#Kessel Chips

[emma23]

Hiding in the stars:

Poe dameron x reader

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The Resistance base was a bustling hive of activity, with everyone preparing for the next mission against the First Order. Amid the chaos, you found yourself drawn to one person: Poe Dameron. The talented pilot had a charm that was hard to resist, and over time, what started as a mutual respect blossomed into something more.

But in the dangerous world of the Resistance, love was a luxury few could afford. So, you and Poe kept your relationship a secret, meeting in hidden corners and stolen moments.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you found Poe waiting for you in a secluded part of the base. He flashed you a lopsided grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hey, beautiful."

You smiled, your heart fluttering. "Hey, flyboy. Miss me?"

"Always," he murmured, pulling you into a tender kiss.

For a moment, everything else faded away. In Poe’s arms, you felt safe, cherished. But reality quickly set in, and you pulled back, glancing around nervously. "We have to be careful, Poe. If anyone finds out..."

"I know," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "But I can’t help it. I love you, Y/N."

Your heart swelled at his words. "I love you too."

The next day, General Leia Organa called a briefing for a critical mission. As you sat in the crowded room, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Poe, who stood at the front, outlining the plan.

"We've located a First Order supply ship in the Kessel sector," Poe explained, his voice steady and confident. "We need to intercept it and gather intel on their movements."

Leia nodded, her gaze sweeping over the assembled group. "This mission is vital. We need our best people on it. Poe, Y/N, Finn, you’ll lead the team."

You felt a surge of excitement and anxiety. Working with Poe was always a thrill, but the danger of the mission weighed heavily on your mind.

As the meeting adjourned, Poe caught your eye, giving you a reassuring smile. You nodded, taking a deep breath. You could do this.

The mission began smoothly, with you, Poe, and Finn making your way to the Kessel sector. The cramped confines of the ship provided little privacy, but you and Poe managed to steal a few moments together when Finn was occupied.

Late one night, as Finn slept in the cockpit, you found yourself alone with Poe in the ship's small common area. He reached for your hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"How are you holding up?" he asked softly.

"Better now," you replied, squeezing his hand. "Being with you makes everything easier."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "We’ll get through this, Y/N. Together."

You nodded, feeling a surge of determination. No matter what happened, you and Poe would face it together.

As you approached the First Order supply ship, tension filled the air. Poe piloted the ship with expert precision, weaving through the asteroid field that surrounded the target.

"We're almost there," he murmured, his eyes focused on the controls. "Stay sharp, everyone."

You and Finn readied your weapons, bracing for the inevitable confrontation. The moment you docked with the supply ship, chaos erupted. Blaster fire filled the air as you and your team fought your way through the corridors.

Poe stayed close to you, his protective instincts kicking in. "Stay behind me," he ordered, his voice firm.

"I can handle myself," you shot back, taking down a stormtrooper with a well-placed shot.

He grinned, a mix of pride and amusement in his eyes. "I know. But I’m not taking any chances."

Together, you made your way to the control room, where Finn was already working to extract the intel. "Got it!" he shouted, holding up a data chip.

"Great. Let’s get out of here," Poe replied, leading the way back to the ship.

As you ran, you felt a sense of exhilaration. Despite the danger, being with Poe made you feel alive.

Back at the Resistance base, you were hailed as heroes. The intel you had gathered would be crucial in the fight against the First Order. But amid the celebrations, you and Poe remained vigilant, careful not to reveal the true nature of your relationship.

That night, you met in a hidden alcove, away from prying eyes. Poe pulled you into his arms, his expression a mix of relief and love. "We did it," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Yeah," you murmured, resting your head against his chest. "We did."

For a while, you simply held each other, savoring the quiet intimacy. But as always, the reality of your situation loomed over you.

"Poe," you said softly, pulling back to look into his eyes. "How long can we keep this up? Sneaking around, hiding our love..."

He sighed, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and determination. "As long as we have to. I don’t want to lose you, Y/N."

You nodded, your heart aching. "I don’t want to lose you either."

Despite your best efforts, it was only a matter of time before someone discovered your secret. One evening, as you and Poe shared a quiet moment in the hangar, you heard a voice behind you.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

You turned to see Finn standing there, a knowing smile on his face. Your heart sank, but Poe stepped forward, his expression defiant.

"Finn, it’s not what it looks like," he began, but Finn held up a hand.

"Save it, Dameron. I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other."

You exchanged a worried glance with Poe, unsure of how to respond. But to your surprise, Finn’s smile softened.

"Relax, guys. Your secret’s safe with me."

Relief washed over you, and Poe let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "Thanks, Finn. We appreciate it."

Finn shrugged. "Hey, love is hard to find, especially in times like these. Just...be careful, okay?"

You nodded, gratitude filling your heart. "We will. Thanks, Finn."

As the days passed, the threat of the First Order loomed larger. Tensions were high, and every mission seemed more dangerous than the last. But through it all, you and Poe found strength in each other.

One evening, as you prepared for another mission, Poe pulled you aside. "Be careful out there, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you."

You smiled, cupping his cheek. "Same goes for you, flyboy. Come back to me, okay?"

"I will," he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As you parted ways, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change. The danger was growing, and you knew the road ahead would be treacherous.

The mission was a success, but it came at a cost. The Resistance suffered heavy losses, and the base was in chaos. You and Poe fought side by side, your bond stronger than ever.

But as the battle raged on, you found yourselves separated. Panic set in as you searched for him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Poe!" you shouted, dodging blaster fire. "Poe, where are you?"

"Over here!" his voice called out, and you turned to see him pinned down by stormtroopers.

Without hesitation, you charged forward, taking down the troopers and reaching his side. "Are you okay?" you asked, breathless.

He nodded, a look of relief on his face. "Thanks to you. Come on, we need to get out of here."

Together, you fought your way back to the ship, your love giving you the strength to keep going. As you took off, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph. No matter what happened, you knew you could face anything as long as you were together.

Back at the base, the mood was somber. The losses were heavy, and the fight against the First Order seemed more daunting than ever. But amid the grief and uncertainty, you and Poe found solace in each other.

One evening, as you sat together in a quiet corner of the base, Poe took your hand, his expression serious. "We need to tell Leia."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Are you sure? What if she doesn’t approve?"

He squeezed your hand, his eyes filled with determination. "We can’t keep hiding, Y/N. Not anymore. I love you, and I want to be with you. No more secrets."

You nodded, a sense of resolve filling you. "Okay. Let’s do it."

The next day, you and Poe approached General Leia’s office, your hearts pounding in unison. As you entered, she looked up, her expression curious.

"Commander Dameron, Y/N. What’s this about?"

Poe took a deep breath, stepping forward. "General, there’s something we need to tell you. Y/N and I are together”

Leia's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps a hint of amusement. She set down the datapad she was holding and folded her hands on the desk.

"Well," she began, a small smile playing on her lips. "I can't say I'm entirely shocked. I've seen the way you two look at each other."

You and Poe exchanged a glance, both of you relieved but still tense. Poe cleared his throat. "We know it's against protocol to have personal relationships interfere with our duties, but—"

Leia raised a hand to stop him. "Poe, Y/N, I understand. In times like these, we have to hold on to what we care about. As long as you both remain professional and don't let your relationship affect your work, you have my blessing."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. "Thank you, General," you said, your voice filled with gratitude.

Leia smiled warmly. "Just be careful. Both of you. The Resistance needs its best people, and that means taking care of each other."

Poe nodded. "We will. And thank you, Leia."

With Leia's blessing, the secrecy that had shrouded your relationship with Poe was lifted. The next few days were a whirlwind of adjustment, but it felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

One evening, you and Poe walked hand in hand through the base, feeling the stares and hearing the murmurs of your fellow Resistance members. You stopped in the hangar, where BB-8 rolled up to you, beeping excitedly.

"Hey, buddy," Poe greeted the droid, crouching down to pat its dome. "Looks like we don't have to hide anymore."

BB-8 beeped happily, and you laughed, feeling a sense of joy you hadn't in a long time.

Finn approached, a wide grin on his face. "So it's official now, huh?"

You nodded, squeezing Poe's hand. "Yeah. No more hiding."

Finn clapped Poe on the back. "About time. I was getting tired of covering for you two."

Poe laughed. "Thanks for being there, Finn. It means a lot."

As the days turned into weeks, you and Poe fell into a new rhythm. Your relationship was no longer a secret, and you found strength and comfort in being open about your love.

One night, after a particularly intense mission briefing, you and Poe sat together in your quarters, reflecting on everything that had happened.

"It's strange," you said softly, leaning against him. "I never thought we'd get to this point. Being open, not hiding."

Poe wrapped an arm around you, his gaze tender. "Me neither. But I'm glad we did. I love you, Y/N, and I don't want to hide that anymore."

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with emotion. "I love you too, Poe. More than anything."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. When you finally pulled away, you rested your head on his shoulder, feeling a sense of peace you hadn't in a long time.

The day of the final battle against the First Order loomed large. The Resistance was preparing for an all-out assault, and the tension in the air was palpable.

As you geared up for the mission, Poe approached you, his expression serious. "You ready for this?"

You nodded, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his voice a whisper in your ear. "Stay safe, okay? I can't lose you."

You held him close, feeling the same fear. "You too, Poe. Come back to me."

With a final kiss, you parted ways, each of you leading your own squads into the fray. The battle was fierce, with blaster fire and explosions filling the air. But through it all, you kept thinking of Poe, drawing strength from your love for him.

The battle was won, but the cost was high. The Resistance had dealt a crippling blow to the First Order, but many lives were lost. As the dust settled, you searched the battlefield for any sign of Poe, your heart in your throat.

Finally, you saw him, helping a wounded soldier to safety. Relief washed over you, and you ran to him, tears streaming down your face.

"Poe!" you called, and he turned, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.

"Y/N!" he shouted, dropping the soldier off with a medic before rushing to you. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. "Thank the stars you're okay."

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the weight of the battle lift from your shoulders. "I was so scared," you whispered. "But we did it. We won."

He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands. "We did. And now we can finally have the future we've dreamed of."

You smiled through your tears, nodding. "Together."

With the First Order defeated, the galaxy slowly began to rebuild. The Resistance was no longer a desperate band of rebels, but a symbol of hope and resilience.

You and Poe stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the vast landscape, hand in hand. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the scene, and you felt a sense of peace you hadn't in years.

"So, what's next for us?" you asked, leaning against him.

Poe smiled, his eyes filled with love. "Whatever we want. The galaxy is ours to explore."

You turned to him, feeling a sense of excitement and possibility. "As long as we're together, I don't care where we go."

He kissed you softly, his lips lingering on yours. "Together, always."

As you stood there, watching the sun set on a new era, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Poe would face them together. Your love had survived the darkest of times, and now, it would shine brighter than ever

[lieutenant-teach]

Several months after the Clone Wars. Aq Vetina is devastated by the Imperial forces. Ex-Commander Cody meets little Din Djarin. Post The Bad Batch s.2 ep.3, non-canon compliant. 1/3 part (part 2), (part 3).

It was Cody’s best decision in last months – defecting from the Empire. With it came guilt – crushing guilt, sorrow, pain about everything and everyone lost. How easier and horrifyingly right it seemed – to just execute orders given by somebody else without thinking. Good soldiers follow orders. And how harder it was now to fully realise and to live with consequences of what had been done – by him and to him. Now, when he knew about the chips. When he knew that he killed General Kenobi. When he knew how many of his brothers across the galaxy were killed in these several months or remained slaves to the chips. When he knew that they were made to kill their only friends they had in the whole galaxy – the Jedi. All of them.

But also he knew – it was life now. A real life. Owning his body and mind. Out of the Republic’s control, out of the Empire’s control. But also – miserable life. No purpose, no aim, no meaning. Everything he fought for in the war – led to this. Exact opposite of what he imagined, strived for.

The planet of Aq Vetina wasn’t the immediate choice to stop. But it could do – at least to refill the supplies and to fix up an old ship taken from the junk yard on Kessel. Though Cody couldn’t tell where he was heading to. Or what he was going to do at all. Emptiness filled his days and nights, his heart, his every step he took in this new Galaxy.

It was impossible to live without a purpose.

Maybe, some would say ‘live for yourself, for your pleasure’. But Cody didn’t even know how to live for himself – he was designed for serving, and he didn’t want to – while there was so much injustice in the Galaxy. He’d be happy to help his brothers – or anyone, for that matter, he’d seen how many worlds suffer under the Empire’s iron boot – but he couldn’t do it alone. He didn’t have any resources, didn’t have any rebel connections, had no idea where to start. His failure to save still brainwashed Boil hurt as all hells together. The Imperial might didn’t know limits – Cody knew it all too well. As much as it hurt thinking about it, he experienced it firsthand, moreover, took part in it. It disgusted himself – what would General Kenobi say if he saw him like this? Memories about him hurt even more, bleeding his heart almost physically.

The town Cody was approaching didn’t look well. Even more, with every step forward he saw the signs of recent Imperial presence – burned houses, bodies scattered around. Mud, dirt and blood squishing under his boots. Cody could tell the Imperials left – otherwise he’d be already caught, the familiar camps would be erected, just as familiar white armours bustling around. Still, Cody didn’t lower the hood of his tattered brown cloak, looking around and staying alert as he always had been during his whole life. The blaster was on the hip, fingers slightly touching it.

‘Why?’ – he thought looking along the streets and seeing more and more destruction. Though he also knew – the Empire didn’t need much to start ‘crushing the traitors’, as they called it. The propaganda worked magically with the Jedi, after all. From what Cody could tell, moving to the centre of the town, there were no survivors.

The Empire was nothing but efficient, that he knew all too well.

Then he heard something.

Tensed, grabbing the blaster, listening in.

The sound repeated.

Whimpering?

Survivors?

The metal lid in the junk corner moved. Cody froze, not taking his eyes off, squeezing the blaster. It could be an Imp.

And then he saw a child peeking from the hole in the ground from under the lid – Cody guessed it was a basement.

The child locked the eyes with his and dived in back.

Cody holstered the blaster and came to the basement. Not coming too close, kneeled and called softly:

– Hey? – and cringed of the rough and scratchy sound of his voice after several weeks of silence – didn’t have any need to talk, or anyone to talk to, anyway. – Kid?

First there was nothing, only ragged and hitching breathing heard from the slit between the lid and ground.

– I’m not an Imp, - ‘Of course, the kid would be scared. Quite possible, the parents were killed right in front of their eyes’.

A couple of beats – nothing. Then two small dirty hands appeared on the edge of the ground. Big brown eyes looked at him from the red hood with infinite fear.

– Promise. I’m not one of them, - Cody slowly took off the hood. – Have you seen any troopers with pictures on their uniform? – he pointed at gray sunrise on the remains of his armour – the left vambrace, gloves and pauldrons were missing, same as couters and sabatons. He tried to smile encouragingly, but the kid didn’t look convinced, and Cody didn’t blame them – he forgot how to smile since… since Utapau. – Did you hide there during the attack?

The child nodded warily, clearly ready to bolt at any disturbing movement.

– Were… you parents killed?

 The child’s eyes started filling with tears.

– Let’s get out of here, - Cody raised, and the kid shrank and flinched away, awaiting for what – a kick? A shot? Then the child’s eyes widened incredulously at Cody’s outstretched hand.

Fragile fingers clasped cautiously around his.

---

– So, do you have any more relatives? – the kid turned out to be a tanned dark-haired boy of eight standard years, maybe – Cody was always bad at guessing ages of natborns. – I could take you to them, – he mused a little and added: - You do understand Basic, right?

The boy nodded, still tensely looking at him from his hood and hugging himself on the upturned crate near the fire next to Cody’s ship. Then shook his head.

– No relatives, then, - somehow, Cody knew it would be like this. But he couldn’t just take a kid with him – too dangerous. Unless… - What do you think about finding you a new home? – the boy tensed even more. – I know it’s hard for you now, I’ve lost my family too. But I can try to find at least a good place for you to stay, if not a home, – he gave him a stick with some roasted meat pierced on it – the kid raided his home before they left.

The boy shrugged, and Cody could very well relate. Also he knew that the initiate shock would pass, and tears were inevitable – he had similar situations with some shinies after their first battles, seeing how the older, more hardened brothers soothed the surviving newbies, sometimes intervening himself to reassure the boys who lost themselves in horror and shock. Learning within sterile Kaminoan walls had been entirely different form the real taste of war.

– What’s your name, kid?

The boy looked at him, but said nothing. Either he wasn’t able to speak, or stress took away this ability – Cody read about such occurrences among war survivors at the Jedi Temple Archives.

– I’m Cody, - he gave a small mirthless smile, not expecting an answer. – Can I call you… I don’t know, Brown Eyes?

The boy looked at him with eyebrows raised, then shrugged again.

– Fine then, Brown Eyes, - absent-mindedly Cody nipped off some bread – how long hadn’t he tried real, actual food, not tasteless rations? – Finish your meal, we’ll have a night in the ship – it’s small, but you can take the co-pilot seat. Fly-off at 0600, - he mentally kicked himself for talking to the kid as to a soldier, but the boy seemed fine with it.

