@cptfulcrum​ // Alexsandr Kallus

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.”

beskarbuir​ // din djarin

──   HERE  IS  WHERE  THEY  MAY  FINALLY  BREATHE  IN  AGAIN,  when a culmination of violence frays to a resolution.   messy,  still,  and it’s another finished job for the two.   conflict is their heritage,  but it is a sister to calmness,  and it is built into the architecture of their bones.   the bounty is carbon-frozen,  weapons are secured,  and they lean on the side of their gunship with some tension finally leaving their shoulders.   however,  their breath hitches once as a fresh wound is sanitized and bound.   a cut upon an aging bruise on top of a fading scar.   it’ll take more for them to fall apart at the seams,  even if the galaxy begs for a butchering.

their companions stands a few paces away,  and they’re content in their familiar presence.   another part of them allows hesitance to linger in case of a change in mind,  in case of betrayal;  the rest of them chastises themself for the instinct.   sabine has stuck with them this far   ─   and her gait holds a loneliness akin to their own.   she may occupy a space in their solitude,  if she wishes. 

though at the turn of her heel, ❝   ─   sabine,  wait,  ❞  spoken so suddenly,  as a glove is pried off his right hand.  ❝  keep looking away.  please.  ❞  a long stare follows,  just enough to see her comply and turn her cheek.   the flesh of their left palm presses into the helmet’s rim,  the weight of it keeping some resistance until cool air brushes the lower half of his face.   the swelling of his bandaged nose bridge is touched gingerly before it travels to his cheek,  jaw,  then lips.  there,  it lingers over a cauterizing split and pulls away.   the dried coagulate slips beneath his fingernail.   gravity pulls their helmet down again with gentle guidance.   they’re healing,  and that’s the best they can ask for. 

❝  you can look again.  ❞  spoken softer this time,  when their bare hand is sheathed once more. ❝  thanks.  ❞

    ─   @call-me-spectre-five

(cw light medical injuries)

The job had been arduous, taxing on body and mind. Neither had escaped unscathed, but their friend had taken an especially traumatic blow to the head. At their companion’s bid, she turned away, quick to respect their adherence to privacy, to remaining faceless and nameless. She does not fully understand his interpretation of the Creed, but they don’t discredit it, either. Years ago on their home planet, a lesson was taught to the foundlings: Mandalore is a people, and no one warrior may understand their texts and tales in the same way. This was a view Sabine had adopted for their own, and it held true; as long as this brother-in-arms was not using violence to influence the beliefs of others, they saw no harm in his actions.

“I apologize. I…I should have been more careful.”

The sting of the sutures and bacta spray wasn’t anything compared to the hurt she felt for this travel companion, for their panic and fear. Closing the stitch on her forearm, they were reminded of the guilt. The shame and responsibility she bore for the extinction of their people…gods, it put more weight on her shoulders than any beskar ever could.

At his admission, they turn, the familiar countenance of steel meeting her gaze. She tosses them a smile and a canteen of water. He can drink when he’s ready. She’s glad to be in their presence, to share the transport ship with such fine company. Though much remains unspoken between the two, there is some layer of trust woven into the silence. It makes the questions she wants to ask that much more difficult; they don’t want to drive him away with the pressure of speech. If and when they wanted to talk, Sabine would be there to listen, but it wasn’t a foundation of their friendship.

“Vod, I-” Tongue touched the roof of mouth, and they felt the words heavy as lead. “You don’t have to say yes, okay? You can say no. But, uh,” Shit, they felt so stupid. This goddamned struggle with speech, it always resurfaced when she was anxious. “Can I ask you a few questions about your clan? About your faith?”

Manda, they hoped it wasn’t a step over his line of trust. (She didn’t know how thin it ran.)

spectreoflasan​ // Zeb Orrellios

“Karabast, Sabine – you deserve a drink, not ten! Not unless you also want to deserve the rancor of a hangover you’re gonna have tomorrow morning. What’s this about a shit year? Slow down, I– last week was Endor for me, I– oh, kriff.” Were those tears? Panic set Zeb’s fur on end. He had seen Sabine furious, had seen her blast entire Imperial bases to shrapnel with glee, but Sabine crying? That was scary. Zeb pulled them into a hug and patted their shoulder delicately. “There, now, it’s… you’re okay, you’re fine, now, okay, just, c’mon. Alright? You can… it’s fine, have another drink, I, we’ll just, we’ll have our waters first, okay? Just take it easy, now.”

