The Landing At This Hangar Was A Surprise To Sabine, Believe It Or Not. Her Little Transport Ship Was

❛ who am i to you ? ❜ from bo katan

The answer weighed heavy on her tongue. Once, they could have spoken truthfully, and with ease. But now? This Bo-Katan was different, younger. Unpredictable.

“You’re my friend and ally, Bo. I honor your commitment to Mandalore, and I trust that you’d honor our friendship if ever one of us needed help.”

They only hoped her words would not come back to cut them in time.

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Hux peered down his nose at his glass, following the proper steps of savoring a new wine as he considered her comment about destruction. They must know about Starkiller, then. Good. Let her spill more and more of her intel in the guise of gloating. The comment about Rens wrinkled his nose, a gesture he hid behind sniffing his wine. And if the absurd pretense of a date meant they were suggesting anything other than professional history, Hux studiously ignored the implication.  “The Knights of Ren are an entire group which I’ve had the misfortune of associating with. You’ll need to be more specific.”  And in doing so, show exactly which cards were in their hand.

Her flirtatious behavior set him on edge.   (And that was exactly the point, wasn’t it?)   He had no doubt the individual across the table would sooner kill him than kiss him, and that, at least, was mutual. Every suggestive whisper or raised eyebrow was met with a narrow-eyed glare or a tightening of his well-practiced emotionless mask. But the mention of his father Brendol cracked the facade, a flash of raw fury lighting up his eyes. Hux smothered the fire and considered his options.

“To disappointing our parents,”  he answered instead, raising his glass to meet theirs. Weighing his words carefully — he had selected this bistro for its acceptance of an Imperially-aligned clientele — he met her gaze with singular intensity.  “Such a decorated figure in his field, my father. I can only imagine how pleased the New Republic would be if anything were to happen to him.”

.

There it was, the flash of emotion behind a facade of indifference. For just a second, this man let go of the carefully crafted mask. Then he quickened back to the haven of professionalism and dug at them, asking her to share what they knew of the Rens. Sabine understood the game. And she knew that he did, too. Perhaps better than anyone they’d had the pleasure of dining with of late. Information could be traded and turned like pawns in a game of chess. And it simply wouldn’t do to lay their playbook out for him to read at his lesiure.

“No, I don’t think I will. You seem like a man who just loves a mystery, Armitage. Besides, a girl’s gotta have their secrets.”

Instead, they zeroed in on his discomfort (anger? hatred, perhaps?) with her casual aside about Brendol. So, they’d guessed right. His name was like a spear, offering a chink in the armor of apathy. She took the gateway with greed, digging a foothold in the injury.

“Oya.” They took a sip of the wine. It would have been pleasant if it didn’t carry so much baggage. But, there wasn’t time for that. The game was in session, and it was Sabine’s turn to move. “I won’t disagree with you on that front. He is quite distinguished and respected, isn’t he? I can only imagine how hard it was for you to grow up in the shadow of such a dignified man. But we’re not here to talk about him, Hux.” They made sure to address him this time by the name shared with his father before echoing his words back at him, “If anything were to happen to him...how would you feel?”

@generalspectre​ // Hera Syndulla

Hera  still,  after  two  years  of  peace,  struggled  with  the  idea  of  quiet  nights.  With  Jacen  sleeping  quietly  in  his  bunk,  they  sat  on  the  ramp,  cup  of  Ryl  tea  in  hand.  If  she  closed  her  eyes  she  could  feel  like  she  was  home.  They  heard  the  speeder  bike  before  they  saw  it  and  their  lekku  perked  when  they  recognized  the  painted  Mandalorian  armor.  “  Sabine  !!  “  they  called,  tea  forgotten  as  she  jumped  up,  moving  down  the  rest  of  the  ramp  to  wait  outside  the  ship.    Maybe  it  wouldn’t  be  as  quiet  as  she  originally  thought. 

@call-me-spectre-five​​  

After a long night of thought, Sabine had made up their mind. Surely Hera had understood their need for time and space, but the grieving period was finally drawing to a close. Of course, the pain would always stick with her, but the best thing they could do now was surround themself with those that truly loved them. She needed to remember what it was like to be loved, and to practice it in full. The war had taken so much from her, had stripped her of friends and family members alike, but at least there were still a few people left that cared. As they had hoped, their surprise visit was well-retrieved.

“Hera!” They pulled each other into an embrace and Sabine allowed herself-- for the first time in weeks-- to truly feel held.

“Thought you could use some company. How are you and Jacen? And Kanan?” 

Investigation at Hosk

Location: Kalarba, the ruins of Hosk Station

From orbit, the planet seemed scarred. Every plants’ branches had snapped, and every leaf was coated in a film of ash. Rolling pits littered the surface where life had once teemed in abundance. Grey mist hung in the air, a bitter mixture of smoke and ash from the searing flames of debris. Some fires, still lit, pulsed hungrily around them like a gundark in desperate search of its prey. 

