#He learned about the force and Jedi and 19

[thelesbianthespianposts]

the Star Wars fandom makes a lot of jokes about Din Djarin not knowing anything about Star Wars and dating Mr. Star Wars himself. And while that is true and very funny, I would like to point out that Mr. Star Wars doesn’t know anything about Star Wars either

[phoenixyfriend]

Tony Stark & Natasha Romanova, now in Star Wars

IDK if you folks were ever MEGA into crossovers but did you ever engage with the kind that can more or less be summarized as "isekai but the person 'hit by truck-kun' is a character from a different canon?"

Because that's what this is.

Tony Stark isekai'd into Star Wars (random planet) after dying in Endgame. He knows the movies, but not the supplemental material, as even by the time TPM came out, he was thirty and fucked up and making a name for himself in war. Bad times.

Tony wakes up sixteen and with Nothing to his name but his skills. He does not speak the language. Mostly gets by doing shit like skinning potatoes for a kitchen and pulling weeds and whatnot while he catches up on Basic. (He is apparently fluent, or at least conversational, in French, Spanish, Italian, Latin, and Dari. So Basic would be his Seventh language, and while four of those can be lumped into 'if you learn one, the next will be easier,' Dari is wildly unrelated, so I'd say he could pick up Basic a bit faster than average, especially with 16yo brain elasticity.)

A toddler, two years old with intensely red hair, runs into his shins one day and yells his name very clearly. He looks down, is a little confused, and then a nearby carer from an orphanage jogs up yelling "Nat!" The toddler is Natasha Romanoff. She remembers everything, including dying, but is about twenty-five pounds soaking wet and NOBODY will take her seriously.

It takes some… effort, to explain the situation to the carer. Yes, Tony knows Nat. He worked with uh…. her 'older brother, a man named Clint.' Tony does not currently have the resources for anyone to legally give him custody of a toddler but he's got some motivation to secure housing and a stable income.

He does that. Gets Natasha with him because of course he has to do that. It's the one person he knows. It's Nat.

Turns out she's Force Sensitive, though. A 'natural extension' of her more skillgrinding abilities to read/manipulate people. Tony is not Force Sensitive but he DID recently have a medical episode that took him to a thankfully-government-funded clinic that informed him he has a Bad Heart and will require a pacemaker despite being seventeen.

A Jedi finds Nat while passing through and they Discuss Their Options. This is when Nat is about four. There is a heavy discussion about how her mind is older than her body, so the Jedi would need to be ready for that, but also Tony needs to discuss this with Nat, who was like thirty-nine(?) when she died and thus more than capable of making her own decisions.

Despite fandom generally painting Tony as the most selfish of the Avengers and Natasha as the most coldly practical, they are still heroes who put in some Fucking Effort to become better people, and they come to the conclusion that Natasha would do much more to help this galaxy as a Jedi than as some kid in poverty on a no-name planet. So off she goes!

She's like five years younger than Obi-Wan, the story reveals.

Tony is a bit aimless and the work he's BEEN doing (probably laying down electrical lines or something at this point, IDK, he got into construction or something) gets sideswept by Damage To A Tool. He knows how to fix the tool, but he does not have a forge.

There is a forge in town. He goes to it and says that he can't afford to ask to have it fixed, but he knows how to do it himself, so could he borrow access for a small fee?

This is a Mandalorian armorer. They say no. In fact, they tell him, that would be significantly more expensive than just getting it fixed.

Buuuuuuuuuut for Reasons, the armorer decides that Tony (now 18-19 physically) can do it so long as the Armorer supervises. Tony is competent Enough that the Armorer gives him a datapad and tells him to read it and come back in a week to discuss the topic. Tony warns that Basic is far from his first language and he doesn't have a whole lot of free time, so he probably won't have read it by then. That's fine, they'll just discuss what he has read.

It's about Mando culture, in a mildly propaganda-y way, and Tony comes back to Argue About Religion more than anything. He thinks the Armorer is proselytizing, which they kind of are, but they are also more than happy to discuss the lines between the Mando culture as ethnicity and culture and religion and so on.

This becomes a regular occurence. Tony has made A Friend who has started offering him a side gig doing Basic Village Blacksmith Work that the Armorer deems too menial, like "horse"shoes.

Tony is offered an apprenticeship that he did not expect, on the condition of Becoming Mandalorian.

This is. A heavy decision.

However. Tony is a guy who is at least partly defined by his cool armor. Mandalorians are defined by their cool armor. He has been told, several times, that there are multiple ways to be a Mandalorian. So he accepts, because he decides it's worth for the chance to be somebody who can make a difference in a way he currently can't.

Ten years later, 'Initiate Romanova' goes up to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon as they prepare to leave, and neatly informs them that she has a feeling they are going to have a Bad Time on their mission in Mandalore, and that if they need emergency shelter from enemies, to go to an Armorer by the name of Tony Stark, because that's her brother so she knows that he's going to be friendly to Jedi. (Tony has sent her a small handful of messages, through channels both official and not, about big life events.)

Of course, shit hits the fan and the two plus Satine end up finding Tony's forge and he hides them in his Underground Bunker, which actually has a tunnel to a cave system that is safer than the bunker itself. Because reasons. (IN A CAVE. WITH A BOX OF SCRAPS.)

He has helper droids! They are named indirectly after friends from the Past Life, things like Spangles.

On their way back after the mission they swing by to say hi and he asks them to bring something to Natasha and it's a matryoshka doll set he made based on the Avengers (it goes based on age so the outermost is Thor, followed by I think Bruce, Rhodey, Tony, Clint, Natasha, Steve, Sam, Wanda, Vision), as well as a plushie he had custom made by somebody in town of a Bird With Archery Gear, even though she's too old for that stuff.

Even among the Jedi, Natasha is WEIRD and SERIOUS and everyone's pretty damn sure she's going to be a Shadow, or at least do a HECK of a lot of undercover work.

IDK how this plays out but Tony is definitely keeping an eye on politics so he can figure out the Palpatine rise to power and remind Natasha in case she's forgotten because when they first split they didn't, either of them, know what to expect in regards to her memory given the whole Baby Brain issue.

"Why is Tony an Armorer"

Okay some more thoughts!

I think Tony's aggressively atheist and consistently watching whoever claims to be Mand'alor with a critical eye in case he has to step in, and does not take any references to ka'ra with any real seriousness. That said. He's an Armorer now. A weird one who refuses like half his clients for Ethics Reasons, but technically a cultural authority figure who's allowed to argue with the Mand’alor.

@penpalpixie:

fsr the initial meeting scenario with the armorer bugs me,like would they really just let him" but tbf Tony knows how to steamroll people and could probably dissect the forge in an instant.

Which, yeah, in my defense, I put this together in about two hours so some of it's a bit wonk? BUT. @threebea had a good suggestion for how/why the Armorer had Tony actually do things in the forge instead of telling him to scram:

Maybe Tony has been doing some 'crafting' on the side maybe droid repairs or modifications which is how the Armorer first sort of hears about him and then one day there's the kid that people have been mentioning the Stars aligned here's a pamphlet. He can't make a living off gizmos in his situation since most of what Star wars has is advanced tech and to do anything impressive he would need more resources and more of an understanding of the mathematics of this universe (Stares at ceiling one night trying to figure out if the law of relativity would be a thing here). That might slow him down just like… his math doesn't actually work here so on top of language he would have to learn things to do complicated stuff that he could already buy for a credit. But with armory it's concepts he knows well and adding weapons to armor especially no lethal ones is something he also knows. Mandalorian armor with UNI BEAM

When it comes to canon, he knows THE big thing (Palpatine is Sidious) and basically nothing else. He thinks he remembers the clones being Mando? but he's honestly not even sure he remembers the original Fett's first name correctly. He knows the guy is a Fett, because Boba was a cultural mainstay for Tony's childhood, so like, it was nice to have some backstory, but he's honestly not sure how likely "that baby Mand'alor that went missing" is to being Boba's plot-relevant dad. Could be an uncle for all he knows, or just a guy with the same last name.

@firebirdeternal:

I feel like to keep things fair Tony should be able to scale up a little harder than the average Mandalorian. Yeah all his tech knowledge is a bit out-dated and he isn't likely to get an arc reactor running in a way that'll be more powerful than anything locally available, but I feel like he'd adapt pretty darn quickly to available tech and start Improving Things Nat's skills all translate extremely well, once she's not got stumpy toddler body she's basically back to her old level PLUS telekinesis and wibbly force nonsense although I understand if that's also not the focus of the fic, being less "And now there's some Avengers Here (Powerset)" and more "And now there's some Avengers Here (Attitudes and Characters)"

Nat is very excited to Break Into Tony's Cave.

NGL this was initially going to be a Tony Raises Nat thing but I couldn't ultimately justify her NOT going the Jedi route after I realized I wanted her to be Sensitive.

There was also a discarded plot idea about her being a little older and having gone undercover in death watch, because Tony got kidnapped to work for them and got through to her, where she gets to use her Bites as a teen but I scrapped it.

I do think she successfully argues to her Master to visit him at 14 to get light armor though.

Nat's the sneakiest little initiate and also. Very, very controlled in the scary way during spars.

Bea:

Natasha as a Jedi is so good. Like, she would probably have a bit of dissonance between Jedi training and the training she received as a child, and it might help her work through some things. Nat: I've known Yoda for three days but if anything happened to him I would kil-- wait uh (pivots) I would be very sad. She would try to sneak up on council members. It is like a kitten stalking a cat on the outside, but also she's a grown woman and wants to be that good. (AU of this If Quinlan ever saw this he'd adopt her: Quinlan: Tholme I found a new padawan sister. Get training Tholme: [literally just finished with Quinlan. Had planned to take a vacation. Meditate. Drink. He loves his kid but needs literally a moment here] Tholme: She's seven. Quinlan: I was four. Tholme: … Quinlan: She has a secret tragic background toooo I know you like that 😄 Tholme: [Sigh] Nat: …wait is he supposed to be Sherlock Holmes. I think he's space Sherlock Holmes. Need to ask Tony if Star Wars had Sherlock Holmes? lol yeah Tholme just feels like he could blend well with an avengers story, and a Black Widow story in particular)

Not joking when I say I considered if I could squeeze Tholme into the timeline.

Tony sends her music files that he thinks sounds Particularly Ballet to her because he remembers how much she liked dancing, as the main or even only positive thing from her Red Room training, and how she once said that if she hadn't become a spy, she thinks she'd have liked to be a ballerina.

The first time they see each other in person in years is her visiting for baby armor at 14 and is hesitant to hug him because like. Yeah he's her "brother" and there were a few years where they were acting as such and he was helping her with Basic Tasks that she doesn't like to think about too much because it's embarrassing, and they cuddled THEN, because she was Physically Baby, but they're just coworkers in reality, right? Should she hug him? If only to sell the bit to her Jedi Master?

Tony is also not the most huggy person and isn't sure if HE should hug Nat because he remembers jokey stabbing threats from when they were Avengers and like. Does she still feel that way, now that she's not a bumbling like tot?

They are both unsure of if hugging is on the table and it's the Jedi Master who says "you know, you're allowed to hug, if you want" under the impression that they aren't sure if the Jedi would allow it. And then the hug is very tight and loving because at least subconsciously they DID both want that.

The Jedi Master takes a pic.

Bea:

Jedi master: (aw) It's one of those "we've been in life or death situations together and also grew up together kinda sorta and also we're trauma bonded," and the first opportunity to solidify Family as their dynamic they both jump in feet first. And both of them were like. Extremely lonely children probably. In different ways but still.

(It's why the Hawkeye plushie didn't make her CRY, per se, but she does start keeping it in her bed even though she's Too Old for these things.)

When it comes to hugging, Nat is understandably concerned about overstepping and like. "Taking" Morgan's place. (I'm going with Tony and Nat being friends (or at least friendly) from A1 to A2, and during the blip she stopped by for dinner once in a while. Nat doing her best to bring Child Appropriate Gifts for Morgan (she misses being Aunt Nat for the Barton kids).) Or as Bea put it: Tony: Are you spying on me or are we doing people things? Nat: Can't it be both?

Anyway, their dynamic is a weird little midpoint once they're in Star Wars but then they get to a point in the armor making where Tony takes a break on a bench and she slips in under his arm to cuddle and it's just Nice (even though he's kinda sweaty and gross from the blacksmithing).

Bea:

Tony: ….. so……. is Yoda… does he look like… is he…. Nat: …???? Tony: You saw the Muppets right? Is he still a Muppet? Nat: [totally has seen the Muppets] what's a Muppet? Tony: You're killing your brother, Nat ;A;

Also the comedy of having MULTIPLE "secret languages" that nobody can translate.

It's handy, too. Between her and Tony, but also lots of languages to give different uses to. Can teach one to a specific faction for communication. OH, the poor Threepio units! She got stuck in a room with one once, and don't get my wrong, they can pick up a language fast, but they need to hear long enough sampling of it. Nat: I'm not teaching you stop asking I do agree too that Tony and Nat no matter their circumstances would be working towards stopping Palpatine. Like is this a real space is this a dream is this another dimension that just happens to be like a movie in ours? Doesn't matter the dictator is going down.

The Jedi Master is somewhat aware of the whole 'used to be an adult, sort of' thing. I don't know that they believe she's linearly matured but probably they think it's something like what I did in Jedi Babies It's definitely more explicit with a mind healer she got assigned soon after arrival.

She didn't decide whether to play it straight and "get help" or just try to game the system until she was actually sitting down. But she'd been having screaming night terrors about things she experienced in her first life, so.

Pixie:

She meets Anakin after TPM (if it's not avoided) when Obi-Wan's trying to settle him in and goes "ah, I know how to handle this kid." At some point Anakin and Tony end up sending each other various schematics.

[chevelleneech]

Saw a Reddit comment about Oshamir being creepy because Qimir is canonically old. Yet… we don’t know that for sure, do we? Qimir said was he trained as a Jedi a long time ago, but he could be twisting the truth or flat out lying. He may not have trained as a Jedi at all, even if he learned from someone who was once a Jedi Master.

Even if he is much older than he looks though, Qimir is not aiming to be her boss or her teacher. He is presenting a partnership to her, even if he is likely dressing up some evil plans with a pretty little bow. He didn’t do that with Mae. He approached her like a Master to a pupil and encouraged her to cause harm. Which he said himself was a mistake (a partial lie, probably), but that doesn’t automatically mean he views Osha in the same light. He knows she’s not out for blood, so he has to change tactics, but changing tactics doesn’t have to equal him manipulating her.

As well, Osha is canonically in her mid twenties. She’s not the typical 17-19 year old protagonist being seduced by an older supernatural being. She is also a supernatural being herself, but needs to rediscover her power. Meaning, she will be on equal (enough) footing as him in terms of skill and capability. Especially if at minimum, he trains her to be as good as he trained Mae to be.

Point is, yes, Qimir likely has ulterior motives and he is a murderer, but you know… he’s a villain. It’s expected. However, him being a villain doesn’t instantly make him a creep.

As far as we know, he didn’t kill her family and isn’t brainwashing her into trusting him. He did try to kill her (which is obviously bad), but he also healed her, gave her shelter, and told her she’s allowed to make her own decisions on how she unlocks her control of the Force. All of which is true, even if we know him wanting to unlock her power is likely more for him than it is for her.

Still though… Osha is a grown woman who as far as we can tell, has freedom of choice to do whatever she wants. If she eventually chooses to kiss an older man who murdered a bunch of people? That’s just what she choose to do, lol.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 19

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, dual POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, angst, character development, jealousy and possessive behavior, dominant Din, submissive reader, spanking (once), oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, accidental exhibitionism, overheard sex

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Note: Following along with the canon timeline, this chapter takes place at the start of Chapter 15: The Believer. You will notice some dialogue has been borrowed directly from the show.

---

As you had expected, Cara Dune had taken little convincing to agree to assist in your expedition. The moment she learned that Grogu’s life was at stake, she had put in for a temporary leave of absence with Karga, packed a small duffle bag, and boarded Boba Fett’s Firespray without a second thought. Using her leverage as a newly-minted New Republic marshal, she had managed to locate an ex-Imperial officer that Din seemed to believe would have the knowledge and access codes needed in order to locate Moff Gideon’s cruiser. Thankfully, you wouldn’t have to travel far to find him; he was serving time on the penal moon Karthon, which was only about 10 standard hours in hyperspace from Nevarro.

Regardless of the brevity of the trip, however, having Cara on board was a welcome addition to the Firespray. Throughout the week’s journey from Tython to Nevarro, the interpersonal dynamics of the ship’s passengers had been…odd.

Boba, you had found, preferred to spend the majority of his time in the cockpit behind the helm of his ship, and although he was always cordial and pleasant with you when you encountered each other in the makeshift mess or on the landing outside the ‘fresher, he was a man of few words, and something about him intimidated the kriff out of you. You weren’t certain if it was the age gap, the sharp, knowing glint of his dark eyes, or the competent, powerful way he carried himself, but everything about him screamed dangerous, and you couldn’t decide if that frightened you or if you were fascinated by it.

Fennec continued to be an enjoyable companion with which to pass the time. However, when she wasn’t actively kicking your ass during your daily hand-to-hand combat lessons, she spent a great deal of time in her bunk cleaning and maintaining her impressive arsenal of long-range blaster rifles, and you could only bring yourself to intrude on her solitude so often.

Din, of course, remained as elusive as ever. Although he had stopped outright avoiding you, you still got the sense that he would prefer to be anywhere other than in your presence, and any conversations you had managed to have with him since your emotional confrontation had been short and painfully shallow. He also still refused to share your bed, choosing instead to stand vigil in the navigation room while the rest of the ship slept, staring into the depths of space and catnapping for brief stretches during the day. You knew he had to be exhausted by now, running on fumes, but in spite of your concerns, you refused to say anything to him about it. If he was going to continue to hold you at arm’s length, you weren’t going to go out of your way to be his caregiver.

The warm, brusque, take-no-shit attitude Cara brought to the group was a comforting reprieve. She and Fennec got on like a house on fire, and once the latter had brought her up to speed on your training regimen, she was quick to shuck her armor and join the day’s sparring session. With a ready smile, she put you through your paces with a ferocity that had you pouring sweat in record time. If Fennec was a sleek, nimble vulptex in combat, Cara was a reek, and when you faced off against her, you found yourself so concentrated on keeping air in your lungs and your feet under your body that you didn’t have a single thought to spare for Grogu’s whereabouts or Din’s mental state. It was shockingly liberating.

