Visit Blog
Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.
#trying to keep their empire afloat and all that
missbickerbocker · 8 months ago
BTS Hyung Line Fic Recs
Read-Right-Now NSFW Fic Recs: BTS Hyung Line
Know that what I've recommended are my absolutely, most beloved, smut-filled, re-readable picks. Enjoy!
Tumblr media
Kim Seokjin
Woman of a Certain Age - Y/N has known Seokjin since he was born. She has even helped change Seokjinnie's diapers. Growing apart when Y/N went to the U.S. for college, Seokjin runs into Y/N when she is hired by Big Hit as a top consultant. Sparks fly despite Seokjin nursing a broken heart and Y/N trying to make partner at her firm. Will this noona ever see Seokjin as the man he now is? @vyduan
Leveled Up - You have no idea what you're doing when you log in to a new video game with your brother's beta code. But what you do know is that you want to see more of the dazzling virtual reality game he showed you despite the fact that you're not much of a gamer. And though you quickly realize you're out of your depth in this world, it gets even worse when you're pulled into a raid with a group of players who know exactly what they're doing – and have very little time for your amateur antics. This is how you meet Kim Seokjin, famous singer, famous gamer. Except, you don't who he is. You just think of him as KimRJ92. And he thinks of you as a puzzle to solve. @erinbrownwrites
Hideaway - Only the respected patriarch of the Kim dynasty thinks you are worth anything. Despite his vision, the rest of the upper crust sees you as nothing more than your station, a girl borne of a family that only ever existed to serve them. Cruelly, the only thing standing in your way is also the key to your success: having to take care of a smiley, goofy, lanky, drunk manchild in ill-fitting clothes who just happens to be next in line for the throne, and who has just inadvertently kidnapped you. The next three days with Kim Seokjin will make or break you. @bonvoyagenoona
Made-Up Love Song - Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher living with your best friend, and have never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire. Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place… @floralseokjin
Don't Go Baking My Heart - You fall in love with Kim Seokjin’s bakery after wandering into it to take advantage of the post-Valentine’s Day discount on the chocolates. Maybe it’s the owner’s bad jokes, maybe it’s the other regulars, maybe it’s the delicious pastries. Or maybe there’s something more that keeps you coming back to that shop. @candlewaxandp0lar0ids
Off Limits - You’ve been lusting after your brother’s best friend for a while now, ever since you met him at a house party, flirting it up a storm as you failed to realise who the other was. That was months ago now and things are still awkward, but you can’t ignore the sexual tension that’s simmers between the two of you…and it keeps getting worse… @floralseokjin
Pride & Fidget Spinners - Seokjin has always prided himself on being the top mall kiosk salesman. His turf, the spot nearest to the fountain, is due to him being the undisputed best in the game. At least, until you arrive and throw his game into chaos. @kpopfanfictrash
All Along - It’s no surprise when you learn you’ll soon be engaged to one of the Kim brothers. What does come as a shock, is just how determined Seokjin is to make sure that person is him. @underthejoon
Min Yoongi
Countermelody -  This new city has already invigorated your tired bones and shy heart. The people here seem kind and exciting. All sorts of interesting silhouettes are always shuffling about, and you write little stories for each person who passes you by. Even the stationery shop next door is warm and inviting, and you’re grateful that Mr. Kang offers you the store manager job on the spot. But you get a funny feeling about things when he shows you the boxes in the back, the ones marked with red tape and the name MIN YOONGI scribbled on top. You wonder what makes this customer particularly special. You don’t know that the process of finding out will make you question why you ever moved here in the first place. @bonvoyagenoona (HELP I've read this one like five times)
Want a Taste? -Pretzel pro. Most skillful tongue in the food court world. Allegedly. Of course, you’re reasonable skeptical of his claims- but if there’s one thing that motivates this notoriously-lethargic man, it’s proving skeptics wrong. @suga-kookiemonster
Fortuitous - Your fates were sealed long before your paths crossed. Get your diploma and get married. You were similar in that way – both bound by outdated customs. Falling in love was never something either of you dared to dream about. Until it happened. @underthejoon
Shameless - Fleeing a scandal, Y/N signs with Big Hit Entertainment to launch her singer/songwriter career in South Korea. Denying her attraction to Suga out of fear from past betrayals, Y/N blunders through years in Korea as BTS gets more and more famous. Will she give into the chemistry she has with Suga, risking her career for a second time, and have her happily ever after? Or will she be doomed to be alone forever? @vyduan
The English Teacher - After watching an unfortunate interview with iHeartRadio, you write up a piece on ways BTS could improve their English interviews. Your post reaches the eyes of BigHit Entertainment who took what you had to say seriously. Now three months into your probation period as BTS’ resident English teacher, you’re finally beginning to understand both Korean and celebrity culture, as well as the toll of living lands away from your husband of ten years. As for one of the BTS members, he’s trying to understand you, too - as much as you’ll let him.
Carousel -  He is the successor of his family’s business empire, and you are the female heir of yours. After the trouble his older brother had created in the past, he now must face certain requirements needed for the sake of the family’s future and to save his rights of inheritance, and you become his only way out. Everything might seem so simple, just the way they are supposed to. But everything isn’t always what it seems, is it? @yoonia
Watermelon Sugar - Traveling alone to your dream destination had sounded like a good idea at the time. And you don’t regret doing it, of course not - you’re in Greece! The food! The sun! The smell of the sea! The white walls and blue chairs, the hills, the warm days and colder nights. A little company wouldn’t hurt, though. That’s how you end up talking to Min Yoongi, your next door neighbour with whom you practically share a balcony. He’s quiet, he barely leaves his room but when you reach out, he doesn’t push you away. That’s how your Greek adventure begins. @yoonjinkooked
Kim Namjoon
Roommates with Benefits - You and Namjoon are roommates. You're both really horny one morning. So you come to an understanding: It's not a regular thing. It happens on the couch. Kissing is allowed. Condoms, always. And just like that, you're roommates with benefits. @erinbrownwrites
Kakistocracy - As the top Senior Aides to the President of the Republic (a fictitious country based on no specific location whatsoever), you and Namjoon are nearly always at each other’s throats. The sole thing you agree upon is your president is an absolute idiot, with zero idea how to run a country. This is why, when a new threat emerges and your nation is plunged into chaos, you two are the only ones capable of keeping the world from disaster. If you can stop arguing long enough to try, that is. @kpopfanfictrash
For the Books: An Unlikely Holiday Romance - Kim Namjoon begrudgingly agrees to be part of the local library's annual holiday date auction.You are duped into buying a ticket to the library's annual holiday date auction by your best friend. Both you and Namjoon are dreading the actual event. Neither of you expects what happens next. @erinbrownwrites 
Office Hours - When you’re an early career researcher who has just broken up with the love of your life, who is desperately trying to keep your lab afloat, and who is still embattled in a years-long feud with the hotshot professor down the hall for the only tenured spot that will make itself available at this top tier university in at least the next decade, you really don’t have any choice but to save the emotions for another time. You don’t expect them to bubble up and out of you when you have a particularly rough day, and you certainly don’t expect refuge in the arms of your rival. But crazier things have happened in darkened hallways and behind closed office doors.
The Rich Man’s Crochet Club - When they were freshmen in college, Namjoon began a club with his six closest friends. The one thing they all had in common? Virgin-as-fuck. Obviously, they couldn’t call it the Virgins Club, and so, The Rich Man’s Crochet Club was born. Until time passes and Namjoon is the only left. Now, the Club has one final mission: to get Namjoon laid. @kpopfanfictrash
Obligated - Married by obligation, weighed down by circumstance. Except for those nights when you’re both drunk, falling into bed with one another and realizing you’re human. Occasionally this happens, occasionally you fuck. Until your life changes and you realize Namjoon, the very man you’re obligated to, might just be the very man that you crave. @underthejoon
The Body Through Time - When you’re offered a job as the graduate assistant for the Art History department at Bangtan University, it is a requirement for the department to sign their approval on the paperwork. You have one signature left and, unfortunately, he doesn’t want to see you. At all. @yeoldontknow
Jung Hoseok
Holly-Jolly Crisis - At this time last year, you thought you had it all: A kick-ass screenwriting job for the hottest TV show in LA, an actor boyfriend whose career was taking off, and an affordable apartment with not one, but two bathrooms. Fast forward to now, and you’re single, soon-to-be jobless, and searching for a way to scrape together January rent. Everything seems to be falling apart, which was why you told your family you weren't coming home for the holidays. Enter your little sister, Sara, who recently became engaged to her boyfriend, Yoongi, and needs you home to celebrate. The biggest problem? Returning home means you’ll forced to face everything and everyone you left behind, including Yoongi’s best man - and your ex-best friend - Jung Hoseok. @kpopfanfictrash
Madeline - It was supposed to be a one-night thing. Just one, perfect night to remember forever. Life, it seems, has other plans. @kpopfanfictrash
Trouble - How Hoseok lost his virginity (as part of The Rich Man’s Crochet Club) @kpopfanfictrash
Hot Rod - A 1950′s inspired fic where greaser Hoseok can’t keep his eyes, or hands, off the new waitress at his and his boys’ favorite diner. @kinktae
Guarded - You’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. Now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit. @xjoonchildx
Systems of Touch - You know the works of renowned author, researcher, and professor, Jung Hoseok, and have the pleasure of meeting him in person at an annual gathering. Entirely infatuated with you, Hoseok wants to do things the right way - wait until you’re no longer a student. Whether or not you can abide by that rule? Time will only tell. @yeoldontknow
What’s Past is Past - After your eight years relationship comes to a brutal end, you don’t really see yourself getting back into dating — ever, probably. And then, your new neighbor who has the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen needs to borrow a corkscrew, and you don’t realize it just yet, but your resolve doesn’t stand a chance. @candlewaxandp0lar0ids
2K notes · View notes
smhalltheurlsaretaken · 11 months ago
Tbh I actually love that Din is trying so hard to give Grogu back to the Jedi, even though yes, I want them to stay together. 
I don’t think it just comes from Din’s feelings of inadequacy, I think it comes first and foremost from a very deep selflessness, and a thorough understanding of what it means to be adopted, and to have survived a genocide.
Think about it: Din’s biological people were killed, and he was adopted into a very secluded culture that then got wiped by the Empire - and then he was all but alone with only his beliefs and traditions to keep him afloat. And that’s almost exactly Grogu’s story. In a sense, he’s twice orphaned, like Din, and what he has left of his culture is himself. And the thing is, Din is probably thinking that he wouldn’t have wanted to be adopted by yet another people if the Mandos had been killed off when he was still a child. He wouldn’t have wanted to lose his connection to his saviors, his mentors, his family. 
It can be hard for adopted kids to be certain that the heritage that was given to them matters just as much as their birth one. So to take Grogu’s Jedi heritage away, to erase it, just because the ones who gave him his identity as a Jedi are no longer there? It would be like taking away his name because his parents were no longer raising him. It would be like taking Din’s helmet and saying adoption doesn’t really count if you’re the only one left. 
The Jedi never took away names, and of course Din doesn’t want to take away the child’s culture. Just because the Watch died doesn’t mean he’s no longer Mando, and just because the Jedi died doesn’t mean Grogu wasn’t their child before his. 
And I think that’s part of why Din is ready to give up his baby.
2K notes · View notes
hdlynnslibrary · 9 months ago
Hold Please
In a Universe Far, Far Away - Part 6 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |
Pairing: Din Djarin x Earthling fem!reader Warnings: Mild Angst, very minor knife wound with a little blood, talk of choking people out (non-sexual), some mild language, exploring past the Season 2 Finale Words: 2.1k Tags: Boba is a bit of a shit and having fun with it, Mand’alor Din isnt liking his new title, government protocols are tedious in every galaxy, Din gives his word concerning something he might soon regret (on brand tbh)
Thank you to my lovely beta reader @princessbatears​ and to @magsgotswags​ and @anxiety-riddled-mando​ for some wording help with hold messages X’D
Tumblr media
“What are you doing?”
Mando’s voice snapped through the recycled air of the ship, the sharp modulated tone making you jump and almost lose hold of the durasteel knife that Boba had handed you.
“I’m teaching her a proper way to handle a knife,” Boba explained dryly.
“I can see that, I just don’t know why you’re giving her weapons now,” Mando fired back.
Boba sighed and turned to Mando, apparently, “Generally I find people are more likely to accidentally kill themselves if they don’t know what they’re doing.”
There was a slight snort that came Fennec, and you couldn’t help but glance over her way. She was pointedly not watching the scene unfold, but you knew she was taking every single thing in.
“That isn’t what I mean and you know it, why are you giving her weapons?”
Boba tisked, looking back to you and then frowned, displeased with what he saw.
“Well, mir'shebika, the Mand’alor has a point. You aren’t going to be able to stab me properly with a grip like that.”
He fixed your grip as Mando just shook his head in disbelief.
“There, now you won’t accidentally cut your fingers off after the first stab.”
“That isn’t what I- don’t call me that.” Mando groused at the title
“Of course… Mand’alor,” Boba continued to needle, the grin apparent on his face.
Din shook his head in, apparent, frustration as he left you to Boba’s instruction, not willing to take the bait.
You grimaced, as you tried to furtively watch the man depart leaving behind just the swirl of his cape and the shine of beskar burned into your eyes.
Not paying attention, you let your attention on the blade go lax at the wrong moment. It was brought back into sharp focus as you accidentally nicked yourself with the razor-like edge of the blade.
Hissing, you fixed your grip and stuck the hurt finger into your mouth to soothe the wound. It was just a little nick, but fuck if it didn’t sting.
Boba chuckled slightly at your predicament.
“Consider that a lesson in paying attention when you’re handling a weapon,” he said, looking rather bemused as your floundered.
“I wasn’t…” you trailed off, not sure how to not phrase the rest of the sentence without just confirming that you had more certainty been distracted by the enigmatic Mando.
His dark gaze was piercing as you felt your body heat up in embarrassment. It was confusing enough to be dealing with a crush, it was another when it felt like you knew the person when you didn’t. At least, not really. You had snapshots — an idea — of who this Din Djarin was, yet you didn’t know him. This wasn’t an actor you could daydream about from the safety of your room or gush about with friends with little to no chance of ever meeting. No, he was flesh and bone and you doubted that any actor could pull off the same type of energy that he had. There was a quiet ferocity about Mando’s whole being that spoke of all the ways he knew how to kill, but he was also still the same man who had gone back for Grogu. It was confusing and overwhelming, to say the least, and not something you wanted to talk about.
Taking your finger from your mouth, the bleeding already starting to ebb, you put the knife back into its sheath before offering it back to Boba.
The ex-bounty hunter shook his head, “No, that is for you. I’m not letting you walk around without something to protect yourself, mir'shebika.”
Tumblr media
The majority of the trip back to Nevarro had been more of the same. Boba, and even Fennec, to some extent, taking you under their wing. The infamous bounty hunter and the assassin were oddly rather… parental in their actions? They didn’t baby you though if anything Fennec was a menace in surprising you with some rather intimidating facts. But she did it in such a way that made it feel she was trying to teach you rather than purely to scare you.
“A chokehold is actually safer than just clocking someone,” Fennec had told you unsolicited over some ration meals, gesturing to the spots she was referring to on her own neck. “The gold standard is a blood chokehold, apply pressure to the arteries at the sides of the neck and they’ll pass out in about 10 seconds. Air chokeholds take longer, more like 30 seconds to a full minute. More painful and potential for being messy with a possible struggle, though if you want to crush the larynx and trachea that would work better ”
You had gaped at her as the older woman continued to eat the perfectly cut cubes of meat-like protein as if this was a normal dinner conversation.
Which, apparently it was, for then Fennec and Dune both started comparing notes about hand-to-hand combat and debated finer points that your brain wasn’t ready to handle. You sort of got the points about balance and creating force when striking, but past that? It was like they were talking in a totally different language.
At this point, they had also resorted to locking the Moff up in a storage area that Boba had used for holding bounties before. You remembered from the movies that Fett had brought Han Solo to Jabba in carbonite, but that he hadn’t had a chamber himself, having instead used the system that Vader had set up. That, and the time he had spent surviving the deserts on Tatooine had meant he hadn’t updated that into his ship’s kit as of yet, so the glorified closet (which you did note seemed to be soundproof) would just have to do.
It was over the next mealtime, with Fett having confirmed it would only be about another twelve hours or so until you all reached your destination, that some new things started to be discussed.
“Since the child was returned to your care and your mission was completed, our deal has seemed to come to an end. We’ll be dropping you off here at Nevarro and then we’ll be parting ways with you and your group, Mandalorian.” Boba explained.
“You don’t want to wait to split the reward on that piece?” Cara asked, about Moff Gideon’s bounty when Mando remained quiet at the mention of his charge.
Boba and Fennec looked to each other, having a silent discussion between the two of them for a moment before Fennec answered for the both of them.
“The boss and I don’t really have a reason to go through the red tape bullshit for the money. Even if I’m not technically on the New Republic’s radar since as far as I know I’m marked as dead in the Bounty Hunter Guild’s databases, we’ve had other plans.”
“I’m rather sure they would know my face as well,” Fett said dryly.
Boba’s lips twitched as you snorted lightly at his joke. After all, he had probably one of the most recognizable faces in the galaxy considering all the clones that had been made in the image of Jango Fett.
“I don’t feel right in letting you leave without some sort of payment,” Mando finally spoke up, his tone firm.
Boba shook his head, “It wasn’t part of the deal. Even if you wanted to order me to take part of that monster’s bounty as Mand’alor, I still wouldn’t take it even then. As Fennec said, we have prospects on Tatooine that will keep us afloat and busy for some time. Taking care of our affairs, as it were and you’re going to need the money to get yourself a ride off this rock once we leave.”
Mando was silent for a moment, arms crossed in a clear show of his disapproval with the way things currently stood but apparently weighing the wisdom of Boba’s words.
“If you won’t take payment now, I still consider myself indebted to you both for your help,” Mando stated, parsing his words carefully. “You did more than most others would, I owe you a debt of honor for you to collect at a later date. I swear it to you on my own clan — on my signet of the Mudhorn — not on any title everyone seems to think I should have because of a karking sword.”
There was a moment of… not tension but something like it as the two men examined each other for a long moment before Boba nodded his head slightly in assent. “If you insist, I acknowledge your offer of a debt that will be collected at a later date.”
Tumblr media
The remaining leg of your trip seemed to drag on for forever But now as Slave I hovered outside the atmosphere of Nevarro, it seemed somehow short now the destination was at hand.
There had been some discussion needed before proceeding. Marshal Dune was obliged to notify that she had a high-ranking war criminal under her purview, and technically she should have done so when Moff Gideon had first been captured.
But Fett had insisted that her New Republic handlers, were not to be notified until they had reached the grey rock of a planet you were currently floating above. After all, you were rather sure that whomever responded to such a high-profile capture would possibly recognize the very ship you were on. Seeing as Fett had a rather… complicated history having done some work for the Empire, you thought you rather understood his aversion to being around bureaucrats from the New Republic.
Cara’s contact had sounded rather bored until she repeated who was being brought in. There had been a crash on the other side of the call, which everyone had snorted at. It sounded like they had literally fallen out of their chair when they had her repeat “Moff Gideon”.
The sorting had turned into eye rolls — at least you assumed Mando had also done so, hard to tell with the helmet — when the person on the line put your call on hold. Obviously, this was something above the man’s pay grade to deal with without getting permission from the higher-ups first.
What you found even funnier though was the rolling message while you waited between little bouts of soothing music which somehow wasn’t soothing at all.
“Thank you for holding. You have reached the New Republic Security Division for the Outer Rim sector. Your call is very important to us, please stay on the line until an available security representative can take your call. Please be aware this call may be recorded for quality control.”
The message seemed to be on a loop with Basic, along with maybe another three or four languages before looping back to Basic again. The perky feminine voice had the bright sound of a customer service voice which you now knew was a literal universal phenomenon.
You had to use your hand to stifle a nearly hysterical laugh at how familiar yet alien it was hearing fucking hold music and messages. It seemed so normal yet dissident from what you would have assumed to the pure everyday banality of it. They had light speed travel, the medicine you couldn’t fathom, lightsabers, and the force, but hold messages somehow all remained the same. Namely? They sucked.
After listening through the entire message twice a new voice came over the link. You didn’t catch their title, but it was long enough to sound important even if it actually wasn’t, the call had obviously been upgraded from the everyday ones that came through.
Marshal Dune was quickly informed that there were two star fighter pilots in the area who would be able to quickly escort a mini prisoner transport to Nevarro within the hour. And to rendezvous in front of the town with the local Magistrate.
Just one hour and Moff Gideon would be back under the total jurisdiction of the New Republic and… then what? You really had no idea what would happen after that or what would happen to your accidentally acquired traveling companions. There was just the ever-growing feeling that there was to be a parting of ways and you had no idea what that would mean for you.
“Mando,” Boba said after the channel for the call had finally been closed. “One moment before you start preparing to leave. I think I have something in mind for that debt of honor you’ve insisted on me accepting.”
The silver helmet tilted slightly before Mando responded, “And I intend to keep my word as I gave it.”
Fett grinned, “Good, ‘cause I know exactly what you can help me out with.”
Tumblr media
Translations: mir'shebika - little smart-ass
Perm: @princessbatears​ @cosmicbug379​ @yellowbubblewrap​ @keeper0fthestars​ @pikemoreno​ @opheliaelysia​ @miraclemoreno​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @moriamithril​ @mrsparknuts​ @beccaplaying​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @maybege​ @aeryntheofficial​ @mandolovian​ @meshlamando​ @oloreaa​ @lovinglokiforever​ @gallowsjoker​ @whataenginerd​ @hayley-the-comet​ @justanotherblonde23​ @whatababeleia​ @max--phillips​ @alexmarie29​ @nerd-without-a-cause​ @huliabitch​ @computeringturtle​ @princessxkenobi​ @linkpk88​ @djxrxn​
Pedro Characters: @mrschiltoncat​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @thatchickwiththecamera​ @ilikechocolatemilkh​
Din Djarin Tag: @kyjoraven​ @maydayfigment​ @awboomerangsno​ @holamor​ @16boyfriends-and-me​ @thatchickwiththecamera​ @hp-hogwartsexpress​ @remmysbounty​
In a Universe Far, Far Away: @hayley-the-comet​ @pinkninja200​ @din-damn-djarin​ @lyricalsficlibrary​ @giselatropicana​ @idiotonastar​ @mandoinevarro​ @leo-moon​ @chewychewyque​ @themandhoelorian​ @paniclana​ @pcrushinnerd​ @thatchickwiththecamera​ @justawilddreamerchild @pedroboys-blog @bolivianchickennugget​ @missredherring​ @jesfreedark​ @javihoney​ @littleridingredhood @bunniotomia​ @roseallisonparker​ @princess-and-pedro​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @curlyviolet​ @okilover02​ @grogusmum​
If you would like added, moved, or removed from a tag list please feel free to let me know 💗
(If your name is crossed out tumblr would not let me tag you, please make sure to check your settings are checked to have your blog searchable to be tagged in future)
255 notes · View notes
captn-andor · 8 months ago
beskar and blue
vi. gar cuyir ner yaim
Tumblr media
summary | your mandalorian is in danger, and you ask yourself a question: how far are you willing to go to get him back? to keep him safe? the answer isn’t one he’s going to like
warnings | kidnapping, violence, angst, idiots have feelings, (OC: commander deaquinn), cliffhanger? cliffhanger
word count | 7.9K
a/n | sorry for the late upload, loves. i’m probably gonna be inactive for a few days but i finally got this part done so i wanted to post it
part v  part vii
series masterlist
“Where is he?” You demand, but you get no answer. “Where’s Mando?” 
Mando didn’t know where he was, which was a bad enough sign. But it felt like it had been hours since the Imps captured him, and he had spent most of them in this dark room. The sand that coated every inch of the room was the only proof that he was even still on Tatooine.
The moment you left Peli’s garage, the rest of the day had carried out in a quick downwards spiral. He had watched you go with a heavy heart that only continued to weigh heavier, threatening to sink with the insurmountable pressure of your heartbreak and his own- the sadness and anger he had seen in your eyes= and the only thing keeping him afloat was the voice in the back of his head, saying it’s for the best, it’s for the best, it’s for the- 
Maker, he couldn’t even convince himself of it. Peli had come rampaging onto the ship, eyes wide and wondering why the hell you had just stormed out, and Mando caught a look of the kid in her arms, tiny hands grasping the rock he had gotten on Dantooine and his ears drooping with the realization of what your departure meant. That you weren’t coming back. 
He had figured himself strong enough to stand by his actions and even if he wasn’t, logical enough to understand that you wouldn’t come back after the things- lies- that he had spewed out. But after facing the kid’s downtrodden state and Cara’s knowing frown, he found himself walking out of the garage. Just walking, trying to catch his breath with no real physical destination. In his head, he felt as though he knew who he was trying to walk to.
If he hadn’t been so out of it, he would have felt them coming. They caught him by surprise, more troopers than he could count and all he remembers of the fight that led to his capture was the sound of blasters firing and punches being thrown. 
And now he was in this dark room, his arms restrained by three troopers- kriff, wouldn’t it just be easier for them to use binders- and another few landing punch after punch to him. An Imperial officer watches from the other side of the room, and raises a hand- signalling for the troopers to stop. 
“Tell me,” the Imp sneered, stepping into the light. “What brings a Mandalorian to Tatooine?” 
A shiver passes over his body, not because of the pain, just...a strange shiver like someone was right behind him, just out of sight. It was stupid to think, though. He was alone, that was one part of this fucking day that he could be certain of. “The sights, obviously.” 
A snarky comment that earns him another punch to the jaw. 
“I suggest you speak the truth,” the Imp bends down so that they’re at the same height and Mando fights the urge to headbutt him- “We have reason to believe a Mandalorian was involved in the attack on our compound last night. Point us to the rest of your friends and we might be a bit more lenient with you.” 
“This isn’t lenient? I thought- thought the Empire could do better.” It’s a small relief, that this man hasn’t asked for the kid. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he actually doesn’t know about the kid, about the incidents of Nevarro, about Moff Gideon.
The Imp smiles coldly. “I’ll return in a few hours, hopefully you shall be more...cooperative.” 
He turns and leaves, and Mando’s teeth grit under his helmet as the door shuts behind him, as the next trooper cocks their arm back, fist ready. His singular solace is that you’re safe. That the kid is safe. 
He holds on to that as the trooper’s fist meets his cheek.
“We don’t know,” Vanth admits, shrugging his shoulders and looking lost for a way to comfort you or fix this- when the only real way to make everything better is to find Mando. “According to Peli, he took a walk and never came back. Kid’s been like-” Grogu lets out a soft whimper, holding his arms out for you. “Well, like that ever since.” 
You sigh, scooping Grogu out of Peli’s arms. He plants his little hands on the side of your face, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know, squirt.” You’re shaking and he’s no better, trembling like a little, frog-obsessed leaf. “I know.” Rubbing a hand over his forehead, you look back up at Cara and Vanth. “Mando’s been captured by Imps.” 
Cara shakes her head at the idea, though you can tell she’s just too scared to believe it since she doesn’t immediately dismiss the notion. “We got rid of the Imps-” 
“-I saw it, okay? I was- I was leaving and I saw it. They have him somewhere, they’re- they want to know why he’s on Tatooine.” 
“Wait, you saw it?” Vanth raises an eyebrow, looking between you and Cara, as if guaranteeing that he heard you right, and then gestures at her, confused why she doesn’t react like he does to your words. “How- how could you see him and not-” 
“Oh fuck this,” you groan, reaching into your bag. Cara’s eyes widen and she’s in the middle of reaching towards you- probably to stop you- when you draw your lightsaber, punching the button before you’ve even got a strong grip on the handle. Vanth’s eyes widen and Peli stumbles back, her hand flying to her chest. “I’m a Jedi.” 
Vanth’s eyes are wide as saucers for a few seconds before he scoffs, shaking his head. “That explains a few things. What did you see then-” 
“-You’re a Jedi?!” Peli cuts him off, trailing off as the three of you shoot looks in her direction. “Not the time, got it.” 
“As I was saying, Jedi, we can...get visions of others... like a Force bond, that’s what Grogu and I have, we use it to communicate. It was some dark room, that’s all I saw, there was an Imp, I didn’t recognize him.” 
“What did he look like?” Cara urges you, and you try to give your best description of the man, heart falling at the way her face pales with each word, your description of the sneering man with dark hair and sallow skin. “That’s Commander Deaquinn.” A name you recognize, but not one you could put a face to before today. 
“Who does he work for?” It’s been too long since you had anything to do with the Republic, but you know that his name means something. 
Her jaw clenches, eyes falling on the kid with a fear on her face that you haven’t seen since the moments just before Alderaan. “Moff Gideon.” 
You’ve been a mess for the past hour. Just frozen, curled up in Mando’s bed, trying to pull yourself together and get out there so you can find him, so you can save him.
It’s easier in theory. You can’t breathe too fast without working yourself in a panic, thinking about where he is, what’s happening, if he’s- No, you admonish yourself. You’d know if he was dead, you would have felt it. And somewhere out on the planet, you can feel that Din Djarin is alive. That he’s fighting.
“It’s going to be alright,” you whisper to Grogu, who’s taken solace in your lap, his little cheek squished against your stomach. He’s been here with you for the past hour, just holding his ball and hugging you. Trying to provide comfort and seeking some of his own. Sweet boy. “I’m going to get him back for you.”
Cara hadn’t had to explain who Moff Gideon was. You remembered Pershing mentioning a Moff, but Cara saying his name had connected the dots, and you more than remembered a Moff Gideon you had had a hand in arresting during the war. The Moff wants to know more about your kind, Pershing had said. So this bastard wanted you. Wanted Grogu. Either one of you would work, really.Well, you think, smiling sadly down at Grogu, who blinks up at you with shiny black eyes, he wouldn’t get Grogu. Not while you were alive and kicking. But another part of you began to think.
