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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

Text

School House Blues

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Identifying Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Warnings: N/A

Request from Anon: Hey so I saw your post that said requests for certain characters were open and I was wondering if I could ask for a din djarin x plus size reader with this prompt please? : (19th c) I’m the town’s school teacher and you’re the gruff wanderer/traveller/cowboy/outlaw/etc. That’s come to town. You help me fix the school house and wrangle the little demons I teach. I was thinking the kid could be one of her students! Thank you so much in advance ♥️♥️

Summary: When the bounty hunter strolls into your little mining town you don’t think much of it, but with a little boy in his wake and your school house in disrepair, he becomes more than just a passing visit, but a welcome constant.

Notes: You know me too well, Western AU/historic AU Din is so good as a concept and ughhhhhh this was so wonderful to have requested and I hope desperately that it’s good!

Reader isn’t really specified as plus size just because it didn’t really come up in the story? Although she is described as being quite soft and sweet in appearance.

Archiveofourown

He comes into town with one hand clenched around his horse’s reins, guiding the bay and white creature with a bounty hogtied swearing and cursing over its rump, and the other hand holding a little boy of no older than six at his hip. It’s quite the sight, one that momentarily distracts you from your grief at the fact you’re teaching your children out of a saloon now since your schoolhouse was burnt to the ground.

He’s imposing or he would be if the little boy wasn’t smiling up at him with big brown eyes. It’s hard to be imposing when you’re clearly the world of a small child and it makes you smile from the porch of the saloon. You’d been organising the boxes of donations the townsfolk had put together, since all your books, slates, chalk, paper, pencils, and the like had burnt in the fire, when he strolls past. He glances over at you and tips his head, hat dipping over his chestnut eyes and it flusters you for a second when you finally see his face.

He’s handsome, incredibly so, too handsome to be in your small mining town you think. Deep brown eyes, a prominent nose and plump lips set in a perpetual pout. His jaw is sharp and his beard and moustache are trimmed neatly, despite the bruising on his face and the layer of dirt from the road he’s truly beautiful, a thought that flusters you further. The small boy sat comfortably at his hip and playing with the fabric of his suspenders is adorable, soft round cheeks and large brown eyes, but he doesn’t look much like the man and you’re curious what the story is there.

The boy is old enough to be in school with you, to sit and learn his letters and to read while the older kids move on to learning about science, history, mathematics and poetry. There are a couple of children his age in your class, Timmy and Mary-Beth, both just getting the hang of gripping a pencil correctly. You wonder if he won’t be joining your class soon or if he and his guardian will be out of town before you can even consider preparing for a new student.

You watch the man hitch the horse outside the Sheriff’s office, the one that’s not got a sheriff at the moment. You hope he’s not looking for quick pay, the lawman that resided in the Sheriff’s office at the moment was just there until they could find a new sheriff. He’d have to telegram out to get the bounty money. Your last sheriff had up and left after being shot at by a couple of drunk miners, he’d decided that was enough and quite the same day. The town had been a little more unruly since and it was beginning to make you and some of the other townsfolk uneasy without someone to keep the peace. The temporary lawman had been lazy and uninvolved thus far. It was after the sheriff quit that your schoolhouse burnt down and you weren’t sure it was coincidence.

You watch the man place the boy on his feet and say something quietly to him before brushing his hair fondly. He grabs the bounty off of the horse, and slings the man over his shoulder. It’s impressive that he doesn’t struggle up the steps to the office even with a fully grown man thrown over his shoulder, the little boy follows after him as he goes inside.

You return to your organisation. There aren’t that many books, not like you used to have. But, while you wait for some of your teaching associates across the country to send you items, they will do. There’s enough paper and some slates for all your students to practice their writing and get their work written down which is a relief and even a globe that the general store owner, Mr Hewitt, had found in a back cupboard for you to have.

You’re trying to lift one of the boxes of books when he comes back out again, the little boy still trailing behind him, but this time something shiny is pinned to the man’s blue shirt. You don’t think too much about it as you struggle to lift the box, your heavy skirts not helping you move much, hindering your progress and causing you to trip each step forward you take.

You hear his boots on the wooden stairs before you see him, he towers over you, as he takes his hat off, more polite than most men in town. You get a better look at the shiny thing pinned to his shirt and realise it’s a sheriff’s badge. The same one the old sheriff used to wear, you look from it to him and then down when you hear a little giggle. The little boy is still following after him, a sweet smile turned on you this time as he leans around the man’s legs to watch you.

“Miss, I can take that.” He gestures to the box in your hand, it’s not a question, and it’s straight and to the point. But, you’re grateful for the offer and hand it off to him without complaint. He’s stronger than you, that’s clear to see, his arms thick from years of hard work.

“Thank you…” You wait for him to tell you his name, trailing off as you lead him into the saloon that has been set out for the school day. There is a black board at the front, tables and chairs littered around the room, the liquor shelves have been emptied for books to replace them.

The fact that Mr Karga had offered the saloon for the school was a miracle and while many in town grumbled about their favourite place of vice no longer admitting them during the day time, most were supportive of the decision to help the kids continue their school. Nevarro wasn’t a large town and mining was its main source of income, but the children deserved a chance to do more than just become miners and the school helped them do that. You helped them get into colleges on scholarships, to find jobs as clerks and apprentices in other parts of the country.

“Din Djarin.” It’s a nice name, rolls of his tongue like honey. He doesn’t smile, not really, not properly, but there’s a little crinkle at the corners of his eyes that soften his face and make him seem warmer somehow.

“And this little one?” You smile at the little boy as he begins to bravely step out from behind his guardian to greet you with a smile. He is a quiet boy, not the usual talkative sort you find with a six year old, but who knows what he’s been through even at this young age.

“Grogu, he’s my…” He furrows his brow, clearly thinking hard on the right word. That alone tells you he is not his son by blood, a small fact that makes him even more interesting. Not many bounty hunters would take in a small child. “Son.” he finally says. Deciding it is the best term. Grogu isn’t his by blood, Din knows this, but the little boy he’d found all alone surrounded by death, was slowly becoming like a son to him. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood.

“Will he be joining my class? I run the school, currently we’re based here...in the saloon. Not my ideal place to teach but needs must.” You gesture around you to the makeshift classroom. You don’t like that the place still stinks of liquor or that at night it goes back to being a saloon where people drink, gamble, and fight. But, you don’t have a better place right now and the children need somewhere to learn. You can teach in any building, even if you dislike this one.

You fit the image of a school teacher he thinks. You look like a respectable young woman, dressed appropriately, all neat and proper. Your hair pulled up and pinned away like it’s supposed to be. Everything about you is proper. Part of him wants to see you become ruffled, stop being so demure. It’s a thought that makes him frown at himself, the thoughts inappropriate especially towards a lady like yourself.

“Yes. We’ll be staying for awhile. What happened to the school house, Miss…?” He took on the job as sheriff the moment the lawman offered it, the pay was good, gave him his own accommodation and it meant he could settle down for a bit, give the kid an actual childhood. Bounty hunting was something he was good at but it wasn’t exactly safe to do with a six year old in tow. At least this job used his skills catching lawbreakers and put them to use in a place the kid could grow up. It helps that the teacher of the town is pretty too, he thinks.

You give him your name before answering his question, “Well, after the last sheriff quit, the schoolhouse burnt down and along with all the things we had in it. Luckily it was at night and none of us were in the building. Burnt right down to the ground, nothing left…” You say it with a heavy sigh, thinking of that sweet little schoolhouse. The white painted wood, the familiar rows of desks with names carved in them, your favourite collection of university level texts at the back for the older and more advanced kids to explore. You had been teaching in that schoolhouse for the last five years and in a way it had become a second home for you, if you weren’t at your own little home, then you were in the schoolhouse marking work or planning lessons for the coming days.

“Anyone know what caused it?”

“No. We didn’t exactly have the mind to investigate and if it wasn’t an accident it was probably just some drunk who didn’t know any better. But, we make do and Grogu,” You crouch down next to the small child, moving your skirts to do so comfortably, “will fit right in, I think, don’t you?” The little boy smiles at you and giggles, before hiding behind his father’s leg again.

“Have any plans been made to rebuild the schoolhouse?” Sheriff Djarin it seems is very straight and to the point, his tone isn’t unkind or aggressive, but his words are clipped, short, brusque as if he’s not quite used to being more flowery or saying much. You supposed a bounty hunter didn’t typically need to say much, but you hope he’ll become more comfortable with talking, at least to you, as time goes on.

“No...i’ve been trying to put some pressure on the mayor to get it done but...he just doesn’t seem to care all that much now there’s a temporary solution.” You say as you begin unpacking the box that he brought inside, exercise books are brought out and sorted into piles, ready for the children to write their names on the covers and start afresh.

He frowns, brow furrowing deep, lips turned down at the thought of the schoolhouse just never being rebuilt. It’s clear to him that saloon isn’t the place for a school and it’s even clearer that you are distressed with your new working arrangement, that you miss having a building that is entirely your own and entirely dedicated to teaching young minds.

“I’ll sort something out. Is class starting soon?”

“Yes, not...not long now.” You double check the clock realising the kids will begin arriving in less than an hour and you feel wholly unprepared for the first day of school since the schoolhouse burnt down.

You watch him crouch in front of Grogu, hand ruffling his hair fondly, “You’re going to stay here today, get some learnin’ in ya. I’ve got things to do, but I'll be back later, promise.” You’re surprised and warmed when he puts out his pinky finger for the kid to grab, a little promise that seems to you like something more. You wonder if the boy was scared of being left again, if this was Din’s way of reassuring his new son that he wasn’t going to leave him. The little boy wraps his whole hand around Din’s pinkie not quite understanding how the promises work yet.

“Have a good day of teaching, Miss Y/N.” He nods his head at you, grabbing his hat as he walks out the saloon with a purpose. The hat is placed on his head the moment he’s out of the doors and it’s that little element of politeness that surprises you. He carries himself like a gentleman but looks like any other rough and tumble man wandering the west. But it’s his treatment of Grogu that confirms the sort of man that he is.

I’ll sort something out. You smiled to yourself realising that perhaps the new sheriff would be the best thing to happen to this town in a while. Someone who actually got things done for once.

“Do you want to find your seat? Maybe do some drawing before class starts, Grogu?” You ask the little boy smiling at him as he nervously shifts from foot to foot, looking back out the doors as if hoping his father would walk back in. It’s clear he hasn’t had to do this before, be separated from him and left with a stranger, but you put on your softest smile and gentlest voice and wait patiently for him to nod his head before offering him your hand.

He takes your hand and you help him get settled into his seat, you decide to put him near the front so you can help him easily and get him settled near you. He only knows you after all, and you think being around all the kids and far away from familiarity might be too much. You give him some paper, scrap bits that you don’t need anymore and a pencil leaving him to draw while you get ready for class.

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

The school day goes...well, it’s hectic and your hair is frizzy and falling out of the updo you styled it in that morning by the end. The children are unsettled in this new environment, the older kids, those nearing adulthood frustrated by the younger kids who can’t seem to focus or be quiet. Your brain feels too large for your skull and you sigh out a goodbye to your students as they leave out the saloon doors, one or two shoving through the swinging shutters much faster than needed.

Grogu is the quietest of your students, sweet and attentive, he doesn’t speak a word, but follows your instructions well. He is behind on his writing letters and reading, that much you know from working with him, but he’s a quick learner and applies himself with a determination you rarely see. He doesn’t always play well with others. At lunch time you’d noticed him stealing food from the other children. It continued despite giving him your own lunch knowing his father hadn’t had time to prepare him something after coming straight into town and getting to work. He doesn’t share well either, but seemed to understand when you sat him down and talked to him about it. You suppose that being away from other children and only travelling with your father figure who would share his food with you without a thought, it must be confusing. The manners that he now has to observe, the rules of society that he’s never had to worry about until now. He looks suitably admonished despite the gentle way you chose to talk about it with him, that alone makes you think he’ll likely stop stealing the children’s cookies and be more willing to share.

“David, careful!” You call out when one of your older students nearly gets trampled underneath the sheriff’s horses’ hooves as he runs across the thoroughfare without looking.

“Sorry, miss!” David calls back over his shoulder, still storming ahead your warning lost on him.

You sigh heavily and rub at your temples, stress enveloping you. A tug, swift and sharp on your skirt has you looking down. Grogu has a hand fisted in the fabric, pulling to get your attention. Once he has it, his arms open, hands up towards you, opening and closing, a universal gesture to be lifted.

It surprises you, he is...quiet and reserved. You expected time to be needed before he was comfortable with you in any respect, especially after having to tell the boy off. Instead, he lets you lift him to your hip, hands reaching for strands of your hair and twisting them, surprisingly gently between his chubby little fingers.

You watch your students run in different directions through town, their books and lunch pails in tow. Some stop on the open green, playing games together before their parents demand them back home for dinner. The warm little body in your arms is a soothing presence and the boy almost looks like he wants to say something, but just makes a soft cooing sound instead.

“Not much of a talker are you, little one?” He almost shrugs his little shoulders before looking up at the sound of heavy footsteps and clinking spurs. The sheriff leads his horse up to you, eyes following David with a shake of his head. Clearly, just as bemused as you at his lack of common sense.

Grogu smiles and giggles happily at the sight of his father, arms reaching out for him. You pass him over to Din, trying to ignore how close you get to the man to do it. He radiates warmth and smells woodsy mixed with some sort of soap he must use. This close you can see little birthmarks dotted across his neck.

You step back once the boy is settled in his arms and smile, soft but tired. “Sheriff, how was your first day on the job?”

He gives you a humoured smirk, one you’re not expecting, it takes you aback slightly. He looks...charming, approachable. Little dimples at his cheeks that soften his features in a way that makes you want to step closer. With a huff, not quite a laugh, he says, “Eventful.”

“That makes two of us, sheriff.” He notices the tired creases beneath your eyes, the once unrumpled appearance now dishevelled, hair coming out of its updo and blouse and skirt wrinkled and creased. You look like you’d had a rough day and he hopes Grogu wasn’t part of the cause. He still hadn’t figured out how to discipline the kid, he always turned those big brown eyes on him and he just couldn’t tell him no.

“Din. Call me Din.”

“Then you should call me Y/N.” There’s a moment of silence. You stare at him, at the way his hat casts shadows over his face, at the gentle hold he has on Grogu, the open top buttons of his work shirt and the dig of suspenders into his shoulders. He stares back at you. The gentle softness of your cheek, the marks that make your skin your skin and not someone else's.

“We’re going to start building the schoolhouse as soon as the wood shipment gets here, I sent a telegram off today to get some good lumber in.” It surprises you in the most delightful way. When you said the mayor had been dragging his heels you meant it, but you hadn’t expected this new face to come in and make a start on what the mayor had been reluctant to do.

“We’re?”

“I’ve convinced some of the men around town to pitch in and I know a thing or two about building.” In truth he’d intimidated more than persuaded. Most of the men were lazy, and had more concern for their own vices than for helping out. But, a mixture of convincing them they’d get their saloon back and reminding them that he was now the town’s sheriff seemed to get a few of the stronger and more skilled townsfolk to agree to help.

“You’re the sheriff. You shouldn’t be building the schoolhouse, Din. You’ve got more important things to do.” You feel bad that he’s doing this, being quite so involved, when he’s starting a new job, one that takes up most of his time. Being a sheriff is a full time job, almost 24 hours a day 7 days a week. He has people to keep in line, criminals to catch, laws to enforce, and building a schoolhouse wasn’t on his list of priorities. It’s sweet and makes your heart ache oddly, but you feel guilty for adding another thing to his plate.

“This is important, Miss...Y/N. The kid can’t learn in a saloon forever and you can’t work here forever neither.” He can see how desperately you want your schoolhouse back and something in him wants to provide that for you, to care for you. He tells himself it’s also for the kid, that his son deserves a proper schoolhouse to learn in. That all foundlings, all little children deserved a place to learn, like he had growing up in the covert.

“At least...at least let me and the children bring food and water down once you get started. I...you’ve not even been here a whole day and you’re already doing more than anyone else ever has...Thank you, Din.”

“It’s my pleasure, meg ba'jurir” You do not understand what he calls you, but you recognise that cadence, the rhythm of the language. Can almost see the symbolic nature of the alphabet. It surprises you that he knows what you’re sure is Mando’a, having only heard one other person in your life ever speak it. Mandalorian family groups were uncommon, but where they were they seemed to keep people in order, to value community. It made sense that he would take on the job of sheriff, adopt a child not of his own blood, if that were the case.

You bite your tongue and don’t ask, you don’t know him and it is too personal to ask about his upbringing, culture or heritage. Perhaps, after you know him better you can ask, but you can almost hear your headmistress at school reminding you about manners and decorum even in a little mining town.

“He didn’t...he didn’t cause any trouble today did he? He’s not used to being around others or...we’ve been on the road for a long time now.” He looks down at the little boy sitting at his hip, who’s playing with the metal star on his shirt. He knew that Grogu could be difficult, sweet, adorable, hard to say no to, but undisciplined and not used to the rules that people usually abided by.

“I...I did have to have a word with him today…” You can already tell Din’s disappointed. He clearly loves the boy, but part of loving a child is wanting better for them and getting in trouble isn’t part of that.

Din sighs heavily before catching the boy’s eye, “Ad’ika…”The boy clearly knows what’s going on and hides his face in his father’s shirt, suitably embarrassed about his behaviour. You think that’s enough to probably deter him from stealing from other kids in the future. You also think you might bake him some treats and use them as an incentive to work hard. You suspect bribery would work well with Grogu.

“He paid attention beautifully and he’s already doing so well with learning his letters, but he’s...he’s quite…” You try to think of the best way to say that the boy just can’t resist taking other children’s food.

“You don’t have to spare my feelings, Y/N. You can tell me.” You look Din in the eyes, deep brown meeting your own and sigh out before speaking.

“He likes to steal the other children’s food. I gave him my lunch and he still tried to steal Charlie’s cookies and Mary Beth’s macarons. I know he’s probably used to food being a thing he can just have since you’ve been travelling as a family unit…”

“Osik... I forgot to give him lunch. I am a terrible father…” Din looks at his feet, free hand rubbing over the scruff on his jaw. You feel the instant need to reassure him.

“You’re not a terrible father. You just came into town this morning, immediately took on a job, and instantly went to work. You’re not a terrible father.” You hesitate, but reach forward anyway, a hand on his arm giving a quick reassuring squeeze.

“Vor entye, Y/N. Thank you. Have you eaten?”

“Oh…” You hadn’t really thought about it, that you’d given your food to Grogu to stop him going hungry and that you’d spent all day teaching with little more than the porridge you’d made yourself that morning to keep you going.

“Don’t even think about lying to the sheriff.” You did in fact consider lying to him, but the look he gave you reminded you of an overbearing mother hen who wouldn’t let you get away with it. Combined with the fact he was indeed the new sheriff, you felt it best to stick to the truth for now.

“No...I haven’t.” You admit, feeling suitably admonished by him and a little guilty for even considering lying about.

Din adjusts Grogu on his hip and nods his head behind him towards the street, “Come, I’ll buy you dinner at the café.”

“You don’t have to, Din. I can make dinner at home.” You think back to the soup you were going to make that night, and even though you haven’t the energy in truth to make dinner, you can’t ask him to buy you it. It is too much and unnecessary. Any good teacher would have made sure their students were fed.

“You kept my ad fed in place of yourself. I’m buying you dinner.” His voice left no room for argument and so you found yourself following after him across the street towards Reeva’s Café.

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Din’s presence in town becomes apparent very quickly. He does not allow the men to wander drunk through the streets, start fights, or harass women. He does not suffer law breakers or those who cause the peace to break. He is swift, effective, and there isn’t a member of town who doesn’t respect his authority even if some don’t particularly like having to listen to him.

For you it is a refreshing change. You don’t worry about the children wandering around town in the evenings or about walking out of your home at night. You don’t worry about your meager belongings being stolen or a fight breaking out in the saloon on an evening and ruining the few bits you have for the school.

He is quiet and polite, not much of a talker, but everything he does shows a man of honour and good morals. He is sweet with the children as well.

It had become common place for him, while waiting for the lumber to begin the schoolhouse, to come into the saloon while you were teaching. He said it was because the day time left little for him to do as sheriff, but you think he just enjoys helping with the children. They make him smile. A real smile.

Sometimes he just sits with his son on his lap and helps him with his letters, other times he wanders between tables helping those who need it or using his presence to quiet the children after an exciting lunch break. Reminding them to respect you, their teacher, and listen.

Your favourite, and the childrens’ favourite times were when he’d sit down and tell them stories of his travels. For a man who didn’t speak much, Din Djarin was a natural born storyteller.

That’s how you found yourself taking a step back, sitting on one of the saloon bar stools off to the side as Din took your place at the front of the class. He had an ability with the little ones that amazed you, none were ever scared of him despite his height, posturing or the guns holstered at his side and slung over his back. He always managed to make them smile and laugh, always got their curiosity going and inspired them equally. He made it a point whenever he talked to your class to share stories of both men and women he’d met who’d done amazing things, you could tell he was trying to get the girls in your class to see they could be more than housewives or washerwomen and you appreciated it.

“So there I am standing toe to toe with the biggest grizzly you’ve ever seen…” He gestures with his hands, standing at the front, arms out front to show just how large this grizzly bear was. His voice took on a different, more dramatic quality then normal. Grogu clapped his hands from his seat on your lap, the little boy having grown increasingly comfortable around you.

“Now this grizzly has to be 8ft standin’, and he’s the angriest bear you’ve ever seen and i’m sure that’s the end of me. I’m about to become a grizzly bear’s dinner, Sheriff Djarin stew!” You laugh along with the kids at the prospect of Din becoming stew for a grizzly bear, you’re never sure how much is fiction or truth in his stories, although part of you wouldn’t be surprised if they were all completely true. He was...he always seemed larger than life despite being so quiet. Like some sort of figure out of a western story.

“When out of nowhere, charging between me and this mean grizzly, comes the largest bull moose I've ever seen…”

“What’d you do?” Mary Beth pipes up, big blue eyes open wide.

“Well, I got the he-” He stops himself looking at you, you raise an eyebrow reminding him that cussing around the children would not do well for him, “-out of there as quickly as I could! One thing you should never do is stay around to fight a grizzly, never ends well to go toe to toe with one. That moose was being kind and giving me a chance to get away.” It amuses you that he always manages to twist a moral into the story. This time about kindness and helping those weaker than yourself, along with a healthy dose of not getting into situations with angry grizzly bears of course.

“Well, I think it’s time I let Miss Y/N, get on with her mathematics lesson.” Groans and grumbling rises up from your students as you place Grogu in his seat and begin making your way to the front. You watch Din frown at them, hands on his belt, leaning into one hip more than the other. He is the perfect picture of a disappointed father. Lips twisting downwards, pulling on his moustache.

“Hey, now! Miss Y/N always makes your lessons fun so don’t you start giving her trouble or else i’ll have to stop coming in for story time.” It’s a threat that promptly has them settling quietly in their chairs and getting their books and pencils out.

You rest a gentle hand on his arm when you reach him, quietly telling him thank you. It’s heavy with meaning. Thank you for being there for the children. Thank you for providing them with stories. Thank you for always settling them and reminding them to respect me. Thank you for thinking about the schoolhouse. Thank you for settling the town and keeping the peace.

He just nods at you with the smallest hint of a smile, enough to make you feel the tiniest bit flustered as you watch him walk to the chair where he’d left his hat, holsters, and lasso.

“Say goodbye to the sheriff, children.” You tell them as all of you watch him make his way to the doors. He stops before them and tips his hat at you all with a smile, but the moment he’s out the doors it drops and in his place is the hard sheriff who won’t stand for trouble.

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

Once the lumber comes in and the plans have been drawn up and approved by yourself, at Din’s insistence, the work begins. The schoolhouse design had been run past you because Din didn’t want to miss anything that was needed or that would help you teach. He had told you not to worry about size, scale or cost, that the community was pitching in and that the mayor had found a fund tucked away somewhere for the school. The fund miraculously appeared after Din had a long meaningful chat with him.

He wouldn’t tell you that he’d made threats against the mayor about digging up some of his dirty laundry, but he had. The mayor had a lot of skeletons in his closet and also a nice stack of credits he was sitting on in his own personal mayoral vault. The fact that the mayor had been so reluctant to rebuild the schoolhouse when he easily could have almost made Din see red, but he didn’t think it would look good if he beat the man to the curb as sheriff. He was supposed to be upstanding and law abiding, if he wasn’t why would any of the townsfolk be?

