#I AM NO JEDI CHAPTER THREE

[hugmekenobi]

S3: The Bad Batch (10)

Chapter Ten: Identity Crisis

Gif by @dreamswithghosts

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: Emerie discovers the truth of what lies in the vault

Masterlist for S1 and S2

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Brief canon-typical violence and food mention, me making up a rough timeline, Hemlock, threats, kids being imprisoned, medical testing, angst and emotional hurt/comfort, me interpreting Emerie's headspace and more subtle laying the groundwork for a certain character return (not through CX-2)

Word Count: 3K

Author's notes: Sticking very close to the episode here but hope it's still enjoyable and episode 11 is underway!

When Emerie had asked to be promoted to Chief Scientist and fill in the gap created by Nala Se’s confinement, it had felt like a good idea, but now as Dr. Hemlock led her to the vault and began filling her in on Project Necromancer, she was now experiencing a growing sense of apprehension about the whole thing.

“In addition to the assets in the sublevel containment chamber, you will be given access to the vault.” Hemlock opened the doors to the corridor that led to the vault. “The specimens within are now your responsibility. They are vital to this project.” The next set of doors whirred open to the circular room. “And thus, must be handled with the utmost care.”

Emerie took in the plain, white walls but as she glanced from the observation level- made up of another circular corridor and large windows that allowed for constant supervision from her fellow scientist- and examined the tables ahead, her apprehension morphed into horrified shock.

“These particular three were selected because of their high M-count.” Hemlock revealed.

“Why children?” Emerie asked, managing to keep the alarm out of her voice. “Are there not adults that could serve this purpose?”

“There are few adults left with such characteristics. Which is why it is vital we get the woman of Clone Force 99 here.”

Emerie turned her head to him in surprise. “Omega never said that she was-”

“No, she wouldn’t, given the new regime and Omega’s... concern… for others, but a fully realised Jedi would be of great use to us.”

Hemlock led the way around to one of the cells and carried on with briefing. “Children are easier to attain and more agreeable to the subjugations. They’re unaware of why they’re here and what they possess.”

Emerie watched as the droid took a blood sample from one of the children. She swallowed tightly before asking, “If children are easier for this purpose, why do you want her here?”

Hemlock regarded her curiously. “Dr. Karr, I am surprised at you. Surely, you’d know having a such a person in our samples would only better us as scientists. Besides, I have… other uses in mind for that individual.”

Emerie felt a shiver run down her back. She’d seen what happened to the clones who did not follow Hemlock’s orders, “What other-”

“It is no matter right now. With regards to your other concern, I have it on good authority that with Omega here, her cooperation would be ensured, and our project could finally see some positive results.” Hemlock took a breath and continued with his explanation of the project. “As you know, M-count cannot be directly replicated from the source. However, Nala Se knew of another way. Which is why she aided in Omega’s escape. The young clone’s blood is the only binder that proven to be compatible with their DNA to re-create their M-count levels. And that is another reason as to why Omega must be found.”

Emerie could only offer a shallow nod; she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Testing should proceed as planned. We must be prepared for every possibility once they are recovered.”

“Sir.”

Hemlock walked over to Scorch.

“Hello.”

Emerie glanced down at the high-pitched voice to see one of the children addressing her. “Hello.”

“I like your glasses.”

“Uh, thank you.” Emerie replied, taken aback by the conversation. “What is your name?”

“Dr. Karr?” Hemlock turned as he saw Emerie talking to one of the specimens. “Limit your personal interactions with the specimens. They are scientific assets, nothing more.”

Yes, that was what she was here for. This was what she had wanted. She couldn’t allow herself to get attached or concerned, that was Omega rubbing off on her and she needed to let it go. “Of course, Doctor.”

--

Emerie walked into the room, datapad in front of her face as she let the droid in their take the sample from the next specimen.

“Hello again.”

“Hello, SP-54.” Emerie said professionally. She kept her sights firmly of the information on her screen.

“My name’s Eva. What’s yours?”

She felt some of her resolve slip. “You may refer to me as Dr. Karr.” Emerie replied, a tad shakily.

“What happened to Mistress Nala Se? She hasn’t been back?”

“She is no longer overseeing this project.”

“Why not?”

“That is not your concern.”

“Oh, but she said she’d find out for me.” Eva said dejectedly.

“Find out what?” Emerie asked, properly looking at the young girl now.

“When I’ll be going home. Can you find out for me?”

The sheer innocence and trust behind the question caught her off guard and Emerie felt emotion clog at the back of her throat, “I will look into it.” She managed to say.

“Thank you, Dr. Karr.”

Emerie nodded before she moved onto the next room. “Hello, SP-32.” She brought up the young boy’s information as the droid whirred over to take a blood sample. What she didn’t count on however, was the boy grabbing the datapad out of her grasp and making a break for the door.

An alarm blared around the room and the lights of the room changed to red to signal the breach.

“Sp-32.” Emerie calmly approached the boy as he realised the datapad wasn’t going to work for him.

“Stay away from me!”

“It’s alright.”

The boy bashed against the glass and paid her words no attention, “No! Let me out of here.”

“You’re safe, SP-32.”

“That’s not my name.” He turned around, fear in his eyes. “They said I could go home. I just wanna go home.” He said desperately.

Emerie felt something tug at her heart, but she couldn’t quite place it, it had been a feeling that had been creeping in ever since she’d gotten to know Omega.

He returned to banging against the door but stopped as he saw a trooper walk in.

“Set to stun.” Scorch ordered his troops as they circled to boy. “What’s the situation?” He asked the chief scientist.

“Blasters are not necessary. I have everything under control.” Emerie said definitively but she couldn’t stop the boy in time as he made a dash for the door behind Scorch. “Don’t!” She shouted at the trooper, but it was too late, the boy fell unconscious to the ground.

“Secure him in his room.” Scorch ordered to the two other troopers who carried him away.

“Your actions were extreme, Commander. He’s only a child.” Emerie reprimanded the clone.

“The specimen attempted to escape. I was following protocol.” With that, Scorch left the vault.

Just following protocol? Somehow that didn’t offer Emerie the comfort it might have done before.

--

Emerie watched the droids attend to the unconscious boy and take his sample before she felt a tug at her sleeve.

“Dr. Karr?”

Emerie looked down at the familiar voice. “Yes?”

“Is Jax going to be okay?”

“Jax?”

Eva pointed to the boy.

“He’ll be fine.” Emerie reassured her.

“He’s not going to be in trouble, is he?” Eva asked fretfully.

“No, he’s not in trouble. You can see him tomorrow.” Emerie only hoped what she was saying would be true.

--

The warm afternoon Pabu sun provided some much-needed comfort for the conversation that was about to take place. 

“I’ve thought about it a lot…” Hunter began to say as you all sat at Shep’s table.

You rested a hand on his knee and gave him an encouraging but sad smile.

“And I think the best course of action is to leave Pabu.” Hunter said to you all.

Crosshair removed his toothpick in mild surprise, but he had a feeling something like this would happen.

“What?! No!” Wrecker and Omega both said together.

“We have to.” You said with resigned acceptance.

“Why?” Omega asked, her upset obvious.

“Yeah, we can handle this! We’ve kept you and Omega safe this long.” Wrecker disputed.

“It’s not just us now.” Hunter pointed out gently. “We have to think about the people of Pabu too.”

“If there is a chance to Empire can find us as easily as Ventress could, that puts everyone else here in danger.” You explained. “Shep, Lyana, the regs, and everyone else who came here for a fresh start and to get away from whatever hell the Empire caused them, they’d all be at risk if we stayed here.”

“We’d shelter you all you regardless.” Shep chimed in as he brought out a plate of sushi.

You shot him a grateful smile. “I don’t want to risk their safety like that. And I know you don’t either.” You said to Omega.

“No, of course not.” Omega replied as she understood the bigger picture at play now.

“Believe me, I want to stay but it’s just not viable right now- this is the best way forward. We’ll come back when we figure out why Hemlock is after you and how we can beat him.” Hunter reassured her and the rest of his brothers.

“When do we leave?” Omega asked quietly.

“We’ll start packing up tomorrow.” Hunter said with a heavy sigh.

--

Emerie walked back to the vault, ruminating in her own conflicting thoughts. Her conversation with Nala Se had brought her little comfort. She understood the Kaminoan’s urge to protect Omega but what about the other children? She didn’t know how she was in a position to stop this, no matter what the Nala Se seemed to think.

“Dr. Karr, a word?”

Emerie paused as she heard Dr. Hemlock’s smooth and quiet voice.

“A new specimen will be arriving today. Commander Scorch is departing shortly to retrieve it.”

“Another?” Emerie asked.

“I heard about the earlier incident, so I understand your hesitation.” Hemlock appreciated before he inhaled deeply, “However, this latest acquisition will not be a danger to you.”

It wasn’t the danger to herself that she was worried about. “I would like to accompany the commander.”

Hemlock waved the suggestion away, “That is not necessary.”

“You’ve stated how important these specimens are, Doctor. I would like to ensure they are properly maintained at every stage.” Emerie insisted.

“Sir, Governor Tarkin requests you contact him at once.”

Hemlock turned to the stormtrooper and had to supress his irritation at the interruption before he turned back to Emerie. “Do as you wish, Dr. Karr.”

--

Hemlock put the transmission through as he sat behind his desk, “Governor Tarkin, to what do I owe…” He debated saying ‘pleasure’, but the word would be a lie. “This, uh, summons?”

Tarkin got straight to the point. He didn’t want to have to interact with Hemlock any more than necessary. “Questions have been raised regarding the financial impact your facility is having upon Imperial resources. And now additional funds have been diverted at your request?”

“That is correct. It is for a project that is of personal interest to the Emperor.” Hemlock replied briskly.

“Which is what?”

“Oh, I’m afraid that’s classified.” Hemlock barely managed to conceal the victorious smirk at the glimpse of impatience on the hologram.

“Perhaps there is some assistance I may provide, seeing this is of such importance?” Tarkin offered diplomatically but with an air of contempt.

“Mmm, the funding is all I require. It is worth the expenditure.” Hemlock assured him.

“You had better hope so. If this project fails to yield proper results, it won’t bode well for your operation. Or for you, Doctor.” Tarkin signed off with the warning.

Hemlock gritted his teeth at the threat. Tarkin’s small mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend what he was doing here, none of the bureaucratic Imperial elite could. But his call made it all the more important that his plans came to fruition, so he put a different transmission through. “I require an update.”

“The information you obtained proved accurate. I tracked the Trandoshan and pulled some intel out of her. She gave up the name of a pirate that’s been in contact with the targets.” CX-2 revealed. “I’m searching for her now.”

“The other operatives aren’t ready to join you in the field.”

“I can handle it on my own.”

Hemlock sighed in aggravation, “Can you really? Cause you’ve already failed once. No more mistakes. Do not return without the Jedi and Omega.”

--

“You’re not the usual Imperial they send.” Cad Bane commented as he walked down to stand in front of the woman who arrived at the station.

“I’m here to inspect the specimen. Who I am is none of your concern.” Emerie replied frostily.

“Todo, bring out the kid.”

Emerie watched as the droid brought out a hover-pram from the ship but what was inside filled her with distress.

“Problem?” Bane challenged as he caught her reaction.

“This specimen is younger than I expected.” Emerie looked back to Scorch.

“Then he’ll be less trouble.” Scorch responded coldly.

“I need to test him. For confirmation.” She brought out her kit and found herself hoping that this baby’s M-count would not be high enough. “How many others like this have you captured?” She asked the bounty hunter as she took the blood.

“Let’s just say I’m good at my job.” Bane replied casually.

Emerie saw that the child did indeed have the necessary count. “And where did this child come from?”

Bane narrowed is eyes at her. “Asking questions like that, you give more away than you think.”

“It’s all here Mr. Bane.” Todo said as he took the payment.

“Until next time.” Bane dipped his wide brim hat in farewell before he boarded his ship.

--

“How is he acclimating?” Emerie asked the droid as the baby was set up in another empty room.

“The specimen is in good health.” The droid replied as it stored the latest sample.

Emerie left along with the droid but as she walked through the room, she noticed an empty room. “Where is SP-32?”

“It is standard operating procedure for a subject to be isolated for two rotations as punishment following an escape attempt.” The droid informed her.

Emerie took a moment to process that before she entered Ev, no, SP-54’s room but the upset look on the girl’s face did not escape her. “Is everything alright, SP-54?” She asked as the droid left but she didn’t get a reply immediately, so she tried again. But she knew this would be a turning point she couldn’t go back on. “Eva?” She inquired, keeping her voice kind.

“You lied.” Eva answered gloomily. “You said Jax wouldn’t be in trouble. He just wanted to go home.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “We all wanna go home.”

Emerie didn’t know what words she could offer because the only thing that would truly bring Eva comfort, she couldn’t give her. Instead, she walked out the room and powered down the system for the night.  

--

Emerie processed the latest samples in the lab and scrolled through her datapad where she came across Omega’s file, and it gave her an idea of a small something she could do for Eva. She opened the storage container and took out the hay doll.

--

Emerie watched from the windows above as Eva happily received the toy. She had thought signing on for this job would give her something greater to strive for but now she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t know what mission she was serving anymore.

--

“We missed you at dinner.” You called out as you saw the clone sitting on the sand, the moon casting a beautiful white light on his features, highlighting the look of deep contemplation as Batcher sat loyally by his side.

You greeted the dog as she bounded over to you with a couple affectionate pats before she ran off and began sniffing the area around the cove. You walked over to Hunter and handed him a box of leftovers. “Here, I saved you some.”

“Thank you.” Hunter said with a grateful squeeze of your hand as he took it from you.

“So, what’s going on in that head of yours?” You asked kindly as you sat down next to him. You tucked your knees up and fondly bumped your shoulder against him as you awaited a reply, but he didn’t answer you immediately. The only sound filling the silence was the quite lapping of the waves on the shore. “Hunter?” You asked, more concern seeping into your voice as you sensed his turmoil and saw the conflict behind his brown eyes.

Hunter rubbed a hand across his face, “This place was finally starting to feel like home- for all of us. Giving the order to leave just feels like I’m letting you all down.”

“You’re not.” You assured him, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “There are too many unanswered questions and variables to warrant staying right now. None of us want to see Pabu get caught up in our mess.”

Hunter breathed heavily, “I know but we were building something here. I hate that we have to leave it so soon.”

“So do I.” You bit your lip as you contemplated what you were about to say next, “Although, there is another option…” You suggested tentatively into the quiet night.

Hunter subconsciously drew you closer to him and he already knew where you were going with that, “No.”

“But you all could sta-”

“No. And not just because I don’t want you enduring that hell at the Empire’s hands again, but also if you did that, Omega would feel she had to as well.”

That had you contemplating things a lot more.

“We- I- barely got through losing you both once. I don’t want to ever relive that again.” Hunter admitted quietly. Yet, deep down, part of him knew it was still a very real possibility and that’s what scared him the most.

You knew he wasn’t naïve enough to completely rule it out, but you didn’t see the sense in pushing the matter when by all accounts, it didn’t need to be discussed any further- it wasn’t a pleasant thought for you either. Plus, there was already a perfectly viable plan in place. “Well, regardless of what else the galaxy will throw at us, we still have tonight.” You said as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“We have tonight.” Hunter echoed as he rested his head on top of yours.

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @arctrooper69, @dominoeffectsworld, @andreaaxy, @notgonnaedit, @allthingsimagines , @superbookishhufflepuff @jellybeanstacey0519 @nightmonkeysstuff

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 7

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series masterlist

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader (poc friendly/coded)

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! canon-level violence/character death this chapter. series will have eventual smut, and just general warnings.

a/n: i am . baaaaack baby! hope y'all enjoy the chapterio. beta read by the very sweet @sythethecarrot . appreciate her so so much and alll of you for reading and giving this story your time :')

“Are you sure that we need Obi-Wan here, milady?” Anakin asks you, blowing on his clasped fists nervously as you wait for Obi-Wan to reach your chambers. He had sent a message an hour ago, letting you and Anakin know that he had landed in the forests of Naboo and would be reaching the palace soon. “What if it puts him in danger?” 

“I understand your concern, Anakin, but we’re in over our heads now,” You hum, looking over the room once more to make sure things are in place. You realize it’s out of nervousness, and wanting to earn the Jedi Master’s respect, and quickly look back at Anakin. “But yes, we need him here, even if it’s just temporary. You’re not as skilled as he is, according to you, with the skill of mind-control, and we can’t risk the Separatists slipping out of your influence and realizing that the Queen’s husband was trying to figure out their plans. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, is unlinked to the palace, and his involvement would not directly jeopardize us. As for him being in danger… I have faith in Master Kenobi’s abilities, and I’m sure that his involvement will be brief, despite the necessity of it.” Anakin nods, grabbing his lightsaber from the depths of his pockets and flipping it in the air anxiously. He nearly drops it when Obi-Wan jumps cleanly onto the balcony, moving quickly to get through the open doors without being seen. 

Hello there,” General Kenobi says. His voice immediately lifts a weight off of your shoulders. You knew as soon as you decided to take active action against the separatist while also uncovering their leader, you’d need more help. General Kenobi was the most adept in mind influencing. That, you could use. You couldn’t have done these last few months without Anakin, but it was time to move. And fast. 

“Master,” Anakin says, striding to Obi-Wan and enveloping him in a tight hug. He hadn’t realized the importance of Obi-Wan in his life— the younger Jedi Knight’s torturous visions, nightmares of the people he loved dying as he watched helplessly, had stopped when he left, but the certainty of Obi-Wan’s guidance had disappeared with it. And when he was dealing with you and the nuance that your task called for, it certainly wasn’t easy to carry on without Obi-Wan and his gentle guidance.

Not that he listened to Obi-Wan all that much, but it wasn’t about that. He lets go of Obi-Wan reluctantly, knowing that their bond is deeper than words could convey. 

“Master Kenobi,” you bow respectfully while Anakin quickly checks the noise dampener. “It’s an honor to have your assistance.” 

“It’s an honor to be called. Will you walk me through the plan, milady?” He asks, settling criss-cross on the marble flooring of the room. You sit across from him, and Anakin joins your side instinctually before the puzzled look from Obi-Wan has him shuffling further from you until the three of you form a triangle. 

“I was so caught up with the overarching goal that I lost track of the present. While it’s true that I absolutely cannot jeopardize my own mission, I cannot sit back and lose more of my people.” Obi-Wan nods in understanding, tracing circles on his knee as you confess your guilt. 

“So you need to know more than what they tell you, and be able to have one of your Ministers know how to countermove without it coming from you,” Obi-Wan confirms. 

“Exactly. It shouldn’t be too hard to get that information but I’ll need to know who it is I can trust. I don’t know exactly the scope of your abilities, would you be able to help me figure out which ones I can trust?” At your request, Anakin clicks his tongue, nodding at your request. 

“Well, we can’t read minds. What we could do is something along the lines of figuring out what emotions they’re feeling when they talk to you?” Anakin suggests, garnering Obi-Wan’s approving nod. 

“And as for getting the information…” you trail off, unsure of what to do now that you knew the Jedi couldn’t read minds. 

“Well, there’s a few things we could do,” Obi-Wan processes aloud, something formulating in his head as he considers the options. “What do you know about the leaders of the Naboo Separatist chapter?” He asks. You snort. 

“I’ve met their leader, but he’s a total dunce. I truly believe that they chose him because he’s easy to manipulate,” You say. At your words, Anakin lights up, nonverbal communication flowing between him and Obi-Wan. It’s kind of cute, seeing him more in his element. You like the side of Anakin that Obi-Wan brings out. It’s like the older Jedi pushes Anakin to be better— to think things out, to be rational. Something along those lines. But the shift is obvious. 

“Easy to manipulate, you say?” Anakin says, an excited look on his face.

“If that’s the case, then there certainly is something we can do,” Obi-Wan says cautiously. “Is there any way I can see the leader in person?”

“I know where he lives,” you say, looking up at the ceiling to avoid making eye contact as you cringe at the thought of him. 

“Why do you know where he lives?” Anakin asks suspiciously. 

“Because he was once my boyfriend,” You sigh. 

~~~

“Baby,” a sleazy voice calls out from the table you just crossed. Arus Dryskan sits in the booth of the low-lit pub, sketchy characters flitting behind you in the shadows. When your eyes meet his, you’re reminded of all those nights you spent with him, tangled up in the sheets. You’re reminded of the good and the bad: the way he’d toy with your emotions and blame you when other men would flirt with you, all the shouting matches, the control that he tried to impose on you. Part of you is affronted by the fact that he’d even dare to call you baby after putting you through all that. But you set it aside, reminding yourself that you’re in control here. He has no power over you. 

You relax your shoulders and tell yourself that Anakin’s here, that you will be fine, forcing yourself to inhale and relax as you slide into the vinyl seating. Arus’ arm is thrown carelessly on the back of the seating, a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he eyes you up and down. 

“It’s been a while, Arus,” You say, reigning in your repulsion and leaning in to gaze into his eyes seductively, batting your lashes and eyeing him up and down. That should work, right? Even when you were together, it was never about the two of you— it was about Arus, about making him feel desired. You never were the most affectionate with him (largely in part because he’s fucking irritating) but you need him to think that you want him. It’s funny, there was a time when you found him quite attractive, but now, the only thing you can focus on is how revolting he is. He rakes one hand through his greasy hair, flashing you that grin that used to work so well on you. 

“You’ve done pretty well for yourself, huh, milady? Queen of fuckin’ Naboo,” he says, leaning in to whisper in your ear. The heat of his body feels suffocating next to you, and the mere thought of his touch makes you dig your nails into your palms, trying desperately to regulate yourself before your fear gives you away. “It’s funny that none of these suckers know you’re one of us.” His eyes are conspiratorial, which you can work to your favor. You smile slyly, allowing your fingers to dance on the tabletops as you slide in closer to him. 

“Nobody knows I’m here,” you laugh, “Not even my dunce of a husband.” At your words, Arus raises his brows, a big smile spreading across his face. Sorry, Anakin. “I’ve missed you,” you whisper in his ear. Your tone wavers between the truth of your desperation and the practiced smoothness that you used so often when you were with him. Your hand finds its way to his shoulders, resting there as you wait for him to give you some sort of sign. 

“What about your dunce of a husband?” He asks you playfully, leaning back. 

“You think that nerf-herder could satisfy me the way you do? I played around with him for a while, yes, but he was so boring. Not to mention how much…bigger you are. ” You allow your hand to drift downwards, teasing him through the material of his shirt. He may be a sleemo, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t built. 

You almost want to roll your eyes when his hand shoots out to grab your waist, pressing you even closer to him as your hand travels from his pecs to his abs. Was he always such a simpleton? A pretty girl bats her eyelashes at him and he goes absolutely dumb. Or stays dumb. He’s not very smart. 

“Do you wanna… get out of here?” you ask, your voice a low, seductive hum in his ear. You can practically hear the blood roaring in your ear, the feel of your heart thumping traitorously in your chest and you can only pray that he can’t feel it. Take the bait. Let’s go. 

You have to hold back an audible sigh of relief when you hear the clink of his speeder keys as he grabs them, and you, and pulls you out of the bar. You know Anakin’s following closely behind you — Obi-Wan’s already at his house, you just need to make sure that he gets there. If anyone asked at the pub, anyways, they would’ve just seen one of Arus’ usual nightly conquests. 

You keep touching his arm as you sit in the speeder and on the way to his house; you need him to be distracted so that he can’t see Anakin following behind you both. The ride there is short but he’s so revolting it feels like a lifetime— he’s telling you about how he blew up a village the other day and found it so funny. You have to force your laughter, but you really just want him away from you. You’re disgusted— the fact that you had ever touched him, had ever been so oblivious to all of him. Back then, he wasn’t so evil— or maybe he was, and he just hadn’t had the chance to show it yet. 

In the rearview mirror, you see Anakin cut into the side streets, a shortcut to his place that would work just fine. Arus is too busy talking about himself to notice, as per usual. 

“Let me open the door for you, princess,” he says when you pull up to his house. The second he’s unbuckled and standing outside of your door, there’s a soft thunk before he slides on to the speeder, practically falling in your lap as Anakin looks down at him with a glower. 

“Thanks, Anakin,” You say, opening the door and throwing Arus out. 

“Was it really necessary to be all handsy with him?” Anakin grumbles. 

“How else do you think I’d be able to get him here?” You ask, puzzled. 

“Still,” Anakin frowns. Is he jealous? 

“Oh, don’t worry, my darling husband, you’re still the only man for me,” you confess dramatically, throwing yourself into his arms and snickering when he pushes you off with a scowl. “Moody,” you tease, helping him hoist up Arus and carrying his body through his door. 

“Took you both long enough,” Obi-Wan says from inside the house. Once inside, Anakin doesn’t bother carrying him, instead just lifting him with the Force into the little chair and flicking his finger so that ropes bind him tightly. 

“Normally, I wouldn’t approve of you using the Force for such a trivial thing, but the Queen looks rather tired from holding him up,” Obi-Wan quips. 

“He’s quite heavy, you know,” you chime, sitting down on the ground. 

“I think it’s best that you and Anakin wait in the speeder outside,” Obi-Wan says. “It would be bad if he wasn’t influenceable and saw you here with me.” You and Anakin shuffle outside at his order, sitting in Anakin’s speeder as you wait for Obi-Wan to do his thing.

“So… is that your type?” Anakin asks, looking out the speeder, past the dim streetlights to the clear Naboo night sky. 

“What?” 

“Guys like him.” You look over at Anakin— at his lean structure, deceptively strong and muscular under his robes— and shake your head. 

“No. Not anymore, at least. I really only chose him because I wanted to do something for once in my life that wasn’t the order of someone else. I learned pretty quickly that that wasn’t the right idea. He was controlling, obsessive, and just downright mean sometimes.” 

“So what is your type?” 

“Why do you wanna know so bad?” You ask curiously, propping your feet up on the dash as you study Anakin’s face. 

“Well, we’ve got time to kill,” Anakin says, fiddling with the keys to the speeder as he avoids eye contact. He does that when he’s nervous. Why is he nervous? This whole interaction is completely puzzling to you, but you think there’s a way that you can mess with Anakin’s head the way he’s messing with yours. 

“Hmm… My type is tall, melodramatic Jedi who go by the name of Anakin Skywalker and are secretly, hopelessly, in love with me,” you tease, leaning over to his seat to pretend to kiss his cheek. He pushes you away with a scowl, glaring at you when you start laughing at his anger. 

“Not funny, milady,” Anakin huffs, crossing his arms.

“I thought it was funny,” You grin, pretending to cross your arms and puffing out a breath in mock irritation. 

“Stop that.”

“No. Not unless you stop being a child.” 

“Why can’t you just answer me honestly?” Anakin asks, a note of seriousness in his voice.

“Anakin…” You sigh, thinking that you have an idea as to what’s going on. Your eyes dart quickly to make sure Obi-Wan’s still inside, then you reach over and put your hand atop his. “If this is about Padme—” 

“It’s not,” Anakin grumbles, but you pay him no heed.

“Since this is about Padme leaving you, because I really don’t believe you, will you let me just say one thing? I’m sure she had her reasons. Padme never does anything that she knows would hurt other people unless she thinks it’s totally necessary.”

“I know that,” Anakin says quietly to himself, the metal paneling of his arm rippling as he flexes and looks at you. In his eyes there’s a softness you don’t find very often, one that’s inviting, that makes you want to pretend for maybe a second that this marriage was real. 

“You’re perfect, Anakin,” you reassure him, lost in the depths of his eyes. Why is it that you can feel every breath of his as if it’s your own? As though his heartbeat itself matches your own, in total synchrony with every part of you. 

“And so are you,” he whispers. You can hear his breath hitch in his throat as he looks at you and you wonder, just for a second, if there’s actually something between the two of you. You can’t be imagining all of this. But it’s over as soon as it started, Obi Wan’s voice snapping the both of you to attention. 

“Milady, you’re going to want to hear this,” Obi-Wan says grimly, the slightest of tremors in his hand as he rakes through his long strands. You don’t know him well enough to say, but the way that Anakin perks up at Obi-Wan’s tone tells you that there’s something big. “The Separatists, they’re not just planning on launching military attacks, they’re planning on attacking the food sources; slaughtering and burning the Shaaks, poisoning the water sources. They’ll have a series of attacks and bomb blasts set up to distract the Naboo Military. They’ll stop at nothing.” 

“Okay. Okay,” You whisper, brought back to reality. Your fantasies of Anakin in some role that he would never play are blinked away as terror seeps in, tinges your view of the future. “We’ll need to ramp up imports of food, and be prepared to maintain a completely safe distribution of food. I’ll leave it under the charge of someone not at the Capital, as I don’t want the spies interfering with our stores of food. As for the water,” You sigh, your mind turning furiously as you think. It’s all coming to a dead end. 

“We can’t let it become like Tatooine, where they have to moisture-farm just to get water,” Anakin interjects coldly. You look over at him to see that distant look in his eyes and you know he’s somewhere else, somewhere horrible. You reach out tentatively to bring him back to you. 

“The water will come later, after the food,” Obi-Wan adds quietly. “Dryskan told me when they’d do it all.” 

“Is there a possibility that he could have fooled us, at all?” You ask fearfully, hands shaking as you think of more blood under your rule, more blood on your hands. You can’t take it anymore. You can’t let what happened, happen again. Anakin seems to read your mind when he places a heavy hand on your shoulder, nodding silently when you turn your head to look at him. He knows what you’re thinking. 

“It can’t hurt to prepare, milady,” Obi-Wan responds. “But not a soul can know of your knowledge of it. They could strike sooner, leaving you no time to prepare.” 

“Get enough food to account for a famine without anyone realizing, get the people in danger out before they can be slaughtered, too, and fend against the increasing Separatist attacks. Sounds like it’ll go without a hitch,” You remark dryly, leaning your head back to close your eyes. “There must be something big. It has to be big, if they’re going this drastic. They’re trying to make Naboo an example, once and for all, and that means that there has to be something big coming our way.” The three of you sit in somber silence, hearts in your gut as worry tenses your muscles. 

“There’s a list of military attacks as well,” Obi-Wan says, breaking the silence. You reach for a slip of paper hidden within the sleeves of your robe

“We can’t write them down. A paper trail could be fatal,” Anakin interjects, placing a hand on your forearm. “I’ll remember them.” 

“You’ll have to act fast,” Obi-Wan responds. “Their next attack is in two days’ time.”

“That’s not enough time to plan a full-scale defense, let alone having to do it all without the Separatists knowing,” you sigh, frustrated. 

“We’ll have to evacuate the civilians, then. And quickly. Let the Separatists attack a deserted town,” Anakin suggests. He’s tired of the bloodshed, and you can’t blame him. You imagine that the blood spilled by the Jedi didn’t often involve the blood of the innocents. 

“If we go now, we could encourage them to evacuate with enough time,” you respond. It doesn’t take much convincing after that, the three of you shrouded by the night as you drive on in tense silence.

~~~

It’s nearly dawn by the time you arrive at the small town. There’s a feeling lingering in the back of your mind, some anxiety that you can’t give shape to with words. But you’ll be fine, you’re certain; if they find out that you and Anakin are missing, you’ll just lie. An early-morning stroll would fit you and Anakin’s dynamic rather well. 

Some of the town’s workforce is up, walking in the dusty roads, illuminated gray by the early morning light. They look at you without suspicion, just a curious indifference. You stop the speeder, donning your palace robes and get out. 

“Good people,” you say, your voice unwavering. You need them to believe you, like how they would if it was Padme telling them instead of you. “I come under the order of the palace. The Queen has knowledge of a Separatist plan that puts you all in grave danger. I’ve been sent here to aid you in evacuating; you are instructed to bring what is most important to you, and the palace will compensate and aid in rebuilding efforts should the town face damages.” You hide your nervousness— you can’t help it if they don’t believe you, but you also can’t tolerate another slaughter. Their faces show no signs of doubt, however; the mere mention of the Separatist forces are enough for most of the galaxy to tremble in fear. The chatter of conversation in response to your warning is slow but steady in its growth; the murmurs of people wondering what to bring, fear of the Separatists borne out of the knowledge of their crimes, and finally the concern for their wages. 

“S’cuse me, ma’am,” one man says, stepping forward. You feel Anakin step forward in response reflexively, moving to guard you from any threat and for some reason, it brings a flutter to your stomach. “How can we trust that what you’re saying is true?”