By the time you arrived in orbit around Karthon, your body felt pleasantly wrung out, your heart felt lighter, and you had settled Cara into the bunk directly below yours. With Fennec across the way and Cara just below, the lower decks of the Firespray were starting to feel like a cross between the shipyard barracks and the sleepovers you had had with your friends as a child. Both recollections made something in your chest feel soft and tender.

You hovered at the top of the ramp as the others went down to the surface, choosing to watch from the sidelines as Cara, back in full armor, escorted the prisoner in question out of the chop fields and into the ship. A human male in a worn, yellow inmate’s jumpsuit, you could hear his bright, sharp voice carry across the distance, distinct and clearly aggravated.

“I mean, it’s-it’s common courtesy,” he was saying as he and Cara came into view. “A common courtesy to tell somebody where it is that you’re takin’ ‘em. I don’t think that’s so hard to ask, do you?”

He looked as though he was about to say more, like once he got going, he wasn’t going to stop any time soon, but then he caught sight of Boba and Fennec descending the ramp, and his words died on his tongue.

“Oh. You know, for a second, I thought you were this other guy,” he stammered after a moment’s silence, a look of relief coloring his pale, freckled features as he took in Boba’s freshly-painted sage green armor.

Then Din breezed past you to join the others, and that relief disappeared.

“Mayfeld,” the bounty hunter greeted him coolly. A ripple of tension traveled through the group, one that could be felt even from where you stood, propped casually against the doorframe, and for the first time, you wondered about the history of these two men – what had happened between them that had left such animosity behind?

“Hey. Mando. Long time.” The man called Mayfeld glanced down at his boots, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else. “So, what? You came here to kill me?”

Din said nothing, simply continued to size him up as Cara replied, “All you need to know is I bent a lot of rules to bring you along.”

Mayfeld scoffed. “Why am I so lucky?”

“Because you’re Imperial.” The venom in the ex-shock trooper’s tone could not be mistaken, the sound sending a chill up your spine even though her words weren’t directed at you.

The inmate didn’t seem to appreciate the reminder. “Hey, that was a long time ago, all right?”

“But you still know your Imperial clearances and protocols, don’t you?” Din asked pointedly, as though he already knew the answer. Something in the other man’s eyes shone like resignation at that, and you couldn’t fight the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth.

Gotcha.

---

Back in the navigation room, you lingered against the holoprojector console as Boba excused himself to begin the Firespray’s take-off sequence while the others each settled in a chair. Their eyes never left the suspicious face of the dust-covered New Republic inmate, the tension of the atmosphere steadily ratcheting up as they studied him wordlessly. He appeared to do the same, wary and hesitant, and you watched as his gaze snagged on you, seemingly noticing your presence for the first time. His sharp, blue eyes felt like a brand on your skin, trailing from the top of your head to the toes of your boots, and you found yourself crossing your arms over your chest in an instinctual, protective gesture.

Just as you thought he might speak to you, Din spoke first.

“We need coordinates for Moff Gideon’s cruiser.”

Mayfeld’s brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead as a shocked laugh burst from his throat. You got the sense that whatever reason he had imagined for being turned over to Marshal Dune, it hadn’t been that. “Moff Gideon? Yeah, forget it. Just take me back to the scrap yard, I’m not doing that.”

For some reason, his immediate, flippant dismissal struck a chord with you. You had never met this man before today, he did not even know your name, and yet it felt almost like a betrayal. He was supposed to help. You had come all this way for him…

“They have his kid,” you said sharply, the words on your lips before you could question them.

The antagonistic expression on the inmate’s face softened somewhat at that. “What, the little green guy?”

“Yeah. The little green guy.”

“So…” His eyes darted around the room, flicking from Cara to Din to Fennec to you. “I help you guys get him back, you guys let me go?”

Cara shook her head, a sneer on her lips. “That’s not how this works.”

“Well, then, what’s in it for me?”

“You get a better view,” she snapped, and you felt your eyebrows raise. You hadn’t seen this side of her before, the barely-restrained contempt and vitriol giving you your first glimpse of Cara the shock trooper, Cara the Alderaan survivor, Cara the Rebel. You would be lying if you said you weren’t impressed and more than a little intimidated.

Mayfeld, it seemed, had nothing to say in response to that. Sighing to himself, he said, “All right, but here’s the thing: I can’t get those coordinates unless I have access to an internal Imperial terminal. I believe there’s one on Morak.”

“Morak?” Din echoed dubiously. “There’s nothing on Morak.”

The other man waved the concern away. “It’s a secret Imperial mining hub, okay? If you can get me there, I can get you the coordinates.”

The Mandalorian scanned the room then, silently checking in with Cara, then Fennec, then you. Only after he had a wordless nod from each of you did he reach over to the console behind you and activate the internal comm system.

“Fett. Punch in the coordinates to Morak.”

There was a brief pause, and then the low, gravely voice of the older man replied, “Copy that.”

As the telltale streaks and spirals of hyperspace engulfed the Firespray, casting the navigation room in a wash of blue and white light, most of its inhabitants dispersed to their various corners of the ship. Now that he had agreed to assist, it seemed that the others had determined that Mayfeld was safe to be left to his own devices. There was only so much mischief he could get up to confined to the ship, you supposed. And, if he decided to do anything foolish, there were four warriors aboard who would all be perfectly happy to hand him his ass for his troubles.

For his part, however, the inmate appeared to be perfectly content with passing the time lounging in his chair in the navigation room, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the swirl of passing star systems through the massive forward viewport. Some of the tightness, the wariness that pinched the corners of his eyes had relaxed since you had departed Karthon, and to you, he had the look of a man who had been on edge for so long that the concept of being allowed to relax for a moment was almost foreign to him. He looked like he had forgotten how, like he was trying to remind himself.

Approaching him cautiously, arms still folded over your chest, you offered him a wary half-smile and said, “So. You’re ex-Imperial?”

Mayfeld sighed heavily. “In another life, yeah. But like I told your shock trooper friend, it’s been a long time since I put on the old plastoid get-up.” Tearing his eyes away from the hyperspace horizon, he gave you another one of those head-to-toe looks that made you feel as though you were being examined under a microscope. You weren’t certain what he saw there, but when he was done, his impatience with the question softened, and he returned your smile. “But what about you? You look like you might be the only person on this ship who doesn’t wanna kill me.”

“Well, I don’t know you yet,” you quipped, leaning back against one of the nearby support beams. “Maybe I’ll change my mind.”

The man let out a surprised burst of laughter, his smile morphing into a sly, flirtatious grin. “Oh, she’s got jokes. All right, I see how it is.” Extending a broad hand in fingerless leather gloves, he said, “Name’s Migs Mayfeld.”

You accepted the handshake and introduced yourself in turn.

“Tell me somethin’, sweetheart. What the hell’s someone like you doin’ mixed up with this motley crew? Two Mandos, a Rebel dropper, and an assassin?” He scratched his short, ginger stubble, dragging his thumb across his bottom lip in a gesture that appeared both nonchalant and intentional. “One of these things is not like the others.”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes at the obvious line and instead simply shrugged. “Same thing they’re doing. Just trying to get the kid back.”

“Oh, you know him?”

“I’m his nanny,” you replied. His eyebrows rose dramatically at that. “Well, technically, I’m Mando’s engineer. But I did an…awful lot of child-minding on the side.”

“No shit.” Mayfeld studied you for a moment, fist tucked under his chin, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Ah, I see. Huh. Wouldn’t have pegged Mando for the type to go after the babysitter, but…” His gaze flicked from your eyes to your breasts to your hips, and you willed yourself not to squirm under his blatant perusal. “…I get it. Don’t think I could say no to you, either.”

A flare of self-righteousness licked its way up your spine, spilling over before you could school it into passivity. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The inmate’s smirk widened, victory flashing in his eyes as he finally managed to get a rise out of you. “Means you are way out of his league, sweetheart,” he crooned, and you lost the battle with your better judgment and rolled your eyes at him.

“Don’t you think I ought to be the judge of that?”

“Sure, sure.” Snickering, Mayfeld brought up both of his hands in a placating gesture, palms out in surrender. “So what’s your part in all this? What’s an engineer gonna do for Operation Baby Frog Rescue?”

“Actually…” You trailed off, weighing the risks of what you were about to ask him. The thought had occurred to you the moment you learned that the individual you would be retrieving from Karthon was a former Imperial soldier, and you had been preoccupied with it since. It was a big ask, what you were considering, and so far, Mayfeld was proving that he might be a…challenging person to work with.

Ultimately, the question you really needed to consider was whether the benefits would outweigh the potentially unpleasant experience.

Steeling yourself, you continued, “Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help me with that.”

A look of pleasant surprise passed over the inmate’s face. “Is that so? Well, I’m all ears, baby. What can I do for you?”

“I want to learn everything there is to know about Moff Gideon’s ship. Layout, weapons and defense capabilities, power grid design, internal systems accesses, the works.”

“Ha. How much time you got?” Mayfeld scoffed, dismissive.

With a glance over to the flight path readout on the navigation console, you replied, “About…five standard rotations, give or take a stop for fuel. I’m taking hand-to-hand combat lessons from Fennec, but otherwise, it’s not like there’s much else going on.”

“…oh. You’re serious.” You watched as the cocky smile on his face began to melt away, his expression slowly becoming more hesitant and uncertain. “Look, you gotta understand, I was a sharpshooter. Not a whole lot technical about what I was doing on those ships. I was just stationed on one. If you wanna talk systems and schematics and shit, I’m probably not the best guy for the job.”

Now it was your turn to smirk at him. “Maybe not, but you’re the guy we have.”

“Oof.” In a dramatic gesture, the inmate slammed the side of one of his fists into his chest with a dull thud, as though he had been wounded. “Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart.”

“Look, I’ve been building and repairing starships since I was 18 years old. I’ve got enough technical knowledge for the both of us,” you insisted. “What I need is someone who has seen the inside of an Imperial cruiser first-hand. If I can get a good enough understanding of their systems, if I can figure out their vulnerabilities, their weak points, I can actually help when it comes time to face them.”

Mayfeld appeared to consider the request, though his hesitance did not seem to ease even after a beat or two of tense silence. So instead of waiting any longer for him to come to a conclusion on his own, you decided to press your advantage.

Drawing your brows up in the middle, you hit him with your softest, widest eyes and added, “Please, Migs.”

You could see the moment the sharpshooter folded, and you could see the moment he recognized what you had just done to him, what levers you had been willing to press to get what you wanted. With a grin that seemed almost to congratulate you, he said, “Fine. But only ‘cause you asked so pretty.”

A surge of satisfaction swept through you, and you offered him your first real, genuine smile. Patting him once on the shoulder, you quipped, “Meet me in the mess in an hour. We’ll get started right away.”

“Yes, ma’am!” The mocking salute he gave you in return nearly had you chuckling on your way down the ladder.

Migs Mayfeld was definitely a skughole, but you had a feeling you might actually grow to like that about him.

---

Din Djarin had been given one task. One single, simple task. And he had failed.

Find a Jedi. Return the child in his charge to his people. And, until that time, care for and protect that child like his own.

He had done everything he could to complete this task. He had searched the galaxy for clues on where he might find a member of this mysterious tribe of sorcerers, following every lead, completing every tangential quest placed in his path with nothing to show for it but mere scraps of information. He had run the Razor Crest into the ground (quite literally on one occasion), spent every last credit to his name more times than he could count, and when he finally found a Jedi, she had wanted no part in the caring and training of the boy.

But even then, even when he was certain that he had found the last Jedi in existence only to be turned away, he did not relent. He took the child to the ancient temple. He placed him on the seeing stone. He fought until his body was battered and bruised to keep the boy safe while he broadcast his message through the Force into the vastness of space.

He did. Everything. Right.

Except it hadn’t mattered.

Except now the child was gone. And not into the care of a benevolent protector, one who could mold and shape his ever-growing powers, one who could help him achieve his greatest potential. No. He was gone into the hands of the Empire, of Moff Gideon. Din Djarin had failed the naur’alor, and he had failed Grogu.

It was one thing to disappoint the expectations of the leader of his covert, his spiritual guide, the keeper of his culture. It was quite another to fail to protect a foundling. It flew in the face of everything he believed, every value he had ever held sacred. The care and the protection of children was the very foundation of the Mandalorian way of life. To harm a child was the ultimate crime, the cardinal sin. To be granted the privilege of being a caregiver to a foundling only to be found wanting? It was the deepest shame.

Watching the squad of Dark Troopers retreat through the atmosphere with Grogu in tow, Din had felt a helplessness the likes of which he had never known. It had been a fear that had rivaled the day the Separatists attacked Aq Vetina, the day his parents were slaughtered trying to save him from the invading battle droids. But then he had turned to see you, limp and exhausted and covered head-to-toe in dirt and ash, and somehow, the anguish had only grown stronger. Your skin glowed bright red and raw everywhere he could see, marring your smooth forehead, your sweet nose, your graceful neck, your capable hands. Blood spilled down the side of your face from a cut on your brow, and you were clutching your ribcage, curled over on yourself like it hurt to stand up all the way.

Gods. He had sent you to the Razor Crest, he suddenly recalled, horror washing over him in a cold wave that nearly had his knees buckling. You could have been killed. You could have been killed, and he wouldn’t have realized. His mind had been on keeping the Storm Troopers at bay, then on the loss of his ship, then on Grogu, where it had stayed, consumed. If you had made it to the Crest, if you had been on board during its destruction��

How long would it have taken him to notice you were gone?

The sickening thought kept him up at night, kept him standing vigil by the navigation room viewport and far from your bed. It had him fighting nausea every time you looked at him with your wide, bright eyes full of grief, every time you offered him your kindness. It had him recoiling from your touch, shunning your boundless empathy. He left you alone and cold in your bunk every night because the idea of allowing you to comfort him – him – made him want to collapse inside of himself and dissolve into nothingness.

You did not need him – Din Djarin, the failed buir. Din Djarin, the thoughtless, heartless riduur. You did not need him, and he certainly did not deserve you.

And yet…

Just as he was certain that you were too good for him, he perhaps was even more certain that you were too good for that slimy, ex-Imperial frag-head Migs kriffing Mayfeld.

From the moment he had come aboard, the two of you had been nearly inseparable. They were three days into their journey to Morak, and if you weren’t sparring in the middle of the navigation room with either Fennec Shand or Marshal Dune, you were holed up somewhere with Mayfeld, the two of you huddled together over a pile of datapads or clustered around a console, talking animatedly and taking notes. He had no idea what you could have to talk to him about or what the two of you might be working on together that demanded so much of your time. All Din knew for certain was that the sight had him silently seething behind the impassivity of his helmet every time he came across it.

Though he tried to take comfort in the fact that these conversations often devolved into arguments, the two of you snipping back and forth at each other at increasing volumes as you debated something or other, that surge of satisfaction could just as easily be overtaken by raw, roiling rage every time he heard you laugh. Mayfeld made you laugh. Often. It had him wanting to break the sharpshooter’s jaw before throwing him out the airlock. And, stars, the way he looked at you, something covetous in his eyes, something hungry. It was more than he could bear.

Didn’t he understand? Couldn’t he tell? You were his. Mayfeld may have thought he had seen what Din was capable of on that prison transport, but he hadn’t seen anything yet. If that Hutt spawn ever touched you…

Not that he thought you would allow it, not really. Even in the throes of his guilt and shame and grief, the Mandalorian knew that you loved him, knew that you were loyal to him. But did Mayfeld know that? Or perhaps he just didn’t care? Either way, the thought filled his chest with slick, black fury, nearly choking him every time he was in the same room as the ex-Imperial inmate.

Din Djarin felt at the end of his tether, his own self-loathing and his longing for you and his resentment of Mayfeld building up in his body like a pressurized tibanna cartridge in an overheating blaster rifle. It was only a matter of time before he exploded. He only hoped he could keep it together long enough to find Grogu. He knew himself well enough to know that if didn’t find somewhere constructive to put all of this emotion, there was going to be collateral damage, and he wasn’t certain he would be able to do anything to stop it.

---

“So.”

You glanced up from your datapad to find Migs studying you with interest, a sharp, antagonistic gleam in his bright blue eyes, and you swallowed a sigh before it could make itself heard. Three days into your hyperspace journey to Morak, and the same number of days into your unexpected partnership with the Firespray’s newest passenger, and you were getting rather good at picking up on his tells. This one – the significant shift in his tone of voice, the sparkle in his gaze, the needling look he sent you from his seat on the deck at the foot of your bunk – told you that any work you had been accomplishing moments before was going to need to take a pause. The man was bored, and his favorite pastime seemed to be taking the piss out of you.

“Hm?” you hummed, quirking a weary eyebrow in his direction.

The sharpshooter smirked. “How’s Mando feel about how much time you been spendin’ with me?”

Shrugging, you shifted atop your bunk mattress, bunching your pillow beneath your chest as you rolled onto your front and continued reading through your notes. “If he’s bothered by it, he hasn’t said anything,” you replied truthfully.

You thought you might have caught the Mandalorian in question watching the two of you on a few occasions, hovering on the outskirts of whatever room you had decided to camp out in for the day or passing through on his way to somewhere else on the ship. You could feel the tension radiating off of him in those moments, could tell that whatever he saw when he looked at you, he didn’t like it, but with the way he had been stonewalling you lately, you couldn’t bring yourself to be too concerned about it.

If Din had an issue with Mayfeld, he could grow up and talk to you about it like an adult.

Migs scoffed at that, setting his own datapad aside with a clatter. “That guy hates my guts, sweetheart. Trust me, he’s bothered.”

“Well, then, I suppose it’s a good thing he doesn’t get a say in who I spend my time with.”

“Ooo, feisty,” he groaned, eyelids lowering and a wide, lascivious smile spreading across his face. “I like that.”

You shot him a reluctant half grin at that, amused in spite of yourself. The man was relentless, had been flirting with you mercilessly since the moment he stepped on board the ship. You weren’t sure when it had stopped being gross and started being funny, but somewhere along the way, during the many hours the two of you had spent in each other’s company since then, you had started to find his utterly shameless, boorish behavior entertaining rather than disgusting.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Nice try. But I’m not interested,” you said, just as you had every other time he had come onto you.