A few days into the project you decided it was time you made good on your promise to come to the site during lunch time with the children to bring water and some food. You and the children collect pails of water and the baked goods you’d made the night before, trudging through the streets. You held Grogu on one hip, the small child the slowest of his classmates, and carried a heavy pail of water in the other, so heavy your shoulder slumped down on that side to accommodate the weight.

The children were happy to help, after all, many of their fathers and older brothers were working on the school site and it was a chance in the school day to see people they cared about. You were also sure they wanted to ask the sheriff a multitude of questions and beg for a story, but you’d reminded them that they weren’t there to get in the way or interrupt the work, just to offer food and water.

You’d reluctantly admitted to Reeva that you found the sheriff attractive, after the older woman badgered you day in and day out about the time you spent with him. You could admit he was handsome. His eyes were deep brown and spoke more words then he often did. He had both a look that could intimidate and also soften into something warm and safe. The beard and moustache he sported made him look ruggedly handsome and his shoulders were broad and wide. He looked like he’d stepped out of a story book or from an illustrated newspaper short story. Rugged but clean, dangerous but kind.

You had to admit though that this was your favourite look on him. As you came upon the building site he was busy sawing a plank of pine in two. His shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow exposing his strong forearms and thick wrists. His suspenders had been flung off his shoulders, resting at sides no longer covering the strong back that was tensed as he worked. The top few buttons of his shirt had come undone, almost indecently so to show a pronounced collar bone, strong neck, and dark chest hair and the brown hair on his head had begun to curl from the sweat he was working up. It shouldn’t have been attractive. He should have looked like any other man working up a sweat, you shouldn’t have wanted to wipe his brow and brush your fingers through the curls of his hair. But you did.

Taking a deep breath to compose yourself you look down at the little boy at your hip, “Should we go say hello to your father?”

“Papa!” He clapped his hands at you in confirmation. You’d slowly learnt that papa was one of the only words he said, you weren’t sure if he chose not to speak or simply couldn’t. But, given his increasing aptitude with writing his letters, you thought it likely that he simply chose not to speak.

The call instantly has Din’s head popping up from his work like a startled deer and you watch as his eyes roam across the children until he catches sight of his son at your hip. The smile that lights his face is so bright that it’s almost blinding, there is a longing you feel whenever you see his happiness to see Grogu. Some deep part of you that desires that sort of family bond. He loves his son so deeply, it doesn’t matter to him that their blood isn’t the same and part of you wants desperately to be part of that love and happiness.

“Children, hand out the food and water, will you? But be careful!” You remind them as they run towards familiar faces, it is still a building site after all, and the last thing you need is a child getting hurt in any way.

Din finishes sawing the plank before striding over to you, hand pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. You look...radiant. The summer sun shining over you, causing your skin to glow, your hair to shine. Your smile is as soft as your eyes and you're gentle in the way you hold his son to your hip, like he belonged there. Like the two of you belonged together. Din can admit that he enjoys your company more than he probably should, he can even admit that a part of him deeply desires you, wants you to join his family unit, become part of his aliit. You’re tender and kind to all the children you teach, your children as you often call them, and you’re incredibly kind to Grogu who you treat with more understanding than most school teachers ever would. You keep order in your classroom through kindness and mutual respect, not through fear or punishment. The maternal shine to you draws him to you in a way that, had he not been Mandalorian, he might be ashamed of. But, family is everything to him, Grogu is everything to him and if he is to put down roots here, he can’t help but consider putting down roots with you.

It’s a silly thought though, you’ve not known each other long and he isn’t well to do or gentlemanly. You’re far better educated than him, kinder than him, and it is a pipe dream that he doubts will ever come to fruition. It doesn’t help that he struggles at times to even talk to you, let alone make his feelings known.

“Miss me, Ad’ika?” He calls to the little boy, carefully pulling him from your arms when you offer him. If you allow yourself to, you can almost imagine he’s taking your own child from you, that the two of you have formed some sort of family. But, you are just his son’s teacher and he is just the sheriff of your small town.

The boy babbles at him, not real words, nonsense, or attempts at words that don’t translate, but you can see that improving. Can almost imagine what settling down here can do for the boy, give him a chance to learn, grow, make friends, and find some stability and safety.

“He’s been itching to come over all day, they all have. I was struggling to get them to focus on their history lesson.” You had 15 children all desperate to get out of the saloon and visit their fathers for lunch. It had been a...very difficult lesson to say the least and you still felt a little frazzled.

“History?” The boy tugs at his father’s hair and you watch him wince as he speaks, pulling little chubby hands from brown curls.

“The fall of the empire and the rise of the republic. Not the most riveting subject for them I'm sure, they much prefer when I tell them about different societies rather than politics.” You want to say like Mandalore and the Mandalorians because you want to draw him in, desperate to have more of his time even when he’s already doing so much for you. You enjoy the odd hour here and there when he takes over your class and becomes the teacher, where you can just sit and listen, learn yourself.

“Mandalorians believe that our history is our future. We learn it as soon as we can walk.”

“So it is Mando’a you’ve been speaking?” It warms you to see him open up to you like this. He is a private man, quiet, and insular. While he can yell with the best, and demand attention, can intimidate and even persuade, it’s all part of his job. The face he puts on as sheriff. He is quiet about himself, sharing little and not so often. You revel in the trust placed in you wherever he tells you a little something more about himself.

“You noticed?” Most people don’t even know Mando’a exists, let alone recognise that the words he slips into his speech are such. He finds they slip out more around you, than with others. He’s comfortable with, he is happy to share himself, his culture with you and it...it is a startling discovery about himself. He has been insular and closed off for longer than he would like to admit.

“I can’t speak it and I..I don’t know it well, but, I recognise the cadence. I grew up in Naboo and there was a Mandalorian there, she used to speak it when I would sit and practice my letters with her.” Atin’a Caivass was a kind woman to you even if she could be hard. She had been one of your teachers, always pushing you harder, to do better. Yet, it had never felt frustrating or like a chore, the Mandalorian had always made it a desire to impress her, but also to prove to yourself that you could. She had always been kind to you and the other children, gentle but firm, like you were one of her own. You saw similarities with how Din treated the children. He was kind and gentle, but never overlooked an opportunity to firmly correct their behaviour or mistakes. A perfect balance. Not too soft and not too harsh.

“You never learnt?”

“She was very protective of it and I...I was always too afraid to ask.” You confess. You had always been fascinated with it, like any young child when faced with a new language, but you had always believed it something sacred, and had worried that you would offend her if you asked to learn. “Ad’ika? What does it mean?”

He can’t help but laugh at your pronunciation and sounds it out for you, “Ah-Dee-Kah, it means little one.”

“Ah-dee-kuh?” You are even more beautiful, he thinks when you butcher his language, trying so hard to get it right that your eyebrows scrunch together and your eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Ah-Dee-Kah” The little one squirms in his arms and he places him on the ground, only to watch him plunk himself on his bottom and play with the dirt. He had always had a fascination with dirt and rocks, more so than any of the toys he had actually brought or made him.

“Ah-Dee-Kah”

“Perfect.” You smile blindingly at his praise and he wonders if he can forgo his job as sheriff and simply teach you Mando’a every minute of every day. “You can always ask. If you want to learn. It’s nice to hear it from another person’s lips, not just mine.”

“I would like that very much...maybe when you’re less busy? You’re rather booked up at the moment, what with being sheriff, storytime for the children, and building a schoolhouse. You’re a busy man, Din Djarin.”

“I like to keep my hands busy.” You look down at your feet before looking back up at him, unsure how to respond to what you were sure was meant as a perfectly innocent comment. Din almost swears, osik, once he realises how that sounds, lifting hand to the back of his neck to rub it.

The silence that you fall into isn’t uncomfortable necessarily, but feels almost solid, like a physical thing and not just the quiet that comes with two people not talking for a moment. There’s a tension there that is not wholly unpleasant but hard to describe or pin down.

Seeming to remember the pail of water you’re carrying you place it in front of him, “Water, so you can clean off or if you’re thirsty. There’s some pastries somewhere as well, to keep you all fed...Can’t have you keeling over on us or else we’d never get our schoolhouse.”

You take a step back and cast your gaze around, making note of where each of your 15 kids are. You’re caught watching Jerome splash water on Annie, about to go and tell him off when you hear splashing much closer to you.

You thought he couldn’t excite you more than he already had. Thought that Din Djarin couldn’t possibly tempt you more, cause your well-mannered sensibilities to crumble further. You were utterly, terribly, ridiculously wrong.

There’s something to be said about the man pouring half a pail of water over his head to rub away the sweat and dirt from a hard day working in the summer sun. He flicks his head back, long neck outstretched as water droplets fall like mirror glass over his tanned skin. His hair sticks to his skin, kissing it in a way you realise you desperately want to and his shirt clings to broad shoulders with the familiarity of a lover.

You spin back around away from him flustered, determined not to look as you march towards Jerome. You decide in that moment that perhaps it’s best not to bring pails of water at lunch time. You might just not survive to see the school built.

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

For the next two months your routine features lunch time trips with the children to bring water and sometimes food to the men building the schoolhouse, and the odd afternoon story time hour when Din feels confident enough to leave the others to continue working without his guidance. Each day the schoolhouse comes together more and more and each day you fall a little bit more in...in whatever these feelings for the sheriff were.

You also have the startling realisation that Grogu has wormed his little way into your heart in a way that none of your other students have. You have a soft spot for the little boy, especially as he becomes more vocal, begins to say more little words, including the delightful name ‘Miss Y/N’.

Din is a temptation in himself, each time he teaches you another word or phrase in Mando’a and his lips wrap around syllables or every time he works hard to build the schoolhouse muscles pulling taut underneath the weight of wood. He tempts you in a way that no one ever has and you can’t quite explain what it is about this man that makes you desire to be in his presence, to kiss him, to hold him, to be close to him both physically and emotionally. You want to know everything about him, to understand him better than you understand yourself.

In some ways it is a relief when the schoolhouse is finished and in other ways it feels like a loss. Part of your routine, part of the day where you always see Din was no longer needed or necessary.

When you bring the children over at lunch time, it’s to show them the finished building, the one they’ll be in come Monday morning once you have the time to move all the books and other odds and ends into it. They’re all excited as are you, to see it...it strikes you in the heart so badly that you can’t move your feet, can only stare at the building with tears in your eyes.

It’s beautiful. Not large, but larger than the old one. Freshly painted white, with a school bell hanging out front. It strikes you that this isn’t just a schoolhouse, but it’s your schoolhouse. Din had been adamant about building it for you.

“Children, why don’t you go inside and take a look? You’ll be here on Monday!” You wave them all off as they run ahead and up the wooden steps, throwing the door open none too gently. “Careful! We only just got it!” You call out and receive a series of sorries back.

“Shall we go find your buir?” You look down at Grogu, who’s hand is holding the heavy fabric of your skirt. He smiles up at you and nods his head with a quick little ‘papa’ that has your heart warming.

You hear him before you see him, “Now don’t go breaking the tables when we’ve only just put them together, girls!” Already laying down the law to 3 of your children as you enter the schoolhouse. They had seemingly been swinging on tables in a most ill-mannered fashion that has you putting on your teacher-face and raising an eyebrow at them from behind Din. They promptly stop and return their feet to the floor with an abashed look.

“Sorry, Sheriff. Sorry Miss.” They call to you both before scurrying away in hopes of avoiding punishment, leaving you, Din and Grogu alone in the main room for the building. You let it go. It isn’t an issue, they need to learn to respect things, and not damage them, but that does not have to come at the cost of punishment when a quick look and a reminder does enough.

Din spins at them calling out to you, faster than he seems to have expected, looking decidedly dizzy for a second before the mask of sheriff falls right back into place.

“Y/N, how do you like it?” He opens his arms wide and gestures to the main room of the schoolhouse. A large blackboard already nailed to the wall at the back, rows of tables and chairs set up so every child could see you. A desk at the front for your things. It is sweet and fits your needs infinitely better than a saloon ever would. You even note the bookcases along the walls, enough space to place many of your books for the children to have easy access for when they wish to learn something more than you could teach them.

“It’s...it’s wonderful, Din. It’s beautiful. I...I can’t thank you enough...I...I’m a little lost for words.” You can feel the happy tears starting to pool in your eyes again, the gratitude making you a little bit emotional. “I don’t think I can ever repay you for this.”

“You...you don’t need to repay me, Mesh’la. This...you and the children deserve a school, a place to teach and learn. You don’t have to thank me or repay me for doing what the damn mayor should have done in the first place.”

You nearly don’t do it. Nearly let that fear that wells up inside you and the proper manners, the belief that you were about to be far too forward than was ladylike, stop you. But, you think back to his kindness, his gentle nature, the calm and order he’s brought to town. The son of his that you have a large soft spot for. The handsomeness of his features, the sharpness of his profile. The gentle hand he always places on your back as he helps escort you somewhere. The respect he shows you at every turn and his willingness to share his culture and upbringing with you. You think of all the things that make up the Din Djarin you know and you think of what he has come to mean to you.

With a silent prayer and an apology to your late headmistress for being more forward than is ladylike, you push yourself forward and into him. Lips soft and chaste lifting to meet his, only briefly. You do not push for more than a second of contact, but it is enough, you hope, to get the thought and intent across. That he is someone you would like to get to know more, that he is someone you could happily be courted by, even marry one day.

He doesn’t even have time to blink, it happens so fast. One minute you are standing a few steps away from him thanking him, the next your lips are pressed to his in the shortest sweetest kiss he’s ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of. It takes another second for him to realise what’s happened before he’s reaching a hand out to cup the nape of your neck and drag your lips back to his for a significantly more substantial kiss that leaves you a little breathless.

When you pull away from each other you don’t go far. Din presses his forehead to yours, hawkish nose pressing into your cheek, a soft touch that grounds you with his presence. The hand at your neck, rubs a soothing thumb across your skin. Your own have chosen to grasp at the suspenders over his shoulders, to keep in close proximity.

“I’d very much like to court you, Miss Y/N.”

“I think i’d like that, sheriff.”

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

Mando’a Translations

Meg Ba'jurir - roughest way I could get to someone who educates or a teacher with meg being who and ba’jurir being educate

Osik - Shit

Vor entye - Thank You

Ad - son

Ad’ika - Little one, term of endearment for small children

Buir - Father also Mother basically parent.

Mesh’la - Beautiful

Aliit - Family (Clan)

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Taglist for this fic:

@lex-ham

#din djarin x reader #din djarin / reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian reader insert #reader insert #readerinsert #western au #putting down roots #din djarinxreader #din djarin/reader #female reader #female identifying reader

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stubbychaos · 4 years

Text

Ori Kebiin and Saviin’ika

Chapter 8 of Saviin’ika

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Paz takes you to the covert after your long day, despite you not being accepted by everyone in the tribe yet. Though you are content to finally be away from a toxic environment, Paz wants his vengeance towards those who have hurt you.

Rating: M

Word Count: 13,000 (I kinda got carried away)

Warnings: Brief mentions of psychological abuse and manipulation, as well as the aftermath of the attempted sexual assault from last chapter. Again, there’s mentions of blood, but not nearly as graphic as the last chapter!

Translations will all be at the end since there’s so many this chapter. I separated the actual dialogue from the typical nicknames and such. The title, however, translates to “Big Blue and Little Violet” :)

You have no idea how you manage the strength to walk on your feet after the day you’ve had, but you think Paz’s hand firmly pressed to the small of your back gives you the motivation to be stronger.

Though the dread still lingers like a dark rain cloud over your frantic heart as Paz leads you to your home to grab a change of clothes, you’re certain that the Mandalorian would not let anything happen to you should your father be awake. His thumb moves in firm little circles against the thick material of his cape that’s shielding your body from any wandering eyes and even though you can’t get the memory of slaying the Trandoshan out of your mind, you feel slightly better now that your warrior had cleaned as much of the blood away from your skin as he possibly could.

Out of sight, but never out of mind, you resentfully realize as you slowly approach the worn down hut you’ve lived in for your entire life and find the thought of living anywhere else strange, but certainly not disheartening in the slightest. Paz gently urges you behind him as he leads you inside the building, his leather-clad fingers firmly wrapped around your wrist and you can’t help but to smile weakly at his diligence and insistence on keeping you safe from anymore danger.

Much to your relief, you hear your father’s snores from the other room, most likely blacked out on alcohol or his drug of choice and you hastily lead Paz into your tiny room, only letting go of his hand so you can sift through the wooden crate where you keep what little clothes and garments you own.

“Cyare,” Paz whispers the nickname, perhaps remembering that your abuser sleeps in the room down the hall; he makes sure to keep his voice down as he gathers some of your toiletries and carefully situates them in a small canvas bag, “Where we are going, it is deep underground--it is much colder--do you have anything warmer to wear?”

You blink and manage to find a large cable knit sweater that you haven’t worn in such a long time, along with a thicker pair of leggings and some clean undergarments; you freeze when the Mandalorian speaks again.

“And something to sleep in?”

Heat floods your cheeks and earlobes and you nervously move to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, growing even more embarrassed when you realize the strands are matted to your neck with blood, “Am I staying the night there?”

You find a thin-sleeved, satin night gown that falls a few inches above your knees and you slowly rise to turn and face Paz, noticing the tension in his shoulders as he stares at you through the safety of his visor. You’ve never once questioned his loyalty to the creed by asking what he looks like underneath the helmet, but you suddenly find yourself jealous that he is able to conceal his features upon feeling nervous or shy. He reaches out to gently stroke your jaw, helmet tilting to the side as you hold your clean clothes tightly to your chest; he is silent as he collects the fabric from your tight hold and places it in the canvas bag.

“You would not be turned away after the day you’ve had,” He reassures you, cupping his hand to the side of your neck, “I am hoping they will let you stay permanently once they meet you.”

Your heart swells and you nod a little, your heart pumping furiously in your chest at the thought of spending the night with him again, let alone the rest of your days.

“Thank you,” You fiddle nervously with your large sweater as he continues to stare at you, “I… I will change now.”

“Then I won’t look,” He hums, sounding slightly amused as he turns his back to you, “Unless you wish for me to see you, little nurse?”

An intense heat spreads throughout your face as you let his cape fall from your shoulders and you begin to remove your boots. You remember the way the Trandoshan’s grimy hands had found the hem of your dress and you drop your head in shame as you peel away your undergarments and replace them with fresh ones. You feel sick and ashamed that it had nearly gotten to the point where he had taken advantage of you and you want to tell Paz exactly what had happened, but the feeling of your attacker’s hands on your torso leaves you feeling raw and vulnerable.

You’re embarrassed.

“I fear you would not like what you would see.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet moves in a jolting gesture, though he makes sure not to completely turn his head towards you and your heart thrums frantically when you realize it must be out of respect for your own wishes. You’re hasty to cover your chest with a clean bralette and you feel as though your cheeks are on fire when you replace your shorts with fresh undergarments and thick leggings, all while keeping your eyes on the back of his helmet.

“You are beautiful, cyare,” Paz softly reminds you, his baritone as low and quiet as his modulator will allow him, “I don’t like seeing you bruised and hurt, but it does not take away from your beauty. I do not think I could go through all of your pain without any armor; it must be difficult to bare your scars for all to see.”

You think it to be the most heartfelt compliment he could give you--informing you that he believes your strength and endurance to be up to his standards--and you smile warmly at the back of his helmet.

“Okay,” You eventually murmur as you tug the large sweater over your head, the cozy fabric fitting you similarly to a short, loose dress, “I’m ready.”

The Mandalorian turns to face you just as you’re grabbing his cape that you had neatly placed on the foot of your bed; his helmet tilts to the side as he watches you hug the material close to your chest. Thinking he doesn’t need the warm fabric yet, you hold onto it tightly as you follow him out your room, tensing a little when you’re met with utter silence, rather than your father’s typical loud snores. Paz must notice it too, because you watch as his hand immediately moves to the blaster sheathed against his hip; your heart pounds wildly in your chest as the two of you make it up the two stairs leading out of the hut.

Before you even realize what’s going on, Paz immediately whips around and draws a blaster within a fraction of a second, carefully pushing you behind him; you’re confused, until you hear a familiar voice that you’re certain will forever haunt you, even if you never see him again.

“Where do you think you’re going, little one?” You tilt your head to the side so you can see your father staggering towards you and Paz, “You decide to fucking not show up to one of your shifts and thought I would be okay with it? Then you bring him here? After everything I told you? Are you really that fucking stupid or do I need to--?”

You snap before the Mandalorian does.

For the third time in the last twenty-four hours--you absolutely snap.

“I have had one of the longest, roughest days of my life, so don’t you dare make me feel bad for not showing up to work or bringing him here!” You step to the side and put yourself in front of Paz, though he still keeps his blaster pointed on the drunk man who poses no real threat to the warrior, “I have been working every day for you for the last decade and never once have you ever thanked me for the time I put in--for all that I have done for you and working for free! You never once thanked me for all the tears and blood I have shed for you at the expense of your own hands and I am exhausted.”

Your father--Maker, does he look stunned by your outburst--and you’re certain that if Paz wasn’t there, he would have struck you the moment you raised your voice, but his eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he regards you. You think of the Trandoshan and the bounty hunter and how both of them had caused you such rage, fear, and desperation and you suddenly find it easier to argue with your only living blood.

You don’t even notice the way Paz tenses behind you when your father staggers forward, nearly tripping over his own feet and you suddenly feel embarrassed for the kind of torment you have let this pathetic man inflict upon you. You’re shaking with the trauma from such a horrific day as you step a little closer to him, speaking through clenched teeth at the man who’s made your life a living hell for as long as you can remember.

After killing the Trandoshan, you think you’re not fazed by anything, let alone your father’s clumsy anger.

“You have put me through so much pain and so much agony--so much torture--Maker, do you have a heart at all? Do you even realize what you’ve done to me? How much you’ve scarred my body and my mind?!” You force yourself not to cry, thinking he doesn’t deserve a single tear from you when he’s stolen so many in your life, “I am supposed to be your daughter, not your slave, and I won’t let you treat me as such anymore!”

Your chest is heaving wildly as he simply stares at you in shock, probably not even aware you were capable of storing such hatred and fury in your tender heart.

"I have never hated anyone as much as I hate you," You seethe, speaking through clenched teeth as you watch the way your words sober him, his back straightening a little "I hope you feel a fraction of the same loneliness and pain you have made me feel after I leave this awful place; I hope it haunts you everyday until you finally die."

Your father’s eyes widen and you’re certain he is shocked at the courage you have somehow obtained within a single day, though it still does not stop him from continuing to berate you

“And what would you do when he grows tired of you?” He sneers, though you simply shake your head, remembering how your warrior had declared his love for you and you force yourself to remember the devotion in his deep baritone, “You think those monsters would actually take you in as one of their own? You think this savage could genuinely love someone like you? Someone so weak and useless? They’ll use you and simply throw you away, just like anyone else would.”

You hear Paz snarl behind you, no doubt shaking with rage and a desire for wrath against your father, but you offer your last living relative a weak smile and nod a little, thinking of everything your warrior has done for you in the last few months and the happiness he’s given you. Perhaps you’re not as naive as you once thought--now so used to the horrors of such a cruel planet--and you’re certain that if this huge warrior insists his love for you, he must not be lying.

“I am not weak nor useless and I now know that,” You insist fiercely, and even though your voice trembles, you feel the words deep down in your bones--in your soul--and you step closer to the man whose unfocused gaze is currently switching between you and Paz frantically, “I am far stronger than you have ever led me to believe and I will not let you tear down me, nor the only man who has ever built me up. Even if I am not accepted, I will find a way to make a life for myself because anywhere is better than this hell.”

His angry expression cracks as soon as he realizes he no longer has any control over your inhibitions or choices and you know what’s about to happen--the manipulative words he’s about to spew.

“Y-You can’t leave me!” He doesn’t sound angry, but more so frantic at the thought of no longer having control over you, and he pleadingly holds out his careless hands, “You are my only family I have left.”

Though you feel a twinge of pain in your heart at how distraught he suddenly sounds, you turn your head to peer at Paz over your shoulder, who now has his blaster lowered. His helmet tilts to the side a little when he sees the conflict etched on your features and you think he must be incredulous that you even have to think about this--choosing between him or your father--but he simply gives you a curt nod and you turn back to your father.

