female driver in the sport’s history.

“It was one of the best days of my life,” says the 20-year-old, reflecting back on the day she learned she’d be on the grid next season competing against nineteen other elite racing drivers.

What began as an ordinary race weekend for Oddball at August’s Swedish Grand Prix quickly changed with a single phone call from Vulpecula CEO Vivian Etten asking to meet with her.

“Vivian’s wonderful and hilarious. Everybody loves her,” Oddball says of the chief executive, who first recruited her as a junior driver for Vulpecula back in 2020. “When you go to a race or to headquarters, it’s always a positive environment—and that’s all because of Vivian. She looks after all of us.”

(Picture: Oddball, dressed in full cobalt blue Vulpecula driver kit, gives CEO Vivian Etten a thumbs up in the Vulpecula garage. Caption: Oddball began her racing career at the age of seven.)

READ: Marcus Moreno wins fourth world title

READ: Javi Gutierrez to replace Pietro Alvarez at Vulpecula

Vivian Etten, who has repeatedly described Oddball as “a fabulous driver” and “immensely talented,” made the decision to promote the young reserve driver to help the team improve and become a force to be reckoned with once again after several years of struggling in midfield.

Once Etten told Oddball she would replace Juan Badillo, a driver ten years her senior, for the upcoming season she was required to keep it a secret from everybody until an official announcement was made. Even her own family. She admits, “It was almost impossible keeping it from my mom. I tell her everything that happens to me, but somehow I managed to keep it under wraps.”

Oddball was born and raised in Sorgan, developing an interest in motorsport racing after watching the Outer Rim Kart Championships at the local kart track. “My family’s encouraged me from the start,” she says, smiling. “I travel so much, always on the go since I was seven, and I’m lucky to have their constant support.”

(Picture: Oddball photographed during a practice lap at the Spanish Grand Prix.)

She speaks fondly of her parents. They agreed to allow the 15-year-old Oddball to quit school and focus entirely on her racing career. “I thought it was great at the time,” she says now, looking amused. “No more math or vocabulary tests.” Homesickness, though, was a feeling she struggled with immensely once she began living on her own at eighteen. “It was so much harder than I thought it would be to move away from home. I called my mom every night the first six months and we’d both start crying. But over time, Vulpecula has become my second family of sorts. And I have more friends at the track than I ever did back in class.”

Oddball enjoys a strawberry lemonade while we talk, preferring the tart, citrusy flavor over the long list of coffees and teas on the menu. Her answers are polite and thoughtful, not a trace of smugness to be found. Her social media accounts are full of movie quotes, comedic gifs, and sarcastic one-liners. The fact that her name will go down in F1 history behind Anita Moreno and Ahsoka Tano hasn’t inflated her ego.

She has lived in an apartment in Altair for two years, about thirty minutes from Vulpecula headquarters. “No, I love it too much to move,” she says when I ask if she has plans to reside in the Mos Espa region where many past and present F1 drivers call home. “The food, the people, the closeness to Vulpecula—Altair is the best place for me right now.”

These past few months she gracefully balances the increasingly thin line between the worlds of F1 and F2—where she is currently second in overall standings—and also manages to squeeze in a plethora of interviews into her hectic schedule. September is a particularly busy month with two more races for Oddball to prepare for following this last weekend’s Romanian GP. The California GP is next weekend and then the Paradise Island GP will follow on the 30th. In general, Oddball says she enjoys the whole experience, but admits it can also be “pretty crazy at times.”

“It’s all part of the job, though. I’ve learned to become adaptable over the years.”

Of course, an interview wouldn’t be complete without mentioning four-time world champion Marcus Moreno, son of Anita Moreno, the first female F1 driver in history. “I knew he was going to come up at some point. He always does,” Oddball says, but her tone stays light, good-natured.

Similar to Oddball, Moreno was once a reserve driver for Vulpecula before making his F1 debut in 2013. However, he received additional insight and training from his legendary mother to propel his career forward, while Oddball has had to learn the tricks of the sport one step at a time.

She mentions she has talked to Moreno a few times, but she has learned the most from Vulpecula’s Pietro Alvarez, the three-time world champion who has announced his retirement at the end of the season.

They first worked closely together at the Ando Overland in January during F1’s offseason, taking turns driving during the 24-hour event.

(Picture Gallery 1 of 40: Marcus Moreno on first place podium sprays second-placed Din Djarin with champagne. Caption: Moreno and Djarin celebrate at the Florida Grand Prix before the midseason break.)

READ: Pietro Alvarez accomplishes Ando Overland dream

“It was a great experience teaming up with Pietro,” Oddball says about the endurance race, where the team came in twelfth out of fifty. “He gives everything 110% effort, even if it’s just reviewing data or rewatching footage. His advice on how to prepare myself for F1, both physically and mentally, has been extremely helpful.”

According to Alvarez, he sees “a bright future” ahead for Oddball. “She’s smart and has a natural instinct for this sport.”

Despite there being seven races left before Alvarez’s retirement, Oddball has already begun preparing to make an impact on the grid next season. What goals does she have for her debut? “Honestly? Just have fun,” she confides. “Everyone always says they want to start their career by beating their teammate or finish in the top three, but I…I just want it to be a good time, you know?”

And with that, the future F1 history-making rookie takes the last sip of her strawberry lemonade and steps outside onto the busy streets of Los Angeles.

_________________________________________________

Trending

#OddballMakesHistory

Oddball

Javi Gutierrez

Vulpecula

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Busy Bee Blog (BBB) - Vlog Post #57

Thursday September 15 2022

Summary: The F1 world is abuzz right now with the news of Oddball joining Vulpecula. I asked some of the other drivers at the California Grand Prix what their thoughts were about the announcement and their answers may surprise you.

Bee Castle holds her signature black-and-yellow striped microphone, standing in the middle of the paddock walkway with a bright smile directed at the camera. “Hello everybody! Tis I, your Queen Bee, coming to you live from the paddock at the California GP.” She gestures towards the blue sky overhead. “It’s a beautiful Thursday morning, the teams are looking forward to a great race weekend while I’m looking forward to getting some drivers’ opinions on the new addition to next season’s grid, Oddball.”

The camera is zoomed in on Marcus Moreno’s grinning face. Bee coughs once, twice, and there’s a moment of fumbling before both Bee and Marcus are in view side by side. In the background, Sunspear’s motorhome is full of fancily dressed people and team members in gold shirts enjoying brunch, including Marcus’ teenage daughter Missy.

“Look who I found,” Bee says, gesturing with her thumb. “How are you doing today, Marcus?”

“Fantastic,” he replies, bobbing his head. “I love coming back here every season. Definitely one of my favorites.”

“I won’t keep you long so you can get back to enjoying everything, but BBB readers and I are dying to hear your opinion on Oddball joining next season.”

“I think it’s great news. F1 has been without a female driver for too long since my mom and Tano retired.” His smile widens at the mention of his mother. “It’s going to be great for girls to have another role model to look up to. My daughter even told me she would be rooting for Oddball instead of me!”

Pero Tovar glares at the camera.

“Good morning, Tovar.” Bee nervously shifts in place when the Spaniard remains silent. “Um, what’s your opinion on Vulpecula’s new driver?”

She tentatively holds out her microphone towards him, biting her lip.

“If she can race,” Pero says, voice a low grumble, still glaring at the camera, “she deserves a place.”

And then he’s stalking away down the paddock walkway, people all but leaping to get out of his way. His PR agent offers a quick apologetic smile before hurrying to catch up.

There’s a moment of silence. Bee looks at her camerawoman, arching an incredulous eyebrow.

“I’ll never understand why he’s your favorite driver, Rae.”

“I heard you were going around, asking opinions,” Nico Loro leans against a wall inside the Sunspear hospitality suite and places a hand over his heart, lips pulling down into a pout, “I gotta admit I’m a little hurt you didn’t come to me, Bee.”

“Well,” Bee extends her microphone with visible reluctance, “what do you think about—”

“I’ll tell you my opinion,” Nico interrupts, leaning in closer so his mouth practically touches the foam cover. “It’s most likely an advertising ploy, you know what I mean? A novelty to draw in more viewers. A gimmick. Not that I mind though. It means I have one less competitor to worry about next season.”

The camera pans to Bee’s face, catching her uncomfortable expression before she’s able to hide it with a strained smile. “Thank you, Nico,” she says through gritted teeth. “It’s always nice hearing your view on things.”

Bee, unaware the camera is recording, holds the microphone under her arm and attempts to fix her hair as the breeze picks up, ruffling it.

“Be honest, Rae,” she frowns, “does it look as much like a bird’s nest as it feels?”

“I think you look beautiful as always, Bee.”

Bee jumps with fright as Frankie Morales steps into view. She recovers quickly, offering him a beaming grin, and there’s the quiet noise of someone behind the camera snorting.

“Frankie,” she says, sounding pleasantly surprised by his appearance. “I didn’t think you’d get here until tomorrow.”

“And miss meeting with my favorite reporter? Not a chance,” he replies with a teasing wink.

Bee gasps. “Favorite?” She laughs then, delighted, and aims a fierce look at the camera. “Steve Trevor, eat your heart out.”

Frankie watches her, hands stuffed in his jeans’ pockets. It’s hard to tell if the rosy tint to his cheeks is from the sun or perhaps something else.

Turning back to the Triple Frontier driver, Bee resumes her professional blogger persona, asking, “How are you feeling about this weekend’s race, Frankie?”

“Good. Excited. Javi and I have both been preparing on the simulator, so fingers crossed one of us will end up on the podium.” He glances at the camera. “Preferably me, obviously.”

“Speaking of Javi, what do you think of his future teammate?”

“I’ve been keeping up with the F2 results and Oddball’s doing a great job holding her own against her competitors,” he replies, scratching at his scruffy jawline. “I think she’ll definitely make next season an interesting one.”

A voice off-camera calls out to Frankie, catching his attention. He waves, then holds up a finger asking them to wait for him.

“Nice seeing you again, Bee,” he says.

“You too, Frankie. Best of luck at qualifying tomorrow!”

The camera zooms in closer on their smiling faces.

Bee power walks through the paddock, in-between the motorhomes, talking over her shoulder to the camera rushing to keep up with the brisk pace. “Let’s try to get one more opinion. I think I see Dieter Bravo up ahead.” She pitches her voice higher, waving a hand in the air, “Dieter! Over here, Dieter!”

The Van Chance driver spins on his heel, lifting up his sunglasses to get a better look as Bee slows to a stop. She takes a second to catch her breath, missing the way he squints at her in silent confusion.

“Hi,” Bee greets.

“...Hi.”

“I’m doing a vlog for BBB asking drivers what they think about Oddball officially joining F1 next season.”

There’s an expectant pause which follows. Dieter merely stares at her blankly.

Bee jiggles the microphone, prompting, “What do you think about Oddball officially joining F1 next season, Dieter?”

“I had no idea she’s joining,” he answers distractedly, tonguing at the inside of his cheek. “Who’s she replacing?”

“Juan Badillo.”

“Right. That’s a shame.” Dieter looks appropriately dismayed at the news.

Bee subtly exchanges a look with Rae behind the camera.

“Is…is that all you have to say on the matter?” she asks.

He scrubs a hand through his thick curls, grimacing. “Listen, I’m sorry, I’m trying to care, but it’s way too early for this conversation.”

Bee stares with disbelief at his departing backside. “But it’s already eleven thirty…”

Bee leans against the balcony railing of a suite overlooking the pitlane.

“Thanks for tuning in to watch your Queen storm the paddock!” She gestures to the side where a like button appears on screen resembling a giant smiling bumblebee. “Let me know what you liked and what you didn’t about this video, I love hearing all your feedback. Rae, any thoughts about today’s vlog?”

“When’s lunch?”

Bee stares at the camera flatly.

_________________________________________________

Just because Javi’s never officially met Oddball doesn’t mean he’s not aware of who she is. She’s one of only a handful of female drivers who’s ever competed in F2, let alone F1, of course he’s damn well aware of her.

He’s seen her around at races, usually hanging around Vulpecula’s motorhome, decked out in their cobalt blue apparel, sometimes out on the track when the team lets her take Badillo’s place during practice laps.

She’s fast, whipping down the straights and around the corners like it’s second nature. She still needs some more time and experience behind the wheel to adapt to the changes between a F1 and F2 car, but she’s definitely got potential. He can see why Vulpecula’s taking a chance on her.

Javi has watched some of Oddball’s interviews with reporters after races. Some of her own personal Youtube content, too. Half to get a sense of his future teammate’s personality, half because once Gabriela told him Oddball creates her own videos he couldn’t resist his own curiosity.

The casual way in which she seems to handle attention is as admirable as it is surprising. When she wins, there’s no arrogance. No look at me, look at me attitude. When she loses, there’s understandable disappointment, but there’s no badmouthing her competitors. Just a fire in her eyes, determination to do better next time.

She knows she’s making history (not that she ever has a chance to forget given the amount of times the press brought it up), but she doesn’t expect special treatment for it. In comparison to how many drivers he’s met over the years, sons of politicians and millionaires, who expect the world to bend over backwards to accommodate them, Oddball’s equanimity is…refreshing.

Before the announcement Oddball was joining Vulpecula’s F1 team, she didn’t have much of an impact on Javi’s life. And even now, he hasn’t been formally introduced to her yet, only has a vague impression of what she’s like when not in front of a camera, yet somehow she’s taken up a corner of his mind. Makes him wonder about their future together at Vulpecula. If she’ll be able to hold onto that fiery determination.

Javi hopes she knows what she’s getting into.

_________________________________________________

Speed Beasts Magazine

United States' Top Motorsport Weekly

September 26 2022 Issue

Outer Rim's Next F1 Star

Can Oddball find success with Vulpecula?

How she’s making history in F1

What can she do to end Vulpecula’s bad luck with young drivers

Why she’s passionate about racing

(Cover Photo by Fennec Shand: Oddball, wearing a Vulpecula polo, offers the readers a wide smile.)

In This Issue:

4. Ricky Hauk nabs Aurelac seat 6. Pietro Alvarez retirement plans 7. Paradise Island Grand Prix first look 10. A chat with BBB’s Bee Castle 12. A chat with Speed Beasts’ chief editor Darren Eigan 13. Fan opinions on who’s hot and who’s not 14. Can Oddball find success with Vulpecula? 22. The next rising female F3 stars 24. Inside the Bravo twins’ garages 32. Be kind rewind: 2020 season highlights 36. Stats of Sunspear SS4/1 38. Remembering Paul De Santo 48. De Santo’s top 10 fastest F1 drives 52. Early predictions for the 2023 season

_________________________________________________

The second floor of the Vulpecula motorhome is a bustling hive of activity all hours of a race weekend. Drivers, mechanics, and management coming and going up and down the stairs, disappearing into the different rooms where they’re needed. The seating in the main center space has been arranged so no matter where you sit there will always be a good view of the three giant screens constantly displaying the current happenings including drivers’ standings, highlights, and weather patterns.

Having finished with your required duties for the day, you grab Diana, a spare video camera from the PR team, and sit down in one of the corner stools, out of the way of everyone else. It’s been a while since you’ve updated your personal Youtube channel, too busy dealing with the media circus exploding in the wake of your F1 drafting announcement.

“You feeling up for some fan questions today?” Diana asks, already pulling out her phone and pressing the Twitter app. This isn’t the first time your performance coach has doubled as your videographer, so she knows the drill by now.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you nod, though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. You love your fans and interacting with them on social media, but there are also a couple rotten apples in the bunch who find joy in harassing you with rude remarks and invasive questions about your personal life.

Fortunately, Diana immediately skips over those with a derisive wrinkling of her nose, seeking out the thoughtful and funny queries instead. Although, sometimes those are hard to wrap your head around as well. Why on earth does it matter if you prefer Winnie the Pooh or Paddington Bear more? It seems like a total waste of a tweet.

The answer’s an obvious one though: Paddington Bear all the way.

Diana presses a button on the video camera, turning it on with a quiet beep and a flash of green light indicating a full battery. You give yourself a once-over, hoping nobody notices the stain on your jacket sleeve from lunch earlier, and then meet Diana’s patient gaze with another nod of your head.

She mouths, three, two, one—

“Hi everyone,” you wave at the camera, “Diana and I are here in beautiful and sunny Themyscira at the Paradise Island Grand Prix. Fun fact for those of you who don’t know, Diana grew up here. Which explains why she’s such a hardass coach—”

Diana chimes in with a cheerful, “You mispronounced badass.”

“I said what I said.” Your mouth curls up into an amused smile. “So if you want to see some of her favorite spots, I’ll be posting a couple of pics on my Instagram later today. But right now I’m going to answer some of your questions, whatever ones you’ve got, and uh,” you shrug, smile turning sheepish as your brain fails you. “Yeah, here we go.”

Hopefully there will be enough watchable material to post after you edit the hell out of the footage. You’re sure your hands are fidgeting too much, your voice too high, tongue too clumsy. Probably look like a total idiot who doesn’t know what she’s doing, but you’re trying, alright? That’s got to count for something.

“An easy one to start with,” Diana says with a smile, reading the question off her phone. “What is your favorite drink?”

“Lemonade,” you say immediately. “All kinds, though especially strawberry or lavender. Unfortunately, I can’t drink them during races. Gotta just stick with water, water, and more water.”

“Where’s somewhere you want to visit but haven’t yet?”

Your face scrunches up, imagining a world map in your head and looking for noticeable blank spots. Travel is a major element in the sport of motor racing. As both an F2 racer and Vulpecula’s reserve driver, you’ve been to every continent except Antarctica. And that doesn’t include all the years competing in karting, F4, or F3. You consider yourself incredibly lucky having seen so much when most people your age are in college right now, stuck in one spot.

“I guess…” You chew on your bottom lip. “Maybe the Water Gardens in Dorne? I know it’s impossible to go there, that only members of House Martell are allowed, but from what I’ve read it’s supposedly the most beautiful place in the whole world.”

Diana clears her throat, prompting an eye roll.

“Next to Themyscira, of course. I mean, what can beat a place literally called Paradise Island?”

“Exactly,” your coach hums affirmatively. She looks down at her phone, reading the next question. “This one is a popular one. Why are you called Oddball?”

Diana isn’t wrong; it is a popular question. So popular, in fact, it’s followed you around ever since you were seven-years-old. You wish your nickname had a cool origin story, like the superheroes from your favorite comics growing up, but life is unfortunately not a wish-granting factory.

“When I first started karting, I was the only girl competing at the time. I didn’t have sponsors like a lot of the boys, so my suit didn’t have as many advertising patches and stuff. There’s an old Disney movie, 102 Dalmatians, and in it there’s a puppy who doesn’t have any spots. I think you can guess where I’m going with this,” you look directly at the camera, shrugging a bit. “An article came out calling me Oddball and the name’s stuck with me ever since.”

“And how do you feel about it now?” Diana asks.

“Good,” you say, and you mean it too. “Both Ahsoka and Anita have nicknames—Snips and Daybreak. I think it’s actually pretty cool to have one too. Like we’re in a special club or something. Plus, if you have ever watched 102 Dalmatians, you’ll know Oddball is the G.O.A.T.”

Diana looks at her phone and whatever she sees has her shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. Oh God. “Alright, I like this next one. Would you rather have fingers as long as arms or arms as long as fingers?”

You bark out an embarrassingly loud laugh at that. “What the hell, D?”

“Don’t ask me! I didn’t write it,” she counters through her own snickering.

“Um,” you rub your hands over your face, trying to imagine the two scenarios without dissolving into another round of giggling. You only partly succeed, another snort escaping before you can stifle it. “I dunno. They’re both awful. Let’s just go with…Fingers as long as arms.”

The Q & A session continues for another few minutes. Most questions are about racing—how to get started, what’s your favorite car, best driving advice you’ve ever been given, etc.—and then there’s a couple more weird ones you suspect Diana only purposefully includes so she can laugh at your reactions, the most notable one being would you ever eat yellow snow? Hell to the no.

“This is the final question,” Diana announces, tone mimicking the overdramatic seriousness of a television game host. You school your features into an expression of intent listening, hands folded on top of the table. “Are you excited to have Javi Gutierrez as a teammate next season?”

You force yourself not to squirm. Ask anyone else the question and they’d probably give a positive or negative answer right away. Even after being faced with dozens of similarly phrased questions from the press, your brain fumbles for words each and every time. How do you say you're excited to meet him while also simultaneously feeling like you’re about to fall off the edge of a cliff—but in a good way? He’s one of your favorite drivers, been keeping up with his career since he was in F3, and when the realization sunk in he was going to be your future teammate you almost passed out. You can only hope you don’t do anything to embarrass yourself when you finally meet him.