Some minutes they sat silently, watching the fire sparks trying to break the night’s darkness only to disappear in it.

– Why is your sunrise gray?

Cody startled at the sound of a quiet childish voice. Brown Eyes was looking at him with shy curiosity – or, more precisely, at his cuirass with the paint remains, courtesy of the Empire. Or mockery.

– Because I lost all the sunshine of my life, - grieving pain, his only companion for all these months of lucidity and solitude, rolled up to his throat in a bile, and Cody swallowed hard, not intending to break down in front of the traumatized child. – Sorry, kid.

– Din Djarin, - Brown Eyes suddenly said, looking straight into Cody’s eyes. – This is my name. – He shuffled, as if wanted to move closer. – And I’m not the only Brown Eyes here.

At this Cody actually chuckled:

– Well then, Din Djarin. Welcome abroad.

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Days Eight through Eleven.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C     

word count: 8.8 K   

chapter summary: Din races to save Marathel, Grogu loses his temper, and Din remembers a time he accidentally got high as f*ck 

warnings:  angst for days, head injury, severe bodily injury, mention of blood, mention and aftermath of rape, mention and aftermath of object rape, mention of past drug use, bodily fluids and illness, vomit, sexual abuse, physical abuse, violence towards women, torture, enmeshed misogyny, Mando'a and English cursing 

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***  

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

Din managed to get the Crest into the air and out of orbit, but it was a struggle.  His concussion was giving him double vision, and it was already hard enough to see through the darkened visor without power to the vision capabilities.  The Crest also had to pressurize upon leaving the atmosphere, and Din believed that his eardrums were perforating, if the pain was any indication. His helmet seemed to be compressing his skull, which was in agony.  With a terrible groan, Din pulled the helmet off, dropping it to the cockpit floor, and he lost consciousness for a few seconds.  When he came to, Grogu was already in his lap, reaching up to his face, and a confused Din had a flashback to when he turned over the boy to the Jedi — the second worst day of his life — and Din panicked, thinking it was happening again.  Din clutched Grogu to his chest, whispering, “No, kid, you’re staying with me; I’m not giving you up again!”  Grogu’s hands went to Din’s cheeks, and Din began to feel a warmth and calm flow through his head.  Din quickly pulled back and took hold of the boy’s little hands.  “Enough, Grogu, that’s enough, don’t waste your power on me.”   

Grogu looked dubious and his ears drooped.  “Mahr?” 

Din swallowed.  What about Mahr, indeed?  He needed to get her somewhere fast and close.  Canto Bight was close and had great medical facilities.  However, he felt reasonably sure that New Republic authorities would see her looking like an Imperial torture victim, as well as not having an ID chip, and confiscate her as well as arrest him.  That was unacceptable, so he decided to head to Nevarro, hoping that Karga would be able to hook him up with a medic who could be trusted.  Tatooine was also an option, in fact it might be the better option — Boba and Fennec would keep their mouths shut, and there was a bacta tank at their disposal — but it was half a day’s further in hyperspace, and he didn’t think he had that kind of time.   

As he tried to concentrate on the task of plotting the course as well as figuring out just how hard he could push his antique ship, Din remembered some half-baked story about a Rebel general who had a Corellian freighter that went .5 past lightspeed, but he’d also heard that same asshole did the Kessel run in twelve parsecs instead of fourteen, so Din set little store in that kind of bantha shit.  On the other hand, the same jackwagon was allegedly banging a princess half his age, so what did he know?   

Concentrate, you osi’kovid, keep it together. 

Din fired up the hyperdrive and sent the ship on its course.  He took a breath and looked down to Grogu, still sitting on his lap, and took the little boy’s hands.  “Grogu … we gotta talk, kid.”  The boy looked at him expectantly.  “Mahr is very badly hurt.  We must hurry to get her help.”  Grogu stood on Din’s lap, reaching for his face.  “I know you want to help her.  But right now, I need you to stay here while I try to help her. I can’t let you see her … not how she is right now.  Okay?”  Grogu climbed up Din’s chest and hugged him as hard as his little arms would allow.  Din hugged him back, pressing his cheek against the boy’s, and it occurred to him that he’d removed his helmet again before a living being, compounding his guilt as a failed Mandalorian even more.  “I’m sorry, Grogu,” whispered Din as he stood and placed the boy in the rear seat. 

Din exited the cockpit and quickly closed it off before Grogu could try to follow him.  He dropped to the floor, jarring his skull painfully. He looked at the pile of blood-soaked cloth just outside his quarters, and then at the rag-wrapped object.    He took a breath, steeling himself against the sight of Marathel, and how useless he’d been in protecting her.   

Din picked up the bin with the bacta supplies, and carefully entered his quarters. There was barely room for him to turn around in here when alone; how the four women were able to cram in here along with Marathel was beyond him.  Marathel still lay prone, face-down, her face turned to the opposite wall.  Her hands were placed up near her head.  Each hand was wrapped around some sort of splint.  She was covered from her waist to her knees with a ragged-edge square of light fabric, and the rest of her exposed back and legs had large, brown leaves plastered to her skin.  He knelt and sat against the wall beside her.  He carefully lifted the edge of a leaf on her upper back, and the plant fibers disintegrated under his fingers.  Din counted his bacta sheets again and found that there were not enough to cover her whole back. He grabbed one of the bacta shots and carefully turned her head to face him so he could administer the shot directly into her neck, which bled more than he’d like, but, considering her blood clotting disorder, was unsurprising. 

Marathel’s face was also covered in the same leaves, and Din found the best clean rag there was left and started to wash off the crumbling leaves.  Her face was badly bruised, both eyes nearly swollen shut.  As Din tried to gently wash the blood away, more kept coming and it was hard to see from where.  Finally, he laid down next to her in the tiny room to get to her level, to see her full face, where he found that she had a deep gash down the center of her face, starting at her hairline, going between her eyebrows and down the bridge of her nose to its tip.  They cut her.  They cut her face. Right where everyone would see it.  The edges were clean, surgical, so the cut was done very deliberately with a very sharp knife.  Din shut his eyes tightly for a moment to suppress his emotions.  He gently pressed the cloth to the gaping wound to staunch the blood, but blood continued to seep slowly and drip down her cheek.  He found a smaller, partial bacta patch that he fitted to the deep cut as best he could, hoping that the patch would adhere to the bleeding wound.   

Marathel’s lips were dry and cracked, so he sprayed those with bacta, gently opening her lips to look at her teeth.  He could see at least three teeth missing and two broken. Din felt a blind rage bubble up inside him at the damage done to her lovely face, her beautiful smile.   He placed his hand on her head above her blood-soaked braid.  “Marathel?  Mesh’la?” Din whispered.  Marathel did not respond.  “I failed you, Marathel.  I’m so, so sorry.”  The words rang hollow and insignificant against what she’d suffered, and Marathel remained silent and unmoving. 

Din sat back up, his head throbbing with his change in position.  He needed to wash the crumbling leaves from her back, but he needed more clean water.  He’d have to hook up the recycler again — another damn thing he’d been meaning to do.  He’d always hated the notion of drinking or using recycled water and preferred to spend the extra coin to have tanks of fresh onboard, but his cash flow had been low lately, so he’d been conserving as much as possible.   

Din stood up, and staggered to the water storage, nearly emptying the last tank for a fresh bowl of clean water.  He’d figure it out later.  He went back to Marathel’s side and clumsily got back down to the floor. He gently washed the leaves from her back, opting to use the bacta patches on the worst lash marks and bacta spray on the less severe wounds.  The spray didn’t seem to do much for the bleeding, but Din hoped it would keep infection away.  He moved down to her waist, knowing he had to remove the cloth that was covering her, but he was loath to expose her after all she’d suffered.  Telling himself he had to do this to help her, he lifted the covering and pulled it away.   

There was a large concentration of whip marks on her buttocks, along with a lot of deep bruising that fed the blood flow.  Din cut another bacta patch and applied pieces to each buttock, quietly apologizing to Marathel for having to touch her that way as he did so, but she remained still.  It was then that Din noticed that Marathel had a large tightly rolled wad of fabric tucked between her thighs.  He didn’t want to find out the reason why — he had a pretty good guess — but he needed to know how bad off she was.  Din carefully moved her leg to the side, and he was now able to see the deep bruising that went between her buttocks and thighs, and he could see whip marks there as well.  He took hold of the wadded cloth and gently pulled it back to find that Marathel had bled profusely from her vagina and her rectum, now knowing he was correct, she had been brutally, probably repeatedly raped.  The wadding was mostly soaked through.  Din shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, unable to catch his breath, damning himself for not getting her out, for just standing there like the worst kind of coward while she suffered these indignities, disregarding the fact he had been incapacitated for most of it.  Din banged his head against the wall a couple of times, relishing the fresh pain as punishment while he carefully replaced the wadding where it had been, unsure of what to do for her. 

He banged his head one more time for good measure, and he suddenly felt nauseated.  Din quickly slid out of his quarters — leaving a smear of blood along the floor from where it was puddled underneath Marathel — and made it to the vac tube before he vomited.  Sitting on the floor, he let despair wash over him for a minute before he ordered himself to get it the shab together; Marathel needed his help. He opened his eyes, which fell once again on the rag-wrapped bundle.    

Din slid over to it on his knees, picking it up, knowing that there was … something inside.  Something heavy, metal, and of a … particular shape.  Uneasily certain of what he might find, Din unwrapped it with shaking hands.  Inside was a heavy metal cylinder, with sharp points studding the outside, slicked with blood and gobbets of flesh.  This must be the Dilimgau, thought Din, and all at once he knew exactly how it had been used on Marathel, when Olba told the other women to hold her leg higher and hold her down, Marathel’s horrific screaming, and the blood-soaked wadding between her thighs.  With an anguished howl, Din dropped the torture device, where it hit the metal floor with a heavy clunk.  Din backpedaled away from the horrible piece of metal, unable to tear his eyes away from it, unable to reconcile the fact that a lovely, sweet woman like Marathel allowed herself to endure something like that for a pile of coins, fucking coins, and he stood there frozen and let her willingly take this kind of torture, all because he had fucked her when she had no control over herself. 

I’m no better than the Elders, thought Din, as his skull continued to pound.  He went delirious for a moment, and somehow his addled mind believed that the Dilimgau was also made of beskar, and he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, shuffling to his weapons locker and pulling out the beskar hammer.  Din dropped to his knees and with inarticulate cries of rage, let loose on the horrific metal cylinder with the beskar hammer, and the Dilimgau was nothing more than base metal, not beskar, not forged at all, and Din flattened it to a metal scrap — as well as hammering a deep divot in the flooring — before tossing the hammer and the remains of the foul instrument of torture down the corridor, away from him.  Exhausted, Din fell to a sitting position, drew his knees up, and dropped his head, hugging his knees with his elbows, trying and failing to not weep. 

It took quite a while before Din could bring himself to return to Marathel’s side.  He stood at the door, looking down at her, paler than he had ever seen her.  He had to do right by her.  Part of him kept wondering why he didn’t just bring Grogu down here and let him work on healing her, but he just couldn’t do that.  Grogu was just a child, and Din kept hearing Marathel protesting that a child shouldn’t have to bear the burden of her hurts.  And the kind of injuries Marathel had, where her injuries were … how could he, in good conscience, have Grogu heal those?  Grogu had already suffered so much in his life, been through enough torture, without having to take on the suffering of the woman the boy obviously had adopted as his mother. 

Din knelt back down at Marathel’s side, cursing himself for leaving her both unattended and uncovered as he had.  The bacta patches seemed to be doing some good on some wounds, but blood continued to seep from the worst whip marks.  Din sprayed bacta down her legs for the whip marks there.    

He took a closer look at her hands, which he discovered were placed on wooden splints that seemed to be specially carved for such injuries.  Her hands and wrists were in a neutral position, and there were channels carved in the blocks for each finger to lay statically and in line.  Each of her fingers was black with deep bruising, and several fingernails were missing. Din was deeply disturbed that the Hold had created such things, so specifically for this purpose, and these splints seemed to have received a lot of use.  After injecting another partial bacta shot in each arm for the healing of her hands, Din finally took a another look at Marathel’s face, realizing that her lips had turned blue. 

Realizing that Marathel was cyanotic, probably due to blood loss, Din jumped up to find the emergency oxygen feed.  There should be one in this room, he thought.  They should be everywhere on this ship! Finding the correct panel, he pulled it open to find that the tubing had been disconnected and dismantled.   

“Haar’chak!” Din snapped.  He grabbed the tubing and climbed back into the cockpit, where he knew the emergency oxygen feed was actually working.  He pulled the tubing as far as it would reach, jerry-rigged a connection with splice tape, and turned up the condenser as high as it would go.  Finding a spare cannula in the medkit, Din fed the tube into his quarters and gently placed the cannula over Marathel’s head and under her nose.  “Breathe, mesh’la, please breathe,” Din whispered.  Satisfied that Marathel was getting some oxygen, Din sat back against the wall to take a breath himself when he heard a whimper outside the door. 

Din immediately slid out of the room on his knees again, adding to the blood smear on the floor, to find Grogu standing at the bottom of the cockpit ladder, staring at the bloody streaks and boot prints on the floor.  “No, no, buddy, not right now.  She’s … I can’t let you.”  Din scooped up Grogu, who was now screaming for his Mahr.  “I’m sorry, pal, not right now, I promise I’ll let you see her soon.  Just … not right now.”  The tiny child beat Din’s chest with his little fists, howling.  Din wondered if the boy could feel Marathel’s pain, and he carried him back up to the cockpit, and sat down in the pilot’s chair to let Grogu cry out his frustration while Din rubbed his back.  “Careful, kid, don’t hurt yourself punching my beskar, okay?”  Din sighed.  “I know, buddy, I know.”  Din leaned down and pressed his lips to the boy’s fuzzy hair, just as he’d seen Marathel do so many times in the few days he’d known her, and realized it was the first time he’d ever done so himself.  The boy’s hair was fine and soft, he knew, but this flyaway texture was so different against his nose than against his fingertips.  The tickle of the fine hairs was strange to him, having been cut off from all touch for decades.   Din put one foot up against the console and rocked the captain’s chair gently, each sway making his head hurt, wishing he could cry and yell along with Grogu, until the boy cried himself to sleep. 

Before Din put the child in his pram, Din decided that Grogu did have a couple blankets he could spare if needed.  He went through the little pile, wondering if the kid was stealing blankets from every damn place they went.  Din tucked the favorite blankie as well as the one that Winta — Omera’s daughter — had made around the child, and shut the pram, hoping that Grogu would be out for a little while. 

Din climbed down from the cockpit again, the throb in his head synching with each step he made.  He was so tired.  His armor was too heavy for him to bear any longer, so he removed each piece as he wobbled unsteadily, forgetting most of the words for each incantation. The cloth bag of coins that had been behind his cuirass fell to the floor at his feet.  After staring down at it for a few moments, he kicked the bag down the corridor in the same direction he’d thrown the beskar hammer.  He tried to bend over to properly stack the armor, but he had no sense of balance, and he dropped to one knee as his vision greyed out for a few moments. 

If you won’t let the kid help Marathel, at least let him fix your busted head. 

No … no, I need to suffer, pay some penance for what I’ve done, thought Din.  I’m an apostate, I’m not worthy to wear this beskar, I’m not worthy to carry those weapons.  I’m not worthy to follow the Way.  I am a coward. 

Din felt woozy again, and he fell forward on his hands.  Groaning, he crawled towards his quarters, dragging a blanket with him through the blood trail.  Marathel still lay motionless and naked on the floor.  Din pulled the blanket over her, covering her, whispering apologies to her again and again for not protecting her, for taking advantage of her, for not treating her with honor. 

Leaning over her still form, Din decided that he could not stand another moment seeing her hair in braids.  Carefully untying the ribbons — once blue, now a dull deep brown-purple — at the bottom of the plaits, Din gently untwisted the locks of hair, using the remaining clean water to wash out the dried blood clotting the hair together.  He combed the unbound hair with his fingers, much like he did when he volunteered to stay with her on the second night of the Dahls’ mating. 

How quickly you volunteered, too, he thought.  Did you do it for her sake, or just to get your dick into a willing body you didn’t have to pay for? 

He didn’t know.   

The only thing he knew at that moment was that he was blacking out again, and he collapsed on the floor against Marathel’s hip. 

Din awoke to a continuous, piercing shriek.  His eyes opened, but he was quite unsure of where he was.  He tried to raise his head but was hit with severe pain.  He’d forgotten — he’d been bashed in the head with a fucking huge hammer. Din squinted his eyes against the light, and realized he was wedged in the small space between Marathel and the wall, using her thigh as a pillow as he hugged her legs.  On some ordinary day, this would have been quite a pleasant way to wake up, but this was the furthest thing from an ordinary day, and Marathel had been beaten and tortured nearly to death and she still lay unmoving, unconscious.  He quickly let go and pushed himself up to a sitting position, his head in agony. Din leaned over to look at Marathel’s face, and he could see the bacta was doing very little good: her face was less swollen, but blood was seeping out from under the bacta patch. She was still getting oxygen from the ship’s condenser, but her exhalation was thin and shallow.  Her eyes were not fully closed but were heavy-lidded and glassy looking.   