Zeb guided her away towards a chair by the window. At least here they could get a little air. Gently, they pressed a glass of water into Sabine’s hand, their eyes wide with concern. Zeb flinched at her last question, made all the more painful by the way her face reflected the same deep concern back at him. “Kriff, what are you talking about, Sabine, I– you must really be in the sauce. Nothing happened, I–” Well. Zeb might have believed that an hour ago, but not anymore. “I don’t know. Forget about Ka– …about me. You’ve got enough on your mind as it is. Talk to me.”

They threw her arms around the Lasat, and she saw the room pass by under her feet but couldn’t feel it, not really. Something cold closed around their fingers and they sat, immediately slumping forward onto the table. She looked up into her friend’s eyes and pouted, memories of family flashing by too slowly, a steady drip of molasses in the mind. A sigh pushed itself out of their lips, and they sat up, chin resting on cupped hands.

“Zeb, this year has been so...fuck. I just. ‘M tired, Zeb.” They racked through the timeline in their brain, but it felt absent and muddled. “Af-ter Kanan d-” their voice cracked, and she took a sip of the water in her hand. It wasn’t real anymore. “And now he’s back. And Ezra, too. But I keep...I keep thinking, Zeb!” The knot in her chest tightened, and those familiar tears crossed her eyes, cheeks, lips. They hated it, the crying. They hated it! “And I’m glad, Zeb, I am,” though it didn’t sound like it, “but where’s my other family? Ner aliit!” Their native tongue slipped out as she slouched forward again. What was she doing? “Ner buire, ner vod’ika.” They finally spit out the question that had been lingering on their mind for days now. “If one family can come back, why can’t the other?”

@beskarbuir​ // din djarin

──   GAZES  BEAR  DOWN  UPON  THE  PAIR,  and he wonders exactly how much better he would fare in his old,  heavily worn armor.   perhaps the attention wouldn’t have lessened with such an acquaintance at his side,  but here the unmarked chrome reflectes her colors in such a way,  it makes them a most obvious pair.  the stressor is felt on both fronts,  kept secret between the two as rolling anxiety feeds from each other in a cycle.   they move closely  ─  but not too close,  rendering a strange pack formation where there’s equal safety and danger in their numbers.   one protecting the other. 

the ‘t’ of his visor is kept leveled,  knowing that an air of aloofness and the history behind tinted transparisteel deterred stares.   ❝  a little bit.  ❞   the words are coupled with one shoulder’s shrug.   this was a place he only passed through,  leaving just a brief sighting for children to whisper amongst each other.   yet one sweep through the village is enough to know that there’s little for the agent to hide in;  an odd choice for someone of moderate renown.

canting their head to the side,  they lead them to a couple vendors with pre-empire scraps to sell.   with a step forward they flick through dialects until common ground is found,  evident in how the seller lilts her head in recognition and leans forward.   between them a few probing questions flitter, a few credits discreetly traded  ( he scowls to himself for how little he can bribe with ),  until he finally turns to his kind with a breath.   ❝  there’s some rumor of a mechanic shop acting as a front,  toward the south.  ❞  plenty of supplies for makeshift weapons,  maybe some workers in on their dealings,  or it could be just that:  a rumor.   thoughts the other were filtering through too,  no doubt.   ❝  think it’s a lead ?  ❞

“I think it’s worth checking out before we run out of sunslight.” Or before someone tips off the bounty, they thought to themself. She could tell the other was thinking it, too. This kind of risk always posed itself, the concern of some low-life selling out someone they knew then warning them of impending capture. It had happened with the Ghost crew more than once, with friends and enemies alike. 