However, there’s no guarantee you and Javi will become friends, let alone get along in a civil manner. Most of the grid doesn’t spend much time with each other off-track or consider each other anything more than teammates and fellow competitors. Javi could be a total asshole, for all you know, his whole persona on camera just a ruse to gain support from sponsors and fans. Only time will tell, you suppose.

“I am, yes,” you finally admit, hoping your smile conceals your inner turmoil. “He’s a great driver with a lot of talent and experience. I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from him next season.”

#javi gutierrez #javi g x reader #javi g x you #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez fanfiction #pedrostories #my fic #my writing

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arabellaflynn · 1 year

Text

Brief life update: Landlord problem sorted (for now, at least). My support system is awesome. I believe you have all been contacted about repayment, but if I missed anybody, let me know.

I have not bothered to tell my roommates this. I hope they are experiencing unbearable amounts of stress. The Useless Narcissist did eventually cough up his share, but the (Probably Soon-To-Be-Ex-)Wife has given me nothing yet. They can stew.

One of the NPOs I work with threw a birthday party for a friend of a board member back in February. I ran it for them, as I often do. I'm good at being an attractive, friendly person who knows where all the extra chairs are.

I rather like running these parties. They're full of interesting people that I will almost definitely never see again, so it doesn't much matter what I say to them. The birthday girl was 80, and a semi-retired "spiritual counselor" -- apparently, she was where the priests and rabbis and imams went when they needed to talk through their problems. She described herself as "spiritual krill", which amused me greatly. A bunch of her kids were there, and a grandson who was probably on the spectrum and could not stop talking about airplanes, and a musical theater actor from Manhattan who complained that Cambridge was not drinking hard enough at 2 pm on a Sunday, and a variety of other artists that told as many weird stories as there are feathers on an Amazonian parrot. Her Moroccan cleaning lady made a secondhand appearance by sending a half-sheet cake topped with blue frosting and chocolate-covered strawberries. They told me I should be eating their cake and drinking their wine with them, so I did.

One of the nice things about working in the arts is that if you can still do your job well with a glass of wine in your hand, nobody cares.

The board member who threw the party apparently thought I was great fun, because he got the coordinator to give him my email address so he could ask me where to send a thank you card. Which card, when it arrived, had a $100 check in it. Welp. I was paid to run the party in the first place, mind, but being an attractive friendly person who knows where the chairs are only gets you about $18-20 an hour.

I've never been told I can't take tips, but I've never asked either -- this one was the biggest I've gotten, but it's not the first. One of the more memorable ones was when I was working box office for a show where a gaggle of kids had come up from New York to perform with Boston locals. One set of parents had failed to buy their tickets before driving up from NYC, and the show sold out. The ticketing software didn't have any way to start a waitlist for shows with late seating, but there are always people who don't turn up, and even if by some miracle everyone made it (they didn't) that theater had bench seating and I was not paid enough to care if they were two people over fire code, so I told the parents to come back in 45 minutes, and told the manager that one couple had to duck out but would be back at intermission. I had no way to sell them a ticket and was fully prepared to sneak them in for free, but the wife did everything short of stomp her husband's foot and hiss, "honey, bribe the usher." He gave me a $20.

The bigger news, though, is a gig I've landed for mid-May. I got an email a couple months ago from one of the orgs I do livestreaming for asking if I could run sound for one of their shows. They had correctly guessed that I knew how to do this, but only because they don't understand the difference between running digital sound for a webinar/class and operating the 32-track analog behemoth they have up in their tech booth -- none of them are in any way technical, that's why they call me. I didn't expect a lot of help from the venue, but I ended up running the pre-show music off my phone, and the board off a random laptop using VLC, which is, uh... let's go with, not industry standard.

I thought my performance was adequate. Like, the show did happen, more or less as planned. The lighting designer apparently thought I did so well she specifically requested that I run sound for the next, much bigger show she was lighting at that venue. I am, apparently, "the best". I have learned to just say thank you and shut up when people say these things, because it's rude to argue with others over their own subjective opinions, but if that was "the best" I really have to wonder, what kind of unrepentant fuckups had she been saddled with before I came along?

Anyway, the much bigger show thought I was a perfectly reasonable choice(!!?!?!?!!?!), so I'm now signed on for that. I refuse to half-ass this anymore; if they're going to pay me sound tech rates, I'm actually going to be a sound tech, and do this correctly. Industry standard for this stuff is a piece of software called QLab, which is only available for Mac, and has rental licenses for a totally reasonable $5/day. I am not okay running $1500 of show off a computer that dies if you trip over the power cord, so the battle-scarred MacBook I inherited from a previous roommate has gone back to Apple for a spa weekend and a battery replacement, a surprise expense which I am only able to cover because the same superhero support network has indicated they do not need their loan money back in a hurry. So thank you for that as well! I have about a month to teach myself how to work QLab for real.

I've spent Easter feeding junk food to rats and trying to wrap my brain around the idea that someone thinks it's "totally reasonable" to pay me $50/hr to sit up in the booth and periodically click a large button marked GO. I have to keep reminding myself that all the tech stuff only seems straightforward to me because I have been mucking around with it since I was ten. I had a look at the service manual for the mixer before I tried working it the first time, and at one point it literally says, "This will make more sense if you look at the block diagram," so I suspect a large portion of that hourly rate is there just because this is terrifyingly complicated to other people.

[For the uninitiated, a block diagram is a simplified line drawing depicting the components and connections of an electrical circuit. For something like the mixing board I was dealing with, it's usually close to, but not identical to, the actual schematics. My father has designed custom circuit boards for a living since before I was born, so I'm well familiar with the things. But if you're not I suppose they look a bit like a Mondrian take on the Nazca lines. I probably couldn't troubleshoot a broken mixing deck from the diagram in the back of the manual, but I can follow it well enough to see where all the inputs and outputs are going.]

Still no grant money, not that I expected it to land on Easter. The waiting is the worst. A lot of my problem right now is that I need to raise my freelance rates for a lot of things, but until I get that cushion in place I can't risk losing any of the clients I currently have. Some money is better than no money, but some money is not necessarily enough money, which is the fundamental problem.

from Blogger https://ift.tt/dJH04Rh via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

#IFTTT #Blogger #Unsolicited Advice

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i-was-bored-so-this-happened · 1 year

Text

Second Star Chapter Nine: The Walker

Fandom: The Mandalorian Wordcount: 5.6k Warnings: Canon-typical violence, badly written fight scenes

The farmers of Sorgan prepare to battle their local bandits. Mando and Okan bond [?] over childhood trauma while he pushes her to fight for herself

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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It’s a while before Mando joins Okan outside the hut, helmet most definitely and firmly on. She very deliberately doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at him. Mando mirrors her, leaning back against the wall and crossing one leg over the other to shift all weight onto one foot.

“What’s happening?” he asks, voice modulated. As it should be.

“They’re playing. He’s loving it.”

“You play with him.”

“I’m no match for other children. I can’t really remember playing with other kids,” Okan keeps her eyes fixed on the baby. Some of the Sorgan boys and girls have been called away by parents, but Winta and a few others stay with him, drawing swirls in the dusty ground and dangling spare krill in front of his nose. A girl, younger than Winta, offers him a little white flower and breaks into peals of laughter when he pushes it into his mouth, “What kinda games do Mandalorian foundlings play?”

“Not many,” Mando replies, “Here.” Okan has little choice but to turn her head to see what he means. He’s offering her his plate, clean but for pondweed, yellow beans, buttered bread. His other hand reaches for Okan’s own plate which still has a pile of krill on it. Her grip on her plate loosens enough for him to take it and leave it on the windowsill between them.

“I…” she stumbles over the unexpected kindness, “Thank you, Mando.” He nods, and Okan allows herself to slide down the wall to sit while he stays standing. A hunk of bread in her mouth, she gestures towards the children, “What game is that? I don’t know it.” One of the boys had drawn a strange configuration of boxes in the ground, outlined them with stones and grass, and the children are taking turns to jump through them in a specific order.

“You never played hopscotch?” Mando asks.

“You did?” Okan counters.

“It’s a good balance exercise. The idea is to jump through the boxes on alternating numbers of legs without falling.”

“Oh, that does sound like a good balance exercise.” Okan nods. She’d never seen the children on Arvala play it either. The child, too small and close to the ground to participate, starts to trundle back towards the adults.

“Hey there, bud.” Mando greets the child while Okan chews, crouching to put the plate of krill down on the ground at his level and pausing mid-air to let Okan sprinkle beans onto it. The child pats his boot, as he often does to say hello, before settling himself between Mando’s feet and busying himself with the food presented to him. “What do you remember? From your home?” The question is jarring, unexpected. No, not entirely unexpected. Okan knows the bare bones story of being from a different planet than other Mandalorians, it’s only equal that he should know more about where she came from.

“Not much. My father had a beard. My mother had this nose, the same bump,” Okan practices the little motion Mando’s seen her do a hundred times, rubbing the side of her nose, “There were trees. Different from these. Taller. Ishdan. And there was rain,” she allows a sigh to escape here, a spare glance up at the sky for clouds, “Our houses were open, a bit like these ones, and there was glass everywhere. The most beautiful glasswork. It was my grandmother’s birthday the day they came for us. My brother had paid to have us painted in glass, artisans could melt the stuff with their own hands…'' There's a memory here, a brief one of her grandmother’s house. The red-stained wood of the table, scorch marks made by the fingers of her grandchildren. The ceiling caving in, the entire second floor crushing the table to splinters. The ringing of temporary deafness as projectiles buried themselves in the ground outside, screams and smoke fading in and out. The smell of a relative’s clothes. A shard of glass in her foot.

“You have a brother?”

“I did. I was the only one of my family who got out.”

“So was I.”

Okan allows herself to look up at him as the child crawls over her knees and into her lap.

“Thank you. For doing this for them.”

“It’s likely I won’t have to do much.”

“You brought them hope. That’s more than anyone else has done.”

“Cara and I are going to scope out the woods when it gets dark, see if we can find where these raiders are camping out. I want you to wait for me at Omera’s.”

“You do?”

“I don’t want to leave you and the kid alone.”

“I thought this was the middle of nowhere.”

“And I thought we were here to hide from people who want to hunt and kill you.”

“Very sensitively put, Mando. Remind me, though, whose fault is it that they’re hunting me?”

“Again, I admit that it’s my fault. Now please, go to Omera’s.”

He walks her to Omera’s hut at sunset, as if he’s worried Okan’s going to make a run for it. Run where, when everything she could want is here. Most of everything she could want is trees and grass and water. She can’t go into the krill ponds - nor does she want to - but it’s good to know they’re there. Mando delivers Okan to Omera like he’s turning her in after curfew, with clipped instructions and the briefest explanation of his plan possible. Omera, on the other hand, welcomes Okan and the child into her hut with warmth and kindness. She offers spotchka, tea, and the only chair she has, but Okan elects to settle on the floor.

“If I may ask, what is your role in the plan if you’re not needed to find the camp?” Omera asks. Her voice is as gentle as it had been in the morning, her movements smooth and slow as she takes up an embroidery hoop and begins to outline it with teal thread. She never takes her eyes off Okan’s. She herself had brought her embroidery project, the flowered nightgown she had just begun when Mando had found her. She’s finished the yellow flowers on the hem and has begun the next tier, crawling green leaves she once heard Mando say looked like ivy.

“I was hired to look after him,” Okan points a foot towards the child. He’s playing with the wooden snake again, still trying to figure out the subtleties of the movement that will make it wiggle, “Mando…” She briefly remembers his habit of picking the child up by the back of his robe, “he’s learning.”

“Childcare is neither easy to learn nor teach.” Omera nods.

“You’ve done well. Winta is a wonderful child.” Okan smiles at the girl, who looks up at the sound of her name. Winta smiles back before returning to her game with the child.

“That is kind.”

“You are kind, Omera. Few show us as much kindness as you have today. I think Mando’s stumped by it. He’s used to fear.” Okan dances carefully around using we.

“I’m grateful to him. We all are. Our families have lived here for generations, we couldn’t abandon this place,” Omera hesitates, looks up from her needlework to ask, “Where is your family?”

“I don’t have one.” Okan answers simply, trying to mask the memories that had surfaced earlier that day, but she’s never been able to hide her emotions and Omera’s face falls in reply,

“I’m so sorry-”

“It’s alright. The war took something from all of us. The closest thing I do have to family is on Tatooine, in the middle of the Dune Sea. But I’m glad to be here, I like it. I like the green. And the blue,” Omera’s brow is still crinkled with pity, so Okan asks, “Omera, will you help me with something?”

***

It’s late, very late, when Okan looks up from her sewing and finds Mando standing in the doorway, nothing but shadow. She pushes the ball of light she’d been holding above her head back to the candle it had come from, by Omera’s chair. The flame spreads warm light over the woman’s face. She’d fallen asleep in the chair a short while ago, after tucking Winta into her bunk, partitioned away in its own little room. Okan had watched as another candle had been lit and a shade put over it to cast the shadows of fish on Winta’s walls and listened as Omera had sung her daughter a lullaby. The child had clung to Omera while she’d done so, and is still in her lap. Mando grabs the child by the back of his robe. Okan coughs. He adjusts his grip so the baby’s sitting in the crook of his arm. Okan lifts the hood of her cloak and scoops her sewing project up to drape it around her shoulders. It’ll be cold outside.

“Where’s Cara?” Okan whispers, taking care to pull the curtain closed over the entrance to Omera’s home.

“Probably asleep already.”

“What happened?”

“Wait.” Mando swerves away from the huts, and Okan follows almost entirely in his shadow. Their cloaks flick at their heels behind them, Mando pausing to check Okan has her shoes on before stepping off the wooden pathways between the homes of the Sorgan farmers and towards the woods. A faint light comes from a tent at the fringes, electric light. Cara. “We found the bandits,” Mando starts once he’s decided they’re out of earshot, “There’s at least twenty of them, with a well-established camp pretty deep in the woods.”

“That’s not too different from what you expected, is it?”

“No, it’s not. What I didn’t expect was the AT-ST.”

“The what?”

“Do you know what an AT-AT is?”

“Yes, I do. The walkers.”

“An AT-ST is another kind of walker, but with two legs instead of four. It’s better suited for rough terrain, like this. It’s more maneuverable, it takes less people to pilot, but it’s just as heavily armed.”

“You and Cara can’t take something like that.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Can I help?”

“Do you feel capable of helping?” Mando asks, not exactly unkindly but certainly pointedly. Their heads turn towards one another and Okan shakes her head. She can’t trust herself. “And this place, it’s barely defensible. There’s no concrete perimeter, and these people hired us because they knew they couldn’t protect themselves. They’re farmers.” Their voices had lowered again as they’d drawn nearer the huts again, and stay quiet as they step into the barn.

“Farmers are strong by definition, Mando,” the helmet tilts, “What’s the next move?”

“They can’t stay here, if the bandits want to take this land they will.”

“Where are they going to go?” Okan asks. She takes the pile of cloth from around her shoulders and throws it up into the air, trying to get it over the beam that splits the barn in two. Mando catches the other edge with his free hand and pulls it over the beam.

“We’re going to tell them tomorrow. See if they can think of anything else. I doubt it,” this last part is mumbled as he sets the half-asleep child in the borrowed cot and lays a blanket over him, “What is this, anyway?” He turns to find Okan trying to arrange the fabric.

“It’s a curtain. I used some of the more worn blankets, and Omera had old curtains herself. If we pull it across here no one can see you from the door or the window. You can take the armour off and no one would know. So…so you don’t have to sleep in it. That can’t be comfortable,” Okan glances at the floor and tugs at her glove cuffs, “I thought we’d be staying longer.”

“It isn’t. Comfortable,” his eyes drop to the floor for a moment too, “Thank you. Like I say, we’ll talk to the villagers tomorrow. I know you like it here. I think he does too, but if it’s not safe…”

“I understand,” Okan nods, pulling her cloak around herself as she drifts towards her bunk, “You should rest. We don’t know what tomorrow holds.”

Tomorrow holds distressed farmers. Okan knows Mando’s not the most sensitive humanoid around but she hopes he’ll at least sugarcoat things a little-

“Bad news. You can’t live here anymore.” Dank farrik. Okan had given him suggestions of ways to break the news. Clearly he hadn’t taken them. She stares at Cara, hoping she might step in, and thank the makers she does, speaking above the murmurings of the farmers,

“I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.” That’s. Not much better. Omera pulls Winta closer to her, and Winta in turn hugs the child tighter. Okan feels a tiny hand reach up and grasp hers and fights against everything that tells her to pull away. A toddler, Magda’s son. Blond. Confused. Okan’s gloves squeak as she squeezes his hand in return. Someone, Okan thinks it might be Caben, reminds Cara of their contract, which she counters, “That was before we knew about the AT-ST,” the confusion is complete, resulting in raised voices, “The armoured walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t tell us.” Cara clarifies. Protests come from every adult in the group, pairs turning towards one another. Someone asks for their money back while the others simply ask for help.

“We have nowhere to go.” Omera, her voice calm and clear. Mando’s helmet twitches. If he respects any of the farmers, it’s Omera.

“Sure you do. This is a big planet,” Cara points out, “I mean, I’ve seen a lot smaller.”

“My grandparents seeded these ponds!”

“It took generations!” Caben, Stoke, splitting their sentences between them.

“I understand. I do. But there are only two of us.” Cara reasons. Magda’s son tugs on Okan’s hand.

“There’s at least twenty here!”

“I mean fighters. Be realistic!” Cara’s voice disappears under those of the farmers, latching onto Caben and Stoke’s idea and insisting that they can fight, “I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes!” For the first time, Okan sees emotion that isn’t smugness or indifference on Cara’s face. It quiets the crowd. All but Omera,

“We’re not leaving.”

***

Everyone in the village is exhausted by the end of the week. The children from play fighting and entertaining the child, the adults worn down by Cara and Mando’s training. At least everyone can identify the sharp end of a stick, as Cara had put it shortly before zipping herself into her tent with a jug of spotchka. Okan is probably the most awake of all of them, sitting outside the barn with Mando eating his leftovers. They’d been trading food like this since the first day, his bread and certain vegetables for her krill. He likes this place too, Okan can tell. He lets himself stretch out on the grass and lean on things instead of standing ready all the time. Sometimes when he sits and relaxes she can’t tell if he’s awake or not until he moves. Once he’d scared Magda’s son who had been standing watching him for twenty minutes before he spoke.

“Are you done?” Mando asks, interrupting the night chorus of the insects and the rustle of the trees.

“Why?” Okan swallows the last of her yellow beans and sets the plate on the wood surrounding the barn.

“You haven’t been training with the others.”

“No. We agreed I would stay with the children when the time came.”

“I expected you to join them.”

“You should have told me that, so I could have said no,” the helmet turns towards her, “I’ve been practicing with my power, but I need to practice alone. I need control, Mando.”

“Okan-”

“I need time.”

“We don’t have time. This isn’t just about these bandits, I need to know you can protect the child if I’m not here.”

“Why, are you leaving?” Okan pushes herself up from the grass, the quietly comforting feeling of sitting with Mando gone.

“Okan.” He doesn’t usually use the moniker, so she does turn, to find him holding out one of the rough spears the farmers had made at the beginning of the week. Mando stands, keeping his arm outstretched. Okan sighs.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“You wear beskar, you’re not made of the stuff.”

“It’s a stick.” This he says so matter-of-factly that irritation prickles hot at the back of Okan’s neck. He’s not going to drop this. So she takes the spear. Wonders how much she remembers about combat. Not much. She lets the spear sway back and forth in her hand as Mando moves himself to stand ready for a fight. He’s going inch by inch, as if he’s expecting Okan to watch and copy him.

“Don’t you get a stick?” Okan asks. She gets a little shake of the head in reply. Mando begins to count to three, to give her a start. At two she lifts her foot and gives the butt of the spear a sharp tap with her heel, letting the momentum of that and the sway she’d been building up pull the spear in an arc over her head to land squarely on the top of Mando’s helmet. Three is forgotten as Mando puts his hands out to stop Okan’s foot from making contact with his ribs. She’s stronger than he’d expected, and pushes back against him hard, drawing the spear back at the same time. He knows her aim with a blaster leaves a lot to be desired, but it’s pretty hard to miss a target two feet away with a long pole of wood, so he drops her foot in favour of blocking the spear. The spear glances off his vambraces, but a knee smashes up into an unprotected part of his thigh before the spear pulls back again and finds its mark at his waist, the blunt end sinking between the planes of armour.

Okan knows more than he thought. Mando stops blocking. She knows how to work a spear, the wood an extension of her as the Stormtrooper prod had been. She’s not fantastic, by any means - her blocks delayed, too-quick movements throwing her off balance - but she manages for a little while. Inevitably, she ends up in the grass. She lands unfortunately, her back curved so that the burned area hits first, and she comes up wheezing.