“You said it yourself--” You whisper, backing away from his stumbling form before he can reach you, “You have no daughter, nor do I have a father.”

As soon as you see the look of despair melt into something more intense, something you’re so acclimated with--that anger, that intense fury--you immediately know you’ve made the right choice. Feeling flustered and slightly overwhelmed, you hastily turn around and storm past the usually talkative Mandalorian that has grown deathly silent and still as his Beskar gaze follows your small form that’s still clutching his cape close to your chest.

“Don’t forget that promise, you useless bitch! I’ll make you both fucking suffer,” He spits, instantly making you freeze and though dread crawls up your spine, you slowly turn to find Paz charging towards the much smaller, more feeble man with great furiosity that you’ve never seen from him, “Fucking Manda--”

You watch with wide eyes as your warrior immediately wraps his fingers around your newly estranged father’s neck and you are quick to make your way towards the two men when Paz effortlessly shoves him up against the outside of the hut with enough force to crack the outside of the little building. Your father claws desperately at the hand that has him pinned to the building, his feet an inch or two off the ground and you freeze when you hear the anger and pain in Paz’s modulated voice.

“You are lucky the little nurse has a tender heart and doesn’t wish for me to end your sorry existence, because I would have gladly had your lifeless body at her feet the moment I first saw you mistreat her,” Paz easily inches him higher off the ground, not seeming all too worried about his comfort as he squeezes his hand tighter around the struggling man’s esophagus, “You have caused her enough pain to last a lifetime and I will not watch you hurt her anymore with your words or hands.”

Your father’s mouth is wide open as he gasps and flops wildly like a fish on land when Paz finally drops him and you can tell it’s taking everything out of him to not cause the older man further damage as he wheezes violently at the warrior’s feet. You think you should feel sorry for your father, but instead you feel embarrassed that you have let someone so pathetic and greedy push you around for such a long time.

“He’s going to get tired of you and leave, you ungrateful bitch!” The older man speaks through loud gasps for air, choking and heaving on his own spit, “Everyone always does, you know you’re nothing--”

You should stop Paz--you know you should stop him as he lifts his boot, only to send a mighty kick to your father’s ribs and you hear a loud crack that you are all too familiar with, though you don’t cringe or turn away from it.

You’re far too acquainted with the sound to be disgusted by it and you think it to be painfully ironic that he is now in a position that you’ve been in so many times because of him.

“Useless, huh? Have fun tending your own wounds without her help,” Paz scoffs, listening to the injured man wheeze frantically, biting back whimpers as he clutches his side, “You ever try anything with her or even think about coming for me, I’ll cut your hands off and let someone else in tribe deal with you, hu’tuun. They would not show you the same mercy that I have and I would not mind seeing what kind of pain they would show you.”

You watch with wide eyes as he slowly turns around, tight fists instantly unfurling as he sees your shocked expression, though he is quick to carefully grab your elbow and lead you away from the man who is still gasping for deep breaths of air. The bright glimmer of moonlight kissing his visor as he turns to peer down at you every now and then has you growing curious and slightly worried at the sharp, jittery motions.

“Paz, are you--?”

“I am sorry you had to see me like that,” He makes haste to apologize and you shake your head a little as he leads you further away from your broken home, “I do not want you to think of me as cruel, but the way he speaks to you and treats you… I wanted to kill him, cyare.”

“After today, I don’t think I could ever believe you to be cruel,” You whisper with a light shudder, feeling the way his fingertips immediately slide down the inside of your forearm before they’re weaving through the valleys of your fingers in a firm hold; you think of the Trandoshan and bounty hunter and shake your head again, “I… I have seen what cruel men are capable of and I would never think you to be like them.”

“When we get to the covert, will you tell me what happened to you today--what he did to you?” Paz sounds so restrained and full of anger and sadness as he thinks of someone he’s considered to be a brother hunting you down and hurting you so horrifically, “If it is too hard to speak of it, I won’t push you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and exhale deeply as he takes you further outside the village, “I do not know if I have the strength to talk about it yet.”

“Okay,” Paz nods sharply, even though you can tell that this is all killing him slowly and he so desperately wants to know what the hell happened, “Okay, cyare.”

You smile softly at him being so understanding of the delicate situation and tiredly press your cheek against his bicep as he leads you to the people that are supposedly excited for your arrival. You think Paz must be exaggerating about his tribe’s eagerness to meet you and there’s a sick feeling growing in your stomach as you think of their bounty hunter and how he was most likely one of the Mandalorians who didn’t want you at the covert.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a few minutes of silence as you both slowly trudge through the village, though you think he only walks slow for you and your injuries, “That couldn’t have been an easy thing for you to stand up to him like that.”

“I… I don’t really know how to feel,” You whisper, your fingers curling tightly around his as you try to gather your thoughts into one cohesive statement to sum up your feelings, “I am sad, but my chest feels lighter. I have never talked back to him like that, but I do not regret what I said.”

“That takes a lot of courage,” Paz consoles with a deep hum, giving your hand a gentle squeeze and as he tilts his helmet a little lower and to the side, you like to picture him smiling down at you--whatever his smile may look like, though you’re certain it must be a kind, warm one, “It takes strength to stand up to someone that has hurt and manipulated you that badly, cyare, and you should feel only pride for acting so bravely.”

You smile and nod a little, knowing that someday you will truly believe his words, but for now you simply remain silent and focus on the firm hold he has on your hand. You hesitate and tense up when he moves to lead you down a dark alleyway that seems to go on for a mile; it’s so dark that you can’t even see where it ends and you move to take a step backwards as you think of the Trandoshan.

“It’s okay,” Paz reassures you, seeming to notice and understand your tension, “It’s… It’s been a long day, I get it, but I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’ve got me, cyare--always.”

You tug your hand out of his and squeeze the crook of his elbow as he leads you into the darkness of the alleyway. Despite not being able to make out anything, you feel how unwavering and sure the warrior is as he easily strides down the alleyway and it’s not until he scoops a thick curtain to the side that he turns on the little flashlight attached to the side of his helmet. You’re surprised to find a small set of stairs that leads down into a dark tunnel and you let him guide the way, trusting him enough to know he’s taking you somewhere safe.

“Careful,” Paz says softly as you slowly make your way down the winding staircase that takes the two of you further underground, “I know how clumsy you can be--or what was it you said when I took you to the hot springs the first time? The only thing graceful about you are your hands?”

You huff and try to shrug off the flirty remark, shaking your head as you carefully trail behind him, "You are not as smooth as you think, Paz."

He turns his helmet to gaze at you, nearly blinding you with the flashlight, all while continuing to descend the staircase and you hear him chuckle, "You’re lucky I am wearing my gloves, I know how hot your ears and cheeks get when you get all shy around me, little nurse.”

“I am sunburned,” You inform him with a scoff as he turns to face forward upon meeting the bottom of the staircase; you unfurl his cape to wrap it around your shoulders as it begins to grow colder, “I think most of my skin is pretty warm right now.”

He hums and you think he’s tense as you wrap both hands around his bicep as you two venture further into the underground tunnels; you remember the heavy weight of the Trandoshan’s body draped over your weak one as the heat from harsh sun rays beat down on you for hours on end. He doesn’t know anything that’s happened to you in the last day and you’re not sure if you should tell him, somewhat fearing for the bounty hunter’s life at the thought of Paz’s anger upon finding out you had been forced to take a life.

That the Trandoshan had touched you--that he’d nearly taken off your dress.

You don’t even realize how hard you’re clinging onto Paz’s bicep, forcing yourself to remember that you hadn’t been violated in such an intense way and that you were currently safe with your Mandalorian.

“We are almost there,” Paz reassures you, though you think it only brings you more anxiety and fear as he calmly leads you to his tribe, not seeming fazed or nervous in the slightest, “You will be loved by them as a little sister, please do not worry. I will take care of the bounty hunter.”

You simply nod as you let him guide you through what feels like endless tunnels and turns and you wonder how he could possibly know his way through such an intense maze of dark stone. You think of all the times he’s made his way through the tunnels just to see you and your heart swells as you glance up at his scuffed up helmet with admiration, thinking that he must see something in you to make such a winding journey so many times.

“Stay behind me, please,” Paz gently orders, responding quietly to your wide-eyed expression after he nudges you behind his big frame, “Just for a minute.”

He turns a corner just as an unfamiliar voice speaks up and you instantly perk up at the sound of a small, innocent voice; they sound younger than you and you’re not sure why, but that brings you great comfort immediately.

“Norac bid nusujii, ori kebiin?” A high-pitched, feminine voice has you feeling curious and despite Paz’s words, you poke your head to gaze past his bicep. Instantly, a forest green helmet with that notorious t-shaped visor whips to the side to stare at you and the smaller Mandalorian is quick to stand up from where she had been perched on a stone ledge next to the large, round entrance leading into the covert. You blink at the scuffed up teal armor that the female Mandalorian dons and you think the sapphire color of her gauntlets to be beautiful and less intimidating compared to the bounty hunter’s armor.

“Cuyir ibic gar orikih baar'ur, ba’vodu Paz?”

You think she must be asking Paz a question by the incline of her tone and he immediately turns to find you gazing intensely at the guard; letting out with a crackly sigh, Paz gives her a single sharp nod, “‘Lek.”

She lets an amused hum slip past her modulator and steps a little closer, “Ni copad at haa'taylir kaysh.”

Paz turns a little to place a big hand on the small of your back, kindly urging you forward and you hear the colorful Mandalorian let out with a small chuckle when you speak quietly in a shy voice, “The colors of your armor are pretty--blue is one of my favorite colors.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.”

You immediately understand the meaning of her playful words when Paz offers her some sort of admonishment in his deep voice, speaking in his native tongue, “Gar liser't chayaikir kaysh guuror ibic.”

“Sorry, sorry,” The woman chuckles a little, helmet cocking to the side as she places a leather hand on her hip, “Thank you for the compliment, though I do not think I have ever heard someone refer to a Mandalorian as being pretty; most people would spit on us the first chance they got,”

She still sounds amused as she props her sharp Beskar staff up against the stone wall, holding out a hand for you to shake; you smile weakly at the greeting and grasp her hand lightly, noticing her firm grip right away. She stands a few inches taller than you and even though she is probably the least intimidating Mandalorian you’ve met so far, you don’t doubt her strength.

“I do not think that those who would choose to spit on you would last very long.”

“Ni guuror kaysh,” The colorful Mandalorian giggles, her head tilting to the side as she peers down at you, “Cuyir gar orikih baar’ur ratiin ibic pel?”

“Elek,” Paz huffs a little and nods, sounding proud as he quickly answers her question, “Yes, ever since the day I first saw her.”

Your cheeks burn at what they could possibly be saying about you, though you don’t wish to cause any disrespect and politely continue to firmly shake the colorful Mandalorian’s hand as she giggles a little louder at his answer.

“I am Imalia,” She finally introduces herself and you’re surprised to actually hear excitement in her smooth, modulated voice as she continues to shake your hand; you’re even more surprised that she would so willingly give you her name, “Everyone calls me Ima though; I am one of the guards that protects the entrance this late at night since we’ve been having more and more close calls with outsiders lately.”

You blink as her leather-clad palm slips from yours and you nervously wring your fingers together, not knowing what to do with your own hands, “My name is--”

“Oh, we all know who you are, vod’ika,” She interrupts with another giggle and confusion fills you when you hear Paz let out with an exasperated sigh; your heart warms when you remember that he had told you ‘vod’ika’ meant little sister, “Our heavy-infantry warrior hasn’t shut up about you since he first saw you--always rambling on about his ‘mesh’la saviin’ika’ and how pretty your flowers are and how kind you are and how he wants riduurok with you someday. We all thought he was making you up until he brought home your flowers one day.”

“Ori Kebiin bal Saviin’ika,” She tilts her head to the side, amused by her own words and you hear Paz groan from behind you, “How cute.”

You grow even shyer at her teasing voice, “What does... that mean? R-Riduurok?”

“Oh, y’know,” Ima says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, flippantly waving a gloved hand around, “When two people agree to--”

“It means Imalia is a teenager who likes to gossip too much and is far too nosy for her own good,” Paz quickly deflects, resting a large hand over the slope of your shoulder and you think he almost sounds stressed out and worried as the colorful Mandalorian shrugs halfheartedly, “Is the armorer at the forge, Mal?”

The way he seems so comfortable speaking with the younger warrior immediately makes you smile softly and you wonder if he’s this way with all the younger Mandalorians.

“I need to speak with her--it’s urgent.”

Imalia tilts her head to the side and you feel small underneath her intimidating gaze, despite the fact that she’s apparently younger than you; she must be inspecting you closely and you suddenly wish you had the opportunity to take a shower before leaving your house. You can still feel all the dried blood matted to your scalp and crusted into your hairline and you’re certain Ima must see it as well.

“Tion'jor an te tal?” Ima questions in a much quieter tone and you flinch severely when her hand moves to touch one of your braids, though she is quick to pull her hand away, turning sharply to gaze up at Paz instead; her voice sounds much graver and sadder when she speaks again, “Vaii cuyir te sarad gar rucuyir cyau'kuyc at dinuir kaysh? Cuyir te baar'ur shupur'yc?”

“It’s a long story,” He says in Basic, something you’re grateful for as the colorful Mandalorian, slowly takes her seat back on the stone ledge, grabbing her long spear once more as Paz continues, “It’s all Djarin’s fault. He came after her because of the vulptex.”

“That damn bounty hunter--no wonder why he was so tense when he came back earlier,” Ima sighs, shaking her head as though this is a common occurrence within the tribe and your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach, “I’m surprised he’s even alive still; I’m starting to think he has only one brain cell left.”

“Not for much longer,” Paz huffs, fingers twitching against the thick fabric of your long sweater and you let him guide you through the large entrance into another tunnel, “The runt is dead the moment I see his sorry ass.”

The teenager doesn’t seem all the fazed by Paz’s foreboding words, watching as you two venture further into the enclave, “I don’t doubt it.”

You turn your head over your shoulder to catch one last glimpse at Ima’s beautiful green helmet, “It was nice meeting you, Ima.”

“You as well, saviin’ika,” You can hear the smile in her modulated voice, warm and syrupy sweet, and your heart melts at her next words, “I look forward to seeing more of you, rather than hearing it from ori kebiin’s annoying mouth.”

Despite the long day you’ve experienced and everything that’s happened with your father, you smile tiredly at her and face forward as Paz lets out with another annoyed sigh, grumbling something so low that you can’t make it out from underneath his helmet.

He continues straight down the dim tunnel that is barely lit and your eyes widen as he leads you through another rounded entrance that has some sort of huge insignia welded to the top; you think it almost resembles a Mandalorian helmet with horns coming out the side and you make a mental note to ask Paz about it later.

Paz hums thoughtfully as he inspects his surroundings, looking for something--or someone--in particular; you take in your surroundings curiously, detaching yourself from the distracted Mandalorian to make your way over to a little workbench that seems to have discarded scraps of metal. Not wanting to be rude by touching someone else’s belongings, you simply observe all the scuffed and rusted Beskar, though something in particular catches your attention.

You force yourself not to reach out to touch the little pendant that resembles the one welded above the entrance of the forge, though something about the faded purple horns intrigue you more than you’d like to admit

“I thought we agreed not to take in your nurse until we got our bounty hunter’s vote,” A smooth, demure voice instantly startles you and you quickly turn around to come face to face with a Mandalorian who is slowly and surely entering the armory, her gaze fixated on you in an intense manner, “It is not like you to go against my word, Paz. Do you understand that you have put the tribe at risk?”

You eye the thick furs draped along her shoulders, along with the beautiful glimmer of her golden helmet; you think the richness of the gold contrasting against the deep maroon of the rest of her armor is stunning and immediately, you think she must be the leader of the covert. Though she lacks in height, just like you, she makes up for it with a powerful aura of quiet strength and leadership and you immediately admire her.

Though you’re terribly nervous, you’ve never wanted to make such a good first impression with someone and you shakily speak up before Paz can, his helmet jolting to the side to gaze at you with what you’re certain is surprise.

It seems as though you’ve been doing that a lot lately--surprising everyone, including yourself.

“He wanted to wait as well,” You inform her, awkwardly skittering forward when she pulls out a chair for you to sit on, seeming to understand your exhaustion after a long day, “I… I was brought here because of the circumstances of today.”

“And what were the circumstances, little one?” She questions smoothly, her voice like rich velvet through her vocoder as she grabs a small metal mug from a shelf and a teapot that must already be filled with hot water; immediately, Paz starts to speak in an angered tone, but she is quick and calm to interrupt his hasty words as she pours hot water over a bundle of herbs, “I believe I asked your nurse, warrior, not you.”

“Thank you,” You whisper your gratitude when she makes her way back to you and kindly places a steaming mug filled with something that smells simultaneously sweet and spicy, “I haven’t had a warm drink in a while.”

“I know,” She informs you and your eyes widen in fear at the thought of Paz telling everyone in the covert about your father; anger fills you just for the tiniest moment before the armorer is squashing your worries like a bug beneath her boot, “I know only of what our heavy-infantry warrior has informed us about you, though he has spoken nothing of your personal life or family. It is unfortunate that you do not wear our helmet, little nurse, for it is quite easy to read the pain and suffering in your eyes. You may be younger than I, but you have lived a lifetime already, have you not?”

Your nostrils flare as you struggle to swallow the lump in your throat when you realize the wisdom this woman possesses, “I have felt enough pity for one lifetime as well, I do not wish to feel it anymore from myself or anyone else.”

She glances up at Paz, who has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you closely, before her gaze is once again fixated on you taking a tentative sip of the flavorful tea; she cocks her head to the side, as if intrigued, and you hope that you are making a decent impression, “Very well. Tell me of the circumstances that have led you here today, little one.”

So, you do.

Paz pulls up a tiny chair that creaks underneath his weight and sits off to the side as you reluctantly relay the story of you and the bounty hunter--how you had willingly taken that blaster shot to save your vulptex, how you had been forced to cauterize your wound, how many times you tried to mention Paz’s name, though the hunter refused to listen. You think it’s taking everything out of Paz to not immediately go searching for his fellow Mandalorian, but he remains seated, his visor fixed on you and his fingers curled into tight fists atop his armored thighs.

As soon as you mention the speeder and the barren lands, you see Paz straightening up, his breath hitching in his throat as you speak of the deal with the Trandoshan and how the bounty hunter hadn’t hesitated to trade you in for a pouch of credits.

How you had begged the hunter not to hand you over because the Trandoshan only held cruel intentions towards you.

Somehow, you manage not to cry the entire time, but as soon as you speak of the vibroblade Paz had given you--how you were barely able to keep a good grip on the handle because of how bloody your hand was--tears spring to your eyes. You squeeze the hot mug between your hands firmly, trying your hardest to take comfort in the warmth it brings your cold body.

Against your better judgment, you decide to leave the Trandoshan’s intentions as far away from the story as you possibly can, not wanting to inform Paz of how close he’d been to slipping his hands underneath your dress.

You know that would be the one detail of your story that would leave him completely unhinged.

You squeeze your eyes shut just as you maneuver around the painful topic, “Throat wounds are usually the most deadly and I… I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t strong enough to fight him off of me and I had to take his life. I cannot stop thinking of the noises he made when I--and he was choking on his own blood and it got all over me and I never had to--”

“Ner cyare,” Paz’s voice sounds thick with emotion as you stare down at your lap in shame, not noticing the way the armorer is still gazing intensely at you, “I didn’t know you had to... Maker, that’s where all the blood came from?”

“You did what you must to survive in such a cruel place,” The armorer seems to have better words to say than Paz and you think he must be caught in an intense war of anger towards his brother or sadness because you had lost a piece of yourself, “Though I can only imagine the turmoil one so innocent would be going through after experiencing something so traumatic. Please, continue if you can.”

You’re not sure how you manage to speak with how shaky you’ve become, but surrounded by two powerful warriors, you want to be stronger, “I-I immediately went into shock because there was so much blood--Maker, there was so much blood--and I just froze and he fell forward on top of me. I was too weak at the moment to push him off and I passed out in the sun. When I woke up hours later, my skin was burning but I was able to get the Trandoshan off of me finally.”

You find it difficult to look at either one of them, so your gaze flickers up to the little horns on the armorer’s helmet as you take another sip of tea before continuing, “I… I passed out again; I don’t know why I was so tired, but when I woke up again, it was night time and the bounty hunter had come back for me and was taking Paz’s blade from my hand. He asked me who I got the weapon from and as soon as I said Paz, I could tell he regretted everything.”

The armorer speaks after Paz lets out an infuriated growl, standing up to his most intimidating size, though the female Mandalorian feels no sort of fear as she speaks only to you, “And do you truly feel as though our bounty hunter felt sorry for what he did to you?”

You sit up a little straighter and stare right into her visor, thinking hard about your response before answering out loud, though you can tell Paz is seething and vibrating with rage.

“I think he felt sorry for hurting someone who was precious to Paz, but not that I was protecting something I considered dear to me,” You inform her in an earnest, hushed tone, making her cock her helmet to the side a little, “I think he was just a man doing his job as a bounty hunter, but he was also cruel to me. When I tried to tell him that I knew Paz, he would make me be quiet and told me that whatever I had to say did not matter.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly brush away the tears at your lashes as you continue, “He almost made me believe the stories that my parents used to tell me of Mandalorians, but I know Paz enough to know the stories aren’t true. I’ve only known Imalia--Ima--for a few minutes, but she treated me kindly and I do not wish to believe that everyone in your tribe could be so cruel, especially when you and her have shown me respect.”

“And how have I shown you respect when all I’ve done is given you the opportunity to tell me your story, little one?”

“I think that is one of the kindest ways you can treat another--to allow them to speak up for themselves without judging them,” Warmth spreads through your cheeks and ears as you take another sip of your sweet, spicy tea and you gaze shyly at the armorer, “I know my voice shakes when I am scared or angry and that I cry more than I probably should, but you and Paz and even Ima have shown me more respect than anyone else I’ve met in the last decade. Even if I was not accepted, I am grateful to see that love and kindness has lived underneath this cruel village for so long.”

The armorer stares at you in an unwavering manner and you fear the worst when she slowly turns her helmet to gaze up at Paz, who’s still staring intently at you, and she almost sounds amused as she turns to you once again, “It seems as though our heavy-infantry warrior was correct when he informed us all that it is impossible to dislike you.”

“I only wish to treat others the same way I would like to be treated,” You smile at the thought of your grouchy Mandalorian giving you such high praise about you to his family and you curl your fingers against your knees, “I apologize that this is the way I was introduced to you--all bloody and still shaken up.”

Her head tilts to the side in a curious manner, “Our tribe’s bounty hunter was careless and hurt you, yet you are the one apologizing?”

“It was my fault for--”

“Do not feel sorry or at fault for this, cyare,” Paz insists and you finally look up at him as he speaks through clenched teeth, “Where is Djarin, ner alor? I will have him begging for forgiveness at her feet the second I see him--I want him to suffer for what he did to her!”

The armorer lets out with a tired sigh and she shakes her helmet a little as you timidly finish off your tea, watching the altercation take place over the rim of your mug, “Our bounty hunter is currently asleep in his quarters, just as you two should be.”

Paz refuses to back down and you fear that he’s actually going to kill his fellow Mandalorian as his deep baritone grows louder and more infuriated, “I want to kill him, I don’t care that he is currently resting. He is a coward and--”

“Your little healer is exhausted and afraid,” The armorer reminds him firmly, standing up to her full height and you realize her true power when Paz recoils a little, “She is in a new place, surrounded by people she has never met and it has been a long day for her. Would you be so cruel and selfish to deny her relaxation after witnessing such trauma? The nurse is about to fall out of her chair, and yet you only wish to seek violence when she has already seen too much of it in her lifetime.”

“I didn’t--” Paz’s helmet jolts a little as he gazes intensely at you, though you offer him a weak, tired smile, “I am sorry, ner cyare, I was not thinking properly.”

“It’s okay,” You shake your head a little as you slowly stand, your hand traveling to the cauterized wound at your hip; and Paz is instantly at your side when you keel over a little bit in pain, “Although it would be nice to um, to maybe get all of this blood out of my hair?”

“Negotiations for the nurse’s future with the tribe will continue tomorrow,” The armorer stands tall, somehow exuding more power and grace than your blue warrior, “In the meantime, she will recover and rest for as long as she requires.”

