#I AM NO JEDI CHAPTER THREE

[itstimeforstarwars]

😈

I feel like I shouldn't be encouraging you but I must admit that I have written three pages of Galidraan in the last hour.

[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

[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

[phoenixyfriend]

Soka Takes a Terrorist: Chapter Two

The latest fic in Anakin and the Jedi Babies. Three chapters total.

In which Anakin tries so, so, so hard to be a good dad.

Chapter 2: Consequences

About two thirds of this fic were written by hand on the train while in Japan.

------------

“You are grounded for the next decade,” Skyguy snaps.

Soka is still in bed. Depa and Master Windu are in the next room, and the ‘real’ Mandalorians are all busy with post-battle cleanup—they hadn’t gotten Tor or Pre, but they’d captured a lot of important people and weapons and data—and Soka… is in bed, Ben crawled in next to her.

Shmi is going to be here in three and a half hours,” Ben announces quietly, “less if she drives like buir and uses those boosters she added.”

The ones Mereel and Jango pretend not to know about when the engineers at the hangar complain.

“Thank you, Ben,” Skyguy grits out, “I’m sure she’ll have plenty to say herself.”

Soka tries not to shrink away when Skyguy towers over her bed. She knows she’s in trouble, but she also knows Skyguy would never hurt her.

Even if some of the dreams she’s had, overlaying Pre’s stories of his uncle with the visions she’s had of their ‘training’ sessions, make the sight enough to cause a flinch.

Skyguy hasn’t ever raised a hand against her, but it’s not only her own memories she’s got in her head, these days.

“I am… incredibly angry right now,” he says, and… steps back. “I don’t know what I did to make you scared of me, but no matter how angry I am, I pro—”

“I know!” Soka bursts out. “It’s not you I’m scared of. Or, I guess…”

He kneels by her bed. He takes her hand. He looks her dead in the eyes, and she waits for his words of comfort.

“Then I assume you’re in a place to hear me when I say that I have never been as angry with you as I am right now.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice smaller than she’s ever heard herself. “I didn’t mean to get caught.”

He closes his eyes, and does that thing where he tries to collect himself enough to decide if he needs to leave the room to cool off.

“Getting caught,” he says slowly, “is a fraction of the issue. Getting caught was about skill, and I do not get angry with you about skill.”

Her eyes prickle, but she… but she can do this. “I’m not sorry for trying to help.”

“For trying to h—” he cuts himself off and closes his eyes, and takes a breath. “Sokanth, you are ten years old, snuck out on a self-appointed mission, alone, no backup, no supervision, barely a note to tell me you were gone, and not even letting me know where until it was too late to stop—”

He cuts himself off, eyes scrunching shut, and takes several deep breaths.

“He was worried,” Ben says quietly, as if she doesn’t already know, “we all were.”

She stays silent. She can outlast her father. Probably.

“I was out of my mind with worry,” Skyguy confirms. “You are a child, Sokanth. What the hell were you thinking?”

She can outlast him.

He might actually be getting angrier. “Sokanth. Why did you do this?”

(Continue on AO3)

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 7

prev | next

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.  

[bunny7567]

I got you - chapter 9

Pairing: Rex x Jedi!ofc

Word count: 7.2k Tags/Warnings: canon-typical violence; animal attack and pretty detailed description of killing an animal in self-defense; heavy drinking; 1 mention of underage drinking; Echo needs a hug; Fives would love Chappell Roan, I will not take any criticism on that; Rex gets jelly; some angst and fluff; am i coming out through this fanfic? maybe, don't tell my family; implied emetophobia