“You’re too wild. You need control.”

“Isn’t that what I told you?” Okan allows herself several moments for the pulsing pain to dissipate before she takes the spear from Mando again, “That fucking hurt.” That apologetic helmet twitch. Another few moments to push down the warmth in the bones of her hands, reacting to the outburst of pain, before she tries him again. She doesn’t last as long this time, and it annoys her. She doesn’t like having to prove herself like this. She shouldn’t have to do this. If it weren’t for him, she’d be safe in her bed in the middle of the desert and no one would have any idea who she was. The worst thing is that, given the choice, she knows she would choose this. This path took her back to trees. This path, the one that’ll probably kill her, gave her a purpose again. At the cost of her freedom, at the cost of her anonymity. Irritation pushes up to her elbows and Okan doesn’t even know who she’s annoyed at.

“You haven’t set anything on fire yet.” Mando says. In reply, Okan points past him. Her spear is smouldering in the grass, hissing against the damp soil. She moves over to it, taking off a glove to pull the flames out of the wood and into her bones. Her hand is tinged orange.

“I’m trying, Mando, but I can’t just erase the last ten years. I need time.” She stalks back past him and towards the barn. Mando follows at a distance watching as, one-handed, Okan pulls off her cloak, her tunic. By the time he steps into the barn she’s down to her last few layers of clothing, those that expose the burn. It’s doing better, but it still hurts from time to time, particularly now. When she hears Mando’s boots Okan holds out a hand, the one still gloved. Wordlessly, Mando fetches the water jug Omera had left, a clean rag from the pile he’d been using to clean his blasters before dinner. He holds the jug while Okan dips the rag into it and squeezes the water out of it before pressing the damp cloth to her back.

The closest he’s ever come to verbally apologising yet was that night on Nevarro, but he has his ways. A few extra minutes in a water shower, taking a second turn getting the baby when he wakes, holding paint pots so she has a choice of colours. Handing her medical supplies. It works. He stands, she sits. Water from the cloth drips onto the bunk. Okan switches hands, moving the ungloved one over the blanket to dry it. It’s an attempt to regain control. Though her fingers shake, the glow leaves her nails. The bones of her arms ache and she does her best to stretch those limbs out. Something in her shoulder pops before she looks up. Mando’s still hovering, though he’s moved closer to the window. Okan nods, just a little, and he tips the water out onto the grass. Leaving the jug on the sill he reaches for the cord that will close the shutters,

“Can you make a light?” he asks. Okan snaps her fingers and her hand is engulfed in fire, which takes a few seconds to snuff. She tries again, and it doesn’t take. The third attempt, she squints and manages to produce a small, manageable flame that she holds above the collection of taper candles Omera had given them. Mando closes the shutters, cutting silvery moonlight out of the room in favour of the soft halos of yellow the candles produce.

“You’re just making me practice more now, that’s not how it works,” In silence, Mando walks back over to take some of the candles before he disappears behind his curtain, “Goodnight, Mandalorian.” She can hear the quiet thunks of armour being set on the wooden floor, softened by something, maybe that ratty old cape. He’s not coming back until morning. Okan shoves a handful of saltmint leaves in her mouth before she pushes her other glove on. The candles by her bunk wink out as she curls under the blankets.

***

Mando and Cara declare the farmers of Sorgan ready several days later, when the perimeter fence has proven strong and everyone can hit a barrel with a blaster. The day is tense and close. Winta tells Okan this is how it feels before a thunderstorm, but the sky doesn’t break. The people are antsy and anxious, pacing back and forth, resetting targets and shooting over and over again, and there are more than a few splintered spears lying around.

All the blankets in the barn have been spread out over the floor, piles of crates deconstructed into rows of makeshift chairs. Toys cover the blankets, a few datapads. The children of the farm have been here all day. It was decided weeks ago that the children would take shelter in the barn. Parents have been popping in, not expecting Cara to send them straight back to their posts. She’s been sitting here for the last few hours, keeping Okan company. Okan, for her part, is firmly wrapped in layers of clothing and her cloak while she interacts with the children. As a security measure or for her own confidence, Cara isn’t sure. The children leave Cara in her own space, having learned over the last few weeks that she’s not one for playing, so she can sit at peace and watch Okan pass round the sandwiches that have just been dropped off. The food gives the Okanops a break too, and she retreats to sit next to the Alderaanian on her bunk, the green child curled up on the pillow partway through a nap.

“How are you holding up?” They ask the question at the same moment, and it makes them smile at one another. When Okan smiles, it’s always wide and scrunches her nose. Cara’s smile is small, but it brightens her eyes.

“I am where I’m meant to be.” Okan gestures towards the rabble of children, quiet for a moment while they eat. She herself, after thoroughly inspecting her sandwich, pushes about half of it into her mouth after she answers the question, leaving space for Cara,

“They’ve got a fighting chance, I’ll give ‘em that. This…might just work.”

“Will you stay? When it’s over?”

“I wouldn’t mind. Dunno if they’ll have me, though. I’m not as clean as you are.”

“I wouldn’t say I am. And I think they would have you. They like you. You’ve made them stronger.”

“You’re too nice, mouse. It’s gonna get you killed one day.”

“I know. But it’ll save them.” Okan’s gaze turns back to the children, just as a little boy of perhaps four years toddles towards her. She puts down the remains of her sandwich and flexes her fingers before holding her hands out to the boy, who puts his arms up in the universal question to be lifted up. “What is it, sprout?” the four year old climbs quietly into her lap and pushes himself into her chest, tucking his head under her chin, “Tired? You can sleep there. You sleep there.” Okan pulls the outermost blanket from around her shoulders and wraps the little boy in it, shifting him so he might be more comfortable.

“Okan, it’s getting dark.”

“I know, Winta. We have to be brave in the dark, don’t we?” Okan says quietly, kindly, passing a hand over the little girl’s hair, “I’m not going to leave you. Does that help?” Winta nods, glances at the child, and returns to her little knot of friends. Okan looks to Cara, “It’s time, isn’t it?”

“I think it is.”

“He’ll be at Omera’s.”

“He likes her, huh?”

“She’s the only one he talks to but us.”

Cara lets her hand rest on Okan’s shoulder for a moment before she stands and picks her way through the tangle of children, ducking past the curtain that covers the door with a brief goodbye, a wish of luck, and a reminder that she has left Okan a spear and Mando has left her a blaster in case of emergency. A few of the children call out to her as she leaves, and Cara spares them a wave on her way out, but then they are alone.

“What do we do now?” one of them asks.

“We keep waiting. In a little while, I will have to go outside and wait there, so I can see what’s happening,” Okan stands then, carefully cradling the little boy she holds, and whistles a low note. This has become the signal for quiet, and the children fall into silence one by one, “You all remember the rules? Hands up for number one?” most of the hands push up towards the ceiling, “No matter what, you do not leave the barn. You stay together in here. Number two?” some of the hands shrink back down, “You must try to be quiet. There’s going to be lots of noise, but that doesn’t mean the bandits can’t hear you. I’m going to add one more rule, you can put your hands down,” all hands are pushed back into laps or onto the floor, “If you hear me say the word ‘close’ I want you to close your eyes and cover your ears until I come back in. Is this clear? Hands?”

Waiting outside the barn later, pacing back and forth in front of the door, Okan feels the pinprick of heat signatures the fourth time she pokes her head inside to check on the children. With a quickly hissed reminder of the rules she ducks back outside and grabs the stormtrooper prod from where she’d left it, leaning against the wall. She can see the perimeter fence, the outlines of the farmers crouched along it. And she can feel something, something burning hot in the forest. It flares up, then dies, and flares again. Canon fire. It must be. A bolt firing, then sinking into the forest floor. The walker. Shouts come from the perimeter that signal Mando and Cara’s return. Okan can see their figures weaving through the opening they’d left, then she hears Cara’s voice. After that, the mechanical footsteps of the walker, its eyes burning red against the night.

It stops. It doesn’t fall. It hasn’t tripped into the trap. The plan hasn’t worked. She’s been over it with Cara and Mando several dozen times. They don’t have a chance if they don’t take out the AT-ST, the walker can mow them all down in minutes. It’s searching now, a spotlight roving across the perimeter fence. A light has never seemed so frightening. Okan’s caught between the shouting of the adults, the scared whispers of the children. There’s a scream when the walker fires, and a hut explodes. An echo of the fire blooms behind Okan’s ribs, the warmth rushing straight to her hands. Further yells come from the perimeter as the woods empty themselves of raiders, the bandits racing towards the fence. Everything is going wrong. She hates it when a plan goes wrong. She doesn’t know what to do. She hasn’t had to do this in a long time. Even on Nevarro, she worked off what Mando did. Now she’s on her own. If the plan had gone right, all she had to do was stand outside the barn. Now it’s going wrong, and she’s on her own protecting all the children of the village.

“Right. Right. You have to do something. You have to.” Okan mumbles this to herself over and over, shaking her shoulders until she comes to a conclusion. There’s one thing she can do. She drops the prod and peels her gloves off, tucking them into her belt. The walker is firing intensely hot bolts that are causing huts to explode. The fire is going to spread. The children can’t get hurt. Sorgan is a cool planet, Okan needs time in the sun to warm up in the morning, but right now it feels just like Nevarro, the undercurrent of heat pulling at Okan’s stomach. Deep breaths. One. Two. Three. Four.

Another hut explodes and instead of flinching, Okan pushes a hand out in answer to it. It’s close enough to the barn that the sparks from the explosion twist towards her instead of up into the sky, pricking her skin as each spark sinks into her palm. The warmth pushes through her fingers and up the bones of her arm, her hands flushing orange.

She hears the footsteps far too late. She reacts too late, turning to the quickly oncoming enemy just as they launch and slam into her, knocking her to the ground. A bandit. A species she doesn’t know. They’ve either broken through the perimeter guard or forced their way through an unguarded section of the fence. Okan’s not sure which would be worse. At present, she doesn’t have time to think about it.

“Close!” small squeaks and whimpers come from the barn in reply to the yell. Okan rolls onto her back in time to see the bandit slinking slowly towards the barn. They’ve heard the children. They can’t get to the children. A string of flame leaps from between two of her fingers and latches onto their ankle. They buckle at the knee and twist back to Okan with a roar. Their club sinks into the ground where Okan had been a moment before. She’d crawled back towards the barn as quickly as she could, scrambling to her feet and grasping the prod. She’s ready for the bandit when they relocate her, the business end of the prod quite easily finding their ribs. The bandit shudders as the electricity courses through them, and then they fall. The prod breaks down into ash where Okan’s gripping it. She lets the middle piece drop and tries to push the heat in her hands into her stomach. She can’t lose control. She’s done well to get this far without setting another hut on fire, but her arms itch something terrible.

A second bandit emerges from the shadows just after Okan melts back under the cover of the barn. She waits until they pass her before she leaps forward and cracks what’s left of the prod over their head. That itself isn’t enough to knock them out. Their nose crunches under Okan’s fist and their legs take bad burns before they hit the ground. Okan shakes her hands once they’re down and sparks fly from her knuckles. Several more deep breaths are taken while Okan refocuses. Panic has brought a yellow sheen to her hands, the orange having sunk into her veins and spread up her arms. She has to calm down before she goes back to the kids.

The walker has stopped firing into the village. The huts are still aflame, but there are no new explosions. Now it’s concentrating fire around its own feet, at the pool it’s overdue to fall into. As though there’s someone in there making themselves an annoyance. Which of her companions it is Okan doesn’t know, but she’s pretty sure it isn’t a farmer. Her breathing goes returns to its regular pattern. Mando and Cara are handling the walker. The farmers are handling the bandits. Okan is handling the children. This is the plan. This is working. The walker falls.

#second star #star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian oc #okan the unknown #rae's ocs #baby yoda #grogu #mando #original character #rae's writing

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abnerkrill · 2 years

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1, 4, 17, 19, 41

hiiiiii, thank u <3

who is/are your comfort character(s)?

answered but FAR BE IT FROM ME to rob myself of the chance to talk about abner krill!! Top Comfort Character Of All Time i think!

he's a sad lil supervillain. he's the worst supervillain gotham has ever seen. he has a skin disorder. he just really, really wants friends. he wears the gayest clothes possible. he killed his mom but it was an accident! batman beat him up one time, probably. he got bulled in prison by CALENDAR MAN, who by all rights should never mock anyone else for their supervillain name. his surname is "krill." he's a walking pride flag he cries himself to sleep every night he's a virgin he's suicidal and MOST IMPORTANTLY he's alive and well as we speak bc i officially stole the deed to character ownership from james gunn in an epic heist last year :)

4. which cryptyd being do you believe in?

HMM this is a good one. i do think it Entirely possible that There Are Things Beyond Our Knowledge And Understanding out there but i think most famous, named cryptids are fake or scams or just local folklore. that said, i want to believe in aliens and ghosts, and i do believe in spiritual reality, so i am intellectually open to possibilities!

17. are you farsighted or nearsighted?

ah darn i always forget which is which. *googles* i'm nearsighted! i wear glasses and i occasionally wear contacts but my eyesight isn't actually too bad, it's like -1.25 and -1.75. two of my sisters are blind as bats without their glasses/contacts.

19. imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails?

HELL YES and i own like 25 nail colors and a matte top coat so i am literally ready to go whenever!!!!!! i have all the face masks and hair masks and nail polish for the express purpose of sharing with others and i think doing these little things together is the best way to bond with friends. come on over we will paint each others nails!!!!

41. how do you take your coffee?

at home: shot of oat milk, no sugar. at coffee shops: i like some variety so i'll go with whatever i Feel Like, but often a cappuccino with oat milk (slightly lactose intolerant over here lol.)

hey besties, ask me things <3

#geislieb #ask games

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shifat45954 · 2 months

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itsjustmarle · 1 year

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It's time for Organic Design

Hey hey! I’m back again :)

Same vibes, different concept: Organic Design

I decided to address this concept as well, since I had chance to heard about it in my university in Milan for the fist time.

Starting point: Organic design is a mixture between man-made buildings or manufactures and Natural environment.

We’re going to explore more deeply into architectural design side reconciling with a sustainable approach.

Organic design is a kind of mission born to emphasize balance in the human-nature relationship. The organic style is a major feature of mid-century modern design and architecture, a movement that emerged in the United States from the 1940s to the 1960s.

Following natural principles, organic design tends to facilitate human interaction through meaningful and functional objects. The intent is to make the entire experience effective and enjoyable.

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Minimalism in terms of materials, natural textures and neutral forms, lines etc.

Neutral and muted colours to give the idea of reflecting earth and nature components

Open spaces aim to suggest the sense of freedom as in the modern-style approach. Living in organic modern homes means feeling the outdoors inside and bringing natural elements inside.

Simple materials like natural wood, rattan, jute, seagrass, and others. Designers complement these with other simple materials, like concrete, glass, steel, and cast-iron.

At this point, I would like to make the concept more concrete by talking about a virtuous project born in Italy: Krill Design

Strengths:

100% biodegradable: Rekrill is the patented biomaterial to create their own design products from orange peels and coffee grounds.

Circular economy

Minimum environmental impact: production process by choosing 3D printing

Cooperation among local communities

Let’s have a look at Krill Design works:

To conclude, I’m gonna leave other interesting examples that I found browsing around (most of them are chairs and lamps🤔):

I hope you enjoyed the content, I look forward to uploading more! Feel free to leave comments and ask anything if you like🌹

#organic #organic design #sustainability

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imnotataxiservice · 2 years

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The Light of Long Dead Stars- Chapter 5

5. The Ghost

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Word Count: 3792

Warnings: Typical canon violence

Summary: The battle for the Village ensues, and you become a local legend.

A/N: Hi! Happy Friday, I am terrible with schedules, but I have a new chapter!

---

“You’ll be safe in here,” you said, stiff from cold as the children were placed in a barn, far enough back that it wasn’t at the forefront of the battle, but central enough that raiders couldn’t circle around to it immediately and without being seen. A couple of the weaker, more nervous adults were stationed around it, the last line of defence against the raiders, and you settled into every inch of the building as Mando and Cara set off to provoke the raiders, using the darkness as cover.

The village fell unusually still and silent, every resident holding their breath as the fight of their lives crept closer. You wanted to stop too, but you feared that if you did, you would freeze in place and never be able to move again. The stronger you had become, the more tangible, the colder you had felt. Now not even the warmest sunbeams could touch you, and even Mando’s beskar felt temperate whenever you pressed against it.

Grogu cooed and you turned inward, able to see every inch of the barn’s interior, all the children gathered up in a huddle amongst empty crates and hay bales. Nervous, afraid, but thankfully quiet.

“You okay, Grogu?” You asked, brushing against his mind. He didn’t seem to feel the cold, which you were grateful for, but something had changed and grown between you, a stronger thread connecting your minds. Now his thoughts were easier to read, more conversational. It almost felt like he was talking back.

It was like this before, he told you. You saw another dark room, but this one was lit up by streaks of light, red and green and blue. You shuddered.

“No, little one. This time we won’t lose.”

But I’m still helpless.

He was much smaller then, a true baby with little strength in his neck, minimal control of his limbs, despite his age. He could do nothing at all back then, and you felt his frustration now, all these years and he can still do nothing to stop the violence. He still couldn’t fight, despite the will he possessed, despite the growing urge to.

“Maybe we can fix that at a later date,” you soothed, eyeing the smaller children, the ones who were known to wander and squeal, checking in on their minds and hoping to soothe them into sleep. The less panic, the better you could focus. Already you felt stretched thin, the corners of the barn falling out of view as you faded. You weren’t ready to be a shield this big. You hoped you were fast enough to block any stray blaster shots in a smaller form.

It seemed like an age, but eventually you heard the distant noise, hundreds of feet and the larger crashes of the AT-ST, charging your way. The children closed ranks, grabbing onto each other as yelling broke out, their parents calling to arms, getting into position, some arguing over whether or not to fire. The sound of battle was always reminiscent of a storm, in your opinion; the brewing wind of an approaching force, the thunder of footsteps, the rain of blaster fire. The calm and then the brutality, ripping through homes and bodies. Quick, devastating, and then over in barely any time at all.

You hated the sound. You tried to keep it out of the barn. They would still hear it, but it would sound distant, further away than their doorstep. They wouldn’t hear anyone fall.

Turning your gaze outward, you saw the arrival of the AT-ST; a huge metallic figure on two long legs, its gait was slow but wide enough to keep a quick pace, like a running bird but with far less grace. It towered over the huts, an ugly imposition over an otherwise scenic view. The sound those huge feet made shook the earth, and you watched anxiously as it approached the krill ponds, willing it to take another step and fall into their trap.

But the AT-ST did not take another step. Klantoonian raiders poured through the trees, between its legs, and the giant droid opened fire. If you had a heart, you were sure it would’ve stopped.

In the fray, you saw glints of silver, flashes of dark hair lit up by blaster fire. You wanted to help them, you did- but Klantoonians were breaking off and disappearing down either side of the village, and you knew that those placed around the barn could not hold them off- maybe they could take down one, two at most, but they would be overwhelmed, and the children would be left vulnerable. Grogu would, once again, be in danger.

You blocked one stray shot from the AT-ST, nearly being blown through the barn roof with the force of it but holding your ground, feeling the light and buzzing heat wash over you and fizzle out. It didn’t really hurt, but it did disorientate, and you took a second to re-form, thoughts fried.

Below, raiders were closing in. You shot down and spread yourself over entry points of the barn as they targeted buildings one by one, ransacking the insides, but coming up empty. One of the villagers fired, missing a raider by an inch, and then they were in trouble.

“You just told them where we were!” another villager yelled, before calling to the rest for aid, gathering behind carts and barrels the way Mando had taught them. You had to give him credit; he had trained them well, but they needed more time, more intense sessions before they could be prepared for this. No novice fighter was sent into a fight this early in their training. Their shots were shoddy, and you dreaded to think what would happen if the raiders got close enough to engage them hand to hand.

Somewhere on the front, another plan to engage the AT-ST was being hatched, but you couldn’t stop to watch. Seven raiders had rounded the village and were now firing at the villagers protecting the barn. Inside, children shook and cried, trying to stay quiet. Winta held Grogu, and tried to comfort the others, but even she trembled. You solidified at the door, startling as one of the villagers was shot down, and the raiders gained another foot. Instinct told you two things, started a war in your soul- part of you wanted to help the man, patch him up and get him out of the way. The other, much larger part told you to protect the children. Protect Grogu.