Is she not responding to the bacta injections?  And what the ever-loving shab is making that noise? 

Din slid back out the door and pulled himself to his feet. The piercing sound was an alarm coming from the cockpit.  He wearily pulled himself up the ladder and began checking gauges.  It turned out coolant was leaking from the port engine and the whole damn thing was in danger of overheating.  It was something he’d been keeping an eye on, but he’d forgotten to check it before leaving.  What he really needed to do was drop out of hyperspace and fix it properly, but he couldn’t risk the loss of time.  Din was worrying about how he was going to slap a quick fix on it when he discovered a holotext message from Karga: 

GK: No can do, Mando, only have a part-time medic and a couple of outdated droids.  Good luck. 

“Dank ferrik!” Din shouted, which he instantly regretted as he felt the throb go through his brain, blurring his vision.  He got the alarm to stop blaring, at least, but he needed to check on that coolant situation, lay out a course to Tatooine, get a message to Boba, turn on the water recycler … what was he forgetting?  He was forgetting something. One thing at a time, he told himself, and he reconfigured the course of the Crest towards Tatooine, which took much longer than he thought it should, as the numbers kept looking wrong, not like proper numbers.  He coded out a holotext to Boba, which he was sure was a garbled mess, but Din had pretty much hit fuck it. 

Grogu had taken up residence in the aft chair, hugging his green blanket, watching Din with wary eyes.  Din blinked at the boy a few times, and finally remembered that regardless, the boy needed to eat.  Din opened the panel under the console with the secret stash of ration bars, which wasn’t exactly a secret so much as pure laziness on Din’s part: he just preferred to be in his captain’s chair rather than go up and down the damn ladder.  Dropping a packet in front of Grogu, Din mumbled, “Have at it, kid,” as he exited the cockpit to check on Marathel. 

Din squeezed back into the tiny room.  Marathel had not moved.  The bacta patches seemed to no longer have any effect as the slow seep of blood continued from each of her wounds, which baffled Din. He had never heard of bacta not working.  Were the patches bad? Old?   How much longer could she continue to bleed like this until she had nothing left?  

There was one bacta injection left.  If he were being a sensible man, he’d take the injection himself so he could be in a better frame of mind to help Marathel and fly this ship.  Instead, he jabbed Marathel in her fleshy hip, hoping that the bacta would help her most severe injuries, the ones covered by the blanket.  He threw the empty canister out of the room and began placing the remaining leaves the women had left on Marathel, despite knowing they would not work.  Nothing was working.  He thought about getting the cauterizing gun before deciding it would do more harm to her fragile skin than good.  He considered freezing her in carbonite but figured that she would perish in either the freezing process or the thawing process.   

Din sunk down next to her, lying beside her as he had done multiple times on her bed tick on a wooden platform on a beautiful planet with wide seas, grassy meadows, rocky paths.  He touched her cheek, marked with bruises, cuts, and that horrible slice down the middle of her face, remembering how she looked in her sleep as he held her on that fragrant, crackly bed tick of hers, so soft, so warm, so gentle.  Now she looked … mostly dead.   

Tell me what to do, mesh’la, I got nothing.   

Din held his breath, listening to her breathing, only hearing thin, reedy sounds.  He watched the gash on her face bleed, the blood cresting with her fading heartbeat in each wound.  

You should have taken her somewhere beautiful, instead of this fool’s errand, thinking that you could get her help. You should have let her die in peace, on her own terms. 

But he couldn’t, he couldn’t, not even with a blaster to his head. 

Because he was a coward. 

Din must have fallen asleep — or passed out again — because he opened his eyes to the sensation that the ship was vibrating.  With a grunt, he sat up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head that seemed to be getting worse instead of better.  Din slid out of his quarters and into the main corridor, listening.  Aside from the dull scream of the twin engines being pushed to their limits, Din could not detect anything untoward happening with the ship — for once.  Then where was the vibration coming from? 

Din looked back into his quarters and saw that the vibration was not the ship, but Marathel.  She was shaking all over.  Haar’chak, a man needs three hands at a time like this. Going back to Marathel’s side, he touched her face and realized that she was shivering because she was burning up with fever.  Her face was a ghostly white, except for two high patches on her cheeks that were more blue than pink.  Din leaned in to check her breathing, and he could smell the infection on her, sure that she was going septic, probably because of the damage done to her by the Dilimgau.  At the same time, her breath was not thin and reedy anymore, but raspy, gurgling.  Her lungs are filling with fluid, he thought. Din immediately took her arms to roll Marathel on her side, facing him, trying to get the fluid moving out of her lungs.  He shouldn’t have been surprised, really; she hadn’t taken a full breath in however many days.  When he rolled her, he realized that he had only been concerned about her back and had not given a thought to what damage may have been done to her front. 

Marathel’s midsection was a patchwork of dark bruises, and Din believed he felt several broken ribs as he rolled her.  There were whip marks on her belly and thighs, and deep bite marks on her breasts.  Din felt his rage flare up again.  The blood from between her legs had saturated the wadding there and soaked into his sleeping pad like a sponge, creating a bizarre ink blot of red over her entire front.  Marathel’s head lolled to the side, but the shift in position did not help her breathing.  In fact, Marathel did not seem to be getting any air at all, as her inhalation only made a thick sucking sound.   

Din swept his fingers in her mouth, clearing out a handful of viscous foul-smelling mucus.  He tipped her head back to try to get an airway open, but no sounds came out.  Desperate, he closed her nose and pressed his lips over her mouth, trying to suck out anything he could from her mouth and throat.  He spit out a mouthful of the vile stuff, and tried twice more, with only a small amount of success.  Marathel lay limply in his arms, still unable to draw breath.   

“Dank ferrik, Marathel, breathe, breathe, damn it!” Din snapped, pulling her over so she was partially face-down as he held her over his leg.  I’m so sorry, he thought, and he pounded her as hard as he could between her shoulder blades with the heel of his hand.  He hit her three more times, wincing as he watched the whip marks that had barely closed open once more.  He swept her mouth with his fingers again, but nothing had come loose.  Din put his ear to her back, listening, and could only hear crackles and wet sounds, and those were faint from lack of breath.   

Din laid Marathel down on her back, pulling the blanket up to cover her.  He knew he had to cut her trachea, create an airway, suck out as much mucus and fluid as possible if she was going to breathe again.  However, a tracheotomy was something he’d never actually done, had only seen his buir do once, on another Mandalorian who was drowning in his own blood after a bad neck and chest wound.  But Din could not second-guess, could not waver, he had to do this if she had any chance of survival.  Silently apologizing to Marathel, Din took a moment to kiss her mouth, tears pricking his eyes, almost certain this would be his only chance to ever do so, before carefully laying her head back down and rushing out to his weapons locker.   

He nearly ripped the door off in his haste to find his best vibroblade, the thin stiletto with the highest oscillation.  Finding it, Din slapped the blade into motion and began heading back to Marathel when his eyes locked with Grogu’s eyes as the boy stood at the top of the cockpit ladder. 

Grogu saw Din stepping towards his Mahr with the long knife, and with a howl, extended his tiny hand out to Din, who suddenly felt his entire body flung back to the far end of the corridor, crashing into the hanging carbonite shells.  Din’s head received a fresh beating, and he felt something wrench in his shoulder as he fought against Grogu’s Force power.  Din managed to move forward a couple of feet before Grogu leapt down to the floor and Force-pushed Din as far back as he could.   

“Grogu,” grunted Din.  “Stop it!  I’m trying to help Mahr…” His words were cut off as Grogu twisted Din’s wrist painfully, making him drop the vibroblade, pushing him up against the far wall, holding him there.  Feeling as if there was an invisible stone wall pressing against him, Din cried out, “Mahr can’t breathe, boy!  Her lungs are full of fluid!”  Din groaned as he tried to break free of Grogu’s capture.  “If you won’t let me help her, you have to do it, quickly, before she drowns!” Grogu growled at Din.  “Please, Grogu!  Please, you must help her!  Mahr needs you!”  Grogu released Din, who crumpled to the floor. Grogu had thrown him hard, and without his armor and helmet, Din was as vulnerable as a loth kitten.  He now had a couple broken ribs, ringing in his ears, and he was sporting a new gash on the back of his head.  “Help Mahr, Grogu, please help her.” 

Grogu took a long look at Din, who hoped that the child would understand.  Din pulled himself up to his hands and knees, vision going in and out with the additional concussive injuries.  When he raised his head again, Grogu was toddling into Din’s quarters, whimpering.  Din struggled to stand, weaving like a drunkard towards the open doorway, lurching forward to catch himself on the wall and then sliding back down to sit on the floor.  Din poked his head into the tiny room and saw Grogu gently touching Marathel on her mid-section with his little clawed hands.  “It’s her lungs, kid, understand?  She can’t breathe; can you do anything?” 

Grogu tilted his head, moving his hands up to Marathel’s upper chest, his little face full of concentration. Din watched as the blanket moved to wrap itself tightly around Marathel, and her heels came up off the floor.  Slowly, slowly, Marathel’s body turned over as if she were on a spit, her hair defying all gravity, floating about her head, and she continued to raise slowly into the air, her feet going higher as her head tilted down towards the floor, again, looking so much like she had in Din’s nightmare just a couple nights previously that Din felt transported back into the dream.  Grogu’s eyes were closed tightly, his little arms above his head, hands held out to Marathel, whose head hung down limply.  Her midsection seemed to quake, her shoulders rolling, her chest heaving, and her mouth opened, and a glut of revolting fluid, mucus, and blood emptied from her mouth with a guttural choking sound.  “That’s it, buddy, that’s it, clear out her lungs," Din said as he pulled himself into the room, doing his best to clear up the horrible mess from under her head.  “It’s better out than in, please keep trying.”  Marathel’s body roiled in mid-air, releasing another large clot of mucus from her mouth.  Grogu moved his hands, and Marathel’s body seized with a sharp gasp of air, and then she hung limply, her breath moving in and out mechanically as Grogu slowly set her back down, her arms and hands returning to their previous position on either side of her head, her hair gently twisting into contained bundle against her head, her face turned to the side.  Grogu moved up to her face, and he stroked her cheek, and Din watched as Marathel’s eyes fluttered open to focus ever so briefly on Grogu before sliding back to their half-closed, glassy state.  Din couldn’t say if Marathel was breathing on her own or if Grogu was forcing air in and out of her lungs, but at least she didn’t sound like she was trying to breathe through mud.   

Grogu sat down wearily against Marathel’s arm, and he rested his head on her, his back to Din.  “You did it, Grogu, you saved her,” whispered Din, and he reached out to the boy, and Grogu jerked away from Din’s touch with an angry squawk.  Din sat back against the wall, and Grogu stroked Marathel’s cheek, both listening to her measured breathing.  After a few moments, Marathel also stopped shivering, and she broke out into a heavy sweat.  Realizing that her fever was broken — probably by Grogu as well — Din found the other blankets he had pulled from Grogu’s pram and spread them over Marathel.  Lying back down on the floor, Din watched Grogu use the Force to pull a lock of Marathel’s hair into his outstretched hand, probably the one thing the boy could touch of her that wouldn’t cause her more pain.  Grogu looked over Marathel’s arm with glimmering eyes at Din, who reached out and took hold of Grogu’s hand, hair and all.  Grogu continued to concentrate on Marathel, willing her lungs to breathe, her heart to beat.  Din, with a new ringing in his ears and eyes unable to focus, began to fall back into oblivion.  Grogu looked over to Din, who muttered, “Not me, kid, just take care of her.  I’ll be …” as he passed out again.  Grogu chirped with worry but went back to watching Marathel breathe as he moved air and out of her lungs. 

Sometime later, the comm.link on the cockpit console was whistling shrilly.  Din’s eyes slowly opened to see Grogu still reclining against Marathel’s arm, his eyes closed.  Marathel’s back continued to rise and fall with her breathing.  Din pushed himself upright, only to almost fall again.  He crawled to the cockpit ladder and groaned before grabbing the rungs and struggling up into the cockpit.  Din grabbed his chair and pulled himself into it, hitting the comm.link switch. 

“Din?”  Din grunted a response.  “Finally.  Boba.  Sit rep.” 

“She’s dying … my fault.” 

“Then take her to a medic.  They’ll be discreet about a bounty.” 

“Can’t do …” Din slumped down in the chair, slipping towards insensibility again. 

Boba called out to Din twice, only getting a grunt in return.  It was worrying enough that it took nearly an hour for Din to answer the comm.link, but he also sounded blackout drunk.  Switching to Mando’a, Boba barked out, “{Din Djarin! Wake up!}” 

Din’s head bobbed up, confused. “{I am awake and ready.}” 

“{What can you see?}” 

Din took a deep breath.  “{I see the console.  It’s telling me that I’m on course to reach the Tatooine system in 11 basic hours.}” 

“{What do you hear?}” 

“{The engines are overloaded and may fail.}” 

“{What do you feel?}” 

“{I … I have a concussion.  I can’t concentrate. I keep passing out.  I am a coward.  I failed her.  I must set it right.}” 

“{Then you know what you must do.  Check the engines.  Keep her alive.  Get her here.  Be a Mandalorian.  This is the way.}” 

“{This is the way.}” Boba clicked off the comm.link, and Din took a moment to breathe in and out to clear his head.  Boba was right.  He had to keep the Crest flying and Marathel alive until he landed on Tatooine.  That was all.  Din stood and by sheer force of will, climbed down the ladder from the cockpit and headed straight to the hold to access the cooling system of the overheating engine.  Luck was on his side for once; the coolant leak was not too terrible — the worst issue was a badly cracked gasket right above a sensor.  He slapped some sealant on the gasket and called it good. 

The water recycler was a different problem altogether.  He’d forgotten that he’d dismantled a whole section of it but had been distracted by some damn thing at the time and never went back to it.  Getting sloppy, old man. It hardly mattered now; they were close enough to Tatooine, and it was so far down on his list that he’d even let one of Peli’s droids take a crack at it. 

Din’s ears were ringing terribly, and as he left the hold, he put his hand to one ear to find it was bleeding.  His whole back felt wet and sticky.  Din assumed it was blood; whether it was his or Marathel’s blood was immaterial.  He stepped back into the corridor by the carbonite shells.  Three of them were off the track completely, and another hung by only one point instead of two.  He could see a big clot of blood on one corner of a shell, and a puddle of blood on the floor along with a blood drop trail, and it took him a while to register that it was his blood he was seeing.  Din staggered closer to his quarters, counting bloody boot prints as he did so.  This did not affect him so much as the tiny, clawed footprints did. Seeing Grogu’s footprints in Marathel’s blood hurt his heart in ways he didn’t think possible.  What am I doing, dragging a child around the galaxy with the likes of me? Din finally made it to the doorway and looked in.  Marathel had not moved.  Grogu was curled up under her chin, his hand on her throat.  Din could see that she was still breathing, and he also believed that the boy was somehow pumping her heart. 

Cyar’e, I need you to keep breathing, at least long enough for you to tell us the story of the Great Godynferth … you can’t die without telling us that, ne’kar’ta. 

Din’s legs could no longer support him, and he slid down the doorway again to the floor.  The blood puddle under Marathel now took up the entire remaining visible floor of the tiny room she lay in, and the pad she was laying on resembled a raft in a pond of blood.   

Just a few more hours, cyar’e.  Please, please hang on. 

He thought he’d just closed his eyes for a moment, but the next thing Din knew, all he could hear was a howling. Din lifted his head to see Grogu, holding Marathel’s face.  Din panicked: he assumed it was Grogu howling, and he quickly moved to Marathel’s side, fearing the worst.  But Grogu was not the one making the howling noise, and Marathel was still breathing … and bleeding. 

Din slid out of the room, looking for the source of the noise.  It was mechanical, but somehow hollow, but then he finally remembered that both his eardrums were ruptured, and he was hearing the alarm that they were about to drop out of hyperspace. 

Almost there, mesh’la. 

Din pulled himself up the ladder and into the captain’s chair.  Leaning forward toward the console, and mostly using muscle memory, he brought the ship out of hyperspace.  The shock of the speed change caused a bout of vertigo and Din dry-heaved; he hadn’t eaten since some toast soldiers after puking up clams several days ago.  Just the act of dry heaving made his head pound painfully, and he could see stars, but he pulled himself to face the controls again. The Crest entered the atmosphere of Tatooine at a bad angle, bouncing the ship like giant ball for a few moments, and Din hoped Grogu had a hold on Marathel.  As Din flew the ship at breakneck speed towards Boba’s palace, his addled brain suddenly reminded him of a situation from decades back. 