“You can’t,” you say, a bitter smile pulling at your lips. “But the risk of not trusting me will lead only to death.” 

~~~

“Six months is not enough to hide your thoughts from me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says to Anakin as they usher the last of the town residents to the speeders, leaving them with the instructions on how to get to the determined shelter. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Master,” Anakin mumbles, helping a child up into a speeder as he avoids Obi-Wan’s eyes. 

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan sighs. “I am glad you have recovered from your heartbreak with Padme. Don’t deny it, young Skywalker, I have eyes and you’re about as subtle as a bantha with a trombone. And of course, with the current Queen, closeness is only natural. You spend every waking moment with her. But can you trust her?” 

“….I don’t need to trust her,” Anakin grumbles, pulling on a loose thread on his shirt. 

“But you do. I see it in the way you look at her, Anakin; it’s more than a mission. And when this is over, will you truly be able to let her go entirely?” Obi-Wan refutes. Anakin can’t answer his pointed question— he doesn’t know how to, because the thought of letting you go feels entirely foreign to him now. At his silence, Obi-Wan sighs, moving to stand next to him as they look at the open, deserted town. 

“I know what the Jedi Code says about attachments, Master. But this… it feels different. I do not covet her, I do not wish to own her; no, it’s that she shows me those parts of me which I hide. She is similar to me, and forces me to be better. I cannot call it love, nor can I say that I can trust her thoughtlessly, but perhaps it is the Force that brought me to her.” Obi-Wan hums, lost in his own thoughts as he internalizes what Anakin said. Anakin wonders briefly how well it is that Obi-Wan understands his words— after all, only a fool would have missed the dynamic between him and Duchess Satine. But part of him knows that it wasn’t entirely truthful— was it not jealousy that drove him to ask you about Arus? Was it not jealousy that he felt when you mentioned having been with another man? Hadn’t he wanted to rip Arus to shreds the second he saw him touching you? Anakin pushes his feelings down, ignoring the churning in his stomach in the hopes that it’ll go unnoticed by Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan, after a sizable pause, sighs heavily and nods. “Where is the Queen? You should go find her,” he says to Anakin tiredly. For a second, Anakin feels a twinge of guilt— he doesn’t mean to make Obi-Wan feel as though this is a lesson that he must parrot again and again, but it’s not like that with you. He’s not like that with you. But he swallows it, and goes off in search of you. 

The sun is bright and beating down on him overhead. It’s been hours since you first began evacuating every soul in the town, instructing them and helping them pack. You’re good and it couldn’t be clearer to him. And if you’re good, he’s good. Maybe that’s why he feels more self assured around you— you and him have so many similarities but you seem to live your life without that internal turmoil that Anakin knew for the past few years a little too well. 

As he walks the dusty streets he can hear the telltale sounds of a struggle, the sharp cry of pain which quickens his feet and takes him to the sight of you. He watches, almost frozen in his feet, as you deliver a sharp punch to Reyna’s throat, winding her before you sweep her to the ground in a move that he knows he taught you. A sense of pride fills him before it is overcome with horror— your hands, tangled in Reyna’s hair, slam her skull on the dry, dusty ground over and over again, until her body goes limp. You grab a nearby rock and drive the jagged edge into Reyna’s forehead, a splash of crimson spraying across your face as you look up to meet Anakin’s eyes. 

The look lighting up your eyes brings a sense of familiarity within Anakin, that bloodlust that had clouded his judgment all those months ago when he killed the Sand People. Nausea chokes his throat as he remembers that day, sees you mirror what he must have looked like. And through the fog of his revulsion and fear and regret, he realizes that no one can know what happened. 

“She saw us evacuating the people from the town, she knew we knew, she was gonna expose us,” You babble, still frozen on top of Reyna’s body. “She never trusted me, she never trusted us, she was going to— we would be dead if I hadn’t done it, she wanted us dead,” You plead, trying to rationalize and explain it all to Anakin. You don’t realize that he understands you perfectly.  

“Come on, come on,” he ushers you, getting you away from the body as you begin to shake. 

“What did I do, Anakin?” You whisper, trembling hands reaching to the ground as you try to sink away from his grasp. 

“No. Look at me. My queen, look at me,” he urges, wishing so desperately that he could take away the horrified look in your eyes. “You didn’t do anything. You haven’t seen her since you were in the palace, after which you and I went on a romantic stroll. How did she find you?” He asks, hands resting on your temples as he tries desperately to bring down your panic.  A little feeling of guilt burrows itself within him as he realizes he had never felt this guilty about the people he had killed. Maybe he should have, and that makes him feel worse. 

“She— I forgot to take off all my jewelry, and there was a tracker in one of my bracelets,” you whisper, going to rip off the bracelets. “She woke up this morning and we weren’t at the palace, so she checked the tracker and found us here. She didn’t tell anyone, or she would have brought someone else with her.” Anakin nods, stroking your temples with his thumbs. You close your eyes, murmuring his name in a desperate sob, with a sacredness to his name that he’s never truly heard before. 

Anakin hoists you away from Reyna’s still-warm body, the heat flowing out of her like rivers that seek you out, staining your hands with more blood. He doesn’t want you to deal with this, but fate has left the two of you with no choice. He can’t use the Force— Obi-Wan’s natural distrust of politicians, spies, whatever category you fit into would only make his opinion of you suffer. He’d be able to sense it instantly. And for some reason, Anakin wants him to approve of you. Desperately so, in fact. So he grabs some tools from the front of a nearby home, using some sort of shovel to dig into the dry dirt of the road. Each thud of the shovel radiates pain up his arm and the metal of his hand creaks and complains, but he hardly notices for the fact that the only thing you’ve been able to say is his name, over and over again. You’ve turned him into your anchor, and he can feel it, the vulnerability, the pain, the fear that you’ve become something that can’t be reversed. It’s the same fear that he feels so often, the same fear that he felt after killing the Sand People. And it’s then that Anakin realizes, startlingly, that he’d do anything for you. 

Anything.  

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING - CH. 6

Chapter Six: Show Me Where To Find The Silver Lining

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, Awkward, Plot Holes, Flying, Lava, Character Death, Jetpacks, Canon-Typical violence,

Word Count: 11.3k

A/N: I know… I know… I took so long to update this PLS– I went through several revisions for this… idk this episode just gave me insane writers block for some reason??? Like help???

Song: Home by Good Neighbours

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NEVARRO CANTINA, 9ABY – NOON

You find yourself caught in a tense balance between desperation and determination, surrounded by stormtroopers. Gripping your lightsaber hilt tightly, you stand ready to ignite it at a moment's notice. However, with no backup in sight, the odds of fighting your way out seem insurmountable.

"Is there another way out?" Cara queries Greef Karga, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any possible escape routes.

Greef gestures toward the outside, where stormtroopers are closing in. "No, that's it," he replies grimly.

Din interjects with a suggestion. "What about the sewers?"

Greef Karga's brows knit in confusion. "Sewers?"

"The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape," Din explains, seeking a potential exit strategy.

"Yeah, sewers are good," Cara agrees, nodding in approval.

You observe as Din manipulates a few buttons on his left armor bracer, causing it to emit a low hum as his visor begins scanning for access points. After a moment, he announces, "Checking for access points."

"What the hell are they waiting for?" Cara mutters, peering outside once more. Through the broken windows, you catch sight of stormtroopers assembling a heavy repeating blaster. Cara's breath catches, "Hold up. They're setting up an E-Web."

"It's over," Greef Karga remarks, a hint of fear evident in his voice.

Din's visor chimes, and he declares, "I found the sewer vent."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Cara urges, moving swiftly. You follow closely behind as she and Din begin tearing apart the furniture, revealing the sewer vent hidden beneath a seat.

The three of you struggle to pry open the sewer vent's panel, emitting frustrated groans as each attempt proves futile.

"It's assembled! How long until that thing's cleared?" Greef Karga's urgency fills the air.

"Blow it," Cara directs Din, her tone commanding.

"I'm out of charges," Din responds, prompting Cara to gesture towards him while she retrieves her heavy blaster. "Get out of the way!" she orders, attempting to blast open the sewer vent without success. Frustration mounts as she hits the unyielding metal gate.

"Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation," the voice from outside remarks ominously. "I would prefer to avoid any further violence and encourage a moment of consideration."

"Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model," the Imperial Officer adds with malice.

"Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin," the Imperial Officer's voice resonates with a tone of menace as he utters Din's name. Din takes a subtle step closer to you, his presence offering a silent reassurance amidst the tension. The officer continues, recounting the horrors of the Siege of Mandalore, where gunships armed with devastating ordnance wreaked havoc upon fields of Mandalorian recruits during the Night of a Thousand Tears.

"Or your Force-sensitive medic who wields a lightsaber," the officer's voice takes on a sinister edge as he delves into your past, revealing the painful truth of your master's abandonment. "Her Master had abandoned her, deeming her too dangerous for her own good. Betrayed by false promises of danger, she was cast aside, left to navigate the galaxy alone, while her Master chose another apprentice." The words cut deep, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you, shame mingling with the ache of betrayal.

You avert your gaze from Din, Cara, and Greef Karga, unable to bear the heaviness of their curious stares. Shame grips your heart, its tendrils clawing at your soul, as the truth of your past is laid bare for all to see.

"I advise disgraced Magistrate Greef Karga to heed the wisdom of his years," the officer's voice echoes through the tense silence, urging surrender. "Lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed shortly, and your storied lives will meet an unceremonious end."

"What do you propose?" Greef Karga's voice holds a hint of skepticism as he humors the Imperial Officer.

"Reasonable negotiation," the officer replies, his tone dripping with calculated confidence. Greef scoffs loudly at the notion, prompting him to question, "What assurance do you offer?"

The officer's response is chillingly blunt. "If you're asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire." With those words, he turns and departs, leaving behind a tense silence.

You release a small sigh of relief, though you know it won't last long. There's the ominous menace of the E-Web cannon lingering over you, a constant reminder of how vulnerable you are.

"I say we hear him out," Greef Karga suggests, his tone cautious yet open to the possibility. Cara, meanwhile, shakes her head as she gathers blasters from the fallen stormtroopers scattered across the floor. "The minute we open that door, we're dead," she asserts firmly.

"We're dead if we don't. At least out there, we've got a shot," Greef counters, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of advantage.

Cara remains resolute. "That's easy for you to say. I'm a Rebel Shock Trooper. They'll upload me to a Mind Flayer."

Greef dismisses her concern with a hint of skepticism. "Those aren't real. That was just wartime propaganda."

"I don't care to find out. I'm shooting my way out of here," Cara declares, determination etched in her features.

Turning to you and Din, Greef seeks your input. "What about you two, Mando?"

"I know who he is. It's Moff Gideon," Din asserts, his voice carrying a sound of certainty. You furrow your brow in concern at the mention of the name. Cara freezes in disbelief. "No. Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes."

"It's him. He knew my name," Din explains, his expression grave.

"So? What does that prove?" Greef queries, searching for clarity amidst the confusion.

Your frown deepens as unsettling memories resurface. "I haven't heard that name spoken since I was a child," Din reflects, his tone distant as if retracing fragments of his past.

"On Mandalore?" Greef probes, seeking to understand.

"I was not born on Mandalore," Din reveals, his words tinged with a sense of identity and purpose.

"But you're a Mandalorian," Greef counters, puzzled by the revelation.

"Mandalorian isn't a race," you interject, offering clarification. Din echoes your sentiment. "It's a Creed."

You turn to Din, who stands motionless, his emotions noticeable even without words. Through the Force, you sense the silver streaks of his emotions deepening into a darker shade of grey. His sadness is tangible, a heavy burden weighing on his shoulders. Every ounce of anger and resentment he harbors towards the Empire, towards the droids that razed his village, his home, and his family, is laid bare. You feel the pressure of his baggage and brokenness, the scaffolding of his inner strength straining to support his weary frame.

Blinking, you find yourself immersed in his memories, transported to the horrors of Din's past. The air is thick with the acrid scent of blaster fire and the piercing screams of civilians. You witness the onslaught of battle droids affiliated with the Separatist Alliance during the Clone Wars, their relentless assault claiming innocent lives. Amidst the chaos, Din's parents shield him in a small bunker before succumbing to the explosion that engulfs them.

Tears stream down your face as you watch the young Din, his fear palpable as he braces for the end, only to be saved by a Mandalorian Clan.

"I was a foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps," Din's voice breaks through the haze of memories, bringing you back to the present. "I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That's how I know it's him. That's how he knows who we all are," Din explains.

Standing there, frozen in place, a myriad of questions race through your mind. How did you manage to delve into Din's memories? Every detail felt so vivid, so real. Tears continue to cascade down your face, overwhelmed by both his emotions and your own.

“Cyar’ika?” Din's voice breaks through the haze, distant yet urgent as your head throbs with pain.

A sob escapes your lips, tears welling in your eyes. "You were just a child,” you manage to choke out in your turmoil.

Din approaches, his hands gentle as they settle on your shoulders. You gasp for breath, hyperventilating as sobs wrack your body. "You were a child, scared and alone," you ramble, the words tumbling out incoherently. "I felt it all—your fear, your anger. It consumed you like wildfire, and—”

Din speaks your name softly, his gloved hand lifting your chin to meet his gaze through the visor. Tear-stained and with puffy eyes, you sob as your eyes meet his. He tenderly wipes away your tears, his touch comforting as you lean into it, placing your hand atop his.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out amidst the tears.

"It's not…" Din reassures you gently.

You sniffle, "I'm sorry you were alone. That you had to endure all of that by yourself."

His stomach tightens, a knot forming as he observes your distress. Underneath his helmet, his jaw clenches, a familiar frown settling on his face underneath his helmet. He's realized that he dislikes seeing you cry, feeling powerless to solve the problems that cause your tears.

Pulling you close, he envelops you in his arms as you tremble, offering a gentle shushing sound to soothe you. "It was like you were there in my mind and memories—" he begins, his voice soft.

You sniffle, attempting to regain your composure. "Yeah... I… I’m not sure what that was," you admit, shaking your head. "Never mind. We'll deal with that later. Right now, we should focus on getting out of here."

Din reluctantly releases you and takes a step back, addressing the group. "He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely," he informs them. "I was worried when the Ugnaught didn't respond, but if they'd captured the kid, we'd already be dead."

Cara nods and says to Din, “Hail them again.”

"Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil?" Din's voice echoes into the comlink, but there's no response. He shakes his head in frustration. "Nothing."

"They might have jammed the signal," Cara suggests, retrieving her heavy repeating blaster from across the room. Meanwhile, Greef Karga takes a swig from a blue drink.

Suddenly, the comlink beeps, and the sound of the Child cooing fills the room. Then, the mechanical voice of IG-11 follows. "Kuiil has been terminated."

Din's voice grows stern and accusing as he speaks into the comlink. "What did you do?"

"I am fulfilling my primary function," IG-11 responds calmly.

"And what is that?" Din demands.

"To nurse and protect," IG-11 declares with unwavering resoluteness.

A few moments later, the distant sounds of troopers screaming and blaster fire fill the air. "Look!" Cara exclaims, prompting you to peek out through the window. Outside, you witness IG-11 riding through the streets of the settlement, swiftly taking down stormtroopers with his twin blasters. Even a pair of troopers haggling with a local Jawa are not spared from his onslaught. With precision and speed, IG-11 fights his way through Gideon's troops, throwing a speeder bike at them and causing a massive explosion.

"Cover me," Din commands Cara, who responds by shooting through the broken window, taking out more stormtroopers with her repeating blaster. Chaos unfolds all around you, the cacophony of heavy blaster fire echoing throughout Nevarro.

Following Din out of the cantina's door as it hisses open, you find yourself amid the action. Din swiftly disarms a nearby stormtrooper, taking him down with a precise shot through the helmet. You trail closely behind him, activating your lightsaber. Its purple glow commands attention, causing some stormtroopers to hesitate in shock, which you seize upon.

You and Greef Karga join the fray, swiftly dispatching several death troopers. Despite sustaining a hit to his leg, IG-11 valiantly protects the Child and guides it to safety. Meanwhile, Din skillfully operates the E-web heavy repeater blaster cannon, eliminating multiple stormtroopers with deadly accuracy.

A death trooper detonates an explosive, blowing open the cantina's door. Swarms of death troopers flood in, but Cara skillfully guns them down, buying precious moments.

Your attention is drawn to Moff Gideon cornering the Mandalorian, firing a shot that grazes his shoulder. You cry out, "Din!"

Before you can reach him, Moff Gideon aims at a nearby box of ammunition, setting off a powerful explosion. The blast sends you flying backward, your ears ringing from the force. With a shriek, you scramble to your feet, dodging blaster fire with your lightsaber as you rush to the Mandalorian's side. He lies motionless, wounded and vulnerable.

Cara lends you a hand as you haul Din's injured form into the cantina, seeking refuge. With a determined tone, she reassures him, "Stay with me, buddy. We're getting you out of here."

Together, you carefully lay him down in a safe spot, your heart heavy with worry. "Din, please... Hang on," you plead softly, fighting back tears.

Din lets out a weak whimper, and you clutch his gloved hand tightly, offering what comfort you can. "We'll get you out of here, I promise," you vow, hearing Greef persuade IG-11 to aid in their escape by unsealing the grate.

Despite his pain, Din shifts his helmeted gaze to you, his voice strained as he says, "I won't make it. Go."

Tears blur your vision as you shake your head, refusing to accept the inevitable. "No, you'll be fine. We'll get through this," you sob out, your voice quivering with emotion.

Din's voice is strained as he insists, "Leave me." The warmth of his blood seeps through his helmet as you pull back your trembling hand, stained red. But you refuse to give up, determined to save him.

With shaky hands, you reach for the sides of his helmet. "I need to take your helmet off," you say, your voice heavy with urgency.

Din's grip tightens on your wrists as he protests, "No. Leave me. Keep the child safe, Cyar'ika."

Desperation fills your voice as you try to reason with him, "Din, I—" But he cuts you off, his tone firm and resolute.

"No. I don't… want this to be how you see me for the first time," he murmurs, his words strained with pain.

You don't care about appearances; all you want is to keep him alive. "I don't care. I just need you," you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Din reaches for his mythosaur necklace and hands it to you. "Take this," he says weakly. "Show it to the Mandalorian covert. Tell them it's from Din Djarin. You and the foundling were under my protection. They'll help you."

"We can make it. We have to make it… you can't leave me too… please… Din… Let me heal you," you sobbed out, your voice choked with emotion as you held onto him, your frame trembling.

Suddenly, a red-striped incinerator trooper, armed with a flamethrower, approaches the cantina, setting the furniture ablaze through the broken window. With determination, you throw yourself atop Din, shielding him from the flames, before turning back to look at him.

"Oh, Ner cyar'ika," Din murmurs, cupping your face with his gloved hand. You lean into his touch, seeking comfort in his presence.

"I'm not gonna make it, and you know it," Din admits, his voice heavy with resignation. "You protect the child. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death."

The finality of his words sends a pang of sorrow through you. "I won't leave you," you protest, your voice wavering.

"This is the Way," Din asserts, his gaze steady behind his visor. You meet his eyes, unable to find the right words to express your emotions. Pressing your forehead against his beskar helmet, you hold onto his gloved hand, which caresses the side of your cheek.

You kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his wrist, feeling the gravity of the moment. Din takes a shaky breath before saying, "Ner cyar'ika, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

Before you could even ask what he was saying, the incinerator trooper strides into the cantina, but the Child reacts swiftly, harnessing the Force to deflect the flames back at the trooper, forcing him to retreat. You witness the surge of power emanating from the Child, and instinctively extend your own hand, aiding in redirecting the flames away from your group.

As the trooper is driven back, the Child's tiny form slumps in exhaustion, overwhelmed by the effort. Just then, IG-11 kicks open the grate, signaling an opportunity for escape as the flames around you is all consuming and melting.

“Come on! It's open, let's go!” Greef Karga's urgent voice echoes through the chaos.

“Go. Cy’are, go,” Din insists, his tone heavy with resolve.

“We have to move! Now!” Greef Karga urges, as IG-11 helps clear the way, lifting the Child with care.

You remain rooted in place, torn between staying with Din and fleeing to safety. The metallic footsteps of IG-11 approach, and the droid's voice breaks through the turmoil. “Escape and protect this child. I will stay with the Mandalorian,” it declares, passing the sleeping Child into your arms.

Meeting the droid's gaze, you plead, “Promise me you'll bring him. Please.”

“You have my word,” IG-11 assures you, and you exchange a final glance with Din. With a heavy heart, you press your forehead to his helmet and whisper, “I need you. Maker, I want you, please… come back to me.”

Before he can respond, Cara pulls you away, guiding you into the tunnels below alongside Greef Karga, the force of uncertainty settling heavily upon you.

Din's mind drifts, overwhelmed by the scorching heat and his own exhaustion. In his haze, he sees IG-11 approaching, a stark reminder of his past and the deep-rooted trauma it carries. Through the chaos, thoughts of you, his beloved Cyar'ika, provide a fleeting sense of solace. Objects tumble in the inferno's blaze, a testament to the chaos engulfing them.

“Do it,” Din gruffly commands, his head throbbing from the impact, blood trickling down his neck.

“Do what?” IG-11 inquires, its mechanical voice cutting through the loud burning flames surrounding them.

“Just get it over with. I'd rather you kill me than some Imp,” Din asserts, his words tinged with bitter honesty. Once, he would have faced this without hesitation. But you changed everything, and now his only regret is not kissing you, not feeling the warmth of your lips against his.

“I told you. I am no longer a hunter. I am a nurse droid,” IG-11 states.

“IGs are all hunters,” Din grumbles, his frustration evident.

The droid pauses before responding, “Not this one. I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.”

Din's grip tightens on his blaster, his voice dripping with threat, “Try it and I'll end you.” He struggles to breathe, teeth clenched, “It is forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I swore the Creed.”

"I am not a living thing," IG-11 states plainly, the truth evident in his words.

With a hiss and a click, the mechanical hands of the IG-11 droid lift Din's helmet. His heart beats heavily in his chest as he awaits what comes next.

"This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours," IG-11 explains as it sprays the upper part of Din's head. "You have suffered damage to your central processing unit."

"You mean my brain?" Din quips.

IG-11 tilts its head. "That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease."

Din stifles a chuckle. In that moment, he realizes he still has hope. Despite his weariness and desire to depart, he closes his eyes briefly, thinking of you. The thought of needing you pushes him forward. Determined, he knows no grave can hold his body down; he'll find a way back to you, whatever it takes.

There is so much love in your body that you can't hold it in; it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin. As you cradle the Child closer to your chest, muffled explosions echo from above.

An ache settles between your ribs—a yearning for a different destiny and the resilience to keep hoping for a better outcome. You cling to the hope that Din will be alright.

A louder explosion echoes through the tunnels, causing you, Greef Karga, and Cara Dune to spin around. Cara’s flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing the source of the noise. The heavy footsteps draw closer, and soon, you spot IG-11’s silhouette—along with the glimmer of silver beskar you’ve come to cherish so deeply.

Without thinking, you rush forward, your heart pounding as you reach Din. He’s still unsteady, clearly feeling the effects of his concussion, but he’s alive. Relief floods your chest as you pass the Child to IG-11, and you throw your arms around Din’s neck, tears streaming down your face. 

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

His arms wrap around your waist, his leather gloves squeezing you tightly as if grounding himself in your presence. You slide one arm over your shoulder, determined to help him walk.

“I got you,” you murmur, holding him close as you guide him through the dimly lit tunnels.

As you continue down the darkened tunnels, Din leans heavily against you, each step a struggle against the pain that wracks his body. Greef Karga glances around, uncertainty evident in his voice as he asks, "Do you know which way to go?"

Din grunts in response, his voice strained. "No. I don't know these tunnels. I've only entered from the bazaar." His words are clipped, every syllable laced with discomfort.

Greef Karga presses on, trying to find a solution. "Well, if we get the smell of sulfur and follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows."

Din's voice cuts through the dark, gruff and insistent. "And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship. We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety."

Your group presses on, delving deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels with each step. The air grows thicker, and the walls seem to close in as the tension between you mounts.

"Ugh, this place is a maze," Cara groans, her voice filled with frustration as she surveys the endless twists and turns.

"Stop. I can stand," Din says, his voice firm despite the strain. He removes his arm from your shoulder, and you give him a hopeful look, noticing the determination in his voice. IG-11 assesses his condition and confirms, "The bacta infusion is working."

Din nods, his determination solidifying. "I'll try to find tracks." He moves forward, the beam of light from his helmet cutting through the darkness. His gaze is focused, scanning the ground carefully. Then, he spots something and points to the left, leading the group as he says, "We're close. Turn here."

The group follows Din's lead, the tunnel narrowing as the beam of light from the flashlights dances across the walls. As you round the corner, a chilling dread settles deep in your bones. The covert lies ahead, but instead of the safety you hoped for, you’re greeted by a harrowing sight—helmets and armor, scattered and lifeless, marking the final resting place of countless fallen Mandalorians.

Din’s steps falter as he enters the covert, his helmet’s light switching off with a click. The darkness seems heavier here, pressing in on him from all sides. Slowly, warily, he moves forward, his exhaustion evident in every sluggish step. Kneeling beside the fallen, his head bows in silent mourning.

He reaches out, picking up one of the broken helmets, its once-proud beskar now marred and empty. You see it in waves of dark grey and sharp silver, a storm of anger and grief brews within him, coiling tightly in his stomach, a heavy silence hanging in the air around him.

You kneel beside him, your presence a tentative but necessary comfort. Din grasps your hand, holding on as if it’s the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the void. His fingers tighten around yours, the touch grounding him, allowing him to feel something—anything—beyond the pain and loss.

Cara steps forward, her voice calm but insistent. "We should go."

Din's response is immediate, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with grief and fury. "You go. Take the ship. I can't leave it this way." His head snaps to the side, anger flaring as he locks eyes with Greef Karga through his vizor. "Did you know about this? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?"

Greef Karga scoffs, shaking his head. "No. When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended, and the hunters just melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries. They're not zealots."

Din grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. The emotions rolling off him are palpable, a storm barely contained. He pulls away from you, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold fury radiating from him as he steps forward, shoving a finger into Greef Karga’s chest. "Did you do this? Did you?"

Before Greef can respond, a new voice cuts through the tension, calm and authoritative. "No. It was not his fault."

All of you turn toward the source of the voice, a female Mandalorian stepping out from the shadows. She is clad in red armor, her gold helmet adorned with a series of horns that curve across the top. This must be the Armorer, the one who forged Din's beskar. The way she carries herself, with quiet strength and wisdom, leaves no doubt.

You rise to your feet, your eyes widening as you sense a powerful aura emanating from her, a blend of gold and red. Through the Force, you glimpse her true nature—patient, wise, and unwaveringly strong.

The Armorer surveys the fallen armor strewn across the covert, her voice measured and steady. "We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted." She lifts a piece of beskar armor from the pile, her tone resigned, as though she is stating a simple fact.

Din’s voice is strained as he asks, "Did any survive?"

The Armorer places the piece of armor onto a cart already laden with salvaged beskar. "I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world."

"Come with us," Din urges, but the Armorer shakes her head, picking up another helmet and adding it to her cart.

"No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains," she replies firmly, her choice unshakable.

You watch as she begins to push the hovering cart away, and without hesitation, Din follows her, leaving the rest of you to trail behind. The path leads you to the heart of the covert—the Armorer's forge, a place of deep significance. The air here is thick with the importance of history and tradition, the forge itself a symbol of the Mandalorians' resilience and strength.

You take in your surroundings, noting the tools neatly arranged, the forge at the center, glowing faintly with embers, the table where beskar is shaped and molded, and the computer panel displaying holographic schematics of Mandalorian armor. Every detail speaks of the care and precision that goes into crafting the armor that defines a Mandalorian, a testament to their way of life.

The cryo-furnace burns brightly in the center of the forge, casting flickering shadows across the room. You watch as the Armorer, with practiced precision, uses a pair of magnetic tongs to lift a beskar chest plate. The metal sizzles and hisses as she dips it into the molten pool of the furnace, transforming solid beskar into liquid. Her voice is calm, yet it carries the tone of command. “Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction.”

IG-11 steps forward, the Child sitting quietly in the brown backpack strapped to the droid’s chest. Din speaks, his voice steady, though tinged with reverence. “This is the one.”

The Armorer steps closer, her gaze fixed on the small creature. “This is the one that you hunted, then saved?”

Din nods, his response curt but sincere. “Yes. The one that saved me as well.”

The Armorer tilts her helmet slightly as she continues, “From the mudhorn?”

“Yes,” Din confirms, his voice clipped as he remembers the near-fatal encounter.

“It looks helpless,” she observes, her tone more curious than judgmental.

The Child coos softly in response, its large ears folding back as if understanding the conversation. Din shifts slightly, protective instincts kicking in as he explains, “It's injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.”

The Armorer nods thoughtfully, her tone reverent as she recalls ancient lore. “I know of such things. The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi, who wielded such powers.”

You stiffen at the mention of the Jedi, memories of old texts and scrolls you once studied flashing through your mind. Din instinctively steps forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, a subtle yet protective gesture. You can't help but ask, your voice shaky with uncertainty, “Is it an enemy?”

The Armorer regards the Child, then turns her attention to you, her gaze thoughtful beneath the gold helmet. “No. Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.” She pauses, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with a depth that makes your heart race. “Including her.”

“I… How…” you stammer, the words tangled in your throat as you struggle to comprehend her meaning.

The Armorer’s voice is patient, her words measured. “You are different. The Force flows through you as well, though not as it does through the Child. But you are not our enemy.”

Din glances at you, his expression unreadable behind his helmet, but you can feel his concern and confusion.  The importance of this information is nearly too much for you to take, even while you strain to find your words. Even while you know that everything has shifted in this instant, the armorer carries on with her task, undisturbed, as if she has spoken nothing unusual.

Din watches as the Armorer opens a cabinet, her movements precise and deliberate. The flickering light from the cryo-furnace casts long shadows on the walls, the heat radiating from the molten beskar filling the room. "What is it?" Din asks, his voice low and gravelly, filled with the sudden push of responsibility he’s not yet ready to accept.

The Armorer doesn’t look up from her work as she replies, her tone measured and authoritative. "It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care."

The Child, nestled safely in the brown backpack, gurgles softly, its wide eyes shifting between you and Din, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

Din glances down at the Child, confusion and uncertainty lacing his words as he gestures towards the small creature. "You wish me to train this thing?"

The Armorer continues her work, her focus unbroken as she dips the simmering ladle with the liquid beskar, pouring it with precision onto her workbench. "It is too weak," she states plainly. "It would die. You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind."

Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, his mind racing with the implications of her words. You stand beside him, feeling the sudden new responsibility settle over both of you. The Child stares up at you both with innocent eyes, unaware of the storm brewing within the Mandalorian’s heart.

"Where?" Din asks, his voice strained with the weariness of the unknown.

The Armorer hums thoughtfully, her focus never wavering from her task. "This, you must determine."

Din feels frustration bubbling up inside him. He gestures helplessly at the Child. "You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?" His words rush out, sharp and biting, and you can’t help but wince, though you know the remark wasn’t directed at you.

The Armorer remains unfazed, her hammer striking the beskar with rhythmic precision. "This is the Way," she remarks, her tone calm and resolute, as if the creed alone should be enough to calm his doubts.

Din’s eyes soften under his helmet, realizing the harshness of his words. He turns to you, taking your hand gently in his. "I apologize, Cy’are," he mumbles, his voice laden with regret.

You offer him a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand lightly. "I know," you reply softly, understanding his distress. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The Armorer, ever observant, takes note of your interaction as she continues her work. The clang of metal against metal fills the silence until Cara speaks up, her tone practical and urgent. "Hey. These tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan."

The Armorer pauses her hammering, then turns slightly toward the group. "If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats."

Greef Karga looks to Din, concern creasing his brow. "I think we should go," he suggests, the tension evident in his voice.

Din, however, remains resolute. "I'm staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal," he replies firmly, his gaze locking with yours.

You meet his determination with your own. "I’m not leaving you," you state with unwavering conviction. 

The Armorer picks up her magnetic tongs and a circular pan, her voice steady as she addresses you both. "You must go. Your Riduur and the foundling are in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father."

The Child coos softly, sensing the affection and bond between you, Din, and itself. The Armorer, acknowledging this bond, turns to Din with a quiet reverence. "This is the Way."

The Armorer steps forward with quiet precision, affixing a signet to Din's pauldron. The emblem gleams in the dim light of the forge, its magnitude both physical and symbolic as it signifies the new identity bestowed upon him. She pauses for a moment, allowing the significance to settle in before she speaks, her voice steady and authoritative.

"You have earned your Signet. For now… you are a clan of two," she declares, her tone interim, as though the value of the galaxy itself rests on this moment.

The words barely register in your mind, their meaning lost as you stand beside Din. Your gaze is fixed on him, watching the way his posture straightens slightly, the way his head dips just a fraction in acknowledgment.

"Thank you," Din says, his voice rough with emotion but steady. "I will wear this with honor."

The forge's flames flicker, casting warm, wavering light on the scene, as Din steps back, the signet glinting on his pauldron—a mark of pride, responsibility, and the bond that ties the two of you together in this perilous galaxy.

The rumble of muffled explosions grows louder, each one sending vibrations through the walls of the covert. Instinctively, your group turns toward the source of the sound, tension tightening in your chest. Greef Karga’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp with urgency. “We should go,” he insists, his eyes darting between the shadows of the tunnel.

The Armorer, however, remains unflinching. She turns to IG-11 and then to you, her voice calm but commanding. “IG and the Jedi,” she begins, and before you can correct her misunderstanding, she continues, “please guard the outer hallway. A scouting party draws near.”

Without hesitation, the IG unit steps forward. It moves to Cara, gently handing the Child over to her. The soldier, caught off guard, stammers, “Hang on. I don't do the baby thing.”

The Child coos softly, and you exchange a quick, knowing glance with Cara, a slight shrug of your shoulders conveying that there’s little choice in the matter. Without another word, you follow the IG unit as it strides purposefully towards the outer hallway. The air grows colder, and the sound of your footsteps echoes against the narrow walls as you leave the others behind.

Just before you’re out of earshot, you hear the Armorer's voice, calm and steady as ever. “I have a few more gifts for your journey. Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”

Din looks down at the gleaming silver beskar Z-6 Jetpack in his hands, his breath catching slightly in his throat. “When I was a boy,” he says, his voice thick with the load of memories. “Yes.”

The Armorer’s voice is calm, almost reverent as she holds the jetpack. “Then this will make you complete,” she declares, a solemnity in her tone that acknowledges the significance of the moment.

Din’s voice wavers as he accepts the gift. “Thank you.”