“No? You sure?” From his seat on the floor, he shifted and rolled up onto his knees, bringing his face level with yours. He leaned his elbow into your mattress, the thin padding dipping under the weight of him. Cupping his stubbly chin in his palm, he encroached on your space without an ounce of regret in his eyes. “You know, I been watchin’ you two, and I gotta tell you. He sure doesn’t seem to give you a whole lot of attention. Nowhere near as much as you deserve.”

You pushed down the immediate pang of hurt at his words, too accurate for your liking, and reminded yourself that Migs didn’t really know you, he definitely didn’t know Din, and he most assuredly didn’t know your relationship. Choosing to ignore his presence weighing down the edge of your bed, you flicked your gaze back to your datapad. “His kid just got kidnapped,” you replied with a shrug. “He’s got a lot on his mind.”

“Maybe.” You felt more than you saw him lean in just a bit closer, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Or maybe those pesky Mandalorian morals are destined to get in the way of bein’ able to treat you right.”

“Mando treats me just fine, Migs.” A flash of genuine irritation made its way into your voice, and you could have kicked yourself for the way just that tiny show of weakness had the inmate grinning like  a madman. He could see that he was getting to you, and it only made him push harder.

“Girl like you deserves more than ‘fine,’ sweetheart. Besides, how do you know he’s not repulsive under all that armor? And who knows what he’s got hiding under that helmet?”

You chose not to dignify that with a response. This topic had come up more than once over the last few days – Din’s helmet, his armor, his Mandalorian culture and practices. Something about them seemed to grate at Mayfeld in a way that felt deeper and more real than anything else that came out of the man’s mouth, particularly the helmet. You didn’t understand it yourself, but you knew that it made him distrustful of Din, that it put him on edge.

Of course, you would never reveal that you at least had some idea of what was under that helmet. The floppy curls you had run your fingers through, the scratchy stubble that had burned your cheeks and inner thighs. The soft, downturned mouth you had kissed so thoroughly, the strong, hooked nose you had felt dragging along your neck and collarbones. Under his helmet, he was just a human man.

Your man, and one you were convinced was devastatingly handsome, but still, nothing especially remarkable. Whatever image Migs had concocted in his head, you were sure it was far more extreme than the reality.

As you recalled those precious hours you had spent wrapped up together and felt your heart squeeze in response, something must have flickered across your face, some tell that you hadn’t been able to push down. Migs seemed to go still next to you, suddenly serious.

“Unless…you do know what’s under it,” he murmured, something like awe, like jealousy in his voice. “You seen his face, sweetheart?”

Too far.

You shot up onto your knees, finally putting some distance between the two of you and meeting his gaze with a cold, sharp look. “No, I haven’t. No one has. And no one will,” you snapped. Waving your all-but-forgotten datapad in his face, you added, “Now, can we please get back to the internal surveillance systems?”

The sharpshooter narrowed his eyes at you for a moment, seemingly studying you, before leaning back off of the mattress. A light, easy smile slipped back over his face once again, and you found yourself sighing audibly in relief.

“Yeah, sure. For now,” he purred, that insatiable, flirtatious tone back in a way that felt almost comforting after such a close brush with something real, something personal. “But I’d be stupid if I didn’t try my damnedest to turn your head while I got the chance, baby.”

A soft, breathy chuckle burst from your chest, and the sharpshooter sent you a wink, over the top, shameless.

“Mayfeld.”

You startled at the gravely, modulated sound of Din’s voice, suddenly so close, and your eyes flew to the entrance to your bunk. Tall, broad, and impossibly intimidating, the Mandalorian took up the entire narrow doorway, one of his gloved fists wrapped snugly around the bars of the open cell door.

You hadn’t heard him climb down the ladder, hadn’t sensed him on the slender platform outside your cell. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

And why did those questions have your heart speeding up in your chest?

For his part, Mayfeld appeared entirely unbothered. If anything, the shit-eating grin that split his face grew even wider as he turned to take in the unexpected visitor. “Speak of the devil,” he said, and that kriffing tone was back, bright and joyfully irritating.

“Take a break. There’s caf in the mess,” Din said, taking a slow, measured step into your bunk. His frame loomed over the both of you in a way that made you feel a bit like running. A bit like prey.

The inmate frowned a bit at that, clearly not appreciating the idea of being ordered around by the Mandalorian. “Hey, we’re in the middle of a – ”

“I said. Take. A break.”

His low, rumbling words left no room for argument. Mayfeld glanced back and forth between you and Din, as though confirming that it was safe for him to leave, and you nodded once. He seemed to understand, and a smooth, practiced smile slipped back over his face as he got to his feet. “All right, all right. Three’s a crowd, I gotcha.” Tossing you a short wave over his shoulder, he added, “Catch up with you later, sweetheart.” Then he was swinging himself up onto the central ladder and climbing for the upper decks.

The moment you were certain Mayfeld was out of earshot, you were scrambling to your feet, tossing your datapad onto your pillow with a soft thump. “Din!” you hissed, wrestling a shout into something softer but no less venomous. “What the kriff is your problem?”

The bounty hunter seemed entirely unaffected by your indignation; if anything, it seemed to make him dig his heels in. Drawing himself up to full height and crossing his arms over his armored chest, he growled, “Mayfeld is bad news. You should keep your distance from him.”

Anger rose in your chest at the audacity of such a statement, as though the man before you hadn’t been skirting his way out of your presence for more than a week now, as though he had any right…

“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you insisted we bring him on board.” You took a handful of quick, pointed strides, coming to stand directly in front of him, your chin jutting outward defiantly as you glared up into his visor. “Besides, you don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with. That’s not how this works.”

“Friends?” Din’s voice vibrated low and dangerous through his vocoder, and you suppressed a shiver at the sound. Goosebumps broke out along the back of your neck and down your arms as he tilted his helmet down another inch, bringing himself even further into your space. “You think you and him are friends?”

You swallowed thickly. “So far, yeah. He’s agreeing to help you track down Gideon’s cruiser, he’s been helping me brush up on my Imperial starship design. He’s been nothing but nice to me – ”

“Migs Mayfeld is not nice, not unless he wants something from you. And trust me, cyare, what he wants from you is anything but nice.”

And there it was. You knew it, had felt it in his burning gaze, seen it in his menacing body language. You had even heard it in his voice – that barely restrained fury, that primal possession.

Din was jealous. Acutely, poisonously jealous.

“Oh, yeah?” you taunted, biting back a grin. “And what does he want from me, exactly?”

A rasping, animalistic sound rumbled somewhere deep in his chest. “I think you know.”

You felt a smirk tug at one corner of your mouth, the heat of your anger suddenly morphing, transforming, racing along your nerve endings, pooling in your belly. Maker help you, but this was working for you. You could feel the apex of your thighs starting to throb, to dampen. How long had it been since he had touched you? You couldn’t remember anymore. Too long.

Your next words were barely a whisper against the cool beskar of his helmet, close enough now for your warm breath to fog up the reflective surface but still not touching. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

At first, only silence met your taunting, needling question, and it was almost enough to drag you out of the moment, to have self-consciousness and shame rearing their ugly heads behind your ribs. But then you heard his breathing pick up, suddenly audible through his vocoder. A flush bloomed on your cheeks at the sound, spilling down your neck, darkening your chest. He seemed to follow the path of it with his eyes, his visor angling down to watch your breasts heave, to witness the way his proximity affected you, the way you had begun to ache for him.

Just as you opened your mouth – to curse him, to beg him, to whine for him – the Mandalorian tilted his helmet back up to meet your eyes, and you were certain you could hear it even though no words left his lips.

Can I?

You nodded weakly in answer to his unspoken question, and then he was on you, driving you inexorably back toward the wall of your bunk with the breadth of his body and the grip of his large, leather-clad hand on your jaw.

All of the air rushed out of your lungs as your body collided with the durasteel bulkhead, the chill of the metal and the force of the impact arching your back instinctually, and Din was right there when you did – pressing his chest into yours, driving an armored thigh between your legs, pressing the central ridge of that armor firmly, inescapably into your core. The hand on your jaw wrenched your head back, forcing your gaze up, up, forcing you to look him in the eye, to take in the image of your own reflection in the shining blackness of his T-shaped visor. His other hand came up to slam against the wall near your head, and just like that, in the span of a single breath, you were trapped. Pinned. Utterly at his mercy.

The realization had your stomach dropping, your knees going watery beneath you. A rush of heat washed over you, thick and sweet and addictive, and you watched your own pupils blow wide and dark in your reflection.

“Enlighten you? You’re too smart to be that naïve, gotabor’ika,” the bounty hunter growled, grinding cold, unforgiving beskar into the tender softness of your cunt. “He wants this.”

You let out a gasp, mouth dropping open, and fuck, you already looked wrecked.

Din must have thought so, too, because the next thing you knew, that hand on your jaw had shifted so that he could slip his thumb between your lips, pressing the pad into your tongue and groaning as you automatically began to suck.

“He wants this pretty mouth, too, cyar’ika. I see the way he watches you, how he stares when you speak. I see the way he follows you from room to room like a fucking shadow.”

He sounds enraged, his voice dark and his words heavy in a way you have never heard, but he keeps his emotions on a tight leash. You can feel it in the tension of his limbs, hear it in his panting breaths. He’s holding back, and the thought that this is somehow restraint has you trembling.

In his thick, leather gloves, his thumb felt huge in your mouth, and you felt saliva swell under your tongue at the sensation. Combined with the musk and the tang of the leather, it reminded you so viscerally of his cock in your mouth that it had you soaking your panties and grinding yourself harder against the press of his thigh.

If Din noticed your increasing desperation, the way you were melting beneath his hands, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he simply thrust his thumb deeper, forcing you to suck in a breath through your nose as you fought back a gag.

“But he doesn’t get to have this mouth, does he?” Something hard and taunting crept its way into his voice, and you found yourself shaking your head around his intrusion, a whine trapped high in your throat. “No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t get to have this sweet little pussy, either, does he? Hm?” He pulled his thumb away, dragging a slick string of drool with him as he did. The orange leather tip of his glove had been stained a dark umber. “Answer me, cyar’ika.”

“No, Din, never,” you whimpered, breathless. Your body writhed of its own accord, dragging your clothed cunt against his thigh armor once, twice, three times, the ridge of it catching on your swollen clit with every thrust in a way that had you absolutely fucking shaking.

“Why not? Why can’t he have you?”

The words were out of your mouth before you had even formed them, spilling into the tight, humid space between you in little gasps and sighs. “Because I’m yours.”

Immediately, his hand was in your hair, weaving through the strands at the base of your skull, loosening your braid as he yanked your head back once more. “Yeah? You’re mine?” he ground out, his words rough and clipped like he was speaking through a clenched jaw.

“Yes. Just yours. Always, Din, always.” You tried to nod but instead pulled your own hair against the harshness of his grip, and your eyes nearly rolled back in your head at the feeling.

A pleased rumble vibrated through his chest, like the purr of an overgrown nexu, and he released your hair, instead placing both hands on your shoulders and bearing you down onto your knees. “Then prove it, mesh’la.”

You put up no resistance, your legs folding easily beneath you as you collapsed onto the deck at his feet. Back still pressed to the bulkhead, your fingers went to his belt immediately, releasing the center buckle and catching the heavy weight in your palms as it loosened and then slipped from around his narrow hips. Swiftly discarding it onto the nearby bunk, you tackled his flight suit pants next, tucking your hands up under the bottom of the padded bib he wore under his cuirass to release the button and drag down the zipper.

The Mandalorian groaned at the relieved pressure, and you bit back a whine at the sight of his thick cock pressing insistently against the fabric of his underwear. Even in the narrow space created by his open fly, you could see how he tented the black cotton, how the impressive length of him nearly had his flushed, weeping tip poking out of the waistband. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling your walls clench around nothing as he watched him twitch. He was throbbing for you, and you for him.

You drew him out without preamble, too impatient now to tease, too desperate to draw it out any more, and then your mouth was on him, and you loosed a groan that would have embarrassed you had you been in you right mind. Dank farrik, he felt good – his skin hot and smooth, his musk slick on your tongue, making you drool, making your cunt drip. Din dropped a series of curses intermingled with warm, lilting Mando’a, and you snapped your eyes up to him, watching him watch you take him. His fingers returned to your hair then, cradling the bowl of your skull in his palm, pressing, pulling, drawing your forward.

“Shab, that’s it, cyar’ika,” he panted, thrusting shallowly. “Just let me use my mouth. Let me fuck it a little, hm?”

You moaned a muffled, affirmative noise, wrapping your hands around his hips to steady yourself as you relaxed your throat. Taking deep, steady breaths through your nose, you felt your eyelids start to flutter as he began to thrust into you. Dragging the underside of his cock along your tongue, probing past your gag reflex, the plush tip of him sliding along your soft pallet, bumping into the back of your throat. Tears welled at your lash line, a single one bursting the dam and tracking down your cheek, and you could tell that salvia was staring to pool in the corners of your mouth. Gods, he was so thick – hot and slick and smelling like salt, like man. It was making your mind fuzzy, your thoughts loose and sluggish. He was fucking them out of you, forcing them from your body with every hitch of his hips, and you felt all of the fear and the anxiety and the grief inside you soften as he did.

Distantly, you wondered whether he was experiencing that same relief, that same unburdening with the soft heat of your mouth, but before the thought could fully coalesce, it was gone, dissolved with all the others.

You felt him start to twitch on your tongue then, his balls drawing up and tightening against your chin, and then he was using his grip on your head to pull you off him. You whined in protest, feeling bereft, but he shushed you before you could put words to your disappointment.

“Shh, shh, mesh’la. On your feet now.”

You obeyed as quickly as you could, your legs feeling a bit numb after being folded up beneath you on the cold durasteel floor, but the moment you had your feet under you, his hands were back on your body. He yanked the zipper of your jumpsuit down with an urgency that nearly had the mechanism catching on the fabric, then he was working the sleeves down over your shoulders, shoving the fabric down your torso until it caught on the plush flare your hips. Tucking his thumbs into your panties, he dug his fingers into the undergarment and the jumpsuit and tugged them both all the way down to your knees, leaving you abruptly bare but for your thin, black breastband.

“Turn around. Hands on the bed,” the Mandalorian rumbled, and you stumbled to do what he asked.

Blood rushed to your face in mortification at the thought of how you must look right now, clumsy with your clothes around your knees, boots still on your feet, braid half undone, shining slick dripping from your pussy and coating the insides of your thighs. But your debauched helplessness only seemed to turn Din on more. The moment your palms hit the flimsy mattress, he landed a quick, sharp swat to the meat of your ass, and you gasped at the sting. The feel of his leather gloves on your skin in such an intimate place had you squirming, and you thought you heard him chuckle breathily as he watched you writhe.

“Oh, sweet girl.” With the tip of his boot, he kicked your feet wider apart, forcing you to spread your legs for him while you bent over the bed. Dragging two fingers through the mess between your legs, he groaned indulgently. “You get this wet just from my cock in your mouth?”

You sobbed out a sound that you hoped sounded like a yes, but Din wasn’t having it. Wrapping what was left of your braid around his fist, he pulled, making you cry out.

“Use your words now. Is your pretty pussy dripping like this because of me?”

“Yes!” you whimpered weakly. “It’s all for you, Din.”

Two leather-clad fingertips appeared at your entrance, stroking your fluttering hole with a gentleness that felt almost out of place in this high-intensity moment, but it had your thighs trembling nonetheless. “Not for him, though. Right, cyar’ika?”

You were shaking your head before he had even finished his question. “No, no, just you! I swear!”

“That’s right. You know why?” Those two fingers thrust forward then, filling, stretching, and you felt your mouth drop open on a moan. “Because no one else can make you feel like this, can they? No one else can give this pussy what she needs. You’re mine, mesh’la. Only mine.”

The bounty hunter continued to mumble lewd, greedy nonsense as he fucked you with his fingers, but you couldn’t make yourself focus on his words. That far-off, foggy feeling was coming back; with every thrust, every curl, every scissoring stretch, you felt yourself releasing rhythmic, involuntary moans, your slickness gathering at the base of his fingers and slipping down his palm. He was going to make you come like this, just with his fingers. It had been building since the moment you realized he was acting out of jealousy, since the moment he started bossing Mayfeld around in that wicked, possessive voice, and there was no stopping it now.

Not when you had been deprived of him for so long, not when he played your body and your mind like a finely tuned instrument.

“You going to come for me, sweet girl? S’okay, you can come.” Running a warm, soothing palm across your spine, Din drove you further forward, urging you to drop your upper body onto the mattress. “Come on my fingers, and then I’ll give you my cock and fuck this pussy the way you deserve.”

Shit. You would never get used to that – the way he talked to you, the way his low, rasping voice curled intimately around every word. The distortion of his helmet modulator somehow only made it hotter. It made it feel illicit, added a forbidden element that had you sweating under his touch.

With the promise of his thick, swollen cock lingering at the back of your mind, you fell apart on his fingers, your legs shaking so violently that Din had to tuck an arm under your stomach and hold you upright.

As you caught your breath, head resting on your folded forearms, you felt his fingers slip from your body, replaced instead with the wide, blunt press of his cock. Groaning low in your chest, you shifted your feet apart even wider and arched your back, presenting yourself to him in wordless submission.

“There we go,” the Mandalorian sighed. He wrapped both of his hands around your hips then, pulling you slowly, steadily back into him, splitting you open one perfect inch at a time. “Who’s pussy is this, mesh’la? Who’s the only one who gets to fuck you like this?”

“Just you, Din.” Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears – low and breathy and whimpering. You sounded completely fucked out, completely pathetic, and somehow it made you even wetter, made your cunt clench around him.

“Shaaaab, that’s right.” One hand slid from your hip to your spine, settling firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning your top half to the bunk. “Now all you have to do is take it. Just take what I give you.”

Then Din fucked you like he wanted to ruin you, and you thought he might have succeeded.