He had been a young man — and therefore, an idiot — and he recalled it was shortly after his buir had died.  He had been running with another ne’er-do-well — what the shab was his name?  Zek, that was it.  Frith, that guy was an asshole. 

They’d picked up a spice addict masquerading as a spice runner, and there’d been a lot of spice sent airborne during the capture, leading all of them to get high as ever-loving shab in the process.  Zek had decided that it was perfectly appropriate to bring the mark in on his own ship.  Din had had no previous spice experience, so he was useless at the controls — and anyway, he was enjoying the sensation of being a weighted blanket far too much to do anything but sit in the co-pilot’s seat with his feet on the console as Zek flew the ship like … well, a dipshit high on spice.   

As they approached the landing site on the space station that was their drop-off point, Din briefly stopped contemplating the pretty colored lights to remark: “Man, I think … you’re coming in kinda high.”  

Zek replied, “Look, man, if there's one thing I know, it's how to fly while I'm stoned.  You know your perception is completely fucked so you just let your hands work the controls as if you were straight.” 

They clipped the top edge of the landing tunnel and bounced the ship all the way to the far end, taking out a comm. tower before sliding to a rest inches from the window behind which half-a-dozen landing pad controllers looked on in fear. 

Din, still lolling in the co-pilot’s seat, had said, ��Whoa.  Nice flying, man.”  

Back in the present, Din recalled that not only did they have to forfeit their bounty, but they also both landed in jail while the Guild smoothed things over.  Well, right now, his perception was completely fucked, so he hoped his hands would be able to work the controls as if he weren’t a concussed, barely conscious osi’kovid who hadn’t eaten or properly slept in four days. 

In the landing tunnel at Boba’s palace, Fennec, Boba, and two medical droids waited for Din to approach.  Fennec sighed and said, “Din could take an injured bounty anywhere.  Why was he so insistent on coming here?” 

“He didn’t say.” 

“What did he say?” 

“That she’s dying.  Definitive – and quite insistent -- on she.” Fennec rolled her eyes and Boba grunted.  “We owe him.” Fennec scoffed, then went silent.  He squinted at the approaching ship, noting its relative speed.  Boba raised his comm.link and shouted into it, “Slow down, Din!  You’re coming in far too fast!” To Fennec, he shouted, “Get back … get back!”

The Crest barely missed the edge of the tunnel and nosed down into the sand.  The landing thrusters screamed as Din worked to stop the ship, sliding through the sand and spinning halfway around before finally coming to a stop, steam escaping from all ports.  Din leapt down from the cockpit, stumbling as he landed, falling to one knee as he rushed to get to Marathel.   

In the sleeping quarters, Marathel, who had not been tied down, had been tossed several times against the walls and was now in a crumpled heap on the floor.  The cannula had been pulled off her head, and her arms now bore new injuries from the metal walls.  Grogu was tightly holding on to one of the blankets wrapped around her, babbling angrily at Din.  “Get in the cockpit, Grogu!  Go now, boy!” Din pulled Grogu off Marathel and roughly shoved him out of the room.  Din lifted Marathel and struggled to stand up as she lay limply in his arms, her head and arms hanging.  Osik, she weighs nothing now.  He rushed to the ramp door, hitting the control to open it with his foot, hardly waiting for the ramp to set down before running down it.   

Boba and Fennec ran forward with the floating gurney, both realizing at the same time that Din was not wearing his helmet.  Fennec started, “Is he not …?” 

Boba snapped, “Look away, Fennec, look away!” Fennec turned away as Boba kept moving with the gurney.  “Boy, what the hell …” 

“{Help her!  She is dying!}” 

Boba helped lift her limp body on to the gurney, noticing several things at once:  Din was covered in blood, he had bad wounds on the back of his head, he was bleeding from both ears, and his pupils were two different sizes, indicative of a bad concussion indeed.  Of the woman wrapped in bloody blankets, Boba mostly noticed that she wasn’t just pale, she was grey, covered in wounds, and was probably already dead.  Grabbing two bacta injections and some bacta patches off the gurney, Boba shoved the gurney back towards Fennec.  Dropping back into Mando’a, Boba snapped, “{Back in the ship, Din!}” 

Din clutched Boba’s jacket. “{Help her, please!}” 

Boba grabbed Din and began pushing him back towards the ramp.  “{They have her, Din.  Let them help her now, we must move the ship.”   

Din blinked uncomprehendingly at Boba, then turned, and began lurching back into the ship.  Boba followed him up into the Crest and came up short: there was blood everywhere.  The corridor was practically an abattoir; bloody footprints of both Din’s boots and the tiny footprints of Grogu led back and forth all over the floor of the ship.  Boba glanced through the open door next to the vac tube, seeing the pile of rags and the sleeping pad lying on top of a veritable pond of blood.  There is no way that woman lives.  Not with this much blood loss. 

Din had been mumbling about moving the ship in Mando’a, but now he began to rave, his words slurring.  “{Gonna move the ship … fly back to that fucking planet … blow that Hold to dust … kill that Bishop … if Frith lets me, I’ll kill him twice!}”  He staggered to the cockpit ladder, put his hands on the rungs, and looked up to see Grogu standing there in bloodstained clothing that was made with Marathel’s now destroyed hands.  “GANGWAY, Grogu!” shouted Din in a tone he’d never taken with the child before, and Grogu, with rage in his eyes, held out his little bloodstained hand to Din, and Din crumpled to the floor, unconscious. 

Boba stood still for a few moments, watching Grogu’s face drop into despair as the child sat down, looking down sadly at Din.  With a sigh, Boba said, “Good job, kid.”  Boba knelt next to Din, checking his vitals.  His heartbeat was strong, and his breathing was even.  Boba injected bacta into both sides of Din’s neck before gently asking the child, “Where is his helmet?” Grogu disappeared briefly into the cockpit and Force-lifted the deeply dented helmet out to Boba.  He whistled softly at the damage done to the beskar.  “What the hell did this?” Grogu silently pointed down the corridor.

Boba went in that direction, noticing the off-track carbonite shells as well as the chunk of Din’s scalp plastered to the corner of one shell.  Nearby lay the beskar hammer.  Boba picked it up along with a flattened, bloodied hunk of metal, placing both in the weapons cabinet, locking it.  He then noticed a cloth bag, which made a jingling noise as he picked it up.  Opening the bag, Boba’s eyes went wide: inside were at least 150 Aurodium coins, practically ancient Aurodium coins, if the date was to be believed.  He tucked the bag of coins under his cuirass and went back to Din’s prone form.  Boba knelt and carefully adhered a large bacta patch on Din’s head wounds before replacing Din’s helmet, giving back his anonymity.  Boba then closed the ramp door, climbed up into the cockpit, and picked up Grogu.  The boy clung to Boba’s neck.  Boba set the controls, managed to get the badly abused engines to start, and flew the ship to Peli’s yard.   

Peli, confused but delighted at seeing the Crest land in her yard, came out to greet the Mandalorian and the little green boy she loved so much.  As the ramp door opened, she was already yelling out, “Mando!  What have you been doing to this poor old ship? And where’s my niblet?”  Peli came up short when she saw it was Boba Fett at the top of the ramp.  “Daimyo?  My apologies, sir!” 

“No worries, Peli, do not stand on ceremony with me.” 

Peli saw Grogu in his arms.  “Niblet, by the hairy balls of a Jawa, what happened?   Is he injured?  Stars, he’s covered in blood!” 

Boba came down the ramp and handed the boy and a handful of clean clothes to Peli.  “No, he is not injured.  But he has had a very hard time these past few days.  He needs a bath, a good meal.  And lots of hugs.” 

“All life’s problems should be so easy.  Where’s Mando?” 

“Inside, unconscious.”  Peli opened her mouth in shock.  “He’ll be fine, he’s full of bacta.  He has a bad concussion, but what he needs now is rest.  Let him sleep himself out.”  Boba physically turned Peli around and started walking her back to her workshop.  “Leave him be, but don’t you go in there.  Send the pit droids.  Do not go in there.  No one should see that.” 

“What about Mando?” 

“If you have a mech that can check on him every couple of hours, do that.  Check his vitals.  Otherwise, just have the droids clean the ship, fix what needs fixing.  I’ll cover the charges.”

“Done.  Take that speeder back to the palace, if you like.” 

Boba shook his head and moved his cape out of the way of his jet pack.  “I’m good, Peli.  Thank you for your kindness.” 

Peli stroked Grogu’s ear.  “What happened in there?” 

Boba shrugged.  “Bounty gone bad.  Very bad.  Ask Mando when he wakes up.”  Boba took a step back and blasted off with his jet pack. 

Peli watched him go, then returned her attention to Grogu.  “Hey, little guy, it’s gonna be okay.  Auntie Peli’s got you.  Mando’s gonna be okay, we’re all gonna be okay.” 

Grogu looked up at Peli with huge tears in his eyes.  “Sad Mahr?”  

Peli frowned in confusion, but said, “You betcha, little bug, Sad Mahr too, baby.”  Mahr must be the bounty, she thought.  Peli yelled at the droids to get a move-on as she carried the exhausted child into her workshop. 

Next Chapter ->

[lemongingerart]

Chapter 1 - Departure (II)

Fic summary: The second arc of my Armitage Hux x OC fanfic, “chocolate cookies and tarine tea”, in which both need to deal with the mess they got into (and each other, eh eh eh). Involves cookies that won't be eaten and tea that will get spilled. Same goes for certain feelings... they are going to be hungry ant thirsty 😏

You can find the link to AO3 and other chapters on Tumblr in the pinned message on my dash, both for the first and second arc 😊

Rating: Explicit. This is going to be very NSFW. So, Minors, do NOT read or interact. 18+. Family, friends and colleagues, please don’t read this. :’-)

Tags & warnings: TRoS fix-it (kind of), Hux!lives, Hux doesn’t like Kylo, Not a Redemption Arc, maybe a little bit, shameless fem!OC insert (there are cliches but entertaining ones imo), slow emotional burn, medium sexual burn, Enemies to Enemies With Benefits to Lovers, Hux is still a villain don't forget, Virgin Characters, masturbation against the door, pinv, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Awkward Sexual Situations, Past Child Abuse, dubious first kiss, Dom/sub Undertones, Mental Breakdown, Unprotected Sex, wet Hux, that deserves a tag/warning on its own, Minor Character Death

I will add tags as we proceed in the story, please let me know if I forgot one!

Taglist: @mylifeisactuallyamess, @morby and anyone who’d like to join 🥰

A/N:    Good day! This time, I have a longer and hopefully more interesting chapter prepared 🙂

I had some quality issues with reviewing this one, so it took me a while to get rid of them, and from all the re-reading I’m not even sure everything makes sense anymore? Their "discussions" are precious to me though, that's why I did not go lightly over them 😇

I hope you enjoy this chapter and I look forward hearing if I’m taking too long for something to happen or not 💁💁💁

Miko’s mind was racing.  The tranquillity and purpose she had found a few minutes ago, had been efficiently eaten away by her unwanted travel companion. That outburst all too vividly reminded her again of how dangerous, maybe violent, he might become. 

When she left the cockpit, she had opted to sit on the bench in the wardroom, her knees pressed up to her chest and her head facing the closed cockpit entrance. That's where she was now, trying to get the time pass more quickly, while making sure Hux couldn't come near her without her noticing. 

One of her datapads lay on the table to her left, the little droid charging right next to it, so she took it, in an attempt to distract herself and clear her head. 

Her fingers started tapping the screen with a seasoned swiftness, accessing PC’S processing unit. Inspiration hit her, driven by what had happened in the cockpit, and she started to program a new procedure into the little droid's core.

She looked at the cockpit’s door for a second, doubt apparent on her features. 

She was currently making sure that PC would record everything that happened around her, just in case. Both on Taris' planetside as around the creepy ex-general. 

The droid could wirelessly connect to her built-in data chip and to her datapad, which could then save the holo onto a remote location, safely tucked away.  It wouldn't protect herself at the moment itself, but at least she would have some evidence, should she ever need it. The last thing she wanted to be, was entirely defenseless. 

She sighed. The trip to Taris was short compared to their first one together, now that their hyperdrive and the nav component was fixed. But, given how quickly the atmosphere had turned as cold as deep space, she already wished it was over. The grumpy ginger's mood was as bad as the Kessel storms and she wondered how she ever saw something in him. Who knew she could've gotten so caught up in physical needs? And why? Stress? Subconscious desires? Whatever she felt back then, she definitely didn't feel it right now. 

Now, she was wondering if she could even bring up the courage to spend the next journey with someone as detestable as him.

“What are you doing?” she suddenly heard from behind her back. 

She jolted up from her crouched position and turned her head. Hux had sneaked up from behind her and had scared her to death. Or maybe she just thought he sneaked up on her, since she missed the sound of the door because she was still in deep thoughts about him and whatever dark plans he might have. 

She let out a breath, trying to calm down, and tried to ban the idea that he was being sneaky on purpose. 

'N-nothing special' she blurted out, aware of the slight tremble in her voice.

'I wanted to check on you to make sure you weren't up to something you might regret' he added, almost whispering. 

O-kay… he is most definitely creepy, she reconsidered, pressing the datapad close to her chest and mentally taking note she shouldn't ban the idea after all. 

The stone cold atmosphere he had just created, made her forget that he was more or less insulting her, again. It only slowly seeped through that, from his point of view, seeing someone so focused on a datapad, when they had agreed that no communication channels should be used, might've looked suspicious. Still, whatever the reason was, there were better ways to relay the message.

Miko didn't immediately know how to respond and sat still, watching him step to the pantry and wondering what his plans were. To her surprise though, he opened a cabinet to take or make something to drink. 

Oddly, he did have the decency to fetch something for her as well. Even more odd, it was the taste she preferred, given the limited choice aboard the shuttle. She stared at the mintea bottle in silence while it travelled her way. Hux sat the bottle in front of her, then turned around. She watched his back when he went to prepare his. It only took him a few seconds, so she had to avert her eyes once he turned towards her direction. 

Miko started to wonder if the rather worrisome comment he had whispered her way was actually meant to be a conversation starter, seeing how he was trying to act casually and looking to sit somewhere on the bench as well.

Intrigued by this opportunity for a talk, she put her datapad sideways. She focused on the bottle in front of her, still having the urge to be cautious around him and avoiding eye contact. 

After a small pause, he placed his cup on the table and took a spot to her right. It was subtle, but she could see him adjust his posture. Probably, he was looking for a more comfortable way to sit, because of the shot wound in his leg, she wondered. 

When he stirred in the cup he had chosen, the smell of caf and another sharp spice filled the room. He slowly took a sip, not looking at Miko’s general direction. 

Miko was utterly confused and - probably for the first time ever - didn't know what to say or do at all. He had the power to swing her mood to every corner of the emotional spectrum in mere seconds. She slowly became aware of that, and she didn’t like it. 

Still unsure about what to do, she mimicked his movements and took a nip from the scented water. She didn’t even register the taste.

After a short but rather uneasy silence, Hux opened his mouth:  

'I might have interpreted your remark about my teeth incorrectly, I was in deep thoughts, reevaluating our options and best strategy. I was reminded about the subsequent incidents on the Steadfast and felt rather… uneasy... I probably have misjudged the purpose of your comment. ' 

Miko blinked her eyes twice before she let out a relieved breath. Was that an apology? That’s…unexpected . 

She dared to look his way. His tone was even and could easily have been mistaken as confident, but the way he applied pressure on the cup told her it took him some effort to admit his error. The hardly noticeable body language made her feel a bit more at ease, it was as seeing him struggle with something made her feel like she wasn't alone in this crazy situation. 

She felt her mood brighten, feeling more on common ground with him, and found her usual wittiness back.

‘Don’t worry about it’, she replied with an overly cheerful tone. Although just a moment ago she was definitely bothered by his demeanour, seeing this new development apparently made her stupidly hopeful. 

‘I shouldn’t have responded so crudely as well. We’re both out of our comfort zones. Seems like we need to find a way to adjust to each other.’ she added, an innocent smile forming on her face. 

She eyed him sideways and he nodded without looking at her. 

He took another sip, so she concluded he decided the conversation was already over. She huffed silently and turned her attention to PC again, to check if the update was successfully implemented.

Her mind started wandering and replaying the conversation. This was probably as good as it was going to get. It's not that she was hoping for a normal conversation, anyway. After everything she saw from him, she was highly doubting that was even possible. 

The little droid bleeped, and the both of them looked up.

 'All fixed', Miko exclaimed, breaking the silence. 

Armitage gave her a quizzical look, which made her realise she didn't answer his initial question.

 'I gave PC a little update on his backup system, nothing special . ' she explained and pulled up her shoulders. 'I don't want to lose him if something bad happens,' she murmured. She wasn’t going to tell him what kind of upgrade it really was.

She saw the ex-general shift his weight uncomfortably, probably as a response to her clarification and the mention of what could happen to them soon.  She paused and tried to gauge his current train of thoughts. Was this about what could happen if they arrive at Taris? Or at the resistance base? 