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k'uur -  Hush, Be quiet osik - crap, shit Ori'haat - It's the truth, I swear - no bull Di’kut - idiot Vod’ika - little brother, little sister Vode – brothers, sisters Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod? - Are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?

~~~

Lexie was running through the thick forest on the planet Garronn, Fives and Echo close behind her. Her feet were aching and the humid air was making it difficult to keep her breathing under control. They had just been on Felucia a few rotations before this mission and Lexie cursed the fact that they’ve left one jungle planet just to end up on another one.

They needed to reach the pick-up point and they needed to reach it fast if there was any hope of escaping this kriffin’ world during this rotation. There was no telling when another extraction team could get there, the 104th could not remain in the Garro system too long, they were lucky enough as it was they had been close enough to contact in the first place.

The whole mission had been such a shitshow. The lead they were chasing turned out to be a complete bust, Cad Bane had not chosen the Force-sensitive youngling on Garronn as his target. Or maybe Anakin had already intercepted him on Naboo, or he’d been apprehended by Obi-Wan on Rodia. Lexie had no way of knowing, their long-range comms had been scrambled since the moment they landed on the planet.

Lexie did however encounter a small Separatist presence the Republic had not been aware of and, without guidance from the Council, she and the men made the decision to destroy the outpost by themselves. A decision she deeply regretted about now, as they were trying to escape the commando droids chasing them through the jungle. Another bad call as a general.

She really was grateful that Anakin had insisted she took some troopers with her when they split up but, in hindsight, she should’ve listened to him and taken an entire squad with her, it could have made things a bit easier. She doubted she would’ve made it out of that outpost if it wasn’t for Fives and Echo’s assists and she also would not have a way off of this planet had Echo not managed to highjack the outpost comms and contact the 104th.

They really were good, she could finally see why Rex was so proud of the two troopers. This was the first missions where they had worked so closely together, she realised.

“How much left?”, Lexie yelled over her shoulder.

“Two klicks Sir”, Echo’s helmet modulated voice responded.

“I think we lost them”, Fives announced, glancing behind him.

“Finally some good kriffin news”, she said.

The three of them came to an abrupt halt as they reached a steep ravine.

“Fastest route is through down there”, Lexie said after checking the holo-map, and motioned for the two troopers to go on.

The men started the descent before her, Lexie staying on top to make sure the droids would not catch up with them again. Suddenly she felt a shift in the Force and her senses were flooded by an urgent feeling of dread. Her troopers were in danger.

“Echo!”, she heard Fives scream as she jumped down into the ravine, using the Force to control her fall.

As soon as she landed she pulled out her lightsabers, igniting the yellow blades. Fives was shooting his blaster at a massive serpent-like creature, but she couldn’t see Echo anywhere. She looked through the Force, she could feel him, he was still alive, but where? She looked at Fives for an answer. She felt anger, fear and sadness surround his Force signature.

“That thing ate him!”, Fived yelled.

Her head snapped back to the creature and she recognised the species. Garronnian serpent, thank the Force. They swallow their prey whole and digest it over the course of 10 rotations. Once they ingest their prey, though, they become a lot more aggressive. The serpent lunged at her as she attempted to run towards it and she had to jump out of the way. She had to find a way get close to it in order to get Echo out.

“Try and keep it distracted”, she told Fives.

Fives started yelling and moving his hands around, getting the serpent to switch its focus to him. Lexie closed her eyes and tried to locate where Echo was in its body, she had to be careful not to injure him as she tried to get him out. Her mind scanned over the creature and she quickly knew where to cut.

“General…”, Fives’ concerned voice pleaded for her help.

The creature was towering over him, jaw wide open as it prepared to launch an attack. Lexie swiftly jumped in front of Fives using the saber in her left hand to slash vertically into the creature’s belly. The serpent spluttered, moving frantically before hitting the ground. A green, slimy liquid poured from the evisceration site, drenching Lexie and Fives. The smell was absolutely repugnant.

“Help me get him out”, Lexie yelled at Fives as she tried to resist gagging. 

The two rushed to the now dead serpent. They could already see Echo’s hand coming out through the gash and Fives hurried to pull his brother all the way out while Lexie used the Force to widen the opening. Fives fell backwards with Echo landing on top of him as he was finally yanked free from the serpent’s belly. Lexie rushed to them, helping them back to their feet.

“Are you good, vod?”, Fives asked.

Echo slowly nodded and took off his helmet. He was also covered in the slimy liquid and looked extremely nauseous. Lexie’s stomach turned as she watched him gag.

“Don’t you fucking dare throw up”, she warned him. Both men gave her a confused look. “If you throw up, I will throw up. And if you make me throw up I will kill you, do you understand?”

“Y-Yes, Sir”, Echo struggled to respond.

“Put that helmet back and let’s get the kriff out of here before any more of those things show up”, she said through gritted teeth, trying not to gag herself. The smell was undeniably foul.

The 104th was forced to move out of the sector earlier than expected, but fortunately Master Plo Koon was able to spare two pilots and a Nu-class shuttle in order to extract and transport Lexie, Echo and Fives back to Coruscant. It unfortunately meant that they were not able to properly clean the serpent guts off of themselves for the duration of the flight, something that prompted Warthog to not so politely ban all three of them from entering the cockpit.

Lexie was leaned forward on her seat, elbows resting on her thighs, absentmindedly picking at the skin around her fingernails as her mind darted over the last rotations. She had made so many mistakes. Again. From their ship getting blown up by the Seppies, to the failed attempt at destroying the outpost and barely making it out alive, to the damn encounter with that giant serpent, it seemed that every single decision she had made during this mission had been the wrong one. All the confidence in herself that Rex had been helping her build over the last months was rapidly starting to crumble.

“Are you alright, General?”, Echo asked her.

He was sat across from her, helmet rested on his lap. Next to him Fives appeared to be asleep, eyes closed and head leaned back, his helmet discarded on the floor by his feet. They had barely slept since landing on Garronn, so she was surprised to see Echo was awake.

“Yeah I’m just… replaying the mission in my head”, she said quietly.

She wasn’t doing a very good job of masking her emotions. But he had also been getting really good at picking up on her distress over the last few months and was almost as skilled as Rex when it came to encouraging or comforting her.

“We got out alive, that’s all that matters”, he tried to reassure her.

“Barely. I almost got you two killed”, she retorted.

“We all agreed to destroy the outpost. Yes, we should’ve done some more recon first but we still needed to infiltrate it regardless, to comm for the extraction if nothing else”.

“Yeah well, an infiltration mission is completely different. And something I could have done myself without putting you two at risk. I just think Rex will be very disappointed with my decision making”. She regretted that last part as soon as she said it. Why would she admit to thinking about him, to caring about his opinion in front of Echo, in front of anyone?

“Like you could ever do anything wrong in his eyes”, Fives piped up. Turns out he wasn’t sleeping after all even if his eyes were still closed.

“What do you mean?”, Lexie asked narrowing her eyes.

“I mean he basically idolises you. Won’t shut up about what a great Jedi and general you are. It’s always General Khalla this, General Khalla that. It’s a bit annoying sometimes actually”, he said, opening his eyes to look at her, a sly smile on his face.

“Fives, k'uur!”, Echo interjected, giving his brother a look. He and the others all believed the Captain had a crush on Lexie, but straight up letting her know about it wasn’t right.

“What? you know it’s true”, Fives defended, looking at Echo before turning his head back to Lexie. “Even after that first mission when everyone jumped to the worst conclusions he held firm. Would immediately shift the conversation to how you saved his life on Geonosis. All I’m saying is you shouldn’t worry about disappointing him, he thinks everything you do is perfect”.

Lexie just started at him for a moment, unsure of how she could even reply to all that. She decided to laugh it off, but she kept thinking about it for the remainder of their flight. Was it true? Had she somehow tricked Rex into thinking she was this perfect Jedi? She felt guilt creeping inside her. No one should ever idolise her, she wasn’t good enough, she wasn’t strong enough or smart enough to warrant that in the slightest. She will end up letting him down, just like she let down her master, like she let down Anakin on Geonosis, like she let down her mother…

The sun had set right before the three arrived back at the barracks. As they walked away from the landing platform and into the hangar, Lexie could see the clones close by scrunching their noses and turning away from them in reaction to the rancid, rotting smell that was very much still covering the trio. She couldn’t wait to get in the shower and change her clothes. A thought came into her head, wondering if she’d even be able to get the smell out of her clothes or if she should just burn them.

“I need a fucking drink”, Lexie mumbled.

Echo and Fives were right behind and heard her. The two exchanged a look, a question and an answer wordlessly being communicated between them.

“Do you want to come to the 79s with us, Sir?”, Fives asked.

Lexie stopped and turned to look at them, gauging to see if it was a genuine invitation or something they were saying out of obligation. The impropriety of the situation briefly flashed through her mind before it was quickly dismissed. They had already had drinks together, a bit over a month ago in the fresher while Echo dyed her hair, as well as the following day. But she had not been back at the 79s since that night when she first met them. Were the other Jedi going out drinking with their troopers? What would her Master think?

Kriff it.

“I’d like that. After I take like 10-15 showers though”, she replied with a chuckle.

“Agreed”, Echo laughed. “Should we meet outside the barracks in an hour then, General?”

 “Sounds good. But I do have one condition”, she said looking both men in the eye. “You drop the banthashit formalities and call me Lexie”.

Echo nodded and smiled. Fives draped an arm around her shoulders as they resumed walking, heading to the lifts.

 “More than happy to, Lexie”, he said with a grin.

The 79s was not as crowded as the first time Lexie had been there. But then again, it was still fairly early. She knew for a fact a lot of the men from the 501st were just about now finishing running drills, supervised by Rex. She had asked Appo where everyone was after she, Echo and Fives ran into him by the lifts, and he had informed them of the training session that was supposed to run until at least 20:00 hours. The sergeant declined to get into the same lift as them, for obvious reasons.

Lexie thought about stopping by the training level to say hello to Rex, but that was not something she should do while still covered in rancid serpent slime. She hoped she’d have time before heading to the cantina, but she had spent so long washing, and rewashing every part of her body, she had actually been 15 minutes late meeting the boys in front of the barracks as planned. She had thrown on a long-sleeved black tulle dress with black velvet flowery patters and spent a little too long on her eyeliner. Her blue hair was left untied, still a little damp from the shower. But she could swear she still had not gotten the smell out…

She followed Echo and Fives to an empty booth a bit further away from the bar. There were still plenty to choose from, both on the ground floor they were on and upstairs, so Lexie concluded this must be where they usually sit. Echo slid in first, followed by Fives and lastly her. She spotted “501” scratched into one corner of the table and decided she had been correct. She chuckled as she noticed a crossed out “104” right above it, and another, smaller one, also crossed out, on the other corner. On the leg of the table she could also see a few crossed out “212s”, “41s” and also “501s”.

 “The seating situation is a little tricky here. There’s a bit of a passive-aggressive war between the battalions over certain tables”, Echo informed her, having noticed her chuckle.

“Yeah, this is one of the best ones, cause it’s bigger and you have a really good view of the dancefloor. So it’s the preferred location for checking out all the ladies before making a move”, Fives continued. Lexie laughed and Echo shook his head in amusement.

“So what are we starting with? Shots?”, Echo asked, bringing his hands in front of him in a slow clap.

“Shots are good”, Lexie said.

 Fives signalled one of the droid waitresses and ordered three rounds of shots for the table. Since the cantina was still fairly empty it didn’t take long until a tray of small glasses was placed on the table in front of them. The liquid inside was bright orange.

“Care to make a toast, Lexie? Since it’s your first proper night out with us”, Fives said while nudging her slightly with his elbow.

She thought for a second then raised one of the shot glasses.

“Here’s to Echo not being eaten by a giant snake ever again”, she said with a teasing smile, looking him straight in the eyes.

“I’ll kriffin drink to that”, Echo replied only half-amused.

They clinked the glasses and threw back the shots. The sweet, fruity liqueur slowly slid down Lexie’s throat, leaving a pleasant warmth behind. She didn’t remember having this type of shot before and made a mental note of the name. They drank the second and third shot soon after, the warmth of the liqueur intensifying in her throat.

“So what do you boys usually drink when you come here?”, she asked them.

“Tevraki whiskey or ale”, Echo replied.

 “But we can wait and order more drinks later. Don’t want you getting too drunk on us, Lexie”, Fives said teasingly.

“Honey I am Seccayan. I can drink you under the table”, Lexie scoffed.

 “I’d like to see you try”, Fives said, turning his body so he could face her better.

“Is that a dare?”, she asked, feeling her competitive nature bubble up to the surface.

“Yes”.

 “Aright. You’re on”.

 Echo shook his head in amused disbelief.

“Alright. Well, we need some ground rules. We have to drink the same amount of drinks, at least a minimum, it’s not fair otherwise, like if you only have one-two more the rest of the night while I have five”.

“I agree. Let’s settle on a minimum number then”

“Let’s say seven”, Fives said after a second of thinking.

“Seven? That’s all? Honey I had seven glasses of Secca wine when I was 9 years old and left unsupervised during a wedding reception. That is nothing”.

“Then it should be no issue”, he said with a sly smile, while gesturing for the droid to come take their order again. “Three glasses of Tevraki whiskey, and make them double”.

“I did not agree to be part of your alcohol poisoning game”, Echo said as the droid left.

 “Then you can keep count for us”, Lexie said with a smile. Echo shook his head with a laugh.

The droid returned with their drinks and they clinked them again before each taking a sip. The warmth of the whiskey was stronger than the shots had been, spreading through her entire body. The taste wasn’t too bad, very bitter-sweet. It wasn’t her favourite drink but she didn’t hate it either.

Two glasses of Tevraki later, Lexie began to feel the buzz of alcohol, and found herself laughing and talking louder than before. She really enjoyed being in the company of Echo and Fives, both men had a great sense of humour, Echo’s a bit drier, and conversation was flowing smoothly.

“You cannot shorten an already shortened name”, Lexie told Fives with frustration.

 “Yes I can. Lex”, he had been calling her that for the past 20 minutes. “It’s a form of endearment”, he said with a sweet smile.

“But Lexie is already short for Alexis. You can't just shorten it even more”.

“Yes I can”, he said stubbornly, tilting her head towards hers.

“Ok fine! That's it. Five. That ‘s’ in your name? Revoked. You're just five now”, she said, throwing her hands into the air in an exaggerated movement.

“Fine by me, Lex”, Fives said. Echo was quietly laughing at them.