Iden had sent Sabine a brief manifesto detailing everything the Rebellion knew about the crash-- which was, unfortunately, not much. What had piqued their interest, however, was the apparent villain behind this new act of terrorism. Supposedly, those who had witnessed the damage firsthand seemed to have reason to suspect Imperials-- or, at least, their technologies. The simple thought of this was enough to make Sabine’s stomach churn in unease. If it was true, if that broken system of oppression had returned to take the lives of so many people...well, it wouldn’t help them sleep at night.

When she had read the name written on Iden’s message and quickly realized it was unfamiliar to her, the mission seemed suddenly less solemn.They liked to stay relatively connected within the social network of the Rebellion (though it was always possible to miss a few people along the way). Sabine knew next to nothing about this person-- and that’s exactly what compelled her to greet his arrival with a smile and an outstretched hand.

“Cal Kestis, I assume? Nice to meet you. The name’s Sabine Wren.”

@lcstpadawan​ // cal kestis

@xspectre-1​ // Kanan Jarrus

as soon as kanan heard her voice, it was clear that questioning wasn’t necessary. a little older– more hardened, perhaps, but it was sabine. he wouldn’t even question the fact that his hand had to be raised higher than he remembered. instead, arms moved to wrap around her, her own distress clear enough. 

as if she hadn’t seen him in years. 

regardless, as she spoke he slowly pulled away, desperate for some sort of answer. an  explanation for what the hell had just happened. 

lothal, that he knew it was… why, why he wasn’t on the same lothal. “i, i know that– last i remember you, ezra and zeb had just left– i was going after hera,” he blinked under his mask, trying to make sense of all of this himself. 

His arms engulfed them in a warm embrace, and she stiffened, then melted into his side. They didn’t worry about the tears staining his shirt, didn’t care that their face was buried into his neck. He was real. He was back, and he was real. She knew so many people the Rift had brought through time (for better or worse), but this? This was nothing short of a miracle.

“Kanan,” she muttered, breaking away, but still drinking in his image. He was the same as they remembered. Messy hair, hand-painted mask, dirt-crusted boots. Here she was now, holding onto his hand, still on her cheek, like a lost child. “I can’t believe it’s you. I-- I mean. I.” They paused, taking in a breath. How do you explain that you’ve missed your parent for years, while he’s only missed a beat? “Kanan, that was...over seven years ago.” She let his fingers cup her cheek, smiling through tears. “We won. Our family, the whole Rebellion. Buir, we won.”

cptfulcrum​ // alexsandr kallus

“  I  have  a  request,  if  you’re  up  for  it.  “  His  face  is  neutral,  but  there’s  a  nervous  way  that  his  eyes  twitch  to  the  datapad  down  at  his  hands  that  would  show  to  someone  that  knows  him,  like  Sabine,  that  the  request  is  not  simply  work  related.  “  If  not,  I  am  hoping  you  can  point  me  in  the  right  direction  of  someone  who  can  help.  “  

@call-me-spectre-five​​ 

.

With a youthful smirk that her mother would have chided at, Sabine rolled their eyes. “Kallus, how long have we been friends?” But instead of waiting for an answer, she proceeded with the same humor. “Years, di’kut. You’ve been a pain in my ass for years.” Then, noticing the anxiety he carried, the fluttering of eyelashes, fingertips-- she stilled, reaching to place their hand over his own. Hoping to provide some fraction of reassurance. Voice quieter and slower, they answered, eyes never wavering from his gaze. “Hey, you’re my friend. Of course I’m gonna help you. What can I do?”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Another ostentatious gala. Hux had no choice but to attend now that the Hapes Consortium’s alliance with the New Republic posed a threat. This time Hux kept to the shadows at the edge of the party, only listening — and certainly not eating or drinking anything he was offered. As Hux checked the time, his shoulders tensed. He’d heard of the preposterous New Republic tradition of kissing as the clock struck midnight, and he knew Alton Kastle was at this party. He hoped the reporter would not be foolish enough to try something so incriminating in public. Sure enough, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Hux mentally prepared his ‘we mustn’t, not here, we can’t be seen,’ but as soon as he turned he stopped dead.

“Not you.”

.

Sabine should have expected he’d be at a party like this. Nothing like a gala to bring out both the best and worst in the galaxy. They shouldn’t have been surprised when she noticed the general standing on the edges of the party, no doubt sulking too much to enjoy a drink or two. Pity.

“What’s wrong, Armitage? Expecting someone else?”

She took a short sip from the drink poised delicately in their hand. Something light and fruity, and nothing too alcoholic; there was work to be done, after all. But that plot wouldn’t be set in motion for another hour or two. For now, they had time to mill around, to act as though she wasn’t standing on the bones of her people.

“That’s, what, two dates now? And still no first kiss. I’m starting to feel like you don’t like me, Armitage.”

📜 – kanan

Sabine: I am not out of control! I'm a law abiding citizen! Kanan: Really? Name one law Sabine: Don't kill people? Kanan: That's on me. I set the bar too low.

(bonus!)

Sabine: I think I'm having a mid-life crisis. Kanan: You're like 15 years old Sabine: I MIGHT DIE AT 30!