Curiosity got the upper hand over caution. She at least wanted to know why he was risking his life - and by extension her life - for.

She took a breath and quietly asked: 'Why did you do it  - betray the First Order?' 

He let out an annoyed sigh in response.

'Why would I tell you that?' he answered with a hint of arrogance. 

She closed her eyes and reminded herself that she still shouldn’t expect a normal conversation with this asshole. Oh, he could easily anger her, but not this time. Or at least, that’s what she was hoping for.

'You’re going to have to have a solid story once we arrive at the resistance base. You might as well give it a try with me?' She said, using a different tactic and trying to sound encouraging. She tried to make eye contact, wanting him to open up to her for at least a little bit, for both their sakes. 

He looked her dead in the eye, but remained silent for a few seconds. Kriff , involuntary, his piercing gaze was slowly taking her back two days ago, to the incident and the shower, and making her breathe erratically. She tried to subdue the effect and hoped he didn’t catch the change in her body language.

She was about to give up on their staring contest, to stop the memories and fantasies from pulling her into a state of slight panic, when he finally looked down and hesitantly spoke. 

Miko wasn’t sure if she imagined a slight tremble of his lower lip, right before he started talking: 

"I…I’m not sure where to start." He admitted softly.

Oh.

"...Start where the first things went wrong?" She quietly enquired. 

He still didn't look up and hesitantly nodded. 

He sighed, obviously trying to think of a good way to begin this conversation. Miko suddenly became aware of the shift in the atmosphere, the air became thick and loaded with suspense. The man before her was digging into his memory and bringing up things he'd rather would like to keep hidden, she could tell from his demeanour alone. She contemplated if asking the question was even a good idea; seeing him become so… unstable… reminded her too much of that time he lunged at her. She subconsciously put some extra distance between both of them.

As if someone opened a water valve, Hux thoughts were formed into words and were spilled out. 

"I was in control, at the top of my game, and seeing a clear future for the galaxy.  Order, peace, prosperity under the First Order 's flag." 

His brows were heavily frowned. 

Miko tried to keep a straight face and not comment on that statement already. It didn't really surprise her that this was his view on the universe. What a whole different perspective than mine , she mused. She tried to ignore the itch she got from his words and reminded herself that he would be out of her life in a few days, worst case. No need to throw another argument, just because of different values and norms. 

He continued: "We had a good strategic plan, both in the short term and long term. I had to endure Ren as a competitor, but that was doable. And, in a way, he was a rather welcome respite. It was easy to make him lose face before Snoke. But I’m getting distracted.  The moment word arrived that that cursed old Jedi was still around, and there was a clue to his location, chaos broke loose. It was as if every single event just was planned against everything the Order stands for." 

He paused and stared at the cockpit's durasteel door.

"The whole Jedi-hunting offensive escalated into an irrational chase, regrettably distracting supreme leader Snoke and driving Ren even more insane and unmanageable. " 

He waved his hand through his hair, freeing the strands from the leftover gel. 

"I don't have proof, but I highly suspect it was Ren and not the jedi girl that killed Snoke. He illegitimately seized power, and by doing so he created a chism in the chain of command." 

Hux absently rubbed his throat, but the gesture didn't go unnoticed by Miko. She could almost feel the mix of spite and ire, but underneath that thin layer she could distinguish that something unsettling happened there, something that ran deeper than the competition he just had described. 

After a pause, Armitage continued: "He started a chain reaction, by following his obsessions he got lost in them and didn't want to hear that his actions were not in the best interest of our powerful Order. Other officers complained to me, but every single time I took action, he slammed the door right in my face. He took my advice as critique, not that that was different than before, but now he was the illegitimate fragging Supreme Leader and he still couldn't distance himself from his ego. I've always been better at making management and strategic decisions. He was supposed to remain the deterrent for any kind of rebellion.  He wasn’t supposed to lead us." 

He was clenching his fists now, and Miko could swear she could hear the heightened pace of his heartbeat. 

She had asked him for some context, and she didn't really know what to expect. But this was certainly more intense than what she could have guessed. 

He didn't look at her through,  and she wondered if he was even still aware of her presence. It was as if he was contemplating his situation and just saying it aloud, as if she wasn’t there.

He swung his head to one side and let out an exasperated sigh, before he continued: "And when that wretched message was broadcasted from the late Emperor, Pryde and his reserve troops appeared from the unknown regions,  much stronger than anticipated.  Their numbers… I am still flabbergasted at how he could manage to gather so many men. I highly doubt they were trained for something more than cannon fodder, they couldn't all have followed basic training,  but I'm getting distracted again. " 

He paused and gave her a sharp look.

"The fact is that right then, Ren saw an opportunity to demote me. Not in rank, but in practice. Putting more responsibilities in Pryde's hands, and eventually in the other generals. He wasn’t even subtle about it.

 And the decisions he made… I couldn't keep supporting them but each time I expressed my concern, it backfired."

He sighed and waved his hand absentmindedly. 

"I guess it was in one of these discussions that I started to realise I didn't recognize the Order and what it stood for anymore. Without Snoke or anyone from the original high command, without me being able to have a steady hand on the decision organ… the Order was drifting apart."

He bowed his head and frantically rubbed his hair a few times before he froze for a minute. He didn’t look up and continued. 

"And… then I made a huge gamble. If I wanted a stable future for the Order, I had to make Ren and his acolytes disappear. The emperor 's message was the obvious choice.  I had to lure Ren and his knights away, or at least let him lose enough face to be able to seize power as supreme leader myself. Putting pressure on him by involving the resistance and that jedi girl was going to drive him even more unreasonable, that's what I anticipated. But… I knew he or someone else might find out. Spreading this information could only come from somewhere high up the ranks, and I already lost favour. I just hoped I had time to frame someone else. Preferably Pryde. " 

His voice turned soft now, almost like a whisper: "But, ironically, he was the one who put the puzzle pieces together. You know what happened after that." 

Miko gulped and nodded. She remembered Pryde and could’ve guessed both generals were a close match when it came to being power hungry backstabbing psychopaths. But hearing him explain what drove him to abandon the Worst Order - well, not the Order, but the command structure - told her he wasn't only a damn well versed manipulative strategist but also genuinely worried about losing his home and ideals. Guessing he was a rather young general, the First Order was most likely where he grew up and grew into. He was losing the only life he'd probably known and the future he'd hoped for. Although her idea about the Worst Order didn't change from this elaboration - on the contrary - she did feel sorry for him. And that should probably unsettle her more than it actually did.

This was one of the hardest conversations Hux had had in a while. For the first time saying out loud that he had betrayed what he once stood for, made it all the more real. Looking for the right words, finding out how to tell her, and himself, was difficult at first.

 But once the sentences had started to form, they just flew from his brain like they were ready to burst. 

He couldn’t remember if he ever had been so earnest with someone. Even with Sloane, he used to be more cautious once he grasped the concepts of lobbying, negotiation and manipulation. This exposition felt like a confession; dangerous and relieving at the same time. Now, though, he realised that he was just staring at her and fiddling his fingers and showing a part of him he’d rather not show to anyone. Or see for himself.

He realised what a pathetic impotent mess he must look like, and wondered why she didn’t comment on that. She could humiliate him, throw in another argument, but she just… listened. Looked his way with an apprehensive gaze. It confused him, why she didn’t make use of this weak moment. Somehow, the fact that she was trying to understand him, was hitting his defences harder than humiliation could.

"I- think you might want to leave out some parts, but you sound pretty convincing", she instead whispered, while she continued looking at him with big eyes. She peered at him, trying to find something he wasn’t sure of, but the intenseness unsettled him. He quickly nodded and looked down, staring into his cup and trying to ignore the cold sweat that appeared out of nowhere. 

Stars , it was as if her gaze had almost trapped him, the way the amber eyes bore through his own retina and looked right into his forsaken soul. 

Humiliation would’ve been so much better.

He at least knew how to handle that.

He tried to focus on the caf in his hands, studying the vibrating ripples in the liquid. Wait…why was he shaking? He didn’t dare to look up again, unsure about what was happening to him. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, in hopes of making the tremble disappear. What was this? Was he angry at her, just for looking at him? No, this wasn’t anger… it was something di-

"When will we arrive at Taris?" Miko suddenly asked him, in a welcome effort to break the awkward silence. Her question brought him back to reality, and the trembling abruptly stopped. He didn’t right his head, though, it was too soon for that.

"ETA is 3 hours, so we should discuss strategy." He softly answered, taking the hint and glad to change the subject. 

She remained silent, so he risked looking up.

Miko looked at him with a smug smile. 

Did I say something crazy? He thought sceptically, but deep down he was also glad to fall into their recently developed routine of not always friendly bantering. 

She took out her datapad, performed some commands and started reading: "apparently, the coordinates lead to a highly populated area. From the available info, the meeting point is situated just next to a marketplace." 

Hux looked at her with a slightly threatening face, mixed with a hunch of panic. Why was I glad again? She's going to be the death of me.  

She caught sight of his distress and immediately responded: "relax, Hux, I retrieved this intell when we were at Utapau Four. I used Tagge's company network, put up a proxy, did a local copy and removed the crumbs afterwards. There's no way they can trace anything back towards us." 

He leaned back into the backrest of the bench, while recuperating from a minor panic attack and trying to maintain a blank face. She was young and maybe a bit naive, but at least she thought things through. The fact that she wanted to go to the meeting spot prepared, was surprising and strangely comforting to him. 

"Taris used to be the centre of the galaxy, thousands of years ago. The population could've been compared with Coruscant this age. Its population has dwindled though, and a lot of the cities were destroyed in several wars. The jedi war, the rebel alliance. The empire had to give up its rule on the planet and since then it's been New Republic territory. I should be wary of thugs and cons and take the necessary precautions,” Hux mentioned matter-of-factly.  

"What do you mean, "I"? I'm going with you, you know!” Miko responded, slightly raising her voice and eyeing him.

She took PC from the bench and placed him on her shoulder with a rather forceful action. After that, she stood straight, turned around and walked to the door with a steady thread.

What?  

"What are you doing?" Hux demanded with a hissing tone, before she got out of his sight. 

"Getting ready to gear up, of course. Isn't that obvious?" She huffed in his general direction. 

He stood up, felt his blood pressure rise, and clenched his fists. "You should stay here. These kinds of places can be dangerous. Let me do the transfer." He responded while slowly raising his voice and pointing to the deck. 

Miko turned his direction, crossed her arms and cocked her head. "You? What do you think they'll do if they see your face? Remember how my father reacted. You won't have the chance to do any talking. And… and you'll blow your cover!" She half shouted at him, before she continued her path.

Hux cursed inwardly. She was right. But he didn't want to let her go. She might get caught as well. He wouldn't be too surprised if that bastard Pryde might've sent out a warrant for her. And if they find her, surely he'll be compromised. She lacked experience and from what he'd seen from her, that foul mouth could get her into some real trouble. Including the type of trouble leading back to him.

But on the other hand, she did have a point. Going with her was an invalid option. Even if he had some kind of disguise, to get to the intel they needed, he would have to take serious risks. Much more compared to sending her and her loud mouth out there alone. If he could avoid those risks, he normally would, without thinking twice. But why has he thought of getting himself in the line of fire, before her, now? This didn't make any sense.

Maybe, it was because if something happened to her, he would be stranded here. All chances were on her succeeding. Or that's what he was trying to make himself believe.  Why was he so nervous?

He quickly went after Miko, passed her with large steps and stood still right before her,  blocking her path so she had to halt her movements. She looked upwards to him, an troubled expression on her face. Stars, those eyes again. Nobody has looked at him like that before. Straight eye contact, without disgust or fear. He gulped but quickly found back the words he was going to relay on her.

“Make sure I can trace your location and contact you without it getting noticed. I'm going to follow every step and action you're taking.” he commanded.

“Don't you trust me?” she replied, looking annoyed by his directive tone. 

Only now he realised he might’ve stepped up a bit too close to her; he could feel her angry breath and he wondered why he was staring at her lips right now. 

The droid on her shoulder turned its head,  mimicking her annoyance, but he didn’t register it. He did try to come up with a quick response:

 “I don't trust anyone. And no, I want to make sure you'll be safe. I need you, remember?“ he countered, his tone directive but his eyes still for some reason glued to her lips. They opened up in a small 'o', momentarily making him forget what he just said. Until his own words dawned upon him.

That sounded disturbingly awkward, he realised while slowly raising his gaze to look up into her eyes. And the way she looked back at him right now, confused and wide eyed, her mouth slowly closing, made it very clear that she misunderstood it just the same. He was slightly aware of how his heart was throbbing in his throat, how dry his mouth suddenly felt, and he desperately tried to ignore the confusing feeling. Oh by the stars in the galaxy… He had to break this pause before it got even more awkward.

He averted his head for a split second, looking to the hyperspace stripes through the viewport, trying to kriffing calm down. He then placed his hands behind his back, trying to find back his reasoning and returning his steel focus on her and what he still wanted to relay to her. He needed to focus on the upcoming mission, not on her lips.

“Look, if you see anything suspicious, report it to me. And if you feel unsure, retreat. Don't do anything rash. Playing the hero usually renders those people dead." He said. "Carry a blaster.” he quickly added with a stern voice. Getting back into his directive role helped to subdue the burning he could sense on his cheeks. 

“You know I can't and won't shoot .” she replied, crossing her arms with a bit of effort, since both of them hadn't moved and they were still standing at a few centimetres distance from each other.

Sigh, how can she be so stubborn about not killing anyone? Hux wondered with reluctance.

 “You're going to have to kill someone sooner or later, Miko.” He bluntly stated, looking down on her.  

“Maybe in a world shaped by the First Order, mister ex-general. But that's not the world I prefer to be in. So I'm not planning on carrying a blaster with me.” she boldly replied and looked sideways with her arms still crossed, the swing of her body movement making her left elbow touch his stomach. 

Armitage became acutely aware of how uncommon and awkward and dangerous this conversation was becoming. How both of them refused to yield, both in the conversation and physically, and he hated that he felt so bothered by her close presence. He never was keen on someone entering his personal space, but this was different. Luckily, though, he was annoyed enough to ignore the unsettling effect the lack of distance was having on him.

And annoyed he was: “You don't know what you're walking into, this is no playground! You should at least take something with you! Worst case; set it to stun. For your own sake.” He threw at her, realising how she was getting on his nerves again and wondering if this conversation had any purpose at all.

She was looking pretty worked up as well now, he could notice from this up close; the blush on her cheeks was more pronounced than usual. But when he mentioned the stun function, she paused, took a deep breath and looked to the ground. 

“Okay, I can live with that. I think. Not that I'll be able to kriffing hit someone with it anyway.” she mumbled after a small pause, while she was staring at his boots with a defiant glare.

He held his breath for a split second. “I’ll give you a crash course. Let me fetch some blasters and let's meet up in the cargo bay,” he stated, slightly surprised and relieved with her decision. He hoped he could at least maximise his chances a bit by preparing her for possible conflict.

A/N: I haven’t found any evidence whether Taris is in this timeline under new republic flag or not, so I pretend it to be allied with the new republic but rather neutral.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hello and welcome to the masterlist for all of my OCs! It's worth noting that while NTMY,B started out with the idea of being pretty adherent to the canon of TCW series in mind, it has since taken in its own direction, and now has a creative, *canon-adjacent* narrative (and thematic elements) that is different in many ways from the show.