“There you lot are”, a voice came from outside their booth.

 Lexie turned her head and saw Jesse, Kix and Hardcase. They seemed surprised to find her there, offering her respectful nods and an almost collective “General” greeting.

Jesse sat down next to her, while the other two slid in next to Echo, who had to shift more to the centre of the u-shaped bench. This caused Fives to shift closer than actually needed to Lexie, pressing his arm into hers. He wasn’t wearing the upper part of his armor so she could feel the firm muscles under his blacks.

She didn’t mind, the two of them had been getting a little flirtier with each other as they kept drinking, but it was just in good fun. She wasn’t going to let anything actually happen, but she did plan on enjoying the flirty banter for longer.

“When did you return from your mission, General?”, Kix asked her.

“Oh, no no. We’re not doing the ‘General’ osik tonight. Call me Lexie. All of you”, she said as she looked at the three new additions to their table. They nodded and smiled in agreement. “We got back a few hours ago. Had to head straight for the showers before coming here. It was not a fun mission”.

“Yeah, Echo got eaten by a snake”, Fives quipped.

“He what?”, Hardcase asked laughing.

“Ori'haat”, Fives said.

“Can we not talk about it? It was actually really kriffin traumatising”, Echo said a little defensively.

“Aww don’t worry vod’ika. You can sleep in my bunk if you get scared during the night”, Fives teased, leaning closer to his brother and ruffling his hair with a hand.

“Kriff off, Fives”, Echo said, shoving him away. The sudden movement made Fives slam against Lexie’s side, pushing her into Jesse, who was in his full kit.

“Boys, come on. Not wearing armor here”, she said with a laugh, rubbing her right arm.

 “Sorry, Lexie”, Echo said.

“Nice going di'kut”, Fives said, smacking the back of Echo’s head.

 “Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?”, Echo threatened.

 “Okay”, Lexie said lifting from her seat and placing her hands on the table, employing the same tone of voice she used when breaking up disagreements between rowdy younglings at the Temple. “Kix switch with Echo”, she ordered. The two men shuffled awkwardly and switched places. Kix was now placed as a buffer between Fives and Echo.

 “Now… more shots?”, Lexie asked sitting back down.

  “More shots”, Fives agreed with a smile.

Two rounds of shots were ordered for the entire table. Laughter and loud conversation followed. Lexie’s cheeks were starting to be flushed from the alcohol and she rolled up the sleeves of her dress. Hardcase was complaining loudly about all the drills Rex had them run that day and Lexie fought against the urge to ask where he was now and if he was planning on joining them at the 79s. From what she could gather, he was either with Cody, or planned to meet him. Another glass of whiskey was placed in front of her by Fives.

 Her attention was caught by Jesse, who reached over her to nudge Fives and pointed in the direction of the bar. A tall, purple-skinned Twi'lek woman was leaning over the bar, trying to get the attention of the server. Her lekku was covered with strings of sparkling yellow beads that perfectly complemented the bandeau top and short skirt she was wearing. She was stunning.

 Fives wolf-whistled. “I wouldn’t mind going home with her tonight”.

“You and me both”, Lexie accidentally said out loud before taking a sip from her drink.

 Fives and Jesse’s heads quickly snapped from the woman to look at her, an expression of surprise on their faces. On the other side of the table she saw Hardcase tilting his head in confusion, having stopped mid-sentence in his story about one of the training simulations.

“What? I’m bi”, she said nervously. She took a bigger sip of her drink, realisation hitting her that she had never said that out loud to anyone before.

She could practically see the wheels turning in their heads and she rolled her eyes. Men.

Jesse let out a “huh” sound and raised his eyebrows a little. She turned her head to look at Fives. You didn’t even need to be Jedi in order to tell exactly what was going on inside his head, his wide eyes and the stupid grin on his face were doing all the talking.

 “I will not have a threesome with you, do not even ask”, she told him.

 “I thought you said you couldn’t read our minds”, he quipped.

“I don’t kriffin’ need to, nor want to. Whatever thoughts are running through your horny man brain right now just keep them to yourself”, she said gesturing to his head. “That goes for all of you”, she continued, turning to look at Jesse then at Hardcase and Kix, who also had a little surprised smile in the corner of his lips. She was glad to know at least Echo didn’t care about it. He gave her an apologetic smile.

“Well do you want to have a go at it, Lexie, or could I?”, Jesse asked with a chuckle.

“Considering she came to a clone bar by herself I don’t think I’d get anywhere but thanks for asking”, she replied with a laugh.

“Maybe we should let Echo have a go. We still need to get him laid”, Hardcase said, elbowing Echo in the ribs.

Echo looked uncomfortable and shot Hardcase a pointed look while nursing his side. Lexie was about to open her mouth to tell Hardcase to mind his business, but Fives beat her to it.

 “No we don’t. Echo doesn’t want that”, he stood up for his brother.

 “Why?”, Hardcase asked confused.

 “I’m just not into that”, Echo said firmly.

 Lexie caught his eyes and gave him an encouraging smile.

 “Well, less competition for us then”, Jesse shrugged before he got up from the booth and started making his way over to the Twi'lek woman.

“Be respectful and use protection”, Lexie yelled after him, making him turn to give her a look. She and Fives started laughing.

 The 79s was more crowded now, and loud music had replaced the pod racing that was being shown on the holoscreens when they had arrived. The alcohol in her system was making her sway with the music. How many drinks had she even drunk so far? Eight? She downed the remaining liqueur in her glass and leaned more into Fives’ side.

 “Kinda wish I was dancing”, she mumbled.

“We could go dancing”, Fives said, tilting his head towards her.

“We could go dancing!”, Lexie repeated with a grin, meeting his eyes.

She and Fives got up and started heading to the fairly crowded dance floor. She paused and turned gesturing for the others to come as well. Hardcase didn’t waste any time to get up from his seat but Kix and Echo declined, saying they would join later.

The music was loud and energetic and Lexie started moving with the beat. It had been too long since she’d gone dancing she realised, not since before Geonosis. She loved it, she loved moving with the music and singing along with the songs she knew. It felt reinvigorating. She felt confident when dancing, even if she wasn’t sure she was too good at it. But she had drunk enough not to worry at all about how she looked.

She was dancing next to Fives and Hardcase, and were soon joined by Jesse, who had not had any luck with the Twi'lek woman. After two songs she walked back to the booth and dragged Echo and Kix out and to the dancefloor.

Echo was a surprisingly good dancer she discovered, always on rhythm. Hardcase tended to move a bit too fast regardless of the pace of the song. Jesse had draped an arm across Kix’s shoulder, trying to get the medic to unwind a bit more and jump up and down with him. He then placed his other arm over Lexie’s shoulder and the three of them jumped around to the song. Fives was also a good dancer, but he kept “accidentally” bumping into her every now and then; at one point he took her arm and twirled her.

The next song was one that she knew and really liked and so she started singing along to the lyrics. Fives apparently knew the song too and joined in. The two of them were facing each other, all smiles as they sang along. But baby, I like flirting, a lover by my side/Can't be a good, good girl even if I tried.

Fives stepped closer to her, he knew the song, he was waiting for his moment. I really want your hands on my body/A slow dance, baby, let's get it on. He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her close to him. Lexie laughed and placed her hands on his shoulders. He was getting bolder, but she was enjoying it.

Fives pulled here even closer to him, her hips pressed against his own. Lexie instinctively moved against the plastoid of his codpiece, causing him to sharply inhale at the small friction. She should stop, things were getting a bit too heated. But she really was having so much fun.

She rotated herself so that her back was now pressed against his chest, but his hands were still on her hips, swaying them with the music. She raised her arm up and behind her, hand resting on the back of Fives’ head, fingers grasping his hair. She felt his hot breath on the side of her neck as he lowered his head closer to hers. The song ended but they continued dancing in the same position for the next one as well.

“I think we’re in trouble”, he said in her ear before jerking his head towards their table.

Kix and Hardcase had sat back down, taking a break from dancing, but what Fives was referring to was the clone standing in front of the table, glaring at them.

Rex.

The smile left Lexie’s lips as she watched him make his way towards them and she felt Fives’ hands quickly let go of her body. He looked angry.

 “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”, the Captain snarled at Fives as he stopped in front of them. “That is your superior officer”.

“Rex chill, we were just dancing”, Lexie tried to intervene.

Rex flinched at the use of his name. That was not something that Lexie ever did in front of the men. His eyes quickly darted from Fives to Echo and Jesse, who were close by and had stopped dancing to watch the scene unfold.

“General, do really you think it’s appropriate?”, he retorted.

“We have the night off and I’m having some fun. I don’t see anything wrong with it”, she scoffed.

“But you’re a Jedi, this is not how you should behave”.

Lexie’s eyes went wide at his condescension. Deep down she knew he was probably right, but the last days had been so stressful, all she had wanted was to just forget about everything and enjoy herself. And it had been working up until then, pretending to be a regular person, drinking and dancing with friends, and not someone who was responsible for the lives of hundreds of soldiers and for the winning or losing of battles that threatened the Republic itself. Lexie was now furious and it was visible all over her face. She took a step closer to Rex.

 “I am not responsible for falling from a pedestal that you have placed me on”, she said bitterly, jabbing a finger at his chestplate. “I deserve to unwind and have fun just as much as anyone else, even if that doesn’t meet your kriffin’ standards. Do you know how astonishingly bad our mission was? Echo was eaten by a kriffin’ snake. He was eaten! I had to cut him out of its stomach. And I got covered in disgusting, rancid serpent guts in the process. I can still fucking smell it in my hair. I deserve to unwind after the shitshow that was the last three days. So if you’ll excuse me, Captain, I will continue doing just that”.

Rex clenched his jaw. What could he even reply to all that? She turned away from him, grabbed Fives by his hand and dragged him to the other side of the dancefloor.

“Are you ok, Lex?”, he asked. It was clear from the expression on her face that she was very upset.

 “Yeah, let’s just keep dancing”, she forced a smile. “Please”.

 Rex was sat with Kix at their table, his eyes glued to Lexie as she was still dancing and laughing with Fives, Echo, Jesse and Hardcase. They had only stopped a few times in the past hour in order to head to the bar and do more shots.

He felt so angry, mostly at himself. Lexie was a grown woman, of course she was capable of making her own decisions and entitled to act however she wanted when she was off duty. What the hell was he thinking trying to dictate how she could or couldn’t behave? She did not owe him anything, no matter how much it hurt to see Fives’ hands all over her body.

 His grip tightened around the drink in front of him as he struggled to understand why he was feeling so angry. He tried to tell himself that he only thought of Lexie as a friend, but the pit that would form in his stomach every time he glanced over and saw her dancing with Fives or Jesse… Rex realised it might be time to admit that his vode had been right. He did have a crush on her.

“Did you think he would just wait forever for you to make a move?”, Kix’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

“I don’t know what you mean”, he replied dryly.

“Sure you don’t. Just like you don’t look like you want to murder Fives either”, Kix quipped.

Rex shot the medic an irritated look.

 “Nothing happened yet, you know. She’s been dancing a lot with him yes, but she’s also danced with me and with the others. You still have time to do something”.

 Before Rex could reply, Jesse appeared next to Kix and started dragging him out of the booth as “their song” came on and he had to come dance with them. Kix tried to protest that he’d just sat back down, but his brother wouldn’t hear it. Rex lifted his eyes from his drink and saw Lexie by his side.

 “Come dance with us, Captain”, she said with a small smile. She had been looking over at him every now and then as she was dancing and hated the sour mood he was in. She was beginning to think she had been too harsh with her choice of words and wished to now make peace.

 “Good luck with that”, Jesse told her with a laugh. “I have never seen Rex dance”. He and Kix left for the dancefloor.

 “Rex. Please”, she said extending her arm to him.

  He shouldn’t.

  “I’m sorry I snapped, it’s just been a really stressful mission”, she continued, slurring her words a little.

“No, I’m sorry Lexie. I shouldn’t have said what I said”, he said as he reluctantly took her hand and stood up. He hated that he had upset her.

She squeezed his hand slightly trying to convey she was no longer upset with him before leading him to the dancefloor. Hardcase and Fives enthusiastically cheered as he and Lexie approached the group, while Jesse, Kix and Echo exchanged a look. The Captain never danced. No matter how many times they had tried to convince him, no matter how many women had asked him to dance with them, he never danced. And yet it had taken their general less than five minutes to get him out of the booth and onto the dancefloor.

Lexie placed her hands on Rex’s shoulders. Her eyes were a bit unfocused due to the alcohol but she managed to hold his gaze. Rex placed a hand on her waist and attempted to awkwardly mimic the way her body was swaying with the music. He was not good at this, he had really never danced before, but from the smile on her face it didn’t seem like she cared. His eyes had softened, and he was completely ignoring the looks his vode were giving him. His attention was solely on her.

 A slower song came on and Lexie smiled at him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, moving closer and resting her head on his shoulder. Rex placed his other arm on her back and leaned his head towards her, resting his cheek on her head. He took a breath in, inhaling the sweet, floral smell of her shampoo. He knew this was inappropriate but the way she felt in his arms… He was making her happy by dancing with her, and that was making him happy. All he wanted to do was see her smile and hear her laugh. She was so important to him, he realised.

Fear started to settle into his mind; this felt much, much bigger than a simple crush. The relief he felt when the song ended was visible on his face and Lexie looked at him with a confused expression. He excused himself and walked back to their table.

It was late into the night now, and the group was sat back down at the table, with Lexie and Fives being the last to join. Rex had shot up from his seat earlier as he watched the two of them stumble and fall to the floor while laughing and he had decided they had enough dancing, marching over and dragging them back to their seats. The two had plopped down on the bench, still laughing, with Fives leaning a little too much into Lexie’s side. Rex sat down next to Echo on the other side of the table.

 “Why the hell did you let Fives get her so drunk?”, Rex asked Echo in an irritated tone.

“Fives didn’t force her to drink. She is just as bad as he is, honestly”, Echo replied.

“Hey! I heard that”, Lexie replied. She pushed Fived off of her and into Jesse’s side and got up, hands on the table and leaning over it to get closer to Rex. “And I am not as bad as Fives. I am much, much worse”, she grinned.

“I’m starting to believe that”, he mumbled as he watched her lose her balance and practically fall back into her seat.

 Lexie looked to her left, wanting to say something to Fives, only to discover that he had passed out on Jesse’s shoulder. A wide smile spread on her face.

“Guess I won”, she said looking over at Echo.

“You did. And I will make sure he never hears the end of it, don’t worry”, Echo replied amused.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for tonight”, Rex said looking from Fives to Hardcase who seemed close to passing out himself.