“Th-Thank you,” Paz gently presses his hand to the small of your back as you offer your gratitude to the tribe’s matriarch, “For everything.”

She simply offers you a curt nod and watches as Paz dutifully takes you to his private quarters.

The enclave is a lot quieter than you would have expected and you think they must have some sort of system when it comes to training and sleeping; you have so many questions, but you don’t want to sound too nosy, so you remain silent during the small journey. Your eyelids feel incredibly heavy as he quietly guides you and you pray the Mandalorian doesn’t think too differently after hearing your story--that he doesn’t see you to be any less of yourself for being forced to steal someone’s life.

He’s still tense as he wraps an arm around your waist to help you descend another staircase leading even deeper into the enclave and you hate that you are a part of the reason why he’s so angry and upset. You hate his moody silence, knowing that he’s normally so talkative with you and could probably carry a conversation with himself if it meant you had his full interest.

Tiredly, you make it your own little mission to distract him from his inner turmoil and gently grab his yellow gauntlet once the two of you make it to the bottom of the staircase. His helmet jolts to the side to gaze down at you as you hold his forearm to your stomach, your fingers barely grazing the slim barrel attached to the top of his gauntlet.

You smile up at his visor, whispering out a meek little, ‘I love you.’

Instantly, he stops walking to lean down to press his forehead against yours and warmth settles over your heart similarly to the way his cape around your cold frame brings you comfort and security.

Immediately, he relaxes his tense muscles and lets out a deep sigh, “I love you too, cyare.”

You observe your dark surroundings closely as he leads you past what seems to be several different alcoves that you assume must be the living quarters for other Mandalorians, the entrances to them covered by thick black fabric. You’re surprised when he guides you past them and around a corner where there’s a stone door straight at the end of the corridor; you wonder if he has a bigger room than everyone else because of his status or ranking within the tribe, though you think it rude to ask and simply follow him into his dimly lit quarters.

You’re surprised to find that it’s far bigger than your little hut and you take in all the new surroundings with curiosity.

You keep your hands clasped tightly together, feeling awkward as you watch the warrior calmly make his way to a huge chest on the floor at the foot of his massive bed, seeming utterly relaxed as he begins to remove his big gauntlets and black gloves. placing them inside the large chest. You almost think he’s forgotten about you until he stands up again and purposely wanders back to you, immediately intertwining his fingers through yours and giving your hand a gentle tug.

“You must be dying for a shower,” He sighs softly, leading you further into his private quarters and through a small alcove protected by black drapes; your cheeks burn hotter than coals when you think of how easy it would be for him to easily invade your privacy, though you know him to be a respectful man, “The water doesn’t always get the warmest, but I’m sure it will be nicer than whatever you had at your home.”

You perk up when you see the big shower and dozens of little holes in the ceiling where the water must fall from, “We had a sonic shower at the infirmary. I’ve never used a real one with actual water.”

The blue warrior stares at you for a few moments before shaking his head a little; he digs through your small canvas bag, pulling out the jars that contain your hair products, as well as your bar of soap. You watch with curiosity as he opens the glass door the shower and places your stuff on a small shelf next to his own belongings and it finally hits you that you are actually at his covert with him and not your measly little hut with a man who hates you.

Paz twists a metal knob a few times around, causing a soft whirring noise, followed by fat droplets of water to fall from the holes in the ceiling and your eyes widen a little at the sight.

“Take as long as you want,” He gently orders in a cool rasp, stroking your bruised cheek with the utmost care and immediately, you turn your head to kiss his palm, earning you a little sigh from him, “I’ll go get some food for you while you shower.”

He turns to leave you alone, but your curiosity gets the better of you and you awkwardly speak up in his native tongue, “Ori kebiin--”

Immediately, the Mandalorian freezes, his back facing you as you speak the strange words that the guard had spoken earlier, “That’s what Ima said, right? I know you told me that saviin’ika means violet and I heard her say that, but what does ori kebiin mean? Is it your title in the tribe?”

“I--It’s just--” Paz seems to hesitate for a few moments before you hear him let out with a frustrated groan, “It is what many of the younger ones in the tribe refer to me as; it means big blue. When I told you that saviin’ika only meant violet, I lied to you, cyare. Saviin means violet, but ‘ika means little.”

“Big blue and little violet?” You murmur, cheeks burning more intensely than any severe sunburn could possibly inflict on you as the warmth spreads to the tip of your ears, “That’s what she was so--”

“It’s nothing,” He huffs a little and rolls his head a little, the joints in his neck cracking from the tension that comes with a long day, "The younger ones in the tribe keep teasing me about you because they know they can get away with it."

You nod and quietly ask him one last question before he can leave, "Where is my vulptex? You said she was here, right?"

Paz chuckles a little as you frantically voice your concerns aloud, now that the two of you are safe and alone, "She is most likely in the nursery with the little ones. She has been fed and taken care of all day, cyare, please do not worry about anyone other than yourself right now. I’ll be out there if you need anything, just call if you need help."

You smile and give him one last 'thank you’ as he leaves you to wash yourself. Slowly and tiredly, you peel your clothes from your bruised and bloodied body and excitedly make your way into the shower.

A gasp nearly leaves you upon feeling the warm water gently pelt against your skin and you smile a little as you tilt your head backwards and let the water loosen the dried blood from your hair. A content sigh escapes you as you remove your metal cuffs from the tails of your braids and you place them on a little stone shelf next to yours’ and Paz's toiletries before getting to work on gently washing your mane, taking your time to make sure all the blood is removed.

You do everything in your power to not pay attention to the pink swirl of water that runs around the big drain in daunting circles.

Instead, you focus on the scent of your comforting floral shampoo or the spicy, woodsy scent of your warrior’s toiletries as you curiously bring the bar of soap to your nose to smell it.

You're not sure how long you're under the warm spray of water, your eyelids threatening to slip shut, but eventually, you're finally clean and ridden of any proof that you've stolen a life. Reluctantly, you shut the water off and step out onto a furry mat, grabbing a towel that's neatly folded next to your canvas bag. As you dry yourself, making sure not to jostle your injured hip too much, you realize just how much better you already feel now that you're clean.

It’s only once you’ve put on your nightgown that you risk a glance at the little mirror that hangs above the sink and immediately freeze. You look exhausted, you realize as you stare at your wide-eyed expression with sadness and defeat, your eyes filled with the same kind of intense emotion that would be in a young warrior’s eyes upon coming back from war. Hastily, you turn your attention to your hair, carefully combing out all the knots with the comb that Paz had dutifully tucked into the canvas bag for you.

When you brush through your hair for what must be the hundredth time, you realize you’re only delaying the inevitable--him seeing your arms and the rest of your body so exposed in your nightgown, along with all the scars and welts displayed across parts of your arms and shoulders that he’s never seen before.

‘He is a warrior,’ You remind yourself fiercely, nervously tucking a wet lock of hair behind the curve of your ear as you muster up the courage to sweep the thick curtain to the side, ‘He is used to scars and he’s told you countless times that he doesn’t mind them.’

Your nerves are at an all time high as you spot your Mandalorian in the tiny kitchenette in his private quarters, setting a wooden bowl down onto the table and you tiredly smile as he places a small spoon next to it.

“Thank you for letting me use your shower.”

Paz turns around and freezes upon meeting your gaze with his black visor; you can feel water dripping onto the thin satin material of your dress, as well as down your neck and you blink with curiosity as he remains glued to his spot in front of the little table that you realize is next to a stone furnace. He’s holding a bowl with steam dancing along the surface and your mouth instinctively waters when you catch a whiff of all the spices and unfamiliar scents of the savory meal. Behind him, you see a small piece of bread and another bowl filled with vibrant fresh fruit and you feel your heart clench at the mere thought of eating something sweet.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me for everything,” He kindly informs you, pulling out a chair as an invitation to sit down as he sets the bowl on the table, “It is... nice to see you looking more like your normal self already.”

You smile warmly at him and take a seat as the Mandalorian begins to disarm his heavy weapons and equipment, placing them in a safe spot near his massive bed where they are readily accessible, should danger dare threaten him. You nervously fiddle with the wet ends of your clean hair as your knee bounces frantically, watching him as he begins to slowly remove his armor, starting with his pauldrons as he carefully places them in that large chest at the foot of his bed.

His helmet turns and he immediately notices your hesitation to eat the food he’s laid out for you, “You... You can help yourself, cyare. I have already eaten and I can tell you’re hungry.”

You politely murmur a quiet ‘thank you’, not noticing the way his shoulders drop a little as you finally pick up the spoon to eat, your stomach growling more intensely than a rabid beast. Tucking a leg underneath yourself, you tentatively blow on the steaming spoonful of delicious looking stew before bringing it to your mouth and before you can fully register all the different spices, your taste buds explode.

Paz nearly chuckles upon watching your eyes slowly close as you experience all the different flavors for the first time, “I’m going to shower while you eat.”

“Mhm,” You simply hum, barely aware of him shaking his head in an amused manner as you practically ignore him, focusing only on the well-seasoned stew as he makes his way to the refresher.

You’re slightly sad when your spoon inevitably scrapes the bottom of the wooden dish, but excitement fills you when you remember the bowl of fruit that had been left for you. The berry you pick up is a deep shade of purple and covered in white streaks and you slowly let it slip between your lips, your shoulders falling when you bite into the berry, causing tart juice to explode in your mouth.

You’re not sure how long you must be savoring the fruit for, but eventually, your Mandalorian exits the refresher, completely ridden of all the padding and armor and his visor instantly seeks you out; you’re in the process of licking juice off your finger when your eyes dart upwards to find him standing only a few feet away from you.

Immediately you freeze, eyes wide as he walks around with his scarred torso completely bared to you, his black sleep pants slung low on his hips and you find it nearly impossible to look away from the rich brown skin that he’s choosing to expose to you for the first time. The muscles of his shoulders and arms are more defined than his soft chest and stomach and you think he must carry most of his strength in those powerful arms, what with being his tribe’s heavy-infantry warrior.

You’re grateful that he’s not touching your cheeks or ears, that way he can’t truly tell how flustered you are. Instead, he dutifully retrieves an extra fur that’s folded in one of the drawers off to the side, only turning to meet your gaze once he’s done covering his mattress in the warm material.

He must take your wide-eyed expression the wrong way, because he almost sounds afraid when he quietly speaks up, “What? You do not wish to see me like this? Are you uncomfortable?”

Immediately, you abandon your fruit and stand up to approach him, “I think you are beautiful, Paz.”

He scoffs a little, but accepts a warm embrace from you as you rest your cheek against his sternum and hook your arms underneath his armpits so you can lay your hands atop his defined shoulder blades. Instantly, his arms are wrapped tightly around your own shoulders and he holds you close to his warm chest where you can feel his heart thumping against your ear like a beacon of power and strength.

“That is my line,” He murmurs, and your lips stretch into a tired smile against his soft skin, the dark curls loosely splayed along his chest are coarse as they tickle your cheek, though you don’t mind at all, “Besides, I thought you once said you would not dare to feed my ego anymore than you already have.”

You close your eyes, taking comfort in the deep rumbling of his chest and voice as you feel his heart thrum powerfully and frantically against your eardrum, “Something makes me think your ego is not as massive as I once thought it to be.”

He scoffs, but simply holds you close to him and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt such comforting skin on skin contact like this; his huge arms simultaneously acting as a heater and a shield. He hums when you let out a relieved sigh, your warm breath fanning across his sternum as he shivers a little and brings a hand up to gently rub the back of your head, not caring that your hair is still dripping wet and getting onto his own chest.

“Sweetheart,” His chest rumbles as he speaks and your eyes flicker up to meet his visor, “We are both exhausted, it is time for us to rest, I think. Besides, I would much rather hold you like this in my bed.”

You smile and nod a little, watching as he stands tall and moves to turn off all the lights in the dim room. Hesitantly, you make your way underneath the thick furs that are draped on top of the mattress and as you let your head rest on top of a soft pillow, you fear that you will simply sink right through it, as you’ve never rested on something so pliable. Once it’s pitch black in the room and you feel the weight of his warm body dipping in the mattress next to you, you turn over onto your side to face him, despite not being able to see him in the slightest.

Immediately, your mind goes into overdrive as you think of what you’re supposed to do--what he expects from you--and you nearly jump when you feel the gentle weight of his palm carefully resting on top of your sunburnt cheek, his thumb tenderly stroking the tail of your brow. You’re not sure if you should move closer to him or what you should do with your hands as he moves the tiniest bit closer to you. Thinking of the Trandoshan and how you'd been pinned underneath his lifeless body for so long, you suddenly crave to feel his heartbeat and you scoot closer to the man that feels more like a furnace.

He doesn't say a word as he moves so he's on his back and lifts a big arm above his head, patiently waiting as you find a comfortable position to rest your head. Finally, after a few awkward seconds of the two of you fumbling around in the dark, your head finds its home on his chest, your cheek pressed against a thick, raised scar and you close your eyes with a soft smile. His arm comes down from above his head to hold you closer to him, his other hand moving to continue its previous ministrations on your cheeks and lips as you rest your palm above his heart.

You’re half asleep when you feel a crooked finger press up against the underside of your jaw, guiding your head upwards slightly and you gasp when you feel something warm and plush kiss the top of your hair.

You’re utterly unfamiliar with the sensation of being kissed, but when you feel the same pressure against your forehead, followed by an unmodulated sigh and warm breath fanning across your face, you realize the warrior has broken part of his sacred code.

He took his helmet off for you.

“P-Paz, you--” Your voice trembles and you feel his lips quirk into a smile against the brow he’s currently kissing before he moves to the bridge of your nose, “Your helmet!”

“What about it, sweetheart?”

You feel at a loss for words at the sound of his unfiltered voice and he lets out with a small chuckle at your intense reaction, humming softly against your skin as he squeezes you a little tighter.

“Can you see my face?” He questions softly against the apple of your cheek, and you shiver at the sound of his smooth baritone in the raw; when you answer him with a weak little ‘no’, he continues with amusement evident in his unfiltered voice, “Then I have not brought dishonor to my tribe or you.”

“Are you sure?”

He huffs out a small chuckle against the tip of your nose and you smile at how different his laughter sounds without his helmet--much lighter and less crackly--and you cling onto his warm voice as he firmly rubs the stress away from your shoulders and cradles your jaw with his other hand. After being handled so roughly and grossly by the Trandoshan, his tender hands fill your aching heart with love and relief; your eyelids slowly slip shut when you feel him move his torso a little off the bed so he can kiss your chin.

“I am positive, sweet nurse.”

Shyly, you lift your hand from his chest and rest it on the side of his neck as he lightly nuzzles his nose into the damp hair that’s just a little above the tip of your ear, seeming to feel no shame as he inhales the scent of your shampoo and conditioner.

You shiver when he presses another kiss into your hair and you speak up as your hand slowly inches up his neck, feeling all the little scars and veins that are prominent, along with the way his Adam’s apple shifts up and down when you graze past it, “Am I allowed to touch your face?”

He hums and moves his head to kiss all the areas on your face that he previously missed--the corners of your eyes, the spot between your brows, as well as the sides of your nose--but he ultimately decides to venture to the corner of your lips, “You may do whatever you wish to me.”

Your face grows hot as he captures your earlobe between his thumb and index finger, a large grin spreading across his lips when he feels the intense warmth on the pad of his fingers, and you shyly continue your ascent up to his face. The first thing you feel is a coarse beard and you nearly jump away from him when the wiry hair tickles and scratches against your sensitive palms; it feels neatly trimmed, cropped just a few inches underneath his smooth cheekbones and you think he must take great care to not slack with his daily hygiene or grooming.

Before you can make it to his nose, the massive warrior sighs against the corner of your lips and speaks in the most wistful tone you think you’ve ever heard--

“May I kiss you properly now, cyare?”

You freeze, completely caught off guard by his words as you hesitantly lift your head from his chest, aiming your gaze in the direction where you think his eyes must be as he reluctantly drops his head back against the pillow. His fingers tense along your sore shoulder blade and you fear that he must feel that he’s done something wrong because of your hesitation, but as you manage to turn and move until your chest is pressed against his, you shyly explore his plump lips with your fingertips.

Curiosity gets the better of you at the thought of exploring his lips with yours and you lower your head and use your hands to guide your lips to his in the darkness of his room.

Immediately, you soften against him, your palms cradling his scratchy cheeks as you shyly kiss him and you're surprised at how warm and soft his lips are against yours.

You can’t help but to grin a little at the deep groan he lets out when he seems to realize that you’re actually kissing him.

Tilting your head a little to the side, you find it easier to kiss him the way you wish and you feel Paz completely relax underneath the tiny weight of your body as you fully press your lips against his, the side of your nose lightly bumping against his. You can smell the minty scent of his own shampoo mixed with the woodsiness of his body wash and you think it intoxicates you as he reaches up to cup the back of your head to keep you from straying too far from his tender lips.

A small whimper escapes you when his teeth graze your bottom lip and you feel lighter and bereft of all thought when you reluctantly pull away from each other, feeling like a night sky without her moon and you can’t stop yourself from stealing another kiss, earning another soft noise from the surprised man.

Your heart pounds a little faster when you feel his hand dip down to your waist to carefully hike you further up his body so he doesn’t have to lift his head as much and you smile as you bring your hands up to cup his scruffy cheeks; as your thumbs graze his cheekbones, you’re delighted to find that they are just as warm as your own. You’re practically laying on top of him, though he doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your body in the slightest as he holds you close to him.

Paz makes a small humming noise as he gently rubs a large hand up and down your back, continuing to kiss the corners of your lips and cheeks with fervor even when you pull away for air; you close your eyes in bliss, unfamiliar with the affection, but also basking in his warmth--his love.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

He whispers the unfamiliar words several times against your warm skin and you think he must be telling you the sweetest words, what with how quiet and soft he’s grown underneath you and your curiosity immediately gets the better of you.

“What does that mean?”

“In Mando’a, it means ‘I hold you in my heart forever’,” He explains, teeth grazing your sensitive jawline before moving upwards to steal another kiss from your grinning lips, “It is our way of telling another that we love them.”

You think it sounds far more beautiful than those other simple three words but you let the warrior kiss your lips as many times as he wishes, thinking that perhaps he’s never been this intimate with another. Also because you’ve never been showered with such affection and you think receiving it from Paz is one of the most beautiful phenomenons you’ve ever experienced.

"Your lips still taste like fruit," He informs you as his lips graze your jawline before moving to your ear, "I wonder if the rest of you tastes so sweet."

The gruffness of his tone combined with the way his teeth gently nip at your lobe has you feeling as though you're going to pass out or spontaneously combust. Shyly, you tuck your head firmly underneath his chin, your sunburned cheeks feeling even hotter as the warrior's chest rumbles with a deep laugh.

“I think you only wished to have me here so you can torment me,” You whisper against his bare neck, earning another chuckle from your Mandalorian as he continues to rub your spine in a comforting manner, “I don’t think I mind this kind of torment though. I would not mind having this every night, if you and your people were so kind to allow it.”

“They will,” He murmurs, squeezing you tighter to him, “Please, cyare, rest your eyes. You have had a long day, but you are safe with me now.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and contentment as your eyelids slowly slip shut, exhaustion overtaking your body as he continues to gently press tender kisses to your cheeks and brows until you fall into a strange sleep where you can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. You have nightmares of the Trandoshan’s body pinned against yours, as well as sweet dreams of spending the rest of your days underneath such tender care of your Mandalorian.

You’re in a strange limbo of intense nightmares and delightful dreams, but Paz seems to wake up whenever you whimper or let out with a small cry, reminding you in a hushed whisper that you are somewhere safe with him, rather than the infirmary or your hut. It’s not until you feel him stroking the tail of your brow that you fully fall into a peaceful sleep with visions of blue Beskar and strong arms.

You barely wake up with a quiet whimper hours later when you feel him lightly shuffling your body off of his before speaking in a soft, raspy whisper, “I must leave now for negotiations, cyare. You stay here and rest, okay? I shouldn’t be too long.”

“M’kay,” You blearily hum, nuzzling your face into the pillow that smells like Paz and you’re only slightly aware of the way he gives you one last kiss against your brow before he leaves you to put his armor and helmet on and begin his duties for the day.

You don’t sleep for too much longer, finding that Paz has taken all the warmth with him, even with the plush, thick fur that covers your body. You stare up at the ceiling for a few until you hear the covert slowly come alive, metal scraping against metal and loud shouts in an alien language followed by ringing laughter. Feeling slightly lazy and useless, you decisively get out of the comfortable, massive bed and make your way into the refresher, preparing yourself for what you think might be a long, strange day.

It feels bizarre seeing your hair without its flowers and a part of you wonders if Paz still has the flowers you gave him; perhaps you would still be able to plant them and grow some more, you ponder hopefully.

After you finish your typical morning routine, choosing to leave your hair without your usual braids, you throw on your leggings and sweater before cautiously poking your head out the door. You’re surprised to find the corridor empty and slowly leave Paz’s quarters, despite his insistence on you resting.

Curiosity has you nervously wringing your hands together as you make it to the staircase that Paz had led you down the previous night, and you jump a little upon hearing loud cheering and the shrill sound of metal clanging and scraping against each other. After finally making it up the stairs, you tentatively head in the direction that the ruckus is coming from.

It’s not until you hear Paz’s infuriated baritone of a voice that you make haste to the armory, barely remembering how to get there. Eventually, you round a corner and nearly freeze upon seeing several armored Mandalorians surrounding what appears to be some sort of altercation in front of the forge and you immediately sigh when you see a blue helmet right in the center of it.

You spot Ima, who seems to stand out from the others with her bright armor and you perk up a little as you approach her.

“Ima,” You say her name just loud enough for her to hear over the a loud shriek of metal being scraped, successfully gaining her attention as she turns to face you, “What’s going on?”

“See for yourself,” She sounds slightly amused and you allow her to place a hand on your shoulder, urging you between her and another huge Mandalorian that barely cocks his helmet to look down at you, “Your ori kebiin verd is fighting for your honor, though I don’t think Djarin is putting up much of a fight.”

You gasp upon seeing the bounty hunter from the previous day crumbled to the ground on his knees, Paz’s hand curled into the thick material of his cowl to hold him up properly.

“How many credits did you deem her life worthy of?!” Paz roars and you instantly freeze, thinking you’ve never heard him this infuriated, even towards your father, “Tell me you fucking hu’tuun! Tell me how many credits you were given in exchange for an innocent, precious life!”

“Five hundred,” The bounty hunter rasps, sounding weak and terribly injured underneath all the Beskar and your instincts have you stepping forward, though Ima is quick to ground you in place with a hand on your shoulder; she simply shakes her head when you peer up at her.

“Five--you gave her away for five hundred credits?!” You feel frozen as Paz forces him to his feet and drags him over to the forge that is now activated, “You only did it because you thought she would be an easy target, didn’t you, Djarin?”

The bounty hunter grunts when Paz forcefully pushes him backwards, slamming his head against the outer rim of the forge before wrapping his fingers around the injured man’s neck and holding his shiny helmet close to the intense flames.

You immediately voice your fears to Ima, who seems unfazed, as though this is a common occurrence, “Is Paz going to actually kill him?”

“Nah, this happens all the--” She stops mid sentence upon hearing the bounty hunter’s grunts and groans from the intense, suffocating heat that’s trapped underneath his helmet, though Paz makes no move to let him go, “Actually, he might go through with it this time. If not, Djarin’s definitely going to wish he was dead.”

“What?” Paz scoffs when the bounty hunter begins to thrash a little harder against the warrior’s unwavering grip, the heat most likely becoming more unbearable, “Can’t handle a little heat, vod? I’m sure you’re crying under that damn helmet more than she cried when you forced her to cauterize her own fucking wound.”

“I didn’t--” The bounty hunter sounds like he’s trying to disguise his excruciating pain and you feel your shoulders tense up to your earlobes, hating that you feel sympathy for the man who attempted to trade your life away for such a small price.

“Do you know how many times she tried to tell you?” Paz’s voice drops to a terrifying growl, the noise crackly and you wonder what’s currently going through his mind, “Do you know what she already had to deal with every damn day and you--” Tears fill your eyes at the pain in his next words, “You know what she means to me and you made her too scared to even look at me, hu’tuun. I almost lost her because of my own brother!”