A stray blaster shot sprinted for the door. You met it, and it exploded against you, heat and light doused by ice and suffocated. Another villager was struck down, and more shots were directed at the barn; the raiders seemed to be trying to fire through the walls, hitting those inside without having to enter- a cruel death to those who couldn’t even see it coming. You raged at the thought of one of the children getting hurt, of Grogu or Winta bleeding out unnoticed whilst the battle went on. You met every shot, feeling the energy of them clashing with your own. You couldn’t bleed, but the slow depletion of your strength and energy was reminiscent enough, leaking away with every collision. The raiders had noticed, growing frustrated and confused, and the villagers were able to gain some ground, shooting down one raider and ganging up on another, all picking the same target to increase their chances of hitting them. You, high on the rush of battle, extended the protective barrier, coming forward to engulf the remaining villagers, taking on the heaviest fire for them, too. You could only do so much, so you only fought off the shots you knew would strike true, the shots that would meet flesh rather than wood or metal. The villager’s shots went right through you undisturbed, and the raiders fell back at the sudden shift in odds.

You had briefly thought your fight was over when they disappeared behind their respective shields, as did the villagers, who- naively- lowered their guns, exchanging looks of disbelief that quickly grew into elation. But you knew better. The fight was still going on, and the raiders weren’t giving up- they were changing tactics.

They charged the moment the villagers were distracted, and you weren’t able to buffet them back fast enough to allow them time to ready their guns again. Two were taken out immediately by Klantoonians with viroblades whilst the others fell back, scrambling for their own weapons and room to use them. They were cornered toward the barn, the raiders slowing to relish their win, grinning cruelly. Inside, you heard a frightened cry.

Two things happened simultaneously, then.

One: You placed yourself between the raiders and their victims, drawing on every reserve of energy you had, gathering it all into phantom hands. You screamed and threw everything forward.

Two: The AT-ST exploded, bathing the entire village in heat and light.

A familiar coo roused you. You felt like dust in a sunbeam, hardly visible and easily disturbed, delicate and fleeting. You were drifting, had been since your stunt in front of the barn, and had finally gained some awareness when something tugged at your mind, a little voice you would know anywhere.

“Hello, Grogu.”

His ears lifted, raised you with it (it would seem you had been resting around his head) and the world came into focus, quiet and light.

“Did we win?” You asked, realising you were back in Mando’s hut, and it was daylight. Grogu cooed.

Days ago.

“Days?”

You felt it, his ebbing worry. From his point of view, you had vanished. He showed you his thoughts, how he had felt such a force from outside, and then- nothing. To him, you had been gone. Only a tiny whisper had remained, one he had cradled and shared his own power with, secretly fed his energy to. You wrapped yourself around him like an embrace.

“Thank you. I’m so sorry I scared you.”

Gratitude flooded you from him, too. You had protected him. Saved him despite the personal cost. As if that mattered- you’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Please don’t. Not yet.

You nestled around him and made no promises.

Mando had been hurt, but was on the mend. You were glad to hear it; it wouldn’t do for Grogu to lose his new guardian so soon, and you had to admit you were growing fond of the shiny protector. You and Grogu joined him outside, where he was leaning by the door, watching the world. Relaxing, maybe, if that was something he knew how to do. He would deserve it. When Grogu sidled up to his boot he looked down, chuckling.

“Hey, Kid.”

He scooped him up and you with him, the pair of you held up by the Mandalorian. It was… nice, you supposed. The Beskar was still stubbornly pushing you away, but you didn’t mind it so much- in fact, it made you feel more present. You could lean against it knowing it would never allow you to sink through- you never remembered just how cold you were when you brushed against it, only a kinship with an object that could never get warm.

The three of you watched the village, farmers going about their work and children playing, a sanctuary safe once more. You reached for them both, Mando and Grogu, sneaking between pieces of armour to connect with them, share in the moment of relief. They were both safe. Mando’s emotions were easier to read when you had contact like this, and you felt his relief too, but also curiosity, a growing worry.

“So, Kid- are you gonna tell me what happened at the barn?”

His vocoder hid all the emotion away, but you imagined his voice was laced with concern. Grogu looked up at him with innocent eyes.

“Because everyone in the village is talking about this Ghost, and if anyone would know…”

Endearing, the way Mando spoke to him. You turned on Grogu too, and you could imagine what he saw; two expectant faces- or maybe not a face, in your case- wanting answers.

“A ghost?” You asked eagerly, rising level with Mando’s helmet. “Is that about me?”

A soft coo. A confirmation.

“They saw me,” you said. “Did I stop the raiders?”

“Maybe I’ll ask the villagers,” Mando mused, softly tweaking Grogu’s ear.

“Oh yeah, we should do that,” you confirmed, circling his head. “You should ask them now, so we can—”

“I’ll wait until dinner. Its become a new favourite fireside tale, according to Omera.”

You huffed, and then shared a look with Grogu over the casually careful mention of the widow.

“For now, kid, go play; I think the frogs have finally started coming back- battle scared them off for a while.”

Grogu made a high-pitched noise of delight and Mando put him down, letting him toddle off toward the ponds. You lingered for a second, eyeing Mando.

“You’re good with him,” you said. “I’m glad he has you.”

Then you followed your little green friend to have some fun.

When the light faded and the children were all played out and put to bed, you left Grogu in the hut and joined Mando at the fire, where the adults had gathered for an evening spotchka. Now the threat had gone, Mando had forgone his weapons, and he and Cara sat unarmed with the others, she passing a jug around, him sitting politely with his hands on his knees. Every time someone offered him a sip, he quietly- but not unkindly- declined. He looked endearingly lost amongst the chatter, a figure built for battle forced to sit and socialise, hands unsure without a blaster to fiddle with. You enjoyed the evenings, felt a little melancholy whenever you had something to say but no mouth to say it with. One-on-one, you could make yourself heard, if only as a whisper or a passing breeze, but in such a big group, you were as silent as the distant stars.

“You’re not still believing we have a ghost problem now,” a villager laughed, catching your attention immediately. Another, one you recognised from the barn, nodded seriously.

“I saw it. It saved us. Surrounded, we were- those big Klantoonians would’ve run us through if not for the Ghost.”

“What could a ghost do? Haunt them away?” The first farmer teased.

“It appeared in front of us, between us and them. Like an angel it was, all lit up by the fire. It raised its arms and they all flew backward like they were nothing, thrown away from us. By the time they got up, all their friends were retreating and we had back-up, so they ran too.”

“What happened to the ghost?” Mando asked. The farmer seemed nervous under his attention, which made you snicker. You gathered around his pauldrons, pretending the farmer’s eyes were on you as he spoke.

“Well, it- it went toward the barn. But it… it was getting smaller. Harder to see. Like it was hurt. We followed it in, and it went to the children and just- disappeared.”

You went back to Grogu. Naturally. Mando’s helmet tilted, and you could imagine he was frowning.

“What did it look like?” He asked. His curiosity was strong enough that you could pick up on it even through his armour. Or maybe you were projecting- you were intensely curious too.

“Human, I think. It had a cloak on, or robes of some kind. Couldn’t tell much else, its back was to me.”

Human. Yes, that felt right; when you imagined a physical form, it was always human. You’d never really imagined clothes, though. The fact that your ghostly form was clear enough to be wearing clothes delighted you, though. You had been human. A human ghost.

Does that mean you were… dead?

It didn’t seem so bad. Being dead. You couldn’t really remember being alive, so comparisons couldn’t be made but this… wasn’t terrible. You were still here. You were visible- sometimes. People could hear you occasionally, and you had some influence over the physical. Not a bad deal, all in all.

“You seen anything like that before, Mando?” Cara asked.

“No,” he said, but you saw his helmet turn a fraction, toward his hut where Grogu slept. No, he’d never seen a ghost before, but he had seen some things that couldn’t be explained since meeting Grogu. You wanted to reach into his mind and help him, connect some dots, but that helmet would never let you. You wondered if he would ever discover the truth, or if he would chalk it up to the Kid, his powers. He was smart enough to realise that you and Grogu were connected, somehow. Maybe he would figure it out. You hoped he would.

When the stories were told and the bottle drained, Mando made his way back to the hut, quickly checking on Grogu in the dark before preparing for bed. You settled around your youngling, protective even now, quietly observing Mando as he took off his boots. You thought he’d just lie down fully clothed the way he usually did, but got a shock when he reached up and removed one pauldron, and then the other.

It felt wrong to watch him remove his armour piece by piece, but you couldn’t look away. With every piece he removed he was revealed to you, a man of flesh and bone, still big and broad but not so impenetrable. He was tired, he was deep in thought, he was relaxed- as much as a hardened bounty hunter could be relaxed. He looked much softer without the beskar, which was carefully, reverently, placed in a neat pile near his bed.

Watching him remove the thigh plates felt downright sinful. Oh, if Omera could see this now.

You had to turn away, for your own sanity as well as his privacy. Maybe you should be pleased, that no one else was seeing this, even if you weren’t supposed to see either. He hadn’t even shown any skin, you hadn’t technically seen any more than you had already, but it still affected you, to watch him shed the one layer that kept you out.

You heard a huff of air, and then one more clink of metal touching a hard surface, and you knew that his helmet was off.

Oh, how tempting. How easy it would be to reach into his mind, to curl around his consciousness and say hello. You could just look; see a face constantly out of sight. It had tickled your curiosity, his appearance. You wanted to observe him, but you hesitated, keeping your vision on your sleeping youngling, his mind lulled and dreamless for once. No one had ever seen his face. Mando never removed his helmet, not even in front of Grogu, not even in the privacy of space, the ultimate solitude. There was a reason, there had to be, though you didn’t know what it was.

Fabric rustled and you heard the man lie down, sensed him turn away from the room at large, face the wall. No, you decided. No, you would not look. Not until you found out why he had that helmet, why not even the child had seen him without it. Instead, you settled in Grogu’s cot, seeping into his sleeping mind where you were allowed and welcomed, and supplying him with dreams of flying.

The armour came off regularly, after that. Only at night of course, when no one was around to see it- Except you, but you supposed that didn’t count. Sorgan had softened Mando somewhat, allowed him to relax, and it had done wonders for Grogu; your youngling ran and babbled and played, his motor skills improved tenfold, and your morning meditations had started to include some heart-to-hearts that had you wanting to weep with pride. His rage and sadness seemed lessened here, and yours too seemed to vanish, though the cold remained. Weeks passed, of sunlit days and delicate nights, of glances between soft brown eyes and a dark visor, of carefree games.

You thought you would stay. Began expecting it, as time passed and the Mandalorian didn’t return to his ship. There was something growing to bother him, you could tell, but he gave no signs that he would make Grogu leave Sorgan, and you found yourself thinking of a future there, where you could watch your youngling have a proper childhood. Maybe observe a growing romance between Mando and Omera, try not to feel jealous of all these people and their physical lives.

But all good things must come to an end, and the end came one sunny day when Mando was finally getting somewhere with Omera.

You gave them their privacy, but had shared a giggle with Grogu as you watched him approach her by a pond, before the little one got bored and began playing once more, surrounded by his friends. Distracted by a glint of silver, you watched Omera reach for Mando, totally engrossed as she grasped his helmet, until a shiver went through you, and you looked around, confused and suddenly alert. You thought, if you had hair, it would’ve just stood on end.

You expanded, ripping through the village and to the trees, a quick sweep to settle your sudden spike of anxiety, the dread that hit you like a bantha.

There- a familiar beeping.

You rushed back to Grogu, and the blaster shot had you throwing yourself around him, shielding him whilst the others screamed and ran. Mando was running off to the source whilst Omera gathered Grogu up, sweeping you along with her. This close to her, her thoughts poured into you, and you got a first-hand account of her conversation with Mando.

Damn, she had been so close to getting that helmet off. You echoed her disappointment, felt it on your own behalf, too. He was going to leave Grogu. You understood why, really you did. But that would mean he left you, too. And you wouldn’t get a goodbye the way Omera did.

Now, you didn’t think you would be seeing the last of Mando by a long shot. Especially when he returned and began packing up his things in earnest, he and Cara discussing how the bounty hunter could’ve found them, what he should do with the child. You should be upset- Grogu wasn’t safe here, which means he wouldn’t be safe anywhere, a hunted child no matter where he went- but you couldn’t help but feel a rush at the idea of being back on the move, of danger and adrenaline. Of being around Mando.

It did lessen, watching Grogu say goodbye. He really had settled here. You gathered around him as you left, comforting him, Letting Mando take you both back to the Crest, where your world was transformed from greens and blues, laughter and company, to gunmetal grey and quiet spaces, only the rumble of the ship to fill the silence.

You had missed hyperspace, though. You settled in the spare seat of the cockpit, watching the stars, not knowing what would happen next.

How exciting.

#mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you

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elders-of-the-sky · 1 month

Note

droppin' this your way

{Can you tell me what this says? I cannot read. Not because I don’t know how, I just don’t want to.}

#Brutus is a jerk. We love(?) Brutus.#random krill event #ask your local krill #thatskygame #sky children of the light

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rogueonestan · 3 years

Text

wopc: ch 9 - the village

pairing: the mandalorian x f!reader/ ofc

word count: 6k

warnings: canon-type violence, mentions of violence

summary: you and the mandalorian are able to find refugee in a remote village on sorgan, but you have to do one thing first: you need to get rid of the local raiders that have disrupted the peace recently.

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The cargo speeder that you’re traveling to the village gets cramped very quickly. When it was just three of you, it was a bit tight but manageable. When it was just you and Mando, you were able to give your bodies the much needed stretch and relaxation that you’ve been craving, but comfort was thrown out the window when the ex-shock trooper took up Mando’s offer to help the local village. With Cara in the speeder as well, everyone is nearly thigh-to-thigh.

Thanks to the limited amount of space that’s left, staying in your comfortable position from earlier is no longer an option. Normally you would be just fine staying in a curled up ball and call it night, but you can’t thanks to your injured ankle.

It hurts like hell to even walk for more than a few minutes, let alone sleep on it. Sleeping on your side wouldn’t be an option. But in order to even get some shuteye, you would need to put pressure on your wound.

Finding a comfortable sleeping position is such a difficult task. Laying on your side doesn’t work- it only causes pain. Stretching out your legs isn’t an option because you’ll only knock over a few of the boxes Mando loaded on earlier. The most comfortable position you can find is sleeping on your side, but even that isn’t enough because your neck is limp. There’s nowhere for your head to rest comfortably. Bunching your jacket in a makeshift pillow doesn’t help. No matter how hard you try, you can’t get the one thing that you so desperately need right now: sleep. It’s so hard to focus on anything when your entire body aches in pain.

Mando and the ex-shock trooper are currently talking about the threat that has been terrorizing the village lately: a large group of bandits attack the village once a large amount of krill fish has been collected by the villagers. No one knows why they began their raidings, but the villagers are easy targets because they cannot defend themselves.

Hearing the two villagers recall of the hell they’ve been through angered you. It’s not an uncommon story in this galaxy where attackers will target a defenseless village, but it still doesn’t make it any easier to hear, no matter how many times you’ve heard a story like this one. Helping those in need isn’t always an option. You wish you could help others whenever you can, most of the time you can’t, but in this case, you can. You can bring back the peace that was stripped from this village. Maybe even find some peace for yourself, and Mando can as well, for a short period of time before you have to be on the move again.

You wish you could find some peace for yourself right now by your body granting you sleep, but it seems that everyone except for you was easily able to fall asleep.

At least, you thought everyone was asleep until you heard a low modulated voice.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“How’s your leg?”

“It hurts a bit, but I’ll be okay.”

Every time you adjust yourself to try to relax your body, it gives the opposite effect. The muscles in your calves begin to cramp up on you. Your neck strains from the lack of support it has.

The discomfort that you’ve been feeling all evening has not gone unnoticed by your partner though, who has been quietly observing you ever since you landed on Sorgan. Every shift of your body, every time you squirm in silent pain, caught Mando’s attention as he tries to devise a plan for the village's problem. Cara would suggest some sort of a plan, trying to get Mando’s input, but his attention will drift from Cara to you as he tries to make sure that you’re alright without saying it outright.

As much as he wanted to make sure that you’re alright, he continued the conversation he was having with the woman who’s sitting across from him. He would be able to check up on you later when it’s just the two of you.

“You know, you could rest against me, if you want.”

“What?”

“If it would bring you ease, you can lean against me until morning.”

Hearing your partner’s suggestion throws you off. The only time he’s ever shown any type of physical contact has been shortly after you’ve been injured in any way, never as a way to provide comfort in the way he’s suggesting. You’ve always had to recover in the comfort of your own bed, alone, never with your partner in sight.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine, just go back to sleep.”

“You haven’t been able to get any rest since we left the Gopani system. You need to get some rest too.”

As much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. Giving reassurance doesn’t come easy to him. Making his offer must’ve been hard for him. The only reassurance he’s ever said to you has been directly after a fight when the guilt begins to eat up after you took a life.

His hesitation is shown by how his hand reaches out towards you, but never close enough to physically touch you. His hand stays by his side, but inches towards you.

Akin to your partner, your body hesitates to inch closer to Mando. You would be lying if you said that this exact scenario hasn’t crossed your mind over the past month or two. Every time you lay alone at night, one thought that has always been in the back of your mind is wondering what it’s like to have someone lay by your side. Having someone to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Reassuring you with their grip on you. Just not being alone when you needed someone the most.

But right now, you can finally have that kind of comfort that your partner is offering you. With a small amount of courage, you take him up on his offer.

It’s a bit awkward at first. You try to scooch towards him as best as you can. It’s hard. Adrenaline runs through your veins. You’re not sure what it’s from, whether it’s from fear of waking some up or how close you’re physically getting with your partner, your heartbeat can be felt in the back of your throat. Goosebumps litter your skin when your arm gently brushes up against your partner’s. The warm feeling of his thigh brushing against yours is the first feeling of comfort that you’ve felt all evening. It’s not uncommon for you two to be this physically close to each other, thanks to the endless amount of times you shared a booth in the cantina on Nevarro, but this is different. Something about the way your leg brushes against his being unsaid between you two.

Pain shoots up your leg as you give your body one last push to make sure that there’s no distance between you and your partner. You mumble out a ‘sorry’ when your side hits against his, but he’s unphased by it, only responding by resting his arm against the exterior of the vehicle.

When your cheek first meets contact with his beskar covered shoulder, shock goes through your body by the cold sensation. You physically pull away at first. The piece of metal being even colder than the midnight air, but the warmth from your body heat eventually overpowers the coldness of the metal.

The longer your cheek rests against him, the more at ease you feel. It’s been such a long time since you’ve been this intimate with someone, even a friend, but it’s a feeling that you long forgotten. The beskar isn’t the most comfortable, but it’s much better than your previous attempts. Maybe the true comfort is coming from your partner and not what you’re resting against, but with sleep heavy on your mind, you don’t care where you found your solace.

As Mando glances down, the painful expression on your face from earlier is replaced with peace. Your brows no longer furrow in pain. Your eyes were shut as you suffered through pain earlier, but now your eyes are fluttered shut. Your mind finally at ease.

All of his surroundings is filled with peace. The ex-shock trooper has been asleep for most of the trip. The two villagers rest on each other. The baby sleeping by your side is sleeping peacefully for the longest time ever since he entered both of your lives. And now seeing you, Mando’s mind can now be at ease, allowing his body to finally accept the rest it’s been so desperately been asking ever since he agreed to help the local village. His eyes finally shut as he allows his mind to be like the animal habitats you pass: letting the midnight breeze lure them to sleep. His hand rests against your frame as he too begins to drift off.

But before he completely falls asleep, you say one final thing to him for the night.

A quiet ‘thank you’ leaves your lips as your eyes stay shut. Unconsciously moving to get as close to him as you possibly can.

“That’s what friends are for. Goodnight, ruusaan.”

What wakes you up the following morning is the sound of children’s laughter.

With the bright sun beaming directly upon your eyes and the loud environment of the local village, it’s hard not to come out of your slumber. It’s a welcomed feeling that you could get used to.

With your eyes still closed, your other senses are heightened. The sound of the birds singing, tree leaves rustling, children laughing, and the other villagers chatting with one another is all you can hear as your mind becomes less foggy with every passing second.

The sunshine beaming across your body acts as a natural blanket. The combination of the sunshine and the morning breeze hitting against your skin is an unfamiliar, yet so, so wonderful.

You’ve gotten used to waking up in a nearly freezing, dark room that you forgot how it feels to wake up the sun blinding you.

“Ruusaan, it’s time to get up.”

Your eyes flutter open at the sound of the new nickname Mando seems to have given you. You recall hearing it faintly last night and it gave you the same warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach that you feel right now.

What makes you sit up in your seat is the incoming shouts from the children.