The group started heading out of the 79s, with Echo and Kix having to carry Fives, supporting him over their shoulders. Jesse was walking close to Hardcase, making sure he didn’t trip and fall, leaving Rex to walk by Lexie’s side.

She and the Captain had to stay back, as they could not all fit into the first air taxi. Lexie tried with no luck to get Rex to talk during the ride back to the barracks but the atmosphere seemed very tense between the two of them. Lexie’s mood quickly deflated. She had done it, she had shown him who she was and he was disappointed in her.

She stumbled as she got out of the taxi and Rex caught her by the waist before she fell. Lexie was starting to feel very embarrassed, her inhibitions returning as she was slowly sobering up. The silence was killing her as Rex walked her back to her room but she could not think of a single thing to talk about. Even worse, she was beginning to feel very nauseous and most of the focus was directed to keeping her jaw tightly clenched and willing herself to not throw up.

She immediately entered her room and went straight into the fresher, panic flooding her senses. She hated throwing up, it was the worst feeling in the galaxy for her. She would rather have droids shoot her with live blasterfire than have to throw up. Her right hand was gripping the sink, her knuckle turning white. She just had to focus and not allow herself to get sick.

“Are you okay?”, Rex asked from the doorway of the fresher, concern evident on his face.

 All Lexie could do was slowly shake her head. She refused to open her mouth even to speak.

“Do you want me to stay?”, he asked quietly.

 She nodded reaching her left hand for his. He took her hand and squeezed it lightly. Over the next half hour neither of them budged from when they were stood, the only movement being made was when Lexie would squeeze his hand harder during the moments she felt close to throwing up.

Finally feeling a little better she made her way to her bed, sitting on the edge. She quietly watched as Rex took off the upper part of his armor, just as he had the last time he stayed in her room all those months ago. He had kept watch as she slept for six nights before she felt safe to sleep alone again. She hated having to admit to herself how happy she was to have him in the room with her again.

“You can just sleep on the bed you know”, the alcohol still in her system prompted her to say as she saw him reach for the chair.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea”, he said hesitantly.

“It’s fine, it’s big enough”, she said as she laid on the bed on her side and shuffled close to the wall.

That wasn’t what he meant and she knew it, but decided to ignore it and pat the spot on the bed next to her. He hesitated. If he agreed, he would cross so many lines. But he would get to hold her in his arms, to be close to her. And he wanted to do it, Maker he really wanted to.

He laid on his back on the bed and did not protest when Lexie snuggled into his side, resting her head in the crook of his neck and her right hand on his chest. He had moved his arm to allow her to settle comfortably and once she had, he placed it around her, hand coming to rest on her waist. He was suddenly so nervous and exasperated to realise how fast his heart was beating.

 “What are you thinking about?”, she asked. She sounded tired.

“Nothing. Just go to sleep, General”, he replied trying to keep a level voice.

“Something is bothering you. It’s just us two but you just called me ‘general’”.

“It’s just… you and Fives seemed very close tonight”, he said after a long pause.

“Are you jealous?”, she asked with a chuckle.

 “What? No. It was just an observation”, he said defensively.

“You don’t have to worry, you’re still my favourite”, she said lifting her head, eyes finding his.

“I’m your favourite clone?”, he said amused, tilting his head in order to look at her.

“You’re my favourite person”, she admitted.

 Rex’s eyebrows shot up in surprised before a genuine smile appeared on his face. She really saw him as a person, as a sentient being and not just an expendable soldier. He had felt that of course, she treated him and his brothers with respect and it was obvious she cared about them, but to hear her say it, to hear her say that he was her favourite person, out of everyone she knew. He felt so happy. She made him so happy. He squeezed her a little tighter into him.

 “You’re my favourite person too”, he said quietly.

Lexie was struggling to keep her eyes open, the alcohol and exhaustion from dancing finally catching up with her. She felt the happiness pouring around Rex and smiled, resting her head on his chest. Her eyes fluttered closed, but before she drifted off to sleep she was almost certain she felt Rex’s lips gently placing a kiss on the top of her head.

[thechaoticfanartist]

She seemed so small now as she slept on his shoulder, and she looked as young as she was, but tired too.

This wasn't the same girl he had taken in as his padawan when the war had only recently begun.

Over the years, she had changed and grown.

In the course of three years, Grim had become a great Jedi, and if their lives had not been taken, Obi-Wan had no doubt she would only become an even greater Jedi.

But their lives had been stolen, taken away by the Sith.

"Rest now, little one," he told his sleeping Padawan. "You did all you could, I am proud of you." In her sleep, she smiled, and despite the grief in his heart, Obi-Wan smiled as well.

-The Clone Wars Gets A New Victim, Part IV: The Storm, Chapter 40: A Spark Of Light

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @starlonkedd @andorlorian @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @traygaming @keoxus @veiled-in-stars @sentineljedi @spicysucculentz @amelia-song-pond @it-was-rose @thejediprincessqueenofnaboo @veradragonjedi @arrthurpendragon @shrinkthisviolet @thebrainofocto @forloveofcodywan @mandalorian-general

[legacygirlingreen]

I: "The Rescue"|| Commander Wolffe x OC Perdita Halle

Author's Note: Finally got around to editing this part... I am excited to kick things off with a beefy flashback. Unfortunately the early stages of their story will be a bit disjointed. Eventually time will catch back up to their life after the prologue, but I wanted to lay some ground work for Wolffe and Perdita. Thanks again to @leenathegreengirl for the lovely cover art for this chapter, showing Wolffe with his two natural eyes and Perdita's! I hope you all enjoy, I'll link the prologue to this if you missed it, and let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. ~ M

Pairing: Wolffe x OC Perdita Halle

Word Count: 13.5k+

Warnings: mentions of nearly dying, illusions to religious trauma (the jedi suck tbh), mentions of loss/grief

Summary: When all hope is lost, a mysterious figure comes to Wolffe's rescue...

Masterlist || Previous Section || Next Section (Coming Soon!)

Perdita had been doomed from the start when it came to the Jedi Order. It was a miracle they had ever accepted her at all. The Jedi were a people bound by their strict code, where attachments were seen as a dangerous weakness, and only the young children—those with little to no memories of their families—were chosen for training. They had long been wary of the emotional baggage that came with deep bonds to others, believing that such attachments would cloud judgment and lead to the dark side.

But Perdita’s species, the Kage, presented an unfair conflict—a unique struggle that she had carried with her her entire life. Unlike most beings, the Kage were born sentient, with complex and fully formed minds from the moment of their birth. Their memories were sharp, vivid, and long-lasting, capable of recalling even the smallest details from infancy.

Though Perdita had been brought to the Jedi Temple at only three years of age, she was not the blank slate the Jedi were accustomed to. She carried with her three full years of memories of her home world. She could still see the lush, rich purple landscape of her birthplace, the towering spires that punctuated the horizon, and the deep violet horizon that stretched endlessly above. She could feel the heavy weight of the planet’s atmosphere pressing down on the tunnels where her people lived—an ever-present force, almost comforting, like a warm embrace.

She remembered her mother, with her soft hands stroking her brow as she tucked her in at night, whispering gentle words that still echoed in the recesses of her mind. And her older brother, agile and wild, climbing the towering spires with an ease that Perdita had always admired. 

It was these memories, these emotions, that the Jedi Order had never fully understood. To them, Perdita’s past was a burden, something that could jeopardize her ability to serve the Order without the distractions of personal attachments. They had taken her in regardless, but the struggle between her nature and the Jedi code had always been an internal battle, one that never truly ceased. And though she had grown up learning to suppress those memories, to bury them beneath layers of training and discipline, they lingered—persistent and undeniable.

Perdita’s mind wasn’t just uniquely capable of recalling complex memories—her gift extended far beyond what most would expect. Not only could she vividly recall her own experiences with remarkable clarity, but she also had the ability to reach out through the Force and pull in memories that were not her own. By extending her consciousness, she could tap into the echoes of others' pasts, drawing out their hidden knowledge and experiences. It was a rare and extraordinary gift, one that allowed her to uncover information that most others couldn’t even fathom.

This skill proved invaluable in the field of tracking. Unlike traditional methods of pursuit, Perdita could search for clues not only in the physical world but in the very fabric of the Force itself. By reaching out and connecting to the impressions left behind, she could see traces of someone’s movements, their intentions, their very essence—memories lingering like faint whispers in the ether. It was a method that allowed her to find those who had lost their way, those who had vanished without a trace.

This very ability had been the reason she was called upon to assist in the hunt for General Grievous’s latest secret weapon. The stakes were higher than ever, and the Jedi had learned quickly that Perdita’s unique talents were a tool they could not afford to overlook. With her ability to track through the Force, there was hope that they might locate the weapon before it could be unleashed upon the galaxy. Yet, as she prepared to dive into the mission, a familiar unease stirred within her—a reminder that even the most useful abilities could come at a personal cost, especially when they forced her to confront the very attachments she had worked so hard to suppress.

Stationed alongside General Skywalker and his new Padawan, Perdita had been a silent observer, watching as Master Plo Koon’s transmission had gone dark with the fleet after briefly making contact about tracking the secret weapon. The transmission had been short, but enough for them to glean its location before the connection abruptly severed. It was a moment that had sent ripples of uncertainty through the ranks, and in the quiet that followed, Perdita had found herself reflecting on the situation, her thoughts drifting back to the Jedi she knew and admired.

Master Plo had been more than just a wise Jedi; he had been a dear friend to her own Master, a bond forged through years of shared experiences and mutual respect. It was a relationship that had endured even after her Master’s untimely death—a loss that had left an undeniable void in her heart, a piece of her spirit fractured by the absence of one she had trusted so deeply. The grief from that loss had never fully faded, though time had done its best to smooth the sharp edges of her sorrow. In his own quiet way, Master Plo had been a source of comfort during those dark times. He had never shied away from acknowledging the struggles that came with being a Jedi, particularly in a war that demanded so much.

Master Plo had always shown her kindness in ways that others in the Order could not—or would not. In the privacy of shared moments, he had confided in her, admitting that he too had struggled with the very things she faced. The tension between compassion and attachment was something he understood all too well, perhaps more than any of his peers. It was a duality he had learned to live with, the lines between them so fine and blurred that they often became indistinguishable. He had spoken of the weight of that knowledge, of the difficulty of reconciling the Jedi Code with the innate need to connect, to care for others.

"Compassion is not the same as attachment," he had told her once, his voice soft, yet firm. "But in the depths of our hearts, the difference can feel almost impossible to discern."

Those words had stuck with her through the years, particularly in moments when the conflict within her became unbearable. In Master Plo’s aura, she had seen a reflection of her own struggles—a recognition that she was not alone, even in her darkest guarded secrets. And yet, despite the comfort of his words, there was always a lingering question in Perdita's mind: could the Jedi truly ever understand the complexities of the heart, or were they forever destined to struggle with the boundaries between duty and the natural need for connection? It was a question that gnawed at her, especially as the war raged on, and as she watched the galaxy slowly unravel around her.

Now, with Master Plo's fate uncertain and the pressure mounting to locate the weapon before it could wreak havoc, Perdita was forced to confront the very thing that had always haunted her: could she truly let go of the people she had cared about, the bonds she had formed, in the name of duty? Or would the compassionate side of her, the one that had been nurtured by the memory of her Master and by Jedi like Plo Koon, ultimately lead her down a path that defied the very code she had sworn to uphold?

She supposed that, as with most things, time would be the deciding factor.

As Anakin tried to slip away quietly, Perdita followed closely behind, her instincts telling her he was on his way to defy the Council’s orders. She knew him too well. Despite his tendency to act on impulse, she couldn’t fully fault him. He was the Chosen One, the one who would fulfill the Jedi prophecy, and because of that, he was afforded privileges that the rest of them—herself included—could only dream of. No matter how many times he bent the rules, Anakin would always be given a pass, his actions excused by his destiny.

Perdita, on the other hand, had never been so fortunate. No matter how hard she tried, she was frequently reprimanded for the way she navigated the complex teachings of the Jedi Code. She had always struggled with the balance between duty and attachment, between compassion and detachment, and her methods were often seen as unorthodox. Yet, despite the Council’s judgment and her own doubts, one thing remained clear: she wasn’t about to let Anakin go off to search for Master Plo. Not without her.

“I’m coming with you,” she stated bluntly, her voice firm, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Anakin’s sudden movement—his body lifting skyward in surprise—was all the answer she needed. She’d caught him off guard, just as she’d intended. His expression shifted, one of frustration mixed with a trace of reluctance. She could see the conflict in his eyes; he knew he wasn’t supposed to be acting on his own. But the same fire that drove him to defy the Council also made him appreciate the rare few who were willing to stand by him when the path ahead seemed too treacherous to walk alone.

“Why?” he asked, his voice laced with surprise but also a hint of amusement.

“Because,” she said, her gaze steady, “you’ll need all the help you can get—and it’s been a while since I got a reprimand from the council. Figured it’s long overdue, don't you agree?”

Anakin paused, his eyes scanning her, reading the resolve in her stance, and for a moment, it was as if the tension between them dissolved. It wasn’t the first time they’d shared an understanding, though they rarely acknowledged it aloud. She wasn’t just another Jedi. She was someone who knew the burden of walking a path fraught with difficult choices, someone who understood the weight of the Order’s expectations. One of the few with memories of her childhood as he too struggled. 

"Welcome aboard," Anakin said with a smirk, his tone laced with mischief. "Ahsoka's already called dibs on co-pilot."

She raised an eyebrow, scoffing as she stepped onto the ship platform beside him. "The fact that the Council even gave you a Padawan is a miracle unto itself," she retorted, her voice dripping with incredulity.

Anakin chuckled, his smirk widening as he adjusted the controls, clearly unfazed by her jab. "You’re not the first to say that, and you won’t be the last," he replied, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. 

Perdita was quiet for a moment. Watching Anakin with Ahsoka—how effortlessly they seemed to work together, how there was an unspoken understanding between them—reminded her of the emotional distance she often felt, even with her closest allies. She had never been given the privilege of a Padawan, nor had she ever considered taking one. There was something inherently personal about the bond between master and student, and she wasn’t sure if she could form that connection without compromising her own sense of self.