Nice To Meet You, Brother [Original version]

I Have No Mother, Only A Brother [Original version]

Protecting Little Brothers

Comforting Little Brothers

A Brother's Love Will Heal You

Brothers & Batchmates [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [WIP]

Blindsided Brothers [WIP]

Brothers Night Out [WIP]

A Brother's Great Honor [WIP]

Started: 5/17/2023 | Collective word count: 40,029

Baby Brothers - Faro's Telling

Baby Brothers - Scruffy's Telling [WIP]

Started: 9/3/2023 | Collective word count: 2,633

Unnamed modern, Everyone Lives AU [WIP]

Chip Activation AU [WIP]

Canvas's armor: scuff marks

Carver & Cairn aesthetic boards

Dashboard Simulator

Winning the lottery: [302nd Legion]

NTMYB Universe OCs organized by "Batch" or Type

Canvas; Gunnar/Faro/Cryfar/Fluke

Scruffy, Stick, Scuffle, Cypher, Cynic

Carver, Cairn

Medic Riddance, Medic Wylie

ARC Nockite, ARC Kessel

Captain Law [302nd Legion; Sap Green]

Commander Juke [417th Battalion; Umber]

Other OCs

501st: Jogger, Portal, Revv, Kestrel, Safecracker

104th: Orchid, Tack, Soapsuds

Jedi: Knight Caelen

Pinterest Character Boards

[FFF Masterlist] Updated: 12/16/24

[formal-leatherjacket]

3, 6, 11, 12! For the book asks :)

hi!! <333

3. What were your top five books of the year?

Ok, in order of when I read them during the year

Excellent Women - Barbara Pym

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen (The adaptations - the 2005 film especially but also `the 1995 miniseries - have been a comfort rewatch for years so it's fun to go back and reread the original and see which details do/don't get included)

The Shortest Way to Hades - Sarah Caudwell (This is #2 of a 4 book mystery series, I read all of them this year but this is my favorite)

We Have Always Lived in the Castle - Shirley Jackson

Corrupting Dr. Nice - John Kessel (I recommended this to my cousin only after she watches The Lady Eve since it's the plot of The Lady Eve but with time travel, which I found totally delightful but I have no idea how it stands on its own)

6. Was there anything you meant to read, but never got to?

I keep lapsing my hold on Chip War in Libby lol. I also had a fun idea to read all 6 of Shirley Jackson's books, but i just managed 3 this year

11. What was your favorite book that has been out for a while, but you just now read?

Pride and Prejudice was the oldest book I read this year, but I've been keeping an eye out for Corrupting Dr. Nice since last year and I found it serendipitously during my local used bookstore's sale so they both count for this

12. Any books that disappointed you?

I tried to reinforce my DNF policy more strictly this year, so of the books I dropped I was particularly sad about Crosstalk by Connie Willis because I've always loved To Say Nothing of the Dog and wanted to try something else of her's that was lighter in tone than the others in that series. Crosstalk on paper sounded great (a screwball time travel comedy again) but in execution it was extremely rough (boomereque ~social media these days~ with 1940s characterizations that make no damn sense now). If someone has read it and lets me know it redeems itself I'll try again but as it stands, big oof

I mainly read mysteries/thrillers this year, so of the books I read to the finish line, Death in Fancy Dress and The Midnight Feast were pretty mediocre imo

[somestorythoughts]

Han Solo isn't religious. He isn't. He doesn't believe in gods or goddesses or spirits or whatever exactly it is that one planet has going on. He only kinda believes in the Force - it's hard to ignore the kid levitating rocks so once he acknowledges that the Force is a Thing he sees it as something like the wind. He doesn't understand it and he doesn't think it's divine in any sense of the word but it's clearly there.

But he is a smuggler and a space piolet. And space is a bit like the ocean in extremes; vast, not quite comprehensible, and hostile to land dwellers. And unlike the ocean, space is empty and incapable of loving you. Much like modern-day sailors, any one who spends a lot of time in space tends to be very superstitious. Especially if they walk dangerous roads edged in death.

No, Han Solo doesn't pray and he doesn't visit temples unless he's smuggling something there. But he does knock the table twice every time he sits down to a gambling game because it's almost knocking on wood and keeps a tiny charm with four green leaves in the cockpit and the engine room so that the ship runs smoothly and uses the euphemisms all pilots use to avoid the attention of the few things that do wander space without ships.

Han Solo is just a man. He is. He doesn't have the presence of any Skywalker. He doesn't have Ahsoka's presence or deeds to his name. He doesn't have the deeds or the legend Rex came from, the kind of story that grows out of uncertainty. So few in the galaxy actually know where the clones came from or what happened to them. There are birth records and hospital records and legal records of Han Solo, you could get a trace of his life from them. He's so clearly just a man. He is.

And he's too close to Luke to call him a Trickster or fear him, knows Leia too well to paint her on his ship with prayers in every brushstroke. He's too close to them to see Darth Vader as anything other than an asshole, especially on the nights he sits up with Leia and makes her tea while she grieves her planet or the days when he finds hot packs to ease the periodic pain in Luke's wrist where it's attached to his robotic hand. And he's too far from religious to start praying to the rebels' gods when he finally gets close enough to some to learn their names.

In another world he might be a local legend. So and so's grandfather's friend who made the Kessel run in 12 parsecs. Not no one, but not Divine.

Han Solo is too close to gods to deify them. He's too mortal to be one.

He's too well known and to close to them to not pick up some of their awe.

Han Solo dared to shoot He-Who-Brings-Death. Han Solo assisted in the destruction of both Death Stars. Han Solo serves the Princess and argues with the Princess. Han Solo assists the Trickster. Han Solo is a leader, respected by the Rebels and more approachable, being grumpy but affable and of indeterminate ranks.

The Princess loves him and undergoes temporary captivity to save him. The Trickster saves him and trusts him and befriends him. He-Who-Brings-Death took him as a bargaining chip.

There are stories of men and women who loved gods and goddesses and people whose divine rank remains unnamed. There are stories of men and women who fought monsters no mortal could survive and tricked devils and faerie beings and won.

Somewhere in a galaxy far far away, Han Solo stands among their number.

Popular with the troops.

[ulkaralakbarova]

Beverly is the perfect happy homemaker, along with her doting husband and two children, but this nuclear family just might explode when her fascination with serial killers collides with her ever-so-proper code of ethics. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Beverly Sutphin: Kathleen Turner Eugene Sutphin: Sam Waterston Misty Sutphin: Ricki Lake Chip Sutphin: Matthew Lillard Detective Pike: Scott Morgan Detective Gracey: Walt MacPherson Scotty: Justin Whalin Birdie: Patricia Dunnock Carl: Lonnie Horsey Dottie Hinkle: Mink Stole Rosemary Ackerman: Mary Jo Catlett Mr. Stubbins: John Badila Betty Sterner: Kathy Fannon Ralph Sterner: Doug Roberts Carl’s Date: Traci Lords Marvin Pickles: Tim Caggiano Howell Hawkins: Jeff Mandon Father Boyce: Colgate Salsbury Mrs. Jenson: Patsy Grady Abrams Herbie Hebden: Richard Pilcher Timothy Nazlerod: Beau James Judge: Stan Brandorff Luann Hodges: Kim Swann Suzanne Somers: Suzanne Somers Gus: Bus Howard Sloppy: Alan J. Wendl Juror #8: Patricia Hearst Jury Forewoman: Nancy Robinette Rookie Cop: Peter Bucossi Policewoman: Loretto McNally Press A: Wilfred E. Williams Court TV Reporter: Joshua L. Shoemaker Court Groupie A: Rosemary Knower Court Groupie B: Susan Lowe Carl’s Brother: John Calvin Doyle Book Buyer: Mary Vivian Pearce Mean Lady: Brigid Berlin Police Officer: Jordan Brown Vendor: Anthony ‘Chip’ Brienza Flea Market Boy: Jeffrey Pratt Gordon Flea Market Girl: Shelbi Clarke Macho Man: Nat Benchley Dealer: Kyf Brewer Baby’s Mother: Teresa R. Pete Church Baby: Zachary S. Pete Doorman: Richard Pelzman Kid A: Chad Bankerd Kid B: Johnny Alonso Kid C: Robert Roser Joe Flowers: Mike Offenheiser Girl: Lee Hunsaker Burglar A: Michael S. Walter Burglar B: Mojo Gentry Mrs. Taplotter: Gwendolyn Briley-Strand Reporter: Jennifer Mendenhall Joan Rivers: Joan Rivers TV Serial Hag: Catherine Anne Hayes Lady C: Susan Duvall Press: Valerie Yarborough Kid: Jordan Young Camel Lips: Jennifer Finch Camel Lips: Suzi Gardner Camel Lips: Demetra Plakas Camel Lips: Donita Sparks Husband A: John A. Schneider Court Clerk: Lyrica Montague Eugene Sutphin’s Nurse (uncredited): Bess Armstrong Birdie’s Father (uncredited): Greg Coale Video Store Customer (uncredited): David L. Marston Stage Diver (uncredited): Kim McGuire Cop (uncredited): John Poague Club Kid (uncredited): Al Sotto Ted Bundy (voice) (uncredited): John Waters Film Crew: Art Direction: David J. Bomba Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Mark Berger Executive Producer: Joseph M. Caracciolo Jr. Thanks: Paul Reubens Original Music Composer: Basil Poledouris Writer: John Waters Production Design: Vincent Peranio Editor: Janice Hampton Producer: Mark Tarlov Supervising Sound Editor: John Nutt Thanks: Don Knotts Editor: Erica Huggins Director of Photography: Robert M. Stevens Associate Producer: Pat Moran Costume Design: Van Smith First Assistant Director: Robert Rooy Property Master: Brook Yeaton Art Department Production Assistant: Jeffrey Pratt Gordon Carpenter: Thomas Turnbull Thanks: Harry H. Novak Set Decoration: Susan Kessel On Set Dresser: Lianne Williamson Sound Editor: Ernie Fosselius Thanks: Arthur Machen Utility Stunts: G. A. Aguilar Sound Mixer: Rick Angelella First Assistant Director: Mary Ellen Woods Sound Editor: Frank E. Eulner Casting: Paula Herold Set Dresser: Michael Sabo Second Unit Director: Steve M. Davison Sound Editor: Robert Shoup Hairstylist: Kathryn Blondell Sound Re-Recording Mixer: David Parker Stunt Double: Cheryl Wheeler Duncan Assistant Makeup Artist: Janice Kinigopoulos Makeup Artist: Debi Young Makeup Artist: E. Thomas Case Post Production Supervisor: John Currin Assistant Property Master: R. Vincent Smith Music Supervisor: Bones Howe Draughtsman: Rob Simons Additional Hairstylist: Howard ‘Hep’ Preston Assistant Makeup Artist: Barbara Lacy Art Department Coordinator: Sarah Stollman Utility Stunts: Michael Runyard Unit Production Manager: Margaret Hilliard Hairstylist: Ardis Cohen Assistant Production Design: John Lindsey McCormick Makeup Artist: Betty Beebe Sound Recordist: Philip Rogers Producer: John Fiedler Secon...

[menlickrouzard1979]

roulette spiel anleitung

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roulette spiel anleitung

Roulette ist ein beliebtes Glücksspiel, bei dem die Spieler ihre Einsätze auf bestimmte Zahlen, Farben oder Kombinationen setzen. Damit Sie das Spiel genießen können, ist es wichtig, die Roulette-Regeln zu verstehen. In diesem Artikel werden wir Ihnen eine kurze Einführung in die wichtigsten Regeln des Roulettes geben.

Das Roulette-Rad besteht aus 37 (bei der europäischen Variante) oder 38 (bei der amerikanischen Variante) Taschen, in denen die Nummern von 0 bis 36 (bzw. 00 bei der amerikanischen Variante) zu finden sind. Um das Spiel zu beginnen, platzieren die Spieler ihre Chips auf dem Spieltisch, indem sie entweder auf einzelne Zahlen, verschiedene Kombinationen oder auf die Farben Rot oder Schwarz setzen.

Sobald alle Einsätze platziert wurden, dreht der Croupier das Roulette-Rad und wirft die Kugel entgegen der Drehrichtung. Die Gewinnzahl wird durch die Position der Kugel bestimmt, wenn das Rad zum Stillstand kommt. Die Spieler gewinnen, wenn ihre Einsätze mit der Gewinnzahl, der Farbe oder der Kombination übereinstimmen.

Es gibt verschiedene Arten von Wetten, die beim Roulette platziert werden können. Die einfachste Wette ist die "Gerade/Ungerade" oder "Rot/Schwarz", bei der die Spieler auf die Farbe der Gewinnzahl setzen. Es gibt auch Wetten auf einzelne Zahlen, Kombinationen von Zahlen oder Gruppen von Zahlen.

Es ist wichtig zu beachten, dass jedes Spielhaus unterschiedliche Einsatzlimits haben kann. Bevor Sie spielen, sollten Sie die Spielregeln des jeweiligen Casinos überprüfen, um Missverständnisse zu vermeiden. Darüber hinaus gibt es spezielle Regeln wie "La Partage" oder "En Prison", die den Spielern helfen können, ihre Verluste zu minimieren, wenn die Kugel auf der Null landet.

Im Roulette geht es nicht nur um das Glück, sondern auch um Strategie und Aufmerksamkeit. Wenn Sie die Regeln kennen und die verschiedenen Wettmöglichkeiten verstehen, können Sie Ihre Gewinnchancen verbessern und das beste aus Ihrem Roulette-Spiel herausholen.

Abschließend lässt sich sagen, dass Roulette ein faszinierendes Spiel ist, das sowohl in landbasierten Casinos als auch online gespielt werden kann. Durch das Verständnis der Roulette-Regeln können Sie sicherstellen, dass Sie das Spiel richtig spielen und ein unterhaltsames und potenziell lukratives Spielerlebnis haben. Viel Glück am Roulette-Tisch!

Die Spielanleitung für Roulette ist relativ einfach zu verstehen und schnell zu erlernen. Roulette ist ein bekanntes und beliebtes Glücksspiel, das in vielen Casinos weltweit gespielt wird. Das Spiel besteht aus einem Kessel mit nummerierten Fächern und einer Kugel, die in den Kessel geworfen wird. Die Spieler setzen ihre Chips auf verschiedene Wetten, und dann wird die Kugel in den Kessel geworfen. Die Wette, auf der die Kugel landet, gewinnt.

Bevor das Spiel beginnt, muss jeder Spieler seine Chips kaufen. Jeder Spieler bekommt eine andere Farbe von Chips, um Verwechslungen zu vermeiden. Der Croupier dreht den Roulettekessel und wirft die Kugel hinein. Die Spieler setzen ihre Chips auf den Tisch, um auf verschiedene Wetten zu setzen. Es gibt verschiedene Arten von Wetten, wie zum Beispiel auf eine einzelne Zahl, eine Gruppe von Zahlen oder die Farbe der Zahl (rot oder schwarz).

Sobald die Kugel im Kessel immer langsamer wird, ruft der Croupier "Nichts geht mehr" und es dürfen keine weiteren Wetten mehr platziert werden. Die Kugel landet schließlich in einem der nummerierten Fächer und der Croupier gibt die Gewinnzahl bekannt. Die Spieler, die auf die richtige Zahl oder Gruppe von Zahlen gesetzt haben, gewinnen. Der Croupier zahlt die Gewinne aus und entfernt die verlorenen Wetten vom Tisch.

Es ist wichtig zu beachten, dass Roulette ein reines Glücksspiel ist und keine besonderen Fähigkeiten oder Strategien erfordert. Es ist ein unterhaltsames Spiel, bei dem die Spieler auf ihr Glück hoffen können. Es gibt jedoch bestimmte Wettsysteme und Strategien, die von einigen Spielern verwendet werden können, um ihre Chancen zu erhöhen. Diese sollten jedoch mit Vorsicht angewendet werden, da sie keine Gewinngarantie bieten.

Roulette ist ein faszinierendes Spiel, das sowohl online als auch in landbasierten Casinos gespielt werden kann. Es gibt viele Variationen des Spiels, einschließlich europäischem und amerikanischem Roulette. Egal für welche Variante Sie sich entscheiden, das Spiel ist immer aufregend und bietet die Chance auf große Gewinne. Wenn Sie gerne Ihr Glück versuchen möchten, dann ist Roulette definitiv ein Spiel, das Sie ausprobieren sollten.

Das Roulette-Spiel, das seit Jahrhunderten in Casinos auf der ganzen Welt beliebt ist, bietet den Spielern eine Vielzahl von Wettmöglichkeiten. Es gibt jedoch bestimmte Wetten beim Roulette, die sich als besonders attraktiv erweisen können. Hier sind drei der beliebtesten Wetten beim Roulette:

Die "Gerade/Ungerade"-Wette: Bei dieser Wette setzen Sie entweder auf alle geraden oder ungeraden Zahlen auf dem Roulette-Rad. Diese Wette hat eine Gewinnwahrscheinlichkeit von 50%, da das Rad sowohl gerade als auch ungerade Zahlen enthält. Der Vorteil dieser Wette liegt in ihrer Einfachheit und der ausgewogenen Gewinnchance.

Die "Rot/Schwarz"-Wette: Eine weitere beliebte Wette beim Roulette ist die "Rot/Schwarz"-Wette. Hier setzen Sie entweder auf alle roten oder schwarzen Zahlen auf dem Rad. Diese Wette hat ebenfalls eine Gewinnwahrscheinlichkeit von 50%. Auch bei dieser Wette profitieren Sie von der einfachen Handhabung und den ausgeglichenen Gewinnchancen.

Die "Drittel-Chance"-Wette: Diese Wette bietet etwas mehr Vielfalt und Spannung. Hier setzen Sie auf eine von drei möglichen Bereichen auf dem Roulette-Rad: entweder die Zahlen 1-12, 13-24 oder 25-36. Diese Wette bietet Ihnen eine Gewinnwahrscheinlichkeit von etwa 33%, was bedeutet, dass Ihre Chancen auf einen Gewinn höher sind als bei den vorherigen Wetten. Der mögliche Gewinn ist jedoch etwas kleiner.

Bevor Sie wetten, ist es wichtig, sich bewusst zu sein, dass Roulette ein Glücksspiel ist und dass es keine sichere Wettstrategie gibt, die Ihnen garantiert einen Gewinn einbringt. Es ist auch ratsam, Ihre Einsätze verantwortungsbewusst zu platzieren und ein vorgegebenes Budget einzuhalten.