What Cara had explained was that Gideon had sent more hunters than you could count after the two of them. That Mando had been in danger at every turn, that he had almost died once in Nevarro, and that a friend of his had been killed. She tells you about how he almost would have settled down on Sorgan, had it not been for the Moff. It twists your gut, makes you think about what comes after this. You rescue Mando, you go your separate ways again, and then what? He keeps running, and running, and running. A life that you’re all too familiar with, but not one you want for him. Din and Grogu, they didn’t deserve this life. The running from the Empire. They deserved to be safe, be a family, a proper one.
The words he threw at you this morning still sting in your chest when you recall them, but you ignore the lump in your throat and grit your teeth to stop the way that your bottom lip begins to quiver. You hate him right now but as much as it sucked, you were in love with that stupid fucking Mandalorian.
It was a hard truth, but it was one that you couldn’t convince yourself was a lie. Not now, not when you knew what his lips felt like on your own and what his hands felt like on your body, not when you’d let yourself fall for him over and over again for months now until you were in too deep to stop yourself. Not after an eternity of late night conversations that bled into early mornings waking up in his arms.
Maybe if this never happened. Maybe if he and the kid were somewhere in hyperspace right now, safe and together and you had never gotten off of that food transport, you could have convinced yourself that you hated him, and maybe over time that belief would have become a reality. Of course, now you’d never know. And you’ve never been one to dwell on things that could have been. That usually only led to disappointment. 
The thing was, Cara had been right when she said you and Mando were too much alike. You had seen the similarity even back on Dantooine, when you couldn’t stand the sight of that infuriating hunk of beskar. You both had an affinity for spicy food, a hatred for small talk, and a love for a certain green baby. Over all those tiny similarities though, somewhere along the way you figured the two things you and Mando had in common that Cara had probably realized. You were both stubborn bastards, and you both protected the people you love. And as you thumb the lightsaber in your hand, you think about how angry he’s gotten at you in the past for putting yourself in danger.
This was really going to piss him off.
“Hey,” Cara pokes her head into the ship, speaking quietly with eyes filled with worry. She takes a seat on the edge of the bunk, takes your hand in hers and squeezes. “We’re going to get him back,” 
“I know,” you nod, trying your best to believe yourself.
“What’s on your mind?” 
She’d kill you if you knew the thoughts that were actually dominating your mind- you thank the stars that she can’t read your mind and that Grogu can’t communicate with her- so you steer course to another thing that’s been worrying you. “Jedi...we can form Force bonds with others, but..I don’t know, it’s rare for a Jedi to be able to connect with a non-Force user like that. On Kijimi, Grogu was able to show Mando what I showed him, but that’s probably just because of how close they are-” 
“And you think you and Mando aren’t close?” Words fail you and your response consists of a weak shrug that elicits a scoff from her as she shakes her head. “You’re probably one of the only people in the world that he truly likes.” Giving your hand another squeeze, she sighs quietly, lips pursing into a thin line. “I think I got the picture of what happened between the two of you this morning, but he was...he looked horrible after you left. I don’t know if that fixes anything, but he just... it was like he shut down. He cares about you.” 
Apparently just not in the way I want him to, you think sadly, but you smile and squeeze Cara’s hand. “Thank you.” 
“Just returning a favor,” she laughs, and you see that same look in her eyes, the momentary glint that lets you know what she’s thinking about. 
“We’re going to get him back.” This time, you’re the one who says it. 
Commander Thayne Deaquinn wrinkles his nose at the sand that covers his shoes, scoffing. He couldn’t wait to get off of Tatooine. No matter, once they got the rest of the Mandalorian’s friends, he would never have to set foot on this planet again and those scum would rot in Imperial cells for the rest of their lives. “Connect us to the Moff’s light cruiser,” he orders a trooper, who nods and quickly takes a seat, pressing a few buttons on the control panel. 
From the large table in the middle of the room, a blue hologram pulls up, projecting an image of the Moff, unsmiling and raising an expectant brow at the Commander. Deaquinn shivered, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. “All hail the Empire,” he greeted his superior. 
Moff Gideon gave him a short nod. “All hail the Empire. What news from Tatooine, Commander? Do you have any leads on who led the attack on our compound?” 
“Yes, sir,” Deaquinn’s hands were fidgeting behind his back. “We’ve captured a Mandalorian, we’re questioning him now.” 
Moff Gideon raises an eyebrow, lips turning up in amusement, and Deaquinn felt as though he were becoming aware of an inside joke that he had not been let in on. 
“A Mandalorian, you say?” 
Vanth nods at you as you join the rest of your small crew, all of them having set up in Peli’s workshop. The mechanic in question paces worriedly, gladly taking Grogu from your arms when you offer him up. “What’s our plan?” He asks, drumming his fingers on the side of a table as he gives you the floor. He can see the steely look in your eyes. 
No more tears. Saving Mando now, crying later. 
“There can’t be too many places that the Empire’s keeping him, right?” You ask, more so rhetorically than to anyone else. “Someone would have seen something if they took him away from here.” 
“We’ve been going around,” Vanth gestures between him and Peli. “People remember seeing him, but no one saw him get snatched. And I think they would remember seeing troopers haul off a Mandalorian. So he has to be in Mos Eisley or at least close by.” 
You look to Cara, who gives a tentative nod. “It makes sense,” she coughs, her own expression full of thought. “We destroyed their only base on the planet and it was a small operation, they have speeders and a few transports at most, not enough to get him off planet.” 
You nod. A bad feeling had settled in your stomach, one you hadn’t felt for a while. “Then we find out where they’re keeping him first. And we work out the plan from there...” You trail off as an idea hits you, pulling you off course and away from the people looking at you expectantly.  
“Hey,” Cara squeezes your hand. “Talk.” 
“If Di- if Mando and I are connected, and I could see him, then maybe I could use the Force to talk to him...” Your stomach twists as you remember your distaste to the idea of mind probing him. But this wasn’t mind probing. You had a connection, you weren’t looking through his head, you were jus looking for him and praying that you could find him. “It’s a long shot, but I think it’s worth a try. I want to.” 
Though from the looks you received from the people around the table, you knew that you were all past the point of wanting to try. No, this was something you had to try. Especially if it got you closer to getting Mando back.
One thing Mando fucking hated about this room was that he couldn’t tell what time it was. There weren’t any windows, just one light placed above the door, so it could be morning, bright and early, and he wouldn’t know any better. He was so used to relying on light for his job, measuring where the sun was to be able to calculate how many hours of light he’d have while hunting.
The troopers had taken a break from beating the shit out of him, clapping some binders on his hands and leaving the room. First mistake. That gave him time to look around, figure out a plan, though it would be easier to do that if he could just stay conscious. 
Under the helmet, he swallows, feeling something hot and wet trail down the side of his face. Too thick to be sweat, and from the pain he feels on his head, he’s inclined to believe it’s blood.
Another bad sign. 
He swallows, trying to relieve his dry throat as his mind starts to wander again. He’d been in difficult pinches, but this was, well...another level. His only relief was that the Imps didn’t seem to be any wiser about you and the kid- or about Cara and Vanth- they didn’t seem to have a clue. 
As he felt himself drift off, his mind wandered, and he found it landing on you. Though he somewhat regretted that because just the thought of you made his throat tighten and it was already pretty hard to breathe without his ribs hurting. 
Where were you? Were you off Tatooine? You could be somewhere across the galaxy right now, barreling through hyperspace with no knowledge of what had happened to him, all because of his stupid choice to break your heart. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten fucking kidnapped he would still be out there somewhere, his heart hardening as he tried to keep his mind off of you, still determined that he had made the right choice. 
But this was definitely a change in perspective. All he could think about was going back in time and not getting out of bed when he woke up next to you this morning. All he could think about was the fact that he was locked up here, unable to protect you, or the kid, from these Imps. All he could think about was that he could die out here- a thought he had been comfortable with since he became a bounty hunter- and you wouldn’t know how he really felt about you. 
Din Djarin was determined that if he got out, he’d track you down, get on his knees- 
A raggedy gasp tears through his lips, his head whipping around. No, it couldn’t be-
He takes a deep breath, swallowing and trying to get a grasp on what was going on. You, it was you, but how? Mind probing, he remembered you telling him about it, but that didn’t- somehow it wasn’t the word to describe what was happening. Though the only things he knew about mind probing came from your explanation of it- which was pretty shit, considering that you were crying and stumbling through your words- he knew enough about it, about you, to know this wasn’t what was happening. 
Din, can you hear me? 
“Yes,” he gasps out. It’s quiet for a few moments, and he wonders if you can hear him, if a verbal response isn’t the way do this, if he has to talk with his fucking mind-
Thank Maker, he sighs as he hears your voice, the relief that floods your words. Fuck, okay, are you okay? 
“I’m alive,” he laughs dryly. “You, the kid, you’re safe?” 
Yeah, we’re safe, we’re at Peli’s place. You- do you know where you are? 
Truly, no? He couldn’t give you coordinates, nothing like an exact location, but he had been conscious enough on the way here, and he made a living off of being observant. 
“Small room,” he whispers as he hears the sounds of trooper boots passing the door. “Above ground, some type of compound.” 
Good, good, that’s good- well, not good, but I mean- we know what to look for, now... 
“Cyar’ika,” he huffs, unable to stop the small smile that passed onto his lips. “It’s fine. What- what else do you need?” You don’t answer for a few moments, and he cusses as he realizes what he said. Cyar’ika. His chest tightens, remembering the pain in your voice from this morning. “Shit, I-” 
What direction did they take you? 
He swallows, his heart falling somewhat at how quickly you move on, but he reckons that he deserves that. He’ll have time to say everything he wants to later, he doubts you’re in a mood to hear it now. “Away from the suns,” he groans, the pain in his side choosing that moment to act up. One of the troopers had landed a few kicks too many to his ribs. He remembered the feeling of the binary suns against his back as he set off from Peli’s shop. 
Okay, okay, we can work with that. Silence for another second. Stay alive, okay? We’re going to bring you home. 
“Gar cuyir ner yaim,” he groans. “Blue, I need to tell you-” 
Later, you cut him off. We can talk later, Din, I have to go. 
He shudders as he feels you leave, knowing that once again he’s truly alone in this room. “You are my home,” he whispers the words in Basic this time, wondering if there’s a way he can speak them into the universe and let them find you. 
You had emerged from your conversation with Din with a gasp, pulling yourself from the Force and almost stumbling as you returned to Peli’s garage. You would have fallen if Vanth wasn’t quick enough to catch you, his hands grabbing your arms and holding you up until you could steady yourself. By the time you did, his questions of whether or not it had worked and Cara’s queries into whether or not you were okay fell on deaf ears as you pushed past them and stormed outside, whirling around until you were facing the bright binary suns, the adrenaline stopping you from realizing how bright they were, overriding the dull throbbing behind your eyes as you stared at them. 
Din said they had taken him in the opposite direction, but that was in the late morning so quick deduction meant you had to go towards the suns. Cara and Vanth left you in Peli’s shop to recover, setting out on her bikes and coming back in a few hours- two devastatingly tense hours that you had spent pacing and biting your nails while Peli urged you to take a seat- with good news: they had spotted a small Imp compound, miles into the desert. 
No guarantee on whether or not it was where they were keeping Mando, but it was your best and only shot. 
Grogu’s been whining the entire trip. Not crying, but he’s been clinging to you, whimpering and burying his face in your stomach. Peli complains that you’re not holding him properly, but the second she peels him from your arms, he cries out and doesn’t stop until she returns him back to you. 
Your stomach has been constantly on edge, any attempts at conversation outside of discussing the plan deflecting straight off of you. Vanth asks you if you’re okay and all you can do is not, providing nonverbal responses to the rest of his questions before he gives up. You felt as though you might throw up if you tried to speak. Surprisingly though, it was Peli that had managed to coax a few words from you. 
[ “So,” she plopped down next to you. “Here I was thinking you’d died. Never pictured you the type to settle down with that tin can. Then again, kinda life he leads, you guys must not really be settling down much,” 
You chuckle softly, looking over at her. “Not really.” You shake your head earnestly, and your next words share the same sentiment. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything else, though.” 
“I can tell,” she scoffs, ruffling your hair and it takes you right back to the day you fixed your first speeder bike all by yourself. “Look at you. I almost didn’t recognize you, wiseass. Too used to thinking about you as the little runt that couldn’t stand still for three minutes. Always racing around. When you didn’t come back to Tatooine after the war, word got around town that you’d got yourself killed.”  
“Disappointed?” You scoff, cracking a small grin as she nudges you in the ribs with her elbow. 
“Shut up,” she grumbles, patting Grogu’s head. “I’m- glad that you’re alright.” 
Alright was a funny way to put it. “Me too, Peli,” you nodded. “I’m glad you’re okay.” ]
A short look down at the little boy in your arms makes your heart squeeze with pain, and you rub his ears, trying to reassure him. “I really hate that you can read my mind, squirt,” you chuckle, shocked that your voice doesn’t crack. “You don’t like my plan much, do you?” He pounds his little fist lightly against your chest, no real malice behind it. 
Sighing, you settle into Mando’s seat. You were very politely banished up here to try to get him to calm down, Vanth suggesting that maybe it was something in the hull that was bothering him. You shove aside the memories of the last time that you sat in this chair, with Mando’s hands on yours and his voice warm as he guided you through learning how to turn on the autopilot. 
Last night was a mistake. 
With a shiver, you focus your attention back on the kid in your lap. “I know you don’t like it,” you murmur, rubbing his ears softly. “But it’s what’s best. We have to get Mando back. And then the two of you can live your little lives together,  without worrying about that fuck- I mean, without worrying about Moff Gideon.” 
“Hey,” Vanth pokes his head into the cockpit, casting an uncertain glance between you and the kid. “Coming in hot, you ready to go?” 
“Yeah,” you nod, standing up. Picking Grogu up, you press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to fix this, kid, I promise.” He reaches out with two little hands and cups your cheeks, tugging you lightly until your foreheads rest together. Your heart swells, and you smile, bumping your nose against his. “I love you too.” 
The air is tense in the hull as you drop down, handing Grogu over to Peli, who breathes with audible relief as he doesn’t burst into tears this time. Cara watches you as you reach into your bag, grabbing two items and dropping it back onto Mando’s bunk. “Listen-” 
“I’ll comm you when I get the Imp and the troopers away,” you cut her off, unfolding the first item, a dark brown cloak made of a heavy material. Taking a deep breath, you fasten it around your shoulders. “Get Mando and meet me back at the rendesvouz-”
“Stop,” she grabs your wrist as you reach for the second item, your saber, her own eyes flitting down to it. Uncertain, nervous. “If this doesn’t work out...that bounty of yours is going to get a lot bigger.” 
You nod, the resolve in your eyes loosening her grip on your wrist. “I’m ready for that,” you sigh, slipping your saber into your pocket. “What’s a couple more credits on my head?” Especially if it means getting Mando back. You’d put all the credits on the universe into that bounty if it meant getting Mando back.
Cara nods at you, and you get the same treatment from Vanth as the hatch oppens, and you take one last glance at all of them before stepping out onto the Tatooine sand. Squinting into the distance, you can just make out a building in the distance. 
Closing your eyes, you take another deep breath, praying that the Force was with you before setting off, the Crest growing smaller and smaller behind you. 
You’d need it to be, to pull this off. 
“For the last time,” Mando croaks out, head reeling from the last punch that the troopers landed. Apparently the Imp hadn’t gotten his share of interrogation, and after a couple hours, returned. “I don’t know anything about any explosions on a fucking compound.”
The Imp’s lip curls, and he nods at the stormtrooper directly behind Mando, who presses his blaster into the space right at the base of his neck, right under his helmet. “Your lies are amusing, but they’re beginning to tire me, Mando,” the nickname leaves his lips with a scoff. “We’ve been kind enough to you so far, but failure to cooperate with us could lead to a more...difficult situation, for you.” 
He swallowed, his jaw clenching as the trooper’s blaster dug deeper into his neck. It had only been a few hours since your weird telepathic conversation, he just had to hold out for a bit longer. You were coming. The question was, would you get here before the Imp decided to shoot him? 
The Imp smirks expectantly at him, as if waiting for Mando to speak, but after a few moments of silence, he sighs, the smirk still plastered to his lips. “My superior asked for you alive,” he muses, pacing around the room until he’s directly behind Mando, and the bounty hunter can feel the blaster against his neck be passed from one set of hands to another, and it digs deeper into the base of his skull. “Though I’m certain he won’t mind if some light damage is inflicted...” 
His superior...
Whatever “light damage” the Imp was planning on is quickly interrupted as a stormtrooper runs into the room, stumbling over their boots. “What is the meaning of this?” The Imp snarls. 
“There’s an intruder, Commander Deaquinn!” The trooper pants, sounding as if they’ve run three miles over sand dunes with no water breaks. “They- they’re taking out all of our defences, killing everybody!” 
Deaquinn- nice to put a name to a face, though Mando would honestly have been fine with just calling him “Imp” until he got out of these binders and killed him- visibly pales. “Go get as many troopers as you can find, bring them back here!” He barks, and the trooper nods. Deaquinn slams the door shut after them, punching in a code. Even as the door closes, Mando can hear the disaster taking place outside. Blaster shots and screams, a familiar humming noise that sends a shiver down his spine. 
The trooper returns with others- Mando counts nine, so fifteen troopers in the room in total- and the door once again is shut behind them. The room is filled with a suspenseful tension, everyone’s eyes drawn towards the door as the noises grow louder and louder, the source coming closer. In the corner of his eye, Mando sees the Imp draw his own blaster from his grey uniform. 
His heart beats fast under the beskar, and he’s certain it’ll beat out of his chest, leave an imprint on the metal. But the one difference between him and the others in the room is that he’s not scared.
Silence falls over the compound, everyone’s breath stills and even in his half-conscious state, Mando can hear soft footsteps in the hallway, stopping right outside. “Whoever you are!” The Commander barks. “Whoever you are, surrender or face the wrath of the Empire!” 
“You’ve noticed what I can do to an entire compound of your troopers, Commander.” Your voice is cold, collected, but Mando would recognise it anywhere. “I doubt whatever wrath the Empire has can stop me.” Deaquinn doesn’t respond- Mando can hear his breath, raggedy and desperate for a bit of composure. “You have something I want.” 
The troopers raise their blasters and the Commander jumps back as a beam of blue light cuts through the door, burning through it and singing the metal, and another beam does the same, and another, until a hole large enough for someone to walk through is made, and the metal crumples to the ground, kicking up sand. 
“Cyar’ika,” he mutters weakly.
None of the troopers shoot as a figure enters the room. One wearing a dark brown robe with long sleeves and a hood pulled low over their eyes, but even with your face partially obscured, Mando can see it’s you. “No one else has to die,” you step over the hunk of metal, still burning softly around the edges, and stand just in front of Deaquinn, who has moved to block you from Mando. “Let the Mandalorian go and I will let you go with your life.” 
“Afraid not,” Deaquinn sneers, and Mando lets out a low growl as the Imp puts his blaster to your chest. He doesn’t pull the trigger though, and Mando realizes why. It’s that look in your eyes, the cold calculation unlike anything he’s seen occupying them before, a look that makes Deaquinn fill with fear. “My superior-” 
“-I know all about your superior,” you hum. “Moff Gideon. Well, I have something in exchange. Something the Moff’s been looking for. Something he’d value much more than the Mandalorian’s blood and beskar.” 
No, he thinks. You can’t be thinking of- he squirms against his restraints, realizing that you haven’t met his eyes since you entered the room. 
“The child,” Deaquinn gasps. “You- you can lead us to the child?” 
NO. “I can give you what your Moff wants,” you nod simply. “Only if you let the Mandalorian go.” 
“No!” He shouts, and you still don’t look at him, even when he struggles to his feet and is met with three troopers that grab his arms, one of them pressing their foot to the back of his knee and shoving him back to the ground. The blood rush gets to his head- fuck, that probably was blood he felt earlier- and he heaves, continuing to struggle against their grip. 
“As I was saying,” you sigh, as if his outburst were nothing more than a small disturbance. “Come with me and I shall give you what Moff Gideon wants. When you have it, you can come back and let the Mandalorian go.” 
“And how do I know you won’t just kill me?” 
“I get nothing out of killing you, Deaquinn. I need you alive to settle the small issue of the bounty on my head.” No, no, this can’t be happening, you wouldn’t actually give up the kid, you can’t- “Bring as many troopers with you as you please, from what I can see, it only takes a few to handle him.” 
Deaquinn looks around, considering his options, contemplating, but another glance into your eyess provides him with some much needed clarity. That you’ve killed all of his troopers and he has no real advantage here. “Alright, fine,” he steadies himself, squaring his shoulders. “Take us to the child. No funny business.” 
You don’t nod, your eyes flickering over to Din. “I would like to speak to him first.” 
Deaquinn steps aside, the troopers holding onto Mando’s arms don’t let go. That look in your eye doesn’t change as you kneel down into the sand in front of Mando, but for a moment- just for a second, he thinks he can see a flicker of something across your features. Just like that night on Kijimi. Must be the lighting. “I’m sorry, Din,” you whisper, and he flinches when your hand comes up to cup his helmet. 
“No,” he shakes his head firmly, jerking away. “You can’t do this, Blue. If-if you do this, I’ll never forgive you.” 
“I know,” you nod, and that’s when he sees it. Your ice melts and you smile sadly, just for a moment, and you look him in the eyes. His shoulders slump in confusion as you squeeze his pauldron. Your voice drops lower than a whisper, eyes darting over your shoulder for just a moment to make sure that the others can’t hear. “Take care of him.”
He doesn’t have much time to think about your words before you turn on your heel and leave, Deaquinn and a majority of the troopers quickly following after you. 
Cara takes a deep breath as her commlink beeps twice, giving Vanth a short nod. “She’s got them away, we go now.” 
Vanth nods and they both step out of the hatch, shooting one last glance at Peli before making their way towards the compound. 
It’s quiet, that’s the first thing Cara notices. And as they walk through the front doors of the compound, she sees why. The walls are scorched with burns, stormtroopers lie dead on the floor. 
“Damn,” Vanth huffs, rifle raised as they walk through the halls. “If I knew she could do this, I’d have called you guys in for help earlier.” 
Cara nods, her heart beating too quickly to laugh at his comment. Something feels wrong. She can’t place it, she doesn’t understand why, but there’s just something that feels wrong. She tries to shove the feeling down. They’re going to get Mando, and you’ll meet them back on the ship. Things will be fine. 
This isn’t another Alderaan. This won’t be another Scarif.
She can’t help the way her eyes widen as her eyes glance at all the destruction. You’d done this. Learning you were a Jedi had been shocking enough, her spy friend that liked to use her words instead of her blasters- but seeing what you’d left in your wake... it’s slightly jarring. 
She understands why. She’s seen the way you look at Mando, how he stares at you when he thinks no one’s looking. She thinks that if the roles were reversed, if you had been the one taken, this place would have been in a much worse state when Mando was done with it. 
“Here,” Vanth whispers, nodding towards the only room that’s lit. They can hear quiet voices, and as Cara pokes her head around the corner, she sees him. Mando. “You ready, Dune?” 
She gives him another nod, and they both raise their blasters and enter. Three troopers look towards them, raise their blasters. Three blaster shots go off, and three bodies hit the floor. 
Quick and easy. Things are fine. Not Alderaan. Not Scarif. 
“Hey, you,” she drops to her knees, helping Mando sit up and fumbling through her pockets for something to get the binders off of him. “Hey, Mando, are you alright?” 
“Yes,” he nods weakly. “The kid, the kid, she-” 
“She’s not giving them the kid,” Cara shakes her head firmly. “She just had to draw them away, it was all her plan.” 
He’s quiet for a moment, then he sighs, shaking his head. “Should have known, it didn’t make sense.” 
“Glad to see you, partner,” Vanth chuckles, patting him on the back gently and helping him stand up. “They rough you up too bad?” 
“Just-” he hisses as Cara raises his arm to drape it around her shoulders, helping him lean his weight against her. “Fuck, my ribs. Where- where is she? Is she safe?” 
“Yeah,” Vanth takes his other arm, and he and Cara help Mando as they make their way out. “We’ve just got to get to the ship, Peli’s got the kid and your girl’s gonna meet us there.” Cara bites back a grin at how Mando tenses up at the Marshal’s choice of words. 
Mando sighs in relief as they finally leave the compound, steadying himself on his own feet as they began walking through the desert. The Crest is parked past some sand dunes, and with the pain in his ribs- along with the throbbing in his head (he really needs to check himself for any head injuries)- they make slow, but steady progress. Cara hangs back just to his side, watching him as if waiting for him to lose his step, need some help. 
“So,” she hums. “Are you going to fix things when we get back?”  He can feel her eyes burning into his skull as she waits for his answer. 
He nods. “If she’ll let me,” he sighs. His eyes are stuck on the Crest, heart pounding as he thinks about it. He’s so close. You, there, safe with the kid. Holding you and apologizing, telling you how he feels and hoping you forgive him, taking the two of you away, far away from Gideon and the Imps. 
“She will,” Cara smiles softly. “She’s the most stubborn person I know, but she sucks at holding grudges with someone she loves.” 
Love. As they step onto the Crest, he feels a weight settle off of his chest. 
But that doesn’t last for long. It quickly returns when they’re met with the sight of a worried Peli, holding the kid, whose ears droop low. “Where’s the wiseass?” She huffs, giving Mando a thump on the back that almost rattles him off of his feet before giving him the kid. 
“What do you mean?” Cara looks around the ship, as if confirming what she already knows. You’re not here. “She should have gotten here before us.” 
“Well she isn’t,” Peli shrugs, but even she begins to look worried. “Maybe her little excursion’s just taking a bit too long-” 
They all freeze as the kid coos, and Mando looks down, realizing he’s holding something out for him. It’s the e-comm that he gave you on Canto Bight. Why would you give it to Grogu? What was going on? “She has another comm on her, right?” He doesn’t wait for Cara to confirm that you actually have a comm before he’s climbing into the cockpit, hands shaking slightly as he plugs the e-comm into the navcomp, sinking into his chair. “We should be able to find her-” 
He’s taken off guard when, the second he plugs the e-comm in- instead of the navcomp turning on- the transmission receiver lights up, and he can’t breathe for a moment as he sees your face. 
Hey, Mando, you smile sadly, and his heart just squeezes. Where are you? Why aren’t you back home with him?
“Sweet girl-” 
If you’re listening to this, which- I mean, you probably are- I’re safe. You’re back with the kid. The rescue plan worked. This is pre-recorded. He recognizes the backdrop of your recording, it’s the cockpit. You were sitting in his chair. He can’t even hear his own breathing over the thump in his heart, vaguely registering Cara and Vanth joining him in the cockpit, Peli soon after, the kid babbling in his lap. I’m making a deviation from the plan, though. Everyone else can’t know, I- I’m not coming back. I’m going to give myself up to the Moff, to the Empire. That way, you guys are gonna be safe. For good.
His heart stops abruptly. 
“I don’t understand,” Deaquinn snarls, his blaster aimed at your back, though his hand shakes slightly as he eyes you suspiciously. There’s nothing around you but sand, sand for miles, and you can’t see the Crest anymore.
Which is a good thing. You have to remind yourself of that, no matter how much it makes your stomach churn. 
“I don’t understand,” he repeats, and you can feel the cold metal of the blaster press harder against your cloak, his tone rife with impatience. “Where is the child?” 
“Who said anything about a child?” The stormtroopers raise their blasters as you reach into your robe but Deaquinn’s eyes widen as he realizes what you’re holding, barking orders for the troopers to drop their weapons as blue light swathes one half of your face, the other side illuminated with the burning orange blaze of the binary sunset. 
“I am the Jedi you seek. Take me to Moff Gideon.” 
“No,” he exhales shakily, and your words seem to draw similar reactions from everyone else. A myriad of wide eyes, dropped jaws, and paled faces.
You laugh sadly, and he wants nothing more than to reach forward, pull you from the transmission and bring you back to him. Transform you from this blue ghost to a corporeal being that he can hold on to and never let go.  I’m honestly pretty fucking terrified, but I uh- this is what’s best, for you and the kid. Gideon won’t come looking for you now, the two of you can have a normal life. Stupid girl. Stupid, sweet girl, caring too much about people- 
I uh- fuck- you look down at your hands sadly, jaw clenching and unclenching as if biting back tears. I know you won’t say it back, but I just need to um... I love you, Din. Maker, I- I’m pretty fucking in love with you. I have to go, take care of yourself, look after the kid, tell him I-
The video ends suddenly, leaving the cockpit in a sad silence, the air filled with the soft, staticky beeps of the navcomp. 
You’re gone. Sacrificed yourself for him and the kid, before he could even say- before he could tell you the truth. 
I know you won’t say it back. The words rattle in his mind, filling his heart with a mix of ugly emotions- guilt, regret, fear- that threaten to drown him. His fists clench in his lap, jaw ticking with silent rage at the thought of you back in the Empire’s hands, the thought of the torture they had inflicted and the nightmares they had given you as a parting gift- 
“Mando,” Cara’s hand lands on his shoulder, and the determination he feels is reflected in her own eyes, and so is the fear. “Mando, I-” 
“We need to get to Nevarro.” he stands up, looking at the kid as he speaks next, Grogu looking back up at him with big, sad eyes. “I’m going to bring her back home.” 
tags | @maharani-radha​ @babixangel @remmyswritings @ofallthethingsinlife @jadelikesthings @rebloogggs @mermaidbrina @faith-quake @sarahjkl82-blog @witchybarb @ilikethoseodds @deathwatchnightowl @dindjar @dinfarrik @theflightytemptressadventure @idjitlili @8minutesofspring @mango-lorian @daddys-minty-princess @ayamenimthiriel @seninjakitey @mrsparknuts @computeringturtle @angryhamsterenergy @spookyborky @americancowgirl19 @sunipostsstuff @ashleyl30 @waitingforbluerskies @zukodameron @heyitsmeghann @jamisendinel @dantooiines @voidmalfoy @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @almndmilknhoney @mrvlfangirl3190 @justmad @what-iwish-you-knew @revolution-starter​ @heavenly1927​ 
192 notes · View notes
ollypopp · 11 months ago
Hard Decisions | The Mandalorian x GN!Reader
Summary: He was stuck between losing the kid forever and maintaining the Creed. He had made an impossible choice.