"Where was Master Plo’s fleet stationed again?" Perdita asked, stepping aside to give the younger Togruta a clear path to the seat next to Anakin.

"Abragado system," Anakin replied quietly, just as the door slid open. Ahsoka appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of annoyance and impatience as she flopped into the seat with little ceremony.

"Alright, I’m ready to scout ahead," Ahsoka declared, her tone laced with both determination and a hint of frustration. It seemed Anakin had conveniently forgotten to inform his Padawan about the mischievous true nature of their mission. Perdita couldn't help but smile at the thought. The pair was certainly... unorthodox. The kind of team that thrived on spontaneity and defied the conventional rules of the Jedi Order. It was both endearing and dangerous.

"I'll be meditating. Let me know if anything comes up," she said, her voice calm but firm as she turned toward the wall panel. She stepped away from the group, heading toward the hull, giving them the space they needed to process the reality of their actions without her interference. Sitting on the floor, Perdita folded her legs, recalling the details of Master Plo in an effort to locate him within the force… 

•—⟪=====> 

Storms were a rare occurrence on Coruscant. The bustling city-planet, with its endless lights and thick smog, didn’t foster the kind of atmosphere that would produce precipitation—or the howling winds that now swept through the streets. Yet, as the ship touched down after their harrowing return from Geonosis, it felt as though the planet itself was mourning. The violent winds seemed to echo the grief that hung heavy in the air, as if Coruscant, too, was grieving the loss of so many Jedi.

Perdita had been swiftly escorted to the Council upon their arrival at the Temple, the weight of the battle still heavy on her shoulders. “Congratulations,” they had said, their voices steady but distant. They told her the battle had been her trial, that she had passed, and that she was no longer a Padawan. The words felt almost hollow in the aftermath of so much loss, but she stood there, unblinking, as Master Fisto stepped forward to sever the braid that had marked her as a learner. It was a rite of passage that should have been performed by her own Master, but he was gone—fallen in the arena, like so many others, reduced to ash and blood. The ceremony, once a symbol of growth and achievement, now felt like a bitter reminder of the life she had lost.

In that same arena, when hope seemed all but extinguished, they had arrived. The roar of gunships filled the air as they descended, and Perdita had watched as squads of men, armored from head to toe, emerged ready for battle. No one questioned their arrival, no one questioned their purpose. In the chaos of the moment, there was only survival—and she had been thrust into their ranks, quickly learning that these men were not just soldiers; they were clones. Created for war. Created to fight. They didn’t have the luxury of choice. They followed orders, without question, without hesitation.

But now, with the literal dust settling, and her promotion complete, the questions began to creep in. Questions about duty, about what came next, about where she fit in a galaxy that seemed to be falling apart. The weight of it all pressed heavily on her chest, and the ceremony—though a mark of her achievement—felt like a formality, a reminder of all that had been sacrificed. She needed space. She needed silence.

And so, when the opportunity presented itself, Perdita slipped away, her emotions swirling like the storm outside. The courtyard was empty, save for the relentless fury of the rain and wind. She didn’t mind the storm. The storm outside matched the storm in her mind—chaotic, violent, and full of unresolved anger, sorrow, and fear.

Her gaze lifted to the sky, the sheets of rain blurring her vision as she sought some kind of solace in the tumultuous weather. But all she felt was an overwhelming sense of loss—the loss of her Master, the loss of so many others, and the loss of her own sense of purpose in the wake of it all. Jedi were meant to be peacekeepers. What would happen if they now were forced to lead men into battle? The Jedi Code had taught her to suppress emotions, to detach. But in this moment, as the wind howled around her, Perdita couldn’t help but feel every single one of them.

"I knew I'd find you here," came the calm, familiar timber of a voice behind her. Perdita didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. She recognized the voice instantly, as well as the steady presence it carried. It was Master Plo, and the words he spoke were laden with the kind of understanding that could only come from shared grief.

His student, like her own master, had been struck down in the arena. The thought of it still twisted her insides. The four of them had often trained together, or traveled on specific assignments during her time as a Padawan—Moments of camaraderie and mutual respect, forming a bond forged in the fires of battle. She had known his student nearly as well as she had known her own master, their relationships built not just on duty, but on trust. Now both were gone.

It felt like a cruel twist of fate—two warriors, once so sure of their purpose, now left to navigate a galaxy that no longer made sense. She, without a master, and he, without his student. Both left behind to pick up the shattered pieces of what had once been, each holding together their own fractured pieces of humanity under the heavy scrutiny of the Jedi Council. To grieve was to show weakness, and that was something neither of them could afford, not now.

She felt his presence beside her, a quiet understanding that seemed to hang between them like an unspoken bond. They were two sides of the same coin, each carrying the weight of their loss in silence, never allowing it to fully surface in the light of day. The Jedi Code demanded it. Their mission demanded it. But in the solitude of the storm, far from the eyes of their peers, they didn’t need to speak. They both understood too well the painful burden of sacrifice.

Perdita closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to breathe before speaking, her voice soft but firm. “I didn’t expect anyone to follow me.”

“You should not isolate yourself in this. It is only natural to feel what you do,” came his reply, steady as ever, though there was a quiet sadness behind it. Yet, despite all the walls they had built around themselves, there was no escaping the fact that they were both mourning, in their own ways, the loss of those they had cared for and fought alongside.

“What will happen to them?” she asked quietly after a moment, her gaze fixed on the swaying branches of the tree in the courtyard, the rain blurring her view. The storm outside mirrored the storm within her, and in the midst of her grief, she found herself seeking distraction, a way to push away the overwhelming emotions.

“They will become part of the Force,” he replied, his voice steady, carrying the calm certainty of someone who had accepted the inevitable.

"No," she corrected, her voice sharp with the intensity of her question. "I mean the Clones."

“I believe the Senate is set to vote on authorizing the use of the clone army to combat the growing threat of the Separatists,” he explained, his voice tinged with a subtle hesitation. “However, the Jedi remain wary of how the clones came into existence.”

“I thought the Republic outlawed slavery,” she scoffed, disbelief evident in her tone.

“They did,” he replied, his voice flat, understanding the gravity of the comparison she was making. He knew exactly what she was getting at—the clones’ situation was eerily similar to that of slaves. They were created to serve, to be controlled, with no autonomy. Their existence would be confined to the demands of the Republic, bound to a life of rigid structure with no freedom of choice. And to her, that felt far too close to slavery for comfort.

“The hypocrisy of that governing body knows no bounds,” she snapped, the frustration in her voice unmistakable. She paused, her expression darkening as the weight of the situation settled deeper into her bones. With a weary sigh, she continued, “What does the Jedi Council say on this matter?”

“Many believe that, given the escalating threat, it is the appropriate use of force to employ the clone army,” he replied, his tone measured, though tinged with a quiet bitterness.

She arched an eyebrow, not entirely satisfied with the response. “And you?” Her voice held an edge, a challenge beneath the words.

He hesitated, his gaze lowering, as though the question itself carried a weight too heavy to bear. "I was dismissed," he said, his voice quiet, defeated. "But you know as well as I do that when the Republic calls, the Jedi answer. Even when the answer is one we don’t agree with."

The air between them grew thick with the unspoken truth. She could feel the pull of his inner conflict—the contradiction of his duty and his conscience.

“If we are to serve with these men,” he continued, his words now more resolute, though his expression remained troubled, “then it will fall on the shoulders of those like you and me to treat them with the dignity and respect they deserve. They may have been created to fight, to serve, but that does not mean they should be used like tools. They are living beings, not weapons.” He paused, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that spoke volumes. “And when the time comes to end this conflict, we must ensure they are freed from this bond of servitude, released into a life of their own choosing. They deserve that much, at the very least.”

The words hung in the air, a shared vow between them—a promise to protect the clones not just as soldiers, but as individuals with their own rights, with their own futures. In that moment, the burden of leadership weighed heavily on both of them. The galaxy may have been at war, but there was a far more personal war raging inside each of them, one that demanded they fight for what was right, even when it was the hardest thing to do.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ𓃥✧:･.:

Wolffe was thankful that Master Plo and the others had exited the pod to fight, leaving him behind to maintain the signal. Though he was frustrated by being sidelined from the fight, confined to the restrictive, itchy military officer uniform instead of his familiar pressurized armor, there was a small relief in the solitude. It spared him from having to mask his rising panic in front of the others.

No one would come for them. The thought gnawed at him, sinking deep into his bones. It was a bitter truth he couldn't escape. This was it. The end. They were adrift in the vast emptiness of space, with nothing to save them. The oxygen supply was dwindling, each breath becoming more strained, more desperate. He could already feel the air growing heavier, the tightness in his chest as he inhaled, as if the very atmosphere was suffocating him.

The pod was drifting farther from hope, isolated and fragile. It felt as though time had slowed, each second stretching painfully as the reality of their situation settled in. Wolffe's mind raced, trying to calculate, to find a way out, but there was nothing. The stars outside were cold, distant, and unforgiving. He could almost hear the quiet hum of the dying systems around him, each soft flicker of the lights another reminder of their inevitable fate.

He should have been with them. Out there, with the others, fighting for survival. But instead, he was trapped here, alone with his thoughts, and the crushing weight of failure.

As Wolffe continued to wait for what felt like his inevitable end, his mind drifted back over the course of his life. Most of it was a blur—an endless procession of drills, training exercises, and sterile routines. Kamino had been a cold, unfeeling place. The bland food they were served never seemed to satisfy, and the strict, regimented schedules ensured there was no time for personal indulgence or freedom. Regulation haircuts, the endless rain, the never-ending monotony—it had been all he knew, all he had ever known.

Then, like an unexpected interruption in the rhythm of his existence, the Jedi arrived. They were... strange, even by his standards. Warriors of Peace—a contradiction unto itself? Their purpose seemed at odds with their very nature, yet somehow it made sense. They were not like the clones in any way. Where the clones were bred for war, molded into soldiers from the start, with little to no variation. Same face, same body, same resolve. The Jedi were individuals. Their uniqueness was striking—different ages, genders, species. There was no uniformity among them, beyond the rigid structure of their religion. 

If Wolffe hadn’t seen so much of the impossible in their presence, he might have dismissed it as nonsense. But in the face of the things he had witnessed—things that defied logic—he couldn’t bring himself to deny the reality of it. The Force was real even if he didn’t truly understand how it worked beyond allowing the jedi to maintain impossible feats.

Initially, there had been a division between the Clones and the Jedi, but over time, Wolffe had come to see that they could coexist. When he was planet-side, there were conversations with fellow leaders about their Jedi Generals. Some of those generals were kind, empathetic, while others were more dismissive, more focused on the path to victory than the lives of the soldiers they commanded. Yet, the more Wolffe had worked alongside the Jedi, the more he had come to appreciate those who truly respected the men they led.

Plo, with his wisdom and compassion, had never seen the clones as mere tools. He had seen them as individuals. Wolffe admired him greatly for it. He had been one of the few who could see beyond the battlefield, who could understand that the clones were not just soldiers, but beings with thoughts, emotions, and desires of their own. He’d been one of the first Wolffe knew of to use their names, not numbers, even encouraging each of his men to think of what they wish to be called. 

Yet for all his remarkable qualities, Plo had always seemed a bit too optimistic. Wolffe couldn’t shake the feeling that Master Plo's hope that someone would come looking for them—a handful of clones and a single Jedi—was misplaced. They were out here in deep space, lost and stranded, and though Plo had always maintained his calm, unwavering faith, Wolffe wasn’t so sure. The reality of their situation was harsh and unforgiving, and it seemed unlikely that anyone would go to the lengths required to find them.

But even in the face of that, a small part of him wanted to believe in Plo’s optimism. Because, in the end, it was that hope—however faint—that kept them going. And maybe that was all they had left.

That optimism, fleeting as it was, allowed Wolffe to momentarily block out the blaster fire from the battle droids echoing just beyond the pod's thin walls. It didn’t, however, diminish the ever-present anxiety gnawing at him—the gut-churning realization that the craft’s relentless scraping against the pod’s metal was only a hair's breadth away from creating a catastrophic breach. The sounds of the metal warping, groaning under pressure, were a constant reminder: one more strike, one more hit, and the pod would depressurize, sucking the life from him in a deadly, silent instant.

Amidst the suffocating tension and the relentless chaos both inside the pod and outside in the cold vacuum of space, a voice suddenly pierced through the static—a crackling lifeline in the storm. “Is anyone out there? Come in.”

Wolffe’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing. Could it be? Was someone actually out there, hearing their distress? The radio crackled again, louder this time, the voice clearer. “Come in, this is General Halle—”

His pulse quickened, a flicker of hope stirring deep within him. He didn't recognize the name, but the urgency in the voice—tired yet determined—stirred something within him. Someone was reaching out. Someone had heard their distress call.

The thought of rescue, of survival, felt so distant, so impossible. Yet here it was, a chance, a thread of hope. Wolffe’s grip tightened on the console as he frantically moved to respond, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. Could it be real? Was it truly possible that they weren’t going to be left to die in the cold void of space?

“There’s a general! She must be close!” he shouted urgently into the short-range comms, his voice cutting through the tension like a burst of raw hope. He had to let the others know—there was a chance, however slim, that they might not be alone in this. With a surge of adrenaline, he quickly turned to attempt contact himself, fingers flying over the controls, desperate to reach out and confirm that help was truly on the way.

“Wolffe to General Halle—come in!” he finally barked, his voice rough with urgency, barely suppressing the rising tide of disbelief. The last remnants of fear mixed with a deep, primal hope—the kind of hope he’d long abandoned in the wake of so many battles. Would they make it out of this after all?