She steps behind him, carefully attaching the Z-6 Jetpack to his back, her movements precise and steady. “When you have healed,” she instructs, “you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands.”

Din feels the weight of the jetpack settle onto his shoulders, its presence both reassuring and daunting. He nods, his determination hardening, his voice steady as he replies, "I understand." The words are a quiet promise, a vow to honor the gift he has been given.

The Armorer pauses for a moment, her gaze steady on him. "One other thing," she begins, her tone shifting slightly, "your Riduur… I assume you’re courting her."

The question hits Din like a bolt, and he feels a flush rise beneath his helmet, heat spreading across his skin. He’s never been one for public confrontations, especially not about something so deeply personal. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken emotions, as he struggles for a response.

But the Armorer doesn’t need words to understand. She reads the tension in his posture, the hesitation in his voice, and she nods, accepting his silence as confirmation. Without another word, she turns to her cabinet, her movements measured and precise. From within, she retrieves a smaller version of the Mudhorn signet, its surface polished to a gleaming finish. She hands it to him with the same solemnity that she had with the jetpack.

"You are aware of the customs?" she asks, her voice carrying the value of tradition.

Din takes the signet, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth flooding his chest. He slips it into his pocket, the significance of the gesture not lost on him. 

"Yes," he replies, his voice firm, yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion he rarely lets slip.

The Armorer inclines her head, satisfied with his answer. "This is the Way," she intones, her words both a reminder and a benediction.

Din nods, the phrase echoing in his mind. "This is the Way," he repeats, the words a binding promise, not just to himself, but to you as well. 

Meanwhile, in the outer hallway, you and the IG-11 unit stand alert. The sound of approaching stormtroopers reverberates through the tunnels, a familiar and unwelcome echo. Your hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of your lightsaber, and with a flick, it ignites, casting a purple glow across the darkened corridor. The Force flows through you, heightening your senses as you prepare for the oncoming assault.

Blaster fire erupts, red bolts streaking toward you, but you remain calm, centered. Your lightsaber hums as you deflect each shot with precision, the bolts ricocheting back at the stormtroopers, sending them sprawling—some injured, others unconscious.

Beside you, IG-11 methodically takes down those that remain standing. The droid’s movements are efficient, calculated. As the last of the stormtroopers fall, you and IG-11 exchange a glance. The droid peers around the corner, scanning for further threats, then turns to you and states matter-of-factly, “You are protected.”

"More will come. You must go," the Armorer states with quiet authority as you and IG-11 reenter the forge. The heat from the cryo-furnace pulses through the room, a stark contrast to the cold dread gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Din turns to her, his voice firm with concern. “Come with us.”

The Armorer shakes her head with a firm tenacity. “My place is here. Restock your munitions,” she instructs, her voice steady as she gestures toward the scattered supplies.

She turns to the IG unit, handing Din’s newly earned jetpack into its mechanical grasp. “IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.”

The droid nods in silent compliance, securing the jetpack carefully within its arms. Din methodically restocks his ammunition, his focus sharp despite the tension humming through the air.

“Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey,” the Armorer commands, her voice carrying the weight of finality.

Din takes your hand in his, the leather of his glove warm against your skin. There’s a moment of unspoken understanding between you, the bond you share more palpable than ever in the face of the unknown. He turns to the tunnels, not dropping your hand, and with a quiet nod to the Armorer, he says, “Thank you.”

The two of you head into the darkness, leaving the forge and its fierce protector behind, every step forward a testament to the resilience that binds you.

You emerge from one of the tunnels and are immediately greeted by the sight of a large, bubbling river of hot lava, its fiery surface sending waves of heat toward you. The glow casts an eerie, red light on everyone’s faces, highlighting the tension in the air.

“This is the lava river,” Greef Karga announces, his voice filled with a mix of awe and urgency.

You and Din move closer to the boat docked on the riverbank, its hull crewed by a battered and seemingly inoperative ferry droid. Din assesses the damage, his gaze narrowing as he comments, “The ferry droid is fried.”

Greef Karga steps forward, his practical mind already formulating a plan. “Yeah, but if we push the boat out, we can get it to float downstream. Come on,” he says, placing his hands on the boat’s edge and beginning to shove.

Din continues his inspection of the boat, noticing its age and the wear that time has inflicted. “Looks old. Will it take the heat?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone.

“You got a better idea?” Greef Karga shoots back, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Din shrugs, resigning himself to the situation. “Guess not.”

With a shared grunt of effort, the two men push against the boat, muscles straining as they try to dislodge it from the platform. But the boat stubbornly remains stuck, the dried lava around it acting as an anchor. Frustration mounts as Din groans and gives the boat a frustrated kick, before grabbing a metal paddle to try and pry it free—still to no avail.

Cara Dune watches their struggle with a growing sense of impatience, finally rolling her eyes before stepping forward. “You guys mind getting out of the way?” she says, her tone dripping with exasperation.

Din and Greef Karga step aside as Cara levels her blaster at the boat. With a few well-aimed shots, she blasts away the dried lava, freeing the boat from its fiery mooring. 

“Oh! Good job,” Greef Karga praises, a hint of relief in his voice as the boat begins to shift and move.

Without hesitation, the group clambers aboard the small ferry, the heat of the molten lava almost unbearable as IG-11 issues a warning, “Watch your feet. It's molten lava.”

“No kidding,” Cara mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she settles into the boat.

A tense silence falls over the group, broken only by the sudden electrical humming coming from the droid. Instinctively, Din, Cara, and Greef Karga draw their blasters, aiming them at the ferry droid as it begins to come to life. You stand back, watching as the droid chirps at you, its mechanical sounds echoing in the small space.

Din breaks the silence, his voice wary. “I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid?”

IG-11 steps in, his tone calm as he translates, “I believe he is asking where we would like to go.”

Greef Karga, still eyeing the droid with skepticism, eventually responds, “Downriver. To the lava flat.”

The ferry droid chirps rhythmically, as if in agreement, and with a mechanical whir, it begins to row the boat down the river. Your group holsters their blasters as the ferry glides smoothly over the molten surface, the droid content to fulfill its purpose, and the group can’t help but share a moment of quiet relief as they continue their journey downstream.

You quietly move next to Din, the tension in the air thick enough to feel, but neither of you speaks. Your eyes are fixed on the faint light at the end of the tunnel, the only sign of hope in this dark, foreboding place. You can feel the weight of everything that has happened pressing down on you, yet you hold on to the flicker of hope that you’ll find a way out of this.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at Din. The Force gently tugs at your senses, and you’re drawn to the swirl of emotions radiating from him in a kaleidoscope of colors. Where once there were dark, muted grays of pain and uncertainty, you now see lighter tones beginning to emerge, a sign that he’s slowly regaining his center after the injury that had shaken him so deeply.

Din turns his head to look at you, and you meet his gaze, staring back at him through the dark visor of his helmet. Though his face is hidden, you’ve always had a way of seeing through that thick, impenetrable black visor, straight to the heart of the man underneath. It’s a connection that runs deeper than words, a silent understanding that passes between you. 

A shiver runs up Din’s spine, the feeling of being so deeply understood and seen by you, even through the beskar, is both grounding and unsettling in its intimacy. He’s never quite sure how you do it, how you manage to see him so clearly despite the layers of armor he wears.

Neither of you speaks, the silence stretching on as the moment lingers between you. Eventually, you’re the first to break the gaze, taking a small step closer to him. You rest your head gently on his shoulder, the cool metal of his beskar pauldron pressing against your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, but one filled with a depth of comfort and connection that words could never convey.

Maker. The thought flickers through Din’s mind, almost as a prayer. He wonders what he ever did to deserve you, to be within your orbit. He’s lived his life in the shadows, never expecting to find someone who could see him so completely. And yet, here you are. He holds out a silent prayer to the universe, hoping for the strength to keep you with him, to protect you, to not let this fragile connection slip through his fingers.

The light at the end of the tunnel grows closer, but for now, you both find solace in this small, shared moment.

As the droid methodically rows the hoverboat down the molten lava river, the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone echoes softly through the tunnel. The eerie glow of the lava illuminates the cavernous space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Occasionally, small, skittish mammals dart along the riverbanks, their eyes glowing in the dim light before they disappear into the darkness.

The boat glides steadily toward the mouth of the tunnel, where a faint light shines like a beacon of hope. The group remains tense, but as you approach the entrance, Greef Karga’s voice breaks through the tension with a burst of optimism. He points eagerly at the light, his voice filled with relief. “That’s it! We’re free!”

But Din doesn’t share Karga’s optimism. His instincts prickling, he taps a button on the side of his helmet, switching to thermal imaging. The world around him shifts into shades of red and blue, revealing what the naked eye cannot see.

“No,” Din’s voice cuts through the brief moment of hope, a grim tone to his words. “No, we’re not.” His gaze remains fixed on the entrance, his thermal vision picking up the heat signatures of countless figures lying in wait. “Stormtroopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel.”

You glance at Din, the unease in his voice sending a chill down your spine. He continues, his voice a low, measured tone as he counts the figures. “It looks like an entire platoon. They must know we’re coming.”

The tension in the air thickens as the boat continues to drift closer to the tunnel’s exit, the light growing brighter but more ominous with every passing second.

“Stop the boat,” Cara orders sharply, turning toward the ferry droid. “Hey, Droid, I said stop the boat.”

The droid only responds with a series of unintelligible chirps, its programming unable to process the urgency in her voice. Frustration tightens Cara’s expression, and without hesitation, she unholsters her blaster, her voice rising with authority. “Hey! I'm talking to you. I said stop!”

A single shot rings out, and the droid’s head is blasted clean off, leaving it a lifeless hunk of metal. The boat continues to drift forward, unaffected by the loss of its pilot. The Child whimpers at the sudden noise, and Cara immediately softens, trying to soothe him with a gentle, “Shh, it’s okay.”

Greef Karga eyes the boat as it glides along the river, still propelled by the momentum it had before the droid was destroyed. “We’re still moving,” he notes grimly.

Cara scans the tunnel ahead, her face hardening as she realizes there’s no stopping now. “Looks like we fight,” she declares, steeling herself for the confrontation.

But Din shakes his head, his voice low and steady. “There are too many.”

Cara’s eyes flash with defiance as she snaps back, “Then what do you suggest? 'Cause I can't surrender.”

Before anyone else can speak, IG-11 interjects, its voice calm and resolute. “They will not be satisfied with anything less than the Child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

Din scoffs, unable to hide his skepticism. “You don’t have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn’t even get to daylight.”

But IG-11’s response is cold and matter-of-fact. “That is not my objective.”

A heavy silence follows as everyone processes the meaning behind the droid’s words. Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, understanding dawning painfully in his mind.

Cara quickly hands you the Child, her eyes flicking to the tunnel ahead. “We’re getting close. Saddle up,” she says, her tone brisk and focused as she readies her blaster, preparing for the inevitable fight.

The tension is palpable as IG-11’s voice cuts through the air with a calm finality. “I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

Din takes a step forward, disbelief and frustration tightening his voice. “What are you talking about?”

The droid remains composed, its mechanical tone unyielding. “I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

Greef Karga’s voice slices through the conversation, sharp and urgent. “Are we gonna keep talking, or get out of here?”

Ignoring the interruption, IG-11 turns and hands the jetpack to Din. “I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the Child.”

Din’s emotions churn beneath his helmet, a mixture of confusion and reluctant attachment rising to the surface. For someone who’s always hated droids for what they did to his planet, this particular one has proven itself different. The words tumble out, almost desperate. “Wait. You can’t self-destruct. Your base command is to protect the Child.”

Din’s voice softens, a note of pleading seeping in. “That supersedes your manufacturer’s protocol, right? Right?”

There’s a brief pause, as if the droid is processing his question. “This is correct.”

Relief flickers across Din’s features, even if hidden beneath the beskar. “Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

But IG-11 remains resolute, its next words heavy with certainty. “Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The Child will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the Child is saved, in which I survive.”

Din’s frustration mounts, his mind racing for another solution, any solution. “Listen, you’re not going anywhere. We need you. Let’s just… come up with a—”

But the droid cuts him off, its tone firm yet gentle. “Please tell me the Child will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

Din looks up at the droid, his voice low, almost anguished. “But you’ll be destroyed.”

IG-11 responds without hesitation. “And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.”

“No. We need you,” Din insists, his voice growing tighter, a rare crack in his stoic exterior. The droid’s next words hit him harder than any blaster shot. “There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

Din, ever defensive, tries to mask his emotions. “I’m not sad.”

But the droid sees through him, as it was programmed to do. “Yes, you are. I’m a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice.”

You watch the exchange, your heart heavy with the truth of what’s about to happen. Tears well up in your eyes, the reality sinking in that this droid, one that had grown to mean something to you all, is about to sacrifice itself. It’s a loss none of you are truly ready for, but deep down, you know it’s the only way.

The Child coos softly in your arms, its large eyes full of trust as it peers up at you. IG-11 pauses, glancing at the small creature, and then gently pats its ears in a gesture that almost feels… affectionate. A farewell, perhaps. You feel the sting of sorrow as the droid steps away, its purpose clear. 

Without another word, IG-11 hops off the boat and into the bubbling lava, the searing heat beginning to eat away at its metal frame. Greef Karga’s voice breaks the silence, tinged with confusion and a hint of alarm. “IG? What are you doing?”

The droid doesn’t respond, just continues its slow, deliberate march through the molten river, its body gradually melting, limbs faltering as it nears the mouth of the tunnel. Beyond, the light filters through, revealing the stormtroopers waiting, their blasters raised, ready to fire. But they hesitate, unsure of the droid’s intent.

Reaching the river’s end, IG-11 speaks, its voice unwavering, almost serene. “Manufacturer’s protocol dictates I cannot be captured.”

The sound of a pulse begins, low and rhythmic, a countdown to the inevitable. “I must be destroyed,” IG-11 states, its words a final goodbye.

And then, with a blinding flash, the droid detonates, the explosion erupting like a fiery inferno. The stormtroopers don’t even have time to react before they’re consumed by the blast. Their screams echo briefly before being snuffed out, leaving only silence in its wake. The fiery eruption floods the tunnel’s entrance, scattering debris and molten rock, neutralizing the entire platoon in an instant.

As the dust and flames settle, the path ahead clears. The way to the plains is open, and for a moment, all is still. The sacrifice of IG-11 rings heavy in the air, its selflessness ensuring the Child’s safety, and allowing you, Din, and the others to move forward—alive, but forever changed.

You finally emerge from the tunnels, the cool air of the open plains a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the lava river. For a fleeting moment, there's a sense of relief—until you hear the ominous roar of an engine in the distance. Your gaze snaps upward, just as Cara shouts, “Moff Gideon!”

Above, the silhouette of the Outland TIE fighter cuts across the sky, its distinct scream echoing through the air. Gideon’s fighter dives down, strafing your group with blaster fire. Instinctively, you ignite your lightsaber, the purple blade humming to life as you deflect the incoming shots, sending them harmlessly into the dirt. Din, Cara, and Greef Karga return fire with their blasters, but the bolts ricochet off the TIE fighter’s armored hull, doing little to slow its assault.

As the TIE fighter pulls up for another pass, Greef Karga shouts, “He missed!”

Din doesn’t look away from the sky, his voice grim. “He won't next time.”

Cara lowers her blaster, frustration etched on her face. “Our blasters are useless against him.”

Greef Karga, desperation creeping into his tone, glances at the Child in your arms. “Let's make the baby do the magic hand thing!” He turns to the Child, wiggling his fingers as if trying to coax a response. “Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing!”

The Child stares up at him with wide, innocent eyes, cooing softly, clearly not understanding what Greef Karga is asking. The moment hangs in the air, the absurdity of the situation clashing with the deadly reality of the threat above.

Greef Karga sighs, “I'm out of ideas.”

Din's chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing for a solution. There isn’t much time—Gideon’s TIE fighter is already banking around, preparing for another attack run. The fighter’s engines scream through the air as it turns, ready to strike.

“I’m not,” Din mutters, almost to himself, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His voice is quiet but filled with purposefulness.

“Here he comes!” Cara shouts, urgency clear in her voice.

Without another word, Din moves with purpose, strapping the jetpack firmly onto his back. You can see the determination in his movements, each one precise, no hesitation. He checks the pack one last time, then ignites it, the blue flames roaring to life with a sharp hiss. The blast from the jetpack propels him skyward, and you watch as he rockets toward the incoming TIE fighter, becoming a streak of silver against the dusky sky.

The TIE fighter roars closer, and in a daring move, Din launches his grappling cable, the wire streaking through the air with a sharp whizz. The hook latches onto the wing of the TIE, yanking Din with it as it surges forward.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him hold tight to the cable, the wind whipping around him, the ground a blur beneath. The TIE fighter dips and rolls, trying to shake him loose, but Din’s grip is ironclad. With each twist and turn, he inches closer to the cockpit, his movements precise, driven by sheer will.

Unable to force his way into the cockpit with his blaster, Din quickly tries to plant a detonator on the hull of the TIE fighter. But Moff Gideon sees the attempt and executes a sharp maneuver, causing the detonator to slip from its intended position and tumble away. Din barely manages to keep his grip as the ship veers wildly, but he’s not done yet. He moves with quick precision, planting a second detonator on the left wing joint. 

You watch from below, heart pounding, as Din releases his hold on the fighter. For a moment, he’s just a speck in the sky, free-falling as the detonator flashes red. Then, with a brilliant explosion, the TIE’s wing disintegrates, sending the ship spiraling out of control. The wreckage hurtles toward the ground, crashing in a fiery plume on the plains beyond.

Din activates his jetpack just in time, the blue thrusters flaring as he regains control of his descent. He lands hard, stumbling slightly as he adjusts to the new weight on his back. But he’s safe, standing tall, smoke rising in the distance where Gideon’s ship went down.

You disengage your lightsaber, the purple blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and holster it at your side. As you pass the Child to Cara, she cradles him protectively, her expression softening for a brief moment before returning to her usual stout-heartedness.

Without hesitation, you sprint toward Din, your heart racing with relief and something deeper. He sees you coming and barely has time to brace himself before you collide with him, throwing your arms around his neck. He catches you with steady arms, pulling you close, the firm grip of his gauntlets grounding you both. For a long moment, the world around you fades, and it’s just the two of you—alive, together, and safe.

You pull back slightly, standing on your tiptoes as your hands find the sides of his helmet. Gently, you press your forehead against the cool beskar, closing your eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. It’s a silent gesture, a keldabe kiss that speaks of everything you both feel but can’t yet put into words.

Greef Karga steps forward, a broad grin on his face. "That was impressive, Mando. Very impressive." He pauses, his gaze flicking between Din and you. "Looks like your Guild rates just went up."

You and Din step back from each other, but his hand finds yours, holding on tightly as if to anchor himself. He nods to Greef’s comment, then asks, "Any more stormtroopers?"

Greef shakes his head. "I think we cleaned up the town. I'm thinking of sticking around just to be sure." Cara nods in agreement, her expression firm. She sets the Child down, and it squeals with delight, waddling unsteadily toward you and Din.

Din watches the Child for a moment, then tilts his head toward Cara. "You’re staying here?"

Greef interjects, puffing his chest slightly as he looks around at the scorched streets of Nevarro. "Why not? Nevarro’s a fine planet. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it’s quite respectable."

Din’s voice carries a note of skepticism even through the modulator as he replies, "As a bounty hunter hive?"

Greef chuckles, tapping Din on the shoulder. "Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters." He then shifts his attention to Cara, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And maybe this fine specimen of a soldier would consider joining our ranks."

Cara snorts, shaking her head. "I’ve got some clerical concerns regarding my chain code."

Greef grins, offering, "And if you’d agree to become my enforcer, clerical concerns would be the least of your worries."

The Child finally reaches Din, gripping his leg with both hands, gazing up with wide, trusting eyes. Din glances down, and even behind the visor, you can sense his heart soften. Greef notices too, then turns his focus back to Din. "But you, my friend—you’ll be welcome back into the Guild with open arms. Go off, enjoy yourself. And when you’re ready to return, you’ll have your pick of all the quarries."

Greef then shifts his gaze to you, his eyes warm. "And you, my dear, will always have a place at the med center. It’ll be there when you’re ready to come back."

Din adjusts the Child in his arms, his tone steady but resolute. "I’m afraid I have more pressing matters."

Cara reaches out, rubbing one of the Child’s large ears affectionately. The Child gurgles in response, and Cara smiles, looking at Din. "Take care of this little one." She then turns to you, her expression softening. "And her too."

Greef adds with a knowing twinkle in his eye, "Or maybe they’ll be the ones taking care of you."

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest as Din nods. He gently passes the Child to you, and as you cradle him, Din wraps an arm securely around your waist. His voice is low, almost tender, as he asks, "You ready?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance up at him through your lashes. "I’m terrified. Please don’t drop me."

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through the beskar. "Never."

With that, the two of you take off into the sky, the jetpack lifting you both. The wind rushes past, tugging at your clothes as your stomach flips. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to the Child close to your chest and Din as the ground falls away beneath you. Despite the dizzying height and the roaring wind, you feel a sense of peace—a quiet certainty that, no matter what happens, you’re safe in his arms.

The journey back to the Razor Crest is somber, the weight of loss hanging heavily in the air. Together, you and Din wordlessly bury Kuiil beneath the scorched sands of Nevarro. The burial is simple, just the two of you under the vast sky, the only sound the wind whispering through the rocks. Din kneels for a moment, his hand resting on the mound of earth, before rising slowly. Neither of you speak, the silence saying all there is to say.

With the burial complete, Din takes your hand, and together you walk back to the Razor Crest. His grip is firm, grounding you as the reality of the past few days settles in. As you step aboard the ship, the familiar hum of the engines provides a small comfort—a reminder that, despite everything, you’re still moving forward.

In the cockpit, you strap in beside Din, watching as he straps the Child into his seat. The little one’s eyes are wide, curious, and full of wonder. Din gently moves a bit of the Child’s shirt as he looks at the mythosaur necklace around the Child’s neck, allowing it to stay with him. The Child coos softly, fingers grasping the pendant as if it holds some great significance.

Din settles into the pilot’s seat, and with a few swift motions, the Razor Crest rumbles to life. The ship lifts off, the ground falling away beneath you as the stars come into view. The vastness of space opens up before you, dark and endless.

You lean back in your seat, trying to shake off the lingering unease. But as the stars streak past, that sinking feeling in your chest refuses to leave. It gnaws at you, a quiet but insistent reminder that this isn’t the end. This is just the beginning—of something larger, something more dangerous than you could ever have imagined.

The Razor Crest sails deeper into the galaxy, leaving the ashes of Nevarro behind, but the weight of the journey ahead presses down on you. Whatever awaits, you know one thing for certain: it’s far from over.

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces@avengersheart@lunatic1012@keepingupwiththeskywalkers@mxltifxnd0m@syviiss@luckyzipperscissorsbat@avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil@n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

[star-wars-radar]

Hey there! The quick and easy TLDR? I reblog fanworks every day and I love when people submit stuff I haven't seen. Under the cut is an FAQ (including instructions on how to submit fanworks or let me know if I reblogged stolen art). Please read before you send something! Here's links to the askbox and submit.

How does this work?

I track the tags for animations, coloring books, comics, commissions, cosplayers, dioramas, edits, icons, fanart, fanfic, fanmixes, fanvids, filk, gifs, merch, moodboards, podcasts, podfics, poetry, sculptures, and zines. When something new shows up in those tags, I add it to the queue!

Some fanworks aren't put in my tracked tags, or are posted to other sites, like AO3 or Instagram. You can submit links to them, and I'll add them to the queue with the rest. (Just a note: don't try to put them in the askbox! Links and media can only be submitted.)

If you know of an art form that's not mentioned here, I'd love to see it! Send me a link to its tag and I'll keep an eye out for new stuff.

Do you reblog XYZ?

Probably! If it's a fanwork, and it's related to Star Wars, I'll reblog it. Crossovers, fusions, AUs, translations, and non-English works are welcome. I reblog works that contain triggering content or are rated R/Mature/Explicit, and this is a proship blog, including master/padawan and clone/clone. Everything is tagged so it can be filtered out if you don't like it.

That means you're going to reblog some character/ship/trope/creator I don't like!

I don't give a shit.

But it's gross/immoral/hurts my feelings!

I still don't give a shit.

What's your tagging system?

Non-fanwork posts are tagged #admin talk and answered asks are tagged #ask. All fanworks are tagged with their type, as listed in the first question's answer. "#nsfw (violence)" and "#nsfw (sex)" are used for mature content. I tag triggers and am happy to expand my taglist, just send me an ask. Current trigger tags: abuse, death, flashing, sexual assault, and smoking.

Works are tagged with the creator's username. I tag the names of all the characters and relationships, and if a work is character-critical or part of a series. Relationships are tagged with character names in alphabetical order, using "&" for platonic and "/" for romantic. AUs are tagged with their type, and crossovers and fusions are tagged with their other fandom(s).

I also tag 'creature' for works with animals, 'droid' for works with droids, and 'ship' for works with spacecraft and vehicles. 'The Bad Batch', 'Jedi', and 'Rebel Alliance' are tagged for group-themed works. Original characters are tagged with their type: Chiss, clone, droid, Jedi, Mandalorian, Sith, Twi'lek, Wookiee, etc.

If a tag is missing or wrong, please let me know! I don't read or listen to everything I reblog, as I simply don't have the time or spoons. All written and audio works are tagged based on the OP's tags. Let me know the chapter (for written) or timestamp (for audio), and what should be tagged. Submit that with a link to my reblog.

How do I submit something?

First, please check the blog for everything tagged with that creator's name. It might already be here! If not, the rest of this answer will walk you through the submission process. Submit as much as you want!

There's a link at the top of this post to submit. You can also check beneath the blog's banner on mobile or desktop. To the right of the Ask link is a meatball menu (three dots in a row). Click or tap that, then 'Submit'. However you get to the submit page, you'll see this:

1 is the drop-down for post type. 2 is where tumblr will prompt you to put your name and email if you're not logged in. Do not put your real name. "N/A" or "nothing" will work for both fields. 3 is where you put a link to what you want to submit. You'll have to check the box by 4 (and do a captcha if you're not logged in) before hitting the Submit button.

Don't worry about providing the information that I tag with! I take the link and do all the formatting and tagging myself.

You might not see a work posted in the same day or week that you submitted it, due to the length of the queue. If you want to make sure that something gets shared, you can DM me or send an ask, to check if it's in the queue. Please don't resubmit unless I ask you to.

How do I tell you that you reblogged stolen/reposted/uncredited works?

Submit a link to what I reblogged with a link to the original artist's post. If you don't see the work removed in three days, feel free to follow up by sending a DM or ask. Please don't resubmit unless I ask you to.

I still have more questions/want to tell you something/I like the nuance poll option.

No problem! My askbox is open to whatever you want to share, and anon is enabled. I aim to check the blog at least daily so I can reply to things fairly quickly. Please only DM me if you're checking whether I saw your submitted post!

This is a cool blog!

Thanks, I think so too :) It's my hope that having a 'one stop shop' for fanworks will help creators reach a wider audience. The best way to support them - and me! - is to reblog the stuff you like. Especially with some enthusiastic tags!

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Clan of Three - Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Redemption

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with an undiscovered lineage. An unlikely group to travel the galaxy together.

Word Count: 6.3K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, injuries, angst, Moff Gideon (he deserves his own warning), sadness like so much

------

“You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not.” He speaks up again and Mando yells back into the comm.

“Kuiil, are you back on the ship yet? They're onto us! Kuiil, come in!” Mando yells as nothing comes through on your end.

“In a few moments, they will be mine.” The man calls out.

“Kuiil! Do you copy? Kuiil!” Mando can’t ignore the fear in his chest, if they get the child and with how many enemies were out there they would get you as well.

“They mean more to me than you will ever know.”

You feel a tightness in your chest feeling the loss and feeling of failure…Kuiil.

“Kuiil! Are you there? Come in, Kuiil….Kuiil, come in. Do you copy? Kuiil? Kuiil!”

The cantina is littered with imperial bodies as a former magistrate, a shock trooper, and a Mandalorian all together to protect a child and a girl who have extraordinary powers.

“Is there another way out?” Cara asks peeking out the window at the large platoon of troopers and this imperial warlord.

“No, that's it,” Greef says looking around the whole cantina their only way out is the two doors leading outside.

“What about the sewers?” Mando says and you look over at him,

“Sewers?” You ask and he nods beginning to look around.

“The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape.” He explains searching for an access point to the sewers.

“Yeah, sewers are good,” Greef says happy for this new piece of news before looking out the window with Cara on the other side. “What the hell are they waiting for?” He asks and you peek over seeing them bring out a giant weapon in large cases.

“Hold up. They're setting up an E-Web.” Cara says fear clear in her voice, “It's over.”

“I found the sewer vent,” Mando calls out and you and Cara come over moving the seat that is blocking the gated vent.

“Let's get the hell out of here,” Cara says trying to pull the grate off the vent but with no luck.

“It's assembled! How long until that thing's cleared?” Greef yells back, “Blow it.”

Mando’s hands move to his belt finding no charges, “I'm out of charges.”

“Get out of the way!” Cara pushes him aside using the large weapon she brought to shoot down the vent, you cover your face from the bright light and the sounds could be heard from outside.

“Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation. I would prefer to avoid any further violence, and encourage a moment of consideration,” The imperial warlord shouts out as you all pause, “Members of my escort have completed the assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model.”

Your head snaps over looking at Cara as she hears personal details of her life called out, as the man continues to speak, “Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin, has heard the songs of the Siege of Mandalore when gun outfitted with similar ordnance laid waste to fields of Mandalorian recruits in The Night of a Thousand Tears.” You look over at Mando who is frozen staring out and you felt an entire door of information open up…you knew his name. After weeks of being with him, something as simple as a name you never learned. He was the Mandalorian, the bounty hunter, or Mando…but you heard his name. Din Djarin.

“Y/n L/n I know you’re in there as well. A thief on Tatooine but you are far more important to me than anything in the galaxy. I know more about you than you know about yourself…you have a much more important role in this than you think you do. Information I know about you…your family…your bloodline can shift the roles. That can alter your dear Mandalorian’s Creed.” The man says and you can feel the stares from the three adults especially the burning one from Mando’s. You couldn’t be more confused with his words…you had no importance in the galaxy than the simple power you had. Your family was nothing..you were nothing.

“I advise disgraced Magistrate Greef Karga to search the wisdom of his years and urge you to lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed in short order and your storied lives will come to an unceremonious end.” He says and you see Greef look away from you before shouting out.

“What do you propose?”

“Reasonable negotiation.” The warlord calls out and Greef scoffs,

“What assurance do you offer?”

The man's voice echoes into the cantina, “If you're asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire.” You all look at each other taking in his words before Greef speaks up.

“I say we hear him out.”

“The minute we open that door, we're dead,” Cara says and Greef snaps back,

“We're dead if we don't. At least out there, we've got a shot.” Greef says and Cara is fearful but also filled with anger.

“That's easy for you to say. I'm a Rebel Shock Trooper. They'll upload me to a Mind Flayer.” She says and Greef gives her a look.

“Those aren't real. That was just wartime propaganda.”

“I don't care to find out. I'm shooting my way out of here.” Cara says cocking back her gun before turning to Mando, “What about you, Mando?”

“I know who he is. It's Moff Gideon.” He says and the two adults look almost shocked while you were confused.

“Who?” You ask and Cara is almost in disbelief, “No. Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes.” 

“It's him. He knew my name.” Mando says and Greef looks over at him trying to understand what that proves, “So? What does that prove?”

“I haven't heard that name spoken since I was a child,” Mando says

“On Mandalore?” Greef says and Mando shakes his head,

“I was not born on Mandalore.” “But you're a Mandalorian,” Greef asks and Cara explains,

“Mandalorian isn't a race.”

“It's a Creed.” Mando says, “I was a foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps. I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That's how I know it's him. That's how he knows who we all are.”

“He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely.” Greef says trying to shed some good fortune, “I was worried when the Ugnaught didn't respond, but if they'd captured the kid, we'd already be dead.”

“Mando..” You whisper looking at him and he recognizes the look on your face, the self-sacrifice is written all over your face.

“No. no, you’re not doing that kid.” He says shaking your head and you step towards him making him look at you.

“You guys are going to get yourselves killed protecting me. I won’t let your deaths rest on my conscience.” You start and Mando grabs your arms making you look at him.

“My job was to protect you, not let you do this self-sacrificing bullshit!” Mando shouts at you and you can feel the fear in both of you.

“He’s not going to stop coming after us! He knows too much about me…about all of us. I’m not going to let my life ruin yours and the rest of the Mandalorians.” You say looking straight at him and he wasn’t sure if he even had his helmet as you looked right into his eyes. “You have to let me go…” You say softly and he shakes his head the grip on your arms tightens.

“I won’t let you.” He says before grabbing his comm, “Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil?” Silence fills the air and the idea of your sacrifice grows more real to Din and he can feel the fear growing stronger. “Nothing. They might have jammed the link.”

“Kuiil has been terminated.” IG-11’s voice comes through the comm surprising you all,

“What did you do?” Mando says quickly and it almost sounds like the wind is coming from the other side of the comm. Were they on the ship heading far away from Nevarro?

“I am fulfilling my base function.” The droid responds.

“Which is?”

“To nurse and protect.” A low rumble fills the air before the sound of blaster fire enters the air.

“What was that?” Greef asks and you all peer out the window seeing the troopers turn from facing you to one of the pathways as the fighting grows closer. Appearing on a speeder bike two guns in his hands as he shoots down troopers and you see the child strapped to his chest.

“Cover me,” Cara says shooting her gun through the window and hitting some of the troopers down.

Greef rushes outside quickly firing at troopers and you move to go out when a hand latches on to your arm.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Mando says holding onto your arm like it was a lifeline and you nod, pulling out your blaster.

“You don’t either.”

The two of you exit the cantina and are hurled into the fight. Dodging blaster fire overhead, shooting out troopers. Din stayed practically beside you as he fired out against some troopers quickly eliminating any that got near you. You provide cover fire to any coming at Mando’s blindspots. Arms wrap around your waist lifting you into the air and throwing you to the ground you kick your leg out hitting one of the death troopers and seeing two attack Mando. Rolling out of the way grabbing your blaster shooting them in the head as they collapse going to fire on the two attacking Mando but they are already shot down by Greef. Mando pulls you up to your feet as you shoot out at any troopers seeing IG-11 get hit in the leg still protecting the child but beginning to be overwhelmed. You see Mando go over to the E-web taking it off the stand firing it out at the large number of troopers attacking IG. They drop like flies as you fire at but they seemed to keep swarming you all. A shout comes from Mando and you look seeing him stumble forward and shot in the back of the head. Looking past him seeing Moff Gideon standing with his blaster pointing at Mando with a squad of troopers around him. Mando turns holding the e-web ready to fire and you see Gideon’s gaze move from the gun to the ammunition box before his blaster aims there.