Word Count: 2.8k 
Warnings: Violence, angst, misunderstandings, language, mentions of death.
A/N: I had a lot of feelings about the episode (AS WE ALL DO) and im not great at long posts about these things so I explored them here lol. Follows That Part™️ of the episode and diverges slightly.  
Tumblr media
You preferred the pirates and dangerously unstable rhydonium to this.
A whole base full of Imps, and all of them cheering you on for “bringing  glory to the Empire.” It made you sick. And Mayfeld’s little speech about how “people are the same'' did nothing to settle you either. You had no idea what his angle was but you knew neither you or Din needed lecturing from Mayfeld of all people, especially not now.
You tried to stick to Din’s side, taking your trooper helmet off when Mayfeld did because he was right about that -- it’s constrictive and hard to see out of. Someone stopped you in your tracks, asking you to come with them and you looked at the two men with you for help.
“I need these two to fill out TPS reports,” Mayfeld tried to cover for you, “we got work to do.”
“It’s just a routine blaster check,” the trooper replied, “this one didn’t go off during your run -- it’ll need replacing.”
It didn’t go off because you didn’t use it and now you wish you had at least shot it off a few times for good measure. They really tracked every movement their soldiers made -- you had no idea how anyone lived with that kind of constant surveillance. But it wouldn’t do well to cause suspicion and argue so you just excused yourself from your ‘superiors’ and followed the trooper. 
You saw Din’s already board stiff demeanor tighten more, the unfamiliar helmet turned towards you with every step you took away from him. He hated this just as much as you did.
The check was uneventful, with you shrugging when it turned out the gun was fine -- trying to make some joke. 
“Of course it works for you,” you said to the stormtrooper with a small laugh, “the damn thing jammed the entire way here.”
He bought it and you had to make up some random TK number when he asked, just hoping for the best and rattling off the first three numbers that came to mind. This was the only time you were ever thankful for the Empire’s invasion of your home  planet -- you had seen and heard enough Imps in action to at least try and blend in among them. 
It was for Grogu. You could swallow your pride and hatred for them to do what you need to do to get him back home. 
After you were issued a new blaster, you made your way back to where Mayfeld was speaking to someone at a table in the Officer’s mess, the terminal was in the corner and Din was nowhere to be seen. You had only been gone for a few minutes -- how did they get separated so quickly? You came up to Mayfeld, glancing at the other Imp -- brown eyes sticking to you the moment you walked over. You offered a tight smile to him before turning your attention back to Mayfeld. 
“Blaster is sorted,” you said as casually as you could, “where’s our co-pilot, we should finish our those forms.”
“Kriff.” Mayfeld winced and looked anywhere but at the two of you.
You were thoroughly confused, and hyper aware of the stranger right next to you watching so it wasn’t as if you could ask. If you three had been made you imagined there would be much more of a ruckus, surrounded by as many Imperial soldiers as you were, and Mayfeld so far had handled the whole undercover situation better than either you or Din. What was he being so weird for, and in front of the enemy as well. And why the fuck was this guy staring at you like that? 
Din was… terrified. And the only person he could really look to for comfort didn’t even recognize him. Years -- no, decades since anyone had seen his face and the first person who had made eye contact with him was a fucking Imperial officer and Mayfeld. Of all the people in the galaxy. You were going to understand in a moment, going to realize that it was him right there in front of you. Countless days and nights together, you knew him so well and you didn’t even see him right there in front of you.
“TK-487,” you nodded once to him, hoping that with an introduction he might find you less worthy of his scrutiny. When he didn’t look away, you looked to Mayfeld desperately for assistance.
He had to tell you what was going on -- Mayfeld was at a loss of what to do and Valin Hess was going to be back any second. If you were all going to get out of here alive and bring Grogu home, you had to know.
He said your name, low and quiet -- he knew he should say more but when your head snapped over to him he couldn’t find the courage.
Now it was your turn to stare. You knew that voice so well you could recognize it anywhere -- you had to. It was the only thing you had to hold onto besides the shining beskar.
This was no stranger at all.
Realization dawned on you and for a few breathless moments you tried to wrap your head around what you were seeing and it seemed he was doing the same. Maker, his eyes were so expressive and that somehow made what you were seeing feel worse. So many emotions, almost none of them good, were written all over his face. 
He thought it strange, to see you without the screen of his helmet -- you were clearer this way and it was no time to get lost in looking at you. The look you were giving him was full of some emotion, shock and a little bit of a frown. After a burning moment of intense eye-contact you had to look away. 
It felt wrong to look and you didn’t know what to say.
“Valin Hess, is bringing us a drink to congratulate us for our successful transport,” Mayfeld interrupted the moment, out of necessity and to keep you on the level. “Let me do the talking.”
You nodded, taking a seat across from Din and staring straight at the table. You had no kriffing idea who Valin Hess was but apparently you were going to share a drink with him. 
“You two,” Mayfeld warned, “need to get your heads straight, right now.”
“We shouldn’t have come here,” you said in a soft voice. 
“You know that’s funny, that’s exactly what I said.” Mayfeld hissed. “So let's get this done, and get out of here.”
Din was too uncertain about all of this to do much but try to follow Mayfeld’s lead and you had to quickly swallow down whatever you were feeling to try and play along too. You couldn’t just sit there and stare at the table. Distracting from Din’s awkwardness by trying to laugh and smile at the right times, even though you were barely hearing what Hess was saying. The two other men kept calling Din “brown eyes' and your jaw clenched everytime he did. 
You looked at him every once in a while, despite everything in you saying not to. Everytime you caught the tightness around his eyes, and the small furrow in his brow, you tried to smile -- knowing it would do nothing to comfort but maybe it would remind him to at least try not to look like he was having a crisis in the middle of an undercover mission in enemy territory. 
When you tuned back in, Hess was speaking. “Burnin Konn?” He asked Mayfeld, took a beat, looked at Din who was staring at the table and then to you and said, “that was a hard day. I had to make many unpleasant decisions.”
“Yes, you did.” Mayfeld said casually and you nodded solemnly having little idea what the fuck either of them were talking about. It didn’t sound good, though. “Entire city gone in moments, along with everybody in it. We lost our whole division that day.”
Kriff. The conversation went on too long, and you were so busy trying to keep Din afloat you forgot to check in on Mayfeld, who seemed to have some bone to pick. Din noticed, looking at you and then trying to gauge Hess’ response before he turned back to the table. You stared at Mayfeld, hoping he could feel the looks he was receiving -- this was already dangerous and he was getting very close to blowing the entire thing.
“Man, that was like five -- ten thousand people.”
“Yep,” Hess said, his head tilting a little bit. “All heroes of the Empire.”
“Yeah,” Mayfeld smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And all dead.”
You and Din’s faces snapped to look towards Mayfeld, Din shaking his head almost imperceptibly with a grimly desperate expression. Mayfeld looked to Din blithely, like he wasn’t about to get all three of you killed. In your own chest, your heart was thudding fast and you turned to Hess, opening your mouth to speak -- to maybe smooth things over -- when Hess started in on some diatribe.
There was no way for you to intervene -- not without tipping one man over the edge or coming off as insubordinate to the other. You shifted in your seat, looking uncomfortable which wasn’t odd for the situation so Hess thought nothing of it when you placed your hands in your lap, clicking the safety off of the blaster in your possession underneath the table.
You listened to a horrific justification for incredible large sacrifices of life for “greater good”, as Mayfeld pushed and pushed. The tension rising between the two of them at a steady rate with you and Din just waiting to be caught in the crossfire. Mayfeld wasn’t wrong, and you understood his anger -- knew now that he was ex-Empire for a reason. 
“You see, with the rhydonium you’ve delivered, we can create havoc that's gonna make Burnin Konn just pale by comparison.” Hess said, nearly smug when he did. 
You were too horrified by what you were hearing to look at Mayfeld or Din. But Din watched as Mayfeld slowly crumbled, his normally blithe and wry demeanor shifting into something darker -- something Din recognized very well. He was about to snap. 
“To the Empire,” Valin Hess raised his glass.
Mayfeld scoffed and suddenly pulled a plaster, shooting his former superior officer in the chest. You all looked to each other, looked around, and watched as the entire place seemed to freeze  in motion as everyone stared at you. Then you and Mayfeld  just started to openfire. Din grabbed a gun off of Hess and helped take out the remaining soldiers in the room. 
Mayfeld grabbed the helmet off the table, “you did what you had to do. We never saw you. Right?” He aimed the last part at you.
“Right,” you said breathlessly. Lying, of course, you saw him and you weren’t sure you would ever forget it.
Din didn’t immediately put the helmet on, instead he looked at you. A call for security came over the speakers. His passing thought was that if there was time to kiss you like he had thought a thousand times before -- it was now --  his eyes flicked to your lips. They always did, behind the helmet but this time you saw it for yourself. You were staring back until movement caught your eye and you quickly fired off your new blaster at someone who was coming up into the mess hall. 
It was too late, and he started slipping the stolen helmet back on his head so he could help you two shoot your way out. 
For a few moments, all three of you forgot what had happened in there. You all needed clear heads when you were climbing up a building, dodging fire and then literally taking a leaping jump onto Boba’s ship hovering in midair. With you all safe on the ramp, you watched as Mayfeld took out the juggernauts storing rhydonium and blew up the bulk of it and the base going with it. Everyone who had seen Mandalorian’s face besides you and Mayfeld were blown to pieces by a single shot. 
Once the ship had landed a safe distance away, Cara handed Din a heavy sack which contained all of his armor. He looked at it, and you imagined you knew what the conflict looked like on his face then. The Creed said that he would never be allowed to wear it again, and you looked away trying not to let the tears forming in your eyes fall. You didn’t watch as he disappeared into the thick brush of Morak’s forest to put on his armor again. You had not said a word since you got back, fidgeting uncomfortably and taking deep concentrated  breaths to beat back the guilt and onslaught of emotions. Fennec noticed --  she had a sniper’s eye that caught all movements and lack thereof. 
“You alright?” she asked. 
You looked up at her and then away, like she would know Din’s secret if she looked in your eyes for too long.
“What happened in there?” Cara asked, her head tilting slightly with a small concerned frown.
“We all did what we had to,” Mayfeld cut in, looking at you and then back out at the lush green forests of Morak. Probably taking it in before he was sent back to the junkyard. 
You stood up and walked away from all of them, heading in the direction of where Din had disappeared. You kept your eyes on the ground as you approached, careful not to see him again. When you finally heard him rustling in the brush, you called out to him after you had turned your body away from where he was standing. He turned sharply and saw you with your back turned, head ducked. He couldn’t see them, but he bet your eyes were closed too. 
“It’s too late for that,” he said. 
“I’m sorry.” 
There was a heavy pause while he considered what to say, some kind of placation for both of you. The kid. It was for Grogu. That was more than enough justification. “We have to get him back.”
You nodded, still not turning around. “We will,” you said evenly and then swallowed down a lump in your throat.  “And after… if you want me to leave I will. I won’t tell anyone.”
Din looked at you, helmet still off, taking in how you still had your back turned to him. “Doesn’t matter. Only way it would work is if I killed you.” 
And Mayfeld. Who had just saved his ass and made up for the double cross he had pulled on the Republic prison transport ten times over.  
He put the helmet over his head, comforted by the familiarity of it but it was somehow different now --  heavier. He had broken his oath, and even if no one else knew he always would. He came around to where you were, and you looked up, greeted by the familiar helmet aimed at you. “And I could never do that.” 
You searched the expressionless visor. Imagining the face you had seen beneath it. Wondering if his eyebrows had creased or what those brown eyes looked like right now. Was he angry? Resentful? You couldn’t be sure. 
“It’s never mattered to me …”  you swallowed, not sure why you were saying so. What you felt for him went beyond whatever he looked like -- it had been an unspoken thing -- you would never know and you had learned to be okay with that.
“You never wondered?” He asked skeptically. 
He found it hard to believe. All those nights cooped up in the Razor Crest, his heavy breaths coming through a vocoder as you two made due on the small cot, and you hadn’t thought of it once? 
“I did,” you conceded, “but I couldn’t have dreamed up someone half as handsome as you really are.” 
Din was frozen for a moment, heat rising to his face at the compliment. Handsome? He was sure you were disappointed, the way you had looked away from him.
When he doesn’t say anything, you swallow down on the lump in your throat. “Grogu’s really lucky to have you,” you looked away as you said it.  
He understands, seeing unshed tears in your eyes. He was stuck between losing the kid forever and maintaining the Creed. He had made an impossible choice. He was torn up inside and the only comfort was that you were still here, willing to do whatever needed to be done so he would be able to live with this after the dust settled.
He felt taken care of.  
He came close, and for a brief moment you wondered if you had gone too far given the new  circumstances. He might tell you that when this was over he would make you leave, your whole relationship up to this point ruined by thirty long minutes in some shitty Imperial base. You closed your eyes, ready to accept it without making a fuss. It would hurt, your heart would break -- but what mattered was Grogu’s safety and Din’s wellbeing -- you could endure it for that.  But you just felt the cool beskar as he touched his forehead to yours.
“Let’s go get our son.”
@mitchi-c​  @leo-moon​ @altarsw​ @panslabyrinthx​ @huliabitch​ @pascalz​ @luosymekawa​ @whatthecensoredxd @cryptkeepersoul @tintinwrites​ @thirsty-flygirl​ @bisexual-space-slut​ @hdlynn​ @coredrive​ @himbopoes​ @dazedrhapsody​ @oloreaa​ @imalovernotahater​ @hayley-the-comet​ @imaginecrushes​ @Its-bootz @wanderlustmags​ @revolution-starter​ @pointy-sharp​ @satans-tongues​ @9allisonjean8​ @nominalnebula​ @whovianayesha​ @plainbrunettelbl​ @marvelous-capsicle​ @coredrive​  @jedi-mando​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @Whovian_gurl @giselatropicana​ @madseawitch​ @marvelouslytrekking​ @softly-sad​ @coonflix​ @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ @cryptkeepersoul  @blue-writes-a03​ @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ @gennyanydots​ @theocatkov​ @leia9817​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @shadowfoxey​ @maharani-radha​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @momc95​ @indecisiveimpatience​ @may-machin​
367 notes · View notes
hermitcraftheadcanons · 6 months ago
The Hermitopia AU - Premise
Welcome to Hermitopia, home of the future! Our city has been selected as the pilot project of international tech company ConCorp’s cutting edge initiative: the Virtue Enhancement Experiment, or project VEX, for short. Thanks to the heroes their rigorous training and science has produced, this city now ranks as one of the safest in the country, with official crime rates at an all-time low! We as a community have overcome the baseless criticisms of those who would withhold progress, choosing instead to invest in a new era of prosperity for all. If you choose the same, I think you’ll find our home to be one of the best places to live and work that you could ever hope for, whether you’re here to settle down or just here for a day. And, with the right amount of determination and just a tiny bit of luck, you too could be selected to be Hermitopia’s next defender!
~ A Newcomer’s Guide to Hermitopia
In this AU, the Hermits are heroes, villains, ConCorp scientists, government figures, and more in Hermitopia, a modern/futuristic city that will serve as our setting. As with past AUs on this blog, community contribution will be the driving force behind the adventures to come! To provide you with a framework to build on, here is a brief summary of the interests at play in Hermitopia:
ConCorp: A massive business empire, with branches in major cities all around the globe. The Hermitopia division is managed by Regional Director Cub, who oversees the process of selecting potential heroes, giving them their powers, and training them. The most capable of the program’s graduates are hired by Concorp itself, to protect the knowledge and resources needed to keep the project afloat.
The Government of Hermitopia: At the head of the government is Mayor Scar, a former manager of ConCorp who left the company to serve his community. (Although some say he never truly quit...) Most heroes who are not employed by ConCorp are employed by the government, to stop crime and keep the city safe.
The Unaffiliated: A group of citizens who have graduated the VEX program, but are not currently employed as professional heroes. These could be retired or former heroes, people who decided that the element of risk involved was simply too great, or - like Joe Hills - people who grew to dislike the way their powers made others see them, and would rather try to live out the rest of their lives as ordinary citizens.
The Unrestrained: Like the Unaffiliated, these people have no ties to the government or to ConCorp - but instead of attempting a peaceful life, they are villains, vigilantes, and overall wild cards. Some are evidence of the VEX process gone wrong, some simply relish using their powers for destruction, while others - like the seldom-seen masked figure known as Etho - have intricate hidden schemes beyond anyone’s knowledge or understanding. While both the ConCorp and government employed heroes battle with the Unrestrained regularly, ConCorp insists that they are outliers and should not be considered as evidence of their project’s failure.
As for the positions of the other Hermits, the details of their powers, and what happens next - the rest is up to you! Assuming you have read the AU guidelines (under the cut), the power to determine the fate of our heroes now lies between you and the inbox. Happy headcanoning!
- Mod Shade
Due to the sheer amount of growth this blog has experienced since the last time an AU was run, there are a few more guidelines in place this time to make this process more manageable for the mods. I know this is a very long post and I apologize for that, but please read these through fully! It will make our lives and yours a whole lot easier if everyone is familiar with the way this will pan out.
- Asks will be open for three days, after which the inbox will close. Discussion on the Discord server is encouraged during and after this time, and the backlog of asks will continue to be answered after Monday
- In cases where different asks conflict, only the first one received will be placed into the masterpost as the “official” version of events. The others will still be posted with the caption [ALTERNATE], so that every idea is heard. Discussion of [ALTERNATE] headcanons is still very much encouraged on those posts and in the discord!
- If writing and art is created in relation to the AU, a mention (@/hermitcraftheadcanons) is preferable to a submission, but submissions are still permitted
- Non-AU related headcanons are still accepted, but will not be posted until after all the AU asks are cleared out
Thank you for your understanding and patience in regards to these rules. If you need anything clarified, feel free to ask!
86 notes · View notes
gaeasun · 3 months ago
Bad Batch Recommended Fics
So an anon asked me to make a compilation of Bad Batch Fics that I enjoy, especially ones with 99 in them. I made it and tried to post it, but something went wrong so here it is again. This was really fun and I’d be willing to do it again with another character or trope!
Finished Fics:
Five Times Echo Cuddles (Or Is Cuddled By) His Teammates by @chiafett
The Title pretty much says it all. 
When All Is Said And Done by hanged_albatross
Forget Me Not by hanged_albatross
The Bad Batch finds themselves cornered by the threat of the Empire and the need to take increasingly dangerous jobs to stay afloat.
Just as the team seems to be reaching their breaking point, a job is offered that appears to good to be true. But when it all goes wrong, the Bad Batch must fight to survive in a galaxy turned against them and save one of their own.
The Bad Batch return to Kamino after it is attacked, and learn about one of the casualties. Mentions of 99.
Good Grief by hanged_albatross
The Bad Batch has always walk the line between life and death- but this time they might have gotten a bit to close for comfort.
A Bit of Tin by @ameanstoanendor
Echo notices a familiar medal on display in the Bad Batch’s ship and asks them about it. It leads to a conversation about their old batchmates.
The Gift of a True Brother by @eternalqueenofthemyscira
Some fluffy and wholesome moments of 99 looking after the Bad Batch.
The next three are by me ;D
Execute Order 66
And with those words came Crosshair’s massive headache.
Aftermath, from Crosshair's point of view
Dar’yaim Solus
My telling of how the Bad batch came to be. Doesn’t include 99, but an OC older brother type. From Hunter’s point of view.
With Me Always
Sequel to Dar’yaim Solus. A few weeks after Echo joins, the Bad Batch are sent to investigate some Force-Suspicious activity. When they find themselves stuck in their own personal nightmares, Echo must find and free them, after being helped by someone Echo though he’d never see again.
In Progress:
In the Shadows by Cuthalion97
The Bad Batch are assigned to Quinlan Vos to help him with an assignment, which gets closer to evil than any of them could have imagined.
Unshaken by wwheeljack
A story of how Tech joined the Bad Batch. Says it’s finished, but the author keeps adding chapters. 
Fate is Overrated, Anyway by @cyberpunksamurai
Fives is brought to Palpatine after being shot, who revives him and learns he is Force-Sensitive, Fives is subsequently brainwashed and reconditioned to become a nameless Inquisitor. Meanwhile, Echo and the Bad Batch are trying to figure out what to do next. More Fives and Echo centric than TBB but still highly recommend.
The Sniper and the Scientist by @lapisdragon01
A series of one shots focusing on the brotherly relationship between crosshair and Tech.
44 notes · View notes
chibi-lioness · a year ago
Rereading Remarried Empress and having a conniption
Okay, so. On the topic of Remarried Empress, I have some things to say. Probably cause I just saw it's on webtoon now and I had to reread it and my blood pressure is sky freaking high.
This will probably get me tons of hate (if anyone actually sees this, which I doubt) but I honestly do not hate Rashta, as much as I hate Sovieshu. I still hate Rastha, don't get me wrong. But Sovieshu just boils my piss.
I have compiled only SOME of the reasons WHY, cause if I wrote them all down I'd have to be here for 3 years and I'd spoil the novel (what I could find translated anyway)
MILD SPOILERS AHEAD (I guess? I don't say anything explicit and I don’t think what I do say actually counts as spoilers, but be warned)
Reason #1 Rashta has been a slave all her life. Up till now anyway. Do I hate her? Yes. Does she do shady shit? Yes. Is she a manipulative bitch I want to see burned at the stake by an angry mob of empire citizens? Yes. Still, you cannot deny her life cannot have been easy. She has been seen as an object for most of her life and the first man she loved (I think the first?) betrayed her. And then she found Sovieshu. And he is the motherfucking emperor. And he is wrapped around her little finger in a matter of seconds. You can't tell me you would not milk him for all the luxuries and riches he could give you if you were in her place. Rashta is trying to survive. Yes, she does not care who she hurts in the process, but you can't besmirch her for her reasoning. Her manner of attaining survival is a different matter. Like I said, burn bitch, burn.
Reason #2 Rashta was not the one with a husband. Sovieshu though, the motherfucker, was very much married. And I do not care if it's normal for the emperor to have a side piece, he has seen what having a mistress can do to an empress firsthand.
Reason #3 The motherfucker thinks he's hot shit and tries to boss Navier. He thinks Navier should just pipe down and do as he wishes, but bitch, she is the one keeping this fucking empire afloat and if she leaves (when, let's be honest, you have all read chapter 1 and probably more) the ship will capsize faster than your ass can blink.
Reason #4 This bitch has THE GALL to be jealous. He gives Navier shit when she's only TALKING with other men. YOUR ASS IN BALLS DEEP IN YOUR SIDEHOE BUT THE EMPRESS CAN'T HAVE A DAMN CONVERSATION? I'd like to point out that he gives her shit for talking with a man who is a DIPLOMAT and at the empire for BUSINESS. Also, he tried to get close to mah gurl after all the bullcrap he pulled? And he thinks it’s his right? Someone hold me down, cause I've got a cast iron skillet and I am not afraid to use it.
Reason #5 All the SHIT he will pull in the future. Those up to date with the novel know what I mean. I can't say anything, but you guys think he is shitty right now? Ohohohoho. No. This bitch is going to get WAY worse. He hurts Navier, deliberately. Not physically - thank fuck cause I'd have had a stroke - but he still hurts her. Badly. AND WE DON'T LIKE SHITS WHO HURT THIS WONDERFUL WOMAN IN THIS HOUSE, NO SIR WE DO NOT. Why don’t you do as all a favor, Sovieshu dear, and tie a rock around your neck and jump in the Mariana trench?
Anyway, I can't say much else cause I will actually spoil something and that should be avoided. Just know that shit will get bad. But payback? Oh, it will be oh so sweet. You can't even begin to comprehend just HOW sweet it will be. I legitimately cackled and jumped around the room for 10 minutes.
@1-800-webtoon (tagging you cause I know you read this and we’ve talked about this before)
536 notes · View notes
val-aquenta · 5 days ago
11 and 16 for the salty ask list????
Thank you for asking !!! You're an enabler lol
11. Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn't? Why?
It's between Luminara and Mace. And Yoda I guess. Luminara is pretty misunderstood by fandom imo. Fandom thinks she's cold and does not care for Barriss at all, but I don't think that at all. She is very Jedi-esque, and I admire that about her. Personally, I see her as very caring, but realistic and prone to seeing the worst case scenario. In some ways, she reminds me of myself in that she can see the worst in situations and give up easily when all hope seems lost. However, she really wants the best case scenarios to happen and admires people who won't give up on that like Anakin and Obi-Wan do. I honestly don't understand fandoms hatred with Luminara considering she's amazing and badass. Also, I just love her character design so so so much. Her clothes are so cool and she looks amazing. I just love her. :)
Obviously Mace is also characterised very differently by fandom than how he is shown. He's gruff, sure, but he also really wants to do the right thing and help people. He's down to Earth, honest, and very stressed (poor man). I feel like he says the truth about things that fandom would generally like to ignore especially with Anakin, and it shows. Fandom faves like Anakin and Ahsoka are shown to (kind of) be pitted against him (I'm thinking s7 tcw and rots) and people will want to side with their faves. I find that he's really smart, caring, and really wants the best to happen. However, I'm not sure I would call him an optimist because he's so realistic and the reality of the situation that he's in is that everythings gone to shit. He really does try, but sadly it isn't enough against Palpacreep and Anakin together, so ultimately it doesn't work. I don't think I've ever disliked Mace. Also I feel like he'd give really good hugs too, so I wish I could meet him haha. In my mind he survived Palpacreep, met up with Obi-Wan and Yoda at some point, and proceeded to be the biggest pain in the Empire's ass, justifiably so.
Yoda is kind of neutral in fandom. I feel that older fans tend to like him more where younger fans don't, but I don't really know. Personally, I think he's amazing, and I do love him a lot. He feels very grandfatherly, and he's got that old person wisdom, which makes sense considering he's like 900 years old or something. Yoda is kind of the spiritual side of leadership to the Order where Mace is more paperwork and stuff. Idk, I think that they're such an amazing duo, and I love the relationship between them where they are both equals, but Yoda is super wise and old and therefore kind of higher rank? Some fans really try to foist the Jedi Order's destruction on him which rankles, considering he really tried to help Anakin as best he could with the limited info he had. Like Mace (and basically every Jedi haha) he's pitted against fandom faves like Anakin and Ahsoka, and because they're favourites of not only fandom, but also Filoni, the narrative is often skewed that way. Regardless, I really love the way he is even as a strange cgi frog xD
16. If you could change anything in the show, what would you change?
Oooh boy, would I change a lot. *cups hands around mouth* PLEASE MORE JEDI OH MY GOD!!! Okay, so explanation because I can. The narrative is never really in the perspective of the Jedi, which is so sad. I just want more of them relaxing in their home and being a family. Their culture would be so interesting to delve into, but no instead we get Mandalorians and rando folks which make no sense. I just want to see some Jedi appreciation in the media itself which shows how much work the Jedi do to keep the shithole Republic afloat instead of constantly showing them constantly pitted against the unstoppable combo of Republic!Palpatine and the Senators. Oh my god, I just want one less anidala focused and skewed episode of tcw where they focused on some younglings or on Barriss and Luminara, or Mace or anything pls.
10 notes · View notes
usergreenpixel · 3 months ago
Frev prompts, Part 4! 🎉
21. The protagonist is a high school student with a knack for drawing comics but they’re also the favorite target of the bullies at school.
One day the bullying gets so bad that the protagonist is unable to cope with reality anymore and, as a means of escapism, writes themselves into their new comic about their favorite topic - The French Revolution. With their favorite pen they had inherited from their writer grandfather, no less.
However, what was supposed to be a harmless little self-insert quickly becomes a reality when the protagonist is magically transported into their comic book and now has to navigate their own story and finish it in order to return to the real world, as well as figure out the mysterious powers of the magical pen.
22. Despite the fact that the days when the Bastille used to be packed with prisoners are gone, a handful were still trapped inside its gloomy walls by the time the infamous prison was taken.
The protagonist is one of the few prisoners who are sentenced to imprisonment inside the Bastille until they and the rest of the prisoners are set free by the revolutionaries.
For the first time in a long while, the protagonist is free but not all is sunshine and butterflies because the revolution is only beginning to escalate and the protagonist has long forgotten how to function in the society outside the prison.
With no other options, the protagonist decides to try and rebuild their life from square one, all while the events of the revolution are unfolding in the city of Paris.
23. Two friends, the protagonists, were raised together by a noble family as adopted wards and used to be close as children, but drifted apart when one of the two went abroad to get a good education.
Nevertheless, the childhood friends find themselves reunited by a pure coincidence during a meeting in the Jacobin Club, which both of them joined mere days ago.
All seems well, until it becomes apparent that the protagonists don’t exactly see eye to eye when it comes to politics in France nor the methods of solving the multiple issues plaguing the country.
This new rift between the protagonists only widens as the revolution progresses and the Jacobin Club gets split into groups on the basis of shared political beliefs.
Will the two protagonists be able to restore the friendship they used to have or will their new differences prove that maybe friendship isn’t always as almighty as people say?
24. The protagonist is acutely aware of the multiple injustices of the French society but they are not too eager to change things personally, hoping that maybe the government will find a way to fix things.
The protagonist, meanwhile, would rather focus on keeping their small family business (a bookshop) afloat and renting out an apartment in the house to make ends meet.
Soon, however, the protagonist ends up getting roped into the events of the revolution regardless when they accidentally overhear their new tenant discuss his plans in a hushed tone with a few other people.
The protagonist has all the evidence that they had unwittingly rented out an apartment to a revolutionary and now they have the evidence to turn that rebellious youth from Blérancourt in along with his buddies.
At first, the best course of action seems fairly obvious. Just report them to the authorities and be done with it.
However, perhaps these youths are more than just stupid kids playing at freedom fighting and maybe they can actually help the country.
When faced with the dilemma of either ratting the young rebels out or joining their cause, the protagonist makes a choice that ends up changing their entire life.