“Keep the signal alive, Commander!” Plo Koon’s voice rang out over the chaos of battle, sharp and commanding. Wolffe gritted his teeth as he scrambled to maintain the connection. But the failing power system mocked him at every turn, the energy rapidly draining from the pod’s reserves. His mind raced, cursing himself for not paying more attention during basic engineering training—skills that could’ve saved them all now.

The beeping from the console grew louder, more insistent, each tone like the countdown to their inevitable end. Wolffe’s hands flew over the controls, fighting to keep the fragile signal steady. His stomach twisted as the air around him grew more suffocating with every passing second.

Desperation clawed at him as he forced the words out, “We’re losing the signal! The pod can’t take much more damage!” His voice cracked under the strain, betraying his calm exterior as he looked at the status report. The ship was on the verge of total collapse. The thought of what would come next—suffocating in the cold vacuum of space—made his chest tighten with dread.

It was a terrifying place to exist, caught between the faint hope of survival and the crushing reality that even the prospect of rescue might be a fleeting illusion. Despite hearing the voice over the comms, the question gnawed at him: Who was General Halle? He’d never heard her name before. Was she a fellow Jedi? Perhaps Plo Koon knew her? But Wolffe couldn’t waste time questioning—he had to fight for the signal. Every second felt like a lifetime, and yet, no matter how hard he tried, the clock was ticking down.

A burst of fiery light illuminated the cold darkness outside the pod as the enemy craft was severed in two by a decisive strike from the Jedi. The force of the explosion sent debris scattering into the void, and for a brief moment, Wolffe could allow himself to exhale. The immediate threat had been eradicated, but the relief was fleeting. The question that remained—would anyone get there in time to save them?

The panic that had surged through him began to recede, but he knew they weren’t out of the woods yet. The communication frequency had gone silent on his end, the voice that had offered hope now lost amidst the static and chaos. Whoever had been trying to reach them was now just a whisper in the void, swallowed by the expanding silence of space. The only sounds left were the crackling of their short-range comms, the voices of his brothers outside the pod, echoing through the static.

“We are clones. We are meant to be expendable.” The words, spoken by one of his brothers, hung heavily in the air, carrying a cold, hard truth. Wolffe felt a gnawing agreement with the sentiment. He had always known their place in the galaxy—cogs in a war machine, bred for battle and designed to be discarded when no longer needed. He was a commanding officer, yes, but that title was little more than a designation in the grand scheme of the Grand Army of the Republic. In the end, he wasn’t any different from the others.

If someone came for them, it would be to save the Jedi, to recover the one they had been tasked to protect. His own survival—his brothers’ survival—was not the priority. Even if some Jedi had tried to make them more than that, in the eyes of the galaxy, they would remain faceless, nameless soldiers.

Wolffe clenched his fists, pushing aside the creeping feelings of insignificance. He couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. There was still the chance—slim though it was—that they might make it out alive. But the weight of those words lingered in his mind, a reminder that in the end, their worth had always been measured by their utility to others.

Wolffe slumped back into his seat, the weight of the air around him becoming unbearable with each shallow breath. It felt as though the very oxygen in the pod was slipping through his grasp, as if it too were being torn apart by the impending end. The faint, flickering red lights above him grew dimmer with every passing second, casting an eerie, muted glow that barely illuminated the confines of the pod. The life support system was failing—he could feel it now, the slow encroachment of cold creeping into his bones, chilling him in ways that the adrenaline of battle never could.

It was a cruel sort of fate, the silence that followed. No grand declaration of doom, no sirens blaring, no sudden warning to mark the end of everything. The systems were shutting down quietly, efficiently, as if they were just letting him slip into nothingness with as little disturbance as possible. It was almost too serene.

He understood why it was done this way, of course. The programming was designed to allow any survivors a peaceful departure, a gentle fade into sleep as their surroundings gradually succumbed to the cold embrace of space. It was meant to be humane, a way to spare the mind the anguish of facing the end head-on. But Wolffe had never been one for gentle endings. He didn’t want peace in his final moments—he wanted defiance, a clear acknowledgment that the end had come, that it was final, that he had fought to the bitter end, even if that end had no grand spectacle. If he had it his way, there would be an unmistakable signal, a sharp, resounding yes, this is it, a harsh punctuation to the story of his life.

Instead, he was left in a limbo of silent, inevitable decay, surrounded by the endless hum of failing systems and the distant knowledge that the seconds, the minutes, were slipping away without him ever knowing for sure if this was the end.

Wolffe's hands tightened on the seat as he sat there in the suffocating stillness. The sensation of time dragging on without any real sense of urgency made him ache with frustration. What was the point of it all? To just fade away quietly, like some nameless casualty in the war that had defined his existence? No dramatic last stand, no final shout of defiance, no reckoning to be had. Just silence, cold, and the slow, grinding end of everything he had ever known.

He let out a shaky breath, the air growing thinner, the pressure in his chest mounting. In the quiet of the pod, with only the faintest hum of equipment barely keeping him alive, Wolffe had nothing left but his thoughts—and they were becoming far too loud.

Wolffe's eyelids drooped, heavy with the oppressive weight of fatigue and cold. His body had long since surrendered to the numbness, the chill creeping deeper into his limbs, making every breath feel like an effort, each inhale a struggle against the inevitable. Death had caught up with him. There was no escaping it now, no last-minute miracle to spare him. The sharp, biting cold pressed against his skin, and the air around him—once a lifeline—had become a distant, fading memory. His lungs screamed for oxygen that never came, every breath shallower than the last.

His muscles, once honed by years of training and battle, now felt like lead, too heavy to move, too weary to resist. His eyes fluttered, unable to stay open for much longer. He could feel his consciousness slipping away, the last remnants of his awareness slipping into darkness, where no light reached. A part of him embraced the quiet finality of it, welcomed it, even. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be. Perhaps Master Plo had been right—death was just a transition, a merging with the Force. It wasn’t an end; it was a return. Warm, bright, peaceful—the Force. Perhaps in that moment, he would finally understand.

And yet, even as the darkness crept closer, something stirred. The beat of his heart—the final, sluggish rhythm of life—pounded in his ears, louder now than it had ever been before, each thud reverberating through his chest like a drumbeat echoing in the stillness.

Bump.

Bump... Bump.

Bump.

The sound seemed to slow with his fading consciousness, the once-urgent beat now a rhythmic lullaby guiding him to the edge.

But then, without warning, a brilliant flash of light cut through the suffocating darkness. It pierced the quiet, searing through the despair like a sudden burst of hope. Wolffe’s mind struggled to comprehend it, but the light was unmistakable. Maybe Master Plo had been right after all—the warmth, the brightness, the sense of something beyond... but then—

Bang!

The sudden, loud noise outside the pod shattered the fragile peace that had begun to claim him. His body jerked involuntarily in response, his eyes snapping open as the shock of the sound cut through the fading haze of his thoughts.

Someone was out there. 

A surge of adrenaline shot through him, his heart leaping back to life. The air, now a bit thicker, felt somehow less suffocating, the hope that had seemed so distant flickering again. Whoever it was outside had just given him a moment—maybe more—of something he hadn’t dared hope for.

The pain in his chest was still apparent to him, and his vision blurred, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he found himself focused, listening. The world outside the pod had just shifted, and he had to know if it was the salvation he had been waiting for.

Then, with a violent jolt, the pod slammed into something hard, the impact reverberating through his entire body, rattling him to his core. The world around him seemed to spin, and for a moment, Wolffe could do nothing but slump over, his strength utterly drained. His limbs felt as though they had turned to lead, each one a weight he could no longer lift.

He fought against it, clawing for any remaining reserves of energy. He pushed himself, muscles trembling with the effort, but his body refused to cooperate. Every motion felt sluggish and wrong, as if the very will to rise had been stolen from him.

But then, with a sound that echoed in the empty space, the viewport of the pod shattered away, sending a burst of cold, fresh air flooding into the cabin. The sudden rush of oxygen felt like a rebirth, a blessing from the stars themselves. His chest heaved with desperate gulps, as though his lungs had forgotten what it was like to breathe. The air filled him with a ferocity he hadn’t realized he was starving for, until it seemed to choke him, forcing him to cough uncontrollably.

His arms shook with the final effort, but he found just enough strength to push himself toward the exit, his legs barely supporting his weight as he hobbled forward. He could barely think, his mind clouded with the dizziness of survival, but there was no stopping him now. He had to get out.

As he reached the opening, the ground seemed to tilt beneath him. He faltered, teetering on the edge of collapse, and braced himself for the inevitable fall. But instead of the cold metal of the floor meeting him, strong arms caught him in mid-motion, preventing his fall with an unexpected gentleness.

Expecting one of his brothers, his thoughts disoriented and desperate, he was taken aback when he realized the arms holding him were smaller—slender and feminine. A voice, calm and soothing, spoke just above a whisper, asking with surprising kindness, “Are you alright, Trooper?”

•—⟪=====> 

Perdita's focus deepened as she reached out through the Force, trying to find Master Plo amidst the chaos, but it was the disjointed, desperate thoughts of one of the men that captured her attention. His presence was a storm, fierce and muddled, his emotions ringing out far louder than the calm yet intense connection of her Jedi mentor.

His thoughts were raw, unrefined—full of fear and confusion. He didn’t want to be a cog in the machine. A mindless instrument of war. He didn’t want to be another expendable clone, lost in the endless tide of conflict. A question lingered in his mind: What would death feel like? 

Amidst those thoughts was something else—a flicker of gratitude. He was grateful to Master Plo Koon. The Jedi had treated him and his brothers with respect, with civility, even amidst the brutality of their roles. This is more than a commanding officer, he thought. This is a leader. This is how they all should be.

But then, the wave of frustration surged within him. An unwillingness to give in, even as his body slowly surrendered to exhaustion. His thoughts grew erratic as he pushed against the physical limits of his being, fighting against the inevitable collapse of his own mind and body.

Perdita understood that feeling. How many times had she felt the same way? The overwhelming fatigue, the pull to fight against the tide, against the war that seemed unrelenting. This war was not the purpose of the Jedi—it was a corruption of their true calling. The Jedi were meant to protect life, not throw it away. Yet here they were, caught in the gears of an endless machine, forced to wage war against an enemy that kept multiplying, even as the cost of every life weighed heavy on them. 

It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly. None of this was fair.

The men, the clones, paid for the greed and ambitions of those who never felt the weight of their sacrifices. She could feel their pain, the endless struggle for meaning in a galaxy that seemed to demand only death in return for their service.

This man, in particular, seemed to be a reflection of everything she had come to understand about the clones. He was more than just a soldier—he was a person, a being with thoughts and feelings, dreams and fears. He wanted to be something more than just one of the millions, but at the same time, he was tethered to them all. He felt the deep connection with his brothers, the ones who bled and died beside him. They were more than just his comrades; they were his family. 

And yet, through all the pain and fear, there was a beautiful truth. He was alive. Against all odds, he was alive. The Force pulsed through him, as it did every living thing, binding him to everything in the galaxy.

Wolffe.

She could feel him.

When the pod finally crashed into the reconnaissance ship, Perdita didn’t hesitate. She acted quickly, tearing the viewport away with ease, knowing that every second mattered. What she saw made her heart ache—a broken figure, barely clinging to life, his eyes wide with terror, fighting against his own weakening body. 

His breath came in short gasps as he slumped, a mere fraction of the strong man he was, now reduced to a vulnerable body lying in the wreckage. But he was still alive. And for all the pain that radiated from him, she knew that was enough.

She moved swiftly, gathering him up as gently as she could, easing him out of the wreckage. His body seemed heavy, limp against her, but the sense of life—the fragile thread that connected him to the world—was undeniable. She settled him against her chest, her heart racing with the effort to hold onto that precious spark of life.

She gently propped him up against the side of the damaged pod, her hands steady but filled with urgency. Looking down at him, she saw the fear in his brown eyes, darting around in confusion and panic. His breaths were shallow, strained, and he seemed lost, disoriented in the chaos of his surroundings. She could sense his fight-or-flight instincts were still alive.

Her voice, soft yet steady, pierced through the fog of his panic like a lifeline. "Are you alright, trooper?" she asked, her tone as calm and reassuring as she could muster, despite the storm raging within her. She knelt beside him, leaning close in an effort to anchor him to the present, her steady presence a fragile shield against the weight of the chaos surrounding them. 

Her hands came up to cradle his face, the touch gentle but grounding. She smoothed her thumbs along his temples, her warmth urging his ragged breaths to slow, her quiet strength coaxing his lungs to draw in air again. Bit by bit, the tension in his shoulders eased, and with a slight nod, he leaned back, letting her hands fall away. A flicker of gratitude passed between them before she shifted her attention to Master Plo, who had just arrived.

“I see your tracking abilities remain as sharp as ever. Your master would be proud,” Master Plo said, his voice measured, though the words carried an unintentional weight. The compliment, meant to honor her, cut deep, stirring a memory she had yet to confront fully.

“Actually,” she began, her voice steady but laced with an edge of emotion, “I didn’t need to rely on them completely. One of your men guided me here. His admiration for you stood out, even amidst the chaos. It was louder than anything else.” 

Her words hung in the air, both a testament to the trooper’s loyalty and an unspoken reminder of the connections that kept them tethered, even in the darkest of times.

"I have done little more than what I promised at the war's outset," he said, his voice low and reflective as he inclined his head toward her. The unspoken understanding between them hung heavy in the air, unyielding but oddly comforting.  

"Skywalker," he continued, his tone shifting to something more urgent, "we need to get to the bridge and navigate out of this debris field before they track us. Dita, would you stay—"  

"I will help your men," she interjected with a firm nod, her voice calm yet resolute.  

The name lingered in the air, charged with a meaning no one else seemed to grasp. Dita. It slipped from his tongue so naturally that there was no time for the others to question it. She hadn't been called that in years—not since her old master had bestowed the moniker upon her. The sound of it was a bittersweet echo of a past life: part ache, part warmth, but entirely hers.  