“Mando!” You yell right as an explosion sends you flying back hitting the ground blacking out for a second and Mando is sent crashing into the ground with heavy force. A ringing fills your ears as your vision returns trying to push yourself up everything was bright and muted as the gunfire continues, looking forward to seeing Mando on the ground, you yell out though your voice doesn’t reach your ears. Scrambling towards him grabbing his shoulder trying to drag the armored man away from the gunfire. Everything was so quiet but loud at the same time as the blaster fire grows closer to you as Gideon’s troopers draw closer to you. With a yell, you throw your hand out and with a shockwave, the troopers are all sent flying back even Gideon is moved back. Hands grab you pulling you up and away from Mando and you see Cara run in grabbing him slinging him over her back bringing him inside, as Greef gives cover fire throwing you inside as well.

One door closes the other blown down as Gideon steps forward seeing the mass casualties on his end with only five people causing it, “Burn them out.” He growls.

“Stay with me, buddy. We're gonna get you out of here.” Cara's voice sounds muffled as you all barricade yourself by the sewer vent.

“This is our only path out. Can you clear it?” Greef says to IG-11 stepping forward to take the child when it points a blaster,

“If you go near this child, I will no choice but to kill you.” It says and Greef nods holding his hands up and stepping back.

“I understand. Can you do anything to move the grate?” He asks and IG nods its hand producing a small flame torch to carve its way through the metal.

You see Greef in front of you speaking to you but you shake your head not able to understand him, “Kid can you hear me?!” He says and you see him curse seeing the sight of blood coming from your ears. He holds your arms trying to speak slow enough for you to understand, “You are alright…kid just breathe.” You slightly read his lips seeing ‘breathe’ and you take in a gasp of air not realizing you were holding your breath. You look away from Greef seeing Cara trying to tend to Mando who is leaning against the chair on the floor, his shiny beskar armor was blacked with ash. While you weren’t caught in the explosion the shockwave had sent you flying back.

“Stay with me,” Cara says and Din slowly shakes his head his entire body screaming in pain but mainly his head.

“I'm not gonna make it. Go.” He says and Cara shakes her head reaching behind his head,

“Shut up. You just got your bell rung. You'll be fine.” Her blood runs cold seeing her hand come back red feeling the dampness of the cloth around his neck drenched with his blood.

“Leave me,” Din says and Cara is moving to his helmet trying to fix the injury on the back of his head,

“I'm gonna need to take this thing off.” He grabs her hands pulling them down,

“No. You leave me. You make sure the children are safe.” He says grabbing a necklace from under his clothes ripping it off his neck pressing it into her hands, “Here. When you get to the Mandalorian covert, you show them that. You tell them it's from Din Djarin. You tell them the foundlings were in my protection, and they'll help you.” She couldn’t hide the anger from her sadness come through,

“We can make it.” She says but Din had already given up. You look over as a red-striped trooper enters with a large flamethrower in their hand as the furniture towards the entrance is set ablaze. The ringing in your ears doesn’t cease as IG continues to burn a hole through the sewer vent Greef is standing up yelling at you all but everything was still muffled.

“Come on! Let's go!” You look over at Mando who wasn’t moving.

“Mando…we have to go,” You say unaware of your volume as you come to his side trying to pull him up but he isn’t budging. “Come on Mando, get up.” You pull him turning to Cara who is looking down at the gut-wrenching display. “Cara help me.” You say and you see her turn to Mando speaking to him but you still couldn’t hear them.

“I'm not gonna make it and you know it.” Din says looking at Cara who wanted to refuse this outcome, “You protect the children. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death.”

“I won't leave you.” Cara grits out and they can feel the flames growing closer to them.

“This is the Way.”

You all look over when you feel the heat as the incinerator troop stands within the flames pointing the weapon at you sending a mass of flames. You hadn’t expected a wall to form in front of you all and you look down seeing the child holding his hand out. Pushing his hand out the flames shoot back at the trooper making the flamethrower explode killing him. You see the child slump from the exertion as IG-11 kicks the grate open.

“We have to move! Now!” Greef says trying to get you all to leave but you still are looking at Mando.

“Mando, get up we have to go.” You try pulling his arm before you move around to his shoulders to pull him up when your hands slip against something. Pulling back your heart grows cold seeing the red stain on your hands. You look at him and he sees the tears welling in your eyes. His head moves slightly while speaking but you shake your head.

“I...I can’t hear you.” You say your voice cracking looking at the defeated warrior, “Let me heal you..I-I can heal you.” Your voice shakes as you try reaching over to heal him the same way the child had but he pushes you back. He continues to speak to you as the flames roar behind you but your head shakes back and forth.

“I can’t hear you! Please just get up…get up Mando. We have to go.” Tears clean the dirt off your face and he softly reaches up wiping them off your face. “Get up Mando! You can’t leave me like this..you can’t.” Your head whips over to Cara who is looking down her heart breaking with each moment.

“Cara help me dammit!” You shout out seeing Cara look away and you look over at Greef who looks crushed but is still yelling at you guys. A hand grabs your face making you look back and you see Mando looking back at you and you can feel his emotions dripping through the beskar and leather covering his skin.

“Go.” He whispers knowing you weren’t going to hear him, “Leave Y/n you have to go.” You shake your head refusing whatever he had to say before he looks at Cara. She curses passing the child off to Greef and he quickly enters the tunnel.

“Escape and protect the children,” Din says to Cara as you continue begging him to get up. She steps forward looking at IG,

“I will stay with the Mandalorian.” The droid says and Cara glares at him,

“Promise me you'll bring him.” “You have my word.”

Cara looks away before grabbing your arm and pulling you up. “No what are you doing?! Cara let go of me. Mando get up! We have to go!” She begins pulling you towards the sewer vent, struggling slightly pulling you with one hand and the other holding her blaster. “Mando stop her! Please don’t leave me! Din! Get up, please! I don’t wanna go! Cara let go of me! Din! Din Please!” Your voice screams out your hand trying to reach out to him as his hand drifts off you falling to his side his heart crumbles watching you fight to stay with him as you’re pulled into the tunnels, him hearing your cries and shouts for him fade.

Tears blur your vision as you let Cara drag you through the tunnels reaching Greef and the child. She pulls out a bacta spray IG had given her, grabbing your face though not as tender as Mando was. She sprays the liquid into both of your ears wiping the blood off your ears your hands still stained with his blood as they shake. You had scuffs and slight cuts from the explosion but losing your hearing had been the main issue. You shove her away wanting to turn back and go back for him but this entire place was a maze and you hadn’t paid attention to where you went.

“You left him to die.” You hiss glaring at the two adults. Your eyes are bloodshot, your voice hoarse from your screams and cries but your hearing had returned slightly the bacta spray already working.

“We had no choice, we have to keep moving,” Cara says giving you a pitying look before looking forward, “Do you know which way to go?” Your heart broke with each step leading you deeper into the tunnels everything looking the same.

“No. I don't know these tunnels. I've only entered from the bazaar. Well, if we get the smell of sulfur and we follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows.” Greefs explains holding the child in the pack,

“And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship.” Cara says as you turn down another hall the tunnels never-ending, “We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety.” The sound of footsteps makes you all freeze each of your holding your blasters out ready to attack any troopers that followed after you. The sound of multiple footsteps grows closer and the three of you prepare to fight when the people that arrive make you drop your blaster rushing forward. Your body collides into Mando’s your arms wrapping around his waist tightly and his free hand rest on the back of your head keeping you close to him as he whispers words that you can’t understand. The beskar cold on your skin as tears falls down your face. You pull back looking up at him grateful to see his metal helmet, his rough gloves wipe away the tears on your face.

“I thought you were gone.” You cry and he shakes his head most of his weight on the droid and Cara comes over taking his other side.

“We have to keep moving.” Greef says having returned the child to IG-11.” You’re glued to Mando’s side Cara holding up most of his weight while you have a tight grip on his hand as you turn down another hall seeing more ways to go.

“Ugh, this place is a maze,” Greef says and Mando groans shrugging Cara off him, his footing is slightly stable but he stands tall pushing forward.

“Stop. I can stand.” “The bacta infusion is working,” IG-11 says and Mando steps forward you expect him to pull away from you but he squeezes your hand in reassurance as you continue walking you and Mando leading the way.

“I'll try to find tracks. We're close. Turn here.” You turn down a tunnel you all freeze seeing a pile resting in the middle of the hall. The two of you step forward and you could feel his grip on your hand tightens seeing what the pile was. Mandalorian helmets and armor were discarded and left behind. Had there been an attack? He kneels grabs a helmet looking at the dented protection. The symbol of his people…of his Creed.

“We should go..” Cara says seeing the tension coming off the Mandalorian witnessing this.

“You go. Take the ship. I can't leave it this way.” Mando shakes his head dropping the helmet to the pile before he whips around to Greef stalking towards him, “Did you know about this? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?” 

“No. When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended and the hunters just melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries. They're not zealots.” Greef defends him with a shake of his head but Mando was fueled with rage for this massacre of his creed.

“Did you do this? Did you?” He grabs Greef by his shirt, “No!”

“It was not his fault,” A female’s voice calls out, and coming from a room another Mandalorian is standing there with a large cart beside her. “We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter.” She points at the large pile of armor moving to put more in the cart, “This is what resulted.”

“Did any survive?” Mando asks and the woman shrugs walking into a room which you all follow, the heat from the large forge as she lifts the cart pouring them in as they quickly melt down,

“I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world.” She explains.

“Come with us.” Mando asks and she refused, “I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains.” She continues to put more armor into the smelter as the beskar becomes liquid.

“Show me the ones whose safety deemed such destruction.” She says and you see Mando look at you as he grabs the child both of you stepping forward. You can feel her gaze piercing as she looks over the child, “These are the ones that you hunted, then saved?”

“Yes. The one that saved me.” Mando nods and the memory of first witnessing the child and its gift similar to yours with the mudhorn

“From the mudhorn?” The armorer says and Mando nods, “It looks helpless.”

“It's injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.” He explains. Was this the same with you, he never knew of humans on Tatooine that could do the same things you could do?

“I know of such things,” The armorer says looking over the child who looks up at her with wide eyes, “The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore The Great, and an order of sorcerers called Jedi that fought with such powers.”

The Jedi…that was something you were familiar with, stories of them told to you through passing. Is that what you were meant to label yourself as?

“It is an enemy?” Mando asks looking at both you and the child.

“No. Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.” She says before examining you and you could feel her gaze through the helmet covering her face, “And this one?”

“The same as the child...I’ve seen things the both of them can do.” Mando says and she steps forward leaning closer and you try not to lean away from her. Her presence felt heavy and could send fear into any person.

“Where are you from?” She asks looking closely at you.

“Tatooine.” “No.” You frown at her comment, but you were from Tatooine born and raised it was the only thing you knew. Her hand grabs your face tilting it around as you glance at Mando in confusion.

“Tatooine may be where you were born but your blood, that is not. Features old but familiar…qualities of those from Mandalore.” She says and the room grows deadly silent with her observation. You pull away giving her a look.

“I’m…I’m not. I’m not from Mandalore I’m from Tatooine.” You say trying to prove to them but also yourself. “My parents are from Tatooine…we all were from Tatooine.” You say but thinking deeply did you ever know your family? You had no grandparents and you never reached that age to ask deeply where your family was from. It was only the three of you on that desert planet. You were…you couldn’t be.

Information I know about you…your family…your bloodline can shift the roles. That can alter your dear Mandalorian’s Creed.

Gideon’s words ring in your head…was this what he meant. “What do I do with them,” Mando asks and the armorer moves to the forge,

“They are foundlings. By Creed, they are in your care.” She says moving around the forge and you watch the liquid beskar move through.

“You wish me to train them?”

“They are too weak. They would die. You have no choice. You must reunite them with their own kind.” The armorer says all this information is too much for both you and Mando,

“Where?”

“This, you must determine.” The armorer responds,

“You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?” He incredulously asks and the Armorer repeats words you’ve heard many times.

“This is the Way.”

“Hey. These tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan.” Cara says looking out into the hall.

“If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats.” She points out the door with a large hammer of hers.

“I think we should go,” Greef says and you all prepare to leave but you see Mando not moving,

“I'm staying. I need to help her and I need to heal.” “Mando…”

“You must go,” The Armorer says pointing to the two of you, “Foundlings are in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father. This is the Way.” She says and she moves around her forge as you look at Mando…he was meant to be your father. Din was looking at you with the same look, he was a father now, especially a father or two. “You have earned your Signet. You are a clan of three.” She says holding a signet and fusing it to his right pauldron.

“Thank you.” Mando nods looking at the visible achievement, “I will wear this with honor.”

“We should go.” You say grabbing Mando’s hand and making him look at you and the child in IG’s arms.

“IG, please guard the outer hallway. A scouting party draws near.” The armorer says and IG nods removing the child from its arms and passing it off to Cara who fumbles to hold the child correctly. “Hang on. I don't do the baby thing.”

“I have one more gift for your journey. Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?” She says moving behind the forge grabbing something and Mando nods,

“When I was a boy. Yes.”

“Then this will make you complete.” She says holding a completely beskar jetpack you look at it in awe and Mando thanks her, “When you have healed, you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands.” She finishes

“I understand.” The sound of gunfire fills the hall and you all turn weapons ready but when one set of footsteps appears turns out to be IG-11.

“You are protected.”

“More will come. You must go.” She says and Mando looks over at her,

“Come with us.”

His mentor shakes her head, “My place is here. Restock your munitions,” She points over to a table and Mando moves to grab more charges and anything else he might need as she passes the jetpack to IG, “IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it. Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey.” Your hand grabs Mando’s leading him out the door as he looks back one last time. A place he had called home, every memory of it.

“Thank you.”

Following her directions you find yourself in front of a stream of lava, it slowly flows down a river. “This is the lava river,” Greef says with a boat in front of you.

“The ferry droid is fried.” You say pointing at the droid covered in hardened magma.

“Yeah, but if we push the boat out, we can get it to float downstream,” Greef says and he and Mando push against it trying to get it to budge. This must have not been used in years, the stone hardened together. “Push!”

“Come on! What're you doing?” Mando gives Greef a look as they fail at moving it.

“Let's try this. Push!” Greef says the two push again and Cara steps forward.

“Hold him,” She passes the child off to IG grabbing her blaster, “You guys mind getting out of the way?” After a lot of blaster fire the rock crumbles and with a kick the boat is pushed into the river.

“Oh! Good job.” Greef says as you all begin to climb on.

“Watch your feet. It's molten lava.” IG says the joke not landing well. “No kidding.”

Suddenly behind you what was supposed to be a fried droid rises the hardened rock falling off it as it speaks to you all “I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid?” You say looking at them,

“I believe he is asking where we would like to go,” IG says translating for you all.

“Downriver. To the lava flat.” Greef says and the droid brings up a large staff beginning to steer you down the molten river. Looking over at the bay noticing small creatures run along the rock formations as you continue moving downstream. Further, ahead you see what looks like the exit daylight shining through.

“That's it. We're free!” Greef says and you feel relief fill your body. You see Mando staring further out before shaking his head, “No. No, we're not. Stormtroopers. They're flanking the mouth of the tunnel. It looks like an entire platoon. They must know we're coming.” Mando explains having used his helmet scanner.

“Stop the boat.” Cara turns to the droid but it ignores her, “Hey, Droid, I said stop the boat. Hey! I'm talking to you. I said stop!” She whips out her blaster shooting it in the head it collapses but the boat continues to move.

“We're still moving,” Greef says and you all look forward to the slowly approaching entrance.

“Looks like we fight.” You say pulling out your blaster

“There are too many.” Mando shakes his head and you give him a look,

“Then what do you suggest? 'Cause I can't surrender.” Cara says

“They will not be satisfied with anything less than the children.” IG says looking at you and the child resting in its arms, “This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

“You don't have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn't even get to daylight.” Mando says and IG just looks at him.

“That is not my objective.”

“We're getting close. Saddle up.” Greef yells out as you draw closer.

“I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.” IG explains and Mando is confused.

“What're you talking about?”

“I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.” IG says as the mouth is only getting closer.

“Mando…” You yell out to him as he keeps arguing with IG.

“I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the children.” IG places the child down as well as puts down the jetpack that was gifted to Mando.

“Wait. You can't self-destruct. Your base command is to watch the kids. That supersedes your manufacturer's protocol, right?” Mando says thinking of the change in protocol.

IG nods knowing its programming explicitly, “Right? This is correct.”

“Good. Now, grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.” Mando says but IG continues to disagree.

“Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The children will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the children are saved, in which I survive.” IG says and Mando shakes his head trying to come up with a new idea.

“Listen, you're not going anywhere. We need you. Let's just come up with a…”

“Please tell me the children will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.” IG cuts him off and you can hear the lingering sadness in his voice.

“But you'll be destroyed.” “And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.”

“No. We need you.” Mando says and IG looks over him almost examining,

“There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

Mando looks away rejecting the claim. “I'm not sad.

“Yes, you are. I'm a nurse droid. I've analyzed your voice.” IG says before stepping towards the edge and climbing over its legs sink into the lava as it begins to move forward ahead of you.

“IG? What're you doing?”

You see the droid reach the mouth of the river seeing troopers surrounding it as it begins to beep, “Manufacturer's protocol dictates I cannot be captured. I must be destroyed.” A bright explosion fills the mouth of the river and you shield your eyes as IG destroys himself to neutralize the platoon. The boat slowly exits the river your weapons ready for any leftover Imps but everyone was dead taken down by IG. The loud screech of a TIE fighter appears over the ridge.

“Moff Gideon!” Cara yells out as it draws closer to you all of you shooting out at it your blasters missing their speed. It fires hitting part of the ground one round of bolts heads straight for the boat when they freeze in mid-air the energy pulsing in the air. The three adults look over at the child expecting it to be using his powers when Din sees you holding your hand out it shakes slightly holding back the full energy.

“Kid!” He goes to move to you.

“Don’t!” You yell making him stop in place, you grit your teeth as the bolt moves slightly closer and you focus harder on keeping it back, “Don’t touch me. You gotta get out of here…I don’t know how long I can hold this back.”

“I’m not leaving you, kid,” Mando says and your gaze is hardened on the bolt.

“Our blasters are useless against him. He’s going to come back,” Cara says and if you were struggling on holding this one back how would you for another attack?

“Let's make the baby do the magic hand thing. Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing.” Greef says and the child does nothing but coos looking back. “I'm out of ideas.” Din looks at you struggling to keep this attack from hitting them and the sound of the Tie fighter returning.

“I'm not,” Din says stepping forward and grabbing the jetpack slinging it onto his back pressing a button on his wrist the jetpack igniting.

“Here he comes!” Cara yells out firing her gun at Gideon. You glance over seeing him heading straight at you putting two hands out holding back this energy. You weren’t going to be able to stop this attack.

“Just get out of here!” You yell sweat beading on your forehead from the energy running through your body the adrenaline making your blood pump faster.

“Stay focus kid!” Din yells out shooting straight into the air before the TIE fighter flies past him, latching his grappling cable to it he’s pulled further into the air. Using a boost of the jetpack he lands on the roof of the cockpit looking down and seeing Moff Gideon looking up at him. Firing trying to break through the glass he jerks the ship sending Din rolling off and he grabs one of the wings. The wind and speed almost throw him off as he grabs a detonator activating it but it flies out of his hand as Gideon spins around to shake him off. Clutching onto the ship he grabs at his belt grabs two detonators and slaps to the left joint the rapid beeping going off as he lets go.

“You guys get out of here!” You yell at Cara and Greef as they grab the child getting away from the boat and you feel your focus slipping as the bolt grows closer.

“Kid I need you to trust me and let go.” You hear Mando’s voice comes through your comm and you look down for a second shrieking slightly as the bolt grows closer to you, feeling its heat and energy just feet away. You don’t get to think as you feel hands wrap around your back and legs as you’re scooped into the air your concentration breaking as the bolt slams into the boat exploding it. Looking up seeing Mando hold you as both of you land on the ground in front of Greef and Cara. He puts you down your arms shaking slightly your heart racing. You felt such a large rush of that feeling that you felt like you were on something.

“That was impressive, Mando. Very impressive. It looks like your Guild rates have just gone up. Same with you Y/n.” Greef says.

“Any more stormtroopers?” Mando asks and Greef shakes his head,

“I think we cleaned up the town. I'm thinking of staying around just to be sure.”

“You're staying here?” You ask the feeling waning off the tingling sensation in your body fading.

“Well, why not? Nevarro is a very fine planet. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it's very respectable again.” Greef explains, while you had only known it for the empire’s control you could only hope he did well with it.

“As a bounty hunter hive?” Mando gives him and look and Greef grins,

“Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters. And perhaps, this specimen of a soldier might consider joining our ranks.” He looks over at Cara who doesn’t seem that opposed.

“Yeah. I've got some clerical concerns regarding my chain code.”

“And if you would agree to become my enforcer, clerical concerns would be the least of your worries. But you, my friend, will be welcome back into the Guild with open arms. So, go off, enjoy yourself. And when you're ready to return, you will have the pick of all quarries.” Greef suggests and Cara nods accepting his proposal and Greef turns to Mando.

“I'm afraid I have more pressing matters at hand.” He declines his offer referencing the two of you as Cara hands you the child.

“Take care of this little one.” Cara says stroking the child’s ear as it lets out a giggle, she looks over at you clapping your shoulder, “Stay safe kid.” You nod adjusting your hold on the child.

“Or maybe, they'll take care of you.” Greef teases as Mando shakes hands with Cara and Greef. He comes over to you and you nod ready to go, he scoops you and the child into his arms activating his jetpack and heading off leaving the two behind.

Mando kneels resting the goggles that belong to Kuiil on the small grave made as the three of you look on before you head to the Crest getting ready to leave Nevarro. Mando situates the child in its pram as you strap yourself into your seat. Fixing his small cloak he feels something with the child pulling out the small mythosaur necklace. ”What do you got there? I didn't think I'd see this again. Why don't you hang onto that?” He tucks the necklace back with the child while starting up the ship.

“Din..” You call out to him and he turns surprised hidden under his mask. It felt unusual hearing his actual name coming from some. That name hadn’t been spoken in years but coming from you he only felt comfort and warmth. He was a clan leader now, these two his children, and he as their father.

“Yeah, kid..” He asks and you look at him the stress and relief clean from your face you looked truly calm.

“Thank you…for everything.” You say looking at him and Mando…Din looks back at you before nodding.

“Thank you too.” He says before facing forward as you leave Nevarro’s atmosphere beginning your new adventure. A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the Jedi, and another teenager with similar powers but an undiscovered lineage. To find the Jedi and find the truth of her bloodline. It was just the first step of everything the Mandalorian, Din Djarin was to learn.

Jawas with their sandcrawler salvage parts to trade from a wrecked TIE fighter, the parts going to be valuable and expensive. A laser pierces through the metal frightening the creatures as they scramble away a hole is cut through appearing a man, with dark imperial clothes flows in the wind. In his hands a blade that glows a deep black almost sucking any light near it to darkness, power, and authority exuding off the weapon. He looks out into the plains his victory in the battle lost but this was only the beginning of a war.

A/N: That's the end of the first season of Clan of Three. It's been so much fun writing this story and with season three out it makes it even more exciting. Only one more episode left in season three ahhh! Can't wait to release season two of this story!

[meridiansdominoes]

I am LOVING "Dominoes" so far! I can't wait for what's next! Also, I have two questions. What inspired you to write "Dominoes" in the first place and gave you the idea for the story? Secondly, out of all the Jedi that could've possibly confronted Krell to arrest him, what made you choose Unduli and Windu? I understand why Anakin wouldn't be a good choice because he would've straight up murdered that sleemo besalisk on the spot. Not that I would blame him. But I know Obi-Wan is a good negotiator and seeing him sass Krell could've been hilarious! And seeing Plo Koon confront him could've been interesting as well with their completely opposite views on clones. Also, Master Plo doesn't strike me as the type to loose his temper easily. I don't know as much about Aayla so I can't really guess for her. But if she loves Bly, seeing her whoop Krell big time could've been interesting as well. Did you choose Unduli and Windu because they're were the most likely to be able to keep their cool dealing with someone like Krell? Or was it something else? Thanks! Keep being amazing!

Hiya! Thanks for the ask! I got the original idea when I was reading clone wars fanfics a while ago and every time travel fic was mostly Jedi! Not that there's anything wrong with that, and also now there's a ton of clone-centric time travel too, but back in the day it was very difficult to find clone time travel that was well executed. Since the clones had always been my favorite characters, I really wanted something like that, and the more I thought about it the more I became interested in how non-force sensitives and people with very little galactic influence would handle a time-travel situation! I decided to write it myself, using Domino squad because that way I could bring back three of my favorite characters and expand on characters who didn't get any screentime!

As for your second question, I actually chose Mace Windu to go after Krell because I decided that he had the highest chance of defeating Krell in a 1 on 1 lightsaber duel! I don't know how good of a fighter Krell actually is against other Jedi--we never get to see him fight another lightsaber user... maybe he's actually terrible and even Ahsoka could beat him, or maybe he's a monster. Regardless of reality, he's huge, and those dual double-bladed are super intimidating, so I decided he's probably pretty tough. With that in mind, I needed someone who was super competent at lightsaber dueling to take him on, so I chose Mace! It also made sense to me that the council would choose someone fairly important to go and arrest one of their own. I chose Luminara to back him up because, as you mentioned, she's good at staying calm under pressure, and I also felt like I had missed an opportunity to include her on Geonosis, so I wanted to make up for that! I also partially chose her because I'm a big fan of clone commander Gree, and I knew I eventually wanted to write a short about it from his perspective, which I did!

Plo Koon and Aayla both would have been interesting choices as well, you make really good points that their relationships with their clones could have really made them fierce opponents for Krell! As for Anakin... I didn't choose him for a very specific reason that you will find out in a few chapters hehe!

[anakinskywalkerog]

My Very Soul (Chapter 30)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 29

Warnings: battle stuffs. incorrect details about Felucia probably tehe. less Ani than usual but that's because of the story/where we're getting. also sorry if the writing sucks, I think I'm better at writing angst than I am at writing battles/war stuff haha back to angst soon

Summary: You and your Master enter the battle on Felucia, where your plan of attack goes amiss

Word Count: 3.3k

"Commander," Captain Marlo said again, and only this time did his words fully rouse you out of your brain fog. "We've reached orbit."

         "Right," you nodded, pretending as if you hadn't just lost your head a little bit. You had been standing at a hallway viewport, watching the ship come out of hyperspace, when that same feeling of buzzing presences had descended on you. The hum in this ship was anticipatory, anxious, battle-hungry—in these presences were the sentiments of soldiers preparing for war. But you'd found yourself getting drawn in by their impressions. And then the humming had shifted, to other feelings, other...places? You'd felt others, children, families, the sounds of birds, the steps on cobblestones, speech in alien tongues...but it was impossible, surely, for you to sense such things when you were this deep in space. Focus, you reminded yourself. You mustn't let your sensitivity to the Force plague you now.

         You followed Marlo to the main hangar, where Yuma, Obi-Wan, and Anakin were preparing to depart the command ship. Even though you'd only been separated for a few hours, the sight of Anakin made your heart leap, made your presence relax. A smile fell upon your face as if involuntarily. Anakin grinned back, and you felt a similar swell of emotion in the Force, coming from him.

         "Everything is prepared, General," Marlo told Yuma, and Yuma saluted, giving the hand gesture that signaled to Marlo that it was time to return to his troops.

         "We've just had word from the existing battalion at the Guild headquarters," Yuma told you all. "Their scouts have intel that the Droid Legion has split into three factions, aiming to strike the front from different angles." At these words, Master Yuma pulled out a handheld holoprojector. A hologram of a rudimentary map arose between you.

         "Y/N and I will lead the 415th to cut off the southern platoon," Yuma instructed, pointing to a dot on the map. "Anakin, you'll take the 501st around here, on the southeast. Obi-Wan—"

         "The 212th and I will take the eastern side," Obi-Wan interrupted, nodding. "I assume time is of the essence." You felt a slight disturbance in the Force and looked over at Anakin, seeing him attempt to hide the traces of his pout, his eyebrows downturned.

         "Yes, it is," Yuma agreed, pocketing the holoprojector. "May the Force be with you both."

         "May the Force be with you," Obi-Wan replied, turning to the other side of the hangar, where his ship sat ready to take him to join the 212th on the flank vessel. A pause hung in the air as Anakin stood, as if caught in a Force hold, half-turned away.

         "I—" Anakin swallowed, looking pained as he glanced between you and Yuma. You felt your face flush.

         "We'll see each other again soon," Yuma told Anakin bracingly. You felt something move in the Force, something between Yuma and Anakin. You scowled, sensing the reason behind Anakin's distress, and finding it a little insulting.

         "May the Force be with you both," Anakin sighed, and with that, he turned to follow Obi-Wan to board his own ship, off to join the 501st.

         As the command ship was to remain in orbit, you followed Yuma onto one of the landing craft, holding onto the railing on the side as the ship took off. You stood facing at least one hundred clones, all armored and ready for battle. Marlo too had donned his helmet—you could only recognize him by the markings on his torso plate.

         "What's our play, General?" one of the clones asked Yuma. You wished you knew his name.

         "The Serrulean ambush," Yuma instructed, updating her holopad quickly as the lander made its way down to the surface. The other clones all received their instructions in their armor, and you heard rumbling chatter. You quickly ran over this tactic in your head—the Serrulean ambush was a stealth maneuver, devised to sneak up on the enemy from multiple sides. Clever, you thought, to use the Legion's own plan against them. You'd had all the war tactics memorized for months, but you still ran over this one in your head over and over again, remembering the role the Commander and General must play at every turn. There were no viewports aboard this lander, only the shaking of the ship and the feeling of movement. The air was tense and thick, a dingy remnant of what it must smell like in the clones' quarters. You felt the anticipation in the Force. You were surprised to feel the ship touch down onto the surface so quickly.

         As the lander's doors opened, upward toward the sky, and clones spilled out, you felt a blast of warm, humid air hit your face. It was not like the pleasant warmth of the air on Levangé—this air was assaulting, wet, and muggy, even slightly foul smelling. Within seconds you felt your hair sticking to your forehead, your body beginning to sweat under the thin armor you had put on for the first time. The Jedi insignia stood out, red, on your shoulder.

         "Serrulean formation," Yuma said quietly into her comm, and as the lander pulled up from the jungle, you watch the clones disperse in perfect harmony. You followed Master Yuma at the head of the remaining group of clones, making sure your steps were quiet.

         The jungle was truly unlike anything you'd ever seen. It was overgrown, colorful, and bright. The trees and the greenery—if you could call it that, multicolored as the flora around you was—loomed high above the troops. You'd never seen plants that looked like this, or plants of this size. Some of the plants resembled those that grew in the Temple gardens, in shape at least—but these were massive, as big as the tallest trees on Batuu, and brightly colored. You saw in the distance several rocky outcrops, and, farther away, what looked like mountain ranges. The ground underneath your feet was wet, soft, and warm. The brightness seemed unnatural, and it wasn't only the plants; the sky was a bright yellow, with purplish clouds hanging low over the jungle. Everything around you gave you that sickly, uncanny feeling—as if these colors were dangerous.

         Almost as if responding to your train of thought, you felt the disturbance before the danger, and you quickly reached out a hand, pulling the clone to your left out of the way just in time. Through no provocation, the giant succulent to the left of the group, a bright purple and lime green, erupted like a geyser, orange gas pouring out into the air right where the clone had just stood. The group processed this silently, pausing to watch the plant continue erupting before all of the orange gas disappeared from the air. The clone you had saved saluted you, and you saluted back, finally feeling useful. Yuma patted you on the arm, giving the group of clones the silent hand command to continue forward.

         The group walked for some time through the jungle, the clones holding their guns cocked. Your lightsaber hung at your side, as you were waiting for Master Yuma's cue to light it—lightsabers were to remain unlit during all stealth maneuvers. You felt outward through the Force, sensing the vibrations through the ground, feeling forward for any danger. That's when you felt them.

         About fifty yards ahead of you, you felt the pounding of metallic feet and the hover of Armored Assault Tanks. They weren't moving in your direction, but perpendicular to your path, in what you assumed was the direction of the Guild headquarters. You reached forward, lightly placing your hand on Yuma's arm. She nodded without looking back at you—she'd felt them too.

         At Yuma's hand signal, you and the clones fanned out through the dense underbrush, taking on a perfect Serrulean attack formation. You saw Yuma using her comm to signal silently to the other clone groups. You walked forward slowly, holding your breath, until you were in attack position. The droid troops were just paces in front of you now, and you looked around, seeing the clones readying themselves. You waited for the signal, trying to breathe out your fear.

         It happened all at once. At the signal, you leapt into the air, lighting your saber in one fluid motion. You had at least ten droids halved and in pieces on the ground before any of them had turned to regard your attack. But they were turning now, and you heard the clones behind you, their blasters going off with the sound of the lasers. The battle droids were all over the place, unsuspecting as they were of your attack. You'd gotten through a large chunk of them before the Armored Assaut Tanks had the chance to turn around.

         You felt it before it would happen and shouted at the clones nearest you to get out of the way. You jumped again, flying into the air like a flea, feeling the heat from the blast singe the bottom of your tunic. Your ears pounded, trying to recover from the sound the tank had made from the blast of its powerful guns. You landed amidst the bodies and the scattered armor, you heart beating firmly.

         Focus, you told yourself again, feeling the pang inside of you, turning away from the lost clones. You couldn't let yourself grieve. You had to remain in formation.

         "Y/N, the tanks!" you heard Yuma shout from your right side. Turning to see her running forward toward the hovering tank, ahead on your right, you spun quickly, running in between the confused battle droids, keeping your head low. You used your saber to block their useless shots, swiping through and destroying those you could as you ran. You kept your eyes on your target.

         The tank loomed above you, and you watched as another blast shot out of its gun, hearing the sound of it making contact with the battalion behind you. You ran flat out, as fast as you could, dropping to your back and sliding underneath the hovering craft, your saber held out above your chest like a sword.

         Slicing through the metal was easy—you used your momentum to carry your slide until the tank was no longer above you. You hopped up, blocking a blast from the command droid emerging from the top of the tank, and reflecting the bullet back toward its chest. The tank made a horrible grinding noise and fell to the earth. You turned and saw Yuma standing by her disabled tank. She nodded to you, smiling.