25. The year is 1811. Located near Saint-Petersburg, The Imperial Lyceum is a place where boys from noble families of The Russian Empire live and study. Perhaps the most famous Lyceum of all, it was home to plenty of those who would become prominent in Russian society of the time.
This is where the protagonist, one David de Boudry, teaches French to these boys.
Monsieur de Boudry knows that most of his students are blissfully unaware of a certain secret of his and likes it that way. It is best if they don’t know that he happens to be a younger brother to Jean-Paul Marat himself but changed his last name to avoid the associations.
Keeping this particular tidbit of his biography secret used to be fairly easy, until his older brother, Jean-Paul Marat, appeared in David’s life again on a snowy and frosty January day.
Marat is inexplicably alive, but he is also half-frozen and extremely disheveled when he shows up, not to mention the fact that he arrives with his wife and a very young child in tow. They all need a place to hide from the authorities, and fast.
Being a loving brother, David de Boudry hides his family and is now determined to keep them safe for not even a new name can sever family ties.
But, having made this difficult choice, will Monsieur de Boudry be able to reconcile his love for his family and the devotion to his adoptive home country? And will Marat be able to keep his loved ones and himself safe from the agents of police who lurk nearby and are quite hellbent on proving that the man they are pursuing is indeed the infamous Jacobin?
26. The protagonist is a sophomore who became a member of a Drama Club during their freshman year of high school and they are quite happy to finally have a friend group where they belong. Here nobody judges them for their stutter, their crossdressing and their fear of dogs.The protagonist is even allowed to play roles that would be normally reserved for the opposite gender just so they have an excuse to crossdress.
The upcoming play about the French Revolution is no exception and the protagonist is quite overjoyed but also frustrated that something just doesn’t ring true whenever they read their lines. Frustrated, they sneak into a time machine built by their parents and transport themselves to Paris of 1794.
They soon see that the city is in chaos and rumors about a traitor who had supposedly escaped the guillotine and went on the run with his family spread like wildfire. Moreover, the protagonist soon finds themselves in a bit of a pickle because of their name and physical appearance.
Even a man whom the protagonist saves from a mob advises them not to reveal their name and to lay low as soon as the protagonist introduces themselves. The protagonist is naturally confused but they do want to stay alive and free.
In order to survive, the protagonist decides to do what actors do best - improvise. It’s not easy, of course, but the protagonist tries to stay optimistic.
They hope that they will make it. They know they will. Giving up is not an option. After all, a Desmoulins never gives up. Right?
27. The French Revolution is not an easy period in history. It should be fairly obvious why.
The country is drowning in chaos and the future is uncertain, no matter how hard The Committee of Public Safety tries to maintain at least some semblance of order.
Meanwhile, in the heart of Paris, lives our protagonist whose main concern was not the revolution, but rather the fact that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep their inn’s doors open.
And then, one day, the unthinkable happens. A guest is found murdered in their room. Naturally, all the other guests are now suspects, and so is the staff. A diverse bunch of people with their own agendas, secrets and ties to the victim has gathered in the inn.
Sensing that something isn’t right, the protagonist decides to become an amateur sleuth and get to the bottom of the situation.
A “whodunnit” murder mystery is about to take place in the inn and the protagonist is determined to solve it.
28. A few years passed after the betrayal of the Thermidorians. The Revolution is destroyed and all of the enemies of the new government are dead… Except for one.
The protagonist is a patient in a mental hospital on the outskirts of Paris. Here the treatment of the patients is becoming more and more humane than it used to be before. That being said, the living conditions still leave a lot to be desired. Moreover, the protagonist feels isolated and lonely due to their personal issues and the trauma that caused them to become basically imprisoned in the facility.
Luckily, the loneliness disappears when the protagonist secretly manages to befriend another patient, a mysterious young man who is kept in isolation from the rest of the people at the facility, is forced to wear a mask to hide his face and is treated far worse than the others.
Horrified by the extent of the abuse that their new friend has to endure, the protagonist teams up with him to escape to Avignon, where the protagonist’s relatives live.
Little do they know, their new friend and partner in crime is an outlaw and a Montagnard, the last of them all, so when the two finally escape the police quickly catch wind of the situation.
Can the duo get to Avignon and avoid recapture? Will this unlikely friendship help them heal from their respective trauma? And will the revolutionary’s plan to avenge his executed friends be successful?
29. (Crossover with Greek mythology) When Adrestia, a minor Greek goddess, is banished to Earth from Mount Olympus for causing too much trouble, she assumes a human disguise and travels to France of 1789, where great changes are just around the corner.
Finally finding herself in her own element once again, Adrestia (whose human name is Adrienne) decides that she has no right to miss all the fun and joins the forces of the revolution. She is a goddess of revolt and a daughter of Ares, after all.
One would think that having a goddess on your side will make fighting easier, but things are not that simple and the other gods don’t exactly take kindly to troublemakers who go against authority.
Nevertheless, Adrestia is more than willing to try and help her new allies to win in their fight for Liberty, Equality and Fraternity.
30. When the protagonists first meet up in real life, they’re ecstatic. After a few years of chatting on the Internet, the two French Revolution enthusiasts have finally met each other face to face and now they decide to set an old plan of theirs in motion.
The duo wants to perform a time travel spell invented by their witch ancestors and change the way the French Revolution ended. The spell is successfully cast, but in the process the warlocks run out of magic and are now forced to wait in the past until they are strong enough to cast the spell again to return home.
But hey, at least while they’re waiting they can do what they always wanted to do - prevent the Thermidorian Reaction, and they are going to try to do just that, even though preventing a coup d’état is far from easy, especially for two college kids from the future.
31. It’s 1815. Joseph Fouché is the Minister of Police but his days in office are numbered and he knows it.
What’s more, rumors spread about the incompetence of the police as nobody can catch the culprit behind a new string of murders. Fouché hopes that cracking the case would restore his reputation, but something isn’t right about these murders.
So far, every single victim was a participant of the Thermidorian Reaction and it simply cannot be a mere coincidence. This pattern makes Fouché fear for his life and his reputation, as in addition to the murders the sins that he and his allies had pinned on their enemies begin to resurface.
Fearing that he is next and that his own crimes are about to be exposed as well, Fouché becomes obsessed with catching this mysterious vigilante. He even has a prime suspect in mind, but he can neither track him down nor prove that it was him.
Meanwhile, the time Fouché has to rehabilitate the police force is running out. Soon he too might face the music at long last, as well as learn exactly why sparing one of your enemies while killing the rest is considered to be a classic mistake.
Will the vigilante get to Fouché? How much time does the Minister of Police actually have left before karma knocks on his door? And why does the youngest police inspector in history, who is Fouché’s beloved protégé, turn against his mentor?
32. When the protagonist decided to sneak into the Catacombs of Paris for “shits and giggles” with their buddies, the last thing they expected was a sudden time travel to a closet in an apartment of a prominent revolutionary, whose skull the protagonist was holding in their hands seconds ago.
Naturally, the protagonist gets caught by the housekeeper and promptly accused of breaking and entering at best, and an assasination attempt at worst. It doesn’t help that the protagonist has strange pills and a baseball bat on their person.
But when they’re about to get prosecuted, the inhabitant of that same apartment suddenly speaks up on their behalf and defends the protagonist, claiming that it was a mere misunderstanding. Later, that same revolutionary visits the protagonist, reveals that he knows about the existence of time travel and promises to help, as long as the protagonist goes along with his plan.
Despite suspecting that the revolutionary has an ulterior motive, the protagonist does want answers so they agree to play least for a while.
33. After the Revolutionary War in America, the protagonist follows his friend and mentor, Marquis de Lafayette, to Paris as he is the only family the hero has at this point.
At first, when the French Revolution rolls around, the hero still stays by his mentor’s side, never questioning his opinions and decisions and admiring him as a hero.
But after the September Massacres reveal Lafayette’s...less heroic side the hero is utterly broken and disappointed that he trusted the wrong person yet again. This revelation prompts the hero to switch sides and become a double agent, working with the Jacobins while pretending that he is still loyal to Lafayette.
Is this the correct choice to make or will the hero’s naïveté and a simple desire to belong betray him once again?
34. Maximilien Robespierre finds himself in a difficult situation. Somehow, everyone who crosses his path keeps going missing, only to turn up brutally murdered.
Moreover, Robespierre keeps receiving notes with rather...stalkerish messages written by the culprit. The stress and the crippling paranoia are slowly taking a toll on his frail body and he collapses altogether after finding out that Camille Desmoulins and Antoine de Saint-Just got attacked as well.
Fortunately, Saint-Just and Desmoulins manage to survive the ordeal and decide that enough is enough. After a long recovery, the two men decide to set aside their differences and track down the mysterious stalker before other people close to Robespierre get hurt.
Who knows, perhaps this buddy cop-esque adventure will even help Saint-Just and Desmoulins resolve their rivalry once and for all, now that a mutual friend of theirs needs both of them.
35. An immigrant enrolls into a high school in the country where they live now, a country located on the other side of the planet, miles away from their homeland.
Isolated from the rest of the students, shunned for their Eastern European accent (feel free to pick the specific country) and their Socialist beliefs, the protagonist has very few friends and even they are imaginary - three French revolutionaries whom the protagonist admires the most.
However, things change when a classmate bonds with the protagonist over their fascination with the French Revolution and the two decide to team up and write a novel about their favorite topic, all while the three imaginary friends, who may or may not be something more than a simple product of imagination, are guiding these kids on their quest to rehabilitate the legacy of the revolution.
P. S. The Fouché tag has been graciously lent to me by @frevandrest , the tag’s inventor. This needs to become an official tag imo.
18 notes · View notes
Perkins’ Repair Shop
For The HarringroveApril Challenge - Day Fourteen Road Trip
Warnings for: Implied age difference, Billy is supposed to be a couple years older than Steve in this, some dom/sub, anal fingering, daddy kink, begging, barebacking, cream pie, cum eating
Perkins’ Repair Shop
Billy could have flown, he should have flown, what is the point of all his money if he is not taking advantage of it, but he needed a break and for some god forsaken reason he thought a road trip was the way to go. He must be cracking after all these years, he has definitely gone soft coming to Hawkins to see Max graduate, they are not even close. She called though and asked him to come, he kind of missed her distance and time making him nostalgic and he had not been able to resist her plea even after all of these years.
 So Billy took off from work, something he normally would not do. Running an empire means being constantly present but he figures for a few days his second in command can keep things afloat. He still should have flown, it had been kind of fun at first, Billy missed driving on the open roads instead of the city. He stopped at little shops that caught his eye along the way, picked up a few stupid knickknacks for Max that will probably just end up staying in his trunk forever. The last two days through it had been nothing but farmland and fruit stands, the smell of manure heavy in the air. 
 When smoke starts billowing from the hood of his car it is easy to find a place to pull over. Billy spends nearly thirty minutes with his back baking in the sun as he leans over the engine of his car, coming up empty on the cause of the fire that thankfully went out on its own, whatever the problem is it is something he cannot see or get to with the tools he keeps in the trunk. Lucky for him he is not left to wonder which direction he should head in for help as a tow truck comes down the road pulling over at the sight of his car. 
 “Need a lift?” The man ‘Bob’ according to the little embroidered patch on his coveralls asks with an accent that most the people he has come across since last night have had and Billy just nods watching his car get hooked up. “I’ll take yah over to the Perkins’ Repair shop probably the only place even open on a Sunday round here.” The man says it like Billy should be aware of that, he just nods along as he settles into the passenger seat of the tow truck shaking his head when the man offers him a cup full of sunflower seeds. “So where yah headed son?”
 “Hawkins, my sister is graduating.” Billy offers, willing to make a little small talk, the man did save him a long walk on a hot dusty road after all.
“You’re almost there Perkins’ is just on the edge of town, got one of my own graduating too.” Bob announces proudly with a crooked smile proceeding to fill the rest of the silence with talk of his kids, which suits Billy just fine, he has never really had a taste for making small talk.
 The place they pull into is bigger than Billy is expecting for such a small town, with a lot of open space around it, plenty of room to expand if things ever get built up around it. The garage itself has four bays for cars, all but one currently closed and a decent sized store front and lobby off to the side, a big sign that Billy could see miles out reading ‘Perkins’ Repair Shop’. There are only two cars in the lot and Billy can just barely make out two people talking in the front of the shop as Bob unloads his car into the open bay.
 “Come on kid.” Bob says clapping a hand on Billy’s back like their lifelong friends, Billy does not much care for it but there is something about the man that keeps his heckles from rising as he leads him up front. Another customer is just leaving as they step into the lobby and Billy is met with something unexpected, who would have thought he would come across someone so pretty out here in the middle of nowhere.
 “Hey Bob.” The man greets, big brown eyes scanning over to Billy giving him a once over before his attention is back on Bob “Watch yah got for me?” Billy wants that attention back on him.
 “Hey Stevie, found this city boy stranded on the side of the road, think you can handle him?” Bob asks, looking at his watch, Steve’s eyes find Billy again scanning up and down his body slow and heavy, making Billy lick over his lips, he knows what that kind of look means, makes his pants start to tighten. 
 “Oh I don’t think it’ll be a problem, you can head on home.” Steve turns a friendly smile to Bob who hesitates, looking at Billy suddenly like maybe he could be a threat. “I’m a big boy Bob, I don’t need a babysitter, it’s nearly closing I won’t have to worry about anyone else and don’t you have a graduation party to start prepping for?” Steve sounds mildly annoyed but mostly fond and it makes something relax in Billy that had gone tight at the change in Bob‘s attitude.
 “If you're sure, it’s just after what happened last year-” Bob cuts himself off as Steve holds a hand up looking a little annoyed.
 “That wasn’t one guy and they got what they had coming to them.” Steve’s tone is sharp, dangerous and Billy is curious but there is something tight and uncomfortable there too so he does not press, time for that later.
 “All right.” Bob nods looking a little solemn before turning a look on Billy that he is pretty sure is supposed to be threatening but it is failing, Steve’s attitude shifting with it, trying not to laugh as the man warns Billy. “I hear about you giving Stevie any trouble and there’s going to be hell to pay, yah here”
 “Yes sir.” Billy answers truthfully, he is not going to give Steve anything he does not want and judging by the look he is giving Billy behind Bob’s back he wants a lot. 
 “See Bob, me and” Steve pauses as he comes around the counter, coveralls tight in all the right places, they have been fitted, giving Billy an appreciation for his long lean body, as he cocks his head in question.
 “Billy” Billy answers the unasked question with a charming smile, letting Steve hook his arm around his elbow when he stands next to him.
 “Me and Billy here will be just fine.” Steve says patting Billy’s bicep, fingers lingering.
 “Alright, I’ll see you at the party tomorrow?” Bob asks, already heading for the door with one last squint at Billy.
 “Yeah, Dustin will lose his shit if I don’t go, you know how he gets.” Steve laughs and both him and Bob share a laugh before the door falls closed. 
 “So Billy, how about we go take a look at your car, see if I can’t suss out the problem for you.” Steve turns to Billy, arm still hooked around his.
 “You’re the mechanic?” Billy asks in disbelief, Steve’s coveralls are pristine, no smears of oil, fingernails immaculate, he is pretty sure Steve is not in fact a mechanic, especially with the pastel polo he can see sticking out from the opening of his coveralls. Out of the two of them Billy looks more like the mechanic in his white ribbed tank and jeans, covered in grease, and his scuffed up boot.
 “I’m the only one here sugar,” Steve says as he leads Billy over to his car before pulling away and Billy barely resists reaching out to pull him close again as he watches Steve pop the hood on his Camaro with ease. “Were you expecting someone else?” He asks teasingly like this happens all the time, giving Billy a heated look over his shoulder with a wink before he is bending over the engine, the stretch pulling those coveralls even tighter against his thick ass, hands skimming over parts, probing and touching, using a light to get a better look at deeper things.
 “Yeah as a matter of fact I was” Billy admits moving closer when Steve gives a laugh, shooting Billy another heated look, eyes roving over him before he tilts his head in a come closer motion. He does not have to be summed twice, more than happy to get up in Steve’s space. Billy peers over Steve’s shoulders for all of two seconds before he drops them to get a better look at that ass, drops the pretense altogether because his little road trip ends in this town anyway why not enjoy a little distraction. 
 “I’m the only one here but I could give Earl a call if you really want.” Steve offers playfully as he moves back lightly, there is not much space for him and he pressed back right against Billy’s hips, his half hard cock kicking with interest as it fills out more. Steve bangs fall in his eyes, twists his neck and looks back at Billy through his lashes. “Well, should I go call Earl for yah mister?” He asks with a soft lick over his lips and a roll of his hips that has Billy sucking in a sudden breath.
 “No I don’t think we’ll be needing Earl, pretty boy.” Billy says as he drops his hands to Steve’s waist, pressing his forward, cock leaking against the inside of his jeans. “Unless you don’t have a condom, then we might need some help.”
 “We’re in luck Mr. Perkins keeps a stash in the top drawer of his desk.” Steve points at the nearest desk against the back wall and it is not his business, he should not care but Billy wants to know if he is special or if Steve is just going around giving it up for everyone. 
 “Why so his little boy can give it up to all his customers.” Billy asks something mean in his voice, he never likes the idea of just being one of many, rolling his hips harder and dragging a moan out of Steve. 
 Steve huffs and pushes Billy away, Billy not expecting it caught off guard, stumbling back a little at the suddenness, Steve is stronger than his lean build suggests. He gives Billy an unimpressed look as he moves over to the desk. “First of all ew, no asshole. He keeps them here because he doesn’t want Tommy knocking up Carol before they’ve even graduated and the two of them don’t know how to keep it in their pants.” He settles in the little rolling chair as he fishes out a condom and a packet of lube from the drawer swiveling toward Billy. “Second of all if you’re going to be a dick I’m going to change my mind.” He hisses glaring at Billy and it just makes his belly burn with heat.
 “Now are you going to fuck me, or should I really just call Earl? Whatever is wrong with your engine is beyond my skill and I can happily go home and fuck myself if you are not up to the task.” Steve says smugly like he knows Billy is going to take him up on his offer and of course he is.
 “You fuck yourself a lot pretty boy?” Billy asks, stalking forward licking over his teeth undeterred by the triumph shining in Steve’s eyes.
 “What else am I supposed to do in this dinky little town, it’s not like the local college boys can keep up with me?” Steve asks, batting his eyes up at Billy when he steps between his spread thighs, taking the lube from his hand. “Not everyday someone as attractive as you comes across my path.” Steve says slowly pulling the zipper of his coveralls down.
 “Hot piece of ass like you probably gets plenty of offers.” Billy falls to his knees between Steve’s thighs, the chair low enough to let him lean up and kiss at Steve’s neck. Steve squirms working his arms out of his coveralls, Billy blindly helping by pulling at the material, dragging it down to pool around Steve’s waist.
 “Doesn’t mean they're good ones” Steve pouts and Billy lurches up, the idea that he is a good one getting him right where Steve wants him and Billy does not care that he is being led. He catches that bottom lip between his teeth before pressing his lips properly against his mouth, tongue sliding over that swelling lip and pressing in, Steve’s tongue sliding against his as they kiss. “You’re going to be good to me right?” Steve asks as the kiss breaks, hands framing Billy’s cheeks and he has never wanted to be better for someone in his life than he does right now looking into those big brown eyes.
 “So good.” Billy promises, kissing him again long and hard before he pulls away and works Steve’s work boots from his feet, tossing them to the side, eyes heavy on Steve as “Need you to stand so we can get you out of all these clothes baby.” He tugs at Steve’s waist and he goes up easy, hands falling against Billy’s shoulder, brown eyes watching Billy as he tug the coveralls down his legs, Steve stepping out of it without prompting. “Will you take your polo off for me?”
 “If you ask nicely.” Steve says it soft, face gentle and heated as he licks over his lips, hand coming up to stroke at Billy’s chin. 
 Anyone else and he would rebuke them but there is something about him that makes Billy’s lips part on a “Please.” The smile that splits across his face goes right to Billy’s dick, bright and happy, he wants to kiss it, instead he works Steve’s tight pants open.
 “So good.” Steve praises and Billy’s dick is even harder against his inseam, he barely even notices when Steve removes not one but two polos, does not even think to mock as his eyes scan up over pale mole dotted skin, he wants to trace them with his tongue. The condo packet flutters to the ground, going unnoticed by both of them as Billy drags his zipper down. The tight white briefs underneath keep Steve’s dick confined, but Billy can tell it is big as he drags his jeans down his legs, leans close and starts mouthing at it through his tighty whities, dragging a gasp from Steve. 
 “Fuck yeah, that’s good, so good.” Steve rambles, as Billy’s spit soaks through his underwear and his pants find a home tossed away on the garage floor somewhere. Billy slides his hands up the back of Steve’s calves, feeling him buckle slightly as his finger grazes over the backs of his knees, over his thick thighs to palm his even thicker ass. 
 Billy looks up at Steve through hooded eyes, catching the band with his teeth, watching the way Steve’s eyes dilate as he drags it down Steve’s cock coming out to slap against his belly as Billy uses his hand to drag his underwear all the way down and off of Steve. Billy pushes him back into the chair, fishes the lube packet form next to his knees and rips it open while watching Steve. Steve, whose cheeks are ruddy, flushed all the way down to his rosy budded nipples who has a hand stroking over his cock as he watches Billy work the lube packet open.
 Steve hums with a little nod when Billy looks at him with a question in his eyes, spreads his legs wider giving Billy more room to press in closer. Billy uses his clean hand to skim over Steve’s soft inner thigh, thumb circling every little mole he finds, mouth kissing the moles on his other thigh as he press a lube slick finger between Steve’s cheeks, rubbing up and down before circling his rim with intent, pushing in slowly, eyes on Steve.
 Steve chews on his lower lips and stocks his cock faster, eyes on Billy’s. “Come on, I can take it.” He encourages squirming and taking Billy’s finger a little deeper, huffing when Billy does not press in faster. “I thought you were going to be good to me?” Steve pouts down at him, eyes big and Billy turns his head nips at his thigh hard, makes Steve moan and buck his hips, sinking his finger in fully.
 “I’m going to take such good care of you baby.” Billy says slowly working that finger in and out of Steve, loosening him up. “You have to be good to, be a good boy and ask for what you want.” Steve makes a noise in the back of his throat, panting, as that flush deepens and spreads dick dripping pre and Billy presses for more as he slowly adds a second finger. “Go on baby asks daddy.” 
 Steve goes even redder, dick kicking in his hand as he strokes it faster, hand making slick noises from all the pre spilling out of him. “Shit” Steve curses squirming, toes finding perches on Billy’s knees, curling as Steve wrestles with indecision for a long minute before finally deciding to give Billy what he wants, Eyes hooded as he catches Billy and moans out “Please daddy.” Billy crooks his fingers as he says it utterly delighted, dick hard and aching in his jeans, pre staining through leaving him with a dark patch on the front of them.
 “Please what?” Billy can tell he is close, toes curling, balls drawing up but he deliberately misses Steve’s prostate as he scissors his fingers waiting for him to ask.
 “Please finger fuck me ‘till I cum.” Steve cries out the hand not on his dick digging groves into the chair handle so hard it makes little plastic curls fall off. Billy does not waste any time adding a third finger and really fucking his finger into Steve with great speed, pressing into his prostate deliberately each time. Steve shakes and quakes as Billy’s other hand grabs his cock, his own hand falling away and Billy strokes him just as fast as he is fingering him. Steve does not last much longer, shooting hotly all over Billy’s hand and his own stomach as Billy bends and mouths at his balls, a few spurts even land in his hair.
 Billy milks a few more spurts from him before he pulls his hands and mouth away from Steve’s most sensitive spots, leaning up past the pool of cum on Steve’s belly to start kissing up his chest. Something warm curling in his chest as Steve’s hands find his hair petting over his locks as praise falls from his lips, orgasm taking any hesitation out of him. “You did good daddy, so good to me.” Steve arches letting out a breathy moan as Billy catches a nipple between his teeth, on hand working at his jeans as he bites and sucks at it, shirt falling against Steve’s belly and sopping up Steve’s cum from his stomach.
 Steve catches his chin, leads him up away from his tender nipple, kisses him soft and slow before pulling back with a coy little smile. “We’re not done yet, right daddy? You’re going to be good to me some more?”
 “Yeah daddy’s going to take such good care of you pretty boy.” Billy groans out, face pressing into Steve’s neck, so fucking pretty and willing to play, how the hell did Billy chance on him during a stupid road trip for Max’s graduation, it is baffling. He kisses a trail up Steve’s neck, over his chin before catching his mouth again in another heated kiss, dick hard and standing out from the V of his zipper sliding against Steve’s slick crack.
 Billy shifts, eyeing his car and the open hood, the little laugh Steve lets out drawing him back. “You want to fuck me bent over your engine, huh?” Steve asks with a knowing smile, dragging Billy up into another kiss whispering against his mouth “I’d be into that.” Billy catches him off guard by catching him around the waist and lifting him up, standing with only minor difficulty out of his kneeling position, Steve squeaking, arms and legs both wrapping around Billy. “A warning would have been nice big guy.” He huffs out like his dick is not already half hard again and kicking against Billy’s stomach just from this show of strength.
 “Where’s the fun in that baby.” Billy teases, mouthing against Steve’s collar bone on the short trip to the car before settling Steve down and pushing him to lean over the engine. “You’re so fucking pretty.” Billy rasps as he kisses down the back of Steve’s neck, making him shudder and pant, little breathy moans slipping from his mouth. “Want to fuck you so bad baby boy.” Billy, hands stroke over Steve’s ribs, mouth pressing against each knob of his spine, lower, lower, Steve’s noises getting a little louder as he moves and Steve shifts from side to side eager.
 “Then fuck me daddy!” Steve shouts as Billy bites into the meat of his ass hard before sucking, determined to leave a mark on him. “Please” He begs, tone whining as he presses back against Billy’s mouth. “Please, take care of me daddy please!” 
 “Shit.” Billy curses, moving back up Steve’s body fast, dick leaking and hard, already slicked sliding between Steve’s cheeks as he kisses at his neck, tip pressing over Steve’s rim making him whine and buck back. The condom completely forgotten in the heat of the moment, it does not cross either of their minds now. “Shush baby, daddy’s got you.” Billy says hands dragging Steve’s cheeks further apart as he lifts up off of Steve and watches his dick slowly slide in.
 “Fuck yes, yes.” Steve shouts as Billy fills him, pressing in a little fast as impatiens wins out. Billy keeps the pace steady and slow, just enjoying the view of his dick sliding in and out of Steve for a bit before he starts to increase his pace, hands steady on Steve’s hips keeping him in place. “Come on faster, faster, please daddy!” Steve begs, hands still braced on the edges of the car, keeping his face from hitting the engine as Billy starts picking up his pace, not about to deny Steve when he asks so nicely. 
 Billy is so in lust with this pretty boy, dick aching as he fucks into him, pushing one of Steve’s legs up and it goes so easy, knee sliding up on the edge of the bumper changing the angle and letting Billy get even deeper. “You’re so good, god your dick, it’s so deep.” The words keep spilling out of Steve’s mouth between cries and moans like he cannot contain them, just as lost as Billy.
 “You’re so tight, so fucking warm, feel so good baby.” Billy rambles his own words just as uncontainable as he gets closer and closer to the edge.
 “I’m close daddy, please please can I cum?” Steve asks and it makes Billy’s balls draw up, makes his dick start spilling inside of him.
 “Yeah baby, cum for daddy.” Billy gets a hand on Steve’s dick stroking it quick as he thrusts a few more times, feeling Steve tighten up and cum all over his bumper just as he starts going soft inside of him. Billy keeps stroking Steve’s cock, not about to leave him wanting, he does not stop touching until Steve whines, arms giving out and Billy narrowly catches him before he can end up pressed against the dirty engine. 
 Billy drags them both to the ground before he lets go of Steve flopping back against the stone floor, a little surprised and pleased when Steve panting and lax climbs into his lap. Steve cups his face bringing their panting mouths together in a filthy kiss that has heat in Billy’s belly but his dick is not ready for round two, not yet. “You’re kind of a freak huh?” Steve asks, grinning all fucked out and pleased before he kisses Billy again when he just grunts still trying to regain his breath.
 “I kind of like it.” Steve says with a grin that has Billy huffing kind of, fucking brat, god Billy is so fucked, lurching up and dragging him down for another kiss. Steve makes a noise into the kiss hand reaching back as Billy pulls away. “You got me all dirty daddy, you’re going to clean me up right?” Steve asks all big eyes and simpering, hand coming up covered in shiny cum and lube fingers pressing against Billy’s lips.
 “Yeah baby, daddy’s going to clean you up so good.” Billy licks over the fingers Steve presses into his mouth, he wants to clean him out with his tongue and get him dirty all over again. 
 “You’re car isn’t getting fixed for a day or two, guess you’re stuck here for a few days, you going to get a hotel room?” Steve asks something a little vulnerable and unsure in his gaze.
 “Actually Hawkins was my destination, here for my little sister’s reunion, didn’t get a room yet, have a suggestion on where I should stay?” Billy asks with meaning, wants Steve to offer, hopes he does, he would love nothing more than to spend the next few days becoming better acquainted with Steve.
 “Most of the good places are all booked up already on account of the graduation ceremony, I could offer you a good deal on a guest room if you're interested.” Steve says bolder, Billy’s finger sliding up over his thighs, more than willing to play. 
 “What's your price baby boy?” Billy asks, hand skimming up Steve’s stomach, his ribs, stroking over skin pricking with goose flesh as sweat begins to cool.
 “Keep being good to me while you’re here daddy.” Steve whispers as Billy drags him down close, mouths a breathe away.
 “You got yourself a deal pretty boy.” Billy rasps mouth catching Steve’s in a filthy kiss, turns out this little road trip wasn’t such a waste of time after all.
40 notes · View notes
spac3-em0 · 9 months ago
Hi due to some things happening I’d like to say a few things about the webcomic The Glass Scientists because I keep seeing lies about it.
First off, if you don’t know, TGS is set in VICTORIAN LONDON because it’s a mad science fantasy comic with a dark academia twist. This is extremely important to the story, considering how easy it is to set things on fire, how the two of the three main characters have a shitton of Victorian repression, and how Hyde, the other main character, came to be in the first place.