Deep, rough, and relentless, he pounded into you with utter abandon, no longer the focused bounty hunter, the unflappable warrior in complete control of his faculties. This man was just as strung out as you, and it lent a flavor of desperation to his thrusts that had you rocketing toward your peak with a speed that left you feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Burying your face in the mattress, you moaned and whimpered and cried out each time his hips connected with your ass, each time the tip of his cock kissed your cervix, each time he dragged himself across that soft, spongy spot that had you seeing stars.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, cyare,” he grunted, the sound coming out staticky and warped as he gritted his teeth inside his helmet. “Such a perfect little cunt. Love how she drips for me. So soft. And sweet. And fucking messy.”

“Stars, Din, please – ”

“That’s it.” Draping himself over your body, the Mandalorian wrapped one of his hands around your throat and tugged you up, bowing your body into a dramatic curve that had your head coming back to rest on his shoulder, your hips still pressed to his as he continued his merciless, reckless thrusts. “You want to come? Can feel her squeezing me.”

You nodded furiously. The constant, gentle pressure at the base of your throat as he held you in place was making you crazy. He wasn’t choking you, not really, just holding you, but even that was enough to have your vision blurring.

“I want you to ask me,” he said, just as breathless as you. His other hand wrapped around the front of your body then, the pads of his gloved fingers immediately massaging your throbbing clit, and you moaned at the sensation. “Ask me to come on this cock.”

“Can I come? Gods, please, Din, can I come on your cock?”

The cool press of beskar knocked against your forehead, and you got the distinct impression that if he had been helmetless, Din would have dropped a kiss onto your sweaty hairline as he replied, anguished, “Yes, mesh’la. Come for me.”

It was as though his words made it so. With an involuntary cry that might have been his name or might have just been a string of curses, your walls seized around him as a fresh wave of wetness soaked you both, every pulse sending you thrusting back against him, trying to take him deeper, harder, rougher. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your vision fading around the edges, and your hands flew up to dig your nails into the arm that held you upright. They skittered and scraped over his vambrace as you rode out your high, and just as you started to come back down, you felt the hot, wet bloom of his release deep inside you, making you start twitching and trembling all over again.

You slowly regained awareness when Din slipped his softening cock from your body, and you immediately swayed on your feet, feeling like a dugar dugar fawn, weak and wet and spindly-legged, unable to support your own weight. The Mandalorian was there in an instant, murmuring soft, gentle Mando’a as he guided you onto the bunk mattress. You sat heavily, boneless and bleary-eyed, and watched as he tore off a tattered corner of his black cape and used it to clean himself and then you, the worn fabric surprisingly gentle against your swollen, puffy cunt.

“Thank you,” you murmured hoarsely, and the softness with which he looked at you told you that he was probably smiling behind his helmet.

“Don’t need to thank me,” he replied just as softly, tucking himself back into his pants, adjusting his slick-stained underwear, zipping up his fly. “S’the least I can do after…all that.”

You offered him a small, tired smile. “Don’t feel guilty. I liked it. A lot.” Before you could second-guess the impulse, you reached out and ran your palm across his still-heaving chest, the beskar body-warm under your touch from where he had pressed against you. “And it felt like…maybe you needed it.”

Releasing a bone-deep, weary sigh, the bounty hunter covered your hand with his own, threading his fingers through yours. “I did. Maybe I should be the one thanking you.”

You squeezed his hand with a smirk. “How about you help me get dressed, and we call it even?”

Din was silent as he gently, tenderly helped put you back together again – bringing you to your feet, kneeling before you, tugging up your crumpled panties and your boilersuit, holding out the sleeves to help you slide them on. He pulled up the zipper slowly, careful not to snag on the soft curve of your breasts, and then he started unweaving your struggling braid, running his fingers from the roots to the ends as he detangled it as best as he could.

You reveled in the feeling of his care, savoring every gentle touch and caress after so many days without an ounce of softness from him. For the first time since leaving Tython, your mind felt blissfully clean and quiet, like you had been shut down and rebooted and you were back to running at peak efficiency. You thought he might be experiencing the same refresh.

Still, however, he surprised you when he took your face in his hands, cradling your cheeks in his palms, and said, “I’ve been unkind to you, cyare.”

You blinked up at him with wide eyes, murmuring, “Yes. You have.”

Sweeping his thumbs across your cheekbones, Din dropped his forehead to yours. “I…don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Be…vulnerable. Let people in. Let them see me when I’m in pain. Let them help.” His voice dropped then, barely a whisper, as he added, “And I don’t know that I deserve it.”

You swore a fist reached through your ribcage and squeezed your heart at his words, and emotion welled in your throat. “Din. What happened wasn’t your fault. You did everything you possibly could.”

His reply was quick, as though he had been anticipating it. “But it wasn’t enough.”

“You don’t deserve to punish yourself because you were outnumbered and outgunned. You’re a powerful warrior, but you’re still only one person.” Bringing your hands up to cup around his, you stared into his visor with all the fierceness you could muster, silently pleading with him to hear you, to take your words to heart. “But we have help now. We have our friends. And together we are going to find him, and we are going to bring him home.”

“Cyare, I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head under his grip. “Don’t apologize. Just…I just need you to try. I know it’s hard, that it’s not something you’re used to. But you can’t shut me out like that again, Din. I hate knowing that you’re suffering, and you won’t let me help you.” That well of emotion threatened to choke you then, and you felt a couple of tears work their way down your cheeks, quickly swept away by his thumbs. “And I know Grogu was yours, but…but he was mine, too, you know? So was the Crest. I’ve been grieving, too, and I needed you.”

A shudder passed through the bounty hunter’s body, and the next thing you knew, he was gathering you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and cradling the back of your head in one of his hands. “Dank farrik,” he swore, voice broken and rasping. “I know, baby. I know. You’re right.”

For a moment, you simply stood there in each other’s arms, holding one another, drawing strength from one another, and you felt something tight and tender inside you release at the contact. This was what you had needed, what you had wanted from the beginning – just to love on him and be loved in return. As his own muscles loosened and relaxed under your touch, you thought he might understand now.

“I swear to you,” he murmured, pressing his helmet into the warm crook of your neck. “I will do better. I will be better. And I will bring him back to us.”

You nodded and smiled into his shoulder. “I know you will.”

---

After you had both collected yourselves a bit, the two of you decided to make your way up to the makeshift mess deck. You both were desperately hungry after your unexpected tryst, and you found yourselves in need of a change of scenery, otherwise running the risk of falling back into the bunk, getting tangled up again, and not reemerging until tomorrow.

For his part, Din expected to simply grab a ration pack at random, heat it up, and then retreat back to the lower decks so he could eat his meal in peace. What he didn’t expect was that he would be greeted at the top of the ladder by all four of the ship’s other passengers, all of whom seemingly had similar ideas and were milling about preparing their own meals and chatting amiably. However, the moment the group spotted the two of you dismounting the ladder, all activity in the room ceased, falling into a weighty, significant silence.

“Oh,” you breathed, eyes wide, taking in the pointed stares of your crewmates as a flush bloomed high on your cheeks. “H-Hey, guys. Dinner time?”

From her seat at the table, Cara Dune snorted into her cup of caf, amusement rolling off of her in waves. Fennec simply looked you both over from head to toe, shook her head, and went back to preparing her portion bread with a smirk. Even Boba, stoic and serious as he was, seemed to be smothering a grin as he took a pull from his canteen, his dark eyes twinkling with good humor.

“What?” you asked as you looked from one face to the next. Your blush darkened instinctually, and Din resisted the urge to turn right back around and crawl back down the ladder.

Gods. You didn’t know.

If the crew had been here the whole time… If you had been as loud as he thought you had been…

Sound carried on a vessel this small, and this one had a central shaft that traversed the entire length of it. The bunk door had been open the entire time. And your friends had been right at the top when you had –

“Heeey, there he is!” Mayfeld crowed, a shit-eating grin splitting his pale, smarmy face in a way that had Din’s blood pressure rising instantly. “Damn, Mando! Didn’t know you had it in you! I’ll back off, okay, buddy? Don’t know that I can compete with whatever you’re packing under that armor, you know?”

Manda fucking take him.

Everyone’s restraint seemed to expire in the same moment, and the room erupted in raucous laughter – Cara nearly snorting her caf through her nose, Fennec’s shoulders shaking, Boba’s head dropping back on his neck as his deep chuckles rumbled through the mess. Din glanced over at you to see your jaw dropping open, your hands flying to your cheeks in mortification.

“Fucking hell,” you swore, palms sliding up to cover your eyes. “Oh my god, Din.”

The bounty hunter didn’t even flinch at the use of his real name in this context. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, drawing you close to him, pressing his helmet into the top of your bowed head.

“S’nothing to be ashamed of, cyar’ika,” he soothed softly. His stomach dropped as he felt your body begin to shake against his, and he was quick to draw your hands away from your face, searching for any sign of distress, for the tracks of humiliated tears down your face.

But to his great surprise – and joy – instead he found your cheeks stretched in a wide grin, your shoulders shaking with laughter. Every bit of your skin he could see glowed with embarrassment, but still, you smiled, and happiness swelled in his chest at the sight. It was the brightest, purest smile he had seen from you in days, and Din couldn’t seem to stop himself from laughing right along with you.

---

Notes: There's some Mando'a that shows up in this chapter that hasn't been used in a while as well as one new term, so I have put a refresher here for your reference!

Mando'a Translations:

naur'alor - smith, craftsman, specifically a metalsmith that works with beskar. It's a title that's called out in the Kyr'tsad Mando'ad, a manifesto of the Death Watch and is later recognized in the book The Bounty Hunter's Code by Boba Fett. Given the Children of the Watch's connection to Death Watch, this felt like an appropriate formal title for the Armorer. buir - parent, a gender neutral term that can be used in place of "mother" or "father" riduur - spouse, a gender neutral term that can be used in place of "wife" or "husband" gotabor’ika - little engineer cyar’ika - darling, sweetheart shab - fuck manda - a collective state of being Mandalorian that is best described as an "oversoul." To become a part of the manda after death, a Mandalorian must understand their culture and act in a way that embodies Mandalorian identity. mesh’la - beautiful

[seven-oomen]

So, bit of an idea. My problem right now is too many ideas for these characters, but not enough time to write it all.

But the idea is that it's a Jangobi/Kenfetti soulmate au. Where soulmates are chosen by acts of true honor. (By the force/the manda/a higher power)

In this version of the story Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were at the battle of Galidraan at 44BBY (Obi-Wan is 16 at the time, a little aged up, Jango Fett is 22.) leading to an event where the Jedi don't kill Fett and his Mandalorians. Thanks to Obi-Wan's negotiation skills, they manage to get down to the truth and calm the situation. (And in particular Myles and Jango, which earns Obi-Wan massive amounts of respect by said Mandalorians.)

This event kick-starts a soulmate link between Obi-Wan and Jango, though soulmate links don't fully activate until someone is 18.

Now imagine two years later, Obi-Wan starts having dreams where he meets someone with a familiar voice. You can't see your soulmate's face in your dreams until you are fully aware of who it is. Once that clicks, the person in question is able to see their soulmates face. It has to click for both people.

Once they know who their soulmate is, a telepathic link forms if both parties are willing (even if subconsciously) to pursue the bond.

That's important, because you can refuse a soulmate bond. It's very rare in Mandalorian culture to do so. (Because of their beliefs). But it is more common in Jedi culture. (Though not required, it is very much a choice someone can make.) As long as their duties as Jedi take precedent.

Now, a 19-year-old padawan Obi-Wan and his master Qui-Gon Jinn are sent to Mandalore in 41BBY.

The true Mandalorians hold Keldabe while the New Mandalorians and the Deathwatch are at war over the rest of the planet.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon try to broker peace and install the New Mandalorians as the official government of Mandalore. However, things go haywire, and Obi-Wan has to take Satine and go on the run.

One day, he runs into a rather familiar face with an even more familiar voice. Jango Fett, the current Mand'alor of Keldabe, who's gathering more support among the different clans of Mandalore.

So in order to hide Satine from Deathwatch, Obi-Wan convinces Jango to take them both back to Keldabe.

And then you have this little fun and games section where Obi-Wan learns so much more about the true mandalorians and how they operate. And Satine learns much more about their heritage.

And there's this bit of a friendship of Obitine forming where they really care for each other on the deepest platonic level, but they have no real romantic interest in each other.

But of course Jango misreads that, even though he and Obi-Wan have been growing so much closer in their bonds, and he's come to see that the Jedi aren't all that bad either.

And there's this bit of shenanigans and misunderstandings that lead to an honest conversation about how they feel. And Obi-Wan comes to realize that Jango may be the person he'll leave the order for if it comes down to it.

But then Qui-Gon finds them in Keldabe. The Duke has been killed by Deathwatch. And there's more pressure than ever to just deal with the problem before it becomes bigger.

Jango, realizing that the fate of the planet, and potentially the greater galaxy, now rests on his shoulders, gathers the true mandalorians for one last showdown against Clan Vizsla. (And also avenge Jaster while he's at it.)

It's a tough fight, but Jango wins the darksaber from clan vizsla and is elected Mand'alore of the planet by the clans.

Obi-Wan, now faced with a choice to become a mandalorian or remain a Jedi, makes the choice to stay on Mandalore and honor his soulmate bond. A choice he doesn't make lightly, and that deeply saddens him inside.

Jango picks up on this and, although conflicted in his feelings, also recognizes that being a Jedi is the one true thing that makes Obi-Wan happiest. So he gives Obi-Wan the choice to leave and return to the Jedi temple. Obi-Wan refuses again, stating his place is here.

Jango isn't so sure after seeing just how miserable Obi-Wan is without a purpose. So he does something rather radical, he contacts Qui-Gon Jin and the Jedi order, except they don't send him Qui-Gon Jinn, they send him Dooku instead.

And Dooku decides, hey you know what, this place has the right idea about an actual functional government that fucking works. They need some help, sure, but I can work with that. So Dooku contacts Yoda to establish an independent Jedi temple on Mandalore (with permission from the Mand'alore, of course) that will be run by Obi-Wan Kenobi if the boy can pass his trials. He'll oversee it all, but is very much content by just being a helper of the people and being the wine uncle with crazy ideas.

The establishment of the independent Jedi Temple on Mandalore is what the force/the manda consider Jango's act of honor for Obi-Wan and their soulmate bond solidifies into a fully matured bond, resulting in a marriage of not only Jango and Obi-Wan, but also of Jedi and Mandalorian culture. Where the planet's ecosystem is restored, its people thrive, and somewhere down the line Jango & Obi-Wan have (or adopt, for the non mpreg fans) a couple of kids (Boba, Cal, Omega).

And that's how Obi-Wan Kenobi lives his best life on Mandalore. Idk. I never said the idea was perfect, just intriguing.

[antianakin]

You know it'd be kind of poetic if what you call the Insidious lineage continued to branch further away from Jedi teachings over the years while the good lineage of Obi-Wan/Luke/Rey/etc continued until the latter is forced to stop the former when they once again endanger the Galaxy.

I mean I know it's already happened with Palpatine and Vader but those guys are openly Sith. I mean it'd be tragic if Ahsoka or Sabine, still thinking they're doing the right thing, not realizing they've fallen, and even thinking they're the true Jedi come into conflict with Luke (or Rey it's far enough in the future) who have to stop them from causing harm while trying to reason with them.

Be a either a good (if they decided to be better) or tragic (if they don't) ending to the insidious lineage.

Woof, that's a pretty depressing AU depending on how you explore it!

One of the things I feel like would happen like post-ROTJ is that you might end up with varying different... branches of Jedi. They would EFFECTIVELY be lineages because all of them start from one Jedi survivor, but they branch out as time goes on. And because a lot of our different Jedi survivors were people who had limited training, they're all going to approach this Jedi thing just slightly differently.

Ezra's version of what being a Jedi means isn't going to mean the same thing as Cal's, for example. Ezra got taught by a padawan who never finished his own training, which massively limits the specific Jedi teachings he would've gotten. Cal on the other hand was someone who was raised in the Temple and then got trained by a real Master (Cere) for several years post Order 66, which means his training is likely more complete than Ezra's is and includes more of the typical Prequels Jedi apprenticeship milestones. Cal is going to know more of the traditions and rituals than Ezra is that he can then pass on to his own students (like Kata). Cal understands what it is to have been a Jedi survivor in a way that Ezra just never will. And none of this makes Cal a better or more real Jedi than Ezra is, just one who is going to be passing on different things. And so far as we know, these two characters don't overlap at all. They don't meet, they don't know each other.

And that doesn't even begin to bring in Luke who was taught by two Masters himself, but who got about 24 hours of training at like 19, took a three year break, got a couple of weeks with Yoda, took another 6 month break, and then is miraculously a Jedi Knight afterwards and starts his own school from that. We have to assume that he does NOT have access to the Ahch-To Jedi texts for most of the time he is running that school since Han seems to believe Luke was still LOOKING for Ahch-To and doesn't actually know if he found it at all during TFA. So what Luke is passing on is this combination of like the quickest apprenticeship ever and some REALLY old Jedi texts that probably barely any of the Prequels Jedi even knew about and had likely undergone a lot of changes by the time the Prequels Jedi were doing things. Luke and Leia are running almost entirely on instinct and like a couple of words of advice from Obi-Wan and Yoda that Luke can pass down.

And Luke doesn't seem to have met Ezra or Cal, either. It's possible Luke and Ezra will meet in the Mandoverse as we move forward, but as of now, they've never met and Ezra isn't a part of Luke's Jedi school.

So what this leaves us with is the potential for there to be several Jedi lineages kinda running around out there that all sort-of branch out from three people whose experiences of learning to be a Jedi are WILDLY different. The core of it is always the same, that selflessness and compassion and balance, but the details of it, the traditions and teachings and rituals of what you even DO as a Jedi are going to probably end up dissimilar from each other. Luke's school is not going to be the same as whatever Cal might set up on Tanalorr which isn't going to be the same as whatever Ezra passes on to any student he ends up taking on (if he survives the Mandoverse).