“They’re here!”

“Come on, hurry!”

“Help is here!”

The little one that was once by your side now resides at your feet as he enjoys the attention he’s currently getting from the children. The children that live in the village have the biggest smiles on their faces as they interact with the baby. Giggles come from both of them as they introduce themselves.

“Will you be able to walk on your own?” Your partner asks you as the villagers begin to unload the cart.

“I think I can manage.”

It’s a bit difficult to get up at first, but once your feet hit against the grassy floor, you’re able to join your partner’s side once you’ve collected your stuff.

One of the female locals gives the two of you a brief tour of the village. It’s not much, just a few lakes and some cabins, but it’s home. The small community they’ve managed to built on this secluded planet is amazing. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen anything like it.

While you’re glancing around the village, Mando is close to your side just in case anything happens. After seeing what had happened to you during that fight and knowing that he could’ve prevented it from happening, protecting you from any potential harm in the future is the best that can do.

“How long have you guys been here?” You ask as your head finally comes back down from the clouds.

“We’ve been here for a couple generations, actually.” The villager responds, “our ancestors migrated here in search of a new home, a peaceful home, when their previous one was destroyed. It’s not much but-“

“-but its home.” You finish for her.

“Yes.”

As you pass each little cabin, you can see that each one is so similar but different from one another. One will have a cluttered space while the next is neatly kept. Each one having a different personality than the last.

“And you’re krill farmers?” You ask.

“Yes. We’ve been making a living here peacefully for our entire lives when the bandits came out of nowhere. We don’t know why they started or for how long it’ll go, but we need help.”

“What would the bandits want with krill fish?”

“Krill fish is a popular item on Sorgan, typically because it’s the main ingredient of spotchka.”

“Spotchka?”

“It’s a popular drink here- mainly at the common house, but we also enjoy drinking it here if there’s an excess of krill fish after the harvest.” As she glances behind her to get a glance at you and Mando, she turns back around, “here we go, just head inside.”

“Thank you.”

The woman begins to walk away from the three of you.

“She seems nice.” You comment. Mando wordlessly nods his helmet at you as he gestures for you to head inside the hut first. Not much can be said about it. It’s a very tight space, possibly one of the few available spaces they have left. A large sort of boxes line the walls, much like how it is on the Crest.

When you first set inside, another local is inside, making the last few touch ups for your arrival.

“Hello.” With a sweet smile on her face, the woman gestures for you to come inside.

“Please, come in.”

Even her voice sounds sweet.

“Thank you.” You respond.

Wrapping the rope that’s in her hands, she firmly hangs it up so that fresh air and sunshine can continue greeting you.

“Sorry that we only have the barn left.”

“It’ll be fine.” Mando assures her.

As you glance around you, you don’t know how the three of you will be able to make do in here. The room only has enough room for one, maybe two people, not all three of you.

Besides from the bed that takes up a majority of the room, the only other resemblance for a bed is one that’s in the corner of the entrance. And knowing Mando, he would insist that you take the comfortable bed while he takes the small area that has a few blankets stacked there.

“I can always bunk somewhere else, if there’s not enough room.” You offer.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Your partner says.

The sudden friendly atmosphere is stripped away when Mando immediately reaches for his blaster when soft footsteps can be heard from behind him.

“Relax.” You tell him.

“This is my daughter, Winta. I’m Omera.” The woman says as she wraps her daughter up in her arms. Once she reassures her daughter, you immediately see her maternal instincts kick in. Her warm personality rubs off of her daughter as her spirits are lifted. The small smiles that were on their faces earlier have now returned.

“Please, let us know if there’s anything more that we can do to make your stay more comfortable.” Omera says as she gestures for her and her daughter to leave.

Mando only offers a nod at them as you watch them leave. The only distant sound that can be heard is from the villagers. Laughing, chatting, everything going back to normal as you begin to make yourselves comfortable in the room for who knows how long.

A few silent minutes go by. Sitting criss crossed on the bed with the baby in front of you, you let a few more moments of silence pass by before you speak up.

“What does it mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“‘Roo-sun.’”

For the first time today, a chuckle leaves Mando’s modulator, “it’s ruusaan. Roo-sahn. It means someone who is trustworthy or reliable.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. Is there anything that I can call you?”

“ ‘Mando’ is fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

With that, the conversation is dropped and silence once again lingers in the air.

It’s not long after that you, Mando, and Cara make your way deeper and deeper. Mando had insisted that you should stay back and let your ankle heal, but you insisted on tagging along.

Walking on it doesn’t hurt as badly as you thought it would, but like when you first arrived at the village, Mando stays close by your side as the three of you try to find any clues as to who could be behind the attack. After talking to a few villagers, it sounds like a large group of raiders are behind the attacks. They always come in with their blasters in their hands, weapons charged as they gather up all of the perfectly packaged up krill fish. Hearing the different stories from the villagers breaks your heart. You hope that you can help them as much as you can.

Finding any sort of tracks or clue is hard to the naked eye, but the feeling of Mando’s hand touching your arm is what makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“About fifteen or twenty of them ran here by foot.” Mando observes as dozens of thermal footprints become visible to him thanks to his visor, “and something big sheared off those branches.” He points up at the trees above you. With that, him and Cara continue to make their way through the forest, with you closely behind them.

What makes all three of you stop dead in your tracks, though, is the large footprint engraved in the soil, as more branches high above you are broken off.

“AT-ST.” Cara recognizes as she gets a better look at it.

“How did it get on the surface without anyone knowing?” You think out loud.

“I’m not sure, but this is more than what we signed up for.” Mando says as he begins to walk away with Cara following closely behind him, but you don’t move a muscle.

Mando notices how you haven’t moved and motions for you to follow along, “come on. We have to tell them-“

“That we’ve decided not to help them?” Crossing your arms across your chest, you firmly stand your ground. You gave the village hope by promising them to help them with their problem. You can’t just walk away when things get tough.

“As much as I would like to help, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“This wasn’t a part of the deal.” Cara chimes in.

“So, that’s it? We’re giving up just like that?”

“It’s not that we want to, but-“

“But a village is petrified, not knowing when the next attack will be. They’re struggling enough as it is and we’re supposed to be helping them, not giving them false hope.”

“But-“

“We cannot simply stand by while they’re being terrorized.”

“And what exactly are we supposed to do?” The ex-shock trooper asks, as she mimics your pose.

“We keep our word and help them.”

“There are over twenty of them and three of us. We will not stand a chance against them.” Mando reminds you.

“Then we get help.” You say.

“From who? The mercenaries in town?”

“From the village.”

Skepticism comes from the two warriors standing in front of you. Mando’s visor shifts from looking at you to glancing at his feet, shaking his head. Cara lets out a few chuckles out of belief.

“You’re not serious, are you?” She asks.

“Why not? There’s at least twenty, maybe even thirty of them. With us by their side, we can help stop this threat for once and for all.”

“They have no weapons.” Mando points out.

“We can figure something out.”

“What if they say no?” He asks.

“Then we can be on our way, but with them on our side, we can win this fight.”

“You better be right.” Cara says as she suddenly begins making her way back towards the village.

With his visor focused on you, Mando watches as you finally begin to make your way back to the village.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

Persuading the villagers to aid in the attack surprisingly is easier than you thought it would be. Cara and Mando first voiced their frustrations, saying of how the village never warned them about the AT-ST or how many of them there are. At first, the villagers worried that this meant that you were no longer going to help them. That is, until Mando tells them of your suggestion. Enthusiasm comes from the crowd. They’re more than willing to protect their home, no matter the cost.

Soon after, you and Cara help one group of the villagers with hand-to-hand combat while Mando helps another group with their shooting skills. You thought that Mando would want you to help them shoot, but he proved you wrong when he told the villagers that they would be learning from “one of the best fighters” he’s ever seen. A light blush appears on your cheeks at his compliment.

Making their makeshift weapons from wood didn’t take that long, but teaching them how to fight, on the other hand, is another story.

Cara teaches those near her as you do the same. After demonstrating a simple moves to them, you wait for them to copy, only for a few of them to not do it properly. You will demonstrate a simple swinging manoeuvre, but once the villagers do it, it’s all wrong. One even managed to hit you on the head when you didn’t back up quick enough. They let out a string of apologies, only for you to tell them that it’s alright and to try again. You show them the move that you’re working on once again and wait for them to get the hang of it. If they don’t, you try your best to relax them and reassure them that it’s okay, that they’ll get the hang of it eventually.

When you glance over at Cara, you thought that she wouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she is. The villagers will also get the maneuver wrong, but she shows them how to do it. Even a smile is on her face as she teaches them combat moves.

You’re so preoccupied that you don’t notice that you seem to have gotten Mando’s attention as well. The sound of blaster firing stops as he looks at you. When one of the villagers was unable to copy the position you just showed, they let out their frustrations, only for you to gently reassure them. He can’t hear exactly what you’re saying, but he knows that you’re getting through to them with your kind words and simple touch. Something that you’ve done with him whenever his frustrations get the best of him. A smile appears underneath his helmet at the thought.

“Uh, sir? What now?” One of the villagers ask as they struggle to hold one of the rifles that Mando has leant to the village.

“Fire, again.” And once again, blaster fire repels off of the metal kitchenware. As they continue firing, Mando gets one final glance at you as you’re observing the villagers’ fight position. A big smile is on your face at their noticeable improvement. As you glance around the village, you see that Mando’s visor quickly turns away from your glance as you both continue training the village.

You don’t realize how late it has gotten until the sun begins to set. After deciding to take a break for a little bit until night falls, both you and Cara go to your separate sleeping quarters.

When you make your way inside the place where you’re staying, you see that the baby is safely secured in a crib that the village was so nice to offer.

“Hey there, little guy. How are you?” You ask as you crouch down to his level. He doesn’t say anything in response, only letting out a few incoherent babbling noises.

“You did good out there.”

You suddenly hear a voice coming from behind you. As you turn around, you find that your partner is leaning up against the doorframe, his arms crossed against his chest.

“Thank you, Cara helped a lot.”

“It wasn’t just her, you- you really connect to people.”

“Well, it’s easy when you know what it’s like.”

“What do you mean?” He asks as he tilts his helmet to the side.

“I don’t know,” You say as you shrug your shoulders, “my village, too, was attacked and destroyed, so I know what it’s like to do anything to protect your home.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” shaking your head, you continue, “maybe that’s why I was so determined in persuading you to help them. I don’t want anyone else to have to go through what I did.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

“It’s just who I am, I guess. Plus, you would’ve done the same.”

“Still, most wouldn’t have done what you have. It’s one thing to say that you’ll do something, but it’s another to actually do it.”

“Thank you for the kind words, Mando. You should be proud of yourself as well.”

He nods his helmet at you in response.

“So, what are we going to do now?” You ask, “do all three of us find the raiders then lure them-“

“You’re not going.”

“What do you mean? I’ve helped train the villagers, the least that I can do-“

“One of us needs to stay back and guide them. The village is already enamored by you. They’ll listen to you when the time comes. They need a leader.”

“Oh, well, when you put it like that…”

“They trust you almost as much as I do. I know that if the occasion should rise, you would give your life to protect them, ruusaan.”

“Thank you, Mando, for putting that much trust in me.”

The room then grows silent. Besides from the soft sounds coming from the baby, no more words are said. The two of you slowly begin your preparations for the upcoming battle.

The moonlight luminates the stars in the sky. Shortly after informing the villagers that Mando and Cara just left to locate the raiders, everyone scrambled to get everything in place. All of the children are safely secured in one of the huts. Each villager grabs the weapon they practiced with earlier as you guide everyone in their battle positions.

Waiting for your partner to return was more nerve wracking than you thought. You thought your nerves were through the roof when you were waiting for him to return back to you with the kid back on Nevarro, but somehow, this is worse. You don’t know how, but it is. You know that there isn’t a huge threat with them agitating the raiders, but fear still lingers through your veins with each passing moment. The villagers will ask about how long it will, but you, along with Omera’s natural positivity, will reassure everyone that everything will be okay in the end.

Before their anxieties can get the best of them, distant blaster fire can be heard.

“Battle positions!” Omera hollers.

“Weapons ready!” You yell out shortly after.

The blaster fire gets louder with each second and soon after, your partner is quickly making his way towards the small sheltered area, which is literally a large hole in the ground with a wooden fence acting as more protection.

Now is when the real fight begins. Mando joins you by your side as the two warriors ready themselves for the upcoming battle.

“Did the plan work?”

“The AT-ST followed us. The rest should follow suit.”

With that being said, the loud thumping noises get louder and louder as the AT-ST gets closer. All that anyone can focus on is its red-like eyes. Silence fills the air. Then, the screams. Battle cries are suddenly heard as a dozen or so of the raiders come marching it with the walker shooting heavy firepower.

“Open fire!” Both you and Omera shout at the same time.

The villagers with their wooden spears stand around. The others begin shooting at any incoming targets that they can. A lot of the blaster fire doesn’t hit any of the upcoming targets, but thanks to you, Omera, and the two warriors fighting by your side, you’re able to make up for it. A few of the villagers will get lucky and get one of the raiders, but for the most part, the raiders get closer and closer. Heavy blaster fire comes from your opponents. Every other second, you have to take cover just to avoid being shot at.

You’re so focused in the fight in front of you, that you nearly miss Mando handing over his beloved Amban pulse rifle to Cara. You don’t miss her running towards the fight, miraculously not getting shot in the process, before she takes cover in one of the village’s many lakes.

“What is she doing?” You shout over the loud blaster fire.

“Acting as bait.” Mando responds, “we have to give her cover.”

Nodding your head in response, none of the raiders were able to take her down, thanks to you and Mando. Once she successfully takes out one of the ‘eyes’ of the walker, you notice how dangerously close a few of the raiders have been able to get to the villagers.

Tugging on your partner’s sleeve, you motion towards the villagers that are struggling fighting off two or three of the raiders.

“Go! I got this.”

Nodding, you get up from your crouched position and make your way over to the villagers as quickly as possible. It’s a bit difficult with the small amount of walking space there is and with the whizzing blaster shots, but you manage. On the way, you’re able to take a few shots and take down a few of the raiders as well. So much adrenaline is flowing through your veins that the growing pain in your foot is unnoticeable.

When you finally come to the villager's aid, the raider only laughs in response, not knowing of his upcoming faith.

“Remember what I showed you!”

The villager, a man, nods at you as he takes another jab at his opponent, only for the raider to easily dodge it. The raider takes a swing at the villager, who takes a rather harsh punch to the stomach. The man hovers over in pain and drops his spear in the process. Quickly thinking, you grab the weapon off from the floor and kick the raider where the spear once was. He begins swinging, and like him, you’re easily able to deflect it with your own weapon because he’s aimlessly swinging. You eventually are able to disarm when you knock out his stick from his hand. And with one blow to his chest, the spear pierces through his skin. Blood quickly seeps through the wound as the raider’s body remains still. His final breaths passing through his lips moments later as you hand the spear back over to its original owner.

“Thank you so much! I don’t know what I would’ve done-“

“It’s alright. Just remember what I showed you earlier and protect the shooters!” You shout as you pick up the raider’s weapon and make your way deeper and deeper into the battlefield.

Luckily, a majority of the villagers are able to defend themselves thanks to your’s and Cara’s teachings. A small smile appears on your face when you see them successfully performing the moves you taught them only a few hours ago.

The heavy blaster fire begins to dim once Cara was successfully able to lure the AT-ST into the body of water.

The fight isn’t over yet, though. You still need to finish off the handful of raiders that remain.

A few screams of pain can be heard from behind you. As you turn around, you see that one of the villagers was scathed. Blood dripping down down their arm.

Quickly making your way towards them, you ready yourself for an upcoming fight, when suddenly a huge explosion can be heard.

The AT-AT was destroyed.

The remaining of the villagers are pulling back.

This could be it.

But one more raider remains in front of you.

With you by their side, both you and the villager are able to make quick work of your opponent.

His body drops dead when the villager stabs him in the gut.

Screams of celebrations can be heard from the entire village.

It’s finally over.

You guys won.

You never thought you could be so relieved for a fight to be over.

The villager by your side is celebrating their success, thanking you for all of the help that you’ve given them.

You simply acknowledge them and begin to make your way back towards where the others are.

“So, what happens next?” One of the villagers asks.

“We celebrate our victory.” Omera says as more shouts of joy can be heard from the others.

The celebration goes on for the majority of the night. After the long day you had from arriving at the village to aiding in the battle, you would’ve been happy to call it a night, but the villagers were insistent on everyone celebrating their win- especially you, Mando, and Cara since victory wouldn’t have been possible without you three.

A weird bright blue liquid is found in almost everyone’s hands as they chat amongst themselves. You never thought you would be so happy to see smiles on some many faces. The children are even having a good time as they play with each other, finally being able to be truly free.

Music is being played. Married couples dancing with each other. A buffet of food being cooked and served as a part of the celebration.

Peace.

“You did a good thing here.” A sudden deep voice comes from beside you.

“We did a good thing. Look at how happy they are.” You say as you motion towards the locals. When you first arrived, you could tell that the villagers were happy with their home but the threat of the raiders held a dark cloud over them. But now, they can be free. They can be at ease. Not worrying about their safety, or their children’s safety, or anything else. They can live life like they used to and carry on without a single worry.

“Thank you, for this. It means a lot to me.” You say as you take your eyes off of the villagers to glance quickly at your partner, where you look back at the sweet sight before you, “I couldn’t just let another helpless village live in fear. Not another one.”

“I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yes, my home was stripped away from me when I was younger, just like yours was. So, I get it. You want to honor them.”

“Yes.” Never in a million parsecs would you be able to explain why you felt this strong need to protect these people. Mando explains it so much better than you ever could.

“Thank you, though, for sticking by my side.”

“It’s like what I told you. You’re the one I trust the most.”

“Yeah, but-“

“That means if you want to do something, then I’m with you- to the end.”

‘...’

“You didn't have to stand by my side on Nevarro but you did. The least I can do is the same. Honoring one’s word, no matter how high is the risk, is a part of my Code.”

“Well, I am glad to have you by my side.”

“As am I, ruusaan.”

“Guys!” Your conversation suddenly comes to a halt as Cara has gained both of your attention, “come on! Join the fun!” She says as she gestures with her half-full mug of spotchka.

Mando’s visor glances over at you, awaiting for your answer. Offering your hand towards him, you wait for him to guide you.

“After you.”

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#hello i am reuploading this bc it didnt tag anyone and idk if it showed up in the tags #but i hope yall enjoy this piece!!#im not very good @ writing chapters based on episodes #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x ofc #din djarin #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x ofc #wopc #my writing

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “Indicted.”

Working on a new arc for the story. I hope you enjoy :)

Dr Krill was up late, but then again, he was usually up late. Unlike the humans he didn’t sleep, and that left him at least eight hours of the day to himself to be engrossed in his studies, a time which he cherished. Granted there were occasions when emergencies would happen and he would be forced to attend to them, but those were few and far between these days.

Ever since the Burg war had ended, there hadn’t been much danger to the galaxy, and the Omen spent most of its time fulfilling its exploratory duties.

He spent a good portion of his time hunkered in the back office of the medical bay, but on occasion he'd like to take walks around the ship at night comforted by the darkness. The days had long since past when he was afraid of the humans, and he actually found the ship to be comforting and safe during the night. Granted Conn was sometimes a nuisance, but nothing that he couldn’t handle generally.

He was just walking past the command deck when he heard footsteps on their way down the hall.

He assumed it was one of the night crew coming down from fixing a problem up on the bridge, but was surprised when light passed over a familiar face. The two of them stopped staring at each other.

Admiral Vir paused in the hallway a duffel bag in one hand, his neatly pressed uniform glittering dimly in the light above. A few colorful swatches on the left hand side of his chest was the only color that distinguished him in the middling darkness.

Waffles -- the dog -- sat quietly at his side, panting softly.

“Admiral….”

“Doctor…”

“Going somewhere?”

Krill watched as the man’s fingers curled slowly around the bag, “I have some… business to attend to back on earth.I already talked with Simon about it, and I am going to allow her to take command of the ship while I am away.”

Krill took a long hard look at the human.

There was something strange about him, something you could only understand if you were another human or if you had spent hours and hours studying them and spending time with then.

“Is something wrong?”

The man shook his head, though his single eye was… sad.

“No Krill, everything is fine.”

“Would you…. Like sme company?” he knew it was a longshot. If Adam really wanted some company, than surely he would already have asked Sunny to come with him.

The man opened his mouth, closed it and looked round. Krill was surprised that the man actually seemed to be considering his offer. Eventually he sighed,

“I would…. Appreciate it…. Dr.”