Now, I’ll be talking about Hyde’s actions/what happens to him throughout the comic, the way Sabrina, the author represents POC, the two white main characters and how that’s not a bad thing, the claim that it’s a bad representation of D.I.D, when consuming problemactic media becomes a problem/why problematic media is needed, and finally what is and isn’t a lie. And, spoiler warning for the entire comic.
Edward Hyde’s Actions and the Plot Points Surrounding Him
Edward Hyde is the on and off narrator for TGS, and is also, in my opinion, one of the main characters. His actions have greatly befitted the plot, from when he manipulated Jekyll into letting him go free for a night so he could visit Blackfog, when he set a third of London on fire on accident, when he started using “nightmares” to torture Jekyll into letting him out to go to Blackfog again, him discovering he could take control of Jekyll’s body, becoming what my friend and I call Green Eye, and finally Rachel and Hyde’s relationship which started before the comic even began. These are just the ones off the top of my head, but there are more.
I’ll talk about Rachel and Hyde’s relationship first, because it’s used as a plot point multiple times. At first glance, it could appear that Rachel is abusive towards Hyde. One could make that arguement, and I only slightly agree. The reason for Rachel’s actions towards Hyde is because her deceased little brother, Eli, looks an awful lot like Hyde. Rachel blames herself for Eli’s death, and believes if she was there for Eli more he wouldn’t have died. This is explained by Rachel’s older brother, Patrin, to Hyde. I don’t believe Rachel is trying to be abusive, commonly people don’t realize their actions are, in fact, abusive. That gives others time to show them the error of their ways (However, there are people who know they’re being abusive, and that is not a good way to view the world). Rachel is not intending to abuse Hyde in any way, she simply believes that she can “rescue” Hyde from a life of crime and thievery, doing what she couldn’t with Eli. This, in and of itself, is not bad. Their relationship is only slightly toxic. If Rachel can get over Eli’s death, and stop blaming herself for it, I’m sure their relationship will be less toxic.
Now onto the things Hyde does. Hyde is meant to be a bad person. Hyde is everything Jekyll’s repressed, and clearly Jekyll has had some nasty thoughts. It’s also good to keep in mind that neither Hyde nor Jekyll are a full person. Jekyll drinking the HJ7 split his personality in two. Both Hyde and Jekyll are missing important parts of themselves, so, in my opinion, neither of them could be classified as a full human, but they are the same person. I bring this up because Hyde relied on Jekyll to take care of maintaining looks, paying bills, and other responsibilities that Hyde didn’t want to deal with. And Hyde has been shown hating the idea of being trapped. So, what does Hyde do? He manipulates Jekyll into giving him what he wants. But we run into a problem when people expect Hyde to be perfect and a saint. That isn’t his character at all. His character is supposed to be considered evil by Victorian society. So he’s not going to be unproblematic. He’s based off the book Hyde, who literally trampled a little girl and committed murder. The explanation I just listed is the reason behind most of Hyde’s actions throughout the story, and they commonly carry the plot forward.
Sabrina’s POC Representation
I’d like to go on record and say that the representation in TGS is nice to see, however I am white myself. I’ll be going off of what I’ve heard other POC say about the representation, and my own personal opinions. The main criticism I see is Lanyon and Lucy being portrayed as black stereotypes. Except they aren’t. First off, Lanyon isn’t even a full black man. He’s biracial (half white half black). I’m not too sure about Lucy, but given the fact she is darker than Lanyon I believe she is a full black woman. Neither of them play into stereotypes. Now you could say that Lanyon is the gay black best friend, except that would be diminishing him to half of his racial identity, his sexuality, and his relationship with Jekyll. The comic is good at showing that Lanyon doesn’t fit that mould perfectly, or in fact at all. Lanyon’s actions are fueled by the want to keep the Society for Arcane Sciences afloat, and keeping Jekyll alive and well. His sexuality also plays a role in the plot because before the comic started, it’s shown that Lanyon and Jekyll clearly have a history, and as you read further you can infer that it was sexual in nature. Why would a straight man in Victorian London sleep with a man?
Now, onto Lucy. We don’t know a lot about Lucy, but we do know that she was poor as a child, and was able to create an empire of thieves and provide housing, childcare, and income to a lot of women. Now, tell me how that’s playing into a stereotype for black women. Or, really, black people in general. From what I’ve researched, a lot of stereotypes about black people are rooted in racism and slavery. You could argue that because Lucy’s a thief, it’s negative and racist. But if Sabrina was racist, wouldn’t Lanyon also be a thief instead of being well off? And wouldn’t Lucy not have been able to create something of this magnitude, because the entirety of London knows about her empire.
Another criticism I saw is the fact that Rachel’s name doesn’t fit her race. And that Eli being a thief is a negative stereotype. As far as we know, all of Rachel’s blood-bound family is Romani. But here’s the catch, we don’t know if Rachel’s parents are immigrants or not. They could have very well have been raised in London themselves which is why Rachel has her name to begin with. I’m not entirely sure about the Eli stereotype, but I know it wasn’t meant to be like that. Eli is meant to be like Hyde, and Hyde has problematic traits and does problematic things. It’s supposed to be a parallel between the two, which is why Rachel acts the way she does with Hyde.
Why Having Two White Men as Protagonists Isn’t a Bad Thing
I know I’ll get backlash, but not every piece of media needs a POC main character. Especially not when it’s set in Victorian London. However even with my first statement, in TGS there is a biracial gay man as a protagonist. And even though Hyde and Jekyll are white and are men, they aren’t straight. Jekyll is bisexual and Hyde is pansexual. So there’s still some representation for the LGBTQ+ community, which I am a part of. I’m a transgender man and bisexual myself and I like seeing bisexual men be represented.
Why Jekyll and Hyde Isn’t the Thing You Turn to for D.I.D Representation
J&H was never meant to be D.I.D representation. And even if it was, it was written in the times where people were sent to asylums for briefly thinking they heard something when they didn’t /not serious, joking. As someone who has two systemmates, I can assure you that J&H isn’t meant to be D.I.D representation. And if people are trying to claim it is, you should maybe just try and talk to them to see where they’re coming from.
Problematic Media
Consuming problematic media doesn’t make you a bad person. Creating it doesn’t make you one either. It becomes a problem when the person or you creating it tried to romanize certain toxic behaviours, or claim problematic actions are perfectly okay. We need problematic media because we don’t know the story behind it. The person making it could just be venting and trying to heal, or if they write a success stories, like I do, it creates a well of hope in them. Because they believe if this character can do it, then so I can I. Now, how does this tie into TGS? Characters in the comic have shown behaviours that are problematic. Rachel, Hyde, Frankenstein, Moreau, and even Jekyll to an extent. However, their behaviours are framed in a way that puts them in the wrong, but they aren’t bad people, aside from Moreau.
What is and isn’t true?
TGS is not a “yaoi uwu gay soft bois” comic.
Characters are allowed to be problematic because no one is perfect.
No one’s sexualities have been the butt of any jokes.
No one has been sexually assaulted within the events of the comic or what has been shown.
Lanyon and Lucy are not black stereotypes.
Hyde and Jekyll being white and men aren’t a problem.
55 notes · View notes
oloreaa · 11 months ago
Vencuyanir Ch. 9 - The Medcenter
Summary: Their first conversation about what happened. A deal. Some first time parenting together thrown into the mix
Words: 8.0k  i KNOW
Warnings: descriptions/treatment of wounds, allusion/inquiry about sexual assault, (past) child abuse, sick and distressed child, hospitals (please let me know if I missed something)
Notes: Hi, hello my friends!! I am overwhelmed by all of the feedback and responses I´ve received, and I want to thank you SO MUCH for it. You are all amazing and I am SO grateful to you. HUGE thanks at @adikaofmandalore​ for all of the logic suggestions and @over300books​ for going over the chapter with me and being endlessly patient. 
▪ Previous ▪ Masterlist ▪ Vencuyanir ▪ Next ▪
Tumblr media
They were in hyperspace, moving towards some planet that the Mandalorian was steering the Razor Crest to. Elana stood in front of the mirror, examining the bruises on her face and arms, covering her skin, and tried to make sense of everything.
Facts first.
She and Bean were captured by the Mandalorian on Arvala-7. Bean was the actual bounty, for which he got a camtono of beskar. He took the payment and got himself a whole new armour made with that beskar. The Mandalorian risked his life to go back and get them away from the Imperials he had originally handed them to.
Speculations second.
The Mandalorian seemed to have taken a liking to them, in some way or another. He also seemed to have regretted giving them away, going to great lengths to rectify that action. He had risked everything in his job in order to rescue them, and now all three of them were probably wanted by the Guild.
Coming to a conclusion.
The Mandalorian, Bean and Elana were stuck together for an indeterminate amount of time, and even though she wanted nothing more than to never see that blasted beskar helmet again, she had to be realistic. If not for her own life, then for Bean's.
Elana knew that she was not suitable to protect Bean. She could not fight, she had nowhere to go, and no one who could help her. The only thing she would be able to do was to pick up jobs and earn enough credits to keep them afloat. But that was something that she could only consider to do for the rest of her life if there was not the issue with Bean being wanted by remnants of the Empire.
Thus, their best chance was, once again, staying with the Mandalorian.
Elana sighed deeply, staring at herself in the mirror. The bruise on her cheek where the stormtrooper had hit her was deep purple, the skin bloody. There were small scrapes all across her face, hopefully they would heal over the next few days. Her skin looked pale, the shadows underneath her eyes almost as dark as the bruises on her face. Gently using the water in the sink to wash away the grime on her face, Elana rubbed the dried and crusty flakes of blood out of her hair line, running her hands carefully through the tangles in her dark strands when she was finished. When she was satisfied with how her wounds were relatively clean, she unscrewed the bacta jar and smeared the cool substance onto her face and her wrists, careful with the sensitive skin. After she was finished, she stepped out of the fresher and saw the Mandalorian sitting on a crate, methodically cleaning one of his blasters. He looked up, and she squared her jaw.
"I think we need to talk," she said, shoulders tense.
The Mandalorian nodded.
"I don't think that I need to tell you what I think of your actions," Elana started off, picking her words carefully, "And you can obviously guess at what happened in that warehouse."
He met her gaze through that impassive beskar helmet, and she felt herself becoming furious.
"Why?" Elana did not care that she had asked this already. She wanted to hear it when he was not trying to constantly brush her off. The Mandalorian was quiet for a long time. "Is this because you want-- my offer?" Her mouth tasted like ash, jaw clenching at the thought of him cashing in the favour of yesterday.
His head whipped up. "No," he said quickly, voice hoarse, "Never that." He sounded so earnest that a part inside her relaxed, but she still could not help but stay wary, arms crossed in front of her chest defensively. "The job had felt off from the beginning," the Mandalorian sighed, a slight shift in his posture the only indicator for Elana that he was uncomfortable. "And when I saw that the bounty was the baby--"
Elana interrupted him, "You did not seem to mind when you dragged us away."
He was quiet again.
"I don't want a full on apology, Mandalorian, though Maker knows we deserve it," she spat, "I want to know if you will give us away again."
"Not to them," he said, voice low.
Elana scoffed slightly. "What a relief."
"I went back because it was wrong. The job, the payment, the bounty were all wrong. I had to go back."
Stepping a bit closer to him, staring down into where his eyes should be, she started to speak, fury burning in her. "You owe me, Mandalorian," she said quietly.
"If you want to be specific, it was me who saved both of you," he pointed out weakly, voice tense.
"Well, think again, tin can, whose fault was it that we needed to be saved?" Elana snarled, "It would have been something entirely different if you would have only turned me in."
His helmet tilted up.
"If it was only me, an adult, it would have been something entirely different," she repeated, "But the actual bounty was Bean. A baby."
The Mandalorian dropped his head down, and she hoped with all her heart that it was shame that crushed on him. She hoped that it would haunt him forever.
"So, I want a deal for you to make up to this." Elana hesitated at that, and turned the points, the logical points over in her head, chewing on her lip. "Isn't there a saying about you bounty hunters? You make the best deal for yourself and survive? Take what you can and make the best out of it?"
The Mandalorian nodded, voice grave, "Yes."
"I'm aware that I am not a fighter," Elana started off, "I am simply a hired caretaker, nothing more. But the only thing I can say about me, that I'm good at? I am a damn good caretaker for that baby." She pointed at the sleeping Bean. "Do you know how abused and neglected that child was when I arrived on Arvala-7? How quick he latched onto me because I would hug him? I will not let him fall into the hands of the Empire because that, that exact thing will happen again."
Elana breathed hard, tears starting to gather in her eyes, but she fought furiously against them. "Bean deserves a childhood, all right? He deserves to have his parents back, deserves to grow up without abuse, deserves to be on his home planet, wherever that is! But I cannot give it back to him. So the only thing I can give him is my love, and I will die before letting Bean become that scared child again. He has already seen too much violence in his life," Elana's voice was becoming thick now, the words coming out raw and jagged, pushed out between shuddering breaths as she tried her best to not simply fall apart in front of the Mandalorian.
Choking off a sob, she pressed a palm onto her face, turning away slightly from the bounty hunter who was watching her silently. "I'm sorry, I--" Elana automatically started to apologise for her outburst, before cutting herself off, squaring her shoulders. She did not owe him anything, she thought viciously, eyes burning, and she gritted her jaw, taking a deep breath to stabilise herself.
"Ever since we left the encampment, we've been dragged around, barked orders at, and I am tired of feeling helpless and looked down upon. So, I want a deal," Elana said, going back to her original point, "I want you to protect us until that Empire business is taken care of." Turning sharply to face him, she cut off what she assumed was protest, "You're a good fighter. You have a ship, you have weapons. And you owe us, both of us," Elana enunciated, "Get us onto some planet, help us find a way to get rid of the bounty on Bean, and then you can kark off again to wherever it is that you came from."
Staring straight at his visor, she could not help her tiny sneer as she gestured at his armour. "I think you've received enough payment to make us worth your while." He said nothing, only clenched his hands into fists.
"Make the best deal, right?" Elana said, knowing that she was looking right into his eyes, "Well, Mandalorian. I'm making the best out of my situation. Looks like my best deal is you."
The Mandalorian exhaled, his modulator crackling. Then, he replied, voice impossibly low: "Deal."
They stared at each other, neither of them willing to look away first, fists clenched at their sides, and only the sound of Bean stirring made them break eye contact.
The little baby sat up, big ears backlit by the light in the cubicle as he frowned at them. With horror, Elana watched as his face scrunched up, and he started to cry, ears almost grazing the floor for how low they hung. Hurrying over to him, leaning into the cubicle and putting him in her arms, Elana shushed him gently, swaying from side to side. All she felt from him was fear, sharp and sour, and images started to flicker across the bond. Of the doctor, of Elana being dragged away, of a huge needle poking into his side, him thrashing around until it got dark.
"Shavit," she whispered, before straightening and frantically pushing up the little one's robe, "Shavit!"
There was an injection point right above his elbow, the flesh swollen, a slightly darker shade than his surrounding skin, the band-aid on it loose from him squirming around.
"Get bacta," Elana heard herself say, voice shaking, "get bacta, now."
She dimly realized how the Mandalorian sprung into action, but she was occupied with checking Bean for other injuries, aware of the way he still sniffled and curled into himself. Tracing her fingers over him gently, Elana did her best to keep thinking happy thoughts at Bean, trying to calm him some.
"Mwa," Bean cooed, looking up tearfully, button nose twitching, and he clutched at her arms. She could feel that it was not something that actually hurt him. It was not an open wound, but it still stung a bit, which made him panic. Elana sighed in relief when it became clear that he was more scared that it would happen again than that he actually felt pain.
"Oh, honey," she murmured at him, "you're such a brave little boy, aren't you?"
The bacta jar appeared in her peripheral sight, and she grabbed at it, unscrewing it as fast as she could. Feeling the Mandalorian hover behind her, she ignored him, and started to carefully peel away the other band-aid. "Get new ones, please," she said on autopilot, fingers already covered in bacta, spreading it out on the green skin of the baby, carefully rubbing it in. Bean had not stopped sniffing, but he was watching her with big eyes now, quieter than before.
He was still scared.
"We're away from that place, okay, honey?" Elana started to say, hoping that her voice would soothe him some, "That nasty doctor can't poke you again, all right?" Huffing out a watery chuckle as he grabbed her arm and pressed his face into it, Elana traced his ears gently with her fingers.
Bandages appeared, and she nodded in thanks without taking her eyes off Bean. Quickly wrapping the wound up, she pressed a peck against the bandaged spot, and smiled at Bean, unable to hide how brittle it was. "You're all fixed up now, sweetpea," Elana said, and pulled his robes down again, scooping him up into her arms, "You don't have to be scared, okay?"
Careful of his arm, she positioned him so Bean could lay his head on her shoulder, a hand on his back, backing away from the Mandalorian who was still hovering behind them. "Thank you," she told the bounty hunter, her cheek pressed into the top of Bean's wrinkled head. Bean started to sniffle and whimper again, and shook, fear still in his limbs and lingering in his head.
"You're all right, honey," Elana told him, whispering it into his large ears, pressing kisses wherever she could reach, while never stopping swaying comfortingly.
Turning to look at the Mandalorian, she sighed deeply.
"I still have things I've got to say," Elana said quietly, mindful of Bean, "There are things that still need to be addressed."
He nodded. "That's understandable," he said, his voice rough.
Elana continued: "If we are going to be travelling together until we're on a safe planet, I need boundaries. There will be some general rules we need to establish otherwise this won't work."
"Of course," he agreed, voice so soft she had difficulties picking it up through the crackle of the modulator.
"I'm not looking for a fight, and I do not want to associate with you longer than I have to, and I'm pretty sure that the feeling is mutual," Elana said quietly, looking at the Mandalorian. "I'm only doing this for him," she added, bopping Bean gently for emphasis, and he nodded.
"Can I help?" The Mandalorian asked, surprising her. She blinked in bewilderment. "Uh, if you could set up the cot…?"
If there was a record for how quick a Mandalorian got the cot propped up for them, then he probably just broke it. As soon as he was finished, he pulled himself up in the cockpit with a "Be right back".
When Elana settled down on the cot, the Mandalorian reappeared, dropped down from above and landed quietly. There were dark blankets tucked underneath his arm, and he handed them to her.
"For Bean," he said, and she took them, biting her lips in uncertainty and looked away.
"If there is something like a crate or anything we can use as a makeshift pram? Do you have anything like that?"
"Wait," was all he said, before he moved around her, grabbed the smallest crate in the hull, and took out the tools that were in there before. Putting those into another crate, he presented it to her.
She took it, put it on the floor, and started to methodically pad it with the blanket. Using the leftover flaps to tuck Bean in, she set the crate right next to the cot, and turned to the Mandalorian.
"Would it be all right if we could get to a market in the next few days?" Elana asked before hesitating, "There are things that Bean would need, and I'm not sure if the Crest has all of them."
The Mandalorian nodded. "Sure," he said.
Bean was starting to slip into sleep now, but some sniffles still escaped him, and it was with a heavy heart that Elana traced his little face with a careful finger, using the bond to wrap him in a bundle of warmth, able to draw actual comfort out of her knowledge that they were safe now. They were actually safe for the moment. The bounty hunter hovered around in her peripheral vision, and Elana turned around, facing him, Bean's eyes now closed and his breaths even. The two of them stared at each other for a moment.
Elana hesitated, before adding what was lingering in her mind, resting on the tip of her tongue. "Thank you," she whispered, blinking fast as she felt herself tearing up again, "Thank you for coming back for us."
His head whipped up, body language showing his incredulity. It was quiet between them, and even though Elana did not regret her words, for he actually deserved the thanks, since he had risked everything by rescuing them, and it could not be taken back now. The words hung in the air, fragile like a silk thread, exposing more of Elana than she would have liked.
"... You're welcome," the Mandalorian finally said, and she was astonished at how wrecked he sounded. Maybe he truly regretted it. Maybe it was eating him up inside. A part of her wished for it. Another part was too tired to care.
"I think I'll get some sleep now," she mumbled, leaning against the edge of the cot, "That stuff from before... I don't know what it was."
"I can take you to a medcenter if you want to," the Mandalorian offered quietly, "Then you can also get a checkup for Bean."
Elana nodded, resisting the urge to sigh heavily. "That would be brilliant," she heard herself say, tilting her face so she could look him in the eyes.
"I'm sorry," he then said, before he dropped to one knee, head lowered while Elana stared at him in astonishment, eyes wide, "For everything. For how I treated you." The voice of the Mandalorian was so soft that she had difficulty picking out the words, but they struck something in her that she had no time to analyse while he was in front of her.
"I don't deserve forgiveness," he continued, words coming out haltingly, the edges jagged, "What I did on Arvala-7-- on Nevarro-- there are no excuses. But I'm sorry." His head was still lowered, the sound crackled through the modulator, and she could not decipher if it was his voice or his vocal filter that made it crack like that, "I'm sorry."
Elana felt her bottom lip wobble, and with horror she realised that her eyes were stinging with tears. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath, and clenched her fists, feeling her nails dig into her palms. "We can talk about this tomorrow," she managed, voice thick, "I can't-- I can't think right now."
"All right," he whispered, "Take your time."
Elana swallowed and looked away, heart clenching and she felt as if she could not breathe properly.
The Mandalorian said nothing, just nodded once, before standing up stiffly. As he lingered for a moment, she could hear the leather gloves creak, him flexing his fingers, but then he left without a word, pulling himself up into the cockpit.
Elana stared behind him, feeling uncomfortably, inexplicably conflicted. She sat down on the cot, the baby starting to snore quietly, and just closed her eyes, resting them for a bit. Whatever it was that the Imperials had given her was still in her system, but other than sleepiness and limbs that were starting to become impossibly heavy, nothing seemed to be out of place. She could only hope that it would be the same with Bean, that whatever they had injected him with would not make him sick afterwards. It was still too early to see if it had any lasting effects on the baby. Elana found the backpack with her clothes where she had put it last, luckily having forgotten to take it when they arrived on Nevarro. After tugging out a comparatively clean set of loose clothes and putting it on, she laid down on the cot and pulled the blanket over herself. It was not long until she fell asleep, but the apology of the Mandalorian rattled in her brain for as long as she was conscious.
Something was making noises next to her, waking her up. Elana blinked groggily, turning her head towards the noise. It was Bean, she realised, standing in the crate in front of her, arms outstretched towards her.
"Honey?" Elana whispered, and the baby scuttled closer. Bean gave a low whine, and she frowned, sleepy. Reaching out with an arm, she pulled him onto her cot, letting him crawl into her side. He snuggled into her shirt, and whined again, sounding pitiful. "Honey," she murmured, "what's wrong?"
When Bean climbed up on her chest, and pressed his face into her neck, she was instantly wide awake.
He was burning up.
"Bean?" Elana asked, heart suddenly pounding in her chest, "Oh no."
Carefully sitting up, a hand on his back to support him, she inspected the little child. Elana felt her heart drop as she looked at his glassy eyes and droopy ears, the usual green colour of his face looking faded. The tips of his ears, where the skin was usually pale pink, was a slight yellow instead. Across the bond she could feel him having a headache and a hurting tummy.
"Baby, sweetpea," she whispered, tilting him against her chest, slightly bouncing him, hand splayed across his back. Pressing his nose into her collarbone, he whined again, and Elana looked up, up to the ladder leading to the cockpit.
Should she?
If Bean's temperature rose too high, it could be dangerous for him, and with how bad he looked and felt over the bond, it would not be long until he needed immediate medical attention. Medical attention she could not give him.
Searching her feelings, knowing that she did not have any supplies, she felt her heart starting to race. Should she ask the Mandalorian? Listening to the child's whimpers, her decision was quickly made. Not even bothering to make herself more presentable, she clutched Bean close to her and climbed up the ladder with one hand. Walking around the opening, barely visible in the dim orange emergency light, towards the captain's quarters, she stood in front of the closed door. Elana hesitated again, staring at the grey durasteel.
Even though there was not any reason now to fear him, it was basically hard wired into her at this point. Rationally she knew that he would not go through all the trouble to rescue them and then kill them now, but emotionally she was still terrified of the bounty hunter, no matter if she talked back sometimes or put on a brave face.
But when she felt Bean starting to cry into her, little body trembling, she knocked resolutely at the surface. It was quiet at first, so she knocked again. Recalling how he had slammed her into the ground when she had tried to lift his helmet on Arvala-7, she figured that she should not barge into his quarters where he was likely sleeping without it.
"What?" The Mandalorian's voice sounded from inside, slurred from sleep.
She knocked again, more urgently, biting her lip as she shifted the baby in her arms. "Mandalorian?" Elana asked, face close to the door as she tried to listen to what was happening inside the room.
There was a low groan and some mutterings before steps sounded towards the door. When it opened with a hiss, Elana flinched back when the helmet basically appeared inches away from her face, the Mandalorian hunched down to stare at her smaller frame.
Even without the full beskar armour strapped to him, he had the same commanding presence, and his gloves and boots were clearly tugged on while he was half asleep, tiny bits of skin poking out here and there. "What is it?" he asked, stance intimidating but his voice soft.
"I need your help," Elana said, staring imploringly at the visor, "Bean is burning up."
It was as if a switch was turned, and his scrutiny shifted to the small child whose face was buried in her shoulder, and he gave off a pained whine just in that second. The Mandalorian's posture loosened some, even if the tension was still thick enough to cut with a knife.
"What's wrong with him?" The Mandalorian inquired, still sounding a bit rough from sleep.
"He has a fever, and he's in pain. I think whatever the Imperials have given him is making him sick," she said, shifting Bean up on her body again as he wriggled, unsatisfied with that position. Looking down at him in worry, she noted that his eyes were brimming with tears, and his face started to scrunch up, a pathetic wail tearing out of his little lungs.
"Do you have a medpack? A fever shot?" Elana asked the Mandalorian who was leaning in the door, watching them, clearly tense and uncomfortable.
He was quiet, the only sound between them Bean's sobs, before he sighed. "Let me check," the bounty hunter said, pushing past her, and starting to climb down into the hull of the ship. Elana stayed where she was, swaying on the spot, whispering and humming into Bean's petal soft ears. She gently rubbed his back as he cried, becoming louder by the second. "Oh, honey," she whispered, pressing a kiss on top of his forehead, biting her lip anxiously.
He sobbed harder, pressing his face into her shoulder while she did her best to stroke him across the back, hoping that the gesture would comfort him some. After a few unbearable minutes, the Mandalorian appeared again, pulling himself up to their level.
"I only have a med pack for open wounds," he said, voice tense.
Elana closed her eyes, and exhaled in dismay. "Shavit," she muttered, a frown on her face.
Studying her, the Mandalorian tilted his head, and sighed deeply. "Hold onto him," came from him, and he moved into the cockpit, the door opening with a hiss. She trailed after him, confused, feeling the wet patch in her shirt where Bean's face was buried growing. The pain that was projected over the bond did nothing but to make her more anxious.
The Mandalorian sat down in the pilot's seat and started pushing buttons, reaching up to flick some switches. Continuing rocking Bean, she sat down in the left seat, holding on as they dropped out of hyperspace, the sudden motion making Bean cry out. The Mandalorian did not waste a moment, looking at the navigation system, and punched in some coordinates.
"I'm taking you to a medcenter," he said, voice low, skillfully swerving the ship around to another direction, and entering hyperspace once again.
At the shift in the G-force Bean whimpered, and Elana held him close, cradling the back of his head as she gently positioned it onto her shoulder. As soon as the ship was stable, the Mandalorian stood up and disappeared again, dropping down into the hull with a loud bang. Looking after him, the twist of her body made Bean unhappy, so she quickly turned back, humming gently at him. He was exhausted but still kept crying, feeling too uncomfortable to rest.
Sleep, she told him over the bond, but he whined in protest, the unnatural warmth making him feel dizzy. Sleep, Elana repeated again, more firmly, and to her surprise, he actually fell asleep. When the Mandalorian climbed up again, he handed her an ice pack wrapped in a washcloth, and she accepted thankfully, gently pressing it against the burning forehead of the little child.
Both of them looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms, heartbreakingly pale.
"We'll be at a medcenter soon," the Mandalorian said quietly, and she looked up, right into his visor, and clenched her jaw.
"Okay," she whispered, giving him a serious nod. Only when he stepped away and sat down into the pilot's seat she realized how close he had been, and her hold on Bean tightened.
"Drop out of hyperspace in fifteen minutes," he announced after a while of staring at the navicomputer, pressing some buttons, "Put on some warmer clothes."
With those words, he stood up, and made his way into the captain's quarters, presumably to strap his armour on. It was terrifying how he still looked as broad and tall without the armour as with it. Getting down into the hull carefully, and placing Bean into the pram for the time being, she quickly braided her hair, keeping it out of the way, putting on actual clothes. As she tied the laces on her boots, Bean started to cry again, not yet waking up but right before it. Scooping him up, she climbed into the cockpit and settled into the left seat again, rocking Bean while she hummed a low tune.
The Mandalorian appeared after a while, his new shiny beskar armour glinting in the light, and he carefully approached them, checking on Bean from where he was resting his head on her shoulder. It was quiet for a beat. "He looks a little pale," the Mandalorian pointed out, sounding tense, "Has he showed other worse symptoms yet?"
"No," she whispered, eyes on the worrying yellow-looking baby, "I hope it stays that way."
Dropping out of hyperspace, a station appeared in front of them, and she let out a sigh of relief, noticing that there was not too much traffic. The less people there are, the less likely that there are other bounty hunters. Even though it had not even been a few hours since Nevarro, she did not think that it was paranoid to already look for potential hunters after Bean, and she was sure that the Mandalorian would agree if she asked him.
He maneuvered the ship into the right lanes; it did not take long until the Razor Crest was landed safely.
"Come on," the Mandalorian said, powered the ship off, and turned towards her. Moving quickly, he went past her, and was already halfway down the ladder when she stood up. Reaching his arms up at her, he motioned for Elana to reach Bean to him. She raised a brow at the Mandalorian.