@sacreficied 

mandalorians lost // a selfpara in which sabine finds paz among the chaos

cw: mention of injuries/bleeding

There wasn’t much time left to lose. The Mandalorian’s one ally (could they even call Hux that?) since this whole mess had started was no doubt rooms away by now, and she had little hope they’d see him again. But that was okay. It had to be, because there was no other choice. Because now they knelt in front of another who bore the same beskar, a faceless stranger she couldn’t hope to recognize.

He was injured, that much she could tell. At first, they saw nothing worse than the regular scrapes and cuts she’d sustained themself. But he wasn’t moving. They reached toward his neck to feel for a pulse, but to her horror, Sabine’s hand came back slick with blood. No, no, no. This couldn’t happen. She’d lost too much to watch him die, too. They had no clue who he was, but it couldn’t happen. They wouldn’t let it happen.

With a gentle touch, she removed the helm that was supposed to protect him from harm, supposed to help him carry on the legacy she’d nearly destroyed. Instead, they found a man (barely a decade older than herself), bleeding heavily on his right side. But, miracle of miracles, he was breathing. There was still a chance. Though, with this thought, something in the floor shook and careened, and they gritted their teeth in frustration. It wasn’t safe here. Tired though she was, Sabine grabbed the other Mandalorian and dragged him into a nearby corridor. They clung to the conviction of hope like a lifeline, like a snare.

Working quickly, they tore off pieces from the ruined train of her dress, folding fabric and holding it against the wound on his temple. What they wouldn’t fucking give for proper medical supplies right now. But, as her family had taught Sabine since birth, a Mandalorian made do. For moments, maybe hours (there was no accounting for the passage of time anymore), Sabine sat at this stranger’s side, pressing into the wound (even after it had slowed and stopped its bleeding) and praying to the unseen Ka’ra above. Thank the Force, or the Manda or whatever the fuck was keeping them alive, but the injury didn’t look deep enough to warrant serious attention. 

Just as they noticed a flutter in his eyelids Sabine heard the heavy footsteps of another approaching, and they had no way of telling if it was friend or foe. In a moment of clarity, the young Mandalorian knew what they had to do. Kneeling over his bloodied frame, Sabine muttered a quick prayer to their ancestors (a litany long used for children of Mandalore seeking a path to peace and safety). She left in his hands a long, jagged shard of glass they’d found among the ruins, and took into her own the remains of some twisted metal sculpture. There was no more she could do for this vod than lead the fire away from him. 

Some moments later, Paz Vizsla awoke for the first time in his life, fully vulnerable, his helmet lost among the burning rubble around him.

cptfulcrum​ // alexsandr kallus

Kallus  has  long  since  known  that  the  Ghost  crew  had  forgiven  him  for  the  atrocities  he’s  committed.  Even  as  he  struggled  to  understand  how  or  why,  he  would  be  grateful  to  his  final  days  for  friends  such  as  them.  Sabine  would  understand  the  significance  of  this  in  a  way  that  no  one  else  tasked  would.  They  would  understand  the  research  that  had  gone  into  this,  the  inner  turmoil  while  he  had  struggled  with  the  Imperial  idea  of  his  body.  Years  later  and  it  haunted  him,  the  guidelines  beat  into  their  soldiers.  “  Thank  you.  “  he  said  simply,  nodding  his  head  as  he  put  his  personal  code  into  the  datapad.  Then  he  handed  it  off  to  them,  the  picture  simple  and  not  able  to  be  understood  to  someone  that  didn’t  know  him.  The  Fulcrum  Symbol  featured,  with  fauna  native  to  Lira  San  in  another  image.  Finally,  a  third  image  of  some  flowers  native  to  Lasan.  He’s  no  artist,  but  has  a  vision.  He  knows  Sabine  is  the  one  to  execute  that  for  him.  “  This  is  quite  personal  to  me.  I  want  a  tattoo.  “  it’s  to  the  point,  lacks  the  emotion  he  has  surrounding  the  whole  idea,  and  his  insecurities  about  how  Zeb  would  feel  about  the  whole  thing.  “  If  it’s  amenable  for  you,  I’d  prefer  you  to  help  me  with  this.  “  

The image drew a sharp inhale from the Mandalorian. The concept was striking, a symbol equal parts sharp and soft, a contrast of edges and curves. It was as though the picture itself was blooming before her eyes; she could already see the colors springing to life, filling the spaces between lines. They thought of the equipment that sat just inside her ship and the weeks since it had been used. It was a practice she was well-versed in-- but this time was different. It was so much more than ink and skin.

“Kallus, I...” But what words could she speak to answer a request so heavy? Sabine understood, of course they understood, what this meant to him. They could imagine the struggle he’d faced just to ask so much of her, the nights he must have wrestled with the regulations the Empire had imposed on him since boyhood. The tattoos she had were-- like so many other things-- an act of rebellion against them. And now it was his turn. Wordlessly, she nodded, holding his tired gaze with their own. Their grip on his hand tightened. 

“When do you want to do this? I can have a few digital drafts made up withing a few hours, but I won’t rush you. Take it on your own time, and I’ll follow you.”