Ahsoka and Sabine then just kind-of end up their own little branch. They MIGHT call themselves Jedi, Sabine seems to call herself a Jedi even though Ahsoka explicitly says that she doesn't want Sabine to BE a Jedi, but their variation on it is going to be its own thing. If we're kind about it, they're not necessarily Sith, they're not villains, but they have a tendency towards selfishness, arrogance, and impatience. And maybe they end up more like the Nightsisters in TCW where the Jedi know they're out there being weird and kind-of dark, but they're keeping it relatively contained so the Jedi just let them be for the most part. Luke, Cal, and Ezra all know Ahsoka and Sabine are out there being weird and kind-of selfish, but until it becomes a galaxy-ending problem, they're just going to let them do what they want.

[imkazz]

things i will PAY for to have in tsats

1. nico to make a bones joke

2. will to wear cargo pants to tartarus

3. apollo to give them a ride somewhere

4. them to say goodbye to some people

5. wear the ‘tartarus club’ shirt

6. will to critisize the river phleglon (river of fire)

7. nicos big sacrifice to be some super rare mythomagic card he brought

8. them to stop next to elysium to say goodbye to some dead people (jason) edit yk what that would alert hades who expressed that nico dont go back to tartarus

9. bob. please, bob be real.

10. solangelo to meet akhyles (goddess of misery)

11. will to use his glow in tartarus

12. them to hug as they fall down

13. please show meg somewhere i love nico and megs dynamic

14. will to be completely shook that nobody ever brings med kits on quests

15. meet with cupid/eros and will goes completely ballistic

16. apollo cabin to solely refer to nico as ‘brother in law’

17. yk i dont think plauge powers really would fit canon will but its a cool idea to think about @iwnut 

18. the brochure from when percabeth talked to nyx. yes @mistresscitrusslice . let them give their brochure to solangelo. “ok so in about 15 minutes and past the empousi cave, hellhound pack, and plauge spirit home should be the hermes temple” “oh thank the gods”

19. mr d to say goodbye to his favourite demigod and his boyfriend and hand will a rifle/ak47 and go “youre shit with any other weapon. the bullets are already in the bag.”

20. hunters of artemis. just. nico acting uncomfortable and will knowing part of the story so he shields nico away from most of them

21. shelper shelper shelper

22. this ones a bit far but please get married? and will to make a joke about ‘secret jedi wedding’ and for piper to officiate it and leo as the witness because he also made the rings and theyre trying not to rope that many people in

23. will to just say ‘there is a disturbance in the force’ in tartarus

24. nico to still hate pomogranites

25. please let us see nicos zombie chauffur jules-albert somewhere. 

26. mr d to force nico and will to watch something that looks like the orientation film but when they play it its percy and annabeth telling the dos and donts of a quest and percy is such a bad actor that theres so many cuts of percy saying ‘line?’  or ‘whats next’

27. and at the end percy goes ‘well what did you learn about going on your quest?’ dora the explorer style ‘great!’

28. trogs to go ‘ah its the son of hades and his bioluminecient boyfriend’ and will to just give a small sigh

29. mr d to talk to will in private and just: ‘wheel’ ‘thats still not my name’ ‘thats how nico says your name’ ‘well its just his accent’

30. please let there be an oath to styx. just not one as stupid as apollo because nico and will are smarter than that but yk what swearing to an immortal river who will get revenge on you if you break that promise doesnt sound that smart

31. solangelo to run into lukes shoes. we were robbed of this from percy and annabeth. imagine how funny itd be if they just ran into some winged shoes.

32. yk i want nico and thalia to meditate together and when asked what they were doing thalia to just respond ‘photosynthesizing’

33. orpheus and eurydice reference (this actually can become canon because on the cover it shows them holding hands with nico slightly more forward than will and pointing to the doors so nicorpheus and willdice)

34. will backstory will backstory will backstory will backstory will backstory will backstory will backstory will backstory will backstory will backstory will backstory will backst-

35. some memories of nicos for jason to show how much he misses his friend

36. just a fleeting mention of bianca from either of them

37. if theres a will pov make him hate percy. mans was partially responsible for both his older brothers deaths. he did shit to his boyfriend which include strangling him at godsdamned twelve years old. will shouldnt exactly adore percy is more what i mean.

38. solangelo smooch.

39. nico is the new percy of chb. think of it, big 3 kid, very powerful, hero, lives at chb, close to percy, knows a lot of people. nico is just the go-to now that percy is at college and nico is a permanent resident. 

40. nico fan club. made of new younger campers, reyna, will, percy, annabeth, meg, apollo, hades, and a whole bunch of long-time campers.

41. just to have some new campers act like ttc!nico and follow nico around like he did with percy just asking questions and instead of finding them annoying like percy did nico would answer their questions truthfully like how apollo actually did for nico

these arent in order. id die to see the ‘tartarus club’ shirt to be worn by percy annabeth or nico though or at the end of the book for will to be gifted one though and more to be added

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 19: Hypnosis

Summary: The infected troopers start to move the captives into the unfinished hive for temporary storage. Obi-wan attempts to reason with them, but comes to a disheartening conclusion on what he must do to disrupt the parasite's control.

Warning: Slight mind manipulation (the morality of using Jedi Mind Tricks is put into question)

Dogma's design should give a vague idea of what Cody looks like since they belong to the same cast

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

In many ways the infected moved as if they were one singular creature. Their coordination and timing (things which most clones already had fine-tuned due to years of training) so incredibly in sync that it felt like watching an actual hivemind at work. One single entity with several bodies that worked on a precise set of tasks, like a conveyor belt in a factory line.

In reality, Obi-wan knows that's not it. The adaptations forced upon the men were ones he recognized on species of eusocial insects, that relied heavily on different kinds of pheromones to communicate. The infected are purely going off scent and hierarchy rather than an actual mind-meld. But their boosted cooperative skills are still impressive nonetheless.

That said, he really wishes that were not the case...

Especially not when he and the remaining healthy troopers were being carted off for storage. Set aside for whenever (if at all) Tup returned. Bound and unable to do anything about it. Their attempts to bring the sick to reason going on deaf ears.

Or, if they annoyed the mutated troopers just a little too much, they would get a low growl or a threatening hiss for their troubles. Sometimes the quick snap of jaws as well, but mostly they were ignored completely. The infected's devotion to their new leader far outweighing any familiarity they might have had with their healthy vode.

The parasites controlling them keeping far too firm a grip.

Obi-wan could, in a way, understand why such a creature would evolve to be this insidious. In as hostile an environment like Umbara, survival of the fittest meant doing just about anything to make it out on top. These parasites, the Umber Blight, had become some of the most naturally cruel arthropods he ever did lay his eyes upon. But, as understanding as he may be of how evolution worked, the Jedi could not bring himself to forgive these beings's true nature.

Not when they had used the troopers, his friends, in such a horrific manner. Starting off by relying heavily on the insecurities and fears of a rookie to spread their influence, and then making all of the men who'd fallen victim become mere mockeries of their true selves.

Identity was everything to a clone. Obi-wan had learned this early on, when he was still getting acquainted with helping to lead an army. Had done everything he could to deserve to get to know the fine young souls that he would be working with regularly, and that he'd slowly become endeared to. Been as openly supportive of their expressions of self, when he'd found out just how oppressive their upbringing had been. So seeing these loyal and kind-hearted soldiers lose that part of themselves, was like having a hot knife stabbed deep into his ribcage. And then subsequently watching those who still had their minds look at their vode with such distress, was like having that blade twisted and turned until everything it touched was torn into fine ribbons.

The unnecessary cruelty made his blood boil. His thoughts racing as he tried to reign it all in.

A Jedi did not submit to rage after all. They mulled over what upset them, processed that particular pain, and released it into the Force. Cleared their thoughts of all ill will and let themselves be guided towards a better solution.

Striking in anger would not benefit anyone. Least of all the victims of this disease.

"Cody..." He tried to speak calmly. Not wanting to come off as far too firm or condescending, when everyone else was relying on him being able to get through to the Commander. "My dear friend, I understand you are bound by honor to complete your duties towards your... Hive... But I must implore you to see reason. You know this isn't right."

The mutated Commander's antennae twitched as he spoke. A sign that he was listening, but not necessarily hearing what the Jedi had to say. Just aware of the noise coming from his direction.

It was a far cry from how he usually behaved.

"Spreading this to the others won't do them any good." He continued, hoping that if he insisted, that eventually he might get through to his second in command. "That is just what the parasite wants you all to think."

9 pairs of eyes turned to regard him with blatant disinterest.

The split in the middle of Cody's bottom jaw widening as he proceeded to yawn, giving the Jedi a nice view of his mouth. From the silk glands that lazily dripped thick strands of webbing, to the elongated and split tongue with protruding spikes, down to the bizarre proboscis-like appendage his esophagus had turned into, the Commander's wide articulated maw was nothing if not intimidating to look upon.

An attempt at a facsimile set of insect jaws that just came off as disconcerting when attached to a clone's otherwise human face.

"Am I boring you?" Obi-wan asked, sounding somewhat amused as he did so. "You seem tired..."

Instead of responding, Cody simply carried on with his current affairs. Most of which revolved around wrapping each and every one of the captive uninfected troopers in strong silk. Not enough to cover them up in cocoons (Cody most definitely did not produce that much silk of his own, nor had Obi-wan seem him spit up the same yellow adhesive Tup seemed to be able to naturally produce), but definitely enough to keep them immobilized during transport.

Each trooper that he'd bound up having then been carried off by one of the other infected, who's forms were distinctly different from the one Cody had taken on.

Lighter in build with less spikes or a stinger of their own. Still very much their natural height instead of the noticeable boost the Commander had gained. Unable to fly as they did not possess a set of wings. They also only had a total of 5 eyes whereas Tup had 7 and Cody had 9. Most likely because they were meant to remain indoors at all times, rather than traverse outside where good vision would be most needed.

Each cast definitely had their own set of specialties, as he noted some of the men who'd fully transformed had stomachs that were slightly larger than the average build of a standard clone trooper. For those mutated men in particular, their gasters were also rounder and larger instead of being heart-shaped and evenly sized.

They were also mostly just watching the proceedings with mild curiosity, instead of helping the others transport the prisoners. Perhaps unsure of what to do if they were not currently tasked with doing what they were most likely 'designed' to do.

At the very least their inactivity didn't seem to upset the others. Some of which checked up on them and very gently chirped as if to give reassurance. Obi-wan at least assumed this was the case, as he watch as a transformed Crys nudged an equally transformed Reed, taking the slightly rounder trooper by the hand and guiding him along.

"I think they might be Repletes." Canivete murmured from just slightly below him. At this point, only Obi-wan, Canivete and Waxer remained attached to the web. Cody had just managed to pin down Tacet to begin wrapping them up. "In ant societies, the repletes are essentially living food storage compartments, that remain in the nest to feed other ants. They fill up their social stomachs with so much food that the gaster swells to about the size of a grape..."

"That's nasty..." Waxer grimaced. He was hanging to Obi-wan's right, one of his boots the only thing in his line of sight. "How big do you think a vod could get if they followed the same logic?"

"Given the fact ants get as big as they get? From the larger bellies and gasters alone, I'm pretty sure they could put a puffer pig to shame." Cani mused. "I doubt it's gonna be a comfortable experience..."

"Stars..."

Cody passed Tacet onto the nearest trooper, moving on to grab at Waxer to begin yet another flurry of wrapping. None of the lieutenant's words getting through to his brother either. There was no talking sense into any of them... So long as the parasites had full control, the men would be forced to obey their new leader's orders.

The power of their suggestions simply too much to work around.

"..." blinking a few times, Obi-wan hummed and furrowed his brow as he began to contemplate that thought.

"You doing ok, sir?" Canivete asked as she noticed the change in his demeanor.

The parasites certainly had a powerful hold of the men's minds. Of that, he had no question. But could they withstand a Force Suggestion if he were to give it to them? They seemed to rely heavily on the men's own mental faculties to understand certain social constructs and ideas. Perhaps if he used a Jedi Mind Trick on the men, it might temporarily disrupt the hold the parasites had?

"General?" Canivete insisted, the medic sounding concerned for his sake.

"I believe I may have an idea..." He told her, frowning as he thought of the consequences implementing said idea, would later bring. Mostly, he knew he would be crossing a line with the men. Especially with Cody, who he'd once discussed this specific ability with. "But it is not one I'm particularly proud of..."

"Whatever works..." The web was slightly tugged, which he assumed was from Canivete shrugging. Or attempting to.

Waxer was already being dragged off. Cody was approaching. It was now or never...

"You will stop what you're doing and listen carefully to what I say." The Jedi tried to keep his voice as clear and even as possible, watching with bitter sadness as the Commander paused in his tracks to stare up at him clearly confused. "Now you will let go of the Commander and sleep for a little while..."

At that, Cody stood up ramrod straight in the same manner he'd done when Tup had first roared. Claiming control over the newly infected and setting them against the healthy. Pitch black eyes widened in mild shock, the mutated clone's mandibles beginning to click in distress. Antennae, arms and wings twitching as control was wrestled out of the parasite's grasp.

And then Cody let out a sudden gasp and violently shook his head.

"Was that a karking Force Suggestion?!" Canivete yelped, clearly horrified at the idea of her General using something of the sort on her siblings.

"It was the only thing I could think to try..." Obi-wan sheepishly admitted sheepishly, trying not to think too hard about it as he looked back to the shaking Commander. "Cody... Are you alright?"

".̴.̶.̸.̴.̶" Cody opened and closed his mouth several times before glancing up at the two of them in question. He regarded them for a couple of seconds before glancing down at his own body. Multiple emotions surging across his face before he regained his composure and looked back up at them again. "T̷h̶a̸t̶ ̶w̷a̷s̸n̷'̷t̵.̴.̶.̷ ̶G̶r̶e̸a̴t̴.̷.̴.̷"

"Oh crap, it worked..." Canivete sounded astonished.

"It seems to have, yes..." Which meant he'd need to do it for every single one of the infected men. Which put Obi-wan ill at ease, since he didn't like to do this sort of thing to anyone he was fond of.

Least of all to the troopers who considered trust to be everything.

Needless to say, he'd need to have a serious conversation with a lot of people once this entire mess was over. And perhaps maybe arrange a visit to the Mind Healers, since he was more than certain this entire ordeal would haunt him for the foreseeable future...

[teecupangel]

PLS, WHAT IF THE ISUS WHERE JUST FORCE SENSITIVE BEINGS LMAO 😭 https://twitter.com/ACFirstCiv/status/1694613160987075037?t=QX043v7US-9f7sU3vCq_dg&s=19

Spoilers for Ahsoka in the link above for those curious. If you want to check the link itself, it’s the photos of a small orb that looks a lot like the Apple of Eden.

I remembered I either answered an ask or reblogged an idea (I think it was from @fanworldbuildingfun) about Desmond getting thrown into Star Wars universe and he learns that the Isus’ home planet has a direct connection with the Jedis in some way.

I’m not sure if it was that one or the other Star Wars ideas we have but the main idea was that Desmond was able to save the kids from Order 666 and he took them to one of the old planets of the Jedis where he learns about the Isus’ connection to the Jedis.

… or was it the one where Rey finds him in suspended animation?

Or am I mistaking it for the Mandalorian!Desmond ask???

Regardless, I can’t seemed to find it TTATT

But I did find this Desmond gets suckered into the OG Trilogy’s plot idea XD

[light-yaers]

Ghosts of the Righteous: PART I

[CASSIAN ANDOR/HAN SOLO X READER]

Masterlist | Chapter List | AO3

Warnings: imprisonment/slavery, swearing, death. set before and during rogue one: a star wars story. 16+ (mature)

A/N: don’t ask. just know that i have not researched this much for a fic since i wrote ‘adjournment’ and was looking up chess moves for four days. it’s got 2/4 of my favourite fly boys and i’m happy about it (poe and din i’m looking at you). part two and three out soon. mwah. 

Word Count: 6k+

PART I: The Tale of Alinka Aloo and her Handsome Smuggler

You didn’t remember what freedom felt like. You didn’t remember what it tasted like. You didn’t remember what it looked like. All you knew was that prisons weren’t always so brutish and decrepit. Sometimes they were hidden in plain sight; all white walls, and gold fixtures, and three meals a day with lavish food, shipped from all over the galaxy. 

Alinka Aloo wasn’t a normal boss. That was putting it lightly. You’d been assigned to her family when you were a girl, forced into friendship with Sim Aloo’s precious daughter, tasked to watch over her and follow her every need and want. It’d been well over ten years since you were thrown into their home and thrust under the wing of—arguably—the strangest girl in the fucking world, at first.

 You were only a kid, straight off the streets and found by Coruscant police enforcers. You were shoved into some kind of attempt at a social system, but even you were old enough to understand that it was fruitless. Under the Empire, any form of social justice was merely a guise for money to be made, for bodies to be shifted. 

 From your seclusion under the Aloo’s roof, you learned a lot, but saw little. Overhearing conversations came by learning the art of being stealthy and sneaking around the mansion at night. Alinka was the product of her parents; two snakes; and would not hesitate to have you found out if you ever confided in her your plans. 

 Plans to escape. Plans to fuck off— out of the Imperial City. You’d never meant to end up here, but all too soon you’d been abandoned at the centre of the Galactic Empire. It was a long and arduous story, one that you hadn’t cared to think about since you’d found yourself, street sitting, in the largest ecumenopolis in the galaxy. 

 By the time you and Alinka were eighteen, Sim Aloo was one of the emperor’s closest advisors. The emperor often popped round to their mansion, bringing warm welcomes and polite hugs to Aloo’s wife and Alinka. You were never offered such royalties, though you had never wanted them. 

 Your parents would be rolling in their graves if that man so much as smiled at you, you knew it. 

 When you started getting older, so too did the stakes. Alinka was heavily involved in her father’s business with the emperor—shifting goods and obtaining artefacts for the Empire’s ever-growing collection. It was only a disguise for thievery, for collecting artefacts that you knew weren’t legal by any previous standard. 

 Everyone knew that Jedi were still being hunted, murdered where they stood after the great shift in 19 BBY. Their customs would never have allowed for this—this collection of Sith artefacts—but Palpatine did as he pleased. 

 Alinka was trusted, following alongside her father to get involved in the family business. 

 And they all thought you were some kind of idiot. None the wiser. Out of the loop. Ten years inside the Aloo’s walls, and another three in Alinka’s gloriously high apartment; watching their every move; serving them every shitty dish; kissing their fucking Imperialist feet—

 For this. 