         It was then that you felt it—through the energy of the battle, through the sounds of the clones engaging the droid army, through the blasts from the tanks, something bigger was thundering your way, faster than any instrument of war could travel.

         "Yuma!" you shouted, turning to see her eyes light up in fear. You turned back to behold it: the largest creature you'd ever seen on land, thundering through the jungle, flattening trees and plants. A jungle rancor.

         The creature roared with fury, using its large arms and claws to tear apart the tank closest to it. It then roared again, turning on the clones, who started to aim their blasters at its head.

         "Don't engage it!" Yuma shouted into her comms. "Its armor is too thick." But it was no use—the jungle rancor ran forward, scattering clones and droids alike. The beast took no side, but it was out for blood.

         "Full back!" Yuma shouted again. You saw, from a distance, the clones retreating into the jungle, their guns aloft, shooting at the droids and at the rancor. But you couldn't follow them—you stood, with Yuma, in the middle of the platoon of droids, all who seemed to be following orders to shoot right at your hearts. You blocked their attacks with your sabers, but they were closing in. You found yourself back to back with your former Master.

         "What do we do?" you asked, your voice frantic, blocking the blasts from the droids as you saw the rancor raging through the platoon, grabbing droids and shoving them into its mouth.

         "We need to get out of here," Yuma said, stating the obvious. She was looking around quickly, assessing your surroundings. You did the same.

         "There!" you yelled, pointing to the nearest rocky outcrop behind the rancor. You could see the tiny dark line that indicated a cave high up in the rock.

         "Right," Yuma said, looking around as she used her saber to block blasts left and right. "On my signal."

         You nodded, but you had no need. You were communicating with your Master through the Force. This was a maneuver you'd done before, in different circumstances, though your situation had never been so dire as this.

         "Now!" Yuma shouted, and you both leapt into the air, in formation, your sabers spinning around you as you flew in an arc, out of the circle of droids, slicing through them with your blades. You landed lightly, your Master beside you, and the two of you watched as the rancor turned toward you, swiping away droids left and right with its giant claws.

         "Run!" Yuma yelled, but you didn't need telling twice. You turned and sprinted, holding your saber in a reverse hold behind your back, blocking blasts as you felt them come. As you climbed up into the jungle rock, you looked back, seeing the rancor turning on the tanks. They were attempting to fire at it, but the blasts were bouncing off its thick hide, going in all directions. You felt one of the blasts hit the ground beneath you, shaking the rock.

         "In here," you said, turning to give Yuma a hand up into the cave you'd seen from a distance. Droids were not intelligent enough to come find you in here, and so, you knew, you'd be safe hiding for the time being. But not for long, you thought, your heart hammering in your chest.

         "Farther back," Yuma instructed quietly, and as she climbed fully into the rock face, you both crawled, farther into the cave, into the darkness.

         You were surprised at how far back the cave went. This was no ordinary jungle, you realized, feeling the dampness of the rock floor and the humidity of the air.

         "This should be sufficient," Yuma whispered when you'd crawled far enough in that your forms were just barely visible. You turned back, your eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light, seeing Yuma kneeling and pulling out her chrono. The cave was not large enough for either of you to stand. You looked around, seeing that the tunnel kept leading inward, into the rock.

         "What now?" you asked quietly, seeing Yuma signaling with a few taps.

         "I've told Marlo to regroup with the others at the Guild," Yuma responded, looking back up at you. "We'll have to find our way there ourselves." Yuma gestured toward the dark tunnel, holding her saber high and trying to see forward.

         "How do you know there's another way out?" you asked, holding your saber up in the same fashion. You couldn't see much from the light it cast. The green of your saber and Yuma's against the rock gave the cave an eerie feeling.

         "I don't," Yuma responded. "Only one way to find out."

         You continued crawling forward, feeling Yuma's troubled presence behind yours. Eventually, the tunnel in the rock grew larger, and it widened enough for you to stand. You brushed your tunic, pushing your sweaty hair away from your face. It was slightly cooler in here than it had been in the heat of the jungle, but it was still humid.

         "You know," Yuma said casually, "you did very well out there. For your first battle, I mean."

         "Thanks," you said gruffly, walking forward and holding your lightsaber high. You were conflicted. On the one hand, you couldn't help but feel a hint of the same annoyance that you had felt on the ship, when Anakin had been reluctant to leave you. Why did everyone seem so protective? Why did Yuma feel the need to praise you, now? It was a little condescending. On the other hand, you were glad that Yuma was with you. Her presence made this feel like just another mission—like old times. It was comforting, having her support.  

         "Even though I know you'll be leading your own battalion, soon," Yuma continued, and you could hear a smile in her voice, "I think we still make a good team." In Yuma's presence you felt a hint of nostalgia, a warm feeling. You sighed.

         "We do," you said, turning and smiling at your former Master. She clasped your arm briefly, then gestured for you to continue forward.

         The cave seemed to grow darker and darker as you delved deeper into the depths of the rock. The ground under your feet started to feel funny. The darkness swayed a bit, as if the rocks themselves were humming, vibrating. You felt as if the cave was starting to moan, to chant—except it wasn't the cave. You heard the humming continue, a buzzing, a bell chiming somewhere, the voices rising in a swell.

         "Y/N? What is it?" you heard Yuma ask from behind you, her hand touching your shoulder.

         "I...I don't..." you said, scrunching your eyes shut, stopping in your tracks. It was like the ground was telling you not to continue. Yuma pulled on your shoulder and spun you around, holding her saber high so that she could look at your face.

         "Is it Dooku?" Yuma whispered, barely making a sound. Whatever she saw on your face, it was causing her to feel alarmed. Her presence was frightened. You blinked, trying to see what was really in front of you. Through your blurry vision, you saw Yuma pull out her chrono, signaling to someone.

         "No..." you started, trying to feel your way through the murky weeds of the humming, feeling the clouds coming for you once again. It wasn't Dooku—of that you were sure. You would recognize his presence. But...you heard the sounds of singing, some old, low song, the dark voices all singing the same note. You felt the sounds of voices rising and falling, heard the buzzing of a fly landing in a field of grass. You heard the grass, the wind swaying through it. You heard them all, all of them alive, living. You felt it coming. You felt the darkness meeting the light.

         Suddenly, the ground under you rumbled, as if the rock had been hit by another blast. The cave started to shake, the ground underneath you unstable. Slowly, the rock split, shifting, opening a chasm before you.

         "It's going to cave in!" Yuma shouted, pushing you out of the way. You fell, hard, fighting through the fog to reach for Yuma, but it was too late—you felt her arm slip away from yours, felt her sliding away from you, down into the depths of the cave.

         "Yuma! Master!" you yelled, frantically, but the humming was growing louder. The dark voices were swelling, their low notes chanting in the darkness, and you couldn't see. You couldn't feel. You reached out with your hands. "Master!" you yelled again, feeling the fear enter your presence, but it was no use. It was too dark. You felt the cave pulling you forward, swallowing you. Were you falling into the chasm? You couldn't know. The humming was all around you. The voices were getting louder.

         Something grabbed onto your wrists, pulling them together and binding them. The humming wouldn't stop. You reached out with the Force, pushing the humming back, pushing it off you. It was then that you felt the presence—a familiar presence. You wrenched your eyes open.

         "Hello, again," you heard in the woman's voice, and you stared into a pair of malevolent violet eyes.

************************************************************************

sorry for the cliff hanger!

NEW CHAPTER UP NOW AND IT'S 😭😭😭

luh you

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[im-writing-extra]

Hey! Here’s the first chapter of what has the potential to be a very long fic. I have a million bits and pieces already written that I am now doing my best to put together into a cohesive story. I hope you enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated.

table of contents

chapter 1 - in all chaos, there is calculation

“You have to stay still,” you say.

“I am,” says Yord. “Is your hand shaking? Maybe this was a bad-”

He’s cut off by your hand on his mouth.

“Stop moving,” you say. “Three, two-”

Yord yelps.

“Don’t be a baby.” You pat the side of his face as he sits up. “It looks good! What do you think, Dalph?”

Dalphri Ameras flips her salmon-pink lekku over her shoulder as she hands Yord a mirror. “It’s too cool. It’s too… un-Yord.”

Yord meanwhile is turning his head back and forth, watching the tiny hoop in his ear catch the dim light of Dalphri’s room. 

“I disagree,” chimes in Imanu Venez, feeling the back of his neck; newly free from his Padawan braid and unsure what to do with his hands. “I think it makes him more Yord. It makes sense.”

“I still don’t understand why this is necessary,” Yord says. 

You and Dalphri share a look. “It’s called bonding, Yord,” she says. “Venez is finally one of us and we’ve been talking about doing this since we were padawans. And Jedi don’t break their word.”

A gold hoop dangles from the tip of her right lekku, matching the one in your cartilage. The two of you had spent extensive time in the Archives and the medical center researching exactly how to pierce it without raising suspicion. Imanu’s earring is in the same place as Yord’s, and he received it with much less complaining.

The four of you make an unlikely quartet; two humans, a Twi’lek, and a Mirialan, very different in temperament and execution of the Jedi code. And yet you’ve been inseparable since you were younglings. Dalphri’s interests are more of the medical variety, Venez prefers piloting, Yord studies diplomacy like it’s a religion, and you spend far too much time practicing with your lightsaber.

But it works. The Order is the only family you have ever known, and none of you would trade it for anything.

“It’s a good thing you got knighted yesterday,” you say to Venez, as the group of you files out of the room. “It’d be sad if Yord and I missed it while we’re on Jelucan.”

The living halls are strangely busy for the evening, but the four of you expertly navigate padawans and chattering younglings. There’s no need to discuss where you’re going; dinner before and after missions is a long-standing tradition since you came back from your very first assignment as a padawan.

Dalphri asks, “What time do you leave?” and you grimace.

“Very early,” Yord chimes in. “And I am not going to be happy if I have to drag you from your bed.”

“It’s just routine, though, right?” says Venez. “I heard Master Rwoh say it shouldn’t take more than a couple days.” His hand is on the back of his neck again.

You shrug as you push the door open to the dining commons, nodding to a few Jedi. Venez grabs a piece of fruit off a Bith youngling’s plate with a wink. The group of children giggle and start to toss fruit at him, which he suspends in midair before catching in his mouth. He always was a favorite of the younglings.

Yord shakes his head. “That is an improper use of the Force,” he says with a frown.

“Lighten up, Yord,” Dalphri and Venez chorus.

“Yeah, lighten up, Yord,” the younglings echo. Yord silences them with a glare.

“The Force is powerful, and not to be used for paltry tricks,” he says. “It’s meant to be taught appropriately. Catching fruit is inappropriate and teaches irreverence.”

You’re only half-listening as you pile food onto a tray. It’s nothing Yord hasn’t said before, and it’s nothing he won’t say again. You wonder how the mission will go. It’s diplomatic, a small squabble among miners deep in the mountains but it’s the first time just you and Yord are sent on your own.

Yord’s still talking as he takes the tray from you, but no one is listening. He waxes on about the Force and its binding nature as your group makes its way to the Atrium.

He’s leading the way now, barely stopping for breath as he pushes open the doors for you with his boot.

“…I just think it’s best if the Force is treated with proper respect,” he finishes as you sit down under a tree.

“No one’s disagreeing,” you say soothingly, patting his hand. 

Yord grunts and hands you a pastry. “Here. There was only one of these left.”

You smile. It’s your favorite. “Last real meal before ration packs,” Venez reminds you. He’s grinning with far too much glee at the thought of the two of you suffering on nutrient-rich cardboard squares.

You’re not nervous. You’ll be back under this tree in a few days.

—

“At peace, are you?” Master Yoda asks, early in the morning. You shrug.

“As at peace as I’ll ever be, I suppose. I’ve never been to Jelucan but this certainly isn’t the most difficult assignment you’ve ever sent me on.”

“About the assignment, I was not speaking,” Yoda says.

Of course. Yord. 

“Master, I promise I won’t kill him. I’ve been putting up with him since we were younglings. I’m used to it.”

Yoda smiles. “Remember I do, the assignments when my padawan, you were. Complained you did.”

You reflect on the times you’d spent pacing around some starship as a patient Master Yoda listened to you gripe about Yord’s inflexibility, or Dalphri’s proclivity for involuntary examinations, or Venez’s inability to remain serious for longer than three milliseconds. And each time he turned you inward toward your reactions, using it as a lesson. 

Yoda was a coveted Jedi Master. Padawans bent over backwards in their attempts to impress him, to be chosen by him. There was a part of you that wished you hadn’t cared, you had just been yourself and that alone had gotten his attention but in truth- 

You had tried your absolute hardest to be the type of padawan Master Yoda would want.

And it worked.

“It will be fine, Master. I am at peace.” 

Yoda tilts his head up at you. “Find me when you get back, you must. Entertained I am by your stories.”

next chapter

[tennessoui]

In the assigned married fic, has Anakin even begun to process Padme saying that both of them will be moving to Naboo together? Like, they spoke earlier in the chapter about Anakin moving in with her on Coruscant, but Obi-Wan apparently spilled the beans about a much more permanent relocation to Naboo, and I am looking forward to Anakin's response to that, once he gets through processing everything else and remembers that part of the "conversation"....

i think padmé views moving to naboo more as a possibility than a future concrete plan -- the offer to be a permanent advisor on naboo is something she'd like to discuss with anakin as her husband before taking it or rejecting it. she says there's a lot of work she still wants to do in the senate, and she's probably thinking that it will be a few years before she would be able to go anyway. definitely after the war, but in her mind, she thinks anakin has every intention to leave the order after the war's over....because he kind of told her that. at least, in her mind he did: (from chapter 1)

“[Obi-Wan] asked me if I planned to leave the Order after the war,” he tells his wife. “And I lied, and then I think he began to support me. That’s what he looked like, anyway.” Padmé blinks at him, eyelashes falling slowly onto the jut of her cheek and then rising. “That’s good then,” she says, sounding hesitant. “That he supports us.” “Yeah,” Anakin replies, raising his hand to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Though…I’m sorry you had to lie,” she says, pressing forward until their faces are only a hand’s width apart. “Hopefully…” she trails off, biting her lip. Then she shakes her head slightly, and her mouth turns up into a smile as if she cannot help herself. “Hopefully he will not take the truth so hard.”

so anakin never says what lie he told obi-wan, he just says that he lied when asked if he was going to leave the Order, and that lie made obi-wan support him.

from an outsider's perspective, especially a biased outsider who is married to one of the insiders and believes them to have a future together, padmé's immediate understanding of this is that obi-wan asked if he was going to leave the order and anakin lied to him and told him he planned to stay and obi-wan began to support their marriage because he thinks he won't be losing anakin (padmé, who has three braincells, has long since realized obi-wan's obsessed with her husband)

and that's why she's smiling at the end (and also why they have sex at the fade to black) -- she believes anakin has just told her that when the war ends, he'll leave the Order to be with her and build a future together <3 so the offer to go to naboo is an option she can talk to her husband about, but she knows that anakin is going to no longer be a jedi....and if he's not a jedi, and she's not a senator....what's keeping them on coruscant?

BUT it's not just obi-wan that's feeling a bit catty during that dinner party scene, so i intentionally wrote padmé as putting this idea forward as less of a possibility and more of a done deal that she knows anakin will accept -- she talks about it like it's great big BACK OFF signs picketed around anakin because obi-wan is the biggest threat to their marriage in the entire galaxy and she's always known that

(but also no anakin has not begun to process that whole thing - but padmé, who now realizes they're NOT on the same page, is absolutely going to bring it up post-haste in the next chapter)

[transitranger327]

Spin the Thread, Weave the Story: Ch. 1, Holding On

Oshecki fans, here’s the fix-it au you’ve been waiting for. I promise there will be more chapters because I love these two.

Summary: Jecki Lon faces her most desperate moment. Osha Aniseya tries to recall her past training. Can they survive? MASSIVE spoilers for Episode 5 of The Acolyte

Osha Aniseya woke up to a shock. It felt like hours had passed. Instinctively, she checked her chrono, but it was missing somehow. Also, she was wearing her sister’s clothes. “Kriff, she’s doing something stupid. I hope Master Sol can tell us apart. For his sake,” but before spiraling entirely, she took a deep breath, and reached out with the Force. No Mae, no Sol, no Jecki, no Qimir, no Yord, no Ithia, no Bazil. Everyone had either left or died. Figures, that she would be left behind, alone. She silently commended those that had passed on to the Force, those whose echoes remained, and wept for friends lost, Yord and Jecki especially. Yord had been her best friend in the Order, and Jecki had immediately found a place in her heart. But as she got up to leave and find transportation, she tripped over the faintest thread, “Wait, kriff, Jecki is still here. Barely. I need to find her.” And the former Jedi sprinted off to find her friend. 

“There she is.” Osha saw a body with three separate lightsaber stab wounds. If Jecki Lon wasn’t practically dead, she would’ve looked peacefully asleep. Beautiful, even. The thread Jecki was holding onto was so thin it was practically a single fiber. “Stars, she hasn’t learned how to let go.” Many Jedi would’ve called this a failing, but others would say that giving up on life was the bigger failing. Either way, it might’ve just saved her life. Well, if Osha could remember how to heal. “If only PIP was here…” She regretted not having any first aid on hand. “Oh who am I kidding, PIP wouldn’t be able to patch up lightsaber stabs anyway.” She had to admire the efficiency of the cuts; they were clearly the work of someone trying to kill. She remembered learning, at the Temple, where to stab people in places that could be healed with bacta and time. But no, she had no bacta, no time, and the wounds were fatal. And her Force healing was so rusty, you could practically mix it with pinestill to create red paint. Still, she did her best to remember the silent invocations. “I am one with the Force and…”, but Jecki’s wounds did not close up. And her connection to the material world slipped even further. Then Osha remembered one of Auntie Eurus’ lessons after accidentally killing a spider. 

“The Thread connects all things, not just the living. If you can find their strand, you can spin it back into the Thread of the Living.” Her auntie had a talent for tipping the scales between life and death. “But remember, you need to use your connection. The spider eats the flies that bite us. The spider feeds the birds that sing for us. You must focus on these feelings to revive another.”

And so Osha reached deep into her soul to find connection to Jecki. The teachings of Master Sol. The laughing at Yord’s extreme formality. How quickly they fell into a rhythm with each other. The comments they made to each other that bordered on flirtation. “Oh…do I have feelings for her?” So she began pouring her heart into the rudimentary revival spell she managed to assemble, augmented with the few Force Healing techniques she was confident in. Between the silent incantations, a loud whisper emerged from her lips, “Jecki Lon, I am NOT losing you.” 

—

The pull of the cosmic force grew stronger every second. The call to rejoin the song of creation. All things emerged from it, and all must return to it some day. But she still had so much to learn, so much to say, she didn’t want to go yet. And then Jecki felt it: the warm smile she hadn’t seen enough yet, the flirting she had fallen for, the braids that looked incredibly beautiful, the sense of humor that just felt right. Osha Aniseya was holding out a hand into the void, and she was not planning on saying no. 

—

“It’s working! It’s working!” The thread between them was spun stronger by the second. Osha felt the Living Force pulsing in her veins, with an intensity she hadn’t felt in years. The sheer magnitude of it threatened to drag both of them underwater, but she had managed to anchor herself to the forest. “No one else has to die today” had become her new mantra. She could sense Jecki’s fragile pull, like a climber trying to crimp her way up a cliff face. “Take my hand.” The padawan was able to latch onto Osha before her tendons broke. Together, they were strong enough to remain in the Living Force; and they knew, somehow, that Jecki’s wounds were starting to heal. Organs regenerating, bones knitting together, muscles and sinew reattaching. She took a few, shallow breaths for the first time in hours, with a faintly beating heart. 

The Cosmic Force was no longer pulling them. The self-sustaining nature of life was now working in their favor. Life, after all, goes on. 

But Osha was now feeling the toll of her actions. Force healing required giving of your own vitality, as did the revival spell she was attempting. As her connection to Jecki grew stronger, her grasp on consciousness weakened. She tried staying awake for as long as she could, tho she feared collapsing from exhaustion. Then, she sensed Jecki…stabilize,, just like,,, a barely functional……replacement part………in a,,,,,,,,junker………

—

Jecki Lon woke up to a shock. Immense pain radiated from her chest and torso. The cold air blowing across unprotected flesh. She took inventory of all her body parts: “head, check. arms, check. legs, check. lightsaber, check. torso, three large burns.” And a strange weight rested on her rib cage. “Wait that’s Osha’s head.” The pain was too much for her brain to contemplate what happened, but a small smile crept onto her face as her crush was gently sleeping on her. “Maybe…I just need more sleep.” were her last thoughts as she once again drifted into unconsciousness. 

Tagging the people who reblogged my original post about writing this: @osha-and-jecki @thatchmanger @bravetigerwildwolf @jazzforthesoul @echosdaffodil @darthmatthewtwihard

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

Open and Waiting (Chapter 1)

Gif from this post by @ashr-jedi

Summary: You try out something new with Tech. As it turns out, like with pretty much everything, he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

Relationship: Tech x f!reader (eventual mentions of Hunter x f!reader, Crosshair x f!reader, Echo x f!reader and Wrecker x f!reader)

Warnings: NSFW, cock warming, domination, submission, humiliation, Dominant Tech, submissive reader, cock ring, saliva/drool, restraints, leather wrist cuffs, leather collar, naked and kneeling reader, subspace, tiny hint of poor self worth, star wars swearing, playing fast and loose star wars canon details, not beta read             

Word Count: 1604 (Chapter 1)

Authors Notes: Help I’ve written fanfic. This is the first time I’ve ever written fan fiction and the first time I’ve ever written smut so please be gentle. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing but this idea has latched onto my brain and refuses to let go so here we are. Creative writing is not my strong suit so I hope this is alright. 

Also, this is absolute filth. If you think this is saucy then strap in cause you ain't seen nothing yet. Tech says some truly filthy things in Chapter 5. Yes, there are 5 chapters of this monstrosity so far and I’m nowhere even close to the end. I’ve written 7700+ words of this thing. There’s 18 pages so far. What have I done to myself?! 

If I’ve screwed something up or forgotten a warning or missed something out, please gently let me know and I will be more than happy to fix it! 

Please read the warnings! And please let me know if you liked it and if you’d like to read Chapter 2 or more.

Chapters: Two, Three, Four, Five, Six | Ao3

Open and Waiting (Chapter 1)

The durasteel floor of the Marauder is cold.

Which makes sense. It is metal after all and we’re not exactly on the warmest of planets right now. 

What makes it particularly noticeable is that my bare legs are currently kneeling on said cold durasteel. In fact, my entire bare naked body is kneeling on the floor of the Marauder. Wrists cuffed behind my back, my right cheek pillowed against fabric stretched over a lean, muscular thigh and my jaw kept open as Tech’s cock just sits there on my tongue and fills my mouth. 

I’m grateful that he chose the softer leather cuffs with the adjustable chain. Saves my shoulders from being constantly wrenched back and the harsh metal of binders biting into my wrists. Tech has always been decidedly considered, thorough and aware of these matters though so it doesn’t surprise me. That man will assiduously research anything and everything, including new kinks to explore. I’m always nervous about broaching these sorts of topics, but at least with Tech I know he will approach the idea with an open, inquisitive mind before launching into discovering everything there is to know about my new suggestion.

When I first bought up the idea of trying cock warming with him, there was a definite flare of interest behind those goggles. It only increased as I did my best to explain the concept while valiantly trying to shove my worries and fears into the nearest storage crate. I know I shouldn’t be ashamed about my sexual interests, and Maker knows they all so gently remind me of this regularly, but old habits are hard to shake. I really shouldn’t have worried though because when Tech came and found me later that night, I’d hadn’t seen him that intensely interested in a new discovery in a while. 

Well, not since we found those rare Tarisian bark beetles anyway. 

So here I am, completely completely naked, save for a leather collar and cuffs, kneeling in the middle of our ship with Tech’s cock in my mouth. Just kneeling in front of him, completely still, arms restrained behind my back, cheek resting on his inner thigh, eyes closed, jaw slack, tongue touching my bottom lip, drool spilling out the sides of my mouth and dripping obscenely down my chin, and that glorious, firm cock just resting in my mouth, filling it up. 

There’s nothing I can do apart from kneel here and drool around Tech’s cock. 

Nothing I’m allowed to do either. Sir was very clear that I was to make no movement whatsoever. Not even to swallow. Which is why my mouth and chin are now covered in my own drool and I’m sure I must be making a complete mess of the floor. 

At least durasteel is fairly easy to clean up and wipe down. Trying to get stains out of the red leather of the cockpit chairs is another matter entirely.

Tech is sitting on a storage crate while he tinkers with a project on the fold down workbench above me. Those long rangy legs bracketing me in. Close, but not quite close enough to touch the rest of my body, apart from where my cheek rests against his inner thigh. 

Damn man knows exactly what he’s doing.

Heavy boots rest on the floor well past where I’m kneeling and serve as another reminder of just how tall and imposing Tech can be. He might not be as overtly muscular as Wrecker or even Hunter but that lean frame belies a beskar imbued strength. At six foot four, Tech absolutely towers over me, even when he’s sitting and I’m kneeling on the floor between his thighs. He’s an all encompassing presence and it’s making something curl deep within my gut.

It’s also making my cunt wet but there’s not much I can do about that right now.

At the end of our pre-session conversation, Tech also gave me strict instructions that I was not to touch myself. While that’s a little hard to do with my hands cuffed behind my back, Tech could’ve bound my hands directly to my cunt and I still wouldn’t have done a damn thing. He knows how desperately I crave praise and will do anything to be his good little girl–

Oh kriff, don’t think about that right now. Don’t think about Tech calling me a good girl. Do not think about it. You’re just going to make your current predicament even worse. 

Dank farrik, my pussy is definitely wetter now. It’s going to end up dripping onto the floor and then there will be an even bigger blotch beneath me.  

The collection of drool covering the lower half of my face and hanging off my chin has been progressively getting worse the longer this has gone on. The humiliation of being turned into a drooling mess is both delicious and excruciating and my poor hazy brain cannot figure out whether it wants to lean into it or run away. I’ve been stripped down and reduced to nothing but a tight, hot void to keep Tech’s cock warm. 

Warm, and hard.

When we started, Tech had certainly been interested but he wasn’t exactly at full mast either. It had been fairly easy for him to slide my open and eager mouth over his cock before gloved hands gently leant my head against his inner thigh. Since then he’s been steadily hardening inside my mouth while he completely ignores me and works on his current project that is strewn in bits across the workbench above. It’s almost like the more I drool, the harder he gets. I can just start to taste the hint of his pre-cum when that clipped, precise voice breaks through the silence above me.

“I require an additional tool and need to momentarily step away in order to retrieve it. This will necessitate briefly moving your position. You will remain kneeling with your eyes closed and mouth open. Am I understood?”

I do my best to answer with a “Yes Sir” around his cock but all it ends up sounding like is a garbled “...eth…er”. Thankfully, this must be enough to appease him because a gloved hand is running through my hair before gently moving my head and then pulling my mouth from his hard cock. I can feel the heaviness of it slide over my tongue and brush my bottom lip as the solid weight leaves my mouth. There’s a moment of bereft emptiness before a collection of drool follows Tech’s cock out of my mouth and spills over my chin in a wave of tantalising humiliation. Tech doesn’t immediately move and I realise he must be observing me. 

Observing his naked, collared and restrained submissive kneeling in front of him with their mouth open and drool hanging from their chin.

I must look like a completely and utterly ruined mess.

The thought only serves to cause a further spike in delectable humiliation.

After a laden beat, Tech rises from the storage crate, effortlessly swings a leg over my head and then marches off towards his bunk. The slide of metal dragging against metal can be heard before a soft click signifies that his personal storage box has been unlocked.

Why is he going through there? His tools are usually kept in mystifyingly precise locations around the ship if they’re not already on his person.

A few more clicks indicate that an internal compartment has been opened and whatever he was looking for must have been inside because the lock-box is swiftly snapped shut and shoved back under his bunk.

A marked stride makes its way back to my position of supplication on the floor but Tech doesn’t immediately sit down. 

I’m being observed again.

I can’t do anything to stop the reactive shiver that runs through me at the realisation. 

There’s an odd, slightly slick sliding noise above me and then Tech is sitting back down on the storage crate. A hand runs over my head as he tells me–

“You will assume your previous position.”

I’m given no chance to respond as he pushes at the back of my head, making my mouth slide over his cock again. My cheek is leant against his inner thigh once more and then I’m left there just as I was moments before, mouth full of Tech’s cock while he goes back to working on his current project.

As I breathe through the returned presence of his cock filling my mouth, I realise that my nose had just barely brushed against something smooth and different.

A cock ring.

So that’s the additional tool he required.

I’m not sure I’d call a cock ring a tool but I’m in no position to argue. Tech must be enjoying this even more than I thought if he’s had to pull one of those out of his collection. I can’t tell which one it is, though if it starts vibrating then at least I’ll know it's one of his later inventions.    

I almost startle out of my rumination on Tech’s assortment of toys when long fingers card through my hair and his palm smooths over my head. The tips of those fingers start lightly scritching back and forth against my scalp and I have to stop myself from moaning and going completely boneless against him. It’s soft and gentle and, despite the fact that I’m basically just a glorified cock sleeve for him at this point, it’s oddly calming. Tech continues to tenderly caress my head and I drift, floating in a haze of submission. 

Drool continues to drip onto the floor of the Marauder.

[phoenixyfriend]

Entry of the Gladiators 5

Chapter 5: Kings of Crime

That is so much spice.

This is the last of the already-completed chapters, so the updates will be slowing down drastically from here lol

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

Ahsoka doesn’t like Bruklinn very much, but she can admit that it is, in fact, a great base of operations for the kind of bullshit they end up doing.

She’s not actually allowed to be too involved in the crime side of things. Mostly, she goes out on her own, in disguise, and plays at being a vigilante. It’s comparatively small-scale work, but it makes her feel better, and it’s fun. When she is in the mansion that Master Kenobi managed to secure for them, she’s usually either practicing her forms with Skyguy while he monologues at her to work on the Maul impression, or helping teach Skykid how to meditate or something. Her masters are a little too busy to teach him, most of the time, and it’s not like she minds. She’s done crèche duty before. Kids are fine, and this one is mini Skyguy.

Her lack of inclusion does mean that, after a few months, she’s actually a little surprised to learn that Master Kenobi has basically taken over all organized crime operations in Bruklinn, and through that, the Five Stations as a whole.

(He uses the Ringo Vindan accent more than his real one, these days. She doesn’t entirely like it.)

“Now, for all that I may have intended it, I am shocked to admit that we’ve managed to take the station,” Master Kenobi tells her. Skyguy looks pretty gleeful about it all. “Not officially, o’ course, but the main families have all fallen into line.”

“And we’ve got minions,” Anakin adds.

Ahsoka knows about the minions. Some of them bow to her when she passes, and not like a Jedi bows, but like… like a courtier to royalty or something. It’s weird.

Most of them are crime people that followed them from one of the planets deeper in the sector. Some are Bruklinn locals. Turns out their little fake Sith operation is better than the competition for a lot of these people. They’ve been real popular as employers for the folk that do night work. One of the girls joked that she could teach Ahsoka how to stage dance… and then Skyguy’s mom ushered Ahsoka away before she could answer.

She knows what the lady meant by ‘stage dance;’ she’s not stupid. It could be useful, if she does undercover work. Or gets a boyfriend or a girlfriend or something. Maybe she’ll want to show off. Sixteen is totally old enough to learn how to dance sexy.

“I just wanted to keep you up to date on what’s been happening in this here city,” Master Kenobi tells her. “You need to know what’s going on, just in case things change on your… jaunts about.”

“Also, I’ve got a mission if you want it,” Anakin adds. “Could be me and you, could be you and Rex, could be all three, depends on what you want.”

Oh, heck yeah. “I’ll take it.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” Rex points out drily.

“I need a real mission,” Ahsoka insists. She’s bored. “What are we doing?”

“By chance,” Master Kenobi says, just a little too slowly, “we have come into control of what used to be the Pyke Syndicate.”

“It wasn’t chance,” Anakin stage-whispers.

“We haven’t taken the people on,” Master Kenobi says, deliberately ignoring the muttered ‘because they’re dicks,’ from Rex, “but we’ve ended up with quite the collection of, ah… warehouses ‘n real estate. Offices, housing, ships.”

“Drugs,” Anakin finishes. “We ended up with their drugs.”

“There are so many drugs,” Rex adds. “So many.”

“Yes,” Master Kenobi allows, “we have admittedly come into possession of many, many shipping containers of smuggled spice.” He sighs, not a little theatricrally. “We do need to rid ourselves of it, and simply burning or burying would cause more problems than it solves.”

Ahsoka blinks. “So… we’re smuggling drugs? Where to?”

Anakin grins.

(Continue on AO3)

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 3

series masterlist

previous | next

pairing: anakin skywalker x f! reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! none this chapter (although it gets just a little steamy) but the series will have eventual smut, canon-level violence and just general warnings.

a/n: if anyone’s curious i based the combat style on judo! i’m no expert in judo i’ve just literally been watching “best judo fight” compilation videos so if anyone has any recommendations or corrections let me knoww okay thanks bye! 

You can’t sleep. 

It’s been hours since you came out of the bathroom, the makeup scrubbed off of your face, skin raw from the heat of the shower. Anakin hadn’t even looked at you, and had only offered a grunt of acknowledgement when you had murmured a timid goodnight. 

You think you’re gonna lose your mind. You sit up in frustration with the aim of going down to the kitchens to get a glass of water, rubbing your eyes as you mourn your lack of sleep. Anakin shoots up from his makeshift pile of blankets on the floor, hand already on his lightsaber as he prepares to respond to whatever threat may be there. When he sees none, he relaxes, but his eyes stray to your form and the outline of your body under the silk nightgown. 

“Can’t sleep either?” You ask dryly, making your way off of the bed. You muss up your hair just in case you run into someone on your midnight journey, just so that they’ll think you and Anakin have been up to something other than arguing. 

“No, milady,” Anakin responds quietly. A heartbeat passes before he speaks again, breaking the tranquility of the night. “I apologize for how I spoke to you. I took my frustrations out on you and disrespected you. Your demand is not a foolish one, it’s important and I know that.” 

“I appreciate that,” you respond. “And… about what you said earlier, I do want to learn how to keep myself safe. Of course I do. You won’t always be there, I know that, but how am I supposed to learn? Who would have taught me? My parents died when I was young. I was left in the care of Padme and her family, but that meant that I was part of politics. Running things in the background to support the people I love.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Anakin offers, and you sit with silence for another moment. You take the chance to look at Anakin, the dark circles under his eyes, the shadows on his face, the scar on his eyelid. You have the strangest urge to run your fingers over his cheekbones, over his scars, to know every part of him. You don’t know why, but in the moonlight, everything is so much softer. But you keep it to yourself, sighing and settling on the edge of the bed. You draw your knees to your chest, eyelids fluttering shut to give your eyes some rest. 

“I’ll teach you,” Anakin offers suddenly. 

“What?” You ask. 

“I’ll teach you to protect yourself. You’re right, I won’t always be there, but you should never be defenseless. You’re far too important for that.” Anakin offers a smile to you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile, so subtle that you might have missed it had you not been staring so intently at him. 

“Thank you, General Skywalker.” 

“Anakin.” 

“Anakin.” You smile back at him, a tentative truce drawn between the both of you. You have no doubt that you’ll clash with him soon enough, a matter of personality differences, but for now, it’s nice to have him on your side. “You know, I wouldn’t be offended if you came and slept on the bed with me. I’m sure you’ve slept on the ground plenty of times as a Jedi Knight, but I can’t sleep here three feet away from you knowing my guard is sleeping on the ground.” 

“I suppose there only is one bed, isn’t there?” He grumbles, drawing up the pile of sheets that he’s slept in and tossing it at the foot of the bed. Despite the distance between you, you can feel the warmth radiating from him as he slides into the bed. “We’ll start training tomorrow, milady.”

“Goodnight, Anakin,” you smile, facing the wall. 

“Goodnight, milady.” 