Without hesitation, she knelt beside one of the injured soldiers clad in armor, her movements graceful but purposeful. She glanced at the medical droid, waiting for its assessment and instructions as it examined the man she'd found.  

Her eyes flicked briefly to the clone in the white uniform—definitely a commander. The oxygen mask pressed to his face obscured part of his features, but the sharp lines of his profile remained strikingly clear.  

Wolffe, she thought. The name suited him.  

There was something undeniably captivating about the clones. Their sun-kissed golden complexions and mischievous brown eyes seemed to embody an irrepressible vitality, even in the darkest moments. To her, they'd always been handsome—every single one of them. An army of millions, each bearing the same roguish charm, had often proved... distracting.  

But now was not the time for such thoughts. She pushed them aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. The commander needed care, and she would see to it that he was alright.

“This one is stable but may require additional care,” the mechanical droid informed her, its tone clinical and detached as it moved away from the commander.

Perdita nodded absently, her attention already shifting to Wolffe. She knelt beside him, her movements careful but deliberate, and gently took the oxygen canister from his hands. He leaned back slightly against the wall, his exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders slumped.

“General Halle, I presume,” he muttered, his voice raw and uneven. His dark eyes met hers, their sharpness dulled but still assessing.

“Yes,” she replied simply, her tone steady. Her gaze flicked to the shallow cut along his brow, the blood dried and dark against his golden skin. It wasn’t deep, just a small split where the skin had given way. But even minor injuries could become complications if left untreated.

Reaching for an anesthetic wipe, Perdita paused just long enough to lower her mask. She tore the foil packet open with her teeth, the action quick and efficient, and withdrew the medicated pad. Quickly replaced was the veil before anyone could see her almost constantly guarded features.

“This might sting a little,” she warned softly.

He didn’t flinch as she dabbed the pad against the cut, clearing away the blood with practiced care. His breathing was steady, though his gaze remained fixed on her, studying her scar and the small sliver of her face which showed beneath her mask and hood as if trying to piece together a puzzle.

The wipe’s cool, stinging touch worked its way through the wound, sterilizing as it soothed. She pressed a little firmer, ensuring the medicated solution did its job. After a moment of examination, she was satisfied.

“No stitches needed,” she murmured, discarding the used wipe. “You’ll be fine.”

Wolffe exhaled slowly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t say you are what I expected after hearing your voice.”

Perdita arched a brow, her lips curving into a subtle smile. “And what exactly were you expecting?”

“Someone... taller,” he quipped, his voice still raspy but laced with dry humor.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Well, I’m afraid this is all you are going to get.”

Wolffe’s smirk widened, but it faded quickly as he winced, shifting slightly. Perdita placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Easy,” she cautioned. “You’ve been through a lot. Rest while you can.”

His eyes softened, the earlier tension in his expression easing as he leaned back again. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly, the words tinged with both respect and a hint of weariness.

Something about this clone felt... different. All clones had their own subtle distinctions—small quirks that set them apart despite their identical origins. But with him, there was an undeniable uniqueness, an aura she couldn’t quite name. Was it his quiet strength? The way his presence seemed to command attention even in silence? She wasn’t sure, and now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

They weren’t out of danger yet.

As if to underline the thought, the lights around them flickered once before plunging the room into total darkness before the red backup lights kicked in. The low hum of machinery ceased, replaced by an eerie silence that seemed to swallow the air itself.

Around her, the clones seemed to snap into action, the hum of urgency electrifying the air. Despite their injuries, they moved with a kind of practiced efficiency, readying themselves for whatever threat loomed. The shift was palpable—soldiers who had been teetering on the edge of exhaustion now stood poised and alert, their instincts sharpened by years of training and battle.

“We should get up to the bridge,” Wolffe muttered, his voice strained but resolute. He took a tentative step forward, but his balance wavered, his body betraying the toll his injuries had taken.

Perdita was at his side in an instant, her fingers tightening around his bicep to steady him. “Not yet,” she said softly, shaking her head. Her grip was firm but careful, her support unyielding as his shaky legs found a semblance of stability.

Wolffe let out a frustrated breath, but he didn’t resist her help. She could see the determination etched into his features—the same determination that likely kept him alive through battles far worse than this. But right now, he needed rest more than heroics.

“I’ll head up and check on things,” she said firmly, meeting his gaze.

She held his arm for another moment, ensuring he could stand without her support. His dark eyes flicked to hers in the dim glow of the backup lighting, and for a brief second, an unspoken understanding passed between them.

As she stepped onto the bridge, the palpable tension hit her like a wave. The air was thick with unspoken fears and barely contained nerves. Through the viewport, the colossal battle station loomed, its ominous silhouette swallowing the distant starlight. It seemed to defy time itself, drifting past with an almost taunting slowness. No one dared to breathe, the quiet hum of the ship's systems the only sound cutting through the suffocating silence.

“Assuming that’s why it went dark…” she muttered after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question, and no one offered an answer. The rhetorical comment hung in the air, unanswered, as the ship adjusted its course ever so slightly. Her gaze shifted to the corner of the bridge, where Skywalker’s R2 unit sat dormant, its lifeless dome a stark contrast to the urgency mounting around them.

The ship gave a faint shudder as its engines shifted power, turning them to face the looming battle station fully. The realization hit her like a thunderbolt—everything was at a standstill. Systems across the scout ship were dark, leaving them vulnerable to the predatory machine outside.

“Are all the systems shut down?” Master Plo’s calm voice broke through the silence, though his measured tone belied the danger they faced.

“Medical droid in the hull is still active” she mentioned with a terse tone, panic creeping into her voice as her words sent everyone into a frenzy of motion. 

“We’ve got to get the power back on, now!” Anakin’s voice cut through the chaos like a commander’s call to arms. Around her, frantic hands worked to restore life to the ship. Lights flickered, consoles hummed back to life, and the faint vibration of repowering systems thrummed underfoot.

She turned her attention back to the viewport, her chest tightening as the battle station continued to reposition itself. Its massive ion blaster came into full view, the weapon more menacing than she had ever imagined. The sheer size of it seemed to mock their tiny scout ship.

Her mind raced, recalling the grim story Master Plo had told—the devastating power of that ion cannon, the annihilation of his entire fleet, leaving only four survivors. Her breath caught in her throat. If that monstrous weapon could obliterate a fleet, what chance did they stand now? The odds felt crushingly impossible.

Being tossed around the cockpit by Skywalker’s daring maneuvers, Perdita clung to the nearest console, trying to steady herself against the turbulence. Anakin’s unique flying style was chaotic, but it was their only hope of threading through the dense debris field. The ship groaned in protest as it twisted and weaved, and Perdita struggled to keep her footing. To her left, a flickering display showed a massive energy surge closing in from behind—an ominous purple glow that painted the cockpit in ghostly light.

“Master…” Ahsoka’s voice cut through the alarms, tight with anxiety. The warning klaxons screamed louder, a relentless reminder of the doom racing toward them.

Perdita swallowed her fear, forcing herself to trust in Anakin’s uncanny ability to pull them out of impossible situations. He is the Chosen One, she reminded herself, clinging to the belief that his destiny would see them through. But the thought brought little comfort as her mind strayed down the corridor to where the rescued clones huddled, still recovering from their last ordeal.

What a cruel twist of fate, she thought bitterly. To have been saved from one deathtrap only to face annihilation again so soon—it was almost too much to bear. Her heart ached at the memory of the Commander, who still felt the call to assist despite his injuries. 

As the ion blast crept closer, its menacing glow filling the bridge, Perdita fought to keep her emotions in check. But her thoughts betrayed her, shifting to memories she had long tried to suppress. The laughter of her fallen Master echoed faintly in her mind, only to be replaced by the gravelly, smoke-tinged voice of the injured Commander. His calm presence in the face of despair had steadied her before, but now, with nothing but the vast void of space around them, she felt untethered.

“We’re clear!” Ahsoka’s triumphant yell snapped Perdita back to the present as the ship’s engines roared to life. With a sharp pull of the controls, Anakin wrenched them out of the debris field and into hyperspace. The oppressive glow of the ion blast disappeared as stars streaked past the viewport in brilliant lines of light.

For a moment, there was silence—a stillness broken only by the hum of the ship’s systems returning to normal. Perdita exhaled shakily, her hands trembling as she released the console. Relief mingled with exhaustion, but another feeling lingered beneath the surface.

Master Plo turned to her, his calm presence grounding her as always. Though he said nothing, his body language spoke volumes. His steady gaze met hers, and she knew he understood where her mind had wandered during the chaos. There was no judgment in his expression, only a quiet empathy that made her feel exposed yet comforted.

In the wake of their escape, the tension in the room eased, but Perdita couldn’t shake the weight of what had just transpired. The Commander’s thoughts echoed in her mind once more, a reminder of both the fragility of life and the strength found in moments of resolve. As the movement of hyperspace stretched endlessly before them, she decided to carry that strength forward—if only to honor those who couldn’t.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ𓃥✧:･.:

General Plo had returned to the hull where Wolffe and the surviving troopers rested after their harrowing escape into hyperspace. The debris field had been merciless, and though their escape was barely successful, it had yielded critical intelligence about the "mystery weapon." That knowledge alone offered a glimmer of hope for its eventual destruction. Despite the heavy casualties they had suffered and the searing pain that lingered in his lungs, Wolffe felt a small measure of relief. They had survived, and their struggle might now have purpose.

Seated against the hull wall, Wolffe adjusted the oxygen mask strapped to his face, his voice muffled as he spoke. “Sir, the General who found us—” he began, trailing off as his thoughts turned inward. Perdita had remained on the bridge after delivering them to safety, leaving him with questions that refused to settle. How had she found them? Or more specifically, how had she found him?

“What about her?” Plo Koon asked, his calm, gravelly voice breaking through Wolffe’s haze of uncertainty. The Kel Dor Jedi leaned slightly closer, his presence steady and grounding in the way only a Jedi Master’s could be.

Wolffe hesitated, his brow furrowing beneath the mask. “How did she… find us? Or… my thoughts, I suppose. Through the Force?” The question hung in the air, tinged with curiosity and unease. He’d heard tales of Jedi abilities before, but this felt different—more personal.

Plo’s masked face tilted thoughtfully, his gloved fingers brushing the edges of his respirator in a contemplative gesture. After a moment, he answered, his tone as measured as ever. “Perdita possesses a rare gift among Jedi. She has the ability to track memories and strong emotions through the Force. By touching an object, she can glimpse its past, and through the emotions of others, she can sense their presence—even across great distances. I suspect that, in the chaos, she latched onto your fear and resolve as a beacon through the noise.”

Wolffe blinked, the explanation both clarifying and unsettling. His fear and resolve… the emotions that had churned within him during those desperate moments had been like a flare, drawing her to their position. The thought made him pause, his mind turning over the implications of such a power.

“So… She felt… me,” he murmured, more to himself than to Plo. The idea was humbling and unsettling in equal measure. His fear, his regrets, his desire to save his brothers—it had all been laid bare in the Force for her to see. The mere thought of it all was exposing.

Plo nodded, his gaze steady. “She likely did. But do not mistake her insight for intrusion. Perdita does not seek to exploit what she feels. She uses her gift to help, to guide, and to protect.”

Wolffe mulled over the words, his gaze dropping to his hands as he contemplated the weight of them. It wasn’t easy for him to trust, even when it came to the Jedi. But Perdita’s actions spoke volumes—she had saved them, had reached through the chaos to find them when all hope seemed lost.

“I see,” Wolffe finally said, his voice quieter now. He leaned back against the hull, his mind still grappling with what Plo had shared. Perhaps it didn’t matter how she’d found him. What mattered was that she had. "I’ve never heard of her before. No troopers that I know of are under her command," the Commander replied, his brow furrowing slightly as he spoke. "But you referred to her as Dita—so, I take it you’re well-acquainted with her?"

For a brief moment, a flicker of concern crossed his mind. He wondered if the Jedi might interpret his question as an interrogation, but the man simply nodded, his expression softening. It seemed to Plo Koon that Wolffe was eager to understand more about his savior.

"I knew her master well," the Jedi began, his voice tinged with a quiet sadness. "He perished on the same day my padawan did. It's... a bond, of sorts. We’ve always seemed to think alike when it comes to this war. But as for why she doesn’t command any troopers—well, that’s a decision the Council made. They don’t believe it's in her best interest to lead in the traditional sense, as other Jedi do. Instead, she’s been assigned to work directly with those caught in the heart of the conflict. Her strengths along with her compassion, are an asset that is often in short supply these days." 

Wolffe’s eyes narrowed, his mind working overtime to make sense of the conversation. He had never known that Master Plo Koon had a padawan. Let alone that the jedi he served seemed to hold such a personal connection with the woman who’d saved them. The Jedi’s words lingered in the air, but they only served to deepen the mystery that seemingly was General Halle. 

He let out a quiet breath and nodded, deciding it was best to leave the questions for another time. The woman would be leaving soon. She would return to her own quiet battles, whatever they might be, and he would return to his more familiar role—leading the troopers, issuing orders, and focusing on the fight ahead. There was no room for distractions or unanswered questions in the midst of war.

Yet, as much as he tried to dismiss the matter, one thought refused to leave him: she had saved them. All of them. Without hesitation. Without asking for anything in return. The entire squad owed their lives to her, and that reality sat heavy on his conscience. The woman was elusive, almost untouchable in her detached, silent grace, but that didn’t lessen the gratitude Wolffe felt.

The question gnawed at him: How could he thank her?

A simple "thank you" seemed insufficient, a token gesture at best. Words had never felt so inadequate, especially when it came to something so profound. What did you say to someone who had saved you? How could you honor such an act of selflessness without making her uncomfortable or drawing unwanted attention to the deed?