 Plans were rolling into motion. You knew your time with them was disappearing. You just had to hold on, hold on for dear fucking life, the way you’d always done and would continue to do. 

 Maker, please.

 “Cheri,” Alinka called from the vast living room of her apartment. It wasn’t your real name, had never been real for you, just adopted when you’d been thrown into their laps. “Prepare the driver. We’re going out,” 

 You did as she asked without a word, used to the abrupt and often untimely way that she had to leave so suddenly. As always, no matter rain, shine, or four in the fucking morning, you accompanied her. 

 “Aren’t you going to ask?” Alinka asked, fiddling with her claw-ish nails in the car. 

 “Ask what, my lady?”

 “Where we’re going,” 

 “I think it not my business, Alinka,” you let out, used to speaking with her like this always. If you so much as showed personality, then she was unpleased, but if you were too stale, too robotic, she was also annoyed. 

 She huffed disapprovingly. 

 “You’re always so boring, Cheri. Do you have no brain? No wants? No desires to experience the many wonders of Coruscant, hm?” 

 You pondered her question for show, but you already knew what to answer. “You already show me so much, lady,” Alinka smiled. She liked the occasional suck up, a compliment here and there of the Aloo’s oh so kind customs of child slavery. 

 “We’re going to a collector, Cheri. One of the best in the galaxy, I hear. Father’s been holding onto this for me and me alone. The emperor wishes to know if he holds anything of value, you see,”

 “It’s so kind of your father to leave this to you, my lady. He’s recognising your abilities,” 

 “He is, isn’t he,” Alinka leaned her chin in her hand, looking out the window in triumph. “Sometimes you are so right, Cheri. A rarity, but I do so enjoy when it happens for you,”

 “Thank you, Alinka,” you muttered, but you knew she wasn’t listening. She was too encased by her reflection in the darkened window, by the Coruscant lights dancing in her eyes. 

 There were moments when you thought it easy. There were a number of items in this car that you could use—rip off the handle and whack her skull until it broke; kick her around the jaw with your shoe and use the small space to your advantage; grab hold of her hand and let her nails do the brunt of the work—but you never did. 

 You were biding your time, waiting for the right moment. 

 The moment, perhaps, where she slipped up. 

 It hadn’t happened in thirteen years, but you were still holding out hope. 

 The car stopped outside a lavish building shining with gold. The driver raised the doors and Alinka got out first, shoes clipping on the metallic streets. Her clothing was always extravagant; a style that you never cared for, even if you were to have money in your life. You followed her swiftly, patting out the wrinkles in the regulation house-staff attire of the Aloo’s. Bland and boring. Just to make sure you were separated. 

 Inside, a young woman slid open the huge doors. Alinka walked straight inside, but your eye had latched onto something—someone—else. 

 “Welcome, Miss Aloo. Axis has been so excited for this meeting,” the concierge said happily, allowing Alinka into the shop. 

 You didn’t move from your spot for a second too long, still focused upon the unmistakable fiery hair of a woman near the back of the vast showroom. 

 “Cheri,” Alinka called harshly, and you flinched when you finally entered the building. You glanced at the concierge quickly, but it was a long enough look to know. You’d grown up around that look—smiling profusely, so much that your cheeks fucking hurt—fake. 

 “Apologies,” you muttered upon entry, bowing hastily at the concierge. She had her hair up severely, pulled tightly back off her face. She was pretty if that’s all you were looking for. 

 You saw it again—that fake smile. 

 You sent her one back, mimicking her face perfectly. Her eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, before you hurried back to Alinka. 

 Axis was every collector you had ever fucking seen. Smiley, draped in lavish garments, walking with an air of excellence and knowledge wherever he went. You’d been around too many of them, what with the Aloo’s connection to the emperor. 

 He bowed at the woman he was talking to, nodding in goodbyes, before turning to Alinka and spreading his arms open in welcome. 

 “Ah, Miss Aloo!” he exclaimed. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”

 “I do enjoy shopping in this part of the city,” Alinka replied, linking hands with Axis. She glanced over her shoulder slightly then, gesturing to you without bothering to look you in the eye. “Cheri, look around for something that mother will like. I have things to discuss with the collector,”

 “Yes, my lady,” you bowed immediately, following the route that Alinka and Axis took to the back of the showroom with your stare. They disappeared into a side room, leaving you on the shop floor alone with the concierge, and her. 

 Sure, you’d been trapped with the Aloo’s since you were a child, but if anything, it gave you a political advantage in terms of acquired knowledge. You knew how the Galactic Senate worked back to front, and her right there—that woman with such gorgeous red hair and draped in fabric that you knew was sacred to her own planet customs—

 Was Senator Mon Mothma. 

 In the flesh, perusing the shelves like it was a typical shopping day. 

 She’d been challenging the Empire since she’d been appointed Senator at age sixteen. You’d followed along with her efforts since you were old enough, reading Sim Aloo’s study books at night when no one knew, catching the occasional debate on the radio in the living room, inhaling any information you could get your hands on that allowed you to grow. 

 To see more than the white walls of the house you’d been sold into. 

 “Cheri, is it?” you gasped subtly, turning to face the concierge abruptly. 

 “Yes,” you replied. 

 “I’m Kleya,” she stuck out her hand to you, which you took softly. Perhaps, you held onto her fingers for a second too long, stared into her eyes in some attempt to scream a secret message at her. But it proved insufficient. “What did you have in mind for Mrs Aloo?”

 The two of you made your way around the grand showroom, with Kleya explaining artefacts on display, as if she had done so a thousand times. You suspected she had, what with the way the words so delicately trickled from her mouth, clearly and with ease. 

 The Senator stayed in her same spot, back turned to the rest of the showroom, staring at something gold hanging upon the wall in the back, right hand corner. As you and Kleya approached her, going from item to item, you had stopped listening to her practiced words. 

 You were focused only on one thing—

 Catching Mon Mothma’s eyes. What for, you had no idea. You were helpless, you were out in public. Axis was wealthy and favoured by those you know did wrongdoings, and Kleya’s twitching eyebrow was simply not enough to determine which side she was on. 

 Perhaps, you simply wanted to say thank you. In your own way. Thank you for keeping up with your beliefs, despite the past twenty years, despite everything the Empire has done to people like you and your family, and what they’ve threatened upon those who defect. 

 As you and Kleya approached the Senator, you took more of an interest in the artefacts. Kleya stopped before an ancient looking cup, embossed in gold and adorned in intricate etchings. Anyone with eyes could see it was Chandrillan. 

 “How about this one?” you chided, and Kleya sucked in somewhat of a sharp breath. 

 “Ah, yes. Axis discovered this after many years. There was a long-told legend within certain parts of Chandrila about a fine challis,” Kleya explained, eyes glancing over to the back of the Senator in the corner. You swallowed away your nerves. 

 “Chandrillian?” you let out, before taking the plunge. “Pardon me, Senator,” you raised your voice ever so slightly, enough to know that you were talking to her. 

 Mon Mothma turned around gently, softly, laying her lavish eyes upon you in one quick swoop. It was enough for her to see what you were—no one of importance, the maid to a lady. She regarded you, perhaps warily, but nevertheless donned her political smile. 

 They both had it, her and Kleya. The same exact fucking one. 

 “I apologise for disturbing you, Senator,” you gulped. “But this artefact. It is Chandrillian, yes? Like Kleya here said,”

 Mon seemed almost relieved at your desire to make conversation, as she chose to stroll over to your position. 

 “If Kleya is explaining, then it certainly is true,” Mon said, catching eyes with Kleya in some kind of knowing act. 

 A deep tension suddenly descended over the three of you, staring at the Chandrillan cup and just waiting. For your hearts to stop, for a war to break out, for you to get the fuck out of this place. 

 “It is beautiful,” you let out, forcing all your nerve to the forefront of your being. “I often imagine myself drinking from cups like these, you know. Living in a house, with a family,” you hesitated, but ultimately chose to play it risky. “The boss of myself and no one else,”

 Kleya glanced at you quickly. Mon kept her gaze on the cup, dangling her right arm to her side, close enough to sense her body near yours. 

 “Where are you from, child?” Mon asked, peering down at you gently. “You don’t look like a child of Coruscant,” she smiled, but that fakeness had all but disappeared. There was an understanding here, after some simple words of your dreams. 

 We are all on the same side, ladies. Hiding in plain sight. 

 “Corellia,” you say, and for once it’s the truth. 

 “A brave girl you must be,” Mon said, minus any of the condescending tone that you’d expect from anyone else. You turned to her, overcome with the want to scream. 

 “I am not brave, Senator. They do not manufacture bravery on Corellia, as much as the galaxy seems to think it sometimes,” you took in a breath, turning back to the cup. “If I were brave, I would take this cup off the wall and steal it from beneath Kleya’s very watch,” you smiled, turning to the concierge. She smiled back at you knowingly, understanding every word, the same as the Senator on your other side. “But—I am not brave like that,”

 “In other ways, though,” Mon counters. You peer back at her. “Brave in other ways, perhaps,”

 “Perhaps,” you repeat her. It cements a feeling between you both. 

 Do you know? Do you know the fight that is happening? 

 You’re still unable to say it out loud, the same as the Senator and the concierge beside you. You’ve never felt something so strongly, never understood two strangers so quickly.  

 “Kleya, have this cup wrapped up for this young lady,” Mon Mothma said, regarding you with fondness, before raising her brow at you in question. 

 “Cheri,” you responded to her prompt. Mon smiled, sticking out her delicate fingers towards you. You hold them in your own. 

 “Pleasure, Cheri. Please do enjoy the cup, for yourself, not for Mrs Aloo. Chandrillan attire isn’t her style, I seem to recall,”

 “Yes, Senator,” you replied, nodding in thanks. 

 Kleya put on a pair of soft white gloves and quickly took the cup off the wall. 

 “Come with me, Cheri. I’ll find something for Mrs Aloo behind the counter, and we’ll see to it that your gift from the Senator is properly wrapped,” Kleya said, smiling once more, part of the lie fading away. 

 “I’ll be off, Kleya,” the Senator called from the showroom floor, heading towards the door. Before she left, she turned back and caught your eye. “It was lovely to meet you, Cheri,” she said, but took in a breath after finishing as if she was not done. 

 Quickly, she glanced towards the two-way mirror on the showroom floor that she knew was there. Beyond it, Axis and Alinka were no doubt talking Sith artefacts, engrossed in conversation. She looked back at you, sucking in a breath and hastily finishing her words. 

 “May the Force be with you,” she muttered, fast and stealthily. You sucked in a sharp breath, understanding everything at the speed of sound. Mon left as soon as she’d said it, door closing behind her swiftly and leaving you and Kleya alone. 

 You looked back at the concierge, wrapping up the cup and a fashionable broach for Mrs Aloo. You stared into her eyes when you could but said nothing. There was nothing to say, not when it had slapped you in the fucking face. 

 For the first time in your life, you felt part of something. Hidden in the shadows, communicating through scared breaths, but gaining a simple six-word sentence from Senator Mon Mothma had changed everything—

 It was the catalyst in your own personal rebellion. 

 A week later, the base at Aldhani had been raided by a stray group of rebels. It prompted a galaxy wide lockdown by Imperialists. The attack had done two things—made it a lot harder to be a rebel in plain sight, and kickstarted other rebellions all over the galaxy. 

 You clung onto this for the next few years. 

 By your eighteenth year under the Aloo’s thumb, you’d got more cut-throat with your stealth. Alinka trusted you, and that was her main weakness. You’d got so good at acting dumb that she was none the wiser. You knew her tricks, her gifts, her weaknesses. It was a ticking time bomb until you struck at the right time. 

 0 BBY had come round faster than you’d ever expected. In a flash, it had already been five years since your encounter with Senator Mon Mothma. It was an interaction that you thought of often and dreamt of at night. 

 You’d grown, in age and in intelligence. You hadn’t been broken by the Empire, Maker forbid you would ever, thanks to her words of hope. With your ability came new challenges—in the form of Alinka, mostly.

 “Cheri,” she crashed through the front door of her apartment, after a private meeting with her father. “How long has it been?” 

 “Since what?” you asked. Through these years, you’d got more familiar. With her trust came the comfort of being normal. Less formalities. It was a small victory that made your days exponentially easier. 

 “Since my father got you for me,” she finished. You didn’t flinch at her words, didn’t grimace or yell or tense. You felt numb to it, almost. 

 “Hm...” you pondered, walking to a small bar cart in the living room. You poured some blue liquor into a delicate tumbler, before walking towards Alinka. “Eighteen years, I suppose,”

 “Already?” she replied, shocked. “Goodness, I can hardly remember being eight years old. Can you?”

 Yes. You remembered everything. How they took you, where you came from, your parents faces before you were stripped from them. 

 “Maker, of course not. We were babies,” you let out, matching her energy. You handed her the drink, which she snatched from you without saying thank you. She downed it in one. 

 “Well, you will definitely do, then,” she shoved the empty glass back in your hand and kicked off her shoes. 

 Bare foot, she walked to the living room, taking off her formal clothes as she went. By the time she stood in the centre of the room, looking out over the vast Coruscant skyline, she was almost naked. Alinka did this often—used her home as a playground, used you to pick up her shit behind her. 

 She turned back round to you, breasts on full display and a devilish smile on her face. 

 “You’re to help me with a mission for my father, for the emperor,” Alinka said proudly. You felt the bile in your stomach churn. 

 “A mission?” you let out, trying to avoid throwing up abruptly. 

 “My father’s partner failed before, but I know how to get it,” she started to explain fully. “There’s a book on Ushruu, one that the emperor desperately wants for his collection. I’ve already worked it out,” she tied up her long hair into a bun, turning back to the view. 

 You could see the reflection of her full body in the mirror. It was something you’d seen many times. Alinka didn’t have an ounce of self-modesty. 

 “I’ve contacted the right crew, and we’ll need a cargo droid, too, but they’re easy to acquire,” she finished tying up her hair and draped her arms by her sides once more. “And you, Cheri, will help me,”

 You wanted to yell over my dead body. You wanted to eject the contents of your stomach or try out the new self-defence moves you’d practiced at night in your quarters on her, but you couldn’t. 

 “Thank you for the opportunity, my lady,” is all you said. 

 Alinka took off her undergarments, exposing herself fully. “Run me a bath,” she demanded, before leaving for her quarters. 

 As soon as you were alone, you clamped your eyes shut. This was it. This was when you got out. Ushruu was a forest planet, a place where people went to get lost, or to lose others intentionally. Though you knew Alinka would never get her own hands dirty, the metaphor was all you needed. 

 It was time. 

 You smiled to yourself, trying not to laugh with glee. You took in a breath, steadying yourself. You picked up Alinka’s clothes from the floor, before heading to the grand bathroom. You ran her a bath. 

 You prayed to the Maker that night. 

 You slept well for the first time in eighteen years. 

 A few days later, you accompanied Alinka to the Coruscant Underworld—the undercity of the vastness above. This was the first time you’d visited the levels below since you’d been found all those years before. 

 You asked no questions, knowing that Alinka would try to keep a tight lip as much as possible, despite telling you of her original plan. A day prior, she had captured a librarian from one of her father’s warehouses; that was the first crew member that she needed. A cargo droid had already been found. It was easy enough to secure. A K-2 droid. 

 “And these two will make up the final pieces,” Alinka said, fiddling with her claw-like nails as you descended into the undercity. 

 You saw the level numbers blur into one, saw the sunlight fade from the surface. She was dressed like royalty and had a guard on either side, with you behind her always. 

 “Cheri, listen to this,” she smiled smugly, glancing at you only slightly before facing forward once more. “This man we’re about to meet, this smuggler, I wonder if he’s handsome,” 

 “Who is he, my lady?” you chided. 

 “A man named Solo, but I’m not here for him, really. I want his Wookiee,”

 “Why a Wookiee? For manpower?” 

 “No, Cheri. Don’t worry your small brain over it,” Alinka laughed, somewhere between a cackle and a snort. “Just do as I say, maybe try sweet talking the smuggler, will you? Oh, no—actually— I better do that. Men like him are attracted to women like me, don’t you think?”

 “Of course,” you said, though with every insult she gave you recently, you felt the urge to cut her. You were so close to freedom that you were getting impatient. 

 Not now. Don’t fuck it up now. 

 Level 1329 loomed as the elevator came to a stop. Alinka exited first, followed by her two bodyguards. You stayed a few steps back as they navigated the metal walkways, passing different docked ships. Smoke billowed in the stale air; the bay only lit by artificial lights. 

 You’d been further down when you were last here, somewhere around Level 700. It was a vastly different space than this. Ships docked here, smugglers paid out here, people still somewhat lived here. There was no life further down, no life on the very surface of Coruscant. 

 “There,” Alinka told her men, as the four of you took an abrupt turn to the right. You entered the bay, where a beat-up ship was docked and smoking. Corellia was pilot country—you’d know a shot coolant compartment anywhere. 

 By the smoke, two beings worked. One was human, shorter than his Wookiee companion, and yelling demands at him as they both worked to avoid the coolant explosion. The Wookiee groaned back at his requests, shaking a wrench in his giant and furry hand as your party approached. 

 “Mr. Solo,” Alinka boomed, alerting the two of them immediately. The human turned around, and you caught his eye. 

 He looked scruffy, with a torn at the seams brown leather jacket and stains on his cargo trousers. He donned a distinctly suspicious and paranoid expression, but that didn’t last long when he caught a glimpse of Alinka. 

 “Who’s asking?”

 “I am,” Alinka said, walking closer towards the smuggler. He gave her a once over, intentionally skimming his eyes over her body. You almost didn’t blame him, not when she was wearing one of her most revealing outfits. “I hear great things about you, Mr. Solo,”

 “Han,” he spoke, taking a step forward, but keeping his exterior nonchalant. “And you are?”

 “Lady Alinka Aloo,” she gleamed, and draped her hand out to him. He took it, perking his brow at her as he leant down to place his lips upon her knuckles. “I come needing help,”

 “Oh, yeah?” Had chided, standing back up slowly. “Help usually has a cost, sweetheart,”

 “Believe me, you will be agreeably rewarded. It’s my precious tookas, you see. My secondary home on Centax 3 is better suited for them than here, but I don’t have a pilot for the journey,”

 “Why us, lady? I have a coolant compartment to fix, you know,” he asked, and he obviously didn’t mean lady the way that you said it. 