~~~

“Wake up, milady.” It’s still dark when you hear him call your name, jostling your shoulder when you don’t wake up immediately. 

“Anakin?” You ask, rubbing your eyes. It must be right before dawn, for everything is so dark that you can’t make out the details of his face. “Is something the matter?”

“You asked me to train you,” he says. You hold back a groan, wanting nothing more than to bury yourself in your blankets and sleep for much longer. 

“Anakin, that’s sweet, but when you said tomorrow I didn’t think you meant before my brain even turns on,” you whine, but he’s persistent. He slides an arm under your torso, quickly pulling you upright as you protest at the sudden loss of warmth. You shiver from the cold, instinctively huddling in closer to Anakin before you realize and pull yourself away. He looks at you with an odd expression on his face, but doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to slide out of the bed and pull the sheets away with him. He folds his hands behind his back, waiting patiently for you to get out of bed. 

“Milady, I must advise that we train now. We should do it in secret, so that your handmaids won’t notice— after all, they are part of the reason that you wish to learn to protect yourself,” Anakin responds. You groan but get up, throwing your hands in frustration. You’re partly convinced that he’s just doing this to be a little prick— there’s not a chance in hell that this was the only time that you could get alone time with him. You’re newlyweds, it’s almost expected that you’d be sneaking off to spend as much time as possible between meetings. But no, he had to wake you before anyone else would reasonably be awake. But it’s not worth the fight. 

“Alright, then,” you sigh. But instead of moving away from the bed, Anakin moves to stand on top of it, looking at you expectantly. 

“We’re going to start with several throws. Now, I’m not absolutely certain about this, but I think you wouldn’t enjoy being thrown down onto granite,” he says impatiently. You get on the bed, mourning the lack of sleep as Anakin eyes you up and down. “In that?” He asks, referring to your silk nightgown. 

“Oh, good grief,” you complain, throwing your hands up. “At this rate there won’t be a point of waking me up before dawn because everyone else in the palace will be awake already when we do start! Can we just do it?” Anakin shrugs, reaching out to position you the way he wants. Anakin positions you standing shoulder width apart, one hand placed on the back of your neck and the other on your arm. The warmth of his palms on your bare skin sends electricity through your nerves, and you blink at him wide-eyed at the contact. With quick footwork he sweeps you on to your back, knocking the wind out of you with the added weight of his body on yours before he swings himself to your side, effectively pinning you down to the ground. 

“Try to move,” he instructs you, but as you wiggle around on the bed, you realize that he’s able to still pin down your shoulders. “See? Doing this gives you leverage. First thing to know,” he says, getting up and leaving you sprawled on the bed. 

“I see.. Was it necessary to do it without any explanation, or was that for your amusement?” You grunt, hoisting yourself up as Anakin watches you struggle rather unsympathetically. 

“For fun. Now,” He breezes past the admission, grinning when you gape at him, “What you’re gonna do is put your hand on the back of my neck and my arm, like I did.” He nods when you’re in the correct placement, turning his focus to your technique. “Now, turn your body so the hand that’s holding my neck is the closest side. Step sideways once, cross the other foot and step towards me, and then use the first foot to sweep the knee on the side that you’re not touching.” 

You step as per his instructions, sweeping him down but when you land, body pressed firmly against his, the door swings open to reveal Reyna. She sputters when she sees the position you and Anakin are in—  Anakin half naked, his thigh slotted between your legs, his hands gripping your hips,  your tits hanging above his face with only the thin silk material to cover you. The immodesty of it all makes you blush, too. Anakin, however, used his quick thinking and craned his neck up to kiss the exposed skin right above your breasts. You know it’s only so that she doesn’t get suspicious but it feels good, dammit, and you can’t hold back the whimper that threatens to escape you when his teeth nip softly at your skin. 

“I’ll come back later,” Reyna squeaks, clearly mortified. 

“That would be best,” Anakin responds, looking at her with half-lidded eyes and a smirk that makes heat run up your spine. 

When the door shuts, he throws you rather unceremoniously off of him, blushing a bright pink. 

“Sorry,” Anakin apologizes. The both of you lay on your backs, furiously avoiding eye contact as the situation’s awkwardness makes you wince. 

“It’s alright,” you say, pushing yourself off of the bed. “So, I’ll, um, see you later today?” 

“Yes, milady,” he answers, sounding distant. “Later today.”

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 5

Chapter Five: Closing In

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, One Bed Trope, Awkward, Plot Holes

Word Count: 10k

A/N: I swear I don’t mean to take months to update! I get sidetracked so often by random things and other obsessions. I’m at a point with this story where I get lost with the timeline so then I have to reread what I wrote (try not to cringe at my writing) and then continue on writing the next chapter. Usually, I’m very organized with my outline so I don’t lose track of where I am plot-wise, but Star Wars is— it truly is something else. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! We’re one step closer to the season finale. Love you guys :>

Song: De Selby (Part 2) by Hozier

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OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – EVENING

It had become apparent to you that Din was touch-starved, even though he never openly admitted it. You could trace the progression of his need for physical contact, starting with subtle gestures like a comforting touch on your elbow or a gentle squeeze of your hand in public. These small interactions held unspoken messages of affection, revealing a side of Din that he rarely showed to the world.

His tactile expressions of intimacy grew more pronounced over time. Your heart skipped a beat the first time he cupped your face, his gloved hand warm against your cheek. The tenderness of that touch spoke volumes, carrying a depth of emotion that words couldn't quite capture. It was a silent promise, a reassurance that you were not alone in this unpredictable universe.

One memory stood out vividly: a day when the three of you found yourselves in a cantina on an outer rim planet. The credits Din had earned were put to practical use, securing supplies and a decent meal for all of you. While Din went to order drinks, you focused on the child, ensuring he was comfortable and fed.

Amid your care-taking, an unfamiliar man appeared, his presence casting a shadow over your booth. You regarded him with skepticism, raising an eyebrow as his words dripped with overconfidence.

"Can I help you with something?" you responded, your tone laced with a mix of caution and annoyance. The stranger's attempt at flirtation was as transparent as the space beyond the cantina's windows.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a place like this?" he purred, his words dripping with unmistakable intent.

Suppressing an inward sigh at the sheer predictability of his approach, you let a subtle, sarcastic smile curve your lips. The galaxy had taught you to navigate these situations with a mix of wits and composure.

As the child cooed beside you, curiosity evident in his innocent eyes, you shifted your gaze back to the stranger, his overconfident demeanor oozing from every pore. Your reply was measured, tinged with a hint of dry amusement, "Clearly, I'm not alone and occupied, so if you could leave, please."

Undeterred, the stranger continued with his advances. "C'mon, baby, don't be such a priss. I'll show you a good time."

You were on the cusp of rising from your seat, ready to firmly reiterate your point when a sudden shift in the atmosphere seized the cantina's attention. It was as if the air had changed, thickened by an invisible tension. The chattering voices seemed to hush instinctively.

Amid the palpable silence, Din materialized like an imposing guardian. His presence radiated authority and raw power, his Mandalorian armor reflecting the ambient light, turning him into an almost mythical figure. His voice cut through the stillness like a blade, sharp and unyielding, "She said leave."

The room held its collective breath as the stranger's bluster crumbled in the face of Din's command. The confrontation became a silent battle of wills, one that spoke volumes without the need for further words. The stranger's retreat marked a victory for the indomitable force that Din embodied, leaving the cantina in stunned silence.

Your gaze shifted from the defeated stranger to Din, who stood there with an intensity that both reassured and electrified the room. His unspoken declaration of protection wasn't lost on you, a testament to the bond forged through shared trials and unspoken connections.

And then, with a swift shift, Din's demeanor transformed. His grip on patience loosened, and his actions spoke volumes where words had been unnecessary. In a heartbeat, he had seized the offender, the loud crack of bone echoing through the hushed cantina as the stranger's resistance was brutally halted.

Your breath caught, a sharp inhale of surprise and a hint of awe, as the resounding crack of bone filled the air. It was a stark punctuation to Din's swift and decisive intervention, a thunderous echo of authority that cut through the cantina's previous cacophony. The clatter of utensils and the discordant symphony of bowls added to the jarring chorus, a testimony to the power that had just been unleashed.

The stranger, once so assertive, now resembled a scurrying insect, his escape marked by a trail of spilled drinks and overturned stools. He disappeared into the crowded haze of the cantina, no longer a contender in this silent duel.

Throughout this confrontation, Din's gaze remained unyielding, a force of nature that had momentarily swept the establishment into a hushed reverence. As the patrons bore witness to the unassailable might he wielded, their earlier bravado had crumbled into hushed awe.

With the situation resolved, Din's attention shifted back to you, and that deep, unspoken connection that had been nurtured through shared challenges seemed to shimmer in the charged atmosphere. His gloved hand gently found yours, prompting you to rise from your booth. You cradled the child securely in your arms, his innocent eyes bearing witness to this display of protective strength.

“I could have handled it,” you spoke, your voice soft and understanding, and Din nodded, a faint hint of gratitude in his voice. “I know.”

A beat passed between you, the atmosphere laden with unspoken words. Then, Din continued, his words tinged with vulnerability, "I could not just stand there and do nothing," he said, “I would... the things I would do to ensure you and the child are safe.”

His voice trailed off, leaving the weight of his unspoken commitment hanging in the air. It was a promise forged in the crucible of their shared experiences. A vow to protect and cherish, even if it meant confronting the darkest corners of the galaxy.

You blinked, your gaze filled with understanding and affection. With a gentle hand, you reached out, placing it over his heart, and whispered, "I know. I would too."

To your surprise, he was the first one to initiate the hug. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you into an embrace that felt surprisingly warm beneath the cool, unyielding exterior of his beskar armor. You still held the child in your arms, creating an intimate tableau of unity. Surprisingly, the hard plate of his chest was comforting, the armor a symbol of his steadfast protection. In his embrace, you felt safe, secure, and trusted, as if nothing in the galaxy could harm you as long as you were in his arms.

Maybe that's why you two ended up where you are now. In the passing days and nights, your connection deepened, communicated through silent reassurances by the simple touch of an elbow or the light squeeze of his gloved hand. Din seemed to always find a reason to be near you, seeking excuses to touch and hold you, even if only for a brief moment.

There were times when you would prepare food for the three of you, and Din would just watch from a few steps away. Despite the helmet, you could feel his gaze as he observed you move around the small workspace, heating the food. You would glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and his heart would flutter wildly.

In those moments, you could see the shimmering outline of his silver aura mixing with shades of reds and maroons, a silent testament to the emotions he kept hidden behind the beskar helmet. 

The nights in the cramped bunk leave you no room to move, but you find it surprisingly comfortable, curled up together. The baby sleeps soundly in his hammock nearby, his tiny breaths filling the small space with a sense of peace.

During those nights, Din often surprises you with unspoken acts of service. He'll quietly slip out of bed, leaving you wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, and return with a cup of hot caf. He never says a word, but the gesture speaks volumes, warming not just your body but your heart as well.

Sometimes, he'll softly hum a lullaby, a hauntingly beautiful tune that you've never heard before. The melody dances in the air, soothing both you and the baby, creating a bond that goes beyond words between the three of you.

As you lie there, nestled in his arms, you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you've found something exceptional in the vast, unforgiving galaxy.

The peace the three of you had found seemed almost too good to be true. It was a fragile tranquility in a galaxy filled with chaos, and you knew deep down that it wouldn't last long. Still, you couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a small sanctuary for yourselves.

But as you entered the flight deck one day and saw the look on Din's face, you knew that the serenity was about to be shattered. Concern etched your features as you asked, "What's wrong?"

Din didn't immediately reply. Instead, he pressed a button, and a flickering hologram message of Greef Karga materialized before you. His gravelly voice filled the cockpit, delivering a message that sent a chill down your spine.

"My friend, if you are receiving this transmission, that means you are alive," Greef Karga's hologram began. "You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too. I guess we can call it even. A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown."

The weight of those words hung heavily in the air, and you exchanged a knowing glance with Din. It seemed that your past had come back to haunt you again, and the peace you had briefly tasted was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand from Tatooine.

Greef Karga's hologram continued to flicker as he outlined the dire situation on Nevarro. His gravelly voice held a tone of urgency as he explained, "They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize."

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on you and Din. It was clear that this was no ordinary mission; it was a perilous gambit that carried immense risks. Karga's proposal hung in the air, the unspoken words echoing loudly in the confined space of the Razor Crest.

"So, here is my proposition," Karga continued. "Return to Nevarro. Bring the child as bait. I will arrange an exchange, and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism."

The concern in your eyes didn't escape Din's notice as you voiced your doubts. "This has to be a trap, Din," you asserted, your voice tinged with worry.

Din nodded in agreement, his thoughts mirroring yours. "Possibly."

A small, determined smile graced your lips as you continued, "We're gonna need help... from our friends."

As you glanced at the sleeping Child, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on both of you. It was a decision that would determine the course of your future and the safety of the innocent life in your care.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Din made his decision clear. Without uttering a word, he steered the Razor Crest toward the coordinates Greef Karga had provided, the ship leaping into hyperspace. The die was cast, and a treacherous path lay ahead, but the bond between you and Din, and the allies you had made along the way, offered a glimmer of hope in the darkness of uncertainty.

SORGAN, 9ABY – DAY

The Razor Crest soared over the lush tree canopy of Sorgan, its engines humming like a contented beast. As the forest gave way to an open area, Din carefully brought the ship down, landing with the grace of a seasoned pilot.

Exiting the ship, you and Din followed a worn path that led to a common house in the distance. The atmosphere was different here, far removed from the cold metal of your ship. It was a place where the rustic charm of Sorgan had found a home.

Inside the common house, the commotion caught your attention. A sizable crowd had gathered, their voices mixing with the clatter of glasses and the low hum of conversation. At the center of the room, a makeshift boxing ring had been set up.

You and Din approached the ring just as Cara Dune, faced off against a male Zabrak fighter. Cara’s movements were swift and calculated, her strikes a testament to her combat prowess. The Zabrak, equally skilled, proved to be a formidable opponent. Each of them tethered to a laser that crackled with energy. The makeshift boxing ring suddenly felt smaller, the tension palpable as the combatants engaged in a fierce battle.

As the bout reached its climax, Cara executed a flawless maneuver, pulling the Zabrak in with the tether that connected them. The Zabrak, caught off guard by her sudden tactic, found himself unable to escape her grasp.

With a swift and decisive motion, Cara forced the Zabrak to tap out, his admission of defeat ringing through the air as the laser tether fizzled out between them.

Cara's triumphant grin illuminated her features as she basked in the adulation of the crowd, her chest heaving with exertion from the intense match. With a playful twinkle in her eye, she extended a victorious finger, punctuating her declaration to the assembled spectators.

"Pay up, mudscuffers! Come on. That's mine, thank you. All right, thank you," Cara exclaimed, her voice carrying over the din of the cheering crowd. In response, several patrons begrudgingly reached into their pockets, producing credits to settle their wagers.

You, Din, and the Child entered Cara's line of sight, drawing her attention away from the crowd. Din's voice, deep and commanding, cut through the noise of the common house as he addressed her directly.

"Looking for some work?" Din inquired as he broached the subject with Cara and you all decided to take a seat and have a drink as you discussed the situation.

"It's a straightforward operation," Din elucidated to Cara, his voice low and measured. Leaning forward, he rested his left forearm on the table, his gaze unwavering as he outlined the details. “They're providing the plan and firepower. I'm the snare.” Meanwhile, you tended to the Child who fussed beside you, keeping one eye on the conversation.

"With the kid? And her?" Cara inquires, casting a glance your way.

"That's why we're reaching out to you," you respond softly, meeting Cara's gaze.

Cara sighs, weighing the risks. "I don't know. I've been advised to keep a low profile. If anyone runs my chain code, I'll be in a cell for life."

"I thought you were a veteran," Din remarks, his silver helmet catching the light as he speaks. The defeated Zabrak fighter drops a credit on the table and nods at Cara, who offers a smile. "Come back soon," she calls after him.

"I've been a lot of things since. Most of them come with a life sentence," Cara explains, her expression serious. "If I so much as board a ship registered to the New Republic, I'm—"

"We have a ship," Din interjects, his voice firm. "I can take you there and back, and there'll be a handsome reward waiting. You can live free of worry."

"I'm already free of worry, and I'm not in the mood to play soldier anymore," Cara says, taking a sip from her cup. "Especially not for some local warlord."

"He's not a local warlord," Din interjects, his voice low and with a growl. You finish the statement, your tone was distant, eyes glazed. "He's Imperial."

Cara takes a deep breath and offers a small smile as she nods. "I'm in."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

"Does your contact need to vet me?" Cara leans against the side of the cockpit panel, her arms crossed. Din shakes his head. "Doesn't know you're coming."

Cara raises an eyebrow. "Really? That could be a problem."

"It won't. But if it is, that's his problem." Din shrugs before exiting the cockpit. You give the Child a gentle pat as he sits beside you, then follow Din down the ladder and to the weapons locker with Cara.

"Is he alright up there alone?" Cara asks, nodding towards the cockpit. 

Din nods. "Yeah." He opens the locker, the doors hissing as they slide apart. Gesturing to the array of weapons, he adds, "Pick one."

"Do you trust the contact?" Cara inquires, brows raised as she sifts through the locker's contents, a grin playing on her lips.

Din lets out a sigh. "Not particularly," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of wariness. "He and I had a run-in last time I was there on some Guild business."

"So then why are we going?" Cara questions, her tone laced with curiosity as she glances over at Din.

"I don't have a choice," Din responds, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. He pauses, then reaches out to pull you closer to his side, anchoring you against him as he leans against the ship's panel. "You saw what happened on Sorgan. They'll keep sending hunters," he continues, his gaze steady. "The kid and her... they'll never be safe until the Imp is dead."

"And you're okay with bringing them back there?" Cara asks skeptically, a hint of concern coloring her tone. You frown slightly, your expression conveying a sense of determination as you respond, "I can take care of myself."

"What about the kid? We need someone to watch that thing," Cara remarks, gesturing towards the Child above in the cockpit. Din nods in agreement, acknowledging the need for a trustworthy guardian. "Yeah."

"You got anyone you can trust?" Cara inquires further, her gaze shifting between you and Din.

You feel Din's thumb brush over the exposed part of your hip, a comforting gesture that sends a subtle warmth rippling through your body. He hums softly, his presence enveloping you in shades of silver and grey, a reassuring aura amidst the uncertainty of the moment.

Suddenly, the ship begins to rumble, Cara stumbles, her hands reaching out to brace herself against the wall. Meanwhile, Din swiftly pulls you closer to his body, a protective instinct evident in his actions. With a gruff huff, he releases you and heads back up the ladder.

You and Cara follow Din up the ladder, only to find the Child meddling with the controls, causing the ship to thrash and rumble. Din takes charge, settling into the pilot's seat to stabilize the Razor Crest once more.

"We really need someone to watch over him," you remark, holding the Child securely in your arms while Din nods and agrees, “Yeah.”

MOISTURE FARM, ARVALA-7 — SUNSET

The Razor Crest settles on the desolate planet of Arvala-7, its rocky surface bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. As the ramp lowers, you step out alongside Din and Cara, the hovering pram carrying the Child trailing close behind.

Your eyes fall on the Ugnaught Din mentioned, a figure named Kuiil, who greets you warmly as you make your way to his home. With a nod, you duck your head to enter the tunnel-shaped structure, eager to get to know Kuiil.

"It hasn't grown much," Kuiil remarks, his eyes fixated on the Child.

Din nods in agreement. "I think it might be a Strand-Cast."

Kuiil shakes his head slowly. "I don't think it was engineered. I've worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly."

"I had a dream recently," you begin, your voice soft but earnest. "A creature like him named Yoda appeared to me… this little one is likely to be one of his kind."

Din listens intently, his gaze underneath his helmet fixed on you as you speak.

"It’s why I followed you, at first," you continue, turning to face him. "Because the last time the Empire had Force Sensitive children…" You trail off, overcome with emotion. "I just couldn’t leave him there."

Din's gauntleted hand gently clasps yours, emanating a comforting warmth that sends a tender sensation coursing through your veins. You feel a soft flush rise to your cheeks as you meet his gaze, the visor of his helmet lending an air of mystery to his expression.

Kuiil clears his throat, his gaze shifting between you and Din. "You and Din make a formidable pair," he says with a nod, his tone carrying a note of respect. "A union like yours brings strength and unity in uncertain times."

A flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks, prompting you to avert your gaze momentarily. However, Din's firm grip on your waist draws you closer to where you sat, anchoring you in his reassuring presence.

Meanwhile, Kuiil turns to Cara with a playful glint in his eye. "This one, on the other hand," he remarks, "looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora."

You gesture toward Cara with a smile, introducing her to Kuiil. Cara responds with a nod, her own smile reflecting the camaraderie in the room.

Kuiil's eyes settle on Cara's arm, where the telltale tattoo of a Dropper catches his attention. "You were a Dropper," he observes, prompting Cara to raise an intrigued eyebrow. "Did you serve?" she inquires the Ugnaught.

Kuiil settles onto a stool, his expression taking on a thoughtful cast. "On the other side, I'm afraid," he admits. "But I'm proud to say that I paid out my clan's debt, and now I serve no one but myself."

As Kuiil speaks, the room is suddenly interrupted by the mechanical steps of an approaching figure. You glance toward the entrance and see an IG-11 droid entering, carrying a tray of steaming drinks. Instantly, both Din and Cara spring to their feet, blasters are drawn, their defensive instincts kicking in. Meanwhile, you remain seated, a mix of confusion and curiosity etched on your face.

The IG-11 droid, its metallic voice crisp and clear, breaks the tension with an unexpected offer. "Would anyone care for some tea?"

Kuiil, ever composed, raises a calming hand towards Din and Cara. "Please lower your blasters," he urges, his voice steady and assured. "He will not harm you."

"That thing is programmed to kill the baby," Din asserts, his voice tinged with anger as he keeps his blaster trained on the IG unit.

Kuiil interjects calmly as IG-11 places the tray on the table in front of you, "Not anymore. It was left behind in the wake of your destruction.”

“I found it laying where it fell. Devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remained of its neural harness.” Kuiil recounted to you and you listened intently.

"Reconstruction was quite the challenge, but not impossible," Kuiil reflects, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "It had to learn everything anew. This is not a task for mere machinery. It demands patience and repetition. Day after day, I nurtured its growth with care and affirmation. And as its experiences expanded, so did its personality."

Din remains skeptical, his tone betraying his doubt as he inquires, "Is it still a hunter?"

"No," Kuiil replies firmly, "but it will defend."

As the IG-11 droid offers, “Tea?” Cara grabs the cup and takes a sip while you exchange glances with Kuiil, sensing the sincerity in his words reflected in the warm hues of the sunset. With a reassuring touch, you rise from your seat and place a hand on Din's outstretched arm, gently guiding down the blaster. "He speaks the truth," you affirm softly. "It’s okay. We’re okay."

Reluctantly, Din secures his blaster back into its holster, his tension easing slightly as he acknowledges the reassurance in your words.

"I've encountered some difficulties," Din admits as he approaches Kuiil, who is tending to the Blurrg.

Kuiil emits a thoughtful hum. "Seems like you've been managing quite well. Especially with her support," he remarks, nodding in your direction. You're engrossed in play with the Child, introducing the little one to the droid, while Cara observes with interest.

As Din watches you, bathed in the warm glow of the setting suns, he can't help but marvel at your radiance. Your smile outshines even the brightest stars in the galaxy. In that moment, he feels a profound sense of gratitude for having someone like you by his side.

A warm sensation stirs within Din as he watches you laugh at something the Child finds amusing. The primal urge to claim you as his own surges within him, an instinctual longing he struggles to suppress. Beneath his helmet, his jaw tightens as he fixates on you, momentarily lost in the intensity of his emotions. When you glance his way and offer a smile and a wave, his heart swells with longing, yearning for a world where he could have you all to himself, free from the burdens that weigh upon you both.

Swallowing hard, Din tears his gaze away, attempting to regain his composure. "That's not... that's not why we're here," he insists, his voice tinged with an edge of determination.

"I assumed as much. There must be another reason for your return," Kuiil observes with a knowing hum.

Din's voice carries a low, earnest tone as he addresses the Ugnaught. "I need your services."

"I'm retired from service," Kuiil responds, his voice measured.

Ignoring the subtle refusal, Din presses on, his words tinged with a hint of desperation. "I can pay you handsomely, Ugnaught.”

The Ugnaught, displeased by Din's persistence, harumphs. "I have a name. It is Kuiil."

Din's gaze remains unwavering as he makes his request clear. "I require someone to protect the child, Kuiil."

Kuiil shakes his head, his resolve unwavering. "I am not suited for such work. I can reprogram IG-11 for nursing and protocol duties."

Din's voice grows firmer, his tone resolute. "No. I do not want that droid anywhere near him."

"Why are you so distrustful of droids?" Kuiil asks, his tone curious yet skeptical.

Din's response is matter-of-fact. "It tried to kill him."

Kuiil nods, understanding. "It was programmed to do so. Droids are not inherently good or bad. They are neutral reflections of those who imprint them." He looks to Din, hoping to impart some sense to the Mandalorian.

Din's voice carries a distant gravity as he speaks with a serious tone. "I've seen otherwise."

"Do you trust me?" Kuiil's gravelly voice breaks the silence, his gaze steady on Din.

Din nods thoughtfully. "From what I can tell, yes."

"Then trust my work. IG-11 will join me," Kuiil asserts, his tone resolute. "And we do it not for payment, but to protect the child from Imperial slavery."

A weight seems to settle on Din's shoulders as he exhales softly. Kuiil's continues, "None will be free until the old ways are gone forever."

Din takes a moment to consider, his mind churning with the implications. Finally, he meets Kuiil's gaze and nods. "Okay."

"The blurrgs?" Din queries, a hint of confusion in his voice as Kuiil starts to walk away.

Kuiil pauses, turning back to face Din. "And the blurrgs will join me as well," he affirms, his tone carrying a sense of finality.

Kuiil turns once more and continues on his way, leaving Din standing there with a contemplative expression. As he disappears from sight, his parting words linger. "I have spoken."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

After securing the blurrgs in the Razor Crest's cargo hold, Din takes control of the ship's controls, steering it towards Nevarro. With the ship set on autopilot, you and he descend the ladder into the cargo hold, where the Child sits in his hovering pram, eyes wide with curiosity as he emits a soft cooing sound.