"Give him to me," he said, and motioned again. Hesitantly, she extracted Bean from her shirt, and reached him down, the Mandalorian gently wrapping his hands around the baby, holding him securely. As she descended the ladder, he held Bean in his arms, and the little one whined, pressing his face against the beskar plate.
An idea came to her. "Use your armour to cool him down some," she told him, quickly grabbing a satchel, stuffed a blanket and the water bottle into it, "Do you have credits with you?"
"Yes," he answered, looking a bit bewildered with the baby in his arms, a cheek smushed against his chestplate. Elana nodded determinedly, and pressed the button to lower the side ramp. "Let's go," she said.
They quickly left the ship, and went into an open foyer, the cold light of the sterile place uninviting. Making a straight line to the receptionist's desk, she stopped in front of it. A Cerean male held up a finger at her, gesturing for her to wait with a small perfunctory smile, and finished up his call. "Good day, welcome to Naamel medcenter, how can I help you?" His tone was bored, and he did not even look up.
"We have a sick child," Elana said, "He has had a fever for a few hours now."
"A nurse will come to you in a moment, please go to the waiting room down the hallway, and register yourself."
The Mandalorian stepped closer, and stared down at the receptionist. "No identification," he said. The Cerean looked up, and then did a double take, eyes widening at the sight of the warrior.
"Of course, sir," he was quick to stammer, his eyes darting between the Mandalorian, Bean and her, and he pressed a button on his desk connected to a visible comlink.
"We have a high priority case, please get to it as soon as possible," he spoke into it, before giving them a nervous smile and pointed towards the room they were supposed to wait in. The Mandalorian stalked past the desk, Bean in his arms, and Elana was quick to follow after she shot a polite parting nod at the receptionist.
"That was the fastest response I've ever seen at a medcenter," Elana told him as she caught up to him, a slightly wry smile on her face.
The Mandalorian huffed. "Yeah?"
"Mwa," Bean said, stretching out a hand towards her as they entered the empty waiting room. Elana stepped close to the Mandalorian, both of them working together in transferring the baby from his arms into hers. In no time at all Bean was resting his head on her shoulder again, a big frown on his face, eyes teary, "Eh?"
"It won't take long now, okay?" Elana reassured him, patting him on his back, "A few minutes at most, sweetpea."
The Mandalorian was tense, and every time someone walked past the room his hand twitched towards his weapon holster.
"Keep your hand off your blaster, for Maker's sake," Elana hissed at him through clenched teeth, his behaviour setting her off, pacing around the sterile room. The only reprieve for the cold white paint was a potted plant in one corner and a framed painting of an underwater garden on the wall.
"No," the Mandalorian told her, fingers curling around the weapon. Elana took a deep breath in annoyance and glared at him.
"This is a medcenter, so: Keep your hands off."
"He's still being hunted," he said, looking at her.
"Bean getting treated is more important now, and I don't think the staff would treat him if you insist on being trigger happy," Elana said, voice dry. As if to help her point, Bean sobbed loudly, and she started rocking him gently again, pressing kisses against his forehead, not liking how yellow he looked at all. "Honey, just a bit, okay? You're such a strong baby," she told him, swaying from side to side, "We're gonna get you fixed up in no time at all."
"Mwa," he said, burying his button nose into her soaked shirt.
A Mirilian nurse came in, a med droid on her heels. The Mandalorian tensed instantly. "No droids," he told the nurse without preamble, and Elana's head whipped around to him. Was he being serious? Not only was that rude, but they could not afford being difficult. The nurse stared at him, clearly tired from a long day and dealing with difficult patients.
"Look, sir," she said, sighing heavily and kneading between her eyes, "We are understaffed as hell, and if you want a check in, you'll have to accept the droid."
Elana stepped closer to him, face set in a frown.
"We are not leaving until Bean gets treated," she hissed at the Mandalorian, before pushing past him and talking to the nurse herself, effectively ignoring him.
"Excuse him, miss," Elana said, "We need a check up, and something to lower his fever, I'm worried at how fast he got this bad."
The urgent words were underlined by Bean whining and starting to wail again, his sobs heartbreaking.
The Mirilian raised a brow at the Mandalorian, disapproval in her eyes. "I mean no disrespect, sir, but you're in no position to be picky about the staff. If your child looks as bad as this, I would suggest listening to your wife and letting a droid handle this."
"She's not my wi--" The Mandalorian started to say, while at the same time Elana injected: "He's not my husba--"
The nurse raised a brow, and held up a hand. "That's unimportant. You have a sick child, so let Bee-Two take a look at the baby."
Elana gave the Mandalorian a nasty look. "Yeah," she drawled, voice venomous, "Let the droid look at him now."
He sighed heavily. Bean was still crying.
"Ma'am, please go down that hallway, Bee-Two will accompany you to room A4," the nurse directed and turned around, hurrying to another patient.
Elana smiled at the med droid. "Thank you very much," she said, ignoring the annoyed huff of the Mandalorian.
"Please follow me," Bee-Two said, and started to walk towards the room the nurse had assigned them to.
"What is wrong with you?" Elana asked the Mandalorian, brows furrowed and daggers in her eyes.
"I don't like droids," was his short answer.
Elana scoffed. "Yeah, kriff. I can see that."
"Cut it out," he snapped at her, voice low, as tense as a springboard.
"You cut it out," she snarled, her last bit of patience snapping, "Stars, get yourself together."
The med droid led them into a small, brightly lit room, and gestured to the examination desk in the middle. "Please put the baby on this. I will perform a scan," it instructed, and Elana quickly did as it said. Bean whined as she set him down, claws outstretched to her, bottom lip wobbling. "Mwa," he called out with a sniffle, "Mwa."
Reaching over the bond, she wrapped him in a warm bundle of love, hoping that it would calm him down some. Letting him hold onto one finger, she looked up at the med droid. "Please step back. You can let him hold onto your hand," the droid said, and took out a big complicated looking scanner.
Something clicked ominously behind her, and when she turned her head, Elana saw the Mandalorian, blaster in hand.
"Stop that," she told him, this close to ringing his bell so hard he would have a concussion.
Bee-Two scanned Bean with a blue light, and then switched to a red light. "He has increased temperature that is above the normal range of his body," the droid announced, "Can you tell me what species this child is so I can make a better prediction of his recovery? Or is he a hybrid?"
Elana shook her head. "I don't know what he is," she answered, biting her lip.
"Very well. Going by the symptoms and readings of other humanoid species, then." With a whirr, it ran a diagnostic.
"Quite an amount of blood had been extracted from him, but it's nothing to be worried about. He will be fine in a few days with some rest. But there are substances I cannot identify accurately in his bloodstream," the droid said, and it was as if an icy hand wrapped around her heart. She stared at the droid, feeling her stomach drop.
"Are they dangerous, though?" Elana got out, sounding choked.
"From what I can tell, no. They do not bind to cells or are actively destroying them."
"Could you run a deeper scan?"
The droid whirred again, cocking its head in an uncanny way, before nodding once. "Very well," it said, "This might take a few minutes." Rolling towards a large, white device, it started to press buttons and prepare it while Elana and the Mandalorian watched anxiously. Bean whimpered, claws digging into her shirt, ears hanging low. She gently smoothed over them, hoping that soft touches were calming for him.
As soon as a green light started to blink, the droid turned around, and held its hand out towards Bean. "May I?"
Ignoring the Mandalorian behind her who audibly tensed, she placed the child into the droid's arms, and even though it hurt her heart to see the little child stretching his little arms to her, whining loudly, Elana knew that it was necessary.
The droid rolled over to the device, beeping in a soothing manner, and placed him onto the scanner. Glancing over her shoulder to the Mandalorian, her lips pursed as she saw that his hand was still hovering over the blaster. Giving him a look and a sign to put it down, Elana turned around again, and crossed her arms while waiting for the results of the scan.
"Why are you so tense?" Elana asked the Mandalorian in a low voice, "Because of the med droid?"
He said nothing, but tilted his helmet slightly.
"Are you serious?" Looking at him, not trying to judge, but understand, she furrowed her brows. "Why?"
He stepped closer, and it sounded as if he spoke through gritted teeth when he said: "Droids are unpredictable."
"Droids are helpful," Elana pointed out as Bee-Two beeped happily, probably having some toddler-appropriate programming installed in its software, and finished the scan.
"The substances are non toxic and should not cause any more damage than the fever," Bee-Two explained, "Once the fever is down, he will be completely healthy again."
"Thank the Stars," Elana exhaled, feeling like a weight had dropped from her heart.
"I can administer a fever shot so he will be able to sleep, he is not in a critical stage but with small children it can change rapidly."
"Do it, please." Chewing her lip, Elana watched as the droid left the room, presumably going to collect the shot.
Moving towards the table where Bean was lying on his back, Elana reached out a finger for him to grasp, and smiled at the little one. Mumbling encouraging praises and promises at him, the toddler was calmer than before, looking at her with big, dark eyes, the depth in them stunning.
Bee-Two rolled back, holding a tiny syringe, and it administered the shot to Bean quickly, the baby whimpering at the prick. "You can pick him up now. The procedure is complete," the med droid said, and she flashed it a thankful smile as she scooped Bean up.
He immediately clawed himself into her shirt, snuggling into her and burying his face in her shoulder. A quiet "Mwa" came from him as his fingers tightened to a point where it was almost painful.
"Shh, honey," Elana whispered and pressed a kiss on his left ear, "You can sleep now."
"Can you check on her as well?" Her head whipped around when she heard the Mandalorian voicing his request through gritted teeth.
The droid beeped once, before strolling over to her.
"Hand the child to your partner, please, I will give you a check-up," it said, and after a quick look at the bounty hunter, she placed the sleepy Bean into his arms. He instantly curled against the silver chestplate, ears turned to the back. She could feel the way Bean's mind slowly got fuzzy as the shot started to work, the fever lowering. The Mandalorian gave her a nod.
"Take your time," he said, somewhat awkwardly, "I'll wait outside."
Elana did not want to leave him completely alone with Bean, but she figured that it would probably be fine. If he bolted, Bean would bite him for her, she reasoned with herself, and since there was nothing to be done about it, she gave him an accepting nod.
The Mandalorian moved outside through the door that hissed open, and she could hear how Bean sleepily babbled at him.
Elana turned and faced the droid, before sitting onto the examination desk, her legs dangling on from the height. Bee-Two started to look over her, and its eyes focused on her cheek first, and then her wrists.
"Have you been recently freed?" It asked, and to be honest, she could not even blame it for the question. Elana was very aware how she must look like an escaped slave, especially in the Outer Rim.
"Something like that," Elana said, looking away.
"Do you have an implant?"
"Only standard ones, no trackers," she admitted.
"Have you been injured?" Bee-Two asked, its voice kind, "Are you in need of any specific testing, such as pregnancy tests?"
"No, none of that sort," Elana said, feeling a lump in her throat at the thought, slightly nauseous. Thank the Stars that the Mandalorian had never made any kind of advances on her, and that nothing had happened in the safehouse, probably due to Dr. Pershing.
The med droid beeped, and nodded. "That is pleasant to hear. I will run a scan on you now, and determine the extent of your wounds." Elana held still as it performed the procedure, and listened to it as it listed her various bruises, scrapes and wounds, commenting on the treatment that she had given herself already.
"I will administer a bacta spray on your wounds, they will heal you in a matter of hours. Be warned, older wounds might scar even with the treatment." Elana looked down at her wrists, and suppressed a sigh. There were worse scars to have, she told herself, and gave the droid a nod.
The bacta spray was cool as it misted her skin, and it smelled sharp and sickly sweet. Her skin tingled as the spray set itself onto her wounds, starting to become numb. Sitting up straight, Elana let the droid handle the cuts and scrapes that have already been looked after, letting it apply a new layer of bacta on her skin. Some of the bruises on her back the droid could reach better than she did, and it was a relief to have those treated as well. It did not take long until Bee-Two finished with a happy beep, and rolled back.
"All finished up," it told her with a little whirr, and the eye pieces moved in a way to indicate a smile. Elana automatically smiled back, and she stood up from the desk, her wrists fully numbed. When she peered at it, she could already see skin rebuilding itself. "This is amazing," she whispered, an awed smile on her face.
"Should I call your partner back in?" Bee-Two inquired, and Elana wanted to sigh, but it would be too much of a hassle to correct the assumption, so she nodded.
"Thank you," she said, and tugged on her sleeves, rolling the fabric down. The door opened with a hiss, and she could see how the Mandalorian had been standing right in front of it, arm curled around the little child, hand hovering over his blaster. He turned his head towards them, and his shoulders dropped with an exhale. Elana gave him a hopefully reassuring smile as she moved towards him, standing straight.
The Mandalorian stiffly thanked the med droid and placed some credits in its hand, Bean almost asleep against him. Before she knew it, he had pressed a hand between her shoulder blades in a not-so-subtle way to get her to move again. Elana glared at him, but chose not to comment, and when he pushed her down the hallway, she turned her head and called out a "Thank you!" to Bee-Two, who beeped back, his robotic hand waving in goodbye.
"We're going back to the ship," the Mandalorian said, and pushed a bit more.
She threw him the dirtiest look she could manage. "I can walk by myself, don't touch me."
He immediately put his hand away, but was still using his body to crowd against Elana, forcing her to walk faster, clearly wanting to get back to the Razor Crest as soon as possible.
On their way back, Bean quietly sniffed from time to time, but he was regaining some of his usual colour. After a short transfer of the baby from his arms into hers, Elana pressed her lips against the little one's temple to take his temperature, and was satisfied when he did not feel as hot to the touch as before. Elana held him close, the warmth and the weight of the baby comforting, and the relief of him being better making her feel giddy. Arriving at the port after a quick check-out, they made their way to and ascended the ramp of the old gunship.
As soon as they were safely inside, and the lock of the ship hissed, the Mandalorian disappeared into the cockpit to start the ship. The Crest lifted shortly after, and it was not long until the jerk and sudden roar of hyperspace alerted her to them being out of reach of the station.
Bean was sleeping now, his adorable snores soothing her frayed nerves, cooing at whatever dream he had behind those closed eyelids. Smiling at him, she gently stroked his little cheek, and felt her own exhaustion of an interrupted sleep set in. The Mandalorian dropped down again, but she was too tired to even flinch at the sudden movement.
"He's all right?" The Mandalorian asked, voice gentle, and he motioned to Bean. Not bothering to actually answer, she just made a "mhh" and nodded, her eyes starting to slip shut. He offered a folded blanket to her which she took wordlessly with a nod. "He will sleep like a rock," she said, and shot him a small smile.
"Good," he said, and tilted his helmet at her, "How are you?" His voice was unexpectedly gentle.
Elana glanced down, and was surprised to see that most of the redness had receded, the wound still steadily closing. "Looks nice," she said, her lips curving up once again, "Thank you for taking us to the medcenter."
"It was nothing," the Mandalorian said quietly, helmet downturned, and he took a step back, giving her space.
It wasn't, though.
And both of them knew that.
Thank you for reading!!❤
102 notes · View notes
mogwaei · 7 months ago
Tumblr media
Chapter 140: Glass & Thread    
Pairings: Solas/OFC, M!Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, F!Lavellan/secret companion
Fic summary: Agent of Fen’Harel defects to search for an alternative solution. Time travel with trip ups. Lore exploration and expansion. Friends, rivals, lovers, and endless explanations. Itsa spaghetti!
Chapter peek: Solas thinks about happiness. Solas thinks about war. Solas gets a leaf. Solas finds a weird spirit with a loom. :D
Chpt WC: ~7,400 | Whole fic: ~735k
They spent their last night with everyone on the fringes of the lake not far from where their party had stayed months ago. Snow fell freely now and the water was beginning to freeze at the edges. Everyone bundled up but the cold was not enough to deter the rambunctious group from one more night of their unique companionship within a unified camp.
When he thought he might have found a temporary bubble of contentment in the midst of the merrymaking, the past still managed to creep up on him like the shadows flickering at the edges of the encampment. He felt like he had been cast back to his younger days. A moment of respite after returning to the surface lands where they had spent months in the darkness deep in the bowels of the earth. The war had taken them below and each time they returned to see the skies and its heavenly bodies, his brothers in arms rejoiced.
If he closed his eyes and pulled on the Fade a little, approaching the border between meditation and sleep, he could envision his old friends enjoying themselves amidst his present, mortal company.
Bloodied and battered, they'd sit around bantering loudly while most emptied their boots of that strange silt and lyrium mixture. It was known that the dust was caustic and should be cleaned away immediately, but boot sand was inconsequential in a foreign place filled with unimaginable horrors. He still had a scar or two on his own feet.
Many elves hardly waited to reach the surface before they cheerfully and carelessly doffed their armour in favour of shirtsleeves and shifts. Not that he blamed them after months not daring—fearing to take it off, but still, it was foolish. He was always the one to remind them that they could be ambushed any moment and without armour, they were as good as dead.
That's why we have you! Nothing escapes your notice, Wolf! they would crow. Likely while downing a tankard of fermented field wine. And they would all laugh, because they were alive, after all.
In another later era when factions had split Elvhenan, when there were kings on the rise to godhood, when Fear and Uncertainty grew fat, feasting upon the spreading famine…
…somehow, he still found people. Little circles of camaraderie enduring the hardship together.
A few veterans of the First War had made their way to his cause, but there were also many new faces, now all barren of vallaslin, more sombre, but free. Not all had come to him—some he had pulled out of the flaming wreckage himself. Old friends he couldn't bear to see crushed beneath the bloodied heels of the warring empire.
Those campfires were quieter. The rebels were weary souls, broken by subjugation and the demands placed upon them by their Houses trying to stay afloat during the conflicts. But while the old fighters like himself and Ilonen, twins Pelor and Meridor, Shiveren, and Va Tue'sin—the last who went back to Mythal after they heard rumours of a coup—were burdened by their years by the time of the Rebellion, most managed to keep morale up for the others. Our continued survival and presence meant that there was hope for a future.
And when Felassan joined, it became easier...though perhaps not for the best. Solas found himself often using the Slow Arrow as a distraction while he slipped away to focus on his duties. Slipping further into his role, the mantle on his shoulders soon shifting to bear the weight of the world.
Then again, Felassan did not always allow him to escape into solitude.
If Solas did not make an appearance wherever the palavering was happening, then the crafty elf brought it to him.
Often in creative, albeit obnoxious ways.
Standing just beyond the firelight, Solas imagined it.
Read the whole chimichungus on Ao3!
Chapter 140
Chapter 1
23 notes · View notes
captn-andor · 11 months ago
i love you | c.andor
Tumblr media
summary | cassian finds it hard to tell you how he feels, but he has no problem finding all kinds of substitutes for those three little words
warnings | character death, angst, alcohol, brief descriptions of injury and violence
genre | fluff, major angst at the end
word count | 5.3K
pairing | cassian andor x gender neutral!reader
Cassian wasn’t sure when he had first developed feelings for you. You had met when you were paired up for a mission. You were a fresh face, bright-eyed and new to the Rebellion. He had almost resented being paired up with you, someone so new and inexperienced, but you had proven yourself and more over the course of the mission. Good with a rifle and a skilled spy, but your true talent shone when you were in the cockpit. He had never seen a more naturally talented pilot before, and honestly? He was pretty in awe of you. 
From then on, the two of you had become fast friends- though it took a while longer for K2 to warm up to you. He found himself smiling just at the sight of you, catching a glimpse of you across a room or seeing you smiling. You told the stupidest jokes, and you had a wit to combat his surly moods. Cassian realized how important you were to him when he realized that he trusted you with anything. Trust, something that didn’t come easy with him, not since he was a child. 
That was when Cassian realized how much he cared about you, but he didn’t know how he felt about you until months later, when you returned from a mission that hadn’t gone well. The second that he had gotten news of you being in the medical bay, he had dropped the repairs he had been making on his ship and ran to find you. The sight of you, eyes lacking their usual shine and your cheek bearing a deep red scratch, was enough to break his heart. 
He had come into the Rebellion the same as you. Full of hope that he could make a difference, that he was on the winning side of the war and that the Empire wouldn’t be able to defeat them. Though that hope still existed, he had seen too much for that shine in his eyes to remain. That was a truth he had come to terms with for himself, but seeing your empty gaze then and there was enough to make him want to hold you close, take you far away, away from the war and this life. 
He had sat by your side as the doctors checked you over, holding your hand and speaking to you, but you just stared blankly into space. When you finally looked at him, tears brimming in your eyes, Cassian came to a few realizations. One, he wanted to kill every single person who fought for the Empire, whoever had done this to you. Two, the thought of you getting hurt terrified him to the point of immobility. And third, that he had feelings for you. That he was probably in love with you. 
He had never been one known for showing his true self, his true feelings, so the idea of revealing how he felt to you was terrifying enough on its own. But he found that no matter how resolved he was to not say those three little words, they kept slipping out, in their own ways. 
The first time had been just days after that faithful mission that had forced him to come to terms with his feelings. For the days that followed, you had been staunchly adamant that you were fine, forcing yourself back into the loop and trying not to think about it. But Cassian could see the way you winced when you got up too fast, how you would drift off into your own thoughts when other people were talking. 
He didn’t want to force you to talk about it. He remembered one of his own especially bad missions, with an explosive ending that had taken the lives of two of the men who had accompanied him. If what you were feeling was close to how he had felt, he knew making you talk about it wouldn’t help. All he could do was give your hand a reassuring squeeze and tell you that when you wanted to talk, he would be there. 
That had ended up being quicker than he thought. A few nights later, you had shown up at his door, shaking like a leaf and stumbling over your words. He had just stepped aside and let you come in, and you had ended up sitting on his bed and talking. Cassin just sat there and listened. He didn’t know how much time had passed since you started talking, ranting about everything that had gone wrong and what you could have done better. “I’m sorry,” you sniffed with a sigh, shaking your head. “I’m probably being such a baby, you must be tired and I’m just ranting...” 
“It’s okay,” Cassian had murmured, shaking his head. Leaning forward, he wrapped an arm around you and you just melted into his touch. “Everyone needs someone to talk to sometimes, I’m glad that I’m that person for you. Besides, I like the sound of your voice.” 
You laughed, pulling back and wiping your tears quickly. Cassian found himself wishing that he could always be the one to comfort you, your shoulder to cry on, the person to kiss your tears away and hold you when you just needed someone to keep you afloat. 
“You’re such a sweet talker, Cass,” you chuckled, settling your head back on his chest. “You talk to all your friends like this?” 
“No,” he shook his head, wrapping his arms around you once again. Only you. 
It had been an extremely long day. 
Cassian was preparing for a mission on Hoth, so he hadn’t much time to see you. You had been in the hangar all day, making repairs to your ship. One of the other pilots had to inform him at breakfast that you had been there since before daybreak, when he noticed your absence from the cantina. 
He had rushed through his preparations, constantly looking over from his ship to the hangar door, just 200 feet away. “Might I make an observation?” K2-SO had snapped him out of his thoughts later in the day, when he was supposed to be going through the ship’s armory. 
“Don’t know when a ‘no’ has ever stopped you, K,” Cassian sighed. But K2 didn’t speak, and when he looked up, he was met with the sight of his droid staring at him. “Yes,” he sighed, nodding. “You can make an observation.” 
“They’re perfectly safe, and yet you seem extremely concerned for them,” K2 stated matter-of-factly, busying himself with finishing his check of the ship’s controls. “It looks as if you miss them, though you saw them last night, so a reasonable conclusion would be that you have feelings for them.” Looking up, the droid was met with Cassian’s bewildered gaze. “If it is any consolation, there is a 74% chance that your feelings are requited.”
Cassian’s jaw clenched, wishing that his droid could be less observant. “Thanks, K.” 
“Anytime- where are you going?” Cassian didn’t respond, hopping off of the ship. “Fine,” K2 grumbled. “If we end up having a faulty engine, it won’t be my fault.” 
After a quick detour to the cantina, Cassian entered the hangar, his head on a swivel as he searched for you. This late in the day though, the hangar was mostly empty so it was easy to spot you, your upper torso under your ship as you lay on one of those metal platforms with wheels. “Either I’m hallucinating, or that’s my second favorite Rebellion spy,” you laughed, peeking out from under your ship and catching a glimpse of his boots. A familiar smell filled your nostrils that made you sigh in relief. “With coffee?” 
Cassian gasped in mock offense, using the toe of his boot to pull the platform out and expose your shit-eating grin. “Second favorite?” 
“Yes, you know K has the #1 spot in my heart,” you giggled, sitting up and accepting his offering of coffee. When he frowned, you laughed, shaking your bed. “Come on Cass, you know I’m fucking with you.” 
“You better be, I didn’t get you coffee just to be your second favorite.” His frown immediately evaporated at the sound of your laugh, and he let out his own laugh at the shock on your face as you took your first sip, drinking from his own cup. “So I’m guessing I got it right?” 
“Holy shit, right on the credits,” you laughed. “How- wait, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned how I take my coffee to you, did you guess?” 
“No,” he shook his head. “You mentioned it a couple months ago, when we were on Alderaan.” Cassian remembered that stakeout, days spent in a cramped crawl space waiting for your target. He had offered to grab coffee. 
“You remembered?” 
“Of course,” he shrugged, not thinking much of it. “I remember everything you tell me.” 
You bite your lip to hide the wide smile that threatens to breach your lips, looking down at your lap. Cassian rubs the back of his neck, suddenly scared that he’s said too much. “I’ll um, I’ll go, should let you go back to work-” 
“-No!” Your exclamation catches him off guard, but not as much as how you jolt forward to grab his hand, the feeling of your skin against his sending lightning rocketing up his arm and to his heart. “Sorry, I just thought...if you’re not busy, we could drink together? I need a break from this hunk of junk anyway.” 
His worries fade away and he smiles, nodding and taking a seat next to you. He has to leave in a couple hours and K will ride his ass when he gets back to his ship, but for now, he sips his coffee slowly, wanting to savor his time with you as much as possible. 
Weeks later, he had returned from his mission and was greeted with you running up to him, throwing your arms around him with a hug that made him stumble back from the sheer force of it. “Congratulations on the success, Captain,” you laughed, ruffling his hair. 
“Maker, I’m gonna break my back one day and it’s gonna be because of you,” he sighed dramatically, though his facade of annoyance fell through due to his inability to stop smiling at the sight of you. 
Rolling your eyes, you looped your arm through his, dragging him away from his ship and an indignant K2, who was wondering aloud as to why he didn’t receive such an enthusiastic greeting. “Come on, Draven said you could report in the morning, we’re all meeting for drinks in the cantina.” 
Honestly? Cassian was dead tired, and if he let himself drift off, he could probably fall asleep standing up, leaving you to drag his unconscious body to the cantina. But the prospect of spending time with you was much more appealing than sleep, so he jogged a bit to catch up to your long strides- you were shorter than him, how were you walking this fast?- and listened as you talked about everything that had happened on the base during his absence. 
“And THEN that newbie had the gall to say he could outfly me, and you know I’m not normally someone that’s THAT easily provoked, but he had been talking shit all day, so I said “okay, get in your X-wing and prove it” and you wanna guess what happened?” 
“You outflew him?” 
Your grin grows. “I fucking demolished him, he almost crashed his ship. Almost threatened to tell Mothma just because he was so butthurt about it.” 
“Even if he did, I doubt she would have done anything, she loves you too much.” 
Though the drinks were meant to be in his honor, Cassian found himself still on his first glass by the end of the night, having been slowly sipping from it. The rest of your pilot friends, however, were absolutely wasted. One had passed out at the table an hour ago. You had been drinking slowly as well, but you were definitely a more tipsy than him. “Come on,” he sighed, lifting you from your seat. You stumbled, regaining your balance and laughing about it as if your own lack of motor skills was the funniest thing in the galaxy. Alright, maybe you were past tipsy. People were beginning to leave, stumbling back to their own quarters- though some of them were being aided by friends, like Cassian was doing to you. “Let’s get you to bed.” 
“I’m cold,” you whined, making a show of grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers through his own. “Feels like Hoth in here- are we on Hoth?” You whirled around to look at him, eyes wide with fear. 
He bit back a laugh, shaking his head. “No honey, we’re on Yavin.” You nodded, a soft ‘oh’ leaving your lips as he led you out of the cantina. “Here,” stopping for a second, he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it at you. You looked at it for a moment, then up at him, confused. “You said you were cold, put it on.” 
His jacket was much too big for you. Though it fit him comfortably, the sleeves almost enveloped your hands and he tried his best not to laugh as you kept walking. “So did you have fun?” Your question takes him off guard, his gaze snapping from your hands back up to your eyes, which were looking at him expectantly. 
“Yeah,” he smiled, and though being surrounded by people using him as an excuse for alcohol wasn’t really his idea of fun, getting to spend the night with you had made it enjoyable. “Thank you, for doing this for me.” 
“Honestly, I’m kinda sorta doing it for me, too,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. When he pauses, confused, you elaborate. “When I met you, you always- you never smiled, and you always had this like, crease, right here.” You pinch the space between your eyebrows together, mimicking the furrow of his brows. Cassian laughed, knowing you were right. Frowning had grown to just be his default expression, and there were times that he had looked in the mirror and been met with his own hard gaze and those furrowed brows. “The first time I made you smile was when we got back from that first mission, and I- I liked the way you looked when you smiled, so I wanted to make you do it again.” 
It’s a confession that definitely wouldn’t be passing your lips if you were sober, and one that makes Cassian choke on his words, makes him want to kiss you, makes his heart skip a beat as you burrow deeper into it. But you’re drunk, and you don’t give your words a second thought. If he didn’t know that drinking tends to make you more honest, he wouldn’t have either. “If it makes you happy, I’ll start smiling every day,” he sighs breathlessly, feeling his heart do another skip when you smile up at him. 
He swears he can see his reflection in your eyes. 
You reach your quarters and open the door, then pause. “Ah shit, I forgot to give you your jacket back-” 
“Keep it,” Cassian shrugs, giving you a hug goodnight. “It looks better on you anyway.” 
He turns to leave, but you take him by surprise one last time tonight by pulling him back and kissing his cheek. “Goodnight, Cassian.” 