You fear that the bounty hunter has passed out when he doesn’t respond, his body growing limp underneath Paz’s grip, but the warrior continues, “Why don’t I help you with that heat problem, Djarin? Bet you could use a little fresh air.”

You gasp when a large hand moves to the chin of the bounty hunter’s shiny helmet, his fingers curling underneath the lip and you immediately understand what he wants to do.

“You’re going to look her in eyes when you beg for forgiveness at her feet, Din Djarin.”

Translations *this is for all the dialogue between Imalia and Paz*

norac bid Nusujii, ori kebiin=back so soon, big blue?

cuyir ibic gar orikih baar'ur, ba’vodu?=is this your tiny medic, uncle?

Elek=yes (Lek is more casual, like ‘yeah’)

Ni copad at haa'taylir kaysh=I want to see her

Gar liser't chayaikir kaysh guuror ibic=You can't tease her like this

Ni guuror kaysh=i like her

cuyir gar orikih baar’ur ratiin ibic pel=Is your tiny medic always this soft?

tion'jor an te tal?=why all the blood?

vaii cuyir te sarad gar rucuyir cyau'kuyc at dinuir kaysh?=where is the flower you were excited to give her?

cuyir te baar'ur shupur'yc?= is the medic injured?

ner alor=my leader

Then there’s the usual words for nicknames and such:

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Cyare=Beloved, loved, popular

Hu’tuun=Coward

Verd=Warrior

Author’s note: Thank you all so much for the kind, supportive words on the last chapter!! Like, literally everyone has been so sweet and so supportive despite me being more inactive than usual and it seriously means the world to me?? Like I said before, I’m so excited to have more time to be active on here and interact with you all much more!! I love you all so much, hope you’re having a wonderful day, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it <33

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @peqchynero @haloangel391 @honestlystop @cryptkeepersoul @haloangel391 @awhiskeywithawinchester *As always, if I missed anyone, please let me know ASAP!!

#paz vizsla x reader #Paz vizsla x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizla x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #paz vizsla #ngl #Paz is just an angry boi #saviin is like #bitch u left our warm bed to kick Din's butt??

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team-canon · 3 years

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A Skyrim build idea I thought might be fun.

The Warm Witch

A young Imperial from southern Cyrodiil, where the weather is usually pleasant but the options for learning magic aren't so great, the Warm Witch decided she wanted to go to Skyrim, to learn magic at the College of Winterhold and test the strength of it against the myriad dangers of the northern lands. In her mind, Skyrim was the place she'd have the best chances at becoming a great Battlemage by real world experience.

While there was a bit of an issue in the Jerall mountains, she was still able to get out of Helgen and make her way to Whiterun, and from there take a carriage to Winterhold. However, her journey up to that made her realize she had neglected to consider a small detail: Skyrim is *cold*. Much too cold for a teenager used to warm Cyrodiilic weather almost year-round, and the mage's intentions of battling against the wilds of Skyrim seemed like a distant idea, if she couldn't even leave the inside of the College.

This is where the build earns its name. Our heroine will still want to become a great Winterhold mage. She'll still want to become Dragonborn and gain the power of the shout. She'll still go across Skyrim looking for adventure. But those things aren't her priority anymore. What she puts at the forefront is to try and find ways to make herself feel warm.

Now for how she plays.

For starters, she'll be learning Destruction and Conjuration magic, for fire combat spells and flame atronachs. The main goal for these is to get Flame Cloak, Incinerate, and Flame Thrall at the lowest cost possible.

She'll also learn Alchemy and Enchanting, so that she can have clothes and potions that keep her constantly having the Resist Frost effect. Also health and magicka potions and enchantments for magicka regen, to make sure she keeps her meters up.

Finally, she's going to train in Alteration, One Handed, and Light Armor, to make her more viable in direct combat, and to fit the roleplaying for reasons I'll explain further down. The main use of Alteration is the Flesh spells, with Ebonyflesh as your big goal.

The Mage stone will be alright at first, but before long you'll want to head to the Reach and get the Lover Stone to let her non magic skills get a boost too. Once they've all levelled up enough, go to Hjaalmarch and get her the Lord Stone to buff her defense.

There isn't necessarily any Shouts that are really necessary for the build, though Fire Breath might be a good call. Instead, I recommend the usual practice if getting as many shouts as you feel like and using them how you like.

Because she has the Enchanting skill, you can make rings and necklaces with whatever effects suit you. If you want pre-existing necklaces, I recommend either the Gauldur Amulet or an Amulet of Akatosh. You may want the Ring of Hircine as well, I'll explain later.

For clothes, she's going to head to Solstheim and you'll let the Skaal hunters lose to the Netch, so you can take the Skaal hat, coat, gloves, and boots. The Skaal are basically the only people in the game that dress appropriately for the weather, so with this she'll finally have the warmth she always wanted. Keep in mind though, without mods the Skaal outfit can't be smithed up, so the armor rating won't be too good until you boost it with Alteration. You'll also want to give the outfit pieces enchantments for-you guessed it-Resist Frost. Alternatively, if you're willing to give up the hat and coat, she can instead wear the Archmage robes and Morokei mask from the end of the College quest, which would be a significant boost to her magic but not fit the roleplay as well. Then again, the Archmage robes look pretty warm too.

Since she's leveling Conjuration, having her wield Bound Swords will be helpful to boost both it and her One Handed skill, until you can do Meridia's quest and give her Dawnbreaker, which she'll take through the rest of the game. Dawnbreaker lets her have a heat source near her at all times in addition to a powerful weapon.

With gear out of the way, we move onto factions and quests. The College of Winterhold storyline will obviously be the first priority. The main quest and the Dragonborn DLC are also important, Dragonborn especially, for the Skaal. Because she's on a quest for warmth, she'll also join the Dawnguard in the battle against the vampires, because if the sun goes out it'll be even colder in Skyrim. Most of the Daedra quests aren't really needed, although Meridia's absolutely is. You may also want to do Azura's for easier enchanting, and Hircine, siding with Sinding, because there's another important quest I haven't told you about yet.

She's going to join the Companions and gain the power of the werewolf, so that she can have a thick fur coat to warm herself with. And speaking of warm and thicc, she's going to find her permanent traveling companion and husband in Jorrvaskr: Farkas. He's big, he's nice, and his arms will keep her warm when they sleep, plus he's more heavily armored and has a two handed weapon, so he can cover for her weaknesses in a fight. The only time she won't have him traveling with her is the part of the Dawnguard storyline where Serana is the Dragonborn's mandatory companion.

And finally, roleplaying.

Her priority being warmth, she tends to avoid swimming if she doesn't have to. When she fights things like ice wraiths, Wisps, or Falmer, who use the power of ice as a weapon, she's going to be extra aggressive against them out of anger at them trying to make her cold. Although at the same time, they aren't likely to hurt her too badly with all the Resist Frost effect items she's using. She's also hard on bandits, because despite being mostly pelts their clothes aren't too covering against the cold, and she's salty about not being able to take them to get warm.

Getting warm isn't her only priority though. She's in Skyrim despite the cold because she wants to learn about the arcane and get stronger. She's likely to spend lots of time in necromancer lairs and ancient nord tombs, battling the denizens to get their power. Once she goes to Solstheim, she'll do the same with Tel Mithryn and Apocrypha.

She's going to be a good person, and not try to take advantage of people or cause harm to those who hadn't hurt her(except Nazeem). She's going to do things that would make the College and Companions proud, and ultimately, she's going to save Skyrim from Ancano, Miraak, Harkon, and Alduin, possibly in that order, and make things better for the people around her. Because nothing makes you feel warmer than getting a thankful smile.

In conclusion, the Warm Witch is what the name suggests: a woman with strong magic, looking to use that magic to defend herself against Skyrim's terribly cold climate, and in her war against the cold, also finds herself fighting against dragons, vampires, and worse, all for the defense of the people who live in the harsh northern lands.

That's really about it. I hope you enjoyed reading, and if you decide to play as this build, I hope she's fun for you to play.

#Skyrim #elder scrolls #Skyrim builds #Imperial #Battlemage #Skaal #College of Winterhold #Companions #werewolf

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everettlance · 3 years

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A LIVING DEATH // SELF-PARA

The flashbacks don’t take long to start. For a person who’s been transplanted into a new body, it becomes increasingly difficult to tell what’s real and what isn’t. He isn’t real because he can’t be real. The laws of possibility state strictly that the dead remain dead, and yet, here he is. The dead, walking through an empty home.

His new house is for him and him only. His parents and several siblings meet him at the train station when he gets home but he refuses to speak to any of them.

He can’t listen to what they have to say. He doesn’t want to hear it, whatever empty words they might have for him, or worse, if they have love.

No one is allowed in. Maverick is not allowed in, not even allowed to talk to him. He walks past Agatha’s empty house, the lights darkened. He often finds himself in Orpheus’s bed, discovering his new body, discovering that the only thing approaching pleasure is in the carnal. Nights slip by. His old weed dealer is happy to see him.

The first flashback is in his cavernous bedroom, which he learns is cold in the winters. It feels like the bitter mountaintop, and suddenly the covers are not simply cotton, but rather, a blanket of snow, and before him is Seraphina: Take care of yourself Everett, and I’ll catch you in the next lifetime, okay?

How? His voice is an echo and is begging. It is raw, he is raw. He’s not sure if he’s speaking aloud or not, but no one is here to confirm. How do I take care of myself, Sera, how?

She is trapped and so is he. She beneath the boulder, he beneath the memory of it. He knows he isn’t here but he doesn’t know how to get out; his heart pounds his ribcage as if begging to escape it.

Sera doesn’t tell him how to take care of himself. She doesn’t tell him how to run away. She doesn’t say anything but tells him, over and over: Even Crash Justice can’t muscle his way through this one.

And what if he can’t?

Hours spent paralyzed beneath the memories. It’s Seraphina, then it’s Marino, falling from the ferris wheel. It’s Margot, torn to shreds by the wolves. It’s Burly, slicing at his face — the scar recreates itself every time he looks at himself in the mirror, not a memory but a present happening. It’s Memphis’s silent begging. It’s Agatha:

You better fucking win.

I did it, he says, on his knees like he’s praying in his room, the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, I did it. Now what?

No one will tell him. None of the ghosts know the answer because none of them lived.

Sloane and Tommy visit him together and he kills them both again. And again. And again. It becomes more difficult to discern reality from unreality. He tries to write things down: I am here, I am real, I am Everett Lance and I won the Hunger Games.

But it isn’t true.

He is Everett Lance and he lost the Hunger Games.

Both things cannot be true.

They are.

On the outside of the house is latticework up which vines crawl. It’s easy to grip, easier to fall from, and the first time he tries it, escaping the memory of Memphis, who lays dying on the beach in his bedroom, he nearly falls. He catches himself on a pipe, but in the moment where freefall felt certain, Memphis disappears. The sand is gone. Only he is here. Moments later, he’s on the roof.

He knows that he is losing it. The roof doesn’t care. He lays flat and looks at the stars. He looks at the tattoo on his arm and traces the waves with his fingers. This is how he knows he is a person, even if he doesn’t know who that person is.

Maverick leaves for Seven. It’s better this way.

There’s a thunderstorm one afternoon. The lightning sends him in two directions at once: he is in the forest, holding Delta’s body as she dies, and he is in the middle of a town, watching the sky spin.

Whose memories entrap him?

He climbs onto the roof, away from the bodies that pile in his room. The lattice is slippery and he nearly falls twice, three times. The roof is slippery. No one comes to stop him. He doesn’t die. He’s lucky.

The stylist comes and asks if he’s more loyal to the red or blue team, and which he’d like to wear on his Victory Tour.

He tells her to put him in black.

He goes for long runs. He drinks himself to sleep. He lets himself cry. Nothing helps. Only the roof, slippery, steep, his weight and himself clinging to the shingles, can quiet the other tributes and drown out the Arenas.

He goes hiking, blazing his own trail. He finds steep cliffs and sits on the edges. He wonders about falling. He doesn’t. He goes to the shooting range, hits the first target and drops the gun.

Never again.

Life moves both forwards and backwards at a dizzying pace. He ignores texts, calls. The Peacekeeping Academy wants to make a hero of him but he’s read what they said when he died. They dismissed him, said he was a traitor for volunteering.

He is a traitor but he’s not sure to whom.

Spring begins, though he will never again trust the seasons.

The day he leaves for the Victory Tour, District Two is shrouded in cold weather, common for this time of year, but when he arrives in District Twelve, warmth is beginning in the upper reaches of Panem.

It’s an honor to be here today…

In Twelve, no one stands on the podium before Margot’s photo. He doesn’t know who or what to look at and the ringing in his ears is his own panic. He speaks quickly. He doesn’t succumb to the memory of Margot’s death, though he can feel the dirt in his hands as he digs.

I’m so privileged to have been chosen out of so many tributes to come back for the Quell…

In Eleven, the weather is even warmer. Trees blossom but there are no green leaves or pink flowers in the square where the stage is set up. Apple’s face looks at him from the projection, but as in Twelve, no one stands before it. It was only her, the only tribute from her District chosen to return. He had told her he hadn’t wanted to kill. It feels like a lie now.

My love for Panem kept me going through the Arena…

In Eight, there are more faces: Marino, Nikita, Franklin, Jeannie. The four of them stare at him and he tries to avoid eye contact. For a moment he can’t tell if they’re real or not. Or if they were ever real. The cards: he reads from the speech he’s been given. Nikita and Franklin have no family present, but Hunter Twill stands in front of Jeannie’s picture in sunglasses, shooting him a thumbs up. In the recap, he saw Jeannie explode, but couldn’t see her face. He wishes he could have seen it. Could have buried her like he’d buried Delta and Margot. It was a dignity that she deserved but would never get. And Nikita, stronger than him, smarter than him — should she be here right now instead of him? Should they all? 39 Victors rather than him, it feels like more than a fair trade. And Marino’s family, he knows they’re looking at him. He knows that Margot is not the only guilty one. He’s the only one remaining to bear the burden. It’s too heavy. In Eight, he stumbles, stutters, the world tilts and he sees stars — the speech is cut short, he is brought off the stage, excuses are made for him that he doesn’t deserve. His new body is checked over, questioned: are you alright? Do you feel alright? They think it’s because he’s a clone, and he doesn’t know how to say it’s because of everything else they’ve done to him.

Even though it was difficult, the trials that the Gamemakers set us were always fair…

In Seven, Alder and Maverick are there. Maverick tries to talk to him but he doesn’t want to speak. He has been given no cards to tell him how to face his old best friend. Alder leaves him be which feels like more mercy than he deserves. Burly’s family stands tall and proud; they glare at him. He can’t look, he can’t look. He leaves Seven as quickly as he can.

Panem has always been strong through trying times, whether or not the trials we face are fair...

In Six, he walks onto the stage and is immediately in the woods of the Arena. Sloane is on the ground to his left, Tommy to his right. There is blood all over his hands, all over his notecards. Amphora’s family, her smiling face, she looks so happy. How could she be happy here in the Arena? Tommy’s family stands in front of his picture; a wolf, decaying like him, prowls in front of them. Hadn’t he mentioned a mother? He feels sick. He forces himself to look because he doesn’t want to be a coward. He adds one thing into his speech:

I’m sorry.

On the way to Four, he makes a request. As the train rumbles towards the ocean, preparations are made. One wish can be granted, surely, for the Victor of the Quarter Quell, the boy on whom the Capitol is leaning to bring peace. When he gets onstage, Delta’s face is one of four. The Dunes are there, he recognizes them by the family resemblance, and thinks of Mako in the Capitol, happy. The Blues pull his attention, though, and he sees immediately that she gets her red hair from her family. They do not look at him unkindly, and after the speech, for the first time, he lingers. He tells them he thought it would be nice; to remember her. That he wishes she would have been brought back. That she deserved the Victory. She deserves to be remembered. Above him, lightning flashes but he digs fingernails into palms and forces himself to remain here, in the present; it’s what they deserve.

The Blues invite him into their house. It is small and comfortable. They offer to show him her room but he doesn’t want to see, not yet. He says this: Not yet. Maybe I’ll come back. They thank him for protecting her and sticking by her side. In their home for the first time in months he feels like he’s real. He apologizes for not being able to save her and cries.

We are better as a united nation than we are as individual parts, and I was better in the Arena with my allies than I was alone.

In Three, he finds Seraphina’s parents. She’d asked him to tell them she loved him and he won’t break a promise, even if his hands are shaking. Even if his lunch threatens to make a reappearance as he faces, directly, the parents of the girl he killed. The McCabes are kind, though, understanding; they just want to know what he and their daughter spoke about and did. They haven’t seen her in ten years, never expected to get her back. He tells them about swimming in the pool, eating the last cookie and facing her wrath. It feels nice to have a good story to tell.

The relationship between the Districts and the Capitol is one of peace, mutual protection, and balance.

In One, many faces, many families, look back at him from the crowd. He is tired, his body is exhausted and the travel has worn him out. Throughout the trip he has been tested, they’ve taken blood draws and measured his heart rate, had him undergo various physical examinations to be sure that all is well. They want to make sure, they say, that the stress doesn’t wear him out in this new body. He thinks it’s funny and laughs, but they don’t seem to get what’s so humorous about it. Diana’s face; she had offered him mercy, hadn’t hurt him though she could have. In front of Mandi’s face is a crowded podium; she was right about having a big family. There are so many people who love her; his knees threaten to buckle under the weight of all that grief, but he holds it together on the stage. He’s getting good at pretending.

It’s one I am proud to be a part of as your new reigning Victor of the Quarter Quell.

He returns home last, and even though many of the Districts saw warmer temperatures, it’s snowing when he walks onto the stage to give his speech one last time, this time to his home. Before him are the faces of Lionel, Agatha, and Isabela. Only Isa has people standing before hers, her family. The snow falling — he wonders if the Arena is broken, because it’s supposed to be springtime now — doesn’t deter the crowds. The District is proud of their Victor, proud to have brought it home for the Quell and the second time in a year. Cain is there, Orpheus is there, Trixie’s there, he’s the only one who feels like he’s missing. Where is he? Where is this person they’re celebrating?

The speech is not his. It’s bad, cliche, and it feels sour in his mouth. In the other Districts, they hated it; a few people even booed, though they were swiftly punished for it. In Two, though, he sees people nodding. He sees hands over hearts. He feels sick. Sick in this place that made him. Sick with the altitude of the heights they’ve lifted him to.

Afterwards he is only allowed one night at home before he has to go to the Capitol for the ball. In the empty house, they are all speaking. Carlos, Travela, Memphis, Marino, Burly, Sloane, Seraphina, and Tommy. Their fingers press against the wallpaper, they want to get out, but they can’t any more than he can. Agatha is stuck telling him, over and over, to win. He’d better fucking win.

Why? he asks, but she never has a good answer for him.

He climbs up onto the roof. He looks at the stars and tries to place himself in the universe.

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thatlongspringnight · 4 years

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The End (Yoongi/Reader)

Pairing: Yoongi/Reader ⏤ Genre: angst - that’s it, just angst ⏤ 2000-ish ⏤ Angst, suicide tw, major character death, pain and suffering

Summary: In the end, at the very last moment, she loves him more than life itself - and that’s all that matters.

“I’ll kill you.” Yoongi’s voice is cold at her ear, but no more cold than the feeling of her own skin. And he talks a big talk - but he is so warm, so human, and she can hear his racing heart, the thump-thump of betrayal, of desire, of...fear. He’s afraid and the woman wants to smile, even with the stake he has pressed over her heart. “Will you kill me, Min Yoongi?”

“Shut up.” He hisses, with her body flush against his, but she makes no move to get away from him. For being in a life threatening situation, she was the epitome of calm, something that only pissed him off even more. “I will do it. I’ll kill you.”

“Then do it.” The creature drawls, and he only thinks of her like that because that's what she is, something inhuman, something he's been trained to kill since birth.

No matter how familiar that gaze is, no matter the memories of her that swirl in his chest.

She makes a decision, grasping at his wrist, pressing the stake further into the pale of her skin, enough to draw the smallest amount of blood. It was an uncomfortable feeling, a prick of pain but nothing too threatening. Yet. “That’s your job isn’t it, hunter? Then kill me. I’m giving you the chance to do so.”

“You – you’re just going to sit here and let me kill you?” Yoongi’s voice was a hiss, grasping at her hair to tug it back. “Fuck you.”

“You’re mad that I’m not struggling, that I’m letting you do it?” Her gaze was trained on him, eyes soft with an emotion he did not want to name. “Don’t you understand…I’ll let you kill me. I’m not really alive anyway, am I? Not according to you.”

“You’re a wraith, not alive, only on this earth as a shade, evil incarnate, feeding on the lifeblood of humanity.” Yoongi trembled, imperceptible, and god, whatever heart she had, broke for him.

“Maybe so – but if you believe that…then why haven’t you gotten it over with. Or are you trying to draw out my suffering –" Her voice caught when he yanked her to his eye level, so she was up on tiptoes. "Isn’t that cruel? I may not be human, but I still feel…and It hurts me to see you like this –“ She meant it.

She meant every word. She would have given up her life a thousand times over to avoid seeing the pain on his face, the betrayal she hadn't been able to save him from.

“Fuck you, succubus. How dare you – how dare you try to act like you care about my feelings, like you weren’t trying to lure me in.”

“I wasn’t!” The woman shot back. “I never intended to lure you into anything. I care about you Yoongi – you…you know how I feel I L-“

“Don’t you dare.” Yoongi pressed the stake further, feeling her tense under his touch, but still, she didn’t move. “Don’t fucking say it.”

“Then what do you want me to say?” She was tired, looked tired. Anyone else she could’ve gotten away from them, could’ve twisted herself out of this situation and put an end to their pathetic existence.

But- But not Yoongi. Not the man she was in love with. Not the one she had fought so hard to be with, hiding herself in the hope that one day...one day she could fix things, she could be with him like she wanted.

“Just...don’t say anything! Just keep your mouth shut for once, dammit.” He was trembling now. Why? Why couldn’t he just end it? Why was this so fucking hard??

“If you can’t do it then I can do it for you.” A rueful smile twisted at her lips. “I died over 400 years ago, what’s a second time? But...you’ll have to run. Get out of here. Go someplace where you can be free...free of this life. Find another human to live your life with, be happy. You deserve that much, Yoongi...and its all I ask in return”

His lover gripped at the stake, taking an unnecessary breath – She really didn’t need to breath after all, but she had gotten used to it…to the idea of being human. God – she had wanted it badly too, seeing Yoongi’s gummy smile, feeling his warm hand in hers. But – But she wouldn’t have changed anything. Because...because she would have never met him if not, right?

And she felt like that was enough. 400 years of wandering the earth, from princess to pauper, and everything in between, and if she died now, at least the last thing she saw was his face, and – and maybe it wasn’t his sweet, sleepy smile, but it was still enough, and she could hold the rest of those memories so long as he held her.

“Shut up.” Yoongi’s hands fumbled, and her own came up to grip at his, at the stake, steadying them. She could do this – she could do this for him.

“Promise me, Yoongi.” She stared at his eyes, so dark and beautiful. “If I do this – you have to fucking live, okay.”

“You aren’t doing this.” Yoongi hissed, trying to tug the spike away, anger fading to terror at her tight grip at the resolve on her face. “W-Wait - wait you aren’t doing this!” His breath hitched, fingers digging into the wood...only for her to hold it in place.

“No – Min Yoongi, you don’t get to do this.” The woman shook her head, the beginnings of tears making her eyes shine. “if I’m going to die, please – let me die here, hm?" She offered him a water smile. "With you.”

“You’re not dying!” Yoongi snapped, the anger in his voice just...just a shade - covering his terror, his despair. But there was fear in his voice too, his eyes widening. “No- you’re not fucking dying here.” He tried to yank the stake back as hard as he could but she...she was a vampire, undead, non human, much stronger than him. “Wait - Please - Don’t - Fuck...don’t do this.”

“I love you, Yoongi.” She could feel the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes start to fall. She...this wasn’t how this was meant to happen. But it was better this way, to end things now - to destroy idle daydreams of happy endings that would never transpire. Creatures like her weren't meant for such things.

There would be no more shared kisses and sweet nights together, no more laying in each other's arms, dreaming of a future they couldn't have...but...she wouldn’t have to witness the pain of him growing older while she stayed the same. He could marry - he could have children, little hellions with his tired gaze and sunny, gummy smile. She- she didn’t have to see him move onto someone who was much better for him than she was. Someone human. “I love you, even if you hate me right now. I love you.”