Krill was surprised, but nodded and simply requested a few minutes to leave a note for Dr. katie. The Admiral willingly obliged the request, and efoe long they were on their way, stepping out of the cargo ramp and onto the -- mostly quiet-- cargo deck of the Europa station.

For the longest moment it was only the sound of feet echoing over the metal flooring before Krill finally had to speak up, “What is all of this about Adam, leaving secretly in the middle of the night, leaving your ship in the hands of a rookie officer… not telling Sunny. I think you can see why I am worried.”

Admiral Vir sighed and then inclined his head, the gold threading on the top of his officer’s cap glittering in the dim overhead light.

“There is something I need to do… and I don’t think Sunny would understand. I also don’t think that it would be a good idea to bring her.

Krill tilted his head in curiosity and concern, “Are you two ok?”

Adam shrugged and sighed, “I…. well…. I don’t know. Most times it feels like we are, and at other times we just…. Aren’t. I think that is supposed to be normal, but there are things about each other that we just don’t understand sometimes.”

“That would make sense considering your species.”

He shrugged, “I guess. Either way I needed to do this myself, and I… needed a break…. That sounds horrible, and now how I meant it but I…. well whatever.”

The two of them walked down the nearest hallway to the launch bay on the other side of the hall. It was a little more crowded here, mostly officers and other crew members with their suitcases and bags, wearing their uniforms and standing in line to board a smaller ship. The ship would be a class D-1 ship with a small warp core on board.

As he approached, eyes fell on them as they usually did. Men and women in uniform saluted and parted ways to allow the two of them to pass as they made their way towards the shuttle. The Admiral refused to head to the front and stopped at the back of the line to wait patiently. No one spoke to them, but there sure were plenty of staring eyes.

The admiral handed his bag off to one of the cargo officers before boarding the ship with Krill. Waffles was taken with them too, and placed into a crate. She didn’t seem pleased about it but went willingly. It was likely that she was going to have to be put to sleep for the warp, which Krill almost envied. It was a cramped fit, though due to his status, they were allowed to sit in the roomier seats at the front. Bright lights beamed down on them from above as the pilot came over the intercom preparing them for warp.

“Thank you for boarding the trans-space flight to Lunar 1. Our approximate flight time will be ten minutes arriving at 12:45 local time. Please make sure to fasten your seatbelts. Officers and passengers with cardiac dysfunctions, lung disease, or high blood pressure are advised against taking this flight. If you fit into any of these categories please let a flight officer know for your safety and comfort. To the front of your seat you will find airsickness bags, and a safety card. Please take a few minutes to review the safety card before the launch.”

Admiral vir pulled the straps tight over his shoulders and pulled off his cap to rest it gently in his lap.

On the other row beside them another officer already had their eyes closed and was taking a few long-deep breaths.

“One last warning before launch, we will warn you that this is a D-1 Class warp core and does not have any internal dampening. Side effects of launch include, vomiting, dizziness, confusion, blackout, loss of bladder control and heart palpitations. These side effects are expected and the cabin has been designed to deal with these issues, however if you do not feel comfortable continuing we advise you to exit the aircraft immediately.”

Adam leaned back in his seat eyes shut.

Krill gripped the harness waiting for the moment to come.

Adam almost looked peaceful. No one got off the ship and after a few more minutes of waiting, the cabin lights dimmed and the ship rose into the air. As soon as they were shot out of the airlock, the gravity field was gone, and he could feel his body beginning to float against the harnesses. Admiral Vir had to hold his hat in palace as they accelerated into the night.

They traveled for a good five minutes before warning lights began blinking overhead.

“Prepare the cabin for warp.”

All around him the humans were preparing themselves for the violent folding of space. A few leaned down to tuck their head between their knees in a crash position.

He sort of wish he hadn’t agreed to come.

Adam just took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat.

“Launch in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

Krill fet the universe around him collapse inward and then suddenly expand outward. Things that were far away seemed close and things that were close seemed far away. He jerked against his harness, and just like that it was over.

That didn’t mean his head wasn’t spinning, and all around the cabin he could hear the groaning of the other humans.

Once he could finally see and tell what he was seeing, he looked over at the Admiral who looked none the worse for war in comparison to some of the other officers.

One poor woman was as white as a sheet and holding a bag in front of her for dear life. Some of the others were in similar states of distress.

Admiral vir just smiled and leaned over to Krill whispering, “Not nearly as bad as the first interstellar warp. I thought I was going to die.”

Krill believed him

Just outside the window they watched as the Earth’s single moon drifted closer and closer, growing large in their field of vision as they stopped to land on the glowing white lunar surface. They disembarked inside the atmospheric bubble and were ushered onto another shuttle that headed down for earth. Despite earth being closer, this trip took much longer, about an hour longer, warping past the worst of the debris field which was still being cleaned by drag ship.

They landed at two in the morning local time at Fort Harmony.

As they stepped off the shuttle, bags in tow, there were already two military men waiting for them on the platform with a mat black hover car. Waffles’s crate was rolled out with them, though it seemed as if she was still asleep.

They saluted as he approached, “Admiral.”

He nodded to them, “Gentlemen.”

One of them opened the car door, and the Admiral stepped inside, while the other took his bag to place it in the back.

Krill floated up to sit beside him watching as the vehicle slowly accelerated and rolled through the darkness, lights of the nearby city and civilization glowing in the darkness. Streetlights passed overhead, casting the human’s brooding face into sharp relief one moment and into almost complete blackness the next.

“Are you going to tell me where we are going?” krill wondered

The admiral didn’t look at him, instead looking down at his hands. There was a long pause where Krill thought he wasn't going to answer, before, “I got a call from Admiral Kelly last night.”

Krill waited.

“Last month, extend documents on Operation Steel Eye were leaked. The UNSC tried to declassify them before it became more of an issue, but by then it was too late. The files were leaked onto the web by some unknown source and that included all video, Audio and written footage of the testing as well as documentation from the war itself.” Krill was surprised, extremely surprised that he had not heard more about this, and sooner,, but he stayed quiet as Adam continued, “UNSC officers in term during the project and a few members of the Steel eye team are being indicted on counts of torture, massive ethical violations, and potentially, war crimes… I was asked to be a witness at the trail of The People Vs The United Nations Space Corpse.”

Krill stared at him in shocked silence, “You,.... what?” He looked away, “Why didn’t you tell anyone, why didn’t you speak with someone!”

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, “What was I supposed to say? Hey everyone, the people who almost ruined my life are being put on trial and I am in need of some serious moral support because I expect I may have to watch some of it over again, and I don’t think I am ready for it.” His hands clenched in his lap, and krill saw. He looked back at the back seat to where waffles was still sleeping in her kennel.

Adam took a couple of deep breaths, “I have come as far as anyone can be expected when it comes to recovering from what happened to us, but that shadow, these scars will NEVER be gone. I’ll always have dreams. I will always wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat just remembering what happened to me. I will always hear the hissing of those machines in the back of my head. And I will always have some sick and twisted need to put the suit back on again because not once in my entire life since then have I ever felt so powerful…. Some days it feels like the only thing I have that can protect everyone, like putting it on will make me invincible, even though I know that logic is flawed. I hate it more than anything at the same time that I NEED it.”

Krill paused looking down at his arms and hands, “And that is why you got the Iron eye implants.”

He nodded and sighed, “Yes, yes it is.”

Krill didn’t know what to say, so they drove in silence.

“WHere are we going then.”

“We are heading up to one of the rehabilitation facilities between Arlington and the Ruins at Capital hill. From there we are going to be shipped over to Geneva where the trail is going to be held.”

“A rehabilitation facility…. For who?”

He looked down at his feet, “You’ll see.”

The nit went silent and krill was forced to wait in the darkness with light zipping by the windows as they headed into the night. The Admiral fell asleep during this time at some point with his cheek pressed against the cool glass of the window, his ribbons still glittering in the darkness. A soft whimpering came from the back of the car, and Krill took some time to let Waffles out of her cage, pressing himself up against the door as she crawled over the seat and sat between them curling up in a tight ball with her head resting on her master’s knee.

Adam seemed to relax in their sleep.

Krill watched out the window and took some time to think as the trees spd by in a dark blur. At one point it began to rain, and he tried not to think about the water pelting down on them from the sky above to obscure their vision.

Outside the sky lightened though the day was cloudy.

Adam awoke groggy and despondent, unusually quiet and unresponsive in comparison to his usually cheerful self.

They continued to drive in the silence, the only sound being the occasional whimper from the dog who sighed deeply, and stood to move to manuver into a more comfortable position. It was well into early morning by the time they made it to their next location, and their shadows were cast long and low across the ground.

Their vehicle was ushered through a large metal gate and onto the lawn of a restored Victorian mansion. Admiral Vir shifted uncomfortably as they pulled up the gravel drive and stopped before the wide porch and its white painted support pillars.

The door opened for them, and the Admiral stepped out with Waffles leaping onto the gravel behind him, taking a few moments to sniff around at the grass and the bushes.

Admiral Vir straightened his uniform and pulled on his cap as Krill floated out to join him.

A man was waiting for them on the porch and walked down the stairs to greet them with an open hand and a wide smile.

He was a small human, a bit older with greying hair and a nice suit. He clasped hands with the admiral and looked him over with a critical eye.

“A pleasure to meet you Admiral.”

“And you as well doctor.”

The man took a step back eying up the admiral as he did. Adam shifted uncomfortably, “Forvie my scrutiny, admiral.” The man said a bit sheepishly, “I have been working with the steel eye veterans for so long, and you are….. The first I have seen in such good condition.”

Adam tugged at the collar of his shirt in mild embarrassment, “Uh, I suppose I am extraordinarily lucky, doctor.”

The man held out a hand and motioned to the door, “Please come inside, there is much to show you, and the others have been expecting your arrival.”

He turned to look at Krill then and smiled,”Dr. Krill I assume?”

Krill was more than a little surprised to hear his own name spoken, “Have we met.”

The man laughed, “No, no, but I am familiar with your work. It is so interesting to see how other species view humans. I find it enlightening and entertaining.” The big white doors opened before the, and together they stepped into a large room with a spiraling staircase and a bustling room crumbs wearing attendants.

Somewhere in the distance, they could hear the sound of a piano playing.

“Welcome to Machinaw Hall, sounds a little more pleasant than the UNSC sponsored state rehabilitation facility.”

“Less of a mouthful for sure.” Adam responded.

The man waved a hand about the room, “I started all this about three years ago when my Nephew died during the steel eye operation of meningitis.”

“I...I’m sorry to hear that.”

The man sighed, “My family was obviously devastated, and I couldn't let it go, so I thought there was something I could do. At that time my wife and I flipped houses on the side and we came in possession of this old rundown Victorian. It's already been refurbished a couple of times since it was originally built. It was in such disrepair that no one wanted it, but I bought it for cheep and renovated it, and then set it up for other members of that same group. Unfortunately things were not completed until a few years after the incident, and it took us a while to find those who remained from participation in the trials and… well as well as from the war itself.” He sighed, “I only wish I had started this sooner. Who knows, we may have been acquainted earlier in that case.”

Krill watched Adam’s expression from the corner of his eye. He knew how the man felt about these sort of facilities.

“Perhaps. But what’s past is past.”

“True.”

They made their way up a checkered hallway and through a large doorway into a sunny and spacious living room. Despite how old the house was, the furniture was all well kept and in good condition. The people on the other hand were… less so.”

One or two of them were sitting on the floor in the sunny day room rocking quietly back and forth. Others sat on chairs or sofas with grim expressions on their face, and only one or two managed to appear as functioning humans.

One of them was playing the grand piano in the back.

As soon as he stepped in the room went mostly quiet, even the ones sitting on the floor looked up, and with surprise their eyes widened and they smiled. More than a few came over to meet him reaching out their hands and clasping his with firm grips.

“Admiral Vir!”

“Admiral, so good to see you.”

“You look well.”

“Glad you could make it.”

He smiled easily despite his unease, “Thank you. Glad to see you all up and about.”

“Mostly functional.” one of them piped up.”

Looking around Krill noticed the tell-tale hitch in their steps, and even the glittering of silvered metal on a robotic arm.

“Adam!”

The two of them turned quickly and krill was surprised to find a dark haired young woman appear from up the stairs jogging down and throwing her arms around him hugging him tight. He had to step back at the force of her greeting but hugged her bak with some shock and pleasure, “Jane!” He stepped back beaming, “You look good…. I’m a little surprised to see you.”

“Well after the… incident, I was able to get in contact with some people who pointed me to this place. The Doctor was kind enough to let me stay while I get back on my feet.”

He sat dow, offered a chair by one of the other steel eye members, and they sat around him.

He rubbed Waffle’s ears and let her off leash, giving her permission to go around the circle sniffing at hands and arms that were offered towards her.

Eventually she took a seat next to one of the soldiers sitting on the ground, and shoved her head into his space forcing him to pet her. A smile cracked over his face fr the first time since they had arrived .

“And getting bacon on your feet, how is that going.”

She sighed, “ I have found some temporary work at a mechanic shop, though its only temporary until I can find something that I really want to do.” She glanced at him with a look of guilt on her face, “I can’t go back to the UNSC not after….”

He nodded quickly in understanding, “I get it.” One of the other soldiers looked at him, his mouth turning down into a frown, “How could YOU go back to them after everything they did.”

The Dr. Scooted closer over the floor and rested a hand on the man’s shoulder in a warning sort of manner.

He relaxed a bit, but the anger was still plain on his face.

Adam kept his face still and neutral, “Some people say I’m a little too forgiving. But honestly, they gave me a spaceship which, all things considered, is good enough compensation for me.”

A few of the people in the room laughed, others didn’t seem so satisfied with that answer but let it go.”

“So…. are you ready?” Jane wondered

Adam tilted his head up slightly.

One of the men leaned forward, “Ready, for what?”

Another hand on his shoulder, “Admiral Vir is going to be representing you all during the upcoming trial.”

A few of the group members frowned, ‘Wait, I thought we were all going to testify as witnesses.”

The doctor sighed, “We have gone through this before, not everyone is ready for something like that, but Admiral Vir has graciously offered to help and be the representative.”

“I am not having a UNSC lover represent me at the trail! He’s going to try and get them off easy.”

Krill scooted to the side a little watching as a sharp light flared in the man’s eyes, “You better watch-your-tongue BOY!’

The room went very silent.

“You act like I didn’t go through the exact same thing as you. Well tell you what I remember choking on the ash as my blood seeped into the moss, and I remember the pain, and I remember wishing I could just die, and afterwards, I remembered months and months of hopelessness wondering when it would all be over. I remember the drug withdrawls. YES i chose to go back, but that's because I am rational enough to realise that most people in the UNSC had no idea what was going on, and the people who ran things back then are either retired, pending investigation or already in prison.” He leaned forward in his seat, “So go ahead, question my motives one more time.”

The room was very silent, and the man who had first spoken up sat back in his seat sulkily.”

Someone cleared their throat in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

“So what are the rest of us going to do.”

“ I am putting something together with the courts, and will be using interviews from you as evidence with your permission. I think that that will be more constructive. Admiral Vir will be there as a live witness, and due to his status, his testimony is likely to have the kind of pull we need to convict.”

There was a murmur of approval around the group.

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“Plus as a member of the UNSC himself the testimony will be more accepted especially considering his track record. Furthermore, he also has the most experience speaking in public and we want to make as good an impression as we can.”

The room was quiet now as the group thought about the points the doctor was making.

A hand reached across the circle, and he looked down to See Jan’s hand resting on his shoulder, “Are you sure you can do this…. I… Well I don’t know if I could were I in your shoes.”

He sighed, “It won’t be easy, but someone has to do it, and as of right now, I am about as operational as we are going to get.”

There was nodding from around the room.

This was going to have to do

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yezielmoore · 3 years

Text

Day 8: Adroit

Here i am, with more Kaito. I'm really enjoying fleshing out this boy. This is set in HW, in between Ravana and the Antitower. don't ask me what 3.patch it was, i can barely remember what i did yesterday.

~.~.~

adj. 1. expert in using the hands or body; 2. cleverly skillful, resourceful, or ingenious:

It was a nice sunny day in Idyllshire and the reunited scions were making use of a bit of downtime to restock on potions, ethers and several other knick-knacks, questioning the locals about the terrain of the Hinterlands post Calamity, or they were simply taking the respite for what it was.

He should be doing the same, Thancred admitted to himself. However, Krille would undoubtedly know everything there was to know about their path forwards by the time they reconvened, Y’shtola could argue and outbargain everyone, even the minions of that witch, Rowena, and he had no idea where Alphinaud could be, but it had become evident that the lad had matured a great deal in their time apart so he was probably being useful somewhere.

Unlike himself. He was simply too wound up to rest and too worried to focus, so he was strolling under the sun, taking in the many changes this place had gone through since being abandoned. It was equal parts weird and nostalgic.

That was when he spotted Kaito sitting cross legged under the shade of a tree, away from the main streets. Thancred hesitated. He was in need of a distraction, true, but unnecessary intruding on one of his friend's rare moments of peace felt terribly rude. Luckily, he was spared from making a decision as Kaito, sensing he was being observed, looked up and inclined his head in invitation.

He approached and noted with surprise that what he had thought was Kaito fiddling in boredom was, in fact, Kaito doing some pretty intricate repairs to his armor. It explained why he was dressed down, so to speak.

“You are good at that,” Thancred admired with some surprise.

It’s not that he believed Kaito was only good for fighting primals and imperials, far from it. They had been friends once, before the Dalamud shattered like an egg, freeing its terrible prisoner, and the other disappeared without trace from the battlefield. He hadn’t even remembered him for the longest time. And then he reappeared, bearing a different name, no memories and in possession of the echo.

Thancred had sworn to himself back then to extend the hand that once had been extended to him. Sadly, plans have a way to go awry for Thancred at the drop of a hat. That specific time the spanner in the works had been Lahabrea. And by the way, possession by Ascian? 0/10 stars, do not recommend.

Grey eyes flickered up before refocusing on the lacquer he was painstakingly applying to one of his gauntlets as he nodded in acknowledgement, a small satisfied smile lifting the corners of his lips.

“I can help with your armor, if you wish,” he offered cautiously.

That caution in his voice was their fault. The scion’s fault. The return of a friend only for them not to be the person they remembered anymore? Not a great time, if he was honest. All of them had tried to be objective, truly they had, but in the end they hadn’t hid their initial dismay very well, and somewhere along the way they had forgotten to explain themselves. It wasn’t Kaito that was the problem, simply… them and that damned nostalgia.

With a sigh Thancred sat down, back to the tree but still in full view of his companion.

“Much appreciated,” he said with a wry smile. “I tried my best to cobble up some decent armor but…” he shrugged. The bulk of his hard earned money had gone into his daggers, the rest he had scrounged up little by little in the intervening time, which meant that the quality was… dubious at best. But better than naked, for sure.

Kaito eyed him critically before nodding to himself.

“It’d take more time than we have right now to make something new, but I can fix it up, sure.”

Silence fell between them as Kaito grabbed an unfinished piece of armor and started his work anew. Thancred was content to sit on his curiosity and just watch him work in silence. It was quite mesmerizing to be perfectly honest, the way he buffed up dents, filled in cracks and then applied some sort of material to make it better, more resilient.

“You can ask,” Kaito said drily. “I can almost feel the question burning in your mind from here.”

Thancred spluttered, internally embarrassed at being so easily read. Not that he had been trying to hide his thoughts exactly, it was simply a habit to do so, and not one easily broken.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing important…”

Kaito raised an eyebrow at him and he relented. “I was simply wondering when you picked up…” he gestured at the warrior, “all of that. Armorcraft, smithing, goldsmithing even and, if you intend to fix my armor, then you also know leatherworking and clothcraft. You’re quite good too,” he pointed out the finished pieces that were positively gleaming.

Kaito hummed, pleased.

“It was after I disembarked. I had nothing back then, no plan, no memories, just the clothes the captain gave me and then refused payment for,” he confessed with no inflection in his voice, eyes fixed on the repetitive movement of his hands. He paused for a moment. “Except that isn’t quite true, I had my life and I had the armor I had been wearing when the spell spat me in the middle of the ocean, luckily within sight of a merchant vessel.”

“How did you not drown?” Thancred exclaimed, equally surprised and horrified.

“I almost did, truth be told,” Kaito said with a shrug, as if the fact that his first memory was of nearly drowning wasn’t anything more than a footnote in his story. Which, yeah, fair point. “I didn’t die, in any case. However, I was left with the terrifying knowledge that I had a life to live and no idea in which direction to go and that my only clue was a waterlogged set of armor,” he chuckled to himself. “Lucky for me, Limsa is home to the armorer and blacksmith guilds and the rest is history.”