Die Wetten beim Roulette bieten jedem Spieler unterschiedliche Möglichkeiten und Gewinnchancen. Werfen Sie einen Blick auf die verschiedenen Wettoptionen und finden Sie heraus, welche am besten zu Ihrem persönlichen Spielstil und Ihrem Risikobereitschaft passen. Viel Spaß und viel Glück beim Spielen!

Roulette ist eines der bekanntesten Casinospiele und fasziniert Spieler auf der ganzen Welt. Obwohl Roulette ein Glücksspiel ist, gibt es einige Tipps und Tricks, die Ihnen dabei helfen können, Ihre Gewinnchancen zu erhöhen. In diesem Artikel stellen wir Ihnen 4 hilfreiche Roulette Tipps und Tricks vor.

Setzen Sie auf einfache Chancen: Eine der beliebtesten Strategien beim Roulette ist das Setzen auf einfache Chancen wie Rot/Schwarz, Gerade/Ungerade oder Niedrig/Hoch. Diese Wetten haben die besten Gewinnchancen, da sie nahezu eine 50:50-Gewinnchance bieten.

Vermeiden Sie das Amerikanische Roulette: Wenn Sie die Wahl haben, spielen Sie lieber das Europäische oder Französische Roulette. Beim Amerikanischen Roulette gibt es eine zusätzliche Doppelnull, was die Gewinnchancen des Spielers verringert.

Setzen Sie sich Limits: Bevor Sie mit dem Spielen beginnen, ist es sinnvoll, sich ein Budget zu setzen und sich an ein Verlustlimit zu halten. Dadurch verhindern Sie, dass Sie mehr Geld verlieren als geplant.

Nutzen Sie ein effektives Wettsystem: Es gibt verschiedene Wettsysteme, die beim Roulette angewendet werden können, wie zum Beispiel das Martingale-System. Beim Martingale-System verdoppeln Sie Ihren Einsatz nach jeder verlorenen Wette, um Verluste wieder auszugleichen. Allerdings birgt dieses System auch das Risiko, hohe Verluste einzufahren, wenn Sie eine Pechsträhne haben.

Denken Sie daran, dass Roulette letztendlich ein Glücksspiel ist und dass keine Strategie Sie davor schützt, Verluste zu erleiden. Auch wenn diese Tipps und Tricks Ihre Gewinnchancen verbessern können, sollten Sie immer verantwortungsbewusst spielen und sich darüber im Klaren sein, dass das Glück auf Ihrer Seite sein muss, um zu gewinnen.

Roulette ist ein beliebtes Casinospiel, das aufgrund seines glückbasierten Ansatzes oft als unvorhersehbar angesehen wird. Dennoch gibt es viele Spieler, die versuchen, ihre Gewinnchancen zu verbessern, indem sie verschiedene Strategien anwenden. In diesem Artikel werden fünf Roulette-Strategien vorgestellt, die Ihnen helfen können, Ihre Gewinnchancen zu optimieren.

Martingale-Strategie: Diese Strategie basiert auf dem Prinzip der Verdopplung der Einsätze nach jedem Verlust. Das Ziel ist es, Verluste mit einem einzigen Gewinn wieder auszugleichen. Obwohl der Ansatz einfach erscheint, kann er zu hohen Einsätzen führen und erfordert ein ausreichendes Guthaben.

Paroli-Strategie: Im Gegensatz zum Martingale-Ansatz verdoppelt man bei der Paroli-Strategie seinen Einsatz nach einem Gewinn. Dadurch können Sie von Gewinnserien profitieren und Ihre Gewinne maximieren.

D'Alembert-Strategie: Diese Strategie basiert auf einer flacheren Progression der Einsätze. Bei jeder verlorenen Wette erhöhen Sie Ihren Einsatz um eine Einheit und reduzieren ihn bei einem Gewinn um eine Einheit. Das Ziel ist es, langsam und sicher Gewinne zu erzielen.

James Bond-Strategie: Diese Strategie ist nach dem berühmten Geheimagenten benannt und erfordert einen Mindesteinsatz von 200 Euro. Der Einsatz wird auf drei verschiedene Bereiche des Roulette-Tisches verteilt, um die Gewinnchancen zu erhöhen.

Fibonacci-Strategie: Bei dieser Strategie basiert die Höhe des nächsten Einsatzes auf der Fibonacci-Folge. Sie addieren die beiden vorherigen Einsätze, um den nächsten Einsatz zu bestimmen. Dieser Ansatz ermöglicht es Ihnen, Verluste auszugleichen, wenn Sie eine Gewinnserie haben.

Es ist wichtig zu beachten, dass keine der genannten Strategien eine Garantie für Gewinne bietet. Roulette bleibt ein Glücksspiel, und der Casinovorteil kann niemals vollständig ausgeglichen werden. Es ist ratsam, diese Strategien mit Vorsicht zu verwenden und Ihre Einsätze entsprechend Ihrem Budget und Ihren persönlichen Präferenzen festzulegen. Spielen Sie verantwortungsbewusst und genießen Sie das Spiel!

[automatenaufsteller]

Intersnack

New Post has been published on https://www.dhuenn.com/fuellmaterialien/intersnack-chio-chips-funny-frisch-pombaer/

Intersnack

Unsere Dhünn Automaten werden gut und gerne, neben süßen und sauren, auch mit knusprigen und würzigen Snacks bestückt. Bei der Firma Intersnack aus Grevenbroich, der Heimatstadt von Horst Schlemmer, werden Die marken Chio Chips, Funny frisch und der einzige Bär, der backen kann, nämlich der Pom-Bär, mittlerweile aus ein und demselben Kessel ofenfrisch angeboten..CHIO - […]

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[the-firebird69]

These are people that are weak and incoherent most the time and can't think straight not that week but really they are not that bright and their bodies are not that strong. Now private OTC and risperdal combined are horrible they are poisonous and it is a deadly slow poison and they did it to my son and he is very angry and the ones who did it are the clones and they had John remillard and son do it and they had BG and wife do it and in varying degrees of guilt because Trump and son knew but their whole force is getting wiped out and that's the price and BG hardly had one and he was forced into it and they were prescribing it over and over and then some they would stop it they found out that they can't stop prescribing you they tried doing what our son said he said do we need to go over the counter and get it I can't prescribe it for you and they said no no I need a prescription it's different medicine and it said no I can't do that anymore and then they start to hear us all sorts of s*** from them since poison go and get yourself some smart water stay up after you eat a few hours sitting on have some mindfulness it's not her fault it's poison so it's pushing it all over the world so she stopped and listen and said I have to wait and the guy came in and he was still a b**** and he said I can't stand it my stomach's burning up so she gave me the concoction he said what is this he said it reduces acid but you have to take it about an hour after you eat and don't take it before you eat and so you start doing it at work so she's prescribing it and she got a lot of trouble and it's right in here and it's really Ray. And tell me after is going to pay tons of people see that it's true that's what these people are fighting to get to after the comet empire ship and yeah each hole has one that's true. There's a lot of stuff going on and this is important information these people are fighting for the lives and they can't stop these clones they start a war with them cuz they figured out it's them these things are all proof but people get into a lot of trouble like Trump but he's been giving our son trouble for a long time it's because he's very evil to his people and to ours and to the clones we're going to let it fly and let the chips fall later they might but BG and his wife have been trying to make up for it they help get him the medicine the magnesium and it's very dangerous but they want to dance to survive and a lot of people are helping and it's really the side effect they needed and John remillard himself did a movie side effects and it didn't help him and you can't handle most of what he does but they've been trying to do to do this kind of stuff for a long time cuz they need him alive these people poison the crap out of them okay there's too much poisoning and his whole body and it's coming out slowly and shortly it's going to come out fast when you grow it pushes it out and it will be painful but he's going to hydrate and blow it out of there and it's going to be coming out and it will mess up his diet a little and he's going to take the medicine and that's going to happen and the oxygen levels are up to about 28 at night sometimes and 25 and in the morning and that's probably from 4:00 a.m. until 7:00 a.m. it's only 3 hours and all day long it goes back down to 17 or 18 that's not good it's too low it takes too long to oxygenate you have to go out to the water and sit there for an hour it's difficult and you have to take too many vitamins and we know that so we're going to try and help him but for real this is what's going on

The movie is about to begin yeah they're hours ahead, it's around 9 hours or so. It's really 10 hours where they are and that's a head so 12 hours would be 8:30 a.m. and it's 6:30 a.m. now because it's 10:00 and it's really good morning over there so they miss the night time but Kessel is in Saudi Arabia and it's still night time there and that's only about 7 hours ahead so it's about 3:00 a.m. and if it was tonight it'll be right around now he says because it's morning over with Luke was there and it's true too they go all the way to Tunisia to try and escape it and they are fighting at that base very harshly and it's tons of people now a huge War mostly they're fighting Trump yes and they're going after a very hard but they're fighting over Kessel. And the fighting is intensifying and huge bombs are seen and disabled and the detonator goes off it's a giant disgusting mess tons of death probably about 400 octillion an hour about 3 hours ago right now it's like 4,000 octillion an hour that's a lot of people and there's a lot of death there and it's increasing rapidly from our records we hear about 20 million octillion die and then they hit it and we think it's tonight it's going up there's huge armies about 2 to 4 million octillion from four directions just sending on that area Saudi Arabia that is and there's more coming

Thor Freya

[konsum]

funny-frisch Kessel Chips Sea Salt, 120g

[imaginedisish]

Heaven or Canto Bight (Din Djarin/Mando x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hellloooo everyone!!! Here’s the *smut* I promised...I hope y'all like it. This is my first time writing smut in a very, very long time, so please bare with me lol. With that being said, it’s extremely dirty so THIS IS 18+. I’d figure it’s worth mentioning that this fic is (obviously) inspired by Heaven or Las Vegas by The Cocteau Twins. However, the song in the *spoiler* club scene is Deceptacon by Le Tigre (but specifically the DFA Tim Goldsworthy + James Murphy remix). Also, I recognize the lack of canon continuity in this fic!! I mention Grogu but he doesn't appear, and I imply that the Razor Crest still exists. Lazy writing...I know. But I unfortunately am a very lazy person. Also, I think there may be some minor/implied BOBF spoilers, so beware. Anyway, enjoy! Requests are open! 

Summary: Boba sends you and Din on a mission to Canto Bight, and things don’t exactly go as planned...as always. 

Warnings: SMUT. SOOOO MUCH SMUT. THIS IS 18+ PLEASE!!! Some kinda sorta Dom!Din. He’s def a top in this one. Cursing, brief (super super tiny) implied sexual harassment, some descriptions of violence and death, angst, and once again SOOO much smut. Also, maybe some missed grammatically errors.

Word Count: 4,014 

“So when we get there, can we-,”

“No.” The familiar modulated voice cuts you off immediately. Din doesn’t flinch. He keeps his eyes on the expansive collection of stars and planets extending around you. You look over to him, a smirk tugging on your lips. You can’t see it, but you’re almost certain he’s smiling underneath that helmet. You giggle a bit to yourself at the thought. You enjoyed irritating him. You enjoyed chipping away at his intense, metallic facade. By the look of Grogu, you knew he was a softy on the inside…somewhere. You intended to find it on this mission and permanently keep it out of hiding.

You were headed to Canto Bight, the party capital of the entire galaxy. Of course, you weren’t going there to gamble or cantina hop. Boba Fett was sending you and Din to take down one of the local crime lords, Rego Jakal. 

“He’s killing bounty hunters,” Boba’s voice bounced off the walls of the room. “Any civilian that doesn’t pay him tribute…” He paused, “Dies. And if it’s not enough to appease Jakal, he kills them anyway.”

“What’s this got to do with me and the girl?” Din asked. You liked that he had included you. He wasn’t just thinking about himself. You were his partner after all. You tried not to get too wrapped up in the semantics of his word choice, but it was no use. You cling on to every semblance of care he shows to you. It’s idiotic, but at least you recognized that. 

“He knows who you are, who we are,” Boba answers, bringing you back to reality. “He’s threatened my power,” He pauses dramatically once again, “And your lives. Specifically the girl’s.” 

Now you’re definitely paying attention. You swallow harshly, quickly realizing the seriousness of the situation. You turn towards Din and watch as his hands grip tightly into fists. He catches your glance and releases his hands. 

“Why her?” Din’s voice is harsh, much harsher than normal. 

“She killed his smuggling, stealing son on your last mission on Kessel,” Boba stated rather matter of factly. 

Din immediately turns to face you. “You did what?” He hates when you cause trouble where trouble isn’t necessary. You somehow did it on every single mission.

Your eyes frantically search for something to stare at that isn’t Din’s visor. “I had to this time, you don’t understand.” 

Before Din can make another complaint, Boba begins again. “It doesn’t matter. You’re going, and you’re going to bring him back dead or alive, understood?” 

And with that, you were off to Canto Bight. 

Din still seemed angry at you, which upset you greatly. It seemed like things were finally starting to fall into place with you and him. He had told you his name one night a few months ago, when you were freezing together in the bunker of the Razor Crest. He held you tightly to his chest, and finally said the words you had been waiting to hear since you met him. It felt like a big moment, but none of that mattered now. 

“I had to kill him, you know,” You say, glancing over at Din. Din doesn’t move. 

“And why is that?” He asks. You’re not sure why he’s so pissed. 

You take a deep breath. You know Din isn’t going to be happy about what you’re about to say. You’re not particularly jazzed about it either. It wasn’t an easy thing to talk about. “Well he was coming towards me, and and he said he was going to,” You pause, feeling the stinging of salt tearing around the corners of your eyes. 

“Going to what, (Y/N)?” Din swivels around to face you, concern heavy in his voice. His annoyance is completely gone. 

“He said he was going to make me watch him torture you, kill you, and then leave me for dead.” You take a deep breath, trying your best to evade his gaze. “I was cornered. I was out of options Din. I did want I had to do. Don’t you get that?” You’re practically shouting now. You don’t quite understand the anger that’s come over you. 

His head falls into his hand, and he inhales roughly. His breathing is shallow, shocked even. “I’m sorry, cyar’ika.” 

A tear falls down your cheek and you immediately wipe it away. You want to reach out and grab Din. You want him to pull you into his chest, make whatever you’re feeling go away. But a sudden beeping from the navigation system rings out loudly, bouncing off of the metallic walls of the ship. There was no time for feelings, not for bounty hunters.

“Time to land,” Din says, switching around some controls. His voice is much harder now. “We’ll get this guy. Don’t worry.” 

You had never been so worried in your entire life. 

————————————————-

You knew the truth about Canto Bight. You knew about the exploitation, the crime, the inequality, but you didn’t know how beautiful it was. No one told you about the white sands, or the gorgeous domed buildings, or rippling ocean tides. It was a shame a place like this could be so terrible. The way the lights from the buildings danced upon the waters felt like some indescribable heaven. It was a paradise.

Music boomed from the main casino and clubs and cantinas. It melded cacophonously in your ears. You and Din walked into the foyer of the hotel Boba had organized for you two to stay at. He said your cover would be a married couple. You didn’t entirely understand how a Mandalorian and an ex-Jedi could actually ever get married, but it worked. 

And of course you secretly enjoyed the fact that it meant you’d have to be close to Din. 

“We have you down for one room, a balcony suite,” The concierge says, looking up at Din. 

Din shakes his head, “One r-,” You cut him off with a quick kick to his boot, trying to silently remind him of your cover.  “Right, one room.” 

The concierge smiles, tilting his head to the side. “It’s a romantic suite, too. Great view! Probably the best one we have.” 

You can’t help but smile. It was funny that you ended up in this position, pretending to be Din’s wife, going on vacation with each other. It seemed so domestic, so warm, so soft. It was the total opposite of the life you were really leading. It was nice to play pretend, nicer than Din or even you were willing to admit. As much as you knew that you were starting to feel for Din, you still tried your best to bottle it up and throw it away. Relationships weren’t exactly easy in your line of work. Nothing was, if you were being brutally honest. 

The next thing you know, Din is grabbing your upper arm, leading the way to the elevators. You must’ve missed the concierge giving him the keycard to your room. He presses the button impatiently, almost as if he was expecting the elevator to just magically open when you arrived at it. He seems anxious. You reach up to his hand that’s still clasping your bicep. You peel his protective fingers off, placing his hand in yours instead. 

“Gotta make things look more believable, right?” You whisper, barely audible. Din nods in response, his rigidness slowly fading away. 

He squeezes your hand tightly, completely catching you off guard. “Thanks,” He mumbles. Before you can respond, the elevator bell dings and the doors glide open. Din keeps your hand in his as he presses the button for the floor you’re on.

You watch as the elevator zooms up. The walls are made of glass, allowing you to see the entire place. It really was a romantic hotel. The massive, metallic, abstract chandelier in the center of the lobby illuminated the entire place. Each floor, aside from separate corridors, was visible from the very bottom of the lobby. The ceiling was glass and perfectly domed. You were once again shocked by how some place so bad could be so beautiful. 