To his right, Boost and Sinker were seated on the floor, the pair leaning against the hull, talking about nothing of importance. They were laughing, animatedly discussing how they couldn’t wait to get a warm shower and a decent meal. It was the kind of conversation soldiers often fell into when they’d survived another harrowing battle—small comforts, simple pleasures that felt like luxuries after the hell of war. He could understand their excitement; a hot shower and a good meal sounded like heaven right now.

But as Wolffe listened to them, a small knot of discomfort tightened in his chest. Their talk was too... narrow, too self-contained. It felt out of place, almost wrong. They were survivors, yes—but the war didn’t end just because they’d made it through another day. There was a bigger picture, one that stretched beyond their immediate needs. Perhaps it was that difference in perspective that had shaped him into the Commander he was.

He had always been trained to see the situation as a whole, to think beyond the individual and focus on the larger mission, the bigger strategy. The war doesn’t stop for you, his training had drilled into him, day after day. And yet here they were, consumed by the thought of a hot meal, as if the battle had already been won, as if there weren’t still lives at stake and a galaxy in peril. It bothered him. It didn’t sit right.

Wolffe shook his head slightly, trying to push the unease aside. His gaze dropped to his uniform, the stiff white fabric of his officer's tunic, out of place and ill-fitting in the moment. He was more acclimated to the constraints of armor, that this tweed material made him exposed. 

He brushed a hand over the fabric, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles that had accumulated. It felt like an odd, futile gesture, trying to bring order to something that was, in essence, chaotic. He wasn’t used to thinking about his appearance—rarely had need to think about it. 

Wolffe shared the same features as his brothers—identical in every way. The same bronze complexion, the same dark, intense eyes, the same deep brown hair. To him, there was little need to stand out in appearance; his identity was defined by his role and his actions, not the way he looked.

He had always felt that the clones who sought uniqueness through changes to their appearance were chasing something fleeting, something unnecessary. The idea of colored or long hair seemed absurd—maintenance during deployments or combat was difficult enough without adding more to the list. And face tattoos? They struck him as... unprofessional, especially for someone in a leadership position. It wasn’t just about practicality; it was about maintaining a certain standard of discipline, a sense of order. Officers, in his view, needed to embody that standard—not stand apart from it.

In Wolffe’s mind, any alterations to appearance should be a personal matter, something private—done for oneself, not for the approval or attention of others. So, he kept his tattoos hidden, a personal choice that he saw no need to display. His hair was kept short and practical, his facial hair carefully shaved away. It was simple, efficient, and in his eyes, a mark of professionalism. 

Instinctively, he reached up to fix his hair, his gloved hand running through the short strands. His fingers caught on the thick gel he had used to keep his hair in place during the chaos of combat. Wolffe tugged at it, trying to rearrange his dark locks. The effort was in vain, of course. The gel was too set, too unyielding, and his hair refused to cooperate.

Why did this matter?

He froze, his hand still tangled in his hair, the question hanging in the air. Why did he feel this compulsive need to make himself presentable, when everything around him was in tatters? They had all been spared death today, yes. But that was the only victory. His appearance hardly mattered—not in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t as if anyone would notice.

Yet, despite the absurdity of it, the need lingered. The need to appear competent, presentable, even when he felt anything but. Perhaps it was a way to cling to some semblance of normalcy, some small piece of order in the disarray of his thoughts.

But as the thought lingered, Wolffe caught himself, questioning it—Why?

More troubling still, for whom?

The very notion made him want to bolt, to open the airlock and let the weight of his embarrassment carry him into the cold emptiness of space. What was he doing? Why would a seasoned Commander in the clone army, respected and battle-hardened, seek the approval of a woman he barely knew? A Jedi, no less—a figure bound by the very rules that forbade attachment, a woman who kept herself shrouded in secrecy, both physically and emotionally.

He couldn’t even begin to guess who she truly was beneath the robes and the mask. The only parts of her he could make out were the eerie glow of her bright eyes—eyes that seemed to pierce through the veil of mystery surrounding her—and the scar that marred the otherwise smooth, pale skin of her face. A single mark, like a memory of a battle she’d survived. But beyond that, there was nothing. He had no knowledge of her species, no clue about the woman behind the mask.

He felt like an outsider looking in, caught between a gnawing curiosity and the stark realization that his place was far removed from hers. He was just a clone—a soldier—and she was a Jedi, bound by codes he could never understand, carrying burdens that had nothing to do with him.

The curiosity made him feel... juvenile. He didn’t wonder about women—not like this. His interests had always been more straightforward, more functional. The warmth he sought back on Coruscant was the kind most officers indulged in—brief, impersonal, and fleeting. Late nights in the backrooms of the 79s, tossing credits won in a game of sabacc onto the table, before making a quick retreat back to base to hit the refresher. The entertainers, with their bright smiles and painted faces, always made him anxious to get clean, to scrub away the evidence of the…distraction.

But this? To actually want to see the features of a woman who was his superior? The very thought was absurd. Wolffe scoffed under his breath, shaking his head at the idea. It had to be some kind of side effect of the gratitude he felt. She had saved his life—no small feat—and now that debt had manifested in this bizarre curiosity.

That’s all it was, he reasoned with himself. After months of nothing but combat and the sterile company of his brothers, she was one of the only women he’d been around. A brief glimpse of something unfamiliar, something human, had stirred feelings he’d never given much thought to before. She’d touched him gently, and in a way he’d never recalled being touched before. Her thumbs softly brushed along his skin, as if she was concerned it may shatter under her fingertips. It wasn’t attraction—it was simply curiosity, nothing more. Right?

The subtle shift in the ship’s movement as it exited hyperspace brought Wolffe back to the present, the hum of the engines signaling their return to realspace. They would be arriving soon—back with Skywalker’s fleet—and from there, his path would be uncertain, shrouded in the fog of the war. His thoughts faltered, caught between the urgency of duty and the questions that lingered unanswered.

The muffled voices in the corridor grew louder, pulling him from his reflections. The door slid open, revealing Master Plo Koon and Ahsoka.  Wolffe hadn’t even noticed his brief departure, only his return. The Jedi Master was speaking calmly, his hand outstretched in a gesture of reassurance, while Ahsoka wore a faint smile, her eyes alight with the quiet relief of their arrival.

Below them, the ship’s landing gear made contact with the cruiser, the low thud reverberating through the hull. Wolffe watched as Boost and Sinker stood, moving with practiced efficiency as they donned their armor once more, preparing for the next phase of their mission. The Gateway hissed open, and one by one, his brothers filed out of the small craft, their movements swift and familiar.

First his brothers, then Plo Koon and the padawan—each moving with purpose. Wolffe lingered at the back, holding his position. He had made up his mind: before leaving, he would find a way to thank her. The Jedi had saved their lives. He owed her that much, at least.

Moments later, she emerged, deep in conversation with Skywalker, her gaze flicking across the room with casual precision. But then, her eyes locked on him. “Anakin—” he heard her murmur, before her tone shifted, the words trailing off. Slowly, deliberately, she began to walk toward him.

“Commander, might I accompany you to the med bay?” Her voice was unexpectedly warm, the request coming with a hint of sincerity that caught him off guard.

Wolffe blinked, momentarily taken aback. “That’s not necessary, Ma’am—” he started, ready to brush off the offer.

She cut him off gently, her tone light but firm. “It would be my pleasure, sir,” she said, and Wolffe could almost hear the smile in her voice. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer some time alone after the events of today?”

He hesitated, glancing away, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “No, it’s not that. I just didn’t think escorting a clone to the med bay would be a good use of your time,” he replied, his eyes darting uncomfortably to the side.

“Nonsense,” she replied with a quiet laugh, her confidence unwavering. “Besides—” she paused for a moment, as if considering something. “If that means the Council will take out their frustration on Anakin and Ahsoka instead, then you’d be doing me a favor by keeping me out of the crossfire.”

Wolffe couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “In that case, General, I’d be more than happy to spare you,” he said, a hint of dry humor creeping into his voice.

The woman gestured toward the gangplank, and Wolffe gave a curt nod, beginning his walk. She moved effortlessly beside him, her every step a picture of grace. The dark robes she wore—much deeper in hue than any Jedi’s attire he had seen before—swayed with her movements, flowing like shadows that shifted with the rhythm of her stride. In contrast, he stood in his pale officer's uniform, the stark white fabric a striking contrast against his dark features. She, with her pale skin catching the light beneath the dark material of her robes, was a study in contrast—an enigma of light and shadow walking beside him.

After a moment of silence, he broke the quiet, his voice steady but carrying the weight of gratitude. “Thank you for getting us out in one piece, General Halle,” he said.

Her steps faltered on the ramp at his words. She paused, turning to face him, her expression unreadable as she studied him in silence for a moment. “It was your determination that guided me to you all,” she said softly, her voice carrying an unexpected depth. “In a way, you saved yourself, Commander Wolffe.”

He shifted uncomfortably, hoping to brush off her comment. “Master Plo said someone would come for us. I’m glad he was right,” he replied, his tone steady, though the flicker of uncertainty behind it betrayed his intent to deflect.

Her gaze remained fixed on him, her eyes sharp, searching for something deeper. “You did not share his sentiment?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Wolffe hesitated before answering, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “Strategically, General, it doesn’t make sense to waste resources on rescuing a handful of clone troopers,” he said, his tone firm, though there was a slight edge of discomfort in admitting it aloud. He wasn’t sure why the words felt heavier than usual, as if the notion of worth had shifted in his mind, leaving him with more questions than answers.

She didn’t respond immediately, a thoughtful hum escaping her lips as she processed his words. Then, with quiet conviction, she spoke. “Respectfully, sir, I do not agree with your assessment.”

His eyes widened in surprise at her candidness, and he turned to face her, momentarily speechless. “I—” he began, unsure of how to respond.

She held his gaze, her expression steady. “Strategically, our primary objective was to uncover the mystery behind that weapon,” she continued, her tone deliberate and measured. “Given the scale of the fleets that were lost, a small mercy mission to rescue the survivors could provide critical insight toward achieving that goal. However…” Her eyes softened slightly as she regarded him, “The value of life—no matter its origins—is something I hold dear. I do not consider it a waste of resources.”

Wolffe paused, his mind turning over the conversation. He sighed deeply, shaking his head as he turned away, his gaze inadvertently falling on a passing member of the 501st. The soldier’s face was all too familiar—his name unknown—but the resemblance was undeniable. The same features, the same purpose, the same quiet determination. It served as a stark reminder of his argument to the Jedi: that clones were soldiers, not individuals worthy of exceptional regard. His thoughts wandered for a moment, reinforcing the point he'd made earlier. Yet, despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake the weight of the resolve with which she had spoken.

Just as Master Plo had, General Halle seemed to view things differently—she, too, seemed to believe there was more to the clones than their utility on the battlefield. A subtle shift in his thinking began to form, challenging the hardened convictions he’d carried for so long.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low but steady. “Master Plo speaks very highly of your compassion, General Halle.”

Her response was swift, a quiet smile in her tone. “As he does with the strength of your leadership, Commander Wolffe,” she replied, her eyes momentarily flicking to the distance, where the familiar signet of the medical ward could be seen, a quiet beacon marking the end of their short journey.

The words hung in the air between them, and for the first time, Wolffe wasn’t sure how to respond. He had spent so long compartmentalizing his thoughts, locking away any notion of self beneath the armor of duty. But there, in her gaze, he saw something that both unsettled and intrigued him—an invitation to consider that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than the role he had always played.

Before he could gather his thoughts, they arrived at the medical bay’s entrance, the doors sliding open with a soft hiss. The sterile scent of antiseptic and bacta flooded his senses. A place for healing. A place where bodies were mended, but souls remained fractured.

Wolffe paused in the doorway, his eyes briefly sweeping across the medical ward—sterile, quiet, a space built for healing and recovery. Yet, amidst the sterile whiteness of the room, he could feel an overwhelming sense of finality. He shifted his gaze back to her, meeting General Halle’s eyes once more, his expression betraying the quiet weight of his thoughts.

“Thank you, General,” he said, his voice low but steady. "For... saving us. And for not seeing us as just soldiers."

Her expression softened, her eyes shifting from their usual intensity to something gentler, something more personal. She gave a slight nod, acknowledging his words with the respect she’d shown throughout their brief time together. “Any time, Commander,” she replied with warmth, her tone unguarded.

Without hesitation, she extended her arm toward him, and he met it halfway, gripping her forearm in the familiar gesture—one of comradeship, of respect, a bond forged not in words but in action. The clasp was firm, an unspoken promise of understanding between them.

"Until we meet again, Wolffe," she said, her voice carrying a quiet finality that spoke volumes. There was something in her gaze—perhaps it was the fleeting softness, or the unspoken understanding—that made the farewell feel heavier than it should have.

Wolffe found himself looking down at their joined forearms for a moment. His fingers, long and almost imposing, curled around the slender shape of her arm, while her delicate fingers rested lightly against his. The contrast between them was striking—two figures so vastly different in form and demeanor, yet united in this fleeting moment of connection.

He then lifted his gaze slowly. He sought one last glimpse into her bright green eyes, eyes that seemed to hold so much, that flickered with wisdom and purpose. Something there stirred within him, a feeling that he couldn’t quite name but knew he would carry with him for a long time.

“Until we meet again, General Halle,” he replied, his voice steady, though a trace of something deeper lingered beneath the surface.

Tag List: @leenathegreengirl @asgre @badbatch-bitch @cw80831 @heidnspeak

[kenobers]

Gangs of Coruscant | mobster!Obi-Wan Kenobi x fem!reader

Chapter One: Dire Straits

but first free palestine !! 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. tw: Mafia!AU, mentions of guns, drugs & violence, being held against one's will & non-sexual coercion (but not maliciously?), older manDisclaimer: 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.” 

[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!

[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

[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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[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)

[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.”