“Huh.” There was so much information contained there, but Thancred knew a sore spot when he saw one and, unlike his fellow scholars with an insatiable thirst for knowledge, he knew when to stop asking questions.

“Did you fix the armor?”

Kaito smiled bitterly. “For a certain definition of fixing.”

Ok, so he mostly knew when to stop asking questions.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #kaito seaborn #heavensward era #yeziel writes #my writing

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certifiedskywalker · 4 years

Text

Questions - Din Djarin

artemiseamoon said: Hi 🙂 can I request a touch starved reader x touch starved Mando? I’m thinking the reader is a bounty hunter as well & a loner. Maybe something cute & fluffy as they develop feelings for eachother. She’s also great with The Kid, and it ends with some sweetness? Thanks 🙂

AN: Loosely follows the actual events of the show, The Mandalorian but it does jump around.

The three times you broke code and asked Din Dajrin a question; and the fourth time you didn’t have to.

Adopting the profession, the art, of bounty hunter also meant adopting its rules. When you joined the Guild, you were given the handbook and a run down on the basic guidelines. Don’t ask questions was at the top of the list. The client is always right, no double crossing said client. Straight forward rules, rules that, for you, seemed unnecessary.

However, there was an unspoken code that proved more difficult to implement. Even though it was for your own safety, the concept of isolating yourself from others was unappealing. Granted, there were times when, what your leading Guild officer called hunter-grit set in and you wanted to push yourself as far away from other beings as you could get. But living in loneliness, giving a galaxy’s worth of distance between you and people? It was difficult.

Eventually, you started to get the hang of it. After the first few bounties settled in and your credit pouch was full, isolating yourself became second nature. Hell, you might have even been happy. Your stomach was full and your ship was never without fuel. Work proved to be the only company you needed. That was the case until you met Mando.

At first, you were paired up for a bounty. You had stopped on Nevarro to refuel when you stumbled upon Greef Karga in the local cantina. It was only met to be one day; just you passing through town before taking off for some bigger, better job. But Karga was a businessman, a good one at that. He had invited you to his table, jabbered on like a drunk Wookiee about some job.

It was meant to catch your attention, you knew that it was. Yet, that didn’t stop you from biting at the bait. Even when Karga said you’d be splitting the bounty, you didn’t care. Then you met Mando and everything you had worked for, the reputation of skilled bounty hunter, started to fall apart. He walked in, all armored up and quiet, and you knew your life was going to change.

It was only meant to be one job. A few cycles later, it was three jobs. Five jobs later and you had sold your ship to work full time as the Mandalorian’s bounty hunting partner. And you still didn’t know his name.

Despite your shared profession, you and Mando made sure to uphold the code. The distance between the two of you lingered. Never once had you seen his face and he called you only by your last name. You didn’t even sleep at the same time. If you had claimed the cot, Mando was piloting. If he went to rest, you stayed up and scrolled through holonet channels searching for a new hunt. You were partners, nothing more; and there was absolutely no asking questions.

The first time you asked Mando a question, you were surprised by his reply.

It wasn’t sitting well with you, leaving the little green thing with the client. There was something in the old imps face that set you on edge. You didn’t trust him but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the payment, the beskar; or that was what you told yourself when the Child let out a heart-wrenching cry. It was what you had to tell yourself.

Mando seemed content to take the payment and walk away. At least, that was what you thought. When you turned your back on the client, eager to leave the snake’s den of stormtroopers, you assumed that Mando was trailing behind you; slowed down only by the weight of his payment.

“What are you going to do with it?”

You stopped in your tracks and craned your neck. At the angle, Mando stood tall and strong, staring down at the still-sitting Imperial. Something shifted in the client's expression and you felt your body tense. You turned back around and readied to fight alongside your hunting partner.

“This is quite uncharacteristic of your kind. The Guild did not endeavor to ask questions,” the client grumbled as he stood up behind his desk. “If you are unhappy with the payment, we can negotiate other means of reward. Unfortunately, finding Mandalorians in these trying times is more difficult than acquiring the steel.”

Swallowing hard, you reached over and set a hand on Mando’s shoulder. In your touch, your partner seemed to flow back into the present, into reality. Instead of pressing the client further, Mando dipped his head and turned on his heels. In an eery silence, you and Mando marched towards the door, out into the dry air of Nevarro.

The sun was slightly obscured by the haze of smoke and clouds typical of the arid planet. Heat licked around your skin and part of you wondered how Mando was able to survive under all those layers. You eyed him carefully, trying to get a read on his feelings.

The client was right: the Guild didn’t ask questions, a rule that Mando was quick to uphold. The Child had stirred something within him. You could feel it.

After months of working with him, you were able to grasp some silent speech from the way he held himself. In the moment, his shoulders were slouched and his visor was turned towards the cantono of beskar in his hand. Leaving the child had stirred some dormant instinct within him; just it had with you. You watched him and frowned.

“We did the job,” you said, trying to comfort him, and yourself.

“We did,” Mando replied coldly. He turned his visor towards your face. “I need to deliver this,” he lifted the cantono of beskar, “I’ll meet you at the ship.”

You nodded and waited for the Mandalorian to march off into the heart of the settlement. When he didn’t, when he stayed still at your side, you quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Mando,” you said his nickname softly, a silent plea for his true name. “I don’t trust them either. You’re not alone in that.”

The Mandalorian let out a thoughtful hum. “We did the job,” he echoed, “This is the Way.”

You scowled and looked over your shoulder, back towards the door that the Child is now trapped behind. A pulling in your chest called you back inside to steal the Child away from Imperial clutches. Guild, and the Way, be damned.

“If you want to go back after him, I’ll-”

“L/N, no.”

With his free hand, Mando grabbed your arm and pulled you into a nearby alleyway. A platoon of stormtroopers marched past and you felt your breath catch in your throat. Luckily, Mando had you pressed up against a cool stone wall and out of sight. It was the closest you had ever been to him; you could feel the warmth of his body against yours.

When the troopers passed, you slumped down and slightly rested against Mando’s frame. “Thanks, for that.”

“You have to be careful with what you say and where,” he warned, stepping away from you. “The Empire may have fallen but its not cold yet.”

You nodded and fixed your clothes that had ridden up with the sudden movement. As you did, you could feel his eyes on you. When you looked up, Mando looked away. Even the most stoic of bounty hunters could get bashful.

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future,” you sighed.

At the word ‘future’, Mando stiffened. You wondered if he was picturing a future with you and bounty hunting. Or, maybe he was thinking of the Child as you were, how the small creature might not have a future to look out for.

“Mando, are-”

“I’ll meet you at the ship, L/N.” You reach out and grab Mando’s shoulder once more. He turned to face you, the visor meeting your eyes. You did not have see his face to know his strength, his confidence in his choice to leave the Child behind, was wavering.

“You know that, if you go back for him, I’ll be with you, right?”

You waited for the biting reply, that Guild-instate phrase of ‘don’t ask questions’. You waited, but it didn’t come. Instead, the Mandalorian simply said: “Good.”

The second time you dared to ask a question, you were scared about loosing him.

Post battle, the krill village seemed to glow with life. There was a soft breeze that rustled through the trees and the smell of the swampy pools seemed brighter, less offensive to your nose. Peace, it was what hung in the air, kissed the faces of everyone in the village.

The Child was giggling with the children, smiling as if he hadn’t been close to an eternity of captivity just a few days before. Before you and Mando stole him back and thrust him into a life of eternal danger. But he did look happy.

“He likes it here, fits right in,” Omera observed. When you looked over to agree with her, you found that her lovely eyes were focused on Mando. He was looking at her too. He only nodded in response but it was enough to pull a frown to your lips.

When Omera trodded off the porch of the barn, you heard Cara let out an amused huff. You pushed yourself off the doorframe and peered down at the ex-shocktrooper. Mando, who was relaxed, leaning against the barn, glanced her way as well. Cara wasn’t good at hiding anything she had to say. The smile spread along her face was evidence enough.

When she noticed you and Mando looking at her, waiting expectantly, she sighed. “So, what’s next for you two, I mean, three?”

You looked at Din and met the cold stare of his dark visor. There was normally a silent understanding between the two of you. Cycles of working together had tuned your body to his; a connection that, despite the bounty hunter code, you could not deny. But, when you looked at him then, the thread tying you together was tangled. You waited, quiet, listening.

“We going to leave. You were here first.” Cara smiled and tipped her head gratefully.

“Fair is fair,” she teased. Din, you could almost feel him roll his eyes, turned away. Cara still looked at him, with all the intrigue you once had; you still have. “So what happens if you take that thing off? They come after you and kill you?”

You let out a chuckle. “Kill him? You could only do that.” You glanced at Mando with a smile and added, “and maybe me.”

“Watch it.” The warning was cold, but there was a tilt in Mando’s voice that told you he was smiling. He seemed to smile more often now but you were smart enough to know not to ask why. You noticed the change in him when you cut yourselves from the Guild’s messy business, since he had left the Mandalorian covert behind. You smiled more too.

“Seriously, what happens?” Cara asked again, pulling your attention back to her. After a spot of silence, your gaze shifted to Mando. He was leaning against the wall still, the most relaxed you had ever seen him. You wished you could see him like this more often. However, as Cara’s question sunk in, Mando’s body tensed.

“No,” he said thoughtfully, “I just can’t ever put it back on.”

Cara let out a disbelieving huff but your gaze remained trained on your partner. You had never asked about it, due to the hunter code. Asking questions was a habit you had to break to survive, reforming it was proving difficult. Now that you knew why Mando never revealed his face to you, you felt relieved. It wasn’t you, you weren’t the problem.

There wasn’t any problem except for the code holding you both back.

“That’s it? So you can slip off the helmet and settle down with that stunning young widow, and raise your kid sitting here, sipping spotchka?” At her question, your blood went cold. When you looked at her, Cara raised the glass in her hand, eyes wide with interest.

Mando only turned to glare at her and Cara shrugged, busied herself with her spotchka again. You, on the other hand, were focused on him. Limp with fear, your arms uncrossed from your chest and fell weakly to your sides. It felt like your life, a life you had fought for, was slipping away.

“Do you want to stay here, with her...and stop this?”

This; that partnership. The connection between you and Mando. Did he want to stop it? There were so many questions you did not know how to ask.

Your mouth went dry in the silence. The stale taste of your spotchka from the night before rising in your throat. It was the code that had pushed you to push yourself away from Mando and you were paying the price. This was not the way you wanted this to go.

“No, we can’t.” We, he said we. There was still a you and Mando even with the distance between you. You would have time to close the gap. “We caused a lot of trouble here a few weeks ago. Word travels fast. We need to leave before the next cycle.”

“I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell him that.” Cara gestured to the Child who was still giggling with the other kids. Mando looked out at the little being you and he were now desperate to protect. Omera was right: the Child fits right in despite his appearance. He could be happy here.

Slowly, you turned you eyes back to Mando only to find his visor focused on you. The once tangled thread tying you and him together was strong. You were both thinking the same thing but neither of you wanted to give voice to it.

The third time you ventured to ask a question, it was dire. “Mando,” your voice was quiet. You did not say his birth-given name. It was foregin, given to you not by the man himself but Moff Gideon who was a threat still lurking outside. You would only use it aloud, speak it into existence Mando allowed you to.

“What do you want us to do?” Cara’s question came out rushed, panicked. You had to bite your tongue to keep from asking the same thing.

A cough, too gruff for the voice modulator in his helmet to alter, rumbled up in his chest. “Go. Get the baby out of here.”

“We’re not gonna leave you here!” Cara snapped, flames dancing in the ex-shock trooper’s eyes. “C’mon, Mando. I need to get you-”

The doorway fell in with another burst of flames. You lunged to shield Mando and Cara from the blast. Heat licked at your back, a blazing reminder that you all needed to get out of here. You squeezed your eyes shut and waited to feel a twinge of pain. When it didn’t come, you opened your eyes and looked into the dark visor of Mando’s helmet. For a moment, you swore you could see his eyes all wide and scared. If he, your partner, the strongest man and bounty hunter you know, was scared, what hope did you have?

“Leave.”

The word came out hoarse. His voice was wavering with his strength. Cara shook her head and you wondered if she was just as stubborn as Mando was.

“We can’t,” you frowned at her words. You wanted to agree with the sentiment. You wanted to say ‘I won’t’, to let Mando know that you were not going to leave him; to tell him that you could be just as stubborn as he was. You wanted to but you couldn’t.

Instead, you crouched on your knees and placed your hand on his armored chest. You looked carefully into the visor of his helmet, silently hoping for a glimpse of his eyes once more. When you didn’t see them, you leaned down so that your mouth was by his audio input.

“Do you want us to leave you here?”

In comparison to the fire around you, your voice was soft. It lacked the harsh edge of the broken glass and shards of shrapnel around you. You stared down at him, waiting for any reply. You wanted to see him, help him; it took everything you had not to lift him and carry him out of there.

“L/N,” you fought back a smile. Even when he knew your name, also given by Moff Gideon, he would not use it. Only until you gave it to him. “We don’t ask questions.”

It was unless to fight it any longer: the smile spread along your lips though bitter. A painful smile, heavy with the thought of leaving Mando behind. The visor of his helmet was still focused on you and you wondered if the tactical programming within could read your heat signature. It would be as close as you would get to him seeing you; truly seeing you.

“Okay,” you replied, your voice soft.

Just once you wanted to ease the distance short, cut the space between you. You would never get another chance to. There was no more time.

Carefully, you leaned down and pressed you lips to the smooth beskar of his helmet. He flinched below you with one of his gloved hands reaching up to wrap around your wrist. Much to your surprise, he didn’t push you away.

There was something tender in his touch. Something that made you want to stay; but you pulled away from him anyway. He was right. You needed to leave, for the Child. Even when every part of you was screaming to stay and get Din moving again.

“I will stay with him.”

You looked up at the IG droid, it’s glowing red optical unit looked almost demonic in the flames. He was holding the Child now, it’s large alien eyes closed with sleep.

“What?” Cara, still crouched down by the Mandalorian , glared up at the droid. “You’re going to stay?”

“Yes,” it handed the Child out to you. Eager to hold tight to something, you took the Child into your arms. Warmth flooded your chest. A fire that was not physical but far more powerful than the flames around you, swallowing the cantina whole. Mando wanted you to protect the Child because he couldn’t. Even though the thought made you weak, you stood strong.

Part of the cantina fell in with a sudden burst of flames. You hunched over and shielded the Child from the blaze.

“Go, please,” Mando’s voice was hoarse. “Please, L/N.”

Cara stood up, giving Mando one last look. You wanted to stay with him; every inch of your being was screaming at you to just stay. But then, the Child whimpered and you looked down into those wide, dark eyes of his. The future was with the foundlings, he had told you once.

“This way,” you said, gesturing towards the open vent. As you stepped towards the only exit in sight, you glanced back behind you at Mando’s slumped form. The IG-11 droid stood over him like a visage of looming death. Tears welled up in your eyes but you fought them back.

Fate, and the Child, had tied you and Mando together. Distance had kept you apart for so long that death felt like nothing. If you dared to ask yourself if he had any chances of survival, you knew the answer. There was no need to think; you knew.

“This is the Way.”

The fourth time, there were no questions left to ask.

“We’re docked.”

“Well, he’s asleep so we can hit the cantina later,” you announced softly, as the Mandalorian hunter clambered down from the cockpit. up into the cockpit. You turned to face him, the dark visor of his helmet meeting your gaze. A strange silence fell over you. “What? What is it?”

“He’s asleep?”

You stepped to the side to show him the Child who was tucked carefully into the make-shift cradle. He reached down and brushed the tip of his gloved fingers against the creatures’ green cheek. The little being shifted at the touch, snuggling closer to his protector’s hand. You smiled at the sight, unable to help yourself.

“You’re good with him, Mando.”

“Din.”

Your mouth opened in slight shock.

“Wha-”

“You can call me Din, by my name.” He was facing you now until his worn beskar was all you saw. You wanted to ask why. You wanted to press him and ask why he was gifting you his name. Some part of you told you that you shouldn’t, that you didn’t need to.

“Din.” You rolled his tongue along your tongue. In your mind, in the flames of the Nevarro cantina, it had felt alien to you only in your mind. You smiled. “I’m Y/N.”

“You don’t want me to call you L/N anymore?” Your smile deepened at Din’s slightly teasing tone. For someone who, just a few cycles ago was on death’s door, Din was light.

“You’re joking now?”

“No more questions,” his tone was soft but almost warning. You quirked a brow at Din and watched him carefully.

You wanted to speak but all you had were questions. What did he mean? What were you now? You were a clan of three, as the Armorer had said, but what did that mean to him? You were so lost in thought that the feeling of his hand gripping your wrist made you jump.

His touch was not rough. On the contrary, he was surprising gentle as he brought one of your hands to the side of his helmet. Cool under your fingers, the beskar seemed to hum to life. Suddenly, the questions in your head quieted. There was only you and Din now, reforged from fire and time.

You did not need to ask what he wanted you to do. On Sorgan, he had said that, if he took it off, he could never put it back on again. It was a distant memory now, but it lingered in your mind. Doubt clouded your heart and you almost pulled your hand away.

“This,” Din grabbed your other hand and pressed your palm to the other side of his helmet. “This is the way.”

With his hand still on your wrist, you lifted the helmet off his head slowly. It felt as if your senses were coming alive for the first time. Smells of metal, fuel, and sweat filled your nose and your heart hammered loudly in your ears as you focused so intently on the task at hand. When you saw the first hints of olive skin, you let out a held breath.

Before you could catch up with your movements, Din’s helmet was off. The beskar was shockingly light in your hands. Or maybe you were so enraptured by the face of the man before you that you didn’t feel the weight of it. The weight of the moment was heavy enough.

Din’s eyes met yours almost shyly. You traced his features with your vision. Scruff that, in patches, claimed his chin and cheeks was filling in. Lines around his dark eyes and mouth showed his age but you were awash in the warmth coming from his gaze.

Freeing one hand, you reached up. Your hand, shaking slightly, brushed against his cheek. Warm. He was just so warm. Almost as if he himself was testing these new waters, Din turned his face. You could feel the corner of his lips against your palm.

How long had it been since you had been this close with someone, anyone? You couldn’t remember. Instead, you focused on the stillness, the wholeness of it. It was all quiet.

The kind of quiet that was welcomed.

“Was this what you were expecting?” Din’s voice was bordering on timid; though the joking edge remained. A smile spread along your lips.

“What happened to ‘no more questions’, huh?” Din smiled and you could feel it against his skin. You skirted your thumb along his cheek in a comforting manner. At the touch, Din pressed a kiss to the meat of your palm. With that, the distance, the gap of space between you, closed forever.

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estoniacobaltpayne · 3 years

Text

Judgement Day

Chapter 2: Uncertainty

Summary: Desperate, a force user bargains for her freedom; if she acquires the ‘asset’ deemed top priority, she would be free from the life that has enslaved her. Years of training has prepared her, but she’s stubborn and unlucky and more often than not she’s biting off more than she can chew. Maybe pulling the long con is the only path to freedom, but if it is, there’s a Mandalorian blocking it.

Warnings: language

Parirings: Din Djarin X Reader

Prologue: Here!

Chapter 1: Here!

Sorgan, quite possibly, sucked more than Arvala-7. It wasn’t as hot, but gods was it humid, something Ragna had been ill prepared for. In the midst of her suffering and self-pitying, an interruptive voice rang out amidst the tall pine trees.

“So, what’s your name?” the Mandalorian questioned from in front of her. The child, walking next to her, looked up expectedly. Ragna knew she very well couldn’t say “Darth Ragna,” so she settled for just the latter of the part of the name.

The Mandalorian chuckled silently, the only indication of his response being the shifting of his shoulders. “Yeah, just like my name is ‘Mando.’”

Ragna let out a frown at the bounty hunter’s response; “then what’s your name, then?”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Mando did not answer.

The child babbled up at her, letting out questioning “oh’s?” that both Ragna and her companion ignored, until they happened upon the local town’s cantina. The wicker walls of the establishment made Ragna feel like an insect trapped under a child’s basket, and she didn’t like the suffocating feeling. The improvised fight ring in the middle of the floor didn’t help the situation.

The trio was just finally settled for a bowl of broth when Ragna noticed the silent Mandalorian gone without a trace. She looked down at the child who appeared to be unfazed by this, eagerly sipping his broth. She paused. This was it- take the child and run! Situations weren’t ideal, as it would mean leaving the bounty hunter alive, but if the Mandalorian was stuck on this god forsaken planet, what did it really matter?

So she scooped up the little green kid and went to make a break for it. Finally! Freedom is within reach! She thought gleefully.