 “Just think about it. I could make it worth your while, Solo.” Alinka said, before slipping a business card into his front pocket seductively. She winked at him as she stepped backwards, passing you as she focused on walking away in the most noticeable way possible. 

 You stayed behind her once more, heart pumping beneath your chest incessantly. Would they understand? Were they like you? It was now or never; recruiting this senseless smuggler was your best ticket out of this fucking hellhole. 

 You turned to Han then, as he wiped his hands on his trousers and kept a quizzical glance on the back of Alinka. When he saw you looking, he stood up straight. 

 “You need something?” he asked, and behind him the Wookiee quietly chuffed. 

 “You need to replace your coolant fluid, the pipes are overheating,” you replied, ignoring his prior question. 

 Han quickly turned back to the smoking compartment, where his Wookiee quickly changed everything that he was doing. The Wookiee cut off the current coolant fluid, emptying the pipes. The ship slowly stopped smoking. 

 Han turned back to you, his greenish eyes hitting yours with so many unanswered questions, but the one he landed on was simple. “Do I know you?”

 “You should change the coolant fluid every month or so, or the entire compartment could explode when you go into hyperspace,” you ignored him again. Alinka hadn’t yet noticed your absence, but you were wary. 

 Han stepped forward, impatient, hands on hips, blaster on his belt. 

 “Are you Corellian? Who the fuck are you?” 

 You opened your mouth to respond but were cut off by a shrill Cheri! from Alinka. You stared at Han for a second more, a real stare, one with wide eyes and a sharp intake of breath and furrowed brows that meant you were yelling, screaming, crying within your brain. You needed him to understand, but you knew this encounter was over. 

 Without a word, you swivelled on your heels and rushed back to Alinka. 

 “Don’t get lost now, Cheri. You know better,”

 “Apologies, my lady,” you said, thinking on your toes. “He was very handsome.”

 Alinka patted your shoulder subtly, before turning back to face forward. She was pitying you. You made the journey back to the higher levels of Coruscant, away from all the smoke and dark corners. 

 “Maybe you’ll have a man one day, Cheri. When I’m dead,” Alinka let out, alongside that same cackle-snort hybrid. You balled your fists in secret. 

 Maker, you couldn’t wait to stop her from laughing soon.

 So, she trapped him. And you knew she would. This was all part of her plan to get someone else to do her dirty work. You were never going to Ushruu, but you’d always known that truly. 

 When Han and his Wookiee arrived at the apartment, Alinka wooed them with expensive liquor and the promise of 25,000 credits. You served them all evening, standing in the kitchen when Alinka gave you this certain stare—the stare that meant she was about to charm him with her assets. 

 As much as you wanted to believe Han was better, he was also a man. And as much as Alinka had trapped you for eighteen fucking years, she was annoyingly beautiful. The worst people always were. 

 The following day she sent the Wookiee, the librarian and the K-2 droid to Ushruu. Han was under lock and key in a secluded part of her apartment, being used to make sure that the crew actually returned. You heard Han’s Wookiee partner crying loudly from the personal ship bay that Alinka had at her apartment before they departed.

 It made you sadder than you wanted to admit. 

 “I’m going to see Daddy,” Alinka announced that morning. “The crew should be back in no later than two days. If it takes any longer, the pretty boy smuggler is our collateral,” you draped an oversized fur coat over her shoulders, feeling sicker with every word she said. 

 “Fantastic plan, my lady,”

 “I know, right?” she glanced to you over her shoulder, winking playfully. “Feed the smuggler, will you? I’ll be back later,”

 You tried not to go crazy, not to immediately think I’ve done it. There were still plans to set in motion, people to convince, and violence to commit. You tried not to think too much about the fucking satisfaction that you’d feel, as soon as Alinka worked out that the one mission she trusted you with was her downfall. 

 Having you out of the know is what had kept you here for so long, but as soon as she’d involved you—poof. That was all fucking gone faster than she could say Kessel Run. 

 You made Han some food, rushing to his quarters as soon as you could. You had the key of course, but you also knew that if you went about this wrong that Han would never agree to be your ally. 

 You knocked upon the locked door to Alinka’s dungeon. It wasn’t really a dungeon, she just liked to call it that. It was a guest room, decked out with high tech security and boarded windows. There was one way in and one way out. It contained fluffy pillows and a pink powderpuff. You wondered if Han had gone insane yet. 

 “Solo,” you said strongly, adopting the same voice as last night in the Underworld. There was shuffling from the other side of the door. 

 “What?” he said, almost unbothered. You wanted to bet this guy had some tricks up his sleeves. You took in a deep breath. 

 “Did you manage to fix your coolant compartment?” 

 A pause. More shuffling. “I was just by the door, ready to strike you as soon as you opened it,” you listened to his words. “But now I’m on the other side of the room, sat on this—stupid fucking pink chair— with a cushion that’s worse than Chewie’s fur,” he muttered.

 He was telling you it was safe. You were safe.

 You heard more rustling and used this as your in. Unlocking the door quickly, you shoved it open and closed it behind you fast. You didn’t lock it; perhaps you should have, but you knew what it felt like to be trapped. 

 He was sat where he said, across the gleaming floor of this unused guest room—slash prison. On few occasions, you’d been put in here. Those first few months in Alinka’s new apartment, just to be sure you had no escape routes. 

 It had been a while, but you still grimaced at the room. 

 “She put you in here, too?” Han caught on fast. You dropped his food tray to the floor, sliding it across the slippery surface, until it knocked into feet of the chair he sat in. 

 “Once or twice,” you admitted. 

 “Did you know this would happen? This trap?”

 “Yes,”

 “Thanks for fucking heads up,” he let out sourly.

 “Everyone knows the Aloo’s, especially Alinka, are bad news. It’s not my fault you can’t read a stare,” you hit back harshly. Han leaned forward in his chair. 

 “You were trying to warn me? I thought you were having a fucking stroke, lady,”

 “At least I know how to fix a coolant compartment,” 

 Han inhaled deeply. “You’re mean, you know that?”

 “I think anyone who’s been in my position for eighteen years gets a free pass to be mean,”

 “Eighteen...?” Han’s voice trailed off, as the shock of what you’d just admitted hit him. “You’ve been by her side for eighteen years?”

 You nodded at the ground, shooting your eyes to the vanity by you. The pink powder puff still lay on top. “I was her birthday present,”

 “Okay,” Han said, sucking in another sharp breath. You think he’s going to articulate something to you, say that he’s sorry, get compassionate maybe. “That’s fucking shit.”

 Well, he’s not wrong. 

 “So, what is this?” he questioned through the silence. You stood on the opposite end of the room, waiting for him to eat the food you made. 

 “I help you, you help me. That’s the deal,” Han scowled, bringing his hands to his face and swiping them down his cheeks. 

 “I don’t need to get involved with another woman, okay? This one already locked me in here and sent Chewie off on some mission, and the last one tried to cut out my appendix, and the one before gave me this really fucked up rash—,”

 “You’re not getting out of here without my help,” you interrupt him. “I know Alinka, she’ll kill you without even caring. I’ve seen her father do it more times than I’ve ever cared for. As soon as they’re back with the book, you and your Wookiee are done for—,”

 “Chewie,” Han corrected. You ignored him.

 “And, if they don’t come back then you’re dead, too. There’s no way out of this, Solo. Unless—I help you,”

 “Why should I trust you?” he asked, and you let out a frustrated huff. 

 “You don’t have to trust me,” you admitted. “You just have to want to get the fuck out of here,” you were on the verge of desperate, but you stood your ground. 

 This wouldn’t be where you failed. You'd been waiting for so long, biding your time, just to have an ally like this stupid smuggler. 

 Han stood up then, still not touching his food. He placed his hands on his hips, swiping his jacket out of the way to reveal his blaster. You’d been threatened by Alinka at blaster-point too many times to be afraid. 

 He looked around the room, grimacing at the pink fixtures and pretty furnishings, and the two chain link cuffs on the wall by the window. Thoughts raced in his mind—whether you were worth it, whether this was all worth the risk. 

 “She ever put you in those?” he asked, swallowing uncomfortably after he muttered the words. He was talking to you, but staring at the cuffs, nailed to the wall. 

 “Once or twice,” you repeated from earlier, but it was the truth. 

 A pause. Han shifted on the spot. 

 “Fine,” he let out, before pointing at you. “But—I’m stealing whatever shit I want from this apartment, and still getting my 25,000 credits, and Chewie,”

 “I don’t care what you take as long as we get the fuck out of here,” the words tumbled from your mouth, a rare moment of you actually being you—being afraid. 

 “Okay,” Han said, acknowledging the abrupt fear on your face, just for a second, until it disappeared again. 

 You nodded at him, before the two of you quickly left the disgusting pink room for your quarters. You had plans to concoct, escape routes to finally use, justice to serve. 

 “Who tried to cut out your appendix?” you asked, rushing through the hallways.

 “It’s a long story,” Han blurted out, flustered, before he peered down at you with a small air of fondness, you thought. “I’ll tell you when we’re on the ship out of here,”

[pls inbox/send as ask if you wish to be tagged on any of my works!]

[beasanfi1997]

I have a theory about Miramar, the name that Omega might have use while ahe Is in disguised, that It the full name of Mira Bridger, the mother of Ezra and i Hope that Tala Durith might be her Older sister because they are look alike, same nose, same color of skin excepted the color of their eyes, because Mira had Purple eyes and Tala had Brown eyes, and i have theory about Haja Estree that he might be Ephraim Bridger's friend. After the Battle of Endor, Haja came with Ryder Azadi, Jai, Mrs Sumar, Zare and Dhara Leonis came on Naboo to convince Ezra to return on Lothal that the boy refuse because he want to meets Lux Bonteri, Petro, Katooni, Ganodi, Byph, Gungi, Zatt, Vaash Ti, Rako, Bobby, Bene, Riyo Chuchi, Korkie Kryze, Lagos, Amis, Soniee and Mas Amedda before he return on Lothal that the people celebrate his return and acclaimed him like a Hero.

Omega too might had meets Rae Sloane, that the Imperial woman that Kanan Jarrus and Hera Syndulla meet her in New Dawn, or even Dosmit Raeh that Omega will name her daughter Rey, but a differents letter(I don't know that Basic would sound similar respect our earth language) After the Battle of Endor and One year before Ben Solo Born After the Battle of Jakku

I Hope that Omega was a friend for Ezra, After the Liberation of Lothal, because Ezra was a baby in Bad Batch and he didn't Remember her until 19 years later. I would like to see them in the heir of the Empire where Omega tried to convince Ezra to not worry about Ben before She will meets Dathan Palpatine.

Disney made a right choice to show us Ezra, Ben and Rey from 2014 to 2019.

I was fool because i was mistaken that Rey might be Ezra's child with Sabine Wren but i Remember that It was started when Obi-Wan meets Satine Kryze and before they will meets Ursa Wren before the events of Phantom Menace and It was started also where Obi-Wan Chase Jango Fett After he gets Clones, including Omega, Rex, Cody, Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Echo, Wolff and Wrecker on Kamino that It was the idea of Palpatine and Dooku until Mace Windu kills Jango on Geonosis and before Sabine Born during the Clone Wars and before Ezra Born on Empire Day and i realize that Clone Force 99 was the true responsable to made the origin of Ghost Crew starring with Kanan and Hera before they were hidden on Naboo, where Padme Amidala and Palpatine were Born. I was fool to not learned about those characters even Rebels and Force Awakens were connected. And because It bring all until Exegol, the new Kamino After Tarkin destroy Kamino in the end of Bad Batch season One.

Clone Wars season three predicted all because Anakin will Hide Ezra and Ahsoka on Naboo with clone force 99 and Martez Sisters, that Obi-Wan told at Anakin to save Ahsoka while they were on Mortis and even the Father see a vision, then Echo gets kidnapped by Separatists, and the he gets rescue by Bad Batch, After Anakin and Ahsoka meets Tarkin(that Anakin sees a vision from Mortis were Tarkin will Blow up Alderaan After we saw Padme use the speed bike during her Chase against the Bounty Hunters on Coruscant, that Luke and Leia will use the speed biker on Return of Jedi) and then Anakin and Ahsoka meets Chewbacca in the end of Clone Wars season three, that they will meets again on Empire strikes back. We also see Padme and Ahsoka that they help Satine to defense Mandalore, if Sabine might have Born between clone Wars season two or three, and even we see the future of Ahsoka and Lux Bonteri when Padme sees again Mina the mother of Lux.

Rebels season three too predicted all because we see Ezra meets Obi-Wan and he almost find out that Anakin Is the Chosen One from the Last Word of Darth Maul and then Bendu reveals at the audience that Thrawn will be killed by Ben in the Mandalorian after Ezra and Sabine saves the Rebellion with the help of the Mandalorians people, After they learn that Maul Is dead and even Thrawn was anger for It, and you realize that Ezra and Sabine will take care of Ben. I Wish that Tech and Qi'ra should have here in this season because Sabine mentioned them but without to Say their names while She fight against Arihnda Pryce meeting Wedge Antilles, that they will team up with Lando to destroy Death Star II.

[quinntamsin]

Kalevala lay in ruins, the Banners of House Kryze and the memories of Satine were erased. Standing there, her body heavy with exhaustion and expended rage, Qwynn removed her helmet. The free air struck her as the harsh brine of the sea filted into the wind.

"Where is Lady Bo-Katan?" she asked.

"We are unsure, " said one of her guards, the black and silver of her armor relaying their direct allegiance. Only the closest vassals could claim direct membership to wear the Clan's colors.

"By the greenglass of Sundari's ruins," Qwynn growled, "We will find our Manda'lor!"

---

The Mandalorian S3E4 | Chapter 20 - The Foundling

*Sighs as her HUD connects to the holonet* We open Chapter 19 with the Creed be reciting by a foundling. With the memries of the Mythosaur and the acceptance of the Scion of a Fallen House.

The massive rugged planet the folk of the Tribe have built is filled with dozens of training warriors. Why do the warriors train so hard, when they aren't building their clans nor are they preparing for war. This makes me wonder if the Tribe has become a sort of ascetic last vestige. As everyone fights Grogu pulls up a little crustacean with a rock.

He then sets down the baby in front of a fucking tween. And the kid decides he's going to get a lesson from Baby Yoda. yup, as the training darts are taken, the small little blaster and Bo decides she's now mom. I like that they aren't judging him for his species, but his size. The bigger kid nails the kid twice in the chest, and decides its time for the force.

Heh.

is this the future of the Mandalorians, a multispecies people. Like they are in the legends.

A massive pterosaur like thing pops out from a cliff and snags the foundling. The older Mando'ade give chase and we get this seriously awesome chase scene. The jumpacks have limited range, and thus they have likely lost many kids to that thing. The Vizla even says "It always gets away."

Luckily, Bo's warship can easily keep pace with the monster so she definitely is changing things up for the tribe. Paz Vizla seems likely he's not really grown up or experienced the Homeworld. I say this because we see that even he heistates on the height of the mountains. Bo counters that she trained in such things, so I think this is another good example of differing backgrounds.

Our Armorer takes Grogu into the forge and shows him as she pours a new ingot of beskar. She explains the cult's viewpoint that through adversity they improve. As the metal she works for a ship pounds we see Grogu frown and scared. He is remembering the attack of the Temple. The clones coming in to execute order 66. Knights and Guardians fall around him as we are pulled further into this PTSD flaskback.

He exits the lift and a jedi greets him and defends against several troopers. As more blaster fire flies our guard jumps on a swoopbike to flee. As we watched the enemy hawk creature fleet and is chased by the Mando'ade the Jedi flies through the canyons of Coruscant's skyways. It seems that season 3 is going to focus a lot of Dichotomy.

We see Pershing and Elia, and now we are learning more and more about Grogu as a person. His fears, and how he has dealt with the trauma of the fall of the Jedi Order. Hell we even get the Jedi swiping pass tht one mountain that Pershing touched in Chapter 18.

"Hold on it's going to be a bumpy landing."

The Jedi hits a floating starport hard, just as he passes a Naboo cruiser. The silvery exterior screams Nabo, and the brave Soldiers defend him further as the Empire's fist approaches. The pounding the harm snaps little Grogu back from the flashback as it's just the Armorer working the metal. He smalls after frowning, has he found a sense of easy.

Turns out that Grogu was getting a present, and he get's a round chest piece with the Mudhorn clan embelm. Fuck that was a great little subplot.

Now, back to Bo and her determination to save the foundling. Momm Bo is ready, she leads her strike-team like any longtime leader. A quick glance at the part reeals another woman with similar armor design and markings. Perhaps a former Nite Owl? The massive mesas and karst that make up this plant definitely portrays something akin to the wild west. Paz being our resident Vizla is here to be a challenger.

"You are the leader of the war-party."

She is left alone as they all recede into the darkness and we see her face clear of the helmet. Her face is riddled with indecision and disquiet. And yes, I like disquiet as a word, so sue me.

They smother their fire and Bo gives out the attack plan. Scaling the cliffface they use their grapples and their own strength to do the rest. I can see how the covert has trained these Mandalorians, but they haven't had Bo's conditioning. She is definitely higher up in the challenge. Well, there is also Din and Paz who are holding both her flanks.

They find the nest and slowly veer off in an inverse v-formation. Paz is the first it seems to reach the top, he is struggling, his heavy gun and armor likely holding himdown. Wht we see is a massive nest filled with Mandalorian helmets. And even more so stolen beskar. Paz rushes in to save the kid who turns out to be his son, as he calls out Ragnar's name the heat signature proves to be hatchlings.

Paz watches in horror as his son is coughed up by our annoying raptor. He saves his kid by literally flying into the creatures mout and wedging it open with his chest piece. The Mando'ade give chase and Paz falls, this leaves the other members of the war-party to take out the beast. So quick words on this thing.

These monsters are not stupid enough I think to understand that the Mando'ade are harmful targets, and ye he keeps eating them. So if you feel bad for the monster and its babys, remember it's been eating Mando kids for a while now. Enough that there were more than one or two helmets there.

They return, the creature dead, and Ragnar in two with his father. Clan Vizla has a new scion and Grogu watches as they all greet the party home. She brings in the hatclings which fits. The Mandlorians use to be beasttamers, and it's good to see the covert accepting her. She gets a new pauldron and she asks for it to be marked by the Mythosaur.