The walk carried a weight of silence. There was no hum of twin engines to separate them anymore, no rushing terrain to interrupt their stillness. It settled itself neatly over the pair (something Sabine suspected the other Mandalorian was quite used to). She could be, too, when the time arose. But, it was always easier for them to fill the void of quiet with sound. A song or a conversation soothed their nerves more than the absence of ever could. 

“Your beskar’gam and spear are...quite striking. For all the years it’s been since I re-forged my armor, there’s been little time it hasn’t seen color. Some days I could almost forget the grooves of pure metal. Mesh’la.” 

They put the comment out there, open for commentary, or just to be held by the two. If this warrior wanted to speak, the invitation was there. If not, that was just as well. Her companion seemed the type to enjoy silence, so their nonresponse would be just as accepted as conversation. Besides, the two were nearing the workshop, which now stood visible on the horizon through a shimmer of heat.

❛  what  are  you  talking  about ?  ❜ / from trilla

“I’m saying that there’s no way you can win a game of Sabacc against that Ithorian over there. I mean, I’ve never seen them lose a match. You beat ‘em, and I owe you a bottle of real Mon Cala champagne.”

They offered a cheeky smile, readying the credits she was confident would be owed.

@cravked

// sabine’s graffiti mix: a little playlist for my favorite mandalorian

(songs listed below)

listen here!

- Sabine’s Theme ~ Star Wars Lofi // SuperDope

- space girl // Frances Forever

- Bad Reputation // Joan Jett & The Blackhearts

- Weird Girl // Mommy Long Legs

- Pray For Me (ft. Kendrick Lamar) // The Weeknd, Kendrick Lamar

- R.I.P. 2 My Youth // The Neighbourhood

- Cherry Bomb // The Runaways

- What’s Up Danger // Blackway, Black Caviar

- Celebrity Skin // Hole

- Gender Binary (Fuck You) // Ryan Cassata

- Chaotic Gender Neutral // Murder Person for Hire

- Rebel Girl // Bikini Kill

- Homemade Dynamite // Lorde

- Empires on Fire // BANNERS

- Smells Like Teen Spirit // Nirvana

- Seven Nation Army // The White Stripes

- Am I A Girl? // Poppy

- Cigarette Ahegao // Penelope Scott

- Hayloft // Mother Mother

- I Was a Teenage Anarchist // Against Me!

- bury a friend // Billie Eilish

- Home // Vance Staples, Richie Kohan

- Dear Fellow Traveller // Sea Wolf

- Andromeda // Weyes Blood

- i need to be alone. // girl in red

- After the War // Reinaeiry

- The Mandalorian // The Hyphenate

- Rebels Theme // Kevin Kiner

- Sabine Wren // AtinPiano

@naboospage​ // Sache

Saché was home on Naboo when her commlink chimed. She had a few days off, and every time it happened she’d leave the base to go back on her homeworld. It felt good, to be able to go outside again. It was dark and the holoprojector was on. She was watching a Senate session, just like when the Old Republic was still going strong. A Senate session in which a dead Queen was giving a speech. Eyes frowned, Saché focused on the holo - trying to know whether this was the Padme she knew or not. She’d been doing it for three years. And still didn’t believe in the eventuality of her being back. When her comm chimed though, another friend reappeared in her life, chasing her thoughts away. The voice in the comm made her smile, filling her with relief - Sabine. If the Mandalorian contacted her, it meant they were feeling better. Saché knew it, having been in the same position twenty-six years ago when Padme died and the Republic fell. “Come home on Naboo,” Saché sent back with coordinates just in case. A day later Sabine was at her door, and she welcomed them with open arms, pulling them in a hug. “Sabine,” she greeted. “It’s good to see you, kid”

“Sache!” They accepted the hug, only a little startled about the contact. They had forgotten that her old friend was the hugging type, but it wasn’t a bad surprise by any means. When they broke away, Sabine surveyed her, checking for signs of worry and stress. The New Republic was still in its infancy, and they could only imagine the kind of anxiety that rebuilding government from the ashes of the Empire could evoke. It had to be a difficult job, but one she knew Sache well prepared for. Her main concern was that their friend would work too much, take too much upon her shoulders.