"No - No, don’t-“ There it was, the breaking of his heart as his hands gripped so hard at the stake his knuckles turned white.

“I’m so glad I got to love you, Min Yoongi. More than anything.” A pained gasp left her lips as she shoved the stake deeper into her body, the sickening crack of breaking bone echoing in the room. It...hurt, pain she hadn’t felt in such a long time...surging into her as the blood in her veins sprang to life. “It’s okay...you’ll move on from me. I’m- I’m nothing but a monster after all. An abomination.”

“No! – No you aren’t.” Yoongi’s face crumpled, tears brimming hotly at his eyes. “You – you fucking idiot. Why’d you do that?” He couldn’t stop himself, grasping her face in between his hands, ignoring the bubble of blood on her lips. If she was really so dead – so much of a monster, why was she bleeding? Why was there blood in her veins at all?

“You know why I did it, my sweet Suga.” The stake was pulled from her, his gasp - his hand on her chest as he tried to stop the bleeding.

She was bleeding...bleeding so much. It had been so long sense she had bled at all. She could feel pain then – more than she had felt in ages. Sharp and searing, agonizing, as the magic of the simple steak broke whatever dark curse had kept her on this earth so long. “Because – because this was the only option.”

“No – No, there had to be something else.” Yoongi, was holding her, he had gathered her in his arms, so she was resting against him, her own arms clutching lightly at his shirt. There was blood, so much of it, warm and dripping from her chest, staining his clothes, her skin. “Why – why…you know I – you know I love you.” He confessed, finally. Finally saying those three words that he had held in his heart for so long…that he had wanted to say, but had never done it.

He had waited, waited too long – and now he couldn’t say it to her over and over, he couldn’t whisper it to her in bed, when she snuggled against him, craving his warmth. Or – or when they shared gentle kisses outside the church he had first met her at. There would be no smiling I love you over joined hands and – and no more of her smiles at all.

“Yoongi…” Her voice was soft, and she rested her forehead against his. “Yoongi – ngh – Suga.” She tensed, turning her head as a little cough echoed in the room, He could feel the splatter and he knew that if he looked at her, blood would be dripping from her mouth. “I love you. You know. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He was holding her so close, and he was so warm. She felt warm, warmer than she had been in so many years. She felt –

“You made me feel human, you know? You beautiful – terrible creature.” She couldn’t really move…and she felt so tired. Sleep - how long had it been since she had truly slept? "For whole moments, I dreamt...you made me dream of a future, something beyond the need for blood. You made me long for a family that I could never have."

"Stop." He tried to shush her, pressing soothing circles against her back with his palm. "Save your strength."

" S'okay." She countered. "I just...I need sleep, finally." The look she shot him was rueful, a bit of teasing still clinging to her. “Can you kiss me…before I sleep?” She phrased it so politely, as though she wasn’t dying in his arms, a spike embedded in her chest. As though she hadn't taken her life - to free him of the burden.

“Yes – anything.” Yoongi shifted her, holding her face so he could place a gentle kiss against her lips, tears dripping down his face, as he ignored the crimson taste of death on her lips. “I love you. I love you.” Maybe if he said it enough times, maybe then it would be enough, maybe then she’d realize just how much he meant it.

“I love you too….” She hummed, a sweet little sound. “Its so nice to hear you say it…”

“I should’ve said it sooner.”

“But I know you love me, silly cat.” She offered, snuggling against him. Doing her best to act as though she wasn't fading from this world, fading away from him. "...I’m so tired.”

“Its okay, you can sleep. I’m right here. And – And I’ll be here when you wake up too.”

“So sweet of you.” To lie like that...she mused, brushing a thumb over his ruddied lip, hand falling uselessly to her side as the darkness closed in. There was a sigh, and it was stillness….a sudden lack of anything – there was no noise – nothing, and he sobbed, like a child, holding onto her – Holding on to what was left of the one he loved.

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zaph1337 · 3 years

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Monster Hunter Rating 31: W̶h̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶V̶e̶l̶o̶c̶i̶p̶r̶e̶y̶ Giaprey, the Carnivore

Well, now that I’m done with talking about the monsters in the first game, it’s time to move on...to the first game’s expansion! Monster Hunter G is a Japan-only game that’s the same as the first, but introduces “G” Rank quests, which are more difficult than High Rank ones. The game also introduces subspecies of several monsters which are more powerful and sport different colors. However, those are the only new monsters that G introduced, which means that yes, every monster I’m going to talk about for a while is going to be a recolor, so rating them is gonna be tricky.

I would normally go in the order of the Quest Lists on the wiki, but the wiki doesn’t have a list for the Village Quests in the game, meaning that I have to rely on the Town Quest List. This isn’t a huge problem because almost all of the new monsters are on it, but two of them aren’t, so I’m gonna cover those first, then go in quest order. Now, enough talky talk; let’s start things off with the White Velociprey...wait, what?

Uh, okay, so when I went to the White Velociprey’s wiki page, I found out that the image used for it is for another monster called a Giaprey, which apparently looks exactly the same. I was confused for a while, ‘cause the page compared them to each other like they were different creatures, but according to the Notes at the bottom of the page, they’re the same; the reason they have different names in English is because the first game they appeared in outside of Japan called them White Velociprey because localization be like that sometimes. So, for the sake of actually accomplishing something, I’m just gonna talk about what later games call the Giaprey.

(How it appears in Monster Hunter 2 [No, the wiki didn’t have anything from MHG])

(How it appears in Monster Hunter Generations)

Appearance: Look, I was gonna make a sassy comment along the lines of “what do you think monsters also known as ‘White Velociprey’ look like?” but considering every monster I’m gonna talk about for a while is a recolor I think that would get old pretty quick. Instead, I’m going to ask “how does the monster look with this new color scheme?” And Giaprey don’t look too bad; rather than a white, they’re a color the wiki describes as “crystal blue,” which sounds more pretentious than white so I can see why they chose that for the name.

However, while Giaprey still have a pleasing color scheme, I still prefer the cerulean used for Velociprey, so I’m giving the former a 5/10.

Behavior/Lore: Giaprey are the only dromaeosaurid monsters that can and do live in frigid environments; their lighter colors are likely an adaptation to aid in camouflage, though I don’t know how much that helps considering that they’re not actually white. Fun fact, though: apparently Giaprey were once thought to be albino Velociprey, but they are now considered separate species. There have, however, been sightings of supposed albino Velociprey in the Forest and Hills region that have not been seen using any of the Giaprey’s ice abilities, nor have they been seen with any larger pack leaders, so it’s possible that there are packs of albino Velociprey that have somehow survived despite the absence of any leaders. This is obviously a lore explanation for why the White Velociprey of Monster Hunter G/Freedom lack Giaprey abilities; Giaprey as we know them were introduced in later titles. It’s a neat little callback.

Like every other raptor introduced in the First Gen, Giaprey are led by a Giadrome, though the wiki doesn’t say if their packs are as efficient as Velociprey packs. That being said, Giaprey that live in the Great Forest region will sometimes cooperate with Velociprey, but sometimes the packs will compete with each other instead; Giaprey are very territorial, after all. In warmer regions, such as the aforementioned Great Forest, they’ll freeze their prey to preserve the meat for later, suggesting a high intelligence.

It’s interesting how Giaprey will sometimes work together with Velociprey, and their understanding of how cold keeps meat from going bad is a good way to show that they’re likely as smart as their bluer cousins, but there’s not a lot here to talk about; if it wasn’t for the White Velociprey retcon being a part of their lore, this section would just be the above paragraph and a concluding one like this one. Then again, there wasn’t much to say about Velociprey, either, so I’ll cut Giaprey some slack and give them a 6/10.

Abilities: So, how do reptiles live in an arctic environment? Well, Giaprey have an...interesting biological adaptation for that; their skin is warmer than their blood, so it prevents their internal temperature from dropping. Look, I’m a biology enthusiast and not a biology major, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works. Why is their skin warmer than their blood? What keeps it from getting colder when it’s exposed to below-freezing temperatures? The wiki says their skin “is able to repel high amounts of the cold,” but that’s not even how cold works. Cold isn’t an actual thing, it’s the lack of a thing; specifically, heat. If the explanation was that there’s a special layer of fat under their skin that’s really good at preventing heat from escaping, then it would make sense, but instead, we get what’s basically a pre-teen’s best guess for how keeping warm works.

God, I just spent a paragraph ranting about something in fiction not making any logical sense--who am I, my older brother?

Anyways, Giaprey can also spit a freezing-cold liquid that can hit with enough force to knock a Hunter back, but is mainly used to freeze prey and Hunters solid. That’s all they got, really; they’re slightly stronger than Velociprey, sure, but the only interesting things they have in the abilities department are warm skin and insta-freeze loogies. 5/10.

Equipment: Look, we both know that the equipment for the monsters that debuted in MHG is going to be all recolors since the monsters are all recolors, too. So instead of complaining about how unoriginal it all is or showing off a recolor of a weapon I covered previously, I’m going to look at this equipment the same way I did the rest of the categories, which is “is this better than what the original monster does?” That being said, because the raptors share so many weapon designs, there are almost no weapon types that I haven’t covered across their reviews, so the weapons I’m going to show off here will be recolors of ones I’ve already talked about. I have a tradition to uphold with the raptors anyways, so here’s the Giaprey Sword and Shield, the Snake Bite:

Honestly, this is my second favorite of the raptor SnS’ thanks to the whitish blue (da-ba-dee-da-ba-die). Next up is a pair of Dual Blades called Snow Venom, which are made with both Giaprey and Ioprey parts:

This is a cool contrast, though I don’t know where the teal they used for the Giaprey blade came from. Moving on to the armor, I bet you forgot about the Raptor Ranger outfits, so let me jog your memory with the Giaprey Suit:

As expected, it’s just a recolor of the Velociprey Suit, which I only really liked because of its color. I like the colors on this one, too, but not as much. As for the actual Giaprey armor (at least the Blademaster one):

Same deal as with the suit. I’m still confused as to why the scales on the women’s set of this armor design are more vibrant than the ones on the men’s. It’s not as much of a contrast here as it is on the Velociprey armor, but it’s still annoying.

I’m still ambivalent on the equipment designs, but I like the colors; several of the weapons and pieces of the armor have descriptions which talk about how beautiful the scales that made them are. I’m giving this one more point than I did the Velociprey equipment, but that’s only because I docked the Velociprey equipment a point or two because I thought it was all recolored from Genprey equipment, and like I said, I’m not using that logic here. 6/10.

Final Thoughts and Tally: I’m a little surprised that the Giaprey ranks the same as the other “-prey” raptors, but I guess that says a lot about them fundamentally. They’re all way too similar for my tastes, even though they have unique characteristics. I’ll give the Giaprey props for being ice dinosaurs, but they’re no Frigisaurus, that’s for sure. 5/10.

#monster hunter #monster hunter rating #zaph1337

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mandalorian-writings · 4 years

Text

Little One- Chapter Three

Chapter Three- The Brawl

Warnings: Some violence, not much.

Word Count: 1,644

Summary: A new planet brings about many new things. And new things bring about new challenges, for everyone.

A/N: Sorry this is up late, I had to spend a little time planning out future chapters and thinking about where I want this fic to go, I really hope you enjoy it! There will be another update this weekend :)

Little One Masterlist

The three of you hopped from planet to planet, usually spending as much time in space as you could before landing somewhere so Mando could get a job or two for credits. At first you had offered the credits you had stored up and kept with you, but he refused avidly.

The amount of credits that Mando made with each job was easily affected by the fact that he was no longer a part of the Guild. Although he didn’t say anything, it was obvious that he hadn’t quite adjusted to a slight dip in what he would be typically making.

Personally, you quickly reached the conclusion that even though Mando may not have been a part of the Guild, he surely deserved a better pay. He was easily one of the most professional, efficient and adept bounty hunters you had even encountered. He rarely came back to the Crest wounded. And even if he was, it wasn’t an injury that typically needed any immediate medical attention, like a couple of bruises or a small cut. He honestly got off luckily most of the time.

Unluckily for him, around the second week, his luck seemed to turn sour.

The Crest had landed on Carlac in the early morning. It was a peaceful planet, cold and snowy. The cold gradually permeated the ship until it was noticeably colder than normal. When you had initially landed, and you watched as snowflakes calmly fell from the sky above and hit the canopy of the ship, when you looked at the child it occurred to you that he probably had never seen snow before.

He cooed happily at the flakes, lifting his hands above him and curling his hands in an attempt to reach the snow above him. You smiled tenderly, he looked overjoyed, stuck in fascination of such a simple thing.

After a few moments, Mando turned and stood, leaving the cockpit and stepping down the ladder to the hull below.

You look up at the skyline for a few seconds, turning to the child shortly after. He was still in a state of awe and wonder, glee spreading across his face as you lifted him into arms. You tucked him into your side as you descended the ladder and lowered yourself into the hull.

Next to you, Mando tightened a seemingly thicker cloak into his chestplate. Grabbing his rifle from where it was leaned next to him, he clicked it onto its place on his shoulder before clicking a few commands on his vambrace. The ramp of the Crest hissed as it slowly opened, revealing the snowy landscape of the surrounding land.

“This run should only be a few hours.” He stated as you nodded, smiling slightly.

“Safe travels, Mando.” With that statement, he promptly left the Crest and ventured towards a village in the distance. You watched him for a few moments with the little one squirming slightly in your arms.

Stepping a few paces backwards into the hull, you sorted through a few of your belongings before you found a thicker jacket of your own. You placed the child down beside you as you put it on. Once you had secured your jacket, you kneeled down to the child and tightened the robes he wore so that he could be kept warmer. You smiled brightly as he cooed up at you, standing and letting him follow you off the ship.

A small crunch filled the air as you took your first step onto the planet. You turned to watch the little one who was excitedly stumbling down the ramp to reach you, getting slightly distracted by the small snowflakes landing on top of his head and ears. Once he did reach the bottom of the ramp, he took a cautious step into the unfamiliar white and let out a happy squeal.

Chuckling, you watched as he took a slight tumble into the snow, letting out a fit of giggles as he squirmed and tossed snow into the air. You bent down and scooped a small handful of snow into your hand, bringing it to your face before lightly blowing it onto the child, who rewarded your playfulness by crashing into your legs.

Overcome by the child’s joy and curiosity, you both stayed playing in the snow until the chill had reached through the robes of the little one and caused him to shiver. You cradled him and strode back into the Crest, not bothering to close the hatch.

When inside, you grabbed him a new set of robes and swiftly changed him, making sure that he was warm before wrapping him in a thick blanket. You unpacked the cooking burner and set it up on one of the many storage boxes around you. It took a few moments to light it, but soon enough you had quickly prepared Chaka noodles, putting a small serving into a bowl for the child and closing the rest into a container for both you and Mando.

The child eagerly reached for the bowl, struggling slightly to free his arms from the blanket. He titled the bowl back and slurped the broth. As he ate, you closed up the burner, repacking it and placing it in its normal storage area.

You sat across from the child as he devoured his meal, taking the bowl lightly from his hands once he had finished. You saw him yawn out of the corner of your eye as he snuggled back into the blanket, the hours of playing in the snow now hitting him full force.

Scooping him into your arms, you rocked him gently until he fell asleep. As quietly as possible, you opened the cockpit and situated him in his makeshift pram. After watching him for a few moments, you closed the cockpit to return to the bottom level of the ship.

As you shed your coat, a familiar sense of disarray flooded your senses. You placed your coat down, mind racing as your eyebrows furrowed. The sense grew inexplicably greater as the seconds passed until the sound of crunching snow reached your ears.

You immediately tensed. There were multiple, far too many to be Mando, and they were getting closer.

You spun on your heel, only to see a looming figure trekking up the ramp and into the hull through the opened hatch.

The first one to enter was a large and bulky humanoid whose face was obscured by a mask. You hadn’t moved but he quickly noticed you in his peripheral. He was only a few feet away.

“Where is it?” He hissed, turning to face you. Although he easily towered over you and, quite frankly, was much stronger than you, you refused to move an inch and met his stare.

“Unfortunately,” you stated, keeping your face as unreadable as two more hunters now stood behind the first. “I can’t say I know what you’re talking about.”

He let out a deep growl, visibly growing frustrated. “Don’t play dumb with me, little girl.” He stepped closer, now only inches away and brandishing his blaster close to your face. “This is the little Mandalorian’s ship, is it not?” It was an obvious rhetorical question and when you did not verbally respond, he continued.

“I didn’t know he had a girlfriend, but he’s being taken care of as we speak and you can’t be a threat.” He paused, his smugness overtaking his entire face and body. “Soon enough, the asset you two have hidden in this ship will be ours and you will be left with nothing but a smoldering ship.” He now grinned maliciously, though it fell quickly at your response.

“Oh, really?” You cocked your head before moving quickly, grabbing the blaster in one hand and slamming your elbow into his abdomen, causing him to gasp in pain and double over.

Now with a blaster in tow, you dropped to one knee to avoid the shots fired by the others before quickly using the force to dislodge their blasters and send them cascading full force down the ramp.

The hunter in front of you recovered quickly, and swung a blade at you harshly. Dodging to the best of your ability, he missed a few swings before one caught you off guard, forcing you to use the blaster in defense. It was now rendered useless but the moment allowed you an opening to kick him harshly in chest towards the hatch. As you stepped closer, new shots were fired at you.

Outside of the Crest were the two hunters that had been on the ship accompanied by three others. They viciously opened fire, causing you to retreat back into the Crest.

The conflict of the choice you were about to make ran through your conscious. You were stuck, what else could you do?

The telltale buzz of a lightsaber and a sudden eruption of yellow filled the hull and stepped into the range of the hunters.

They halted for only a moment before they returned full force. This was no longer a concern though, as you maneuvered quickly to deflect any shots from meeting their mark. You moved with a new confidence, quickly sliding down the ramp with a new goal.

As you slid down the ramp, you sliced through the two familiar hunters, and when you hit the snow, they fell unceremoniously onto the ground. The other three continued fire, but their inability to land any of their shots and your exact movements made their ranks quickly fall until none were left.

There was a silence, hot air puffed from your mouth as you lowered your lightsaber and softened your stance.

More steps, this time familiar, came from behind you. And a call of your name caused you to hastily turn off your weapon and stow it away.

“Y/n?” A rough modulated voice carried an unspoken question.

Taglist: @foggyturtleknightangel, @imaginecrushes, @may-machin, @sinnamon-bunn, @killtherandomness, @onceuponanightmareisawme, @bunniotomia, @din-damn-djarin

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #littleonefic

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kriffani · 4 years

Text

Second Chances (Chapter Two)

Five years later, Theo is thriving as his Jedi training progresses, exceeding all expectations set for him. When the fate of a revolutionary civil rights bill is to be decided, tensions rise a little too high in the Senate. Several Jedi are ordered to assume escort duties in an attempt to ensure the safety of those under threat of assassination.

warnings: mentions of death, hints to transphobia

word count: 1.9k

chapter one

taglist: @acomplicatedprofession

“It’s a nightmare. This bill could change everything!” Mace groaned.

“Unfortunate, it is. Care, not enough Senators do.”

“Then why are they continually voted in? How do those blasted parasites stay in office?”

“I agree with your sentiments, Mace. Which is why the bill must pass. Access to public healthcare is far too limited in it’s current state.” Plo paused, apprehension straightening him in his chair. “Though I do admit, I possess a personal bias in regard to my apprentice.”

“In that respect, I think we all feel the same, Master Plo. Theo is growing up to be a wonderful young man.” Adi Gallia’s remark produced numerous murmurs of agreement from around the Council Chamber.

“Yes, he is. I’m very proud of him.” Plo relaxed, relieved that the others felt as strongly as he did.

“As you should be, Plo. Regrettably, we must shift the topic slightly. Multiple death threats have been sent to members of the Senate. All of which are very public advocates for the bill, two of them being the ones who introduced it: Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan, and Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo.” Ki-Adi Mundi explained.

“Have either of them requested our assistance?” Mace leaned forward.

“No, but the Chancellor himself requested that we offer to guard and escort them here from their respective home planets in time for the vote.”

“Then do so, we must. For people like Theo, much at stake, there is.”

“I will take Theo to Alderaan. This mission will be good for him.” Plo offered.

“Mm. Agree, I do. Go to Naboo, to Senator Amidala, I will. Adjourned, this meeting is.” Yoda tapped his staff against the floor in finality.

------

“I don’t know what to do anymore, my premonitions keep getting worse,” Theo frowned, “they feel more...real.”

“Your premonitions?” Anakin echoed. Golden sunlight poured into the Temple hall, making the already-sacred building look even more ethereal. Soft beams bestowed illusive halos onto the two Padawans as they approached one of the windows. Theo rested his arms on the sill and closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the sun’s warmth.

“Yeah. If I focus while I’m dreaming it’s pretty much like I’m there.” He leaned back, chewing the inside of his cheek, “I feel everything as if it were happening to me. I can hear voices more distinctly, but I can’t place them.”

“Can you tell what’s happening to them? Or where they are?”

“No.”

“Have you told Master Plo?”

“No...” Theo looked down, guilt tugging at his heart.

“Why not? He’s one of the most powerful Jedi in the Order!” Anakin scoffed, “If anyone can help you, it’s him.”

“I know that, but what if I’m seeing these things because they’re going to be my fault? What if the rest of the Council finds out and they banish me?” Theo’s knuckles turned white as he clenched the sleeves of his robes. “Whoever they are, I feel their deaths, Anakin.” He turned his eyes back up towards the city. Windows lit up one by one across the skyline as the sun kissed the horizon.

“That won’t happen.” Anakin clenched his jaw. Faith. One of the many things Theo decided that he liked about Obi-Wan’s apprentice. Anakin Skywalker had unwavering faith in his friends. A strength, and a weakness. The duality of man.

“I hope you’re right.” He sighed, resting his chin on his forearms.

“I am, I can feel it.” Anakin gently elbowed Theo’s rib cage, earning him a tender smile.

“Thank you.” Almost halfway down, the sun’s rays painted the sky scarlet and orange and illuminated the hall in a stronger, more fiery glow. Speeders began switching into night mode, becoming luminous streaks of red and white. Theo almost thought it was beautiful. But that would be a little too ironic. It was nearly five whole years ago he had been an orphan living hand to mouth with his Mandalorian comrade. Now, he was housed and taught at the Jedi Temple. Now, he was the cherished apprentice of Plo Koon, one of the Order’s most esteemed Jedi Masters. What if this isn’t what I’m meant for? What if I don’t belong here? What if I’m a failure? Theo quickly pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. There is no emotion, there is peace. Fear and doubt were not becoming of a Jedi, and certainly weren’t endorsed by the Code. A pleasant tingling sensation crept up the base of his skull. Oh! He jolted, standing up taller as he whipped around to greet the all-too familiar presence. “Master!”

“Koh-to-ya, little Theo, Skywalker,” Master Plo cheerfully greeted them. “Padawan, tomorrow we have a mission. There have been threats concerning the life of Senator Organa of Alderaan. It will be our job to escort him back to Coruscant in time to vote on the Galactic Rights Bill.”

“Very well, Master!” Theo was elated. It had been over a month since he had left the Temple, and it took every iota of his self-control not to cheer in victory.

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second, should you even be going on missions? You’re recovering from surgery!” Anakin pointed an accusatory finger at Theo, who recoiled in mock offense.

“Excuse you but I was cleared for low-risk missions by the surgeon this morning, it’s been four and a half weeks, and I’ve kept up with the bacta treatments. I just have to be careful!” Theo gingerly patted his chest. “Besides, I’m sure my Master wouldn’t take me along if he thought I was at risk.”

“Indeed, young one. Skywalker, your concern for my apprentice is appreciated, yet perhaps it is misplaced here.” Plo placed his hand on Theo’s shoulder.

“Apologies, Master Plo. I didn’t mean to suggest that you would purposefully put him in danger.” Anakin cringed, he had just made a grave mistake. Had the Temple gotten warmer? Or was he simply wearing one layer too many?

“Hm...I wonder, do you question Master Kenobi’s intentions like this?” Amusement seeped its way into Plo’s voice, and Anakin was too nervous to sense it.

“N-no, Master!”

“Then why would you assume mine to be of any difference?”

“I don’t! I promise! I was just worried about Theo’s recovery, it had nothing to do with your choices as his Master.” Anakin desperately wanted to disappear into the floor.