“No!” You laugh in disbelief, propping yourself up on your elbows and looking at Cassian with wide eyes. “You were on Tattooine for a week, there is no way you just learned Tuskenese.” 
“Well I’m not fluent,” Cassian shrugs, chuckling at your wide eyes. “I just know some of the sign language. Enough to get around, anyway.” 
“So how do you...” You bite your lip, your feet swinging over the edge of his bed. “How do you say ‘hello’?” 
Cassian sits up, doing the sign for a normal greeting. He’s had to deal with enough Tusken raiders in the past week, so the greeting came easy to him now. You watch his movements, then try to mimic them, though yours comes out more sloppy than his. “No,” he chuckles, thinking about how if you did that to an actual Tusken raider, they might attack you. “No, watch me, okay, like this.” He does the movement slower, pausing throughout to let you copy his movements. Then he does it again, as one fluid motion, and you copy him, getting it. “Perfect, you got it.” 
You smile, obviously proud of yourself, and settle back onto the bed. “If I ever go to Tattooine, I’m taking you with me and you’re doing the translating.” 
“Gladly,” Cassian chuckles, leaning over to brush some hair out of your eyes. You sigh as his fingers graze your cheek, your eyes closing shut peacefully. Maker, how he wishes he could just close the space between the two of you. He could do it, feel your lips on his if he just leaned in...
But then you’re opening your eyes again, smiling widely at him and sitting up again. His hand hovers in the space where you’d just been for a split second before he drops it, coughing and running it through his hair. “Anything else yu want to know?” 
“Hmmmm,” you let out a sigh, humming as you think about it. “What about ‘I love you’?” You laugh when his eyes widen, unaware of the thoughts racing through his head. “Come on, all those Tuskens have to say something to their partners.” 
“I don’t know if I know that-” 
“C’mon Cass, what’s the rough translation?” He realizes he’s being too tense about this, so he sits up, swallowing and thinking about the movements before signing it, a rough “I- love- you”. 
Now only if he could say it in Basic. 
He signs it pretty fast, so he’s shocked when you watch him for a moment, as if trying to memorize the words, and sign it back, perfectly. Your lips quirk upwards into a smile, head cocking to the side. He’s about to say something when you beat him to it. “So?” 
“Did I do it right?” 
“Yeah,” he smiles softly, nodding. You’re too proud of yourself to notice the way his smile disappears for a second. “Just perfect.” 
He can see it in your eyes all throughout the ride back to Yavin. 
You’re furious with him. 
He knows why. Logically, it was a stupid thing to do, he could have gotten killed, or captured, in which case he could have jeapordized Rebellion intel, but when he saw that stormtrooper raise his blaster, pointing it at you, he hadn’t thought, just acted. His feet moved of their own accord, moving at light speed as he pushed you aside, the trooper’s shot grazing his side.
He had been fine, and the mission was a success, but you were still furious with him. You don’t look at him, you don’t talk to him, you let K2 tend to his wound as you pilot the ship, your hands clutching the steering so tight that he can see your knuckles growing white. 
You’re furious, and yet if he had a chance to go back in time, he wouldn’t change a thing. 
The second you land, he’s calling your name, but you shove past him and exit down the still opening hatch, hopping off and dashing away as if you can’t stand to be around him a second longer. He sighs, watching your retreating figure, and turns back to the ship. He wants to rush after you and hold you, ask you for your forgiveness and assure you that it’s okay, but there are things to be done. 
The second that his debriefing with Mothma and Draven is over, he heads straight to you. “Honey,” he sighs, knocking on your door. The nickname had first slipped out when you were too drunk to register it, but he’s found it slipping more and more. You don’t seem to mind it. “Will you let me in?” 
Silence. Maybe you’re asleep, but he knows you too well. Knows something like what happened tonight would have wound you up too much to sleep. So he doesn’t jump, isn’t surprised when you open the door. What takes him by surprise is your eyes. 
He had expected the anger, he had expected for you to burn a hole straight through his skull with your gaze, but what he doesn’t expect is how red your eyes are. What he didn’t account for were the tears building in them, or the ones that had already passed down your cheeks. And when you speak, your voice is hoarse. “I don’t want to talk to you, Cassian.” 
His heart wrenches at how weak you sound, the resignation in your tone. Cassian had accounted for your anger, but he hadn’t accounted for the fear. 
You were angry at him, definitely. But that anger stemmed from your fear. You were scared of losing him. When he took that shot for you, you had been scared that you had lost him. “Honey...” 
You try to shut the door on his face but he’s too fast, reflexes too honed from years in the Rebellion. You keep trying to shut it, growing more and more frustrated as he holds it open with ease, until Cassian notices the soft sobs passing from your lips, and sees your shoulders shaking. He lets go of the door, and you don’t try to close it on him. 
You let out a choked sob when he gathers you in your arms, whispering soothing words and rubbing your back, letting you cry angry tears into his chest. “You’re so stupid, Cassian,” you spit. You might be letting him hold you, but you’re definitely still angry. 
“I know.” 
“No,” you sniff, pushing away from him and wiping your eyes. “You don’t. It wasn’t just stupid, it was moronic. What if you had died? What would we have done? The Rebellion needs you, I need you, you- you’re so important-” 
“-And you think you’re not important?” Cassian scoffs at your words, the hidden implication that his life was of more importance than yours. That less tears would be shed if your life had been lost on that mission. He detests the idea, deplores it. “You- you are the most important person in the galaxy to me.” He swallows, cupping your face and wiping your tears. You sigh shakily, but your anger is melting away. “I’m sorry for scaring you, but I- I don’t regret doing it. If I lost you- I don’t know what I would have done. I couldn’t lose you, I can’t...” 
Silence wasn’t a foreign concept in your friendship with Cassian. He wasn’t one for words, opting for silence most of the time. And though you were definitely more talkative, there were definitely times that you went into your own head. The two of you could sit in silence for what felt like hours together, just enjoying each other’s presence. 
But the silence here was different. It wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t easy, it was tense. Both of you were silent not by choice, but because you both felt as though if you tried to speak, that lump in your throats would grow until you both choked on your words. 
So you sat in silence, side by side, both of you too caught up in your own thoughts, your own fears, to truly enjoy the last few moments that you had together. Cassian finally got the guts to look over at you. You looked fucking terrified. “Honey,” he put his hand over yours, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be okay.” 
“You don’t know that,” you shook your head, looking up at the figures bustling throughout the hangar, at Jyn, Bodi, Chirrut, and Baze standing on the other side of the hangar, shooting expectant glances at Cassian. “I want to come with you.” 
“No,” Cassian shoots the idea down with a firm finality that he’s never used when speaking to you. Still, you open your mouth to argue, but when he squeezes your hand again, the words die in your throat. “We need you here. When Mothma and Draven figure out we’re gone, I need you here, like our person on the inside.” 
It was bullshit, he knew. But he could only hope that it was bullshit you would buy. In all honesty, you would be more help on Scarif, but he couldn’t risk it. 
He would volunteer himself for every suicide mission the Rebellion would throw at him, if it meant keeping you safe. 
“Cassian,” you feel tears prick at your eyes. “I’m scared. I can’t- what if you...” 
“Nothing will happen.” It’s a promise he know he shouldn’t make, but he does anyway. He takes both of your hands in his, turning you to look at him. “I promise, I will always come back to you.” 
Cassian leaves after pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, knowing that if he turns around and sees the silent tears descending down your cheeks, he won’t have the strength to go. 
Cassian doesn’t keep his promise. 
You know the fate of Rogue One before anyone tells you. A bad feeling had settled in the pit of your stomach as you observed the downcast expressions worn by everyone around the base. So when Mon Mothma reported that though the mission was a success, there had been no survivors, it was just the nail in the coffin. 
You had stood there, frozen in shock as people exchanged hugs, shed tears. It seemed impossible to be happy, no matter how closer this brought the Rebellion to winning the war. 
You had lost the only person in the world that mattered. 
Mothma’s eyes are filled with sympathy, understanding, as she slips something into your hand, whispering quiet condolences and suggesting that you go to your quarters, get some rest. You don’t realize that you had been crying the entire time until you enter your quarters, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. 
Your eyes drop from the mirror to your bed, to Cassian’s jacket on the mattress. 
It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. 
You don’t know how long you spend on the floor of your room, clutching Cassian’s jacket to your chest, nails digging into the letter, your eyes leaking an endless stream of tears as broken wails emerge from deep in your throat. It feels as if someone has reached into your chest, grabbed your heart and held it in both hands, tearing it right down the middle. 
The loss of Cassian Andor is debilitating. The pain is so momentous, so absolutely crippling, that you doubt you’ll be able to stop crying. You’ll cry a river, an ocean, you’ll drown Yavin with your tears until it becomes an ocean planet. The pain is so deep you question if it will ever stop. 
Deep down, you know that it might dull, but it will never stop. 
You bury your face in his jacket, taking gasping breaths and trying to catch on to his scent, to this last piece of him that you have. Even just hours after his death, you can feel the smell of him slipping, and you hope it’s just a trick of your mind. 
He was more than a friend. He had always been more than a friend. You had loved Cassian Andor for years. Since that first mission together, you had grown to love him, and your deepest regret in life will be not realizing that you were in love with him sooner, not telling him. It’s a regret you will carry with you until the day you die. That Cassian Andor died a hero’s death, without knowing your true feelings. 
You had been so caught up in your own grief that you didn’t notice the sun setting, and by the time that your cries have settled to soft sobs and you begin to take in your surroundings, the first light of the next day has just begun to stream through your window. The light is warm and orange toned, but all you can see is shades of gray. 
Sniffling, you look across the room at the small object that Mothma gave you, crawling over and picking it up. It was...a small data chip, the kind used to hold important transmissions. Though you’re unsure what Mothma would want you to do with it, you find yourself reaching for your holopad and inserting it, watching the data load. It’s a video transmission. 
When you open it, you almost drop the holopad, your hands shaking and a sob passing your lips. Cassian. 
“Hi honey,” his breath is haggard as he speaks, a weak smile on his lips. Though he’s smiling, that furrow between his brows remains. 
You’d be fine with it being there for the rest of your life, if he would only come back. Continuing the video, you hold the pad close to your face, as if Cassian could jump through the screen and come back to you. Hold you. 
“Honey,” he continues, and in the background you can see the beach. Scarif. “I hope...I need this to get to you. I don’t think we’re going to get out of here, and I need...I need to tell you something. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I wish things didn’t- I wish we had more time.” You both take a deep breath, yours because you’d forgotten to breathe, and him because he’s talking too fast. “I love you. I need you to know that. I can’t- I need you to know that I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I wish I told you before we left.” 
Your tears return with a renewed vigor, trying to control your sobs so that you don’t lose a word that he says. 
“I wish we had more time. You’re probably going to be pissed at me, but...I told you once that you were the most important person in the Galaxy to me. That’s why I couldn’t let you come on this mission.” He looks over his shoulder, the ground shakes with the sound of an explosion. “If we never see each other again, I need you to know I love you. And I need you to keep fighting. For me. Don’t lose hope, don’t be afrai-” 
Your sobs reach a crescendo as the screen is filled with a blinding white light, and Cassian’s voice cuts out, leaving nothing but static. You scroll back to earlier in the message, pausing it just so you can see his face and holding it to your chest as you cry, your pain multiplying by thousands. 
From the bottom of your heart, in that space in the back of your chest, you had known Cassian had loved you. You couldn’t be sad that he hadn’t said those three little words, not when he had found so many different ways to say them. You just wished that you had done so yourself. 
Wiping your eyes, you look at the image of Cassian, searing it into your mind. His final words play over in your head. 
“I promise,” you nod, shutting your eyes tight and turning your head to the ceiling, as if wherever he is, Cassian can hear you. “I promise, Cassian.” 
And it was one you intended to keep. No matter how much it hurt, you would keep fighting. 
For him. 
a/n | so i ended up breaking my own heart, i hope y’all like it
123 notes · View notes
lilhawkeye3 · 8 months ago
Find Your Way Back Home- Ch 3
Riyo Chuchi x Commander Wolffe, Riyo Chuchi x Commander Fox
Rating: T |||| Word Count: 1.9k |||| Set Post Order 66 |||| AO3 Link
previous • next
Tumblr media
Riyo gripped the kitchen countertop tighter than anything in her whole life. The loud pounding of her heartbeat in her ears threatened to drown out the pounding of her heart as she sought a tether point in her whirlwind of emotions.
She couldn’t do this.
How could she do this? The ghosts she’d left on Coruscant were now seeking shelter in her bedroom.
She’d looked at Wolffe laid out on her bed, and some sick part of her expected him to be Fox. She used to bandage her lover’s wounds on their bed in her old apartment. What had she done to deserve this cosmic taunt?
Riyo’s hands flew to her mouth to hold in her startled shriek at Ahsoka’s appearance just to her left. Her friend’s lips twisted into an apologetic smile, and she patiently waited for Riyo to come down from her sudden rush of adrenaline. Her rusty hand cupped Riyo’s elbow to help ground her.
“I’m so sorry,” Riyo murmured, blinking rapidly to hide her brimming tears before she met Ahsoka’s gaze.
The Togruta’s eyes were sad as she searched for the right words, despite them both knowing nothing would ease Riyo’s pain. “You see him.”
Riyo tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a gasp for air after so long underwater. “How can I not?” Her tears stubbornly refused to fall now, despite clamoring at the floodgates only moments ago. “I can’t… I can’t focus on this right now.”
“You can’t go back in there right now either,” Ahsoka calmly pointed out. “Wolffe needs to heal.”
And so grew her guilt. “I know.” She needed to do something to keep her hands and mind busy. “I’ll get some more juvan ready so I can make a cold pack and show Rex what to do. You’ll both need to know how for when you go back.” She tried to ignore the predatory way Ahsoka’s eyes followed her around the kitchen as she gathered supplies.
“I find that talking helps sometimes,” Ahsoka quietly suggested, once Riyo stood back at the sink with her items gathered around.
“I’m not sure I remember how to do that after so long on my own,” Riyo muttered, grabbing a bundle of leaves from a jar more harshly than they deserved.
“No time better than the present.”
Riyo paused to stare calculatingly at her friend. She wasn’t lying about not knowing if she’d be able to speak of her nightmares after so long bottling it all in. “I propose a trade.”
One of Ahsoka’s painted brows rose in interest. “A trade.”
“I will tell you if you update me on your… situation.” She’d tiptoed around the circumstances of her guests’ arrival– and unlikely survival– for the past few days.
“Alright, deal.”
Riyo’s hands hovered uncertainly as she tries to steady her breathing before she begins. Where to even start? She’d tried so hard to forget that night six months ago. Now she had to relive it in full.
“I… I was home for the night.” Riyo doesn’t even recognize her voice with how vacant it sounds. “Everything was normal, even when I got a call from Co– Thire.” She didn’t want to relegate them to their titles. Those men– her friends– were worth much more than that. “He’d call sometimes if Fox was too busy to come home.”
Breathe in, one, two, three, breathe out.
“There’s– there was a code phrase Fox had me agree to. Dusk is falling soon. If one of us used it in a communication, we knew it was from the other.” Her hands began to shake as she ground the juvan up. “Thire said it to me that night. He said I had to flee Coruscant while I still could, before I was marked as a traitor by the Chancellor. That Fox needed to know I was safe, because… because he didn’t think he was coming home.”
“Oh, Riyo…”
Riyo tried to laugh but she choked on her voice. “No, no it’s fine. Please don’t feel sorry for me, not after–”
Not after what you’ve lost. It hangs in the air like a shadow, chilling the two women to the bone.
She could feel Ahsoka’s eyes on her for a long moment before she conceded. “Alright. So you fled Coruscant?”
Riyo nodded. “Yes. I waited for him, but… then I gathered those I could and had a trusted pilot shuttle us off. It wasn’t just those from my office, though. There were several other members from Pantora’s allies that we also safely evacuated. It was beneficial in the long run, since the number of hyperspace jumps we needed to make ensured that we weren’t followed.”
“That was wise of you,” Ahsoka confirmed. “You most likely had been tailed. The Empire has been interrogating anyone they view even as having a potential to be rebellious.”
Riyo dipped her head in a gentle nod. “And I never was one of the Cha– Emperor’s greedy followers,” she added.
Her friend’s lips quirked up in a humorless smile. “No, you weren’t.”
“Anyways, I timed my resignation to autosend sometime during our flight, and I contacted Bail, who gave us directions to follow. That’s all there really is to tell,” Riyo sheepishly shrugged, relieved to be finished and able to turn her attention back to the juvan leaves she’d laid out. They needed to be diced and then ground with water into a paste that could be either frozen and saved, or wrapped in a damp cloth and held to the wound.
“So, my turn then?” Ahsoka asked, faux-cheer evident in her voice but appreciated.
Riyo nodded, thankful for something else to focus on. She beckoned her over though, waiting until the Togruta was looking over her shoulder. “Just make sure to watch how I do it, so you’ll be able to on your own. The leaves have to be separated carefully, or you’ll negate the medicinal qualities.”
Ahsoka observed quietly as Riyo worked, nodding along to each specific task that Riyo pointed out. It was quite simple, but an untrained eye would still mess it up. It was nice to have someone at her side. She’d been so used to being alone.
“We agreed on a trade?” Ahsoka prompted, once Riyo stepped aside and handed the knife over for her to try. “Would you still like to hear what we’ve seen?”
Riyo bit the inside of her cheek to try and keep herself afloat in the surge of stress that threatens to sweep her away. “Yes, please.”
Ahsoka nodded sharply, and then the knife made its first clean slice. “We were on our way back from Mandalore after apprehending Darth Maul– the Sith Zabrak,” she elaborated for Riyo’s sake. “And an order went out to all the clone troopers, everywhere in the galaxy: execute Order 66, to kill the Jedi.” Her fingers clenched around the knife handle to the point that Riyo thought it’d snap. “Somehow Rex… he fought it long enough to warn me to find a file about Fives, an ARC trooper that–”
Riyo could feel the blood drain from her face at the mention of that name, one she’d long forgotten. “I remember. Fox… he shot him, to protect the Emperor.” It felt like lifetimes ago.
In a twisted sense, it was. It’d been during Fox’s lifetime, when he still came home to her every night.
Ahsoka hummed in agreement. “Right. Well, Fives had told Rex that the clones all had control chips in their heads, and that a damaged chip had caused another trooper to shoot a Jedi. No one believed him.” Her shoulders drooped. “I was able to capture Rex and take the chip out of his head, and he was back to normal. I… I let Maul out of his cell though as a distraction, and he damaged the ship so it crashed into a moon. We lost the whole battalion,” she finished in a whisper, head bowed.
“Oh, Ahsoka,” Riyo gasped. She wasn’t sure how a hug would be received, so she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Ahsoka’s eyes were teary when she looked up. “Thank you, but please don’t be for me. I took a risk, and it was Rex’s brothers that paid the consequences.” She shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m glad we found Wolffe. There have been other clones that escaped, but Wolffe was always one of his closest brothers.”
A small smile slipped onto her face unbidden. “I’m glad for the both of them as well. How did you find Com– Wolffe, though? You all barely made it here,” she pointed out.
The Togruta sighed. “You know Bail’s been coordinating a lot recently. We were sent out on a mission to try and contact a defector from the Empire. They’re a medic, and they’ve been treating several troopers sent to them for abnormal behavior. We arrived to get them out, and Wolffe was their latest patient, but they were being watched.” She stopped talking to peer at her work cautiously. “Is this correct?”
She stepped out of the way so Riyo could observe her work. “This is very good for anyone’s first try,” Riyo praised her. “Now we just need to grind it with some water to get a thick enough paste.”
Ahsoka waited for Riyo to set up the next step before continuing. “We had the freed men escort the medic onto our waiting ship, but we couldn’t take Wolffe back to base because of his chip. I followed their instructions to try and deactivate it, but we had to leave in a hurry. It took us a few days and several firefights before we lost them well enough to get here.”
“Had no idea you’d gotten that good with a blaster, either.”
Riyo bit back a shriek as Rex’s voice piped up from behind them. Good thing she’d been using the mortar and not a knife, otherwise she might’ve cut herself. At least he had the decency to send her an apologetic smile once she whirled around to face him.
“Gee thanks, Rex,” Ahsoka huffed, reaching out to playfully slap his chest. The two of them shared a grin, and Riyo decided to study the wooden floor beneath her feet until they snapped out of it. She wouldn’t dare disrupt their small moment of joy.
“I came out to let you know Wolffe is asleep again,” Rex finally explained his presence after he shook himself free of their little bubble. “We spoke some, but he tired quickly.”
That was good. He clearly was suffering from some form of head injury, so any amount of time Wolffe was able to be awake and coherent was a step in the right direction.
“Alright, that’s wonderful news. We should be able to apply this compress despite that.” Riyo picked up the bowl of ground javun and gestured at a clean cloth folded on the counter top. “Would you grab that and come with me? I’ll show you what to do, so you know how in the future.”
A quiet grief crept up her spine with each step she took back towards Wolffe’s room. He needed her help. She could pull herself together for him.
Riyo entered the room alone and took the seat beside Wolffe’s still form. Rex would be along in a minute.
Until then, she studied the still man’s face, finding and cataloguing each unique feature of him and hoping it wouldn’t come back to haunt her like before.
31 notes · View notes
comebackjessica · 9 months ago
Can I get a fluffy established relationship fic with Polly Grey x fem!reader? Im in love Polly and there isn’t enough fics with her as the main character!! Thanks!!
Darling, I am so sorry you had to wait such a long time!
Here it is: For Your Health and To Your Wealth. Also on AO3.
Tumblr media
“There’ll be others.”
Polly’s words to Tommy still resounded in her head as she made her way home from the Garrison. Well, not home, exactly, but close enough, she supposed. In the dead of night, or the very early morning, Polly knocked on the door she knew would never be closed to her, or at least she really fucking hoped so. On her way over, she nearly broke the heels of her shoes on the slippery cobblestones, and she didn’t really want to return to Small Heath barefoot twice in one week.
The door to the flat swung open and Polly was greeted with a scowl and a barrel of a gun. She smiled wickedly at the sight and let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.
“Hello, lover,” Polly greeted the other woman cheerfully and stepped inside without the invitation.
“Oh, what the fuck, Pol!” The woman put down the gun and quickly locked the door behind, having first taken a careful look along the corridor. 
Polly wasn’t really listening to her, though. She walked around the flat aimlessly, as if seeing it for the very first time. She lit a cigarette and let her coat fall to the floor, while the place’s actual, rightful tennant wrapped herself tighter in the floral bathrobe she was wearing.
“I’ll make some tea,” she sighed, a little resigned. She could already see what Polly’s state of mind was like tonight. For now, tea would have to come first and explanations later. Pol would come around once she would, that’s how it’s always been. No need to bang one’s head against the wall about people’s genuine nature, Y/N always said.
“Y/N, I was going to buy you that radio,” Polly said then, still scrutinizing the place and smoking her cigarette. “It’s so quiet…”
“Yeah, right you are, Pol,” Y/N scoffed and pulled out two cups from the dingy kitchen cabinet. “Is what people need from me these days, bloody swing at three in the fucking morning.”
She made the tea, and since she knew she made the best cuppa in the whole of England, she just waited for Polly to sit with her at the table. Sure enough, Polly stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill and sat down, though Y/N also noticed she started to unbutton her dress, too.
“What’s wrong?” She grabbed Polly’s hand then and looked deep into her eyes, searching. She knew very well Polly would never give up her secrets unwillingly, not even her eyes would betray her if she didn’t really want them to. But still, worth a try.
“I’m worried about him,” Polly said then, very quietly. 
Y/N hummed to herself and squeezed Polly’s hand even tighter. It used to take her longer, Y/N realized, but immediately credited Polly’s newly found openness to her being dead-tired.
“Oh, fuck,” she sighed and slowly sipped her tea, though still refusing to let go of Polly’s hand. Polly pulled away first and went back to unbuttoning her dress. 
“So this is why I came,” Polly said casually, as if they were just discussing the weather, and not her nephew’s grand schemes or her obviously having way more elaborate plans than tea. 
“Sit for a second, would ya?” Y/N said, a bit harsher than before. “Drink the damn tea first. What has the boy done now, eh?”
Polly let her hands fall to her sides and she shook her head, but Y/N had a feeling this had nothing to do with what she had just said. This was Polly in her head again; her mind never stopping for one second, constantly moving.
Y/N sighed and tried to grab Polly’s hand again, but this time Polly moved it away and grabbed the cup, taking fast swigs of the tea. 
“Jesus, slow down. There’s more.” Y/N shook her head and decided to leave the subject for a while; this is what Polly was like, after all. Nothing new there, same old song and dance since the moment they met. 
Many people thought that it was the business that had turned Polly’s mind into the sharp, well-oiled machine that left very little space for her to feel love, with the grand exception of her family. Y/N knew this wasn’t true at all and that Polly’s resilience started way before the war. It was them drafting her boys, though, that had finally nearly broken her heart for good. 
They had found each other then — both women drowning sorrows in gin in a dingy pub that would actually serve them. And Polly’s boys did come back in the end, thank God. She was luckier. Y/N would remind her often about her luck after that, just in case Polly managed to forget it. Y/N’s brother wasn’t so lucky — wasn’t drafted so at least she got to say goodbye, however, at the end there wasn’t much to say goodbye to. It was the influenza that took him, and it felt just as pointless a loss like the Somme probably would.
“Well,” Polly said but shook her head and stopped herself. She drank a bit more and Y/N got up with a huff, to refill both cups. She left the teapot there on the table and Polly smiled when she spotted it, now a bit more present. It was her gift to Y/N, for her birthday last year. Polly had painted the colorful patterns herself. 
Y/N reached for her hand again and this time Polly let her. It wasn’t very easy these days; nursing the romantic in Polly back to health. Fortunately, Y/N had the invaluable experience and could easily see the signs for the other woman’s mind taking a turn for the worse. 
“Alright, so we’ve already established it’s Tommy,” Y/N said. “What has he done now?”
“It’s not that,” Polly shook her head and fixed her gaze at the wall behind Y/N’s shoulder. “It’s what he’s going to do.”
“Ah, fuck.” Y/N put her cup down. “You’ve been reading the cards again, luv? Hm?”
Romantic as she was, Y/N never believed in Polly’s cards. She believed in the other woman’s power, the one that came from within, the one that managed to still keep the Shelbys afloat; Y/N’s seen plenty of it. The cards and the stars, however, well, they were a tad too much even for her.
“Stop that shit with the tone, Y/N,” Polly barked then, “if you don’t wanna listen, we might just as well fuck and then just go to sleep.”
Y/N sighed and shook her head. No, she didn’t want that, at least not like this. Polly needed someone to open up to and she desperately wanted to be that person for her.
“Fine.” She rubbed her face with her hands. “What did the cards say?” she asked, this time softer.
“Fucking nothing, this is my cognition talking,” Polly sighed and looked around the flat. “Don’t you have something stronger?”
Y/N pointed towards the kitchen cupboards. “Second drawer, there’s a bit of gin left.”
Polly got up swiftly and found the bottle on her first try. She quickly downed the rest of hers and Y/N’s tea and poured them both a drink. Y/N’s gut told her it was both too early and too late for this shit but they clinked their cups and drank, and then once more for good luck. This seemed to have given Polly the clarity she was looking for, at least Y/N saw something relax in her lover’s face.
“He fell for real this time,” Polly said and nodded to herself. This time, she was the one who seeked Y/N’s hand herself. “And the woman’s destructive. She’s manipulative and fucking destructive, and she’s going to ruin this family as soon as he lets her back in. And he will let her.”
Y/N pressed her lips together, not really knowing what to say to that. Regarding Tommy, there wasn’t really much to say most days. Polly had told her about Greta once, but as far as Y/N knew, up until this point there was nobody else significant enough in Tommy’s life to speak of. 
“And what is her name?” she asked, choosing her tone very carefully.
“Grace,” Polly spat out and poured them another drink. “And the boy’s a bloody idiot. So bloody intelligent and such a fucking idiot! Men and their cocks!”
Y/N giggled a bit at that but then quickly composed herself and downed her gin together with Polly. She wondered then if, perhaps, intelligent women conversing about the matters of idiot men with their cocks, and the men in turn never taking the advice, was not the real life-long burden here — alongside childbearing, of course.
“Boy has a type,” Y/N shrugged and leaned back in her chair. 
“What?” Polly lit a cigarette and took a long drag as if it was her lifeline. “She looks nothing like Greta. Couldn’t have been more different.”
“I mean the G-name.”
“Ah, well…” Polly wondered about something then, something that personally to Y/N looked like talks about the cards and stars, so she didn’t press the matter further.
“But you said she’s out of the picture? So where is she?”
“My people told me she took a train.” Polly shrugged. “That’s the last time anyone saw her. Doesn’t matter, she has a pull on the boy now. They will speak again and she will make him listen fucking obediently.”
“She’s beautiful and comes from a military family,” Polly interrupted, evidently needing to let it all out. “And Tommy wants things that are pretty, things that belonged to someone else before him.”
This much was true, Y/N admitted with a nod. Polly was never wrong about these things, and not about people, either. After all, Polly saw right through Y/N the very first time they met. There was no questioning Polly Gray’s powers there.
“You cannot protect him from her,” Y/N finally said and took the gin away. “But… you can protect him from himself. You’ve done so before, and exceptionally well, if I may add.”
Polly scoffed at that and put out the cigarette in the cup. Y/N pursed her lips at that, but then noticed the other woman giving her the sort of cheeky smirk that could mean only one thing. 
“Come,” Y/N outstretched her hand and finally led Polly to the bed. “Let’s focus that brilliant mind of yours on something else, shall we? And you can go back to building your Roman Empire tomorrow.”
“Ah, I don’t want any Roman bloody Empire.”
“No,” Polly shook her head and let the other woman help her with the corset. “That one fell, remember?”
Y/N giggled and took off her bathrobe, then the nightgown. Polly put her hands on Y/N’s waist then and kissed her, deeply, ferociously even. Y/N’s hands worked quickly at that and finally she undressed Polly completely, then pushed her towards the bed. 