As you assist Kuiil with feeding the blurrgs, your attention is drawn to the sounds of grunting nearby. Slowly turning, you find Cara and Din engaged in an arm wrestle, their muscles straining against each other in the dim light of the cargo hold. Despite the intense competition, they appear evenly matched.

As you observe Din's impressive display of strength, a flutter of excitement stirs within you, mingled with a hint of something more intimate. His determination and power are undeniably captivating, igniting a subtle thrill that courses through your veins.

"I got you, Mando," Cara declares with a huff, her voice laced with determination.

Din's response is confident as ever. "Care to double the bet?" he challenges, his voice resonating with a subtle intensity. You catch a glimpse of his gaze behind the visor, sensing his determination.

Intense heat rises to your cheeks at the sound of his gruff grunt, the raw energy of the moment heightening your anticipation. You’ve been buzzing with anticipation for weeks.

But the heat fizzes out as a moment of panic grips you as Cara struggles, her hand dropping abruptly from the arm wrestling match. It startles both you and Din, prompting him to rise to his feet with urgency.

As you rush over to the Child, you hear Din's firm voice addressing the little one. "No! No, no! Stop! We're friends, we're friends. Cara is my friend!" he asserts, his tone authoritative.

Stretching out your hand, you tap into the Force, attempting to gently ease the Child's grasp on Cara. Gradually, the tension dissipates, and you release your hold on the Force, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Eager breaths escape your lips, leaving you slightly winded from the unexpected exertion.

Cara gestures toward the Child and voices her concern, "That is not okay!"

"Hmm. Very curious," Kuiil remarks, his gaze shifting to you and the Child.

"Curious? It almost killed me!" Cara exclaims, her alarm evident.

"The story you told me of the mudhorn now makes more sense," Kuiil adds.

"Mudhorn?" You interject, your curiosity piqued. You glance over at Din, who has now moved closer to you, checking to ensure you're okay as you still catch your breath from the ordeal.

"What is it?" Din inquires Kuiil while keeping you close by his side.

"What it is, I don't know. But what it does, this… This I've heard rumors of," Kuiil replies.

Cara shoots the Ugnaught a skeptical glance. "What? When you worked for the Empire?"

Kuiil stands his ground, his tone resolute. "When I was sold to the Empire, in indentured servitude."

"Yet somehow, you walk free," Cara retorts with a scoff, rising to her feet. But Kuiil remains unfazed. "I bought my freedom through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes. Do not cast doubt upon what I am nor whom I shall serve."

As the swirling colors of intense emotions overwhelm your senses, you feel a surge of turbulence within. It's a challenge to maintain composure, especially given your empathic abilities.

Sensing your discomfort, Din's demeanor softens, a rare glimpse of tenderness shining through. In a voice touched with kindness, he addresses Kuiil, "Tell you what. I could really use your craftwork right now. Can you pad this container so the child can sleep better?"

Kuiil acknowledges the request with a nod, his expression solemn. "I shall fabricate a better one. Then perhaps this Dropper can see how one can win their freedom with the skill of one's hands."

With purposeful movements, Kuiil sets to work, the hum of machinery filling the space as sparks fly from the welding gun. Meanwhile, the Child observes with wide-eyed curiosity. Feeling Din's comforting touch on your lower back, he guides you back up the ladder toward the cockpit.

You move to take a seat on a nearby chair, but before you can settle, Din swiftly pivots from his pilot chair. His strong hands encircle your waist, pulling you onto his lap in a single fluid motion. You emit a surprised yelp as you find yourself seated sideways, legs draped over his, and your head nestled against the cool surface of his beskar pauldron. Instinctively, you loop your arms around his neck to maintain your balance.

"Din! Cara could walk in any second," you whisper urgently.

He responds with a nonchalant hum. "She won't mind."

"But—"

"You seemed winded earlier, using your..." Din's voice trails off as he adjusts a few controls, and you finish his thought, "The Force?"

"Yes," he confirms.

You release a sigh and reach up to lightly touch the side of his helmet, wishing you could see beyond the reflective visor. "Din, I'm alright. It just took me by surprise. Later, I'll speak with the kid about using the Force responsibly. It's something we need to ensure he understands."

As you utter the word "we," something ignites within Din's chest. The notion of you wanting to stand by his side, to be integrated into his clan, strengthens his need to claim you as his own, to initiate the formal courtship.

With a gentle movement, he leans his helmet closer, as he uses his left gloved hand to hold the back of your neck, bringing your forehead to rest against his. The warmth of your skin contrasts with the cool touch of his beskar armor. You instinctively close your eyes, sharing a moment akin to the gesture known as the keldabe kiss.

You emit a soft sound, unable to suppress it as you sense him gently squeeze the back of your neck, expressing his desire to draw nearer. Din gruffly murmurs, "Soon, Cyar'ika. Soon."

"You better be fully clothed in there, I'm coming in!" Cara's voice echoes through the ship before the doors hiss open and shut, signaling her entrance. She finds you still seated on Din's lap, a sheepish expression on your face.

Wide-eyed, you attempt to slide off Din's lap, but he pulls you closer in a tighter grip. Your embarrassment intensifies, your cheeks burning as Cara smirks at you. Wanting to hide, you bury your face between Din's neck and shoulder, the heat of the moment igniting a mix of desire and embarrassment throughout your body.

Cara meticulously cleans her blaster as she addresses both of you, "So, we're heading to Nevarro?"

Din, still seated with you on his lap, engages in the conversation, "Have you been there before?"

"No," Cara responds, settling into her seat with the blaster and a rag in hand. "We lost a lot of our forces there. The city's dug in pretty deep. No cover when you drop in. It stayed in Empire control 'till the end of the war.”

Din nods in acknowledgment. "The warlord we're taking out was an Imperial officer.”

Cara's curiosity piques. "What station?"

Din turns his chair, keeping you snugly in his hold, as he explains, "Hard to tell. No insignia anymore.”

You attempt to wriggle out of his grasp once more, but his arm around your midsection keeps you firmly in place.

"We took out the safehouse when we snatched the kid." Din continues, his tone grave. "More Imps have reinforced since.” 

Apologies for the oversight. Here's the revised text, retaining the original dialogue:

"There's something more going on," Cara remarks as she begins to clean a different rifle.

"Maybe. We'll find out more when we land," Din replies, his gaze fixed on the controls.

The doors hiss open, and IG-11 steps inside, its robotic voice announcing, "I have prepared second meal. Would you care to be served here or below?"

"I'm not hungry," Din says flatly.

The IG-11 leaves.

Cara's chuckle echoes lightly in the cockpit. "You got a real thing for droids, don't you?" she teases.

Din's voice remains monotone as he responds, his helmet reflecting the dim light. "I got a real thing for that droid."

"The Ugnaught said he rewired it," Cara mentions, her tone casual.

Din shakes his head, his expression hidden behind the helmet. "That droid was designed to kill things. I don't care how much wiring he replaced. It goes against its nature."

Cara's departing words linger in the air as she heads back down to the cargo hold, leaving you and Din alone once more.

A hushed quiet falls between you, the hum of the ship's engines filling the space. You break the silence, the words catching in your throat. "We need to get ready..."

Din's voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "Just let me hold you a little longer, Cyar'ika," he murmurs, his tone laden with affection. You meet his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you, and with a quiet nod, you reply, "Okay."

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DUSK

The Razor Crest descends into a desolate corner of Nevarro, the distant hum of its engines fading as it settles on the uneven terrain. Your pulse quickens, the rhythm echoing in your ears as you adjust the cloak robe to conceal your lightsaber, keeping it out of sight.

The four of you dismount the ship, perched atop blurrgs, and spot Greef Karga approaching, accompanied by three other bounty hunters including a human, Nikto, and a Trandoshan. He strides toward your party, a mix of urgency and caution in his steps. "Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando, but things have gotten complicated since you were last here,” he says, coming to a halt a few paces away.

As he surveys the group, Greef Karga remarks, "It appears that introductions are in order. It seems we've both provided a security detail," His gaze shifts to Cara. "I'd suggest the shock trooper stays back to guard the ship. These lava fields are swarming with Jawas."

"She's coming with us," you assert firmly.

"But the town is now run by ex-Empire. If a Rebel Dropper is with us, they'll all get their hackles up," Greef Karga argues, attempting to dissuade you.

"She's coming," Din insists.

Greef Karga grudgingly relents. "Fine," he seethes, then relents once more with a resigned sigh. "Fine." Gesturing to Cara, he adds, "Just cover your tattoo. No need to draw unnecessary attention."

"Now, where's the little one?" Karga inquires. Din activates a button on his bracer, causing the hovering pram to glide forward, its hatch hissing open. Greef Karga leans in to inspect the Child, drawing uneasy gazes from the group. Fingers hover near blasters as tension mounts, and you clench your jaw.

"So, this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about. What a precious little creature. I can see why you didn't want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head," Greef Karga remarks, lifting the Child briefly before returning it to the hovering pram. Din swiftly closes the hatch with another press of his bracer, bringing the pram back to his side.

As the group prepares to embark on their journey across the lava fields of Nevarro, Greef Karga lays out the plan. "Well, I'm glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all. The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell, camp out at the riverbank, then make our way into town at first light," he explains. You nod in agreement as your group rides the blurrgs, ready to traverse the treacherous terrain.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — EVENING

As the group settles in for the night, a campfire crackles, casting flickering light on the surrounding faces. You find a spot on the ground, seated cross-legged like the others. Positioned between Din and the Child, Kuiil patiently feeds the young one while you quietly finish your meal.

Across the fire, the three bounty hunters sit, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. With a keen sense, you observe them, your empathic force powers awakening to perceive shades of darkness and red, hinting at hidden motives and deceit.

As you unconsciously shift closer to Din, preparing to whisper your observations, Greef Karga's voice cuts through the quiet night. He gazes at the Child, remarking, "I guess the little bugger's a carnivore. Never seen anything like it. They were ready to pay a king's ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie."

"Let's go over the plan again," Din interjects, brushing off Karga's comments.

“We three enter the common house. We show the client the bait. We join him at the table. And you kill him,” Greef Karga explains matter-of-factly, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Din quickly follows up, “Tell me about his reinforcements.”

“They're all ex-Empire. As soon as they lose their paycheck, poof, they'll all scatter,” Greef Karga replies nonchalantly.

“And what if they don't?” You press further.

“They will,” Greef Karga asserts confidently.

Din shakes his head, “That's not good enough.”

Greef Karga sighs heavily, “If, for argument's sake, a few of them don't realize that I'm their best path to alternative employment and they elect to react impulsively, then these three fine Guild Hunters, along with that battle-hardened shock trooper, and your Jedi will cut down anyone who bucks.”

“I’m a medic, not a Jedi,” you mumble with a clenched jaw.

“How many will there be?” Din asks Greef Karga.

“No more than four,” Karga replies as he rises from his seated position, heading over to the large piece of meat roasting over the campfire. He reaches out to grab a piece, confidently stating, “He travels with, at most, a Fire Team. Trust me. Nothing can go wrong.”

However, his confidence is shattered as a large beast emerges from the darkness. It's a species of winged, predatory reptavians native to Nevarro. With a large wingspan, scaly and dry skin, and a dragon-like appearance, these reptavians have a pointed snout, a mouth filled with sharp teeth, and two brownish eyes.

One of the reptavians swoops down, sinking its teeth into Greef's arm, eliciting a pained grunt from him. Chaos erupts as blaster fire fills the air, echoing against the rocky terrain. Each member of the group takes aim, firing at the winged assailants with precision.

With swift movements, the Mandalorian secures the Child in his hovering pram, shielding the youngling from harm. Meanwhile, you ignite your lightsaber, its vibrant purple hue casting an eerie glow in the dim light. Swinging it fiercely, you fend off the winged creatures with determined strikes.

Amidst the commotion, a blurrg and a Trandoshan bounty hunter fall victim to the creatures' relentless onslaught. As one of the reptavians swoops down to snatch another blurrg, it meets its demise in a barrage of blaster fire, falling lifeless to the ground. Unfortunately, in the chaos, a blurrg is accidentally struck by friendly fire.

After the Mandalorian's flamethrower repels the winged creatures, a tense silence settles over the group, broken only by the occasional groan of pain from Greef Karga. As the dust settles and the smoke clears, everyone remains on edge, waiting to see if the creatures will return.

Moving swiftly, Kuiil rushes to Greef's side, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "He's hurt badly," Kuiil announces, his voice tinged with worry.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. Ow!" Greef insists through gritted teeth, his bravado failing to mask his discomfort. You kneel beside him, your focus on assessing his injury. The deep bite mark left by the reptavians catches your attention, and you speak with authority, "Hold still."

"They got you good," you murmur, your focus still fixed on the deep wound.

"How bad, Cyar'ika?" Din's voice comes from behind you as you work.

"Bad. The poison's spreading fast," you reply, urgency lacing your tone as you inject Greef Karga with a pen, hoping it will slow the venom's progress.

"So this... This is how it happens," Greef Karga says between labored breaths.

Cara rolls her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

"I need another medpac! Got any other medpacs?" you urgently call out.

“Anyone? I'm guessing that's a ‘no’,” you say with a huff, frustration creeping into your voice. You glance back at his arm, noting the venom's continued spread. “It's still spreading. This isn't working.”

“Get this thing outta here,” Cara exclaims, prompting you to realize that the Child had approached unnoticed.

Observing the Child, Kuiil interjects, “Wait.”

The Child extends his tiny green hand and places it atop Greef Karga’s arm. With a wince, Karga cries out, “He's trying to eat me!”

You sense it too—the subtle hum of the Force emanating from the Child. With each focused use, the Child begins to harness his abilities, channeling them to gradually heal Greef Karga’s arm, leaving no trace of a scar. Witnessing such skill from one so young fills you with awe; Force Healing of this magnitude is exceedingly rare. A collective exhale fills the air, each member of the group seemingly sharing in the astonishment of witnessing such a miraculous feat.

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DAWN

As the sun begins to ascend, casting a dim light across the rugged landscape, the group presses onward. Smoke billows from the small volcanic vents scattered throughout the rocky terrain of Nevarro. An uneasy silence envelops the group, with Greef Karga's companions forging ahead, leaving you, Din, Cara, and Kuiil to tread quietly behind on foot, the Ugnaught trailing along atop the last remaining blurrg.

Cara speaks softly, directing her question to both you and Din. "You think they're having second thoughts?"

Din responds in a hushed tone, his voice barely audible. "Could be. I need your eyes."

"I'm watching," Cara confirms with a nod.

An hour later, your group arrives at the outskirts of Nevarro, with Greef Karga leading the way and you, Din, and Cara close behind. "I guess this is it," Greef Karga remarks, gazing out at the view. But something tugs at your gut, a feeling that something isn't right.

Before you can react, Greef abruptly turns around and fires at his associates, sending them collapsing lifeless to the ground. The sudden violence startles you, Din, and Cara. They swiftly unholster their blasters, aiming them at Greef Karga, while you grasp your saber hilt, activating it in readiness to deflect any blaster fire.

Din and Cara keep their blasters trained on Greef Karga, who raises his hands in surrender. "There's something you should know," he confesses as he ensures that both the bounty hunters are truly dead and kicks away their blasters. "The plan was to kill you and take the kid. But after what happened last night, I couldn't go through with it."

Your brow furrows as you listen to Karga's plea. "Go on," he continues, "You can gun me down here and now, and it wouldn't violate the Code. But if you do, this child will never be safe."

Cara grits her teeth and shoots Karga a scowl. "We'll take our chances," she asserts firmly.

"The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you?" Greef Karga reasons, causing Cara to grow more agitated. "This is ridiculous," she tells Din.

"Perhaps you should let him speak," Kuiil interjects calmly, while you maintain a steady gaze on Greef Karga.

Karga points out, "Listen, we three need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the child to him and then you two…"

"No," Din interrupts firmly.

Cara clenches her jaw, her blaster aimed at Greef Karga. "Let's just kill him and get outta here," she suggests, her frustration evident.

You feel the Force connecting you through your empathic powers, sensing the true colors of Greef Karga. Taking a deep breath and deactivating your saber, you speak up. "He's right."

Din lowers his blaster, while Cara hisses in disbelief, "What are you doing?"

"As long as the Imp lives, he'll send hunters after the child," Din explains to Cara, who responds with a warning, "It's a trap."

"Bring me," Din suddenly interjects.

"What?" you exclaim, taken aback, while Greef Karga echoes, "Bring you?"

"Tell him you captured me. Get me close to him and I'll kill him," Din states with determination, and Karga nods, “That's a good idea. Give me your blaster.”

As Din hands over his blaster, it prompts you to protest as you take a step closer to him. "No! Hold on, it should be me. Bring me instead," you insist.

Din begins, "Cyar'ika—"

You sharply turn your head to face Greef Karga. "Do they know?"

Greef Karga begins to respond, but you cut him off, your voice tense with urgency. "Do. They. Know?"

"Yes," he confirms.

"Okay," you swallow, your mind racing through the options and landing on a decision. "You bring me in. Say that Cara captured me and convinced Mando to trade me instead of the Child." You then hand over your saber hilt to Greef Karga who pockets it.

"No. Absolutely not. You are going back to the ship with Kuiil and the Child," Din interjects, his tone firm.

"But without her or the Child, none of this works!" Karga exclaims, trying to reason.

"I’m going with you," you assert, stepping closer to Din. As he meets your gaze through his visor, you see the conflict in his eyes. He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a whispered plea, "I am going with you, and there is nothing you could say to convince me otherwise. We face these things together." You reach out and touch the side of his helmet, feeling the cool metal beneath your palm as you press your foreheads together. "Let me be there for you, like you were for me. Please."

Din hesitates, visibly conflicted. Finally, he lets out a shaky exhale. "Maker help me. Fine, fine. But you listen to me, alright? When I tell you to run, you run. Got it?"

You nod, determination in your eyes. "Okay."

Din grunts out his plan. "Kuiil, ride back to the Razor Crest with the child and seal yourself in. Once you're inside, engage ground security protocols. Nothing on this planet will breach those doors."

"Here's a comlink," Kuiil says, handing Din the device. "I will keep the child safe."

Kuiil looks at Cara and advises, "Don't forget to cover your stripes."

"Let's go," Din nods, prompting everyone to prepare. He turns to you, offering a pair of silver binders. You secure your hands in front of him, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the familiar sensation of the cuffs.

With a click, your hands are bound, and he asks softly, "Not too tight?"

Feeling playful, you respond with a cheeky grin, "You could make it tighter."

There's a warmth in his chest, almost like laughter. His mouth quirks into a smirk. "Cyar'ika, you are going to be the death of me."

You freeze, sensing the shift in his demeanor beneath the helmet. It's almost like awe or something.

"What?" he asks, catching your reaction.

"You're smiling, I can tell by your voice," you note, smiling yourself. Your eyes meet the visor of his helmet, and his skin prickles with awareness.

Suddenly, he wants you a lot closer. In his lap. Straddling him, maybe. Your hands in his hair, and his in yours. But there's no time for that. You clear your throat, breaking the moment, and gesture toward Greef Karga, who is waiting for the other pair of stun cuffs to restrain Din.

Din regains his composure, walking over to Greef Karga to be cuffed. As he does, Cara conceals her tattooed arm with a cloth, and Kuiil picks up the Child from the hovering pram. With your group heading in opposite directions, you hope fervently that everything will go according to plan.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — DAY

Greef and Cara escort the bound Mandalorian, you, and the hovering pram toward the town. At the gate, they come across two scout troopers riding 74-Z speeder bikes.

"Chain code?" one of the Scout Troopers demands, eyeing Greef Karga suspiciously.

Greef nods toward you and Din. "I have a gift for the boss."

The Scout Trooper repeats, "Chain code?" with insistence. Reluctantly, Greef retrieves his card and hands it over.

The Scout Trooper scans Greef's card. "I'll give you 20 credits for the helmet," he offers, eyeing the Mandalorian's helmet.

Greef lets out a fake laugh. "Ha-ha! Not a chance. That's going on my wall."

Din leans in to Karga, whispering, "On your wall?" Greef shoots him a pointed look. "Go with it."

"Go ahead," the Scout Trooper says, returning Greef's card. The group proceeds forward into town.

Cara gives Greef a sharp look. "You said four. There are more than four troopers."

Greef explains quietly, "Four guarding the client. Many more here in town. Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse."

Cara suggests, "Slip him his blaster."

Greef shakes his head. "Not yet."

You approach the cantina's entrance, Greef Karga announcing, "Here we are." As the door slides open, the once bustling space is now eerily empty, save for the watchful eyes of the stormtroopers stationed inside, their presence unsettling.

Greef nods towards the troopers. "You see? Four." He then leads you and Din towards the Client, gesturing towards both of you. "Look what I brought you. As promised."

The Client moves closer to Din, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns of Din's beskar chest plate. "What exquisite craftsmanship. It's remarkable how beautiful beskar can be when forged by its ancestral artisans."

Your expression twists in disgust as you watch the Client touch Din's armor. Then, the Client's attention shifts to you, his hand reaching out to grab your face. You meet his gaze with a defiant glare as he remarks, "Ah, the Jedi. Word travels fast whenever your kind is spotted." His tone drips with disdain. "What a waste."

As the Client releases your face, you feel a surge of revulsion. Sensing Din's simmering anger, you brace yourself.

"Can I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative?" the Client proposes to Greef Karga, who accepts with a nod.

An RA-7 protocol droid sets to work at the bar, preparing drinks for Greef and the Client. Gesturing towards a nearby booth, the Client invites, "Please, have a seat."

As you take your place, the Client begins, "It's regrettable that your people suffered so. Just as in this situation, it was all avoidable."

He turns his attention to Din. "Why did Mandalore resist our expansion? The Empire enhances every system it touches." You let out a derisive scoff, prompting the Client to continue, undeterred. "Judge by any metric. Safety, prosperity, trade, opportunity, peace. Compare Imperial rule to what is happening now. Look outside." He gestures towards the window. "Is the world more peaceful since the revolution? I see nothing but death and chaos."

You grit your teeth and suppress a retort, sensing the Client's emotions swirling before you, a dark maelstrom of black and red hues.

"I would like to see the baby," the Client requests.

Greef Karga clears his throat. "Uh... It's asleep."

"We'll all be quiet. Open the pram," the Client insists, narrowing his eyes. You swallow nervously, feeling a sense of unease. But before the situation can escalate, a stormtrooper approaches the Client and murmurs something discreetly. The Client stands abruptly. "Don't think me to be rude. I must take this call."

A stormtrooper sets up a holoprojector as the Client strides over to it. Under the table, Greef Karga discreetly unbinds his restraints, while Din swiftly does the same for you, his hands deftly removing the cuffs. "Give me the blaster and her saber hilt," he instructs Karga, his tone firm.

"You get one shot," Greef Karga reminds Din as he hands over your saber hilt. Din passes it to you with a determined nod.

Cara leans in close, her voice barely a whisper. "This is bad. You said four."

"Well, there are more. What can I tell you?" Greef Karga replies quietly.

A tense moment hangs in the air, and you sense a shift in the atmosphere. Before you can react, gunfire erupts from outside the cantina, catching everyone off guard. The shots strike the Client and his stormtroopers, sending them sprawling to the ground. Instinctively, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef dive behind a nearby table for cover. Amidst the chaos, the RA-7 protocol droid is caught in the crossfire and falls to the ground, incapacitated.

Taking cover behind various pillars, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef cautiously assess the situation. Through the shattered windows of the cantina, a line of death troopers becomes visible, their ominous presence sending a chill down your spine. As if that weren't enough, an Imperial Troop Transport rolls onto the scene, unloading a squad of stormtroopers, further escalating the situation.

"Four stormtroopers?" Cara scoffs, her expression darkening. "This is bad."

The Mandalorian quickly contacts Kuiil via comlink, his voice urgent. "Kuiil? Are you back at the ship yet?" After a tense moment of silence, he presses, "Are you there? Do you copy?"

"Yes!" Kuiil's voice crackles through the comlink.

Din wastes no time. "Are you back at the ship yet?"

"Not yet," Kuiil replies.

"Get back to the ship and get the kid out of here. We're pinned down!" Din's command is sharp and resolute.

The roar of engines interrupts the chaos, drawing your attention outside. An Outland TIE fighter swoops into view, its retractable solar collectors gleaming in the sunlight. The Imperial officer emerges from the cockpit, clad in full black attire, his cape billowing dramatically in the wind. His voice carries over the commotion as he declares, "You have something I want."

"Who's this guy?" Cara asks, her confusion evident.

"You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not," the officer asserts ominously.

"Kuiil, are you back at the ship yet? They're onto us!" Din urgently tries to reach Kuiil through the comlink.

No response.

Din attempts again, growing increasingly desperate. "Kuiil, come in!"

Still, there's silence.

"In a few moments, it will be mine," the officer threatens, his tone dripping with menace.

"Kuiil! Do you copy? Kuiil!" Din's voice echoes with urgency.

"It means more to me than you will ever know," the officer adds, his words sending a chill down your spine.

"Kuiil! Are you there? Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil, come in," Din pleads desperately.

"Kuiil? Are you there? Do you copy? Kuiil? Kuiil!"

TAGLIST: @wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @mxltifxnd0m @syviiss @luckyzipperscissorsbat @avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil @n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

[kenobers]

Gangs of Coruscant

Chapter One: Dire Straits

Mobster!Obi-WanxFem!Reader

Summary: The 23-year-old reader gets a fresh start in Coruscant after landing a sign language interpreter gig at one of the biggest hospitals in the galaxy. However, that plan flatlines after reader's attempts to be punctual land her somewhere she really really shouldn't be, where she sees something she really really shouldn't see. As luck would have it, that something just so happens to be the business of the most terrifying (and strikingly handsome) man in the city. Warnings: Mafia!AU, mentions of guns, drugs & violence, being held against one's will & non-sexual coercion (but not maliciously?), older man Disclaimer: Yes, this is a romanization of the concept of the mafia, but it is also a fictionalization based on the structure of the Jedi Order. No character in this story is based on any real life mobster and no plot point is based on an actual organized crime story. I am aware that most crime lords do not look like Obi-Wan Kenobi nor am I encouraging anyone to actually try and get with a made man (or woman). Please direct all complaints to Marty Scorsese. God Bless.

There was no way you were keeping this job.

You showed up late to orientation, much to the disapproval of the hospital director. Now you had completely missed your first official day. It wasn’t for lack of trying, honestly. The bus had arrived late on orientation day. When a kind older gentleman told you this was a common occurrence, you decided you could carve out extra time for the twenty-five minute walk. 

Then you missed a turn. Then another. Then you’d discovered you left your wallet at home and that your phone had, in fact, not charged overnight. Then you took a chance on a bus. Then ended up on an entirely different side of Coruscant. 

That had all been seven hours ago, when the sun was still up. The infamous neon lights of the central city were now a distant glow, taunting you from miles away. So much for being a sign language interpreter, you thought bitterly, so much for a brand new life in Coruscant. Not only were you going to lose the job you moved to this enormous city for, you might just lose your life. Oh, well. At least that was the worst that could happen. 

This side of the city was…there was no other word for it, shady. It was made up of graying warehouses and shipyards, abandoned by workers who had long since headed home. The few people you came across didn’t give the impression they wanted to be bothered. Not that your anxiety would’ve allowed you to try. Or at least it wouldn’t have an hour ago, before the hunger headache set in. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been cutting through the damn labyrinth of empty warehouses when you finally came across one with the lights on. The grimy windows dulled the sickly yellow shine, but it seemed like the most cliche sign from God.

You stopped before the aging building, weighing the thought of going in. A man’s laugh sounded from inside, making you jump. The news headline, “CORUSCANT’S MAFIA FAMILIES SPREAD THEIR POWER THROUGHOUT THE CITY” flashed in your mind. The words ‘brutal’, ‘ruthless’ and ‘violent’ had made appearances in the first paragraph. There had been a picture attached; a blurry image of two or three men slipping out of the senate building, a winged insignia sewn onto a leather jacket, a different flash of red against white fabric. 

To be fair, you hadn’t seen the symbol anywhere. You’d even read that the extent of the mob was overplayed by conspiracy theorists, driven by the myth of a couple of notorious figures. What was the chance you would actually come across someone ‘brutal’ and ‘ruthless’. The place looked like a shot out of GoodFellas, but a bus had brought you here. It looked like it was a busy area in the morning. It was too obvious. And more than anything, you were desperate now. It at least had to be worth poking your head in. 

Cautiously you approached the open door, took a breath and peered in. A shaggy haired young man leaned against a pillar, still laughing. 

“It’s not even that funny!” a young female voice shouted, although you could tell she was restraining her own giggles. Your eyes strained to see where the sound was coming from. Probably late night dock workers, you figured with relief.

‘Hello’ died on your lips and resurrected as a gasp when you laid your eyes on the large pile of spice and blasters in the middle of the floor. The man snapped his head towards you. You caught a glimpse of a nasty scar adorning his right eye and a set of white wings on the shoulder of his black jacket.

Terrified, you stumbled back into the shadows before he could get a good look at you. You backed away blindly, willing your fight or flight to take the wheel. 

Just as you were about to turn around, the rich scent of amber and vanilla filled the air and an unseen arm wrapped itself around your chest from behind. A large hand covered your mouth as you screamed, leaving the taste of a leather glove on your lips. Your back was pulled flush against a broad chest, the butt of a blaster prodding the small of your back.

Your fight or flight officially turned to lead as the weight of impending doom crushed your reflexes. 

“You’ve been lurking around here all night,” a smooth, accented voice murmured in your ear. The warm breath on your neck made you shiver. In any other situation, it might’ve excited you. “Who sent you, young

one?”

You tried to shake your head, but the hand covering your mouth had moved to grasp your chin. 

“I-I’m lost,” you stuttered. “I-I didn’t mean t-to-to see anything, I-I’m just lost.” 

“Lost?” your captor mused. 

Tears pricked your eyes. He didn’t sound like he believed you. “I don’t-I don’t even know where I am.” 

He tilted your chin up, craning your neck to meet a piercing pair of blue eyes that light up in the darkness. The face above you couldn’t be more than 35-years-old. Despite the lack of lighting, you could make out well kept fair hair, complimented by a matching beard. He was handsome, strikingly so. Your brain went blank for a moment. 

“Obi-Wan, who is that?” a male voice called from the door of the warehouse. Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered to his companion but yours stayed trained on him. 

“Someone saw something she shouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan responded, looking back at you thoughtfully. He tapped your jaw and hummed, sending a vibration through you. Then he released your chin, only to tighten his grip on your shoulders. “Come with me.” 

You made no attempt to disobey as he led you into the warehouse. The scarred man waited by the doorway, his split eyebrow raised, evidently sharing in your confusion. You cringed under the intensity of his watch. His stance was relaxed, his arms were crossed, but he looked at you like he might lunge at any given moment. 

“This is what the alarm picked up?”

You winced as he gestured to you. He rolled his eyes and pulled a lighter out of his pocket.  

“Now Anakin, be nice to our guest.” 

He gave you a sarcastic, tightlipped smile before shoving his hand back in his pocket. 

You sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening that you weren’t about to be tortured to death. Although you weren’t holding out hope; you’d been praying all day. 

Obi-Wan sat you in a folding chair, the cold metal burning through the thin fabric of your button-up. 

A young woman around your age with fiery red hair and two blue and white braids appeared from behind the pile of spice. You gathered that’s who you heard earlier. She watched you with wide interested eyes as she handed Obi-Wan another chair. 

“Thank you, Ahsoka,” he nodded. You sent her a pleading look, but she merely gave you a friendly smile before retreating to the other man. 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and you snapped your attention back to him. He was even more handsome in good lighting. He looked…almost kind, even as he studied you with a straight face. His hair was auburn and each stand looked as though it had been meticulously placed. The creased lines peaking around his mustache told you he smiled a lot. His warm complexion didn’t give you the sense it was from sadism. His nose and cheekbones were as sharp as his crystal eyes, but his expression was soft, curious and understanding. The most unnerving aspect of his appearance was his white suit jacket, decorated with a red winged insignia on the shoulder. 

“Your symbol…” you muttered. A blurry photo of the crest on white fabric and black leather…next to the words, ‘brutal’, ‘ruthless’ and ‘violent’. You glanced over at Anakin, who had finally fished a cigarette from the pocket of his black leather jacket. Ahsoka, who was paying your situation no mind, typed away on her phone, the case decorated with the same emblem in sticker form. “There was a photo of you,” you breathed. The full realization of what exactly you’d waltzed into struck you upside the head. You reeled back frantically in your seat, “I-I read about you, I t-think. You’re, you’re-”

“Not going to hurt you,” he assured, sticking out his hand as if to pat you. You made a skeptical face. He looked amused at your apprehension. “What’s your name, darling?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Out of fear, of course. 

“(yn),” you whispered. 

“(yn),” he repeated like it was poetry. “And you’re lost. You’re new to the city, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious,” you asked shyly, embarrassed. 

He cocked his head and shrugged. “No one dressed like you ends up this far past the Urscu district unless they’ve yet to get the hang of the buses, or they’re wearing this,” he pointed to the mafia crest on his jacket, “and considering your attire, I’m assuming it’s the former.” 