But she didn’t get far. Mando was just outside the restaurant, lying on his back, blaster in hand and aimed at the fighter from earlier, who was reciprocating the situation. The sight of Ragna and the child pulled the two out of their quarrelling state.

“Want some soup?” Mando asked his opponent. The woman he was fighting eyed Ragna warily, and Ragna had the sneaking suspicion that the woman knew what she was up to no good.

——

Luckily, Ragna didn’t have to worry about it for long; the woman, Cara, as she believed was the name she gave them, told them to up and get lost- this was her hide away planet. Mando, it appeared, wasn’t in the mood to quarrel about it, so the group returned to his ship to prepare for departure.

Mando was intensely focused on cleaning his weapons and making some minor repairs to his ship, and as Ragna sat there watching the child to ensure his wandering didn’t extend too far, she realised that this seemed like a good opportunity to catch him off guard and put a blaster bolt in the back of his neck. But, alas, she didn’t have time to put much effort into her next impromptu plan, because a cart carrying two young boys appeared on the edge of the forest clearing. As she eavesdropped on their conversation with the Mandalorian, she realised that her mission was taking too long, and she had barely a moment to herself to send updates to her senders. And when she heard the Mandalorian agree to assist the boys’ village in a fight against some local raiders, Ragna knew she was shit out of luck for the time being. Mando wanted to lay low for at least a few weeks, and killing him in the village for all to see would be instant suicide. A small community like the one they were now travelling to would allow for news to travel fast, and no one there would have motive to kill him- he was helping them. So unfortunately, her plan would have to wait until further notice. Joy.

To agitate her further, the boys who approached them pestered Ragna with questions all night. Why didn’t they do so to Mando? She was quickly growing irritated, and she wasn’t sure how much she could take of this. Mando seemed to be getting some twisted sense of humour from her torment, too. It would be a long night for sure. The morning that followed didn’t go much better. While she was pleased that their arrival to the village brought an end to the boys’ incessant questions, the putrid smell of krill that filled her nose quickly replaced the pubescent voices that filled her ears all night.

And what’s worse, the Mandalorian was grating on her nerves by giving her the job of watching over the child when he was busy with the townsfolk. Which, she gathered, he assumed was her job anyways; after all, that’s what she had told him. At least the kid was silent and sweet, even if he did eat frogs, and her ‘caring’ for the child helped her in her pursuit to gain the Mandalorian’s complete trust. The child would have almost made the whole thing bearable if it wasn’t for the man’s (quite terrible) flirting with the woman who showed them to their resting quarters. A barn. For what it’s worth, Ragna thought, at least I always had four solid walls and a bed to sleep in back on Jakku.

Omera. She wouldn’t have bothered Ragna as much if it meant that she wasn’t constantly coming around to ‘check in’ on Mando. Honestly, the two were unbearable to be around. And when Mando went back to the first village to employ the help of that Cara Dune, she would check back at the barn what felt like every other hour to see if he had returned.

But what annoyed Ragna the most was her damn self. She should have known better.

The night Mando was away fetching Cara, Ragna’s father called in for a report on the situation. Mando, thankfully, wasn’t there to witness her comm going off.

“You must hurry, girl. The council is growing impatient.”

Ragna groaned. “Yes, well, these things take time! I’m essentially being held hostage here! I’m not delaying by choice, you know!”

The voice on the other end of the comm hummed in disapproval. “That is no concern of mine or the council’s. End this charade and bring us the asset. Quickly.”

It was a short conversation, but Omera heard it in nonetheless; and she was quick to alert the Mandalorian upon his return. Which is what led to an intense argument between herself and the Mandalorian.

“You’re going behind my back! Omera heard you! I can’t believe I entrusted you with the kid!” Mando shouted that late night in the barn.

The embarrassment was what ripped the knife from the wound for Ragna. Everyone outside could undoubtedly hear them arguing. But she put that notion aside and angrily pushed back. “I’m not! She must have been eavesdropping and misinterpreted my words!”

Mando put his hands on his hips and leaned in patronisingly. “Then tell me why she overheard your contact telling you to bring the asset to them.”

Ragna paused. She had to pull herself out of this one, and quickly, otherwise she would end up with a blaster in her head before she could even reach the edge of the forest, be it by Mando, or Cara Dune, or any one of the villagers.

“I… I told you from the beginning- I was sent to care for the child!”

Mando didn’t ease up in the slightest. “That doesn’t explain who you’re bringing him to.”

Ragna supposed all lies were ingrained with the slightest of truths, so she relented and gave him a small kernel. She put on her most sympathetic face and attempted her best to sway the bounty hunter into believing her. “My father. You know what I can do. I can move objects with my mind. Just like him. I have the same powers as the child!” Mando attempted to cut her off but she persisted. “You can’t deny it! You saw it yourself! When I helped you fight off those bounty hunters on Nevarro! I helped you then, with the same powers! So why would you think I’m betraying you?”

The Mandalorian eased up in his physical stance, but his words were still as accusatory. “And what does your father want with the child?”

Here’s where she’d have to bend the truth. She honestly didn’t know what the Empire wanted with the child, she didn’t really care if she was honest, but she could give an answer based off her own experience. “He wants to train him. Just as he trained me. He has great potential.” For added sympathy, she tagged on, “he won’t be safe until he can control his abilities.”

The Mandalorian leaned back. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Ragna. But he had seen how much the child liked her. More than everyone else in the village combined. Whenever he needed to find him, he knew he need only look for the girl with the (colour) hair in the crowd of villagers. If she was as dastardly as Omera had told him, the child would surely be able to sense this- he could and had with others who proved to be enemies.

Ragna waited patiently for the bounty hunter to sort through his thoughts. She was on thin ice and she knew it. She knew she’d have to entrust him with something of hers to gain any semblance of trust back from him.

“(Y/N).”

Mando looked back up at her. “What?”

Ragna took a deep breath and looked into the dark visor of the man’s helmet. “You asked for my name, right? Well, there it is. (Y/N).”

The Mandalorian nodded his head.

“Thank you.”

——

Throughout the following weeks, Mando was extra sure to keep an eye on Ragna.

He was still on edge from what Omera had told him, and he liked Omera. Enough to push aside any semblance of reason, and trust her without question. After all, what was there to distrust? She was kind, strong, did far beyond what was required of her, and was eager to help her fellow villagers, without being asked. What’s more, she was a good mother to her daughter, Winta, and as a Mandalorian, that was something he couldn’t ignore.

Ragna, or (Y/N) as he now knew her, was… something else. She wasn’t evil; she wasn’t even particularly mean. But she wasn’t kind and gentle like Omera, either. She was… a perfect balance of opposites. She could be calculating, that Mando was certain of, but at the same time, she could be incredibly blunt. Painfully so. Sometimes, she could be so reserved, not even bothering to exit the barn upon request, and yet, other times, he’d find her with some of the villagers at dinner, passing around a jug of spotchka, freely telling stories about her and her father’s expedition to Arkanis or a childhood friend who hurt her in her youth. She was so well balanced, that, to Mando, sometimes everything seemed almost surface level; even when she was bearing herself to the world, it felt like she was barely scratching the surface of who she was.

Omera thought so too. And Cara Dune didn’t trust her, either. They were both sure to remind Mando of that daily. He couldn’t blame them, really. He didn’t know her any more than they did. Their conversations at night in the barn gave him some glimpse of who she was, but they were brief at best, and were all he had to go on. But it was watching her with the child over the passing weeks that constantly made him unsure of himself. The child didn’t even connect to Omera like he had with (Y/N), and she was a mother! Perhaps it was a special connection in their strange abilities, but the kid’s bond with her was uncanny. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

——

The night that Mando and Cara Dune were to lure the raiders to the village, Ragna was given the sole job of protecting the child. Which she saw as the perfect opportunity. No one would be watching; the villagers old enough to fight would be doing so, and those not old enough were secured away in the barn. The Mandalorian would be too pre-occupied to see her slipping away with the kid, and by the time he noticed her gone, she’d have already taken his ship and bolted.

She had the kid firmly in her arms when she began to slink towards the trees. She quickly looked around to ensure her path was clear. When she deemed it so, she went to sprint towards the tree line, but before she could, the child cooed up at her.

“Not now, kid!” Ragna hushed as she slinked between the village houses.

But, like her, he was too persistent for his own good and pulled at the collar of her shirt. She was too busy trying to quickly weave an escape route to notice the fist time, but after the third or fourth time she finally stopped and let out a curt, “what?”

He pointed one of his chubby fingers and pointed over to the fight and exclaimed “patu!”

When she looked over, she saw the Mandalorian and Cara Dune attempting to goad an AT-ST walker into one of the krill ponds. It wasn’t going well.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t her problem; that the Mandalorian dying would just be what it is. Nothing personal. A win, if anything, given her situation. But that wasn’t enough to stop the instincts from taking over. She rushed over to the commotion, knocking out a few raiders on the way, and with all her concentration, and with the child still tucked into one arm, stood behind Mando and Cara, stretched out the other arm, and pulled the walker’s foot into the pond below.

Mando barely had a chance to register before he rushed forward to tag a bomb onto its body. The thing went up in a ball of flames, to which the child cheered and laughed. But Ragna wasn’t focusing on that; she wasn’t even watching all the raiders fleeing the village. It was as if time slowed, and the only thing she could focus on was the Mandalorian’s visor, and, even though she couldn’t see them, she could feel their eyes lock, blocking out the world around them.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #mando x y/n #mando fanfiction #the mandalorian #star wars #star wars fanfiction #sw #sw fanfic #baby yoda

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thedeviltohisangel · 3 years

Text

Creed//3//

Din normally didn’t act impulsively. He normally knew his objective and worked towards it determinedly and methodically. But she made him veer off path. She made his heart sputter and mind spin. The universe converged upon her until she was all he could think about. Until he didn’t think he’d ever be able to breathe again if his eyes didn’t land on her. Until the passion surged through his veins that only she could ignite. He loved her. He never stopped loving her.

masterlist is my url/writing or on ao3

send me any requests for these two

She was silent as they flew through space. The Child had moved to the seat next to him, looking around curiously and making the occasional noise. But she stayed as far away from him as she could possibly get in the tiny cockpit. Din thinks he would have rather had her screaming at him than be quiet. He’d rather hear her say how horrible of a person he is. How he ruined her life and should leave the Child alone so he didn’t ruin his life either. That no matter where he went, he left waste and destruction behind him.

“Have you ever heard of a planet called Sorgan?” Korra stood from her seat and took a few hesitant steps closer.

“No.” It was short with no feeling behind it. Deflating.

“I think that will be a good place to land. Lay low.”

“Okay.” She wanted to ask him how long he planned on laying low for. How long he thought he could hide from the Empire. How long he planned on keeping her away from her mother.

“Korra…”

“Not now. Not when I can’t look into your eyes and tell whether or not you mean it.” There had been a time when Din had shown her his face. Had done so willingly and desperately. He had broken his creed because he loved her. Because she was going to be his wife. His partner for the rest of his life. He doesn’t know if that was who she was to him anymore. If he could show her his face. Allow her to look into his eyes.

They landed not soon after, Korra walking slowly down the path so she didn’t get too far ahead of the Child. He waddled more than he walked and she found it endearing. He was determined to keep up with Din and not be left behind on his scouting mission. Even if she was unhappy with the man in front of her, she couldn’t be mad that he had chosen to smuggle the tiny one away from whatever fate had awaited him. “It might be best if we find him some food,” she offered as she still refused to look in Din’s direction.

“You’re right. You should eat something too.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m capable of taking care of myself.” Korra bent down to pick up the little one, carrying him forward so they could pick up the pace a little in town. There was nothing good that came from lingering amongst unfamiliar crowds. She entered what looked like a public house and found an empty table with a high enough chair for the little one.

“What’ll be for you folks?” the worker asked.

“Two bone broths,” Din answered as he gestured towards his two companions.

“Nothing for you?” Korra asked with a raised brow. He always did act like he didn’t need basic items such as food and shelter. But she also knew it would catch up to him if he didn’t admit he was human sooner rather than later.

“Nothing.” She rolled her eyes but accepted her own bowl of broth happily, tucking in as soon as it was placed in front of her.

“You put yourself in a difficult situation but you don’t have to actively make it harder by being stubborn.” Korra could see the look he was giving her even though he had his helmet on. It was one that had a million words embedded in it.

“I thought you weren’t interested in talking?”

“I am not interested in hearing your fake apology.”

“It is not fake. You know I take every action with you-” He stopped himself and turned his head in the opposite direction.

“Whatever you were about to say is clearly a lie. If you cared about me and my well being you would have done so many things differently, Din Djarin.” She closed her eyes and attempted to steady her breathing. More than anything, she did not want to cry in front of him. He could never know how devastated she was by him leaving. She could never let him know the true power that he held over her.

“Keep an eye on the kid. I think I saw something.” Din threw some credits down on the table to cover the meal before swiftly exiting to look for the woman he had seen lurking in the corner. Korra’s appetite was gone as she pushed the bowl of broth away from her.

“You should eat. You must have had a long day and an even longer journey ahead.” She doesn’t know if the creature could understand her or even cared that she was speaking to it but it felt good to not be entirely alone. She urged a couple more spoonfuls into his mouth before he looked eager to get down from the chair and see where Din had gone. “Let’s go see what trouble he’s found himself in,” she muttered as they followed in his footsteps. What they find is Din flat on his back with a blaster in his face and his own weapon pointed at a woman.

The woman, now seated back inside with them, introduced herself as Cara Dune. She told her story, from rebel shocktrooper to diplomatic protection, to her arrival on Sorgan to avoid the bounty she knew must be on her head.

“Only one of us can be here. And I was here first. Unless you want a round two…” Korra knew what she was implying. Cara and Din had seemed quite evenly matched. Next time, she would be prepared and would pull no punches. Din spared Korra a glance, communicating to her silently that they would need to move on from Sorgan. He had no interest in drawing anymore attention to them than he may already have.

It was dark by the time they reached the Crest, the Child sleeping comfortably in Korra’s arms. Her own eyes were drooping and her body was asking her to follow in his footsteps and get some rest.

“A couple of repairs need to be made before we can lift off. Why don’t you get some rest yourself. We’ll be in a new system before you wake up.”

“I want to be in my system when I wake up, Din.” He was silent and offered no physical indications as to what he was thinking. She turned and climbed back onto the ship, gently settling the little one in his pram. Korra took a deep breath. Maybe she needed to force herself to get used to this. Force herself to accept the notion that she was with Din and living life on the run. In the past she would have been excited by the notion. Told anyone who asked that the two of them could overcome any challenge that came their way. They had fallen so far. That was what hurt her the most. That she was afraid to talk to him. Bitter and angry when she did. She didn’t think she owed him an apology but maybe she owed him a listening ear. “I’m sorry for behaving like a womp rat. It’s been a long...long couple days.” Din stopped what he was doing and gave her his full attention as she stood at the top of the ramp.

“I’m sorry. For more than I could possibly list.” She watched him and he watched her. Just enjoying the moment of peace that had settled between the two of them. “I came to you because I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that if it was the end for me, I wanted to see you one last time. Not in a dream but in person. I didn’t think it through.” Din normally didn’t act impulsively. He normally knew his objective and worked towards it determinedly and methodically. But she made him veer off path. She made his heart sputter and mind spin. The universe converged upon her until she was all he could think about. Until he didn’t think he’d ever be able to breathe again if his eyes didn’t land on her. Until the passion surged through his veins that only she could ignite. He loved her. He never stopped loving her.

“I can’t be mad at you for doing as I would have done.” It was true. Korra would not have been able to leave the little creature behind. And if she had truly thought death was coming for her, she too would have sought one last moment with the man she loved. No matter the cost. “We are both here now. We should focus on making the best of it. On figuring out a plan to get as close to normal as we can.” She had accepted that since Din made her a part of this, there was no going back. She would always be an outlaw. They would follow her back to her home and try to pry information from her. She couldn’t bring that back to the people of her planet. Din moved to stand at the bottom of the ramp, too afraid to get any closer. Afraid that if he did, all the progress they had just made would be erased by him pushing too far.

“I know it is not the life we once dreamed of having but-” The whirring of speeder bikes made the words die in his throat. He immediately switched into his role as bounty hunter. Killer. Protector. He pulled his blaster and aimed at the sound, slowly creeping up the ramp to try and shove Korra to safety.

“We mean no harm, Mandalorian! We’ve come seeking your help!” The two men explained that the entirety of their last krill harvest was stolen by raiders. That they had pooled together the money to hire him as village protector.

“I’m sorry but I cannot afford to entangle myself in any further business.” They sighed with defeat and went to board their bikes when a thought occurred to Korra.

“Wait! Where is it that you live exactly?”

“On a farm.”

“Is it secluded? Is there lodging?” It was then Din picked up on her train of thought. Maybe this could be where they laid. Maybe this could be where they began to build some semblance of normalcy in their lives. They nodded their heads affirmatively to both of her inquiries. “Then he’ll do it.”

----

Din made the choice to recruit Cara on the mission as well. He knew her experience could only help the situation. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly fond of the woman who could beat him in a fight. The group traveled through the night before reaching the village, the local children immediately infatuated by the little green creature.

“Looks like he will fit in just fine,” Korra remarked as she grabbed the bag of her belongings and followed their host, Omera, to where her home was. It was humble but warm. The way a home was supposed to be.

“We can’t thank you enough for agreeing to help us. They startle our children and steal our crops. Your presence is a blessing for us all.” Korra smiled and knew Din was most likely blushing under his helmet. She moved towards the bedroom to set up the Child’s cradle as the Mandalorian stumbled through a response to their host.

“She seems very nice,” Korra spoke as Omera gave them some privacy and Din entered the room behind her.

“She is just grateful. Grateful I agreed to help protect her livelihood and her family.”

“I’m sure she wishes to see what is under your helmet,” Korra muttered as she moved to find the fresher. She wanted to brush her hair and splash some water on her face then find something to eat. Maybe even try and convince Din to eat.

“That is quite the statement,” Din replied as he followed after her and leaned in the doorway. “Even if she was curious, I would never show her.”

“When is the last time you removed your helmet in front of someone else?” she asked the question quietly. Almost sheepishly. Like she was embarrassed by the thought that it plagued her to think someone else had seen him.

“You were there. The night before I moved to Nevarro.” He swallowed thickly at the memory. He cherished it and the feelings of warmth and love it inspired in him. But also dreaded painful aftermath that had ensued. The sickening feelings of abandonment he had left on her. The way he had surrounded himself with a numb barrier as he had taken off the next morning.

“Ah, yes. The night you never even uttered the word goodbye.” Korra smiled shakily as she looked down at her hands. “Does that mean there’s been no one in your life since then?” She didn’t ask directly but he knew what she meant. Had he loved anyone since that night. Has there been anyone else in his heart since her.

“I had no interest. Still have no interest in anyone but you.” Din wanted to tell her exactly how he felt. That he still loved her and wanted to be with her. That he still thought he could survive this life if it meant coming home to her at the end of the day. That he would give anything to be able to fulfill those dreams they had spoken about so many cycles ago.

“I was so lost without you, Din. And I thought I would be angry with you the rest of my life. Thought that no other man’s advances worked on me because my hatred of what you did to me was all my heart had room for. And then I slowly realized it was because I could never not love you. That I could never move on because I wasn’t meant to.” Tears were slowly weaving their way down her face and Din couldn’t stop himself from reaching up to cup her cheeks and wipe them away.

“Does that mean you don’t actually hate me?” he asked with a chuckle as she melted into his embrace.

“No. I hate the universe for making you so stubborn. I hate that you are so loyal. I hate that you still maintain your honor even in a galaxy rife with corruption. But I hate even more that after all this time and all the pain and all the nights I spent alone that I still love you like you hang all the stars in the sky.” He wishes he could kiss her. Kiss her breathless and hold her close with no beskar between them. But he hadn’t made that leap in so long. Hadn’t had a reason to.

“Korra, my creed-” She shushed him.

“I waited this long just to see you again. I can wait until your heart tells you it is the right time.” She closed her eyes and imagined what he had looked like that last night when he had taken his helmet off. Imagined that he still looked exactly like that under all his armor. Even if he didn’t, he was still Din. Her Din.

“I love you and will do whatever it takes to earn your trust back.”

“Promise me you won’t shut me out. Never, ever again.” That was what had hurt her the most. It had felt like losing a limb, not being able to talk to him.

“I promise.” And Din thinks the words he shared with hers, the promises he made and would work to keep, were their own sort of creed. A bond between the two of them that maybe one day would overcome the one he had taken as a child. He hopes so, as he looks into her eyes and repeats in his mind. I promise, I promise, I promise. I love you and I promise.

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