“Come now,” Y/N pushed Polly on her back and pinned her down to the mattress, lacing their fingers together. Polly looked at her with an expectant smile and eyes sparkling like stars. These stars here, Y/N decided, these she couldn’t get enough of. 
She kissed Polly again and reached down with one hand, eliciting a soft gasp from the other woman. Kissing Polly felt like gin, granted, and lots of it, but having her like this in her bed, now that, Y/N supposed, was the kind of magic no cards or crystal balls would ever compare to.
48 notes · View notes
imagines-r-s · a year ago
Ocean’s Rise, Empires Fall
summary: you didn’t want your father’s death to be your downfall, but for the longest time it seemed like it was going to be to you and everyone else around you
taglist: @mdlyncline(send me an ask to be added to any of my taglists)
wc: 2.7k
a/n: kinda threw canon out the window, but nonetheless, i proceed. basically, clint and nat both survive- it doesn’t really check out but uh yolo
warnings: pretty angsty. very angst actually. there’s a description of depressive episodes so if that’s triggering please be cautious loves, mention of death
mentions of peter parker x stark!reader, but mostly avengers x reader (platonically)
Tumblr media
When your dad snapped his fingers, he might have saved the world, but he destroyed yours. He obviously had no intention of doing so, he was just saving the world. You always knew your dad thought that he hadn’t done anything right in life, so you easily assumed that he thought this was his last shot. 
Tony wasn’t even aware of your existence until you were about four years old, but once he did find out he knew that he had to change his ways. When he did find out him and your mom came to an agreement for custody where he would see you every other week and every other holiday. 
What you didn’t know was that your mom had told Tony about you because she knew she only had a few years left with you, having been diagnosed with cancer a year before she had you meet Tony. She didn’t want you to be dropped off at some random man’s house and be expected to call him dad. 
She never had anything against Tony, he hadn’t done anything bad to her, she just figured with everything else going on in his life, he didn’t need a child to add onto that-boy was she wrong. When Tony met you the first time, his whole perspective on life changed. He wanted to be a good person for you, obviously, he wanted to for Pepper too, but he realized either way you would look up to him and you needed someone good in your life. 
He quickly noticed that you were just as intelligent as he was and the two of you bonded a lot through working in his lab. He made you do homeschool, considering how advanced you were and that if anyone knew that you were his daughter, you could easily be in danger. 
Tony didn’t hide anything from you, you were aware of the Avengers and that he was Iron Man, much to Pepper’s dismay. Considering that you grew up with all the Avengers, all of them thought of you as their own. You would always help your dad with upgrades to suits and the two of you even started on your own suit at one point. 
After the events that took place with Aldrich Killian, your parents were more adamant about your safety; making you train with Steve and Nat, finishing up your suit, and keeping more tabs on you. You understood, but it was still too much, which led to you starting to sneak out more. 
Although your dad had many regulations on your suit, you were still smart enough to be able to override them, that’s why you were able to leave the tower in your suit so easily. As you were flying over New York, you caught glimpse of a blue and red form also moving through the air. “FRIDAY, scan the area for any heat signatures.”
“Sure thing, Miss Stark,” the A.I responded before doing what you had asked. Whoever was flying was found easily, and you followed them until they stopped on top of a building. Expecting some sort of suit, you were surprised to see someone who looked to be about your age, wearing a homemade jumpsuit and mask, “what are you supposed to be? The outfit is kinda wack, not gonna lie,” he hadn’t expected anyone else on top of the building, so when he looked over and saw you in your suit flying beside the building, he was shocked. 
“You’re asking me that when you’re the one flying at the edge of a building?” you could tell he was your age by the way his voice cracked. Opening the suit to be able to step out, you stood by yourself on the roof of the building, “there. Is that better?”
“Oh, uh-uh, yeah. Is that Stark tech? Oh my god, you’re- you’re his daughter?”
“Aw, so smart.” 
“What are you doing here?” he asked. You simply shrugged, “Just disappointing my father, what about you, I never caught your name?” 
“It’s Pete... Peter. My name is Peter,” he said, purposefully lowering his voice. “My name’s y/n,” you mocked his fake lower voice, “So how do you do that exactly?”
“What? Swing?” you simply nodded your head, “oh, well, I was like bitten by this radioactive spider, and then all these cool things started happening. Like I’m stronger than I was before, I have quicker reflexes, etc.”
“So, you got the qualities of a spider, is what you’re saying basically?”
“Uh, yeah. Well, when you put it like that, the explanation is shorter,” you simply nodded once again. “So, Petey, what’s your superhero name? You obviously attempted a superhero look, but failed miserably.” 
“Uh, spiderman? I haven’t really thought of it.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into it, haven’t you?” he shyly nodded, “haha, well, you have the name, you have the missions or ‘civilians’ to rescue yet?”
“I just stay around my neighborhood, for the most part, you know friendly neighborhood type beat.”
“That’s honestly really cool, looking out for the underdog that not many think to save immediately, I get it. It’s cool. Do you have a phone?”
“Uh, yeah, you want it, Stark?”
“Well, I know you want mine, Parker,” his eyes widened at the sound of his last name, “yes, I knew your name before I asked you.” He slowly nodded in response, handing you his phone to add your number, “so, what do you look like under that mask?”
“Oh, hold on,” as you watched him remove his mask, you smirked as his floppy brown hair fell over his face before he had the chance to move it up, “Oh, you’re cute, Parker. Well, you have my number, so text me. Gotta go.”
You quickly left before he had an opportunity to respond to you. Leaving him with your number and the hope that he would see you again. 
Peter had texted you shortly after, leading to the start of an amazing friendship. The two of you started teaming up more and more, which caused your dad to find out about your sneaking out, but it helped him with his discovery of the Spiderling. You two were a duo that no one wanted to mess with and it was that way for the next few years, up until Thanos attacked. 
You like to think that Thanos caused everything in your life to be messed up, but there were so many things contributing to your downfall: the Accords breaking your family apart, not seeing said family for years, Infinity War, losing the person you were in love with but too scared to tell, losing your family after they had reconnected for the first time in such a long time, your dad being lost in space, the five years, getting everyone back, and then losing your father.
Although a lot of good things came from all of that, you refused to think about the positives. Everyone tried to help you out of whatever was going on in your head, but no one could help, not even Peter. 
For the first time in your life, you were fearful. Fearful that another bad thing would happen. Fearful that you would lose more people. Fearful that you might self destruct, too. 
Pepper had tried her best to help, but she was also grieving. Peter was, too. Morgan didn’t understand. The whole team was sinking, but they worked so hard to keep you afloat. 
Bucky and Sam were trying to get you back into training, but anytime you went, you were hurting yourself more than anything else. Nat and Clint tried to get you back into your suit, but it had stayed in its case since the day Tony died. Wanda had tried to get in your head and help, it was a last resort, but she was hopeful. Banner tried to get you back into the lab. Steve and Rhodey were both well aware of how similar you were to your dad, so he simply kept a distance while keeping you away from things that would hurt you more in the end. Even Coulson tried to help by showing you his Captain America trading cards. 
But nothing they did worked. 
None of them gave up, but they were all losing hope that they would be able to get any aspect of you back to your old self. They knew that you were simply winding up to self destruct with all these bottled up emotions, and they didn’t want it to go terribly wrong. 
You hadn’t cried since the day he died. You felt terrible for not going to most of the funeral, but people understood. You felt like a disappointment knowing that you weren’t there for the people that needed you most. The completely abandoned them from such close proximity, any other time you would have found that statement funny, but know it just made you feel worse. 
When it hit a year since the funeral, you knew you either had to get up now or you’d slip deeper down the rabbit hole. For the first time in a long time, you got up from bed and you were able to take a shower. You combed out your hair, detangling out the knots. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you feel good at that moment. 
You felt a little bit more like yourself again, it wasn’t much but you’d take it. You had started walking towards the kitchen of the compound when you heard one of the doors in the hallway open. Looking down towards the hallway, you saw Morgan leaving her room. “Morgan, you ok?” 
“Yeah, I just wanted a juice pop,” she said smiling up at you. “That’s an idea I can get behind, c’mon let’s go.”
As the two of you were eating the juice pop, you hadn’t noticed that your family had crowded around the kitchen watching the two of you. Peter had woken up a little bit later than everyone else, but he saw that they were all crowded in the hallway, “guys, what’s going on?”
“y/n’s up and is laughing with Morgan,” Pepper said. Peter quickly turned the corner to see for himself, when he saw the two of you he smiled. He was so happy to see you up for the first time on your own since everything went down.
“You know that I can see all of you guys right there, right?” you said, after seeing the crowd of people in the corner. They all slowly emerged from the corner. “Yeah, we aren’t that small of a bunch are we?” Bruce stated to which you simply shook your head in response.
“It’s nice to see you up, doll,” Bucky said, kissing you on the top of your head. “Yeahhh, uh, I knew I needed to get up eventually, I guess. I don’t know.” 
“Hey, take all the time you need. Don’t stress about us, y/n,” Sam said. 
For the next few weeks, you eased back into everything. You started eating more, you got back to a kinda regular sleep schedule, you started training in small amounts, but still wouldn’t go down to your and your dad’s shared lab. 
It didn’t take you long to realize that even when some superheroes take time off, the bad guys never stop. Which was the reason why the team had been trying to talk you back into getting into your old suit. “C’mon, y/n, please, we need you. Your dad’s tech is what we need. Please,” Steve said. 
“Well see here’s the thing, it’s a dead man’s tech that hasn’t been used in a year, I don’t think it’ll help much,” you said pacing the livingroom. You didn’t want to bring the team down, but you weren’t getting back into your old suit. 
“y/n. Listen, HYDRA is planning an attack and we don’t know exactly when it will happen, but it’s happening tomorrow, please. Think about what your dad would have wanted,” you drew the line at him mentioning Tony. 
“My dad wouldn’t want some arrogant asshole to be trying to make me do something with his tech that I don’t feel comfortable doing yet. If you cared, you’d respect that. Now, talk to Peter or Banner, I’m sure they can figure something out.” with that last statement you walked away towards your room. 
You had a few moments to yourself before you heard a knock on your door, “y/n/n, it’s me.” You recognized Peter’s voice anywhere, “you can come in.”
“Are you ok?”
You simply nodded when you realized you were tearing up. No one had asked how you felt, simply because they assumed that you didn’t want to hear the question. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said before wrapping his arms around you. “Love, it’s okay. Let it out.”
You weren’t sure how long you had been wrapped up in Peter’s arms, but he held you tight as you cried through this moment. Everything you had bottled up was finally coming out. All the walls you had built in the past year were breaking. 
“Pete, I can’t help. You have to understand that I want to, but I just can’t go down to the lab and help. I can’t. And Steve expects me too and he said that dad would have wanted me to help and I just- I just don’t know what to do.”
“I think you have to trust your gut with this one. If you can’t go through with it, then don’t force yourself. Tony wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
You simply nodded at the boy in front of you, “I’ve missed you, Sunshine.” He grinned after hearing the nickname he hadn’t heard in so long from you. “I missed you, too, Starlight.”
Somehow a newscast had gotten to the fight, it wasn’t in a private place, so you weren’t surprised to see the cameras angled at your boyfriend and your family. Everyone was being taken out, one by one. 
Sam, Bucky, Nat, Peter, and Steve were the last few still standing, but you could see how worn out they were. You thought about how you could help and there was only one valid option, you just didn’t know if you wanted to go through with it. Correction, you didn’t know if you could go through with it. 
You made your way downstairs, stopping right in front of the lab that still looked exactly the same. “Miss Stark, it’s good to see you again,” you head the familiar A.I say. “It’s good to see you too, J.” 
Slowly taking in the room in front of you, you slowly walked in. The familiar smell of your dad’s cologne still lingered in the air somehow. It wasn’t sad, it was just a bittersweet moment. “JARVIS, can you bring out Mark 85?” 
“Of course, Miss Stark.” You smiled to yourself when you realized that Bruce had likely updated your suit. 
The bracelets that went with the suit quickly clung to your body, giving you the opportunity to suit up with the click of the two bracelets. “Alright, JARVIS, play dad’s kick ass playlist.” The sound of AC/DC filled your ears as you made your way to help protect your family. 
By the time you had gotten there, the HYDRA soldiers had the upper hand, but you knew if you came around unexpectedly they wouldn’t be able to do anything. You took the time to get the other models to get to where you were, that way you could surround them. You watched as the Avengers all smiled to themselves after realizing you were the one doing this. 
The other models were able to disarm HYDRA, giving all the worn out Avengers to strike at them and get them to the right correctional facilities. 
“y/n, you came,” Peter said, he was the only one that wasn’t completely out of breath at that. “Yes, yes. No need to thank me, I completely saved your asses back there,” you have a slight bow causing everyone to grumble. 
“Man, you really are your father’s daughter,” Rhodey said. “And you love me for that, Rhodes, don’t even,” you said raising a brow. 
134 notes · View notes
fortheloveoffanfic · a year ago
Protective Service
John Wick x Reader (with a nickname and last name). Requested (A/n-posting this instead of the series that already completely written and ready to go. Initially a request, at this point, I don’t know by who, but if you’re still out there, I hope you enjoy. Also, it, as you can see, became bigger than it was supposed to. Why can’t I just write a oneshot?)
Warnings- murder, gun violence.
Chapter 1 A Murder, a Memory, a Hiring.
Tumblr media
Sighing heavily, Y/n sank further into her impressive, leather upholstered chair, her legs crossed, one hand outstretched, her manicured nails drumming on the mahogany table top. A draining of scotch lingered near a stack of papers in a delicate crystal glass, forgotten. The men lined before her desk seemed nervous, they always did when they were around her; fear and respect went hand in hand when she was around. It was what Y/n had learned from her father, many years before his passing; sometimes, to earn the respect of those beneath you, you have to force it into them, by any means necessary. 
“So,” Y/n pursed her maroon stained lips, “What the hell should I do with you?” When the one with her attention didn’t answer, opting to stand before her like a broken animal, knees shaking and sweating like a pig, Y/n glanced around the room, her eyes passing over four of her most trusted men, “What do you think gentleman? Think he’s any use to us?”
Even they seemed reluctant to answer, desperately avoiding being on her bad side. That was a side one never lived to come back from. “Well?” Her tone was now heavy with annoyance, “Do we tolerate scum?”
Seeming to find some misplaced courage, the man finally spoke up for himself, “Vila,” he pleaded, his frumpy form racked with sobs, deep down, knowing that the end was nigh, and inevitable, “I can serve you. I can…...I can….”
“You can what?” She smirked, “Give me something I need?” Y/n mocked, reaching into her desk drawer, she produced a custom handgun with abstract designs carved about it and gold embellishments emphasizing the beauty of the matte black. Slowly, her lithe fingers worked on loading it, “You know,” Y/n’s words were absent and careless, “Vilas, in Slavic folklore, they’re fairies, extraordinarily beautiful. Do you think I’m beautiful Johan?”
Y/n stood from the chair, letting it roll back a little and as she walked around to the other side of the table, she was sure to make a show of swiping the gun off the top. Her heels thudded softly as she approached him, and her men stepped out of her way, eyeing Johan closely, making sure he didn’t try anything. “Well?”
“I do,” he nodded vigorously, whimpering, as he was shoved down to his knees, his beaten face bloodied and sweaty, “So beautiful,” in an attempt to earn her forgiveness he planted his hands on the floor at her feet, “Please, please Vila, it was mistake, it won’t happen again.”
“You’re right,” she smiled slyly, “Do you do what happens when someone betrays a Vila?” Sighing as she awaited his answer, Y/n brushed some hair out of her face with the tip of her red polished nail. Shifting her weight from her left leg to her right, “Answer me!” Her snarl was venomous and her henchmen jumped; it was rare for her to lose control of her anger like that. Y/n got angry, of course, she was only human, but she had enough self control to maintain her cool demeanor. Always emanating danger but never out rightly so.
When Johan still couldn’t muster up the response, she grabbed him by the hair, violently yanking his head up, “Let me tell you, when scum like you betrays the hand that has given them so much, it dies.” Letting him go, Y/n clenched her jaw, snapping for two men to hold him in place, “I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” she managed, pressing the gun to his head, and before he could even beg again, the sound of the shot being fired resounded, bouncing off the walls of her office. Blood splattered, droplets clinging to her pristine white blouse while some flew to her face, though most of it was on her hands.
“Great,” Y/n rolled her eyes when they dropped the limp body, the heavy thump being followed by blood pooling on her rug. “What a fucking mess,” she huffed, tossing the gun to the table for cleaning later, taking the handkerchief offered by a man just about ten years her senior, Donavan, he was a loyal one, her right hand when she needed one, and quite the treat to look at, among other things.
Tossing the kerchief back to Donavan not caring if he caught it or not, Y/n was already walking out of the room, sure to evade the saturated parts of the rug, her heels thumping softly when she was out in the hallway, “Call clean up, and get a replacement for that rug before I’m back this evening.”
“Yes ma’am,” Donavan was just a couple paces behind her, already getting out his phone to make arrangements. When he slipped the cell back into his breast pocket, they were already descending a spiral staircase that led down to an open floor, where most of the business took place; packing for exports, accounts in another corner and stocks kept in the back. All in all, the nondescript warehouse on Staten Island was where Y/n spent the majority of her day, running the empire that had been built long before there was even an inkling of her conception. It was the base and brain of operations, where her office was and where the dirty work happened. 
Typically, upon her arrival at around nine am, Y/n didn’t didn’t leave the lot until late in the evening, but that day, in addition to her very busy morning, she had a meeting with the High Table, her first one since being inaugurated. Her father would be proud.
But Y/n?
She was downright terrified.
Not that she would admit it. Y/n wasn’t the kind of person who admitted to fear. Or any sort of human emotion, she preferred to keep those around her guessing, that way they’d be sure to fear her, and by consequence submit to her rule. At least, that was what she’d told herself.
Just as they stepped outside, Donavan opened up an umbrella for her, guarding Y/n from the slight drizzle that overcast New York offered. Awaiting her was a black Rolls-Royce, it’s sleek coat shining even in the dimness of the day while the heavily tinted bullet-proof windows were spotless. Another hand held the back door open, and as Y/n slipped into the vehicle, Donavan handed her a thick long coat and large designer handbag;  peeking out of the opened top was a fresh blouse, a charcoal colored, silk one. Without as much as a word to part them, he closed her door, letting the car pull off.
The minute they were out of the lot, she got to work on her blouse, quickly untucking it from her skirt, pulling it over her head and casting it aside before hastily pulling out the clean one, shrugging on the cool material. The inside of the blouse was rough against her skin and Y/n’s nimble fingers made short work of the mimicked crystal buttons and when she was finished, she haphazardly tucked it into her black pencil skirt and pulled on her coat. Afterwards, she ran a corrective comb through her tresses and freshened her lipstick. 
She was finished by the time her driver was taking her over the Verrazano-Narrows, the Continental wasn’t too far off there, right in the thick of the city and Y/n opted to occupy the rest of her drive with a drink from the limited selection.
The burning twinge of the whiskey was paired with a smoky note, both pleasantly welcome, cooling Y/n’s nerves. Finally, in the quiet security of the car, she could think. Think about what she’d gotten herself into. Taking up the seat at the High Table wasn’t a decision that she’d made lightly, Y/n knew what came with it; with power came enemies, and her line of work had already fitted her with many. There were those who didn’t approve of her induction, older heads who felt that Y/n was too young to be held in such esteem, she couldn’t have known much, she was nothing more than a daddy’s girl who didn’t have to claw, or fuck, her way to the top. There were even a select few who’s reservations were contained solely in their jealousy too; one twenty something shouldn’t be afforded that much power when others twice her age were still scurrying for scraps.
However, their opinions on her weren’t what contributed to Y/n’s unease, she never paid much mind to what others thought of her, only the insecure spent time worrying about something as frivolous as public perception, and Y/n was anything but. Optics were the least of Y/n’s problems, her issue was with what people would do to ensure her untimely downfall. There were only so many enemies a girl could kill before starting to seriously worry for her life. Y/n didn’t want to die, no one did, not by a bullet to the head or poison in the rum. But Y/n knew that there were those that would go the lengths, that would do anything to see her gone just so they could snatch up what was rightfully hers.
The troubling thoughts were consuming, and the more her mind worked, the more Y/n felt like she’d just been tossed into the Hudson without a life raft, paddling clumsily just to stay afloat, icy water frosting her insides. Blinking quickly, Y/n downed the rest of her drink, hoping to swallow the feeling and return it to where it belonged; deep down for none, herself included, to find. Fear meant that something had power over you, and she couldn’t be the one without control. She was in control.
Before Y/n could think to pour herself another, the car was stopping in front of the Continental, where the meeting was being held. A person, who’s face she didn’t care to commit, held the door open for her and Y/n walked straight past him without as much as a thanks. Eyes followed her as she strode towards the concierge’s station, some adoring, other’s with glares as sharp as daggers. No doubt, they all knew who she was, the only Romanov daughter; a pampered princess turned ruthless bitch. It was impossible to be a working fraction of the criminal underbelly of New York and not know her. But whatever they thought they knew; it wasn’t nearly enough.
Her expensive perfume carried in the air like a siren song, calling attention from all around, making hotel staff temporarily stop their jobs and guests raise their heads and hang their jaws. Upon reaching the desk, Y/n drummed her fingers on the cool surface. That was one thing everyone knew about her; impatience ran in her veins; no one made a Romanov wait. “Charon,” Y/n purred.
“Miss Romanov,” his professional politeness was one she was used to, Y/n wouldn’t really call him a friend, but he was certainly an acquaintance that she didn’t mind sharing drinks with, “How do you do?”
“Delightful,” she chirped, and, as always, it was a scramble to figure out if the word was meant in sarcasm or not, “You?”
“No complaints yet,” he nodded astutely, “I assume you’re here for the meeting?”
“I am,” Y/n confirmed, shifting her weight from on leg to the other. Absently, as Charon hit some keys on his computer, she shifted a lock of hair away from her face, vaguely aware that someone had come to stand a couple feet behind her. As much as Y/n wanted to know who it was, she didn’t dare look back, instead straightening her back and awaiting service. 
Minutes later, Charon was directing her to where the meeting was being held and bidding her a good afternoon. Before she was out of earshot, he seemed to move on to the next client, with the same friendly disposition, “Hello, Mr. Wick.” The name rang a bell, though, Y/n couldn’t really place it. Not spending too much time on something that didn’t concern her, Y/n pushed the thought away continuing her walk towards the elevator.
Tumblr media
The meeting had been just as she’d expected, boring and political. Many might have thought that bloodshed and drugs might have made criminal politics more entertaining than that of the conventional kind, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. It was still dominated by people twice and three times her age, unable to accept the opinions of anyone their junior. Over drinks and stiff banter, most of which could have been likened to sneers and insults directed towards whoever sat opposite them, the Table voted on a couple matters, mainly on who they collectively needed gone and how to keep their connections in law enforcement and various civil arms in check without too much speculation. They’d also traded updates on their personal empires as if it were housekeeping and at the end, they’d set a place for their next biannual meeting, Vienna.
Y/n was among the first to leave the room, and she hadn’t realized that Winston was a close second until he called out to her, “Y/n, dear!” He chuckled, pulling her into a hug.
“Uncle Winston,” she smiled, her first genuine one in months. Winston wasn’t any sort of biological relative, but he was someone that her family had greatly considered, he and her parents had a long history, and after they’d passed, Y/n had remained close to him. Besides her them, he was the only one privileged enough to really know her. “How have you been?”
“Better now that my goddaughter’s paid me a visit. Though, I’d hope that it wouldn’t take a High Table meeting to drag you out here,” his teasing was light and Y/n felt herself relaxing, letting Winston lead her to the lounge, where they slipped into their usual booth, away from the fuss. Without as much as a request, two martinis were placed in front of them.
“I’m sorry,” Y/n smiled lightly, looking down at her beverage, “I’ve just been busy.”
“I know,” Winston hummed, his gaze trained on her, “Trying to rule the world, as usual,” hesitating for a moment before continuing with more regard, “You know that you’ll never be able to do it, right?” He wasn’t talking about ‘ruling the world’ anymore and Y/n knew it, “You can’t just kill away your fears.”
Her shoulders slumped and Y/n brought the glass to her lips, sighing at the taste, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shook her head.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You think being like him will give you some kind of immunity to the dangerous world we live in. It didn’t do it for him, and it won’t do it for you,” Winston was talking about her father; he’d lived just like she did, running his operation with an iron fist and without and ounce of empathy, thinking it was some kind of wall that would ultimately make him invincible. It was an assumption that couldn’t be further from the truth and the memory of a bloodied Channel carpet and the gurgle of blood filled lungs was enough to send a painful pang to Y/n’s chest, forcing her to take another drag of her drink.
“I’m just saying; I think you need to consider your options,” Winston sighed when Y/n didn’t answer, deciding that he’d have better luck at getting through to her in another way, “You look like Meredith with your hair like that.” Meredith, it was a long time since Y/n had heard her mother’s name. Even before her father died, he’d never had the stomach to utter it, for with the name, were a slew of jerking memories. She had been gone for a long time, long before Y/n could understand what death was, but once in a while, she’d think about her, wonder what her life would be like if she had lived, “You know what she’d have wanted.”
“I barely know her,” Y/n countered, trying to deny the real effect that Winston’s words had. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, then I’ll think about it, okay?”
Winston smiled triumphantly, “It’ll make you feel better too,” he reached over and patted her hand, it was a fatherly gesture, the kind she found herself missing in quieter moments, “He’s here, if you want to talk to him before you leave.”
Truthfully, Winston was right, having someone to protect her, watching her back would make her feel better. It would be nice knowing that she wouldn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder. Nodding, Y/n agreed, “Sure, the sooner the better, right?”
“Right,” Winston mirrored, “His name is John Wick, and he’s in room 214.”
Tumblr media
It looked like all the other rooms, though for some reason, that one specifically made her nervous. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to seeking people out, she was used to them coming to her. She wasn’t used to asking for things either. No, Y/n was the type of woman that got what she wanted, when she wanted it, no questions asked. But still, there she was, standing in front of a hotel room, a little shaken, about to ask for the Boogeyman’s help 
Taking a deep breath, Y/n raised her enclosed fist, hitting the cream wood in three short knocks. It wasn’t long before the door was being pulled open, revealing a well-dressed man with nearly a foot on her height, eyes as dark as whiskey and neatly combed hair just past his ears. His three piece suit was missing its jacket, though Y/n could tell that it was a tailored piece that probably cost a considerable amount.  He was attractive, Y/n didn’t think that any man had ever had that kind of effect on her. The kind that made her breath hitch and her heat speed up. Usually, it was the other way around, she was the one racing hearts. “You must be John Wick,” Y/n had to raise her head to meet his gaze, maintaining her unbothered disposition. 
John continued his hold on the brass knob as his other hand slipped into the pocket of his black slacks, “It depends on who’s asking,” he didn’t seem to be interested in small talk or anything that would cost any more of his precious time. Already, Y/n liked him.
“Why don’t we cut the bullshit?” She moistened her lips, hooking her handbag in the crook of her elbow, “You know who I am, I know who you are, introductions are a waste of time. I have a proposition.”
John eyed her with silent intrigue, the toe of his shoe soundlessly tapping the carpet, “Well?” Reluctantly, he ushered her into the room, pouring them a couple drinks before leading them to a small table in the center of the room. Smoothing her dress as she sat, Y/n discarded her bag on the table, crossing her legs, letting the slim heel of her stiletto gently knock her shin. 
“I need personal security,” there was no point in dancing around it, if she wanted John’s attention, then her best bet was to be straight forward, “And I heard that you’re the best at what you do.”
“You should also know that I’m not a bodyguard,” John countered bluntly. 
Y/n nodded slowly, trying to not let her demeanor melt away just just because he could easily match her stoicism, “I can pay you well. Whatever you’re making on your current job, I can triple it, quadruple it if that’s what you want. And that’ll be you’re monthly salary”
“Not interested,” John brought his glass to his lips, taking a tentative sip of his bourbon, “You have money, you can find someone else.”
“I don’t want someone else,” Y/n dismissed coolly, mirroring John when he took another sip of his drink. By that rate, someone else might have been drunk, but Y/n was known to hold her own when it came to booze, “I want John Wick.”
“Not. Interested,” he repeated and Y/n clenched her jaw, trying not to show the flare in her anger.
Setting her glass down, Y/n scooped up her bag by its short leather strap, she wanted John’s protection, but she wasn’t going to grovel, she would rather die, literally. “Very well,” she stood, casually dusting off her dress. At least she could tell Winston she tried. “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Wick.
Maybe it was the way she said his name, the way “Mister” just seemed to carelessly fall off her plump lips. Maybe it was because she was a pretty little thing or because John could see her fear past the bravado. Whatever it was, it had John changing his mind faster that he could register. Before Y/n was even a few feet off, John was standing again, grabbing her by the forearm, “Wait,” she turned, now standing close enough for him to see her lace clad breasts down her top and smell her perfume mixing with her shampoo. Put together, it was enthralling, and John wondered if she looked like that on purpose; no woman could be that alluring without effort. “Why does a Romanov need protection? And don’t lie to me, I’ll know.”
Y/n raised her head a little accentuating her neck, briefly glancing at John’s grip on her forearm before turning to him again, “Fine. Truthfully,” she exaggerated the word, hoping to downplay her next ones, “I’m scared of dying. I know who I am, and I know that there are those who’d do anything to see me gone, and I’m not ready to end up like my father.” Or worse yet, like her mother. 
John was quiet for a minute, and finally he let her arm go, taking a step back, “I work alone,” he began, “I don’t care who the rest of your team is, you won’t need them. I make all security decisions, and I don’t ask before shooting. Got it?”
Y/n cocked a curious eyebrow, “Got it. We’ll discuss the rest of this arrangement soon. Thank you, Mr. Wick,” Y/n winked, swaying her hips as she walked towards the door, letting herself out. 
Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana   @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx  @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea​
90 notes · View notes