Yes, she will be Mand'alor, and she will revive the Clans! I love that the Armorer greets her and then seemingly tells her that the Mythosaur we all saw was in her head, or was a religious vision.

OKAY!

Gay Canon

Seriously, I am now shipping the Armorer as opposing forces. Yeah, so fucking sue me!

Or maybe Bo, Ahsoka and Barris.

Hottake:

Grogu trying to eat another poor animal reminds us that Grogu is a predator species. Remember those eggs?

Bo got a great arc this story, I like how we are getting more and more hints of how she's likely a form of cultural folk hero.

Paz Vizla being nice to both Din after saving his kid and his respect.

Holy fuck Grogu's escape was definitely a high octane thrill-ride of a nightmare. That kid has some serious PTSD. I am so happy he got a chest piece.

Glad to see that the Mandlorian's are accepting of multi-species Clans.

The Armorer said, "your House", makes me think that there are still elements of House Kryze out there.

Where is Clan Wren though, where IS Sabine?

Ths Mythosaur is going to be a big deal in the finale isn't it.

[rainintheevening]

QuiRae (great ship name, btw!): 13, 15, 19

Yayyy! I hoped you'd ask for them! Though definitely picked some hard ones.😅 Also these answers are gonna be long.

For context Qui-Gon and Rae-Lin (née Kenobi) are Obi-Wan’s parents in my Promises of Fools au. And yes, Stewjon is space Scotland.

From these asks.

13. How do they express love for each other? Do they have compatible love languages?

Rae-Lin always came home with something in her pockets or her hands: pretty pebbles, flowers, a special fruit tart from the bakery, bird feathers, or some knicknack from the traveling merchants. She would shower these things on Qui-Gon, telling stories for each thing. The first year they were married, he was always restless, and she soon learned to keep tabs on all the building projects around town and tell him he was needed to help with so-and-so's garden, or somebody's barn raising, until he was fully accepted and would get the calls directly. Sometimes when he would be poring over a datapad and hadn't stirred in an hour, she'd pull him up for a walk out by the ocean, or up into the hills. Other times she would just curl up next to him, stick her feet under his leg, and read poetry or something.

Qui-Gon took every opportunity to tell Rae-Lin she was beautiful. He'd stare out over the ocean waves, he'd admire some flowers or even her own weaving, and then he'd turn to Rae-Lin and tell her she was prettier. He did little things for her, fixing her loom up with stronger parts, or noticing if she was tired (especially when she was pregnant) and going ahead and making meals himself. He would read aloud to her, and learned how to do a pretty good Stewjon accent.

I'm pretty sure Qui-Gon's primary love language is Acts of Service, and somehow I know Rae-Lin’s is gifts. They usually work together well, but it took Qui-Gon a while to understand just how much even the littlest of gifts could matter to his wife. Jedi aren't big on private possessions, but he learns how much it makes her feel good when he comes home from his odd jobs with something special for her. Rae-Lin is perfectly happy to do her husband's laundry, and cook enough to fill her mountain of a man. He's used to bring very self-sufficient so all that is a pleasant surprise.

So, yes, pretty compatible, though they have misunderstandings along the way.

15. What habits or characteristics have they picked up from each other?

They knew each other for a grand total of 5 years and 4 months, but that's enough to mark at least one of them for a lifetime.

From Qui-Gon Rae-Lin developed the habit of waving her hand at doors, expecting them to open. And then she would walk right into them. 😂 She also picked up some of his accent, and his way of saying, "my dear, so-and-so".

Qui-Gon picked up her way of saying, "I'm afraid..." when he was about to deliver unfortunate news. Blue and green became his favourite colours (he didn't even know he had favourite colours before her). He fell in love with dancing like her. And he would never look at the ocean or smell salt air again, without seeing her walking on the shingle with her long red hair streaming behind her.

She taught him how to truly slow down and not just be present with the Force, but all his ordinary senses too. How to recognize the power of his words.

He taught her how to be more flexible, and spontaneous, and how to laugh at herself when she walked into doors.

19. What values do they not share? How do they reconcile those differences?

This one is hard. They're both very compassionate people, who have been forced to understand the limits of their abilities to fix situations. They're both generous. Qui-Gon wants to protect her, and she loves feeling his protection.

But I think the biggest thing would the obvious one: Qui-Gon being a follower and student of the Force (Jedi or no), and Rae-Lin having no clue what that looks like on a daily basis. Sure, she believes the Force is real, but does he have to say they should take the long way round when she knows Graen Street is the quickest way to her friends house??

She learns that most of the time there's actually a practical reason for the nudges Qui-Gon gets through the Force. And Qui-Gon is careful about when he reminds her of those lessons!

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #19: Star Wars, but make it Empress Palpatine

The thing I love about Star Wars is that, force powers aside, the situation is one we all can easily see happening. (It can be difficult to believe that a mostly peaceful, benevolent Federation of Planets can spawn on Earth and come to encompass a good chunk of the galaxy a la Star Trek, but the rise and fall of an authoritarian state is all too easy to imagine, even in another galaxy.)

But when asked to given an example of an authoritarian ruler, I can only think of examples like Emperor Palpatine - which is to say, even looking at the wikipedia page on the subject I can't find a female example. So I thought... what if? Or more specifically, what if it was Empress Palpatine?

Just imagine it:

Specifically, imagine a universe where absolutely nothing changes except for Palpatine's gender. This has a few cascading effects in how Palpatine relates to Ankain and how the senator/chancellor is viewed by the galaxy at large, but does not change the overall course of events.

Instead of a wise old man, Palpatine is a wise old woman, presenting a matriarchal, grandmotherly care towards Anakin. This has the side effect of pulling Anakin in two more "opposed" directions - maternal from Palpatine, paternal/fraternal from Obi-Wan - instead of Palpatine and Obi-Wan "competing" for the same slice of the father-figure pie, as it were. Again, it changes nothing in the long run, just the dynamic of how their influences over Anakin play out.

For instances, a boy may tell his mother things he'd never tell his father, and vice versa. Also, there is a tendency to assume women are more compassionate and empathetic, so Anakin going to the woman he's closest to with his problems might raise fewer eyebrows than running to another male in a position of authority.

It might also put a subtle mother-in-law/daughter-in-law tension between Palpatine and Padme if Anakin keeps going to his mother figure with issues one might traditionally expect to be brought first to a wife.

This dynamic could be even more interesting to the explore than the mother/father of Obi-Wan and a female Palpatine, as there might be something I almost hesitate to call Cersei-like about it. Both are powerful women in politics from Naboo, but, without knowing the Sith plot in the background, it looks a lot like young, beautiful Padme's star is rising while old, aging Palpatine's star is falling. I'm sure an enterprising Sith can find some way to manipulate Anakin with that.

But otherwise... everything stays exactly the same. Fall of the Republic, rise of the Empire - and, later, fall of the Empire. The only difference is we have an Empress.

Perhaps it makes some parts of the Rebellion harder, as a female overlord might be assumed to care more for her subjects than a male, or at least speak as if she does in a manner that might be subconsciously believed more, but otherwise makes no difference.

And that's it really. All this idea boils down to is: give me Star Wars, but give me a slightly different set of interpersonal relationships between the antagonists, and, consequently, between the major figures in their lives.

Bonuses include: 1) all too often female representations of evil involve sexual deviance and/or extreme sexualization. Not here. Palpatine should be as sinister, tyrannical, and sexless as her canon counterpart. This should be especially clear in the differences in how Palpatine and Padme dress. 2) Everyone in the Jedi Temple reading a different set of problems into Anakin's friendship with the Chancellor. And 3) Luke, at some point, having learned Darth Vader is his father and seeing the relationship he has with the Empress, being force to wonder if Empress Palpatine really is his grandmother.

As always, feel free to adopt this bunny. Just let me know if you ever do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[notes-from-sarah]

Star Wars: Brotherhood by Mike Chen read-along, hardback edition

Part 1, chapters 1-10

Wherein I react as I read this novel. It's a Star Wars novel, there will be good, bad and ugly. You have been warned. Spoilers below.

Chapter 1

Skip. Explosion happens. Ruug is shocked.

Chapter 2

Pg 10, Opening words are: "Anakin Skywalker stood" where is he standing? Only the Shadow knows.

Pg 11, Now know that he's standing in the Temple courtyard under the Great Tree. I feel like this is a long time to wait before finding out where the POV character is. (this might be a me problem)

Pg 11, The Jedi are called "General" just because it's a convention the clones came up with?

Pg 11, Mentioning Siri Tachi.

Pg 11, Siri is present as a master to a new knight but nary a word about a certain Ferus Olin? For shame.

Pg 11, Jedi are temporarily rotating into an open Council position? Kinda feel like the Council would convene and, using the guidance of the Force, would elect a new member instead of trial a bunch of people, but whatever.

Pg 12, Anakin's emotions come from his...hands?

Pg 13, Anakin thinks he's the only Jedi to feel emotions.

Pg 13, Anakin thinks Mace hates him.

Pg 14, Jedi clap after Mace finishes his speech.

Pg 14, Obi-Wan is flustered when a politician doesn't show up on time. The man who doesn't trust and has distaste for politicians.

Pg 14-15, The Jedi invited politicians to attend the not-knighting, knighting ceremony. Why would they though? It's not a high school graduation, it's an advancement within a closed order.

Pg 15, The Jedi Council take Palpatine's emergency call in the middle of the ceremony, I assume for drama's sake. Then Yoda dismisses the onlookers except for all the random knights instead of taking the meeting private and deciding what to do after hearing the information like they do in the movies...

Pg 15, Obi-Wan has to remind Anakin that he's a knight now, I don't hate it but I'm not loving how it's done here or Anakin's reaction.

Pg 16, This chapter is finally done. I kind of don't know why we needed to even have Chapter 1 if all the information has to be revealed again later on. I also thought we spent way too much time in this chapter catching up on Anakin's backstory and him thinking about his life to this point. Kind of a dull start but let's hope it gets better.

Chapter 3

Pg 17, Obi-Wan reiterates that Anakin is his equal, seems unlikely for him to do that.

Pg 17, Obi-Wan is surprised Anakin might need a period of adjustment to make the transition from Padawan to Knight because he and Obi-Wan had argued so much in the past.

Pg 18, Obi-Wan doubts his own ability to temp as a Council Member.

Pg 18, Neutral systems apparently "Work with all sides" while remaining members of the Republic and Galactic Senate... (In my opinion, neutral systems in a civil war are more like Kansas during the US civil war and less like Switzerland during WWII, but whatever)

Pg 19, What "long, volatile history" does Anakin have with Neimoidians? Is this a reference to The Phantom Menace? Anakin was barely involved in the whole thing.

Pg 21, No one is waiting to see if the Neimoidians are asking for help with investigating this bombing before making plans to do so... And the Jedi apparently need to develop a strategy to propose to be approved by the chancellor and the Council before going into the field and learning about the disaster...

Pg 22, So, the Jedi have knighted everyone already months ago, but they have a post-knighting ceremony where they give pep-talks to the new knights for some reason like it's a high school graduation...

Pg 23, Padmé and her retinue just...come into the Temple? Like, she's just allowed in? Without an escort or anything? So she can attend Jedi High graduation? What? This is a closed monastic order, randos aren't allowed in the cloister!

Pg 25, Padmé calls Obi-Wan "Master Kenobi" but gives him no more personalized greeting even though it seems she hasn't seen him since Geonosis? By Episode III she's much more friendly to him and it seems strange to have her be so distant after all they went through together just a couple months ago.

Pg 25, Now Bail Organa is just...hanging around in the Jedi Temple too?

Chapter 4

Pg 27-29, Anakin takes Padmé on a hot date racing on an illegal track in the underbelly of Coruscant... This is what they decide to do the first time they see each other after getting married...what? (My kingdom for an EU book about Anakin that doesn't involve him getting into illegal races!)

Pg 29, Anakin is wearing a mechanics coat as a disguise but as a 9 year old on the outer rim he saw straight through Qui-Gon's poncho disguise so who does he think he's fooling?

Pg 29-30, Anakin is having some difficulty adjusting to his replacement arm, I like this thoughtfulness.

Pg 31, Padmé: "Let's grab something to eat instead of getting arrested." Good lord, the dialogue here is just...not it. Did the author only watch three episodes of the Clone Wars before writing this book?

Pg 31, Jedi are acting as medics?

Pg 31, I like Anakin reflecting on how his life might be if Qui-Gon hadn't found him.

Pg 32, Anakin and Padmé make fun of Obi-Wan's hair... Obi-Wan has traditional "knight" hair, throw a suit of chain mail on him and he's ready for an Aurthurian round table. Trish Bigger knew what she was about when designing his look for Episode II.

Pg 33, Padmé notices people's destitution, Anakin doesn't unless he really tries because she's so much more compassionate than the Jedi. The boy who grew up destitute and can feel people's emotions through the Force. That boy. Yeah.

Pg 33, "Anakin's own sun-dragon heart" well, that's a line for sure

Chapter 5

Pg 36, Dex was an information broker?

Pg 38, Obi-Wan is so naïve that he can't conceive that someone from "his side" would be behind the bombing, instead he jumps to conclusions instead of letting the Force guide...

Pg 39-40, Obi-Wan seems pretty dim here, he's asking Dex how he should conduct an investigation and how to manage the situation diplomatically, ugh

Pg 39-40, Dex brings up Satine for no real reason just to needle Obi-Wan on having a girlfriend in the past (sidenote: there needs to be a moratorium on giving Obi-Wan girlfriends, please Disney, he has too many!)

Chapter 6

Pg 42-43, Padmé eating space shawarma: "This is really, really, really, good. And, I don't want to know what's in it." What is this dialogue? Padmé is a senator not a valley girl.

Pg 44, Awww, Anakin gives Padmé his Padawan braid just like in the micro-series. ❤️

Pg 44, Why do all these authors keep referring to all children as younglings? In the movies the term was used for children at the Temple, not children in general, why do they keep doing it?

Sometimes this book isn't clear about who is doing what where. More than once I've had to reread a description of someone's actions multiple times to try and parse exactly what's happening. Help me out here Mr. Chen!

I do like that Padmé and Anakin at least seem to like each other unlike in some shows *cough* the Clone Wars *cough* so that's nice.

Chapter 7

Pg 52, Obi-Wan has to rely on thoughts of Qui-Gon to not lose his composure when speaking with Dooku...

Pg 52-54, Obi-Wan maneuvers himself into a terrible diplomatic situation so that highjinks may commence. *sigh*

Pg 55-56, Palpatine is asking for Padawans to be drafted and Mace says well, "We are at war" I swear some people have no respect for that man. Then Yoda says for Obi-Wan not to worry his little head about it and focus on the bombing and Obi-Wan takes it as a sign of faith in his abilities? Why is Obi-Wan so dumb here?

Pg 56, "Even Jedi had interpersonal conflicts" just, what? A monastic order where these knights regularly have to depend on each other for their lives and ya know, it's just like any workplace where people don't get along with the office Karen.

Pg 56, This chapter just won't let me gooooo. "A decade had passed since Obi-Wan handled the responsibility [of teaching younglings]...and he cringed a bit inside. It quickly turned into a grin at the thought of Anakin Skywalker...the Chosen One, the young man who charged headfirst into Count Dooku's lightning attack, now headed toward the biggest challenge of his life." This whole paragraph is just...yikes. If this was supposed to be funny it did not manage that.

Chapter 8

Pg 58-59, Temple droids *sigh* "Professor Huyang" *sigh* Random little girl who we don't even know the age of *sigh* Referencing lots of Padawans dying at Geonosis despite none actually being there *sigh* Female zabrak with horns *sigh*

Chapter 9

Everyone is still at the Temple btw, almost 10 chapters in and we are still not on an adventure.

Pg 63, Anakin reconfigures Temple screens to show podracing... something he never so much as mentions after Episode I.

Pg 63, Referring to the place where the Jedi take their meals as the refectory like in a monastery is good, I like it.

Pg 64, Anakin telling childish lies about changing the screens to show podracing... am I supposed to believe that Anakin is 19/20 here or 13/14? 'Cause that's the vibe I'm getting.

Also, this is chapter 9 and the first chapter where Anakin and Obi-Wan actually talk to each other. What's the deal? Isn't this book about them and their relationship? Shouldn't they at least spend a little time together?

Pg 65, Obi-Wan chooses not to have a heart-to-heart with Anakin because he wants to stay focused on the bombing... you know, work and rules is all Obi-Wan thinks about, no time to think about his closest friend/pseudo son...

Pg 67, Anakin thinks he's too good to train younglings...

Chapter 10

Skip.

[thicctails]

new Jedi Oc babeyyyyy

Info below~

Name: Keetah Meh-Do

Age: 21

She/Her

Her original Master abandoned her, and by extension her training, when she was 15, so she apprenticed under Shaak Ti in what was supposed to be a temporary placement. Unfortunately, the war made it so she became a Knight at the age of 19.

Due to her placement on Kamino, she got the opportunity to interact with the clones quite a bit before they were deployed to fight, which caused her to form a strong bond with the men who would eventually make up the squad she commanded.

Her closest friend is Commander Snarl, whom she met during her first week on Kamino. He lost his batchmates early on, and kinda latched onto Keetah once he got comfortable around her. Keetah wasn't a good enough Jedi to not get attached and becomes equally co-dependent on Snarl for comfort.

They are. Very Much in Love, but neither of them know enough about romantic love to realize it.

The other clones in her squad are named Wrench, Spoon, Sunrise, Patrol, and Flicker. They are goobers and she loves them, and she's so glad that they handle peacekeeping/diplomatic missions because she doesn't think they'd be able to handle the brutality of the true battles.

She has big BIG abandonment issues.

Her master's abandonment weighs heavy on her mind, made worse by the fact that she doesn't know why he left.

Eventually, her squad gets forced to team up with a more battle-oriented battalion, and during the mission they get separated from the others during a mine collapse. They are declared KIA and are left on the planet.

Once Keetah figures out what happened, she packs up her boys and ditches the war all together, feeling really betrayed even though thats not what happened.

They actually dont learn about what happened during Order 66 until a month or so after, because they fled to a planet that is on the edge of known space.