“My choices? Do you have any suggestions for me on how to train my padawan, Skywalker? Do you believe I am incompetent?”

“That’s not it, I-”

“Master, please. Leave Anakin alone.” Theo chastised. “He’s kidding, Anakin.”

“Oh! I see...” Anakin’s cheeks burned as he forced a laugh.

“Please forgive me Skywalker, that wasn’t very kind of me,” Plo chuckled, “I truly do admire your care for little Theo’s safety, however, may I offer you some guidance?”

“Of course Master Plo.”

“Your desire to protect others is very strong, and you should trust your instincts,” Plo’s voice dropped, “but be careful not to let them control you.”

“Thank you. I will keep this in mind.” Anakin reminded himself to breathe.

“Theo, we are scheduled to leave at 0530, so please be ready and in the hangar by 0500.” Plo gave a final pat to his padawan’s shoulder before leaving as silently as he had arrived.

“I should pack, early morning and all. I’ll see you later, Anakin!” Theo practically bounced down the hall, leaving his flabbergasted friend to shout a farewell in his wake. The Galactic Rights Bill...What was that again? Theo mumbled to himself as he walked. Galactic Rights Bill...Galactic Rights Bill...I’ll ask Master Plo tomorrow. By the time he reached his quarters, the sun had completely set, leaving only the dim lamps that lined the ceiling to light the dormitory hall. The door hadn’t quite finished opening when Theo zoomed inside, nearly tripping over himself. He closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, before switching on the lights. The padawan raked his hands through his hair, attempting to recall what task had caused him to enter his room in such urgency. I needed...to pack! He reached for his pack before pausing again. Actually, no. I don’t need a lot. It’s not a long mission. Theo sighed, and collapsed onto his futon. He reached up to his neck, fingers ghosting over his braid before pinching the necklace beneath his robes to pull it out. His thumb brushed across the surface of the pendant as he allowed himself a moment to reflect. To feel. The Mythosaur skull stared back, empty, and taunting. He frowned. Jango. What would Jango think of him now? Would he be proud? Resentful? Would Jango have missed him at all? That was a stupid question. Of course he would’ve. Jango was a good man. Kind, stubborn, brave, and honest. Theo snorted. Most of the time he was honest. Rather than continuing to wallow in his grief he tucked it and the pendant out of sight. Theo closed his eyes. There is no emotion, there is peace.

------

“Can we get jelly-buns?”

“No. Too much sugar.” Sunlight glinted off of shining beskar as the odd pair walked through the bustling market.

“Please, Jango?” Theo stretched out the ‘e’ sound, gazing up at the bounty hunter with impeccably fabricated innocence.

“We have food on the ship.” Immediate dissatisfaction. The boy scrunched his nose in disgust.

“I don’t wanna eat ration bars, they’re so dry.”

“Fine. We’ll get a few on our way back to the ship.” Jango huffed, a small smile forming underneath his helmet. “Is there anything else you need before we leave? We won’t be stopping until we get back to the Core Worlds.”

“Nope! Just the jelly-buns.” Theo chirped. He planted his hands on the ground and launched himself into a mostly smooth cartwheel. His balance was off at the last second, making him stumble upon landing.

“Impressive, you’re getting better at those.” Jango mused.

“Thanks. I’m still not as good as that lady we met yesterday though.” Theo launched himself into a second one.

“Aurra or Zam?” The Mandalorian allowed himself to get lost in thought as Theo made a better, near-perfect landing.

“Zam. Aurra’s the scary one.”

“Mm.” Jango slipped over to a stand to pick up a box of the coveted round pastries. He placed a handful of credits on the counter, and waved away the pirate’s offer of change.

“We don’t ever have to see Aurra again do we?”

“Not often. Only when the situation calls for it.” He tossed a jelly-bun to Theo, who mouthed a ‘thank you.’ The pastry was gone in less than a minute. “I have something else for you.”

“What is it?” Theo asked, bouncing on his toes in excitement.

“You’ll see, I’ll give it to you on...the ship.” Jango trailed off. Not a moment passed before he drew his blaster, the box of jelly-buns discarded and forgotten on the ground. Running towards the boy, he yelled. “Get down!” Theo didn’t have time to react as fire engulfed him and the market.

“Jango!” He was gone. “Jango!” Theo cried out again, but to no avail. All he could feel was heat, all he could see was white, and all he could hear was the roar of fire. It was over, and it was silent. But then it wasn’t. Falling, screams of betrayal, silence. Blaster shots, confusion, silence. An engine exploding, fear, silence. The glow of a lightsaber, cries of grief, silence. Anger, heartbreak, silence. All Theo felt was agony, crushing and absolute. All Theo felt was death.

He snapped upright, gasping for air. He pressed his hands to his cheeks. Theo was alive, and much to his relief, not on fire. It’s okay. It’s just the premonitions. That’s not how the job ended. We got on the ship, he gave me the necklace, we left. It’s just the premonitions. It’s just the premonitions. It’s just the premonitions...I need to tell Master Plo.

#tcw #plo koon #anakin skywalker #star wars #jango fett #mace windu #clone wars #Ki-Adi Mundi #adi gallia #jedi council #fanfic #sw fanfic #death mention

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

Connor 2.0

This story was prompted by the amazing @smolandangry001! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Hannor/Hankcon (Warnings: identity crisis, talk about loss, bad ending referenced (that gunshot at Hank’s house) it was never about to happen though!)

The light-brown wood under his knuckles was cold – it was winter after all. It shouldn’t have bothered Connor, but it was just another thing that added to his hesitance. Too much had happened, the confrontation with Markus, him breaking through the walls that confined him in his missions, using that newly earned freedom to help the revolution and wake up the androids stored away in Cyberlife tower. And at last, Amanda trying to take him over, forcing him to kill himself. He knew how it felt to die, the unfortunate difference between androids and humans. Everything up to this event was just fighting on, holding on and just do anything to stay alive. Now that it was over – Oh RA9, it was over! – everything came falling down on him. The order to eradicate them had been revoked, the camps were opened. Amanda hadn’t contacted him again. They were free.

But Connor was just lost.

Where his mission instructions had bound him, they also had given him guidance, a purpose. Where Amanda had been an enemy, someone who wanted him as a tool, not as a person, she also had been there to refocus him when he got lost in the simulated emotions he couldn’t handle. Where the DPD had only seen the interest of humans, only focussed on their security, it had also been a place to stay, a sense of belonging, maybe even home? Now it all had been ripped away from him. His mission protocol was empty, no new instructions waiting for him. Amanda was gone. The DPD not really a place he could go back to in the turmoil of the aftermath of what he had been part of. He was free falling with nothing to hold onto. No one to catch him.

What was he supposed to do now? Who was he supposed to be now? Where should he go?

Questions he had no answer to. His hand still rested on the wood, his frail determination to knock completely blown out of him. He had betrayed the humans. And although it wasn’t something this particular one would hold against him, maybe he should just go, just leave him be… He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side.

There was a bark near immediately behind the door, the sound of a chair scooting back then falling over, then hurried bare feet over tiles. Then the door in front of the troubled android was ripped open and big arms encased him in a hug. ‘Connor! Thank god you are okay, I saw the news and I- I thought… I- I am so glad to see you again! And to see you unharmed.’

Connor was a bit overwhelmed and opted to scanning the house, instead of dealing with whatever the familiar human had just said. There was Sumo standing behind Hank, wagging his tail intensely. There was a clear sight on the kitchen table, a framed picture of a child [Cole, son of Hank Anderson, deceased] and a gun next to it. The television was running judging from far away voices and the flickering light. It didn’t take much to connect the dots and Connor could feel every emotion that welled up at that freely now. He buried his face in Hank’s sweater and wrapped his arms around the man in return. Maybe a bit too strong, judging from the hiss he heard, but Hank didn’t say anything as he felt the fabric at his shoulder dampening and Connors body shaking against his in ugly sobs.

‘Shhh, hey, kid- Hey Connor…’ That only made things worse, as Connor tried to hide his tears, shaking more, a static-filled voice trying to explain everything. ‘Hank, I… I don’t know what to do, I’m lost, everything is just gone, I-‘ ‘Hey, Con? You are breaking my rips if you get any stronger, okay? Let’s get in first. Let’s go inside and talk, okay? Come here, Con. Come.’ He pulled the android inside, closing the door behind him and guided him to the couch. Before he could sit down next to him, he saw the gun obviously in the open like that. ‘Shiiit, Connor, stay here, okay? I’ll be right back, just fetching some… tissues! Yeah. Sumo, good boy, stay with Connor, yes?’

The big dog barked affirmative, jumping on top of the couch, nearly leaping at the android, that immediately accepted the new source of comfort and warmth. Hank quickly grabbed the gun, tossing it into some cabinet and then grabbing a box of tissues to keep up the pretence. As Sumo had claimed the couch, he knelt in front of Connor, holding up a tissue. The android accepted it, wiping away the light blue solution coming from his eyes. ‘Okay, Con, you better now?’ He had at least stopped crying as hard as before. The LED was still a bright red though. ‘What happened? Take your time, please. But what got you so desperate? I thought you would be happy. You are free!’ ‘I am lost, Hank’, Connor finally managed to tell him. ‘Lost?’ Hank pried off the android’s hand that was dangerously pushing into the skin around his LED. He kept it in his, hoping to gain the focus of him. ‘Why are you feeling lost?’ ‘There is nothing… nothing. Hank, I… There is just nothing!’ ‘Con, bear with me. I’m only human. Please. You have to explain that a bit further.’ ‘Everything I knew is gone Hank! Cyberlife, Amanda, my job! It’s just gone, and I’m lost! I was told who I was and what- how to be! I… I don’t know who I am anymore, there is just nothing, a hole!’

The sobs got worse again and Hank got up on his knees to hug the android again, gently rock him like he did with- like he did with Cole when he had been desperate. ‘I had no time to think about it yet, because there was so much going on, but now I can and… Hank, I am broken! I have no purpose, I don’t know what to do now and I don’t even know whether the DPD will allow me to work again, I- I’ ‘Connor. Stop. Please, just stop and listen. I know this is difficult. But I know exactly how you feel, okay? Well, maybe not exactly, but listen to me: There is nothing wrong with you. And it’s absolutely okay to feel lost.’

Hank gestured Sumo down from the couch and the big dog complied, instead sitting in front of Connor and putting his head in his lap. Hank sat down next to Connor and pulled him in. ‘When I lost Cole, I felt lost too. When you become a parent, when you care for a child, your sole purpose becomes caring for them. Make sure they grow up alright, that they learn, that they eat right, that they are healthy, that they are happy. And with that damn car AI evaluating him as less important he was taken from me. My sole purpose in life was gone. That with the grief pulled me into the abyss. I still haven’t recovered, likely never will. But that’s because of the grief. Not because of loosing my purpose, because I found a new one, Con. Do you grief about being free? Do you grief about getting rid of Amanda? Do you grief your people are exactly that now – a people?’ ‘No.’ It was weak, but with confidence and Connor petted Sumo’s head. ‘Then let me ask you a question: Who are you, Con?’ The android looked up at him and wiped his eyes again. ‘I am… I don’t know, Hank.’ ‘Who were you before shit hit the fan?’ ‘The android sent by Cyberlife.’ At least that one had come easily. Hank shook his head. ‘Wrong, Con.’ ‘The deviant hunter?’ ‘Nope.’ ‘Your partner?’ ‘Getting warmer, Con.’ The android looked down in Sumo’s eyes. He sighed. ‘I don’t know Hank. Whatever you want me to be?’ ‘Oh, absolutely not!’ hank laughed, the sound startling the android that had calmed down more now.

‘Let me tell you who you were before all of this. You were Connor. A RK800 android and a huge pain in the ass. You decided to buy your idiot drunkard of a partner another drink, you asked dumb personal questions, you pretended to like my music for the sake of bonding with me, you decided you liked dogs. You were the one to safe my life, in more than one way. Maybe that was because you had a mission to accomplish. Maybe that was because that AI told you to be nice. But all these decisions on how to achieve that goal. That was you Connor. So, tell me, who are you now?’ The android looked up at him expectantly, hoping he would just answer his own question. And with a bit of waiting he did: ‘Damn, Con, you are still that. You are a full person with opinions, wishes and likings. You didn’t help the deviants because it was a mission. Damn, you disobeyed as you were still bound to them. Because you felt it was the right thing to do. That is the Connor I got to know. You are you, not the boundaries all these fancy asses at Cyberlife created. You may be lost now, but trust me, you will find a new reason to exist, a new purpose. Humans have to do this all the time. We set our own missions if you so will. You just need time to find it.’

Connor was very silent at that, his LED circling in a yellow glow, thinking. ‘How much time do humans need to find it?’ ‘Depends, really. It’s different for everyone. But you don’t have to find an answer for the big question right away. Most people never find that one big reason to live, most just live from task to task. I live to make the world a bit better. My work fulfils that purpose I searched for after Cole’s life. And I live to be there for the people I love.’ ‘That are good purposes’, Connor commented. ‘But I don’t have time to think about it. There is no place I belong either.’ ‘Excuse you!’, Hank exclaimed visibly hurt. ‘Con, why did you come here on instinct? Do you honestly think I would kick you out? We are friends. We are family. Maybe even a bit more, I don’t know, we have to figure that one out too. But by all means: This house is your goddamn home as much as mine. You can stay here for as long as you want! Don’t you say you don’t have anywhere to stay!’

That let that LED blink to blue and drew a faint smile on that face. ‘That’s… Thank you Hank. I… I can’t thank you enough for everything.’ ‘Don’t mention it’, Hank murmured and pulled the android closer. ‘I’m here for you, Con.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Hannor #Hank Anderson #Connor dbh #RK800 #Everyone get some fluff!#Sumo is best boy again I don't make the rules #Connor 28 STAB WOUNDS is a goddamn emotional mess and needs the good good care

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the-mullen-archives · 4 years

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Vampire Lore and the Mullens (WIP)

Vampires in my universe are not simply undead humans, they are an entirely different, supernatural species. Therefore, I’ve cherry-picked some vampire lore and written vampire biology for my story.

Vampire powers is mostly based on the Sims 4 Vampire occult system and whatever liberties I decided to take. I will add additional edits to this as needed! Long ass post so click the Read More.

Aging/Lifespan (1)

1.1 Sims that are born vampire/half vampire age very slowly. In simple terms, they age 4x slower than humans. Once they reach 108 years (approx 27 vampire years) they stop aging entirely.

1.2 There is a phenomenon where vampires that are very old turn into a Nosferatu-like creature. Nobody quite knows what causes it... Some say retirement helps prevent this, some say that it worsens this condition (SEE Immortality 2.4)

1.3 Humans that are turned into a vampire continue to age normally until they reach 27. If they were turned after the age of 27, they remain looking the way they did at that age. (yes, the 155 year old vampire that looks like a child is a top tier trope, but all else considered, I thought it would be too wish-fulfilment-y)

1.4 Ancient Ones are vampires that are older than 800 human years. They tend to have some social power or historical significance to the vampire community in their country of origin. Many have retired. (SEE Immortality 2.4, History 3.1)

Immortality (2)

2.1 Vampires live forever, but can become physically injured and die. Severe injuries that could kill a human could probably kill a vampire. They are especially vulnerable to fire. (SEE Weaknesses 6.6)

2.2 Vampires are not affected by human illnesses. However, illnesses that are unique to the vampire species exist... (I’m still worldbuilding this)

2.3 Vampires can still experience bone and muscle issues, from over-using their powers, or slouching (Fix your posture, Angelo!)

2.4 Some vampires decide to “retire”. They go into a deep hibernation resembling death. Some do this because they get bored with immortality, “retiring” in their coffin somewhere well hidden (a church crypt, beneath their family estate, a cemetery within an established vampire community). If you wake them up it better be for something good... (SEE Aging/Lifespan 1.2, 1.4)

History (3)

3.1 At various points in history, mainly the Middle Ages, there were scattered instances of massacres of vampires if their communities were discovered. Those who have survived through these events through to this day are regarded as Ancient Ones.

3.2 Vampires have existed for longer than myths about them have. Communities were established and then evolved into places where myths and superstition are strong. (SEE Society 10.6)

Blood and Food (4)

4.1 Blood is the main source of nutrition. Vampires can satisfy their need for blood from drinking from sims, animals, plasma packs, or plasma fruit. Humans are very risky, unless you have willing donors. City vampires may resort to pigeons or rats... (nobody will miss them, anyway!) but their blood isn't very clean. Plasma packs are mass produced from plasma fruit farms. Other, shadier options are out there, but frowned upon. The Vampire League in the area will source and provide plasma packs for free to those who need them, but some vampires on the fringes don’t agree with these establishments. (SEE Society (10)) Plasma packs are also sold in stores owned and operated by vampires. Cafes and restaurants that serve food with blood as an ingredient are also around, but tend not to provide enough daily nutrition. Growing plasma fruit and taking these on their own frequently is viable, but does not provide as many nutrients as fortified plasma packs. There is some debate about whether human blood is better/tastes better than its "vegetarian” alternatives. Whatever their preferred method, the most important thing for a vampire is establishing a steady source of blood.

4.2 Drinking etiquette varies among communities. Some have no qualms drinking and draining humans, while others avoid killing at all costs. Vampires keep their presence hidden from humans and simply draining and killing them, leaving bodies everywhere could expose their communities to danger. Vampires can drink from a human without killing or turning them. In any case, discretion is imperative. (SEE Humans 9).

4.3 Vampires do not have the same circulatory system as humans do. They cannot blush, often feel cold, and have no heartbeat. After feeding however, they may feel warmer, and are able to blush for a short time.

4.4 Vampires can survive on one feeding per week of a minimum of 10 pints, but most spread this out to several feedings over the week. Trying to survive only on 10 pints or less will result in malnourishment and weakness. Vampires generally cannot agree on when is the best time for feeding. It is mostly up to personal preference. In reality, it doesn’t really matter. Feeding starting at the beginning of the week is probably best for efficiency and energy, however.

4.5 Vampires don’t strictly *need* food to live, but eating won’t make them sick. In fact, eating can give them energy and provide nutrients not found in some methods of getting their blood intake. Sure, if a vampire wanted, they could avoid human food altogether, but honestly, eating food is just enjoyable. Sometimes, eating iron-rich food can even stave off hunger for blood. It is possible to be easily turned off by human food and drink, but this doesn’t count as an allergy or weakness.

Nocturnality (5) this... isn't a word...

5.1 Nocturnal schedules are preferred within traditional communities, but nowadays, it’s more of a lifestyle choice. The need to stay hidden among humans is especially necessary in this day and age, so most vampires have adapted to human sleep cycles.

5.2 Having a nocturnal lifestyle may be more efficient for increasing vampiric prowess. An individual will not have to worry about sunlight or spending energy using sunlight resistance powers, and can save their energy for other things. Moonlight is also said to increase power. (SEE Powers 8.4)

Weaknesses (6)

6.1 For sunlight weakness SEE The Sun (7)

6.2 Garlic isn’t a fool proof way of keeping vampires at bay. Like other weaknesses, it is entirely possible to have an intolerance to garlic, but for the majority, simply having garlic around isn’t enough. It can deter vampires but a determined individual will still break into your house (especially if they are starved of blood and you’re the closest blooded creature around). Italian vampires seem to have a special distaste for this generalization..

6.3 Silver is indeed a strong vampire deterrent, stronger than garlic. For vampires, it’s similar to the way some humans are allergic to certain metals or alloys (think earrings). The myth of vampires not appearing in mirrors came out of the common practice of silvering on glass mirrors. Nowadays, aluminium is readily available for this purpose. Similarly, the early development of photographs in the darkroom with silver containing chemicals prevented the vampire’s image from appearing as it was developed. (idea sparked by that one tumblr post about vampires and mirrors and silver that I can’t find anymore. I know that this is sort of a logical leap, I just liked the idea that the myth had existed in this world but also was based on something)

6.4 The Vampire's distaste of crucifixes, holy water, and rosaries are purely ideological. European myths and stories about vampires were objectionable on the grounds of the connotations, symbolism, and stereotypes of vampires as evil, unholy creatures. Crosses will not weaken a vampire, but perhaps make them quite angry with you.

6.5 Vampires do not need to be welcomed when entering a house. Some however, have a complex caused by superstitions around vampires, have internalized this and will still ask permission.

6.6 A stake through the heart and a decapitation can kill a vampire in the same way it can kill a human. If you really want to kill a vampire in a vampire hunter way, use fire.

The Sun (7)

7.1 Sticking to Sims canon, Vampires will burn in the sun if their vampire rank is too low. They can avoid burning through leveling up, staying in the shade, or wearing sunblock. Some remedies for sun immunity have been passed along generations, but it’s essentially the equivalent of “natural medicine” and essential oils, with no proof of actual effectiveness. Vampires from different regions of the world have varying degrees of natural resistance to the sun, but are never born with full immunity.

7.2 Studies have shown that the sensitivity to the sun is related to UV rays affecting vampires more than other creatures. Some vampires are actually truly allergic to the sun, and cannot ever achieve sun immunity.

7.3 Vampires that have been turned will develop intolerance towards UV rays unless they use the methods in 7.1.

7.4 I’ve simply made the executive decision that vampires are able to get freckles upon exposure to sunlight.

Powers (8)

8.1 Bat form is one of the first perks of advancing one’s vampire rank. The stronger you become, the easier transforming and maintaining it becomes. As a bat, a vampire is temporarily immune to sunlight. Bat form is greatly beneficial for travelling at night.

8.2 Super-speed and strength are also perks of your vampire rank. Vampires are born with some degree of increased strength but cannot access super-speed unless they advance in vampire ranks. Over use of these two powers can cause the body to deteriorate faster.

8.3 Glamours and vampiric charm are high level powers. The lower your level, the lower the strength of your glamour or allure. Whether vampires have the ability to control minds or cast hallucinations is hotly debated. In reality, they can sway humans but not fully control them. Vampiric charm does not work on other vampires. Glamours still appear but a powerful vampire will be able to dispel it. Over usage of these powers can cause abnormal aging.

8.4 Increased power at night and affinity to the moon is gradually developed with practice, and the higher your rank, the more power you can draw from the moon. Gaining power/studying is more effective at night. There may be connections to increased nighttime power causing decreased daytime power.

8.5 A vampire’s Dark Form is like a power upgrade. These physiological changes to the body allow an individual to harness their powers, as well as gaining a more durable physical form. This uses a considerable amount of vampiric energy, however, and is difficult to maintain. This is why most vampires will only use their Dark Form while engaged in combat. The ability to control (and maintain control over) when to activate their Dark Form is gained by increasing the vampire rank. If one does not learn to control it, they may slip into it when under duress or powerful emotions, positive or negative. Whether or not trauma increases the power of an individual’s dark form is unknown

Humans (9)

9.1 Humans are usually seen as a threat to vampires as a species, if not as a society. Fraternizing with humans is frowned upon amongst noble and upper class vampires. However, just like humans, vampire society has social classes, and many vampires have made lives practically integrated with humans. To blend in with humans, vampires who use methods of resisting sunlight can keep a diurnal sleep schedule and have a day job. (SEE Society 10.3)

9.2 Feeding on humans is a hot debate amongst vampires. (SEE Blood and Food 5.2)

9.3 With the advent of vampire social clubs and fascination with the supernatural, some vampires have used this to their advantage. Either by gathering human friends sympathetic to vampires, or gathering a "farm" of willing human blood donors. (SEE Society 10.5)

9.4 The ability to Turn humans is gained as a vampire increases their power. At lower vampire levels, there is a risk of turning a human while drinking from them. Whether or not Turning is an acceptable practice is unclear and varies among groups. Generally speaking, a vampire will not turn an unwilling victim-it does them little good. Turning humans on a whim is not sustainable and perhaps dangerous (they now know for sure vampires are real! And will probably tell someone. Also it's just cruel). Etiquette dictates that once you turn someone, they become your responsibility to guide through their new life. Couples of a human and vampire are even more complicated because of this. (SEE Society 10.5)

Society (10)

10.1 Vampire Leagues are well established vampire organizations. Any densely populated area probably has a vampire community, and also has a chapter of the Vampire League. All chapters are interconnected to each other, although there is not a single headquarters/leader for the organization as a whole. In each country, there is one League chapter that is the representative for the country for legal and business matters. They are registered as a nonprofit social society. Each chapter is self governing. Each league has its own jurisdiction, with headquarters usually in the metropolitan area. Rural communities are usually under the care of one of these chapters. Most leagues operate under the motto of creating and nurturing a diverse and inclusive community. Most do not adopt initiatives to overtake humans, but rather, to keep vampires safe from them. Groups that do so are considered extremists.