You couldn’t help it, you burst into tears. This man was toying with you. He was luring you into a false sense of security and forcing you to admit your own stupidity before he did away with you. He wasn't studying you, he was preying on you.

“I do-don’t know what happened, I-I just- are you fucking with me?”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, furrowing his eyebrows and blinking slowly. “Fucking with you?”

You tensed up again as you realized you might've just offended him. If you were taking a tone with a mob boss after all of day's events, then your poor excuse for survival skills belonged in some sort of lackluster hall of fame.  

“I-I’m sorry, I just meant, like-like-like, please, I-I just want to go home,” you begged, your breath stuttering. He sighed and stood, towering over you. 

“And you will,” the crime lord promised with a surprisingly gentle sincerity. He tilted your chin up, his thumb catching a stray tear. “But you’ve seen too much. I can’t just let you walk away.” 

Nausea twisted in your stomach. A million scenarios of what he could do to you, of what he could make you do, raced through your aching head. This man was sick. Talking to you like you were a lost child and not a potential snitch was just a means coax you into being compliant with whatever he had in mind.

The sensation of his glove against your skin was suddenly overwhelming your sense and you swore you could smell blood beneath the leather. The groves in the material began to spiderweb all over your face, the seam coming undone to close your mouth. No one was around, no one would hear you scream. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” you pleaded with a sob, “Please, I promise I w-won’t say a thing, I’ll f-forget it.” 

“Take a breath,” he ordered, his tone briefly switching to that of a general. You obeyed, squeezing your eyes shut as he caressed your cheek again. 

He knelt beside you, softening his voice again. “You’ve given us no reason to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean we can trust you.” 

You nodded as if you understood. He continued. 

“Where do you live, darling?”

You sucked in another breath, “The Senate district, in the Millenium on Droid Street.” 

“Perfect,” he said. “We own a restaurant just around the block. We’re in need of a waitress.” 

You cracked your eyes open, suspicious. “You’re offering me a job?”

“We need to keep an eye on you,” he explained, standing up again. The way he looked down at you told you he’d be watching you one way or another. Given that you just lost your other job, you weren’t sure you had much of a choice. However, you couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the last waitress. “Unless you’d rather run drugs,” he added, pulling you out of your thoughts. You shook your head profusely. The blood started to smell like vanilla again.

“I think I can handle waitressing,” you accepted. Obi-Wan nodded, pulling you to your feet. He stuck out his hand. You hesitated for a moment, then your sweaty skin felt the lines of his leather gloves just once more for the rest of the night.

A rush of cold ran through you, flooding you with the feeling you’d just sealed your fate.

“Welcome to the family, (yn),” Obi-Wan smiled, patting you on the shoulder. “Now, let me take you home.” 

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 3: The Escape

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: fluff, BANTER, slight injuries, violence, sacrifice (if you squint), bad weather (if that's a warning?), Anakin is a menace, Obi-Wan and Reader get pretty close at some point 👀.

Summary: With your true identity revealed, it's determined that you must accompany Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka back to The Jedi Temple on Coruscant. However, a number of setbacks block your escape from Hoth— some atmospheric, a few mechanical, others tall and hairy.

Song Inspo: Independence Day — Neil Finn

Words: 6.2K

A/n: Thank you for the continued support!! Looking forward to hearing your opinions on this chapter. Remember to comment a request to be added to the taglist if you'd like to be on it :)

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Series Masterlist

‘Tis fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey — Virgil

“Wow.”

Anakin leaned back in Obi-Wan’s former seat, supporting his head with hands nearly intertwined. You watched as the gears turned, his mouth loosely open and eyebrows tensed.

“And you’re…?”

“Yes.” You confirmed.

“And your master is…?”

“Yup.”

“And your eyes are…?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Because…?”

“Yes sir.”

He lifted a hand with a finger loosely pointing in the air, mouth agape before stopping himself. Confusion washed over his expression. You reveled in the brief peace as Anakin returned to his thoughts. But that gift did not last nearly long enough.

“And your…”

“Let’s just assume the answer is yes.” You interrupted while raising a hand to cut him off, closing your eyes in irritation.

You were reaching your wit's end.

“Obi-Wan took this much better.” You murmured, rubbing your temples.

Anakin grumbled, crossing his arms in defense. “Well, Obi-Wan isn’t The Chosen One.”

“Obi-Wan is standing right here.” He gibbed from his perch just beside Anakin’s seat, a hand resting on its ear with legs loosely crossed.

“Well I, for one, am glad we found you.” Ahsoka interrupted from her place crisscrossed on the floor. She locked her mischievous eyes with yours, a smug smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Someone needs to keep my Master in check.”

You beamed brightly, wordlessly thanking her for the support. Then, a sudden spark went off behind her eyes. Her head tilted quizzically at you.

“Wait, how did Qui-Gon find you? I mean, it sounds like The Order had no idea you existed, so it’s not like he could’ve found some record of you.”

You thought of her words carefully, looking up to the ceiling to delve into your memories. The other two Jedi turned toward you expectantly.

“I’m…actually not sure.”

You took a moment, trying to remember any information your Master dispensed about your beginnings.

“When I was very young.” You started. “I once asked Qui-Gon if he was my father. I was still trying to understand concepts like Master and family through my studies. And as the only human I’d known, his presence was very confusing.”

You smiled at the memory of your childlike imagination. “Obviously, he said no, explaining concepts like Master and Padawan and their disconnection from familial bonds. But in that conversation, he told me my parents had passed.”

Anakin nurtured a commiserate expression.

“I’m sorry.” He said in a soft voice.

It was then that you noticed how your story stirred The Chosen One— like dark storm clouds behind his eyes. A saga of sensitivities swirled behind his pupils.

You appreciated his empathy, and conveyed a grateful glance, watching as he nodded with postured stoicism while leaning back once more, arms crossed. Underneath all that brazenness, there seemed to be a very caring individual, you thought to yourself. And he didn’t hide it well.

Dragging yourself from the interaction, you once more delved into your past. You watched the three Jedi as the most likely theory formed.

“If he knew that…that my parents were dead, I assume he must of discovered me around then.” You shrugged at your pervasive cluelessness on the subject. “Or, maybe it was blind luck many years later, much like our first meeting. Who knows? My memories of that time are cloudy.”

“In my experience, there is no such thing as luck.” Obi-Wan expressed, smiling at you with a wise impression.

The corner of your eyes crinkled at his kismet reference as the four of you breathed into the weary silence. These hours of conversation had clearly drained the room of all its energy. It felt as if the previous night’s sleep had been stretched out of you by the very words unleashed into the air.

You were sure the revelation of your destiny and connection to Qui-Gon acted as a fountainhead to the mental fatigue that soaked through the shelter’s inhabitants. Your account was evidently transformative to these Jedi. It presumably forced them to question lifelong-held beliefs about your former Master and The Chosen One prophecy. Qui-Gon was always very clear with you about his efforts to keep you a secret from the Galaxy. You guessed that also meant from Anakin himself.

Maybe that’s why you felt incongruity bubble up within you. It was a strange experience, explaining your purpose in another being’s life without them having any previous knowledge of your existence. And despite the coherence of The Guardian’s destiny, you suddenly felt misplaced. Especially when you observed The Chosen One’s reactions.

Anakin’s furrowed eyebrows and slightly parted lips clarified his stupefaction. Yet just below the surface, you sensed the slightest sliver of tension escape his force. A sort of uncertainty that leaked from his figure.

His sudden arrival was unexpected, mostly because you thought the first contact would be more grand, precise, and deliberate. You believed all your life that one day Qui-Gon would arrive to tell you it was time, only to load you onto a starship with the Jedi Temple as its heading. There, a formal introduction would take place of great fanfare with all of the Jedi masters in attendance. A symbol of The Order’s strength of unity against the Sith in their centuries-long conflict.

But instead, here you were, by the Force’s will, sitting in front of The Chosen One who had just happened to crash land on the very planet you took refuge on. And while you were confident in each word that escaped your breath, your disorientation was still amplified by the shard of doubt that split from him. Qui-Gon wasn’t here to help you tell your story like you always dreamed he’d be. So it was up to you alone to advocate for your place in the Galaxy.

You knew Anakin’s hesitancy stemmed from the sudden discovery of your existence and, mostly, The Guardian’s unexpected tie to him. As you ruminated further, you noticed that it was much like your sudden imposter syndrome. Both of you clearly lacked the tools to approach a discussion of this magnitude.

And it was a strange comfort, knowing that you both felt equally disquiet about this meeting. Maybe the two of you were far more intertwined than you first truly realized.

To your side, Ahsoka’s bright smile was difficult to ignore from her place crossed on the floor. It emanated delight as her eyes ricocheted between you and Anakin, her tilted cheek resting on a fist. You found her to be the most accepting of your connection to Anakin’s path.

In conversation with the three of them, you discovered her to be Anakin’s new Padawan. It clicked that she likely saw you as some positive cosmic influence on the Master she held in high esteem. You were equally grateful for her connection to Anakin. Ahsoka herself seemed like a wonderful young Jedi. You admired her outspoken nature and youthful buoyancy, reminding you of yourself as a young trainee.

It was also reassuring to know that there was another person close to Anakin that you could learn from. After all, to best support and protect The Chosen One, you needed to know him well. Qui-Gon taught you that. And that meant understanding not only him, but his close associates as well.

That too included Obi-Wan, who seemed relaxed, almost grateful, since he fully accepted the truth. His shoulders were loose and eyes hopeful throughout the second rendition of your story. After giving up his seat, the older Jedi stood comfortably by Anakin, silently supporting him from behind. It made sense since you learned he was Anakin’s former Master.

Your inferences were based solely on his outward expressions, failing to register anything he released into the Force. Clearly, once the bearded Jedi recognized your force sensitivity, he found it best to firmly conceal his emotional connection to his signature, much like his other companions. If you had paid more attention to your first meeting with the Jedi, you may have realized his ability to manage this connection to the Force. His heightened control when in the presence of other Jedi would’ve dwarfed the loosened attentiveness he held around non-sensitive beings, as when he shared your company alone in the shelter.

You remember one of your first trainings with Qui-Gon was on this very topic. However, he did not only teach you how to protect your mind. Qui-Gon spent many sessions gifting you the longest and most in-depth lesson you experienced— Force Stealth.

He was always sure to remind you that for many years, it would be your most vital skill. Your former Master chided you on the need to be highly maneuverable in this field of force study to stay alive. Completely hiding your force signature was the only sure way to prevent your discovery by either side, especially the Sith. These Jedi only protected their thoughts, you mused inwardly. But once you realized this, Anakin’s readable distress became particularly perplexing.

Your mind was still saturated with anachronism to think too deeply about these matters.

Yet, you still lacked despondency, despite learning of your late Master’s passing. It had been nearly a decade since you last saw him. Maybe that’s why in the last few years, you occasionally surmised deep down at the base of your subconscious that he’d passed, leaving you stranded on Hoth alone.

But it still felt impossible to believe. Maybe that’s why you were holding it together. Or maybe some part of your heart had accepted Obi-Wan’s words, but it just hadn’t sunk in yet. Or maybe these swirling battles within you were too distracted by the initiation of your prophetic path to land that last punch of unavoidable, bitter truth.

“Well…” Anakin began.

You jolted from your thoughts.

As you registered his questioning intonation, you inwardly moaned, mentally preparing yourself for the next set of inquiries you thought ended a while ago.

He sighed. “There isn’t that much room, but I’m sure we can find space for a fourth in the shuttle’s cabin.” Anakin grinned.

A feeling of delight bubbled in your stomach. In all this time of discussion and deep contemplation, you hadn’t had the chance to really ponder the life-changing ramifications of this meeting. That included leaving Hoth, possibly forever, for the first time in a very long time. It meant meeting new people, a new planet, with a big new city that you’d only heard about through Qui-Gon’s tales. For someone who grew up in isolation for their entire existence, this revelation was overwhelmingly exciting, and somehow nerve-wracking.

“I sure hope so. Last time I checked, there were four seats installed, unless you destroyed one during your repairs.” Obi-Wan jested.

Anakin rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

If the four of you were to leave this planet soon, the state of those repairs would be a determining factor, you thought.

“So I take it the shuttle is fixed?” You inquired.

Anakin shrugged. “Eh, mostly.”

He seemed to notice the apprehension grow on your features as he quickly explained.

“I mean.” Anakin stuttered. “The engines are fixed and the shuttle can take off. But there are a few holes that lead to some important places. So they need to be plugged.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms, seemingly unimpressed with Anakin’s understatement. “I assume you’re referring to the holes in the main hull.”

Anakin sighed despondently. “Yeah.”

This complication certainly posed a roadblock to escape, but it only took a moment for you to realize that the solution was directly in front of you. Or more, all around you.

“Well.” You chewed over your thoughts as you phrased them. “If I won’t be here for much longer, I’m not gonna have much use for this shelter. Could we salvage its parts to seal any cavities?”

Anakin perked up at your suggestion, glancing around at the hull. “I…think that may work.”

“Great!” You clapped your hands, hope radiating throughout your body.

“Let’s get started.”

—

It only took about an hour to determine the shelter’s best specimens, extract them, and then prepare them for transport for the final phase of repairs. Anakin and Ahsoka were quick to load the materials into makeshift bindles constructed from your blanket collection.

You recall commenting on his pace: his evaluation of the manual, the previous restorations, the speed at which he tore out the necessary fragments from the shelter— it was all done in great haste. And his defense of this unwavering initiative was most amusing.

“I hate the snow. It’s like sand, but it gets you all wet.”

Fair enough, you thought.

That was many hours ago. Anakin and Ahsoka had long ago left for the shuttle to complete the repairs, and you and Obi-Wan were now just on the way to join them. You readjusted your grip on the lichen bag once again slung across a shoulder, this time filled with a few possessions rather than a slimy lunch.

As you moved through the new layer of snow that accumulated overnight, you thought back to how difficult it was to ignore the cold chills that scurried down your bare arms in the shelter when you were collecting your things. The exposed snow, apparent due to the missing paneling, destroyed the warming effect of the old ship’s hull.

You never referred to the old ship as your home, knowing that eventually, you would leave that place to start your journey. But that wasn’t your only reasoning. It wasn’t your home because it was a refuge, a place for asylum, for development, to prepare you for The Chosen One’s arrival, without risk of being destroyed by the Sith— at least not before you were ready to face them.

In all honesty, you were still unsure if your training would satisfy the needs of the path ahead. However, the Force seemed to believe you were prepared to begin this quest, so you had to trust in that.

You refocused your memories, thinking back to when you were collecting a few of your favorite holobooks discussing The Old Republic Jedi and the Jedi-Sith War, which you laid out on your desk as you packed. Qui-Gon’s first gift, a navy blue-based blanket with gold shimmers, was neatly folded beside them. As you clipped your lightsaber to your belt and shrugged on your warm Wampa cloak, you allowed your gaze to wander throughout the shelter until it was stopped by a glint from a thin slit in the curtain.

You stared carefully at the item that caught your eye. It hung from the back wall and clearly made its desire to accompany you well known. A breathy laugh escaped you as you shook your head. You ruminated while walking up to take the half-circle metal headpiece. How could you ever forget what you lovingly referred to as your Second Master.

“Is that The Muntuur?” You turned to the voice and were met with Obi-Wan’s expectant demeanor.

“Yes.” You strolled to your desk, Obi-Wan following close behind.

“If the Force believes that it’s prepared me enough to begin my voyage, then it shouldn’t hurt to bring it along. To keep me fresh.”

Picking up the lichen bag, you began to fill it with the laid-out belongings. It was hard to miss the intrigue dripping from the man behind you as you wrapped The Muntuur in the blue blanket. You placed it in the lichen bag, which you sealed shut with the drawstrings.

“Don’t worry.” You reassured. “Although there isn’t time to experiment if we have any hope of reaching the ship before sunset, I promise we’ll find time for the device once we arrive.”

Obi-Wan’s expression brightened at your offer. “I appreciate that.”

Then, a thought crossed your mind. “We are going to The Temple, right?”

He nodded. “Yes, straight to Coruscant.”

When you later left the shelter for the last time, you were faced with your most difficult goodbye.

Meetra was grooming her arm with wet laps when the two of you emerged from the hatch. As you let it fall closed with a thud behind you, the friendly Tauntaun raised her head in curiosity, sniffing the air for any aroma of danger.

You approached Meetra, placing each hand on her neck once more to feel her warm, thick fur.

“This is bye, for now, Meetra.” You cooed, moving your hands to pull her head down, placing a light kiss on her right tusk. “I’m gonna miss you more than you know.”

And with one last pat on her chest, you turned to make your way to the shuttle. Out of the corner of your vision, you noticed an indiscernible emotion resting on Obi-Wan’s face as his eyes peaked at you subtly.

You glanced at his following figure. He quickly acknowledged you with a copy of your bright expression. You observed his fine guise through a pregnant pause before swiveling back toward the path ahead, brushing off the interaction as the two of you continued the expedition.

Now, you both were hours into your trek, trudging through snow troughs and avoiding ice patches as the freezing wind whipped your hair, occasionally blocking your vision.

Obi-Wan seemed to be fairing just as well, a hand blocking his face so that he could see through the falling flakes. It sounded as if the Maker himself was trying to whistle for the first time from the skies.

“Why did you leave the Tauntaun behind?” Obi-Wan projected over the heavy gusts that began to pick up.

“She wouldn’t have found her way home without me.” You called out. “We‘ll be fine on our own.”

Another powerful blast of glacial wind threatened to knock you and Obi-Wan over. You both stood your ground before attempting to continue the trek during a rest in the gusts’ pull seconds later.

“We will see.” He wondered aloud.

Your gaze dropped as you tried to focus on one step at a time. While you’ve experienced the rough Hoth weather plenty of times in the past, you haven’t had to travel through it without Meetra’s help. You knew this planet well, and Obi-Wan was right. If the budding storm worsened, it could not only threaten any non-planetary beings on the surface, but also prevent the shuttle from taking off— at least not without the engine’s stalling.

Glancing up, you were now able to see the ship in the near distance, blurred by the thickening snowfall.

“Hey!” You called out, grabbing Obi-Wan’s attention with a wave. “Only a few more minutes.” You loudly assuaged, pointing at the now upright shuttle in front of you.

He nodded.

You had only taken a few more steps when a high-pitched mechanical squeal permeated the atmosphere. You contorted at the painful drone, covering your ears. Obi-Wan was similarly hunched over, trying to block out the sound. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the uncomfortable tone left.

You turned to Obi-Wan as you regained your posture. “What was that?!”

“I don’t know!” He stepped forward. “We need to get to the ship!”

You nodded as the two of you picked up the pace, much like the volume and intensity of the storm. As you neared the shuttle, Anakin and Ashoka’s figures became clearer in the growing whiteout engulfing the region. Anakin was loosely hanging from the side of the viewport by one hand, his feet swaying, as he finished sealing the hole in the transparent steel with one of your shelter’s panels and a lightsaber. Ahsoka was yelling something unintelligible from below before Anakin readjusted and jumped down to join her, continuing their conversation.

Soon, a kaleidoscope of warm tones caught the corner of your eye, turning your head toward the first sign of the coming dusk. This was beginning to be very bad, you thought to yourself. You started to forcefully jog through the trapping pressure of the snow, Obi-Wan matching your speed.

And in a few moments, their words became clearer.

“…need to get out of here!” You caught the last part of Ahsoka’s sentence as you and Obi-Wan caught up to them. The strong frigid gusts became sonorous, lasting for minutes at a time. Even with the aid of the Force, you were having difficulty keeping your feet planted.

Finally, you found your footing. “What on Hoth happened?!”

Anakin’s head spun toward you. “Who says that?!”

“They do!” Obi-Wan rebuffed. “Now what happened?!”

“I think I triggered some old security system while repairing the last hole in the viewport!” Anakin explained. “It doesn’t matter!”

Darkness started to creep across Hoth’s miles-long white blanket at an almost imperceptible rate, but fast enough to begin sinking this side of the planet’s temperature down to dangerously low levels.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in the land nearby. You took a moment, closing your eyes and breathing deeply to reach out to the impression.

“We need to leave now!” Ahsoka yelled. “If the storm gets any worse we’ll be stuck!”

The energies were large. Towering but swift. A violent rage and cavernous hunger penetrated your senses.

“It may matter.” You whispered to yourself.

You opened your eyes, glancing at Obi-Wan who mirrored your actions.

“Do you sense it?” You asked lowly, but loud enough to be heard over the howling storm.

Obi-Wan faced forward, closing his eyes. It looked as if his nose was being pulled into the distance as he dug into the Force, brows creased and lips pursed.

His eyes shot open at the three of you. “We need to leave, now!” Obi-Wan started to jog toward the shuttle’s entrance on the opposite side, you, Anakin, and Ahsoka hard on his heels.

The dimming light began obscuring your vision.

“What is it?!” Ahsoka questioned.

“A pack of Wampas!” You answered from behind. “Obi-Wan, they won’t let the shuttle take off! We’ll need to deal with them if we have any hope of leaving this planet!”

“It’s too dangerous!” Obi-Wan argued as he lept at the shuttle’s entrance stationed about three feet off the ground.

Landing, he rested a hand on the handle before turning to face the three of you. “Fighting anything in this weather will get us killed. Let alone the number of beings I sense.”

“Doing nothing will get us killed!” You maintained. “In the time it takes for us to prepare for takeoff, they’ll rip the hull to shreds!”

You took a moment to briefly reconnect with the life forms around you, registering how dangerously close the Wampas now were. Suddenly, what sounded like a gurgled scream combined with a deep-bellied roar echoed from a hundred feet away.

Anakin spun in the direction of the cry, grabbing the hilt of his lightsaber.

“Snips, start the engines!” He stared into nothingness beyond the blinding storm, now plunged in darkness. “Yell when we can lift off!”

Igniting his saber, he took a few cautious steps forward, its blue glow reflecting off the snowflakes falling around. You copied his actions, activating your weapon, the gray of your saber blending more with the environment. You listened as Obi-Wan jumped down from the shuttle’s door, landing behind you and Anakin as Ahsoka leapt to the access point and let herself into the ship. The hiss of his saber sounded, it adding to the blue luminescence by casting a subtle shadow of part of your form.

The three of you stood wordlessly while the bellowing wind buffeted each of your cloaks and wheezed past your ears. It was impossible to hear distant footsteps beyond the unrelenting noise, so you focused on your senses and any images gleaned from the sabers’ radiance as the icy chills began to stiffen your muscles.

Out of the oblivion emerged a barely perceptible, large white mass running directly toward you at full speed. In a second, its right claw was poised for attack, a roar of a thousand voices emanating from the bloodthirsty Wampa.

You reacted quickly, vaulting over the beast and slicing off its attacking arm with the shadow of your saber, its wails echoing into the distance. You shifted into a flip mid-air, facing the creature’s wide back in time to lift your saber above your head and stab it, dragging the blade down as you descended. Once you landed comfortably on your feet, you watched the Wampa slump to its knees, letting out one last pathetic wail as its body collapsed into the snow, emptying the air of a little noise.

As if answering the cry, the sound of the shuttle coming online reverberated across the frosty plains.

Anakin relaxed his spine upwards from his attack stance. “That was easier than…”

A clamor of Wampan growls and wails erupted from behind as you whirled around to face them. The sheer number of sprinting giants made their footfalls thunderously loud above the tumultuous drones of the snowstorm. Anakin swiftly crouched back down into an offensive posture while you tightened your stance.

“You always have to speak too soon!” Obi-Wan commented boldly as you watched him raise his saber.

Before you knew it, seven Wampas emerged from the dark snowfall only feet away and headed straight for you.

“Uh, a little help!” You called out.

Anakin and Obi-Wan charged each flank of the pack, taking two each to distract while you dealt with three of the massive snow brutes. Their bodies built for blizzards moved agilely as you struggled against the heavy winds and trapping snow drifts. You were avoiding their blows by mere inches, making it impossible to launch an offensive.

“They seem to like you!” Obi-Wan quipped. He incapacitated one of his attackers with a blade through the side. Its dying cry only seemed to intensify the others’ aggression.

“I don’t think they’re happy that I skinned one of their brethren!” You retorted, referring to the Wampa cloak draped around your shoulders.

Finally, you found an opening to cut off the legs of the leftmost beast, causing it to crumple to an icy grave in a pained howl.

“I believe their anger is more related to a certain piercing alarm.” Obi-Wan sassed while dodging a particularly nasty attempt to bludgeon his head.

Anakin seemed to be faring equally well, having successfully cut off the head of one Wampa and aiming to finish off the other.

“I get it!” He yelled over the battle. “Blame The Chosen One!” You could hear the smirk on his face.

You rolled your eyes, barely missing a swipe at your neck from the deed. You took the opportunity to lob off both of the attacker’s paws, paving the way to kick him with a grunt to the disturbed sleet beneath you.

“Are you sure he’s The Chosen One?!” You called out to Obi-Wan, a wicked glint in your eye. “I thought they’d be more humble!”

“Anakin and humility have never been well acquainted.” Obi-Wan jested. He slashed at his last Wampa’s chest, cutting it down.

Anakin eyed the two of you. “Because I don’t need it!”

He turned.

“Agh!”

And in the momentary distraction, the younger Jedi received a claw to the cheek.

“Obi-Wan!” You sang with a grin. “The Chosen One needs your assistance.”

“Already on it!” He acknowledged. The older Jedi jogged toward the grumbling Anakin behind you.

Finally, another window of attack opened, enabling you to separate the torso from the legs of the last beast standing before you with a quick swipe of your blade.

As you caught your breath, you turned in time to see Anakin and Obi-Wan cut down the final Wampa with two sabers through the stomach, its culminating bellow signaling the end of the battle. The two relaxed, shutting off their lightsabers and attaching them to each belt.

You ambled toward the duo after clipping your own now-deactivated saber. You tried to dust off the accumulating snow on your arms, but most of it had iced over in the dropping temperatures of a Hoth night.

Trying to ignore the numbness of your nerves from the subfreezing temperatures, you looked up, locking your gaze with them as a feeling of levity embraced you.

“I’m The Chosen One!” You mocked in a high-pitched voice, throwing your hands up and scrunching your cheeks. “I could’ve taken the whole pack with my eyes closed!”

“Yes, I believe that’s quite an accurate impression.” Obi-Wan teased with an eyebrow quirked, turning to his former Padawan with a hand gesturing to his point.

Anakin crossed his arms. “You know.” He began nonchalantly. “I could definitely take on a pack with my eyes closed.”

You rested each hand on your hips, leaning into one side with a significant lack of inspiration on your face. As the adrenaline wore off, an unpleasant ache began to pull at your sinuses.

“Let’s go!” The three of you turned your head to Ahsoka who stood in the shuttle doorway, waving you over. “This storm is seconds away from keeping us grounded!”

“About time.” Anakin huffed as he led the way back to the ship, you and Obi-Wan close behind.

You were not a mere two steps into your stride when a weakened growl vocalized behind you. You all turned as the Wampa you kicked rolled onto its knees and began to crawl upwards in all its armless glory.

“Get in!” You advised, grabbing and reactivating your saber. “I’ll take care of it!”

Anakin leapt up to the entrance, landing in the doorway gracefully before turning to you. “Come on!” He argued nonchalantly. “What’s it gonna do?!”

“An armless Wampa can still do a lot of damage!” You challenged. “Trust me, I’ve learned the hard way!”

Whirling around to begin your trot back to the stumbling blob of fur, you called out once more.

“You three focus on getting us out of here!”

You listened as Obi-Wan jumped up to join Anakin on the shuttle, followed by distant conversation. Your saber was readied mere feet away from the creature when the older Jedi called out to you.

“Anakin says we need to lift off now!”

You groaned. “Then take off!”

Swiftly, you plunged your fiery blade into the heart of the beast, killing him instantly.

As the adamant Wampa fell for the final time, you felt the snow pick up around you, a sonorous whirring rumbling from behind. You pivoted just in time to see the shuttle at least five meters above the ground and climbing fast. You charged toward the vessel, its entryway still open with Obi-Wan standing to the side as he peeked out at you, holding the frame for support.

Your feet grew heavier as the water that had leaked into your boots began to freeze. It felt as if the biting cold had calcified your limbs. You couldn’t tell if your vision was blurring due to the thickening blizzard, your persisting headache, or your dropping body temperature.

“Come on!” You looked up at Obi-Wan who had knelt by the door, the shuttle now 15 meters above you.

You continued your labored dash.

“You must jump.” He reached out a hand as you stopped some meters away from the liftoff point.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply as you concentrated on the Force, hoping to melt away the stiffness in your movements and bring back some feeling in your extremities. You had certainly jumped long distances before when training with Qui-Gon, but this would be pushing it.

After shaking out each limb, you glanced up to see that the shuttle had climbed another 5 meters.

Great.

“Jump!” Obi-Wan yelled, reaching his hand out further.

“I know!” You yelled, slightly annoyed.

“I’ll catch you!” He assured.

You huffed, centering yourself in a wide stance. Then, bending your knees and reaching out to the energy around you, you jumped.

Freezing wind blasted your face to the point of losing all feeling. The air pushed back on your body, especially weighing you down by your fur cloak.

Still, the Force kept your trajectory. Some snow flew in your face, but the real culprit was the wind whipping your hair directly into both eyes.

You may have connected to the Power of the Cosmos a little too deeply, because you overshot. Instead of neatly landing in the entryway like Anakin, you collided with Obi-Wan, straddling him on impact as he flew back. He took the brunt of the fall, cushioning your landing with his strong, shielding form. A loud thud echoed throughout the cabin you both met the shuttle floor.

You shook your head, reorienting jumbled senses as your eyes connected with his. Obi-Wan’s flooded with relief, sighing at your somewhat safe landing. It looked almost as if his furrowed brows were scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

You assume he did not find any concerning indications as his expression quickly morphed into a desperate attempt to manage the pain from that rough drop.

“I caught you.” Obi-Wan exhaled, his warm breath tickling your nose.

You couldn’t help the breathy laugh that escaped you, followed by a pained groan when you rolled off him and onto the cold, shaking, shuttle floor.

You kneaded the side of your ribs. It throbbed from a rough meeting with the hilt of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. The bearded Jedi emanated a similar vocalization as he sat up, massaging between his shoulder and neck where you’re pretty sure your leading hand slammed into him.

Ahsoka shot up, stumbling over to the ship’s door before pulling it closed and sealing it tightly with a twist of the handle.

She spun toward you. “Nice jump!”

“Not so nice for me,” Obi-Wan interjected.

You sent him a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“Welcome aboard!” Anakin saluted from the pilot's seat.

You noticed the shallow cut on his cheek had frozen over while Ahsoka returned to her backseat.

“Now, get ready.” He directed. “This is gonna be fun.”

“If I wasn’t seeing stars.” Obi-Wan began. “I would have something to say to that.”

The two of you rose from the floor, having trouble keeping your stance as the shuttle continued to tremble. Obi-Wan stumbled to the co-pilot's seat while you joined Ahsoka, unceremoniously landing in the chair neighboring hers.

The hum of the draft against the hull intensified as you watched the storm worsen, with thicker snowfall and the inklings of hail bouncing off the viewport.

“Hold on!” Anakin exclaimed.

You found it wise to follow that advice.

He pulled down the throttle, pinning the four of you against your seats as the ship shot up. The shuttle creaked and groaned while the outside pressure appreciated. You grew dizzy from the intensifying quakes.

“How old is this ship, again?” You inquired.

“Don’t ask,” Anakin warned.

The vessel broke through a layer of clouds. You wouldn’t have realized had the other side not lightened the darkness you were previously doused in.

The engines began to whine, slowly modulating upwards. The beat of your heart intensified. It would be a miracle if this ship didn’t stall.

“Almost there…” Anakin gnashed.

“My brain‘s gonna turn into jelly,” Ahsoka commented with a woozy tone.

Your grip on the armrests tightened. “Tell me about it.”

You stared at the viewport, watching as the ship tumbled through flying snow and dangerous ice, surrounded by the blacks and grays of the sky. Then, in a mere second, you broke through some thin gloomy barrier, and were met with thousands of bright stars on an endless black canvas.

The shuttle instantly calmed, sailing smoothly and deeper into space. The four of you settled into an eery serenity as you stared out the viewport in awe, having long forgotten what space looked like from inside a starship.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You glanced at Obi-Wan who’d twisted in his seat to face you, an endearing smile gently resting on his countenance. He seemed to have noticed your child-like wonderment. But who could blame you? It was an extraordinary sight, and not something you’d seen very often.

The last time you left Hoth, you were bound for Ilum for The Gathering. But that was many years ago, and you hardly remember it being this bewitching.

Then again, there was a big difference between collecting your Kyber crystal and facing the destiny you’ve prepared your whole life for. That anticipatory element could’ve added to your excitement.

This time, you weren’t going on a short trip. You were leaving for a while. For forever. Disappearing without a trace. Being called by forces unknown who freed you to face a destiny set in stone from the beginning.

And maybe Qui-Gon was out there, somewhere. In the Galaxy or the Force, watching with a smile, as you received his message from a million miles away in the form of three lost Jedi.

Either way, your journey had just begun, and basking in the light of the galaxy felt like a good place to start.

“Yes.” You sighed contently. “It is.”