“It’s good to see you too! And Naboo.” Kriff, this planet was gorgeous. The rolling plains that delved into lakes, the green pastures filled with living, growing things. Flowers so small and delicate, yet towers and castles so grand. “I had almost forgotten how beautiful your home was. Tell me, do you ever find a break from work to just...admire it all?” They hoped not to sound judgmental or inquisitive, but just curious. 

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Hux opened his mouth to retort that it might kill her, but an explosive roar drowned him out. The shockwave hurled him to the ground. His ears ringing, broken glass cutting at his hands and knees, he scrambled to find the source of the attack. His eyes darted past smoke, rubble, and the bodies of guests and Hapan navy alike. Overhead, a tall grey humanoid brandished an — eel? It snapped into a rigid spear when thrown to earth, head sizzling bright with plasma. Hux seized Sabine’s arm.   (Just a little push! End them!)    But at a last second realization, he reluctantly pulled them towards cover. They both narrowly escaped the blast.

“That’s not us,”  he hissed. Who but the First Order would attack a New Republic gala? His only clue was the bizarre weaponry, and the Mandalorian beside Hux was perhaps the galaxy’s second-best living mind in weapons development.  “Have you ever seen these explosives? They’re not Imperial. CSA? An enemy of Hapan?”

.

The shift was immediate. Suddenly, Sabine was on the floor, blinking up at passing lines of flame and shadow. Of fucking course something would shit on her one actual chance to preserve the heritage of Mandalore. Beneath her leg was the familiar discomfort of shrapnel digging into skin, and then a pull-- and not a minute too soon. Meeting that familiar face brought an anger to her stomach (of course she was stuck with the one asshole in this gala who would leap at the chance to make their life a living hell). But as another explosion rattled the building, Sabine realized all too clear: it was cooperation or death.

“You sure the bastards you work for aren’t finally ready to dump your sorry ass?” She muttered between gritted teeth, the sharp iron of blood on her tongue. “No, I’ve never seen anything like this!” They yelled to be heard over the din of chaos that was erupting around them. “I don’t know who the fuck this is or who they’re targeting, but it looks like we’re gonna have to work together.” She surveyed the area, tossing him some long shard of wood like a dagger and grabbing one for themself.

“Happy fucking new year, sweetheart.”

❛  i wish it wasn’t true .  ❜ –– from trilla

“Yeah, um.” They gently kicked up some of the dirt that coated the ground, tracing a pattern of anxiety into the earth. “Me too. Maybe in a better galaxy somewhere, this wouldn’t have happened, but, uh. But we’ve gotta play with the cards we’re dealt, huh?” They asked, albeit halfheartedly. Still, if she had to pick someone to go through this with, Trilla wasn’t a bad choice.

@cravked 

mvchinery​ // Depa Billaba

admittedly, depa wasn’t at her most clearheaded, distracted by scanning the shelves behind her, looking for a specific file that should have been right around here, somewhere. she hadn’t always been the biggest fan of spending hours in the library as a youngling, but she knew the value of some good research, wanted to catch herself up on both some things she had missed & some ancient history.

she took a step back as they stumbled into each other, wincing apologetically. “it’s quite alright, it’s my fault — “ she leaned down to help them pick everything up, then tilted her head slightly at her question. “i don’t think so, no ? i’m depa billaba.” perhaps that would jog their memory, though she did not know them.

The woman had a kind demeanor, handing the Mandalorian back the few items she’d been careless enough to let drop. When question met its answer, their dawning realization was met with a gasp.

“Depa? Kanan’s master?” 

The handful of stories they’d heard on nights huddled around dying embers, nights full of laughter and guilt and regret and love-- the little she knew of Kanan’s past before meeting Hera...it’d been etched with admiration for the person that stood before Sabine now. Quickly, they shuffled the research materials into her bag, extending a now-free hand in greeting.

“Osi’kyr, it’s wonderful to meet you! I’m Sabine. Sabine Wren.”