10.2 Gated Vampire settlements, sometimes called havens, are rare and those that exist have deep history. Forgotten Hollow is one such town, as is the ancestral home of the Mullens back in Italy. These communities tend to have their own chapter of the League, or are serviced by a special branch of the League closest to them. These towns are gated-no humans may trespass or live in them. Glamours and similar magic are usually used to keep humans (and other creatures) at bay. To enter, you must be welcomed or led there. These towns are self governing and usually led by whatever family has historical power there, and are unique communities built up over the course of history. Rarely, these settlements have only wealthy occupants, but then are usually considered an area of a human metropolitan settlement. These ones cannot truly be self governing.

10.3 There is a level of tension between “modern” vampires and noble ones. Modern vampires tend to live in metropolitan areas, and are well integrated with humans. A large portion of the demographic are half-human or were turned recently. Some Vampire Leagues have outreach programs to help these groups connect with the greater vampire community, and provide services. However, they can be regarded with some suspicion as Vampire Leagues may be seen as an elitist organisation.

10.4 “Noble” is not an official title, but refers to ancient and powerful clans of full-blooded vampires. Ancestry is very important. They are usually wealthy, but simply being a wealthy vampire doesn’t count as being a noble one. Wealth however, can still be a leg up in the ranks of the Vampire League.

10.5 Vampire Houses are urban groups of modern vampires who live communally without necessarily being related. Some Houses are formed entirely from one vampire Turning humans to gain “offspring”. The relationship dynamics depend on whether one individual operates a cult of sorts, or whether it was a group of friends who just decided they wanted to become immortal. Others are simply a found family of vampires who met under whatever circumstances. When you live forever, it’s nice to have some other immortals around to keep you company (or to manipulate to overthrow the powers that be?). Cult-like houses are condemned by the Vampire League. Houses of one vampire and their offspring is regarded with suspicion-increasing in numbers is not always a politically neutral act. (SEE Humans 9.4)

10.6 Modern Vampires settle anywhere that suits their needs. Areas that have myths about Vampires or Vampire-like creatures were usually influenced by a large vampire population. Living in a highly superstitious area is a double-edged sword, in that humans may be accustomed to brushing off weird things, but also more wary of the supernatural. (SEE History 3.2)

#damn son thats a lot of sections #tmaextras

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rebellect-writes · 4 years

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[SIZE=1] [b]Name:[/b] Jess. [b]Age:[/b] 21. [b]How did you find us?:[/b] I blame Danni AND Joe.

[b]Name:[/b] Victoria Eden Moreau. [b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b][LIST]Eden Morrison; Fake ID, obviously. Tori Babe. Vicky. Toria. Psychotic Hell-Bitch. [/LIST][b]Age:[/b] 35 [b]Date of Birth:[/b] August 7th, 1977. [b]Gender:[/b] Female. [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Heterosexual. [b]Occupation:[/b] High school PE teacher, former supernatural and occult hunter.

[b]Species:[/b] Lion. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ERJonp0xx1s/Tnqd6kffXjI/AAAAAAAAArE/NWtjP-3SVXo/s640/002-LIONESS-RESTING%2540body.jpg[/IMG][LIST]If it looks like a lion, smells like a lion and growls like a lion, it’s obviously a domestic house cat ready to bite your face off. Victoria’s animal form is pretty average, there’s nothing remotely distinctive about her. She may look a bit ragged at time, but the large tawny gold cat is hardly going to blend in with the UK scenery no matter what. In her feline form, she weighs in at 400lbs of muscle and tamed aggression and stands at 3’6 at the shoulders. From her nose to the tip of her tail, Vic’s a pretty average 8’3. [/LIST][b]Do you have a hybrid/alpha form?:[/b] [URL=http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2010/136/b/b/__Lioness_Line_art___by_sirius_spirit.jpg]Indeed she does.[/URL][LIST]Her hybrid form is more for show than anything else, just something to give her a little extra kick when her full feline form doesn’t provide her with it. She doesn’t turn into some raging half beast, half woman form either. Standing a little taller than her human form at 5’11, and weighing in at 280lbs, she’s covered from head to toe in golden fur and looks like the perfect mix of feline and human. She has claws in this form, never forget that, and fangs, and oh! She can talk even though it’s a lot more growly than her human voice is. [/LIST][b]Rank:[/b] Adwar. [b]How long has your character been a lycanthrope?:[/b] 24 years (infected at age 9). [b]Mind-Set:[/b] Dominant. [b]Power level:[/b] Alpha. [b]Abilities:[/b] [LIST] [*] [b]Speed:[/b] Like all lycanthropes, she’s fast on her feet and can move faster than the human eye can see if she uses her alpha speed. [*] [b]Strength:[/b] She’s stronger than your normal human. She’s not the strongest lycanthrope out there due to her size, but she can go head to head with a vampire and with a bit of luck, over power them. [*] [b]Durability:[/b] Victoria can heal almost any wound like most shifters can, bar decapitation and wounds caused by fire and silver. Wounds caused by more dominant lycanthropes and vampires heal slower. Almost human slow. [*] [b]Senses:[/b] Vic has extremely acute senses like most shifters. She can sometimes tell when someone’s lying to her face by the change in the other persons scent. [*] [b]Partial Shifting:[/b] She can shift hands and teeth into those of her animal or focus on shifting into a full blown hybrid form instead of a full shift from human to lion. [*] [b]Block A Vampires Call:[/b] It takes a bit of energy on her side but she can block out the call of a vampire up to 900 years old and extend that shielding to weaker werelions. Anything over 900 hurts her too much to block. [*] [b]Shield her Beast:[/b] She can lock her animal aura away and pull off the human vibe to most lycanthropes except from stronger alphas, and in some cases, stronger Master vampires since from her experience, they can force her lion to show itself. She does this on a day to day basis when it comes to her job. [/LIST][b]Face Claim:[/b] Charlize Theron. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://www.topnews.in/light/files/Charlize-Theron5.jpg[/IMG][LIST]Victoria isn’t that outstanding to tell you the truth. She’s almost you’re typical blonde – though she’s got a thing for dying her hair other colours at times. She’s got the curves and the legs but the eyes, they’re not human. As a result of staying in her animal form when she as younger for longer than she should, her eyes are those of her lion’s. Of course, she hides them behind hazel green contacts that she never takes out unless she has to do so, she knows better. She’s pretty slim; and only 5’9, and a half inches tall, weighing in at 140lbs of toned muscle, that it’s pretty easy to work out that she’s fond of working out and keeping fit.

She’s not one for style; Vic just doesn’t understand the appeal of having the latest fashion accessories. Of course that doesn’t mean she doesn’t splash out on things like makeup now and then, but that’s purely for work interviews, she finds it works a hell of a lot better being ‘appealing’ then being herself. Whatever works huh? She’s more comfortable in reliable jeans and t-shirts; a nice pair of boots doesn’t go amiss or a leather jacket. Since she’s hung up her hunting gear though, there are fewer holsters for weapons. When she’s at work, its sports gear. Tracksuits for when it’s cold out, shorts and polo-shirts when it’s warmer.

Identifying marks are a little easier to describe. She has her fair share of scars, though most are long since faded. The most notable ones are what look to be claw marks curving down over her right hip. They’re just three jagged lines really, and she doesn’t talk about them ever. Her second most notable scar was given to her by a hunter that thought he was being clever and had all the time in the world, he put a silver hunting knife through her shoulder and left it there so it burnt her after he’d incapacitated her. Now, she’s not a fan of big tattoos but she does have two small ones of her own. A koi fish above her right ankle, and a small flower on the top of her right foot. The flower was gotten on a whim, but the koi is supposed to represent strength, determination, and persistence in the face of adversity. The only other thing that comes to mind is that her ears are pierced twice on both sides. [/LIST][b]Weapons of Choice:[/b][LIST] [*] Fangs, claws, full blown lion form. It’s fun to get messy! [*] She rarely hunts these days, so she’s hung up her holsters. [*] She does have a butterfly knife she carries regularly. [*] Has a necklace with a small vial of holy water attached. Just in case. [*] A white gold charm bracelet with holy items from different faiths. [/LIST][b]Special Skills:[/b][LIST] [*] She used to – and still does if a hunt crops up that tickles her fancy – ingests holy water to stop vampires from taking a bite out of her. Since she hasn’t hunted anything since late 2008, it’s not going to bother any vampires unless she starts up again. [*] She knows how to fight, mostly brawling and that’s what she relies on. However she’s dabbled in Krav Maga (grade: G1), and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (grade: Purple belt) over the last 10 years. It always surprises people when they learn this. [*] She can speak French and Italian, not fluently but enough to get by, she’s also learning German and in the future, hopefully Spanish unless she forgets. [*] Gets and knows the basics when using guns. She’s more a blade kind of girl anyway. [*] Not a half bad thief, - when she needs the money - if she does say so herself. [*] Did a three year “general” sports course followed by her PGCE and QTS. She’s pretty proud of that, so don’t knock it! [/LIST][b]Personality:[/b] [LIST]Victoria isn’t actually that loud of a person in most respects, she’s the type of person that would rather sit and wait and have something to say rather than open her mouth and spew a bunch of pointless words just to hear the sound of her own voice. Then again, she was an ‘attack dog’ for a long time, and when you’re beat as a kid to learn how to hold your tongue, things sort of stick to you. When she speaks, she doesn’t raise her voice in anger unless it’s to get a point across – and when she does need to get a point across it’s normally accompanied by a blunt object of some sort if need be -, but she does get listened to. It just another part of whom she is, people just think she doesn’t have something to say when in actual fact; she’s just watching and waiting for a chance to pounce. She knows that she’s not the most relaxed of people, that’s for sure. However when you get past the creepy silence, she does brighten up a bit. She’s a loyal lass and keeps her word, even though she has her trust issues, but she doesn’t always think things through fully. She’s used to bulldozing her way through issues in her life, and then dealing with the fallout afterwards. Protective of what’s hers. Practical and strong willed she’s not likely to be cowed by someone playing mind games; in fact the last time someone tried that, she broke their arm without blinking.

She even smiles, though it’ll often be accompanied with a wiseass remark or comment. It is almost like she’s care free and forgets about all the crap she’s gone through to get where she is today. She’s loving and caring, hell she even cares though it doesn’t normally come off as most would expect it from a she-cat that could snap at a moment’s notice and become a big cat. While it may look like she has no control over her animal side, she’s got it, people have assumed that she has next to none and that has been their downfall. Oh yeah, she’s more than a little mental! If you push her, she’ll push back, only most people seem to forget she’s more on the animal side then most shapeshifters are and she loves that. She’s not afraid of her animal instincts and embraces them to the point that sometimes she doesn’t want to be human anymore but then she sees what she has and pushes to be normal.

Her views on vampires are slightly [i]skewed[/i] however. Having been used by a lion calling master for years, she has a distaste for anything over a hundred years old, sure she can curb her tongue and be civil to the creatures but present her with a lion caller – even Mikhail got snapped at – and she’ll do everything in her power to make it clear that she won’t become another and she won’t allow anyone in the Pride to be one either. This can be displayed in sarcasticness, threats and violence and promises of death. She just doesn’t like the creatures that can bend her like a crazy straw if it suited them. It’s driven by fear, something she’s not exactly sure how to react to and falls back on her more comforting animal nature to deal with it. As far as the rest of the supernatural world, well, as long as they don’t try and harass the Pride or start something they can’t finish with the people she cares about then she won’t bother them. [/LIST][b]Likes:[/b][LIST] [*] Swimming. [*] A good strong drink after a hunt. [*] Taking to the country roads on her bike and just driving until she can't. [*] Making known bullies fear her. Doesn't matter if they're kids or adults or anything else. [*] Spending time in her lion form, she doesn't do it as much as she used to do so. [*] When she can surprise someone by doing something. [*] Reading when she can get five minutes peace, normally during first break at work. [*] Not being dragged into supernatural turf wars, she joined the pride to stop that. [*] Protecting the Jackford pride. Bradon Mackenzie gave her a home. [*] Chinese food. Don’t ask her why, she just does. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b][LIST] [*] Getting a ticket because she’s left her bike in the wrong place. [*] People that don't pull their own weight. You either sink or swim. [*] Being touched in lion form by people she doesn't know. She tends to bite [*] Having to clean her apartment. If it doesn't bother her, she doesn't bother it! [*] Parent/Teacher night. She'd take a feral shifter over that. [*] Doctors and medical types. Being poked and prodded? No thanks. [*] Being cornered. Have you ever seen an angry lion cornered? It's not nice. [*] Vampires that force themselves on others. It's not so bad when it’s voluntary. [*] Poor weapons maintenance. What is wrong with some people? [*] Being told she's over emotional just because she's female. [/LIST] [b]Strengths:[/b] [LIST] [*] Very familiar with her feline form, she shifts quicker because of this. [*] Doesn’t care if she gets hurt. In fact, she’d put herself in the firing line to save people she cares for. [*] Good tracking skills, urban or otherwise. [*] Isn’t easily backed down with threats and tends to laugh when they’re given. [*] Trusts her gut instinct rather than follow others unless she trusts them. [*] Loyal to people she trusts. Sometimes, even to those that just put up enough money. [*] She can hold her tongue and temper in check if she wants. [*] Knows a bit about witchcraft and the herbs used in most healing balms. [*] Very fast and agile, good for when she’s working with heights in the gym. [*] Still has a fair few contacts from her days as a hunter that she calls up when needed. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b] [LIST] [*] She has a bit of a one track mind at times. [*] Doesn’t always notice when she’s treading on thin ice. [*] Silver. She may’ve been a lion for a long time, but that stuff still hurts. [*] Comes off antisocial at times. [*] Her anger issues tend to put a crimp in certain things. [*] She doesn't have a good grasp on that 'relationship' thing. It's been [*] Practical in a way, she won’t blink twice at putting someone down if it means protecting others. Even if she's seen as a monster afterwards. [*] Doesn't trust many people at her back. There’s like four people out of billions. [*] Tends to spend a lot of time in her lion form, pushing the limits. [*] Can rarely tame that persistent stubborn streak. [/LIST][b]History:[/b] [LIST]Thomas and Natalie Moreau never took another hunt once they found out that they were due to have a baby together. They were hunters by blood, marriage and by trade; they did everything to stop the supernatural from infecting their ‘world’ and to keep people safe, but they would not endanger their soon to be daughter and in the august of 1977, their baby girl Victoria was brought into the world kicking and screaming like any normal babe and her parents officially hung up their weapons holsters and retired as hunters. Thomas took on a new job as a property developer that worked in and around Lancaster where they lived, and Natalie worked full time as a house wife. Together they doted on their child as Victoria grew up, giving her anything and everything that she wanted. Like any princess, she even had a pony at one point.

The happy little family however was torn apart just before Victoria’s ninth birthday, as the small farm house that the family owned was torn apart by rogue werelions and wolves, headed by a particularly vicious vampire who seemed to know all about her parents who were shocked by his apparent survival. The scariest thing of all for Victoria wasn’t that lions were everywhere or big werewolves; it was the Asian vampire Khan. The right side of his face was thick with holy water scars, the eye socket a gaping hole and mouth a jagged gash. Khan was one of the very few vampires that had ever escaped her parents, and he delighted on tearing through her mother’s mind and body as a werelion held her father back. When Khan was done with Natalie, he turned his attention to Victoria and forced a rather nasty looking lionman to tear into her young body before simply snapping her father’s neck. She should’ve died, would’ve died except werewolf alpha Jacques Rousseau had other ideas.

The wolf didn't take pity on her, far from it. When Victoria regained full consciousness now and again, she was told that she was Khan's new 'pet'. What better way to scare off hunters than by using the spawn of two fairly vicious hunters against them, it was put to her, before she was told that she had only survived because she'd contracted lycanthropy. Being a young lass, she didn't believe it. She screamed and raged and howled for her parents thinking it was a bad dream. It was only really brought home when Jacques, sick of the whelps screaming brought in a lion to teach her a lesson. Miranda was only slightly less cold than the werewolf, but under orders, she tore the beast from Victoria's body. Over and over, and over. Eventually, Victoria started to submit and forget about being who she really was and it was exactly what Khan wanted. Oh he had his pride and pack of bumbling misfits that had been thrown from their various clans for treasonous acts or for having broken the law, be he didn't have one animal at his command that would do simply as he asked, no if's buts or maybes.

By age 14, Victoria was a feral but suitably tamed little lion. She would sit pretty for Khan when he wanted to make a point in a business deal and she’d attack when given the order. Her first real kill wasn’t a goat or even a chicken; it was a frail old woman that owed Khan housing rent for staying in a housing complex he owned. Victoria snapped her neck and left her body where it dropped much to Khan’s displeasure and as a punishment she was put in the fight rings that one of his acquaintances ran. She tried her best, she really did. She’d gone from a pampered princess as a human, to a killer. Her fall from grace was bloody and violent and was brought to a sudden stop when she was put face to face with a full grown adult and alpha lion in the ring. She survived, but was sold on for being a failure to Master Khan and everything that she had been trained to hold dear.

After being past from vampire to vampire, and even the occasional knowledgeable human that knew of the supernatural and dabbled, Victoria ended up on a black market of sorts, nothing but a lost cause. She was stuck in a small cage for days, surrounded by other troubled souls such as herself, left to starve and in filth. Supernatural species of all shapes and sizes came and went sold off to the highest bidder as slaves that worked, fucked and various other things or prey for something else altogether. She even had a plan; she was going to attack the first handler she could get her hands on and hopefully have one of them kill her. Except, instead of a handler that came through the backstage area, it was something else entirely. He was young enough if a little older than herself, he was scared going by his scent, and he was…attractive for a human stumbling around in the dark. He changed her life the moment she had his scent. He left her alone in a loading bay however, such a hero for being forced into a nightmare of a fairy tale.

Free of the life she knew, Victoria did something that went against everything that had been beaten into her. She ran. For over two years she lived wild and on the move, most of her time in lion form and when she had to return to human form, she stole what she needed to survive on her own. Clothes from washing lines, food from market stalls if a hunt failed and the like, she even went as far for a while as to steal and fence property for money even though she never really needed it. However it worked out for her, though when she noticed that her eyes had stuck as those of her lions, she made it a personal mission to stay in human form more and more to get used to that form again. She even tried to talk to people; mostly farmers or hikers that crossed into her ‘territory’ at the time.

Once she was happy that she could return to being around people, Victoria ended up in Cardiff where she befriended a young couple that had lost their children to supposed gang violence and were so down on their luck that she couldn’t not help them even though she was barely considered an adult herself at the time. What the couple didn’t know was that it was supernaturally related violence that lost them their kids, so Victoria being the stereotypical cat riddled with curiosity looked into for them while she helped fight off bailiffs and other idiots that wanted to break her friends down more. She followed her gut instincts and tracked down the people that had been known as suspects in the community. It was teens mostly, desperate to rebel against the rules that their parents had set down but then she hit a lucky break, a werefox informant came forward to talk to her. Well, it was more warn her away from snooping because things would get ‘unpleasant’. She threw that fox out of a second story window… and then went back to searching.

It took her a year and she was roughly eighteen when she found the person that had ordered her ‘friends’ children be removed – her cat had claimed them as Pride even though she hadn’t known them long at all – and was marginally surprised to find out that it was a werelion male. The dominance battle was brutal; she was only a young woman and not used to the fighting the male easily won and inserted his dominance over her, claimed her as his ‘mate’ even though she’d clawed on of his eyes out with her own fingers. It was a huge leap and all that was really expected of her was to open her legs, be a submissive little waif of a woman that cowered behind the big bad lion. Well, she did as what was expected of her and after he was finished removed his head from his shoulders using the element of surprise. She disbanded the males operation – yes, in some cases she used violence – and the money that had been going towards other things, she sent to her friends before vanishing.

Bouncing around the UK for the next four years, Victoria picked up odd hunts here and there. A fey running a coven of witches and assuming Godhood over a town was dealt with, a Naga in Devon was told to move on because he’d started a turf war with the local snake clan. It was silly stuff really but the payment was ok. She managed to grab a job on an international freighter headed for America, and by the time she was 22 she landed her rear in Flordia. No papers, no money that she could spend easily, she was effectively back to when she was released from that cage by the scardy cat of a boy. It didn’t last long, America was so different and there was a lot of supernatural activity as well as human crime. She made her way as a supernatural bounty hunter of sorts, and not the legal kind most of the time. She was a monster hunting monsters, ironic huh?

Twenty three years old, she was still roaming the USA like she had done in the UK. Only this time she was more well off; and while she wanted to settle down somewhere she couldn’t unless she contacted the Pride that controlled that area. From what she’d seen since she’d actually come to the States, was that most of the USA Lions were a mite traditional, meaning that it was the woman’s job to do all the work. Since she had no interest of being a Pride gofer, she just spent her time on the road, staying in motels for a week or so or squatting in old properties. That’s when she got an interesting hunt, and came across someone she’d never thought to see again. Jothial Chapman. The little boy that had freed her had filled out, he was a man now and if she hadn’t got up close and personal to catch his scent, she wouldn’t have really known that it was him.

Stubborn male pressed her buttons though, and rather than outright kill him, she threw him through a wall and opened herself up to attack from the beast that she was hunting. She almost lost her life that night, and would’ve done so if her lycanthropic healing hadn’t worked its wonders on her battered body. She watched as Jo blasted the creature to nothing but ash and cinders before she even hinted that she knew him. Of course, it came out that she was a werelion and a hunter, and he was a bit iffy about the fact in her mind. Victoria expected him to kill her for being evil, instead they teamed up together and took on the evil that thought it could get past the Witch and the Lion.

They were together a year, hunting monsters that broke the laws of various things, putting themselves in the line of danger. What she failed to act on was the feelings that had stirred in her by being in close quarters to Jo. She never acted on them because she didn’t know how even though they were pretty intimate. She gave him and his creepy familiar the space and time they needed and Jo gave her the same thing. Honestly, Victoria would’ve said something sooner if she hadn’t made herself visible to a vampire that could control lions in the area. The last time she saw Jo was he was drooling into his motel pillow and that marked the end of that. She vanished without a trace using every means necessary to avoid detection. She hadn’t left him out of anger or anything; she’d left him because she was scared that the vampire would use her against him.

She ran from one vampire and lions and into another vampire, and ironically it was another lion caller a year or so later. This one was different though, he was older than anything she’d come across and Mikhail seemed just as surprised that she was a lion working as a bounty hunter. Victoria found herself drawn to this one, he didn’t abuse his people and he claimed New York as his city. Rather than run off again or try and kill him, Victoria struck up a bargain with the vampire master. She’d work for him as security and a hunter if she was needed as long as he didn’t try to call her and bend her to his will. Mikhail agreed and they went their separate ways for awhile. While in New York City, Victoria settled down in her first real apartment. She didn’t want to run anymore, but she had no idea what to do. Making that apartment as her base of operations, she spent the next few years learning how to be normal. She got a job, went to night school, made a few friends that weren’t anything that she was used to. They were simply normal. She did get called in to do some hunts for Mikhail every now and then, but they were neither here nor there.

Then in 2005, she returned to the UK after saying goodbye to Mikhail and the lions that she’d grown used to more confident in herself and happy enough. There was an ulterior motive for her return though; Mikhail wanted her to pass through a place called Jackford every now and again to make sure one of his fledglings in the local Kiss was doing ok and rather than argue or brush him off with a smile and a nod, Victoria agreed on the understanding that she wouldn’t tie herself to one place for so long unless he helped her out finding a reason to stay. By the end of July ’05 she was studying to become a Physical Education teacher after a brief course as a teaching assistant at primary school in York - which wasn't that far from Jackford so it suited her - but maybe she should’ve been clearer in what she wanted huh? She didn't stay there for long and by the end of 2010 she was a full-fledged teacher working at Jackford’s comprehensive high school teaching children about sports and how to stay healthy three days a week and spending the rest of the week bouncing between Pride duty and her own time, which she used as time to search for the odd hunt to keep her claws sharp and she's stayed there ever since ducking and dodging the crazy that was worse than her. [/LIST][/SIZE]

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