Din lets go of your hand as he uses the keycard to unlock the suite. The loss of contact makes your hand feel empty and light, but the beauty of the room immediately distracts you. The concierge didn’t do the view justice. The ocean was practically in your room. You head to the balcony and watch as the moon dances along the rushing current. You inhale deeply, the smell of salt filling your lungs. 

Suddenly, Din is at your side. You didn’t even hear him coming. “It’s beautiful,” You say to him, looking up at his visor. He tilts his head down towards you, but doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. It’s as though he has something to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it. He breaks away from the glance and looks over at the clock on the other side of the room. 

“We should head down to the nightclub. Boba said we could find Jakal there,” Din says, walking back inside. You follow behind him, stopping at your suitcase. You open it up and grab an outfit.

“I’ll get changed and we can head down,” You say back, heading into the bathroom. 

After a few minutes of fidgeting with fabric, you walk out. It’s not the safest outfit, but it’s an excellent cover. Your midriff is entirely exposed. Your arms and legs are wrapped in layers of sheer, black silk. There’s not much under the silk aside from your thin top and shorts. You needed to look the part of a young couple on vacation. You needed to blend in if Din couldn’t. 

Din glances in your direction and looks away before whipping his neck around to see you again. 

A double take. 

“M-maker,” he stutters through his helmet. You can’t decipher the tone of his voice. Self consciousness overtakes you. He must hate it, You think to yourself. It must be too much.

You take a step back towards the bathroom. “If it’s too much, I can change b-,”

“No,” Din says firmly. “You look beautiful, cyar’ika.”

Heat rises to your cheeks as the words fall from his lips. A chill runs down your spine. Beautiful. He thinks you’re beautiful.

“We should go now,” He says, his voice lower than normal. He seems to be trying to control himself after his compliment. He extends his arm out to you and you take it. 

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

The club is booming with noise. The bass is shaking the floor. At this point, you’re absolutely shocked that the entire city hasn’t crashed underground yet. You’re certainly not the party type given your demanding line of work, but the music is just so good. You try to yank on Din’s arm to get him to walk out on the dance floor with you, but he pulls against your grasp. You whip your head around to face him. 

“Come on, one dance,” You beg, still yanking on his arm. 

He shakes his head, still resisting your pull. “You go. I’ll keep an eye on you and check the place out.”

You scoff. “I can handle myself. It’s just one dance.” And just like that, you melt away into the crowd. 

The music bangs against your skull, but there’s something about it that itches your brain just the right way. You brush past sweaty bodies pulsing to the music, trying to find an open spot. After a few seconds, you decide to stop in your place and enjoy the music. 

Who took the bomp? Echoed in the tightly compacted room. 

You catch Din’s stare out of the corner of your eye as your hips sway from side to side. “I love this song!” You try shouting to him over the music. “Come join me!” He simply shakes his head back and forth. You roll your eyes and continue dancing. 

Who took the Bomp from the Bompalompalomp?

Who took the Ram from the Ramalamadingdong?

Who took the Bomp from the Bompalompalomp?

Who took the Ram from the Ramalamadingdong?

You close your eyes and let yourself go. You’re enjoying the beat too much to realize the guy inching up closer and closer behind you. You feel a set of hips brush against your lower thigh. “Back up, dude,” You shout, clearly annoyed. He doesn’t flinch. Before you have the chance to whip your head around and properly scream in his face, you feel yourself being practically dragged across the dance floor by a pair of familiar gloved hands. 

You’re magically transported to the other side of the club. Din turns you around so that your back is against his chest. “Looks like you’re getting what you wanted. No more dancing alone for you,” He says, his hands falling down to rest on your hips. 

“I had that under control,” You say callously. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

Din squeezes your hips and pulls you closer to him. “Safer this way,” He says, his modulated voice overtaking your senses. It shouldn’t, but his words bring a pulsing heat to your core. You try to ignore the feeling by dancing again, but your hips are swaying against Din’s crotch. There’s literally no escaping this now. 

“Thanks,” You solemnly say, realizing he was only trying to help. He doesn’t respond. You’re sure he’s smirking underneath his helmet, and that only turns you on more. 

You continue dancing on him. You figure he really just wants to cement the idea that you two are a couple. Blowing your cover would not only compromise the mission, but each other’s safety. Still, you swear you could feel a sudden twitch or two, maybe even something hard, when your hips rubbed across the right place, even under all that beskar. You like that you’re teasing him, you like that you can tell you’re getting him all worked up. He grips your hips tighter, and you could swear he’s pushing your ass closer to him. 

Much to your dismay, the song ends, and suddenly Din is pulling you off the floor and towards the bar. “Oh come on, that’s all you got?” You tease. But Din doesn’t answer, he keeps walking, except now towards the refreshers. 

Wait a minute. 

The refreshers?

“Is everything okay?” You ask, but he doesn’t respond. He forcefully pushes the door open, his hand still gripping your arm. He bends down, checking if there’s anyone in the stalls. You assume there’s no one here with you as he turns back towards the door to lock it. 

“Din, what’s going on?” You question, a slight tremble present in your voice. He finally turns around to face you. You’re so close to each other that you can smell him. The scent of musk, mint and citrus fills your senses. You wanted to smell that all the time.

He clears his throat, the noise echoing through his modulator. You can tell he’s nervous, but you’re not sure why. “I can’t do this anymore,” He says. Your heart stings in your chest as your mind goes to the worst place possible. 

“Do what, anymore, Din?” You ask, stepping towards him. 

He steps closer, practically closing the gap between you. “I can’t watch scumbag crime lords and everyday assholes make passes at you,” He starts. “I pretend like I don’t care about you, like I don’t want you all to myself,” He says, his gloved hands reaching up to your cheek, brushing softly against your skin. “I’m sick of pretending I don’t want you every second of every day,” He pauses. 

“And I want you right now.” 

Suddenly the space between you is gone, and you’re grabbing tightly onto Din’s shoulders as he picks you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He practically throws your back against the wall, your legs still wrapped around him, his hands firmly grabbing your ass. You want his helmet off. You want to kiss him. You want him to kiss you. But you know he can’t. You force your lips into the space on his neck between his cowl and his helmet, pressing rushed, wet kisses against his warm skin. 

Your core is aching for him. You don’t know how much longer you can wait. You move your hand down towards his crotch, rubbing against his erection. “Sh-shit,” He mumbles as a chill runs down your spine.

“I want you Din, please,” You beg as Din readjusts his hold on you. Your back is lifted off of the wall as Din walks over to the sink, placing you down on the cold metal basin. “Touch me,” You beg again. 

His breath hitches from inside the helmet. “Tell me where you want me, cyar’ika. Use your words.” You swallow harshly, trembling under his touch. 

“Wherever you want,” You whisper, barely able to form a sentence. “Use me.”

Din peels his gloves off of his fingers, immediately using them to rip away the sheer fabric of your top. The fabric falls to bits and pieces and scatters across the floor of the refresher. His hands move to your back, unclasping your bra in one swift movement. He pulls it off, finally having access to your chest. He squeezes tightly, and you moan in response. The pads of his thumbs move to your nipples, drawing light circles. You can feel your wetness pooling below you. 

He removes a hand from your chest and allows it to slowly move down the side of your body. He traces his fingers along the outline of your waist, taking his time, teasing you. You needed him so unbelievably badly. He stops at the hem of your shorts, tugging on them ever so softly. It only made you want him more. Not want. Need. 

“Din,” You murmur, “Keep going. Don’t stop.” Your voice is so soft, so helpless. He listens, hooking his fingers around your waist band, easily pulling them down your legs with one quick swipe. He brings two fingers down to your core, exploring around, feeling your slick. 

“Maker, you’re so wet for me,” He says, spreading your wetness up and down your folds. You shudder underneath his touch as he finally settles two fingers on your clit, drawing slow circles around the bundle of nerves. “You like that, don’t you mesh’la?” You can’t speak, you can only nod your head and hum some sort of positive sound. He clearly understands it as a yes, and he quickens his pace.  

You whine in response to his every touch. You were already so close. “M-more,” You stutter as he continues to press into your core. It wasn’t enough. You wanted him inside of you. You wanted him to destroy you. 

Suddenly, he removes his fingers from your heat, causing a groan to escape your lips. He brings his fingers back down to you, teasing you as his slides two fingers up and down your folds. You glare into his visor as your breath stumbles around, unable to stabilize. 

Without warning, he pushes the two fingers into you, his thumb attaching to your clit, rubbing quick circles. You feel so full as he pumps in and out of you. You mumble incoherent curses as he quickens his pace. You feel yourself inching closer and closer to your climax. 

“You’re so tight for me,” He says, his voice cool, yet somehow heavy.  “Is that what you wanted, sweet girl, my fingers?” You let his words float around and replay in your head, pushing you towards the edge. 

Your walls grip his fingers. “Yes,” You respond, “Din, please don’t stop. I wanna come,” You say, tripping on your words. He speeds up, pushing into you harder and faster. You’re putty in his hands. 

“Then come,” It’s not a request. It’s not an option. “Now.” 

It’s a demand. 

Your walls tighten and flutter around his fingers. You shut your eyes, bracing yourself for impact. “Look at me, cyar’ika. I wanna watch you come around me,” He practically snarls. You force open your eyes and stare into the visor as wave after wave of pleasure strikes against your core. You come undone around him, the feeling absolutely uncontrollable. You know there’s a cocky grin underneath that helmet. 

You ride out your high as his fingers push in and out of you a few more times, slower now. He finally pulls himself out of your heat, somehow leaving you wanting more of him. You didn’t want it to be over yet. 

“I want you inside of me, Din,” you whimper. You reach towards his erection, dragging your fingers against it slowly. A groan escapes his lips as you bring your hands towards his utility belt, unclasping the buckle. He forcefully grabs your wrists in response and pushes your hands above your head. Your back hits the mirror behind you, your ass hanging off the edge of the sink. 

Din slides the lower half of his armor off. Your eyes widen at the sight of his throbbing cock. Your walls flutter in anticipation. He walks towards you, slowly jerking himself off. His tip touches your entrance before rubbing up and down your slit. You hear Din’s breath hitch in his throat before he shoves himself into you. 

He gasps as your walls squeeze around him. “Y-you feel so perfect around me, sweet girl,” He mutters in you ear as he slides himself out of you only to push his length all the way back in again. “So tight for me,” He says, setting a fast, rhythmic, hard pace. 

He brings one hand to your clit and the other to your breasts, toying with the nubs as he destroys you. Din mumbles a set of incoherent curses and praises. 

“So good taking my cock just like that,” He huffs, ramming into you. He’s driving you mad. You’re practically seeing stars. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, too long.” His words drive you closer to your climax. “I want you like this all the time.”

All the time. Not just this time.

He’s hitting the exact spot you need him in over and over again. His name slides off your lips and hangs in the air like a hymn. He feels so good inside of you, stretching you out. 

You can feel his pace getting sloppy as his thumb quickens around your clit. He was close, and so were you. The indescribable fire growing in your stomach was about to explode. 

“Sh-shit, you’re doing so good for me,” He stutters, breathing heavily. 

You whine at the sound of his words, your hands moving down from above your head and onto his shoulders, gripping for support. “Fill me up Din,” You mewl. “Please come inside me.” 

His cock twitches at the sound of your words, the movement sending you over the edge as your stomach engulfs in flames. “Fuck,” He growls as he finishes, pumping in and out of you slowly before stopping completely. He keeps himself inside of you, his cold chest pressing against your exposed breasts tightly, his arms keeping you pressed to him from along your back. You stay like that for a few minutes, coming down from whatever had just happened. 

“You’re so perfect,” Din whispers, his voice sounding more soft than it normally does. You smile in response, feeling more than satisfied. 

Suddenly, the handle of the refresher door jiggles. Shit, You think to yourself. You and Din are pulled back to reality. He slips out of you, leaving you empty. You groan in annoyance. 

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” He says, grabbing his pants and armor. “This won’t be the last time. We’ll finish this later.”

Not the last time. And later… 

There’s a later. 

You don’t care about whoever is on the other side of the door. You don’t care about the mission. None of that matters anymore. Honestly, it never did. All you care about is Din, and what he’s going to do about you next. 

Was this heaven, or was it just Canto Bight?

[phoenixyfriend]

Tread Upon the Wind (and Chase the Sky)

Read on AO3

This got long enough that I needed to split it! Written for Day 6 of Anakin Rarepair Week: Unfettered Anakin/Freedom Trail

I call this ship Windwalker

-------

It starts, of course, with rumors.

Most problems from the Outer Rim do.

Mace is not the one sent to investigate. He is the kind of knight dispatched to end civil conflicts and broker peace treaties in their wake, not the one that goes chasing rogue Force wielders that they aren’t even sure actually exist yet.

Then the mines of Kessel fall.

--

At twenty, Mace has been a knight for two years. His knighting was early enough to cause titters, but he doesn’t think anyone can fault the work he’s done since then.

Well, Qui-Gon can, but that is because he is a menace.

(Just because they’re former crèchemates, and Qui-Gon happensto be nine-and-a-quarter months older…)

Mace is dispatched to Kessel. It’s a desolate area, for all that the southern half of the planet is lush and verdant. The despair that clogs every breath is only just starting to dissipate after centuries thick with it. Everywhere he looks are newly freed slaves, and there are Jedi Adjuncts from the Service Corps peppered among the populace. Mostly, they are medical, removing chips and healing the soft tissue damage of months in the same chains, but EduCorps are here, too. Not all the slaves are comfortable with droids, and so the Jedi Adjuncts are there to translate and smooth the refugee process; the Republic Refugee Program representatives are harried, but seem delighted to have gotten access to this wretched place for the first time in living memory.

The Adjuncts point him to the office of the former slaves’ chosen speaker.

“He was not one of yours,” the Rodian woman tells him. “He was very clear on that, even though, or maybe because, he carried a saber like yours. Had a pair of Mandos with ‘im, too.”

“What color was the saber’s blade?”

She eyes him. “Every single one o’ you jeedai have asked us that.”

“Unfortunately, saber coloration is often an indicator of intent,” Mace says. It’s more complicated than that, but he’s not going to willinglystart that discourse with a civilian who probably couldn’t care less. “As none of the Adjuncts saw fit to stop me, I can assume it wasn’t red, then?”

She shakes her head. “Blue. Mando armor was blue and white, if that helps?”

He’ll have to reach out to the Temple’s current expert in Mandalorian culture and affairs. He doesn’t even know who that might be. “We’ll look into them as well, madame.”

They discuss it a while longer, and Mace has to deflect some very pointed questions to the effect of ‘why did the Republic not interfere with our abuses before?’ Those answers are even longer and more convoluted than explaining kyber, and just blaming the Senate for refusing to fund a supplemental military and judicial force to pursue anti-slavery initiatives and aid the Jedi’s ongoing, existing projects in Hutt Space is… generally unwise.

He takes his leave, and finds the security holos.

--

“Oh, so it was Skywalker.”

“That means nothing to me,” Mace says. Plo is probably smiling behind that mask of his, and he certainly gives off such a feeling in the Force. That little shadow of his, the eleven-year-old human padawan known as Tholme, remains solemn. He stares up at Mace with wide, dark eyes, and says nothing.

(They’d all known Plo would be the first of them to acquire a student. It was inevitable.)

(Qui-Gon’s gotten himself a half-trained padawan, though, from a recently dead master, and so he’ll probably be the first to knight one.)

(Petty bastard.)

“Mm, we’ve been following up on sightings for a while,” Plo says. “Actually, Tholme’s been helping with this one. Tell Knight Windu what it is we’ve found so far, Padawan. Reports practice.”

Tholme looks up at his teacher, and then straightens his back and focuses on Mace. There’s a little furrow of focus in his brow, and Mace smothers the urge to laugh at the child’s serious mien.

“Outer Rim Force user with no known affiliation, seemingly Jedi-trained based on skillset,” Tholme says. “Accent indicates Hutt Space, but is non-specific, possibly due to frequent travel or schooling in other regions. The Mandalorians with him referred to him as ‘General Skywalker’ in at least one scavenged holo and several eyewitnesses, indicating a previous military record, though we cannot corroborate this, and cannot find said record in any existing databanks that contain information on recent conflicts. We have not gotten a name for either of the commandos, or a first name for the Force user.”

Mace is pretty sure that was memorized, word for word. Adorable.

“How do you know he doesn’t have just one name?” Mace prods. “Like you?”

“Skywalker is a slave name from Tatooine, which is where we trace some of his earliest activities,” Tholme says. “It’s a family name, not personal.”

Mace nods. “I appreciate your dedication to detail, Padawan Tholme.”

The child brightens, and Plo passes him a cookie.

Tholme, despite his attempts to maintain a grave demeanor whenever possible, is like most children. He accepts the reward with glee.

“So he’s a vigilante?” Mace asks. “No actual jurisdiction, but since he’s operating outside of the Republic, we’re free to ignore him?”

Plo tilts his head, and then turns to Tholme.

Tholme blinks at Mace. “No, Skywalker’s a pirate.”

Ah.

--

As it turns out, Skywalker has two fields of focus. Mace would almost go so far as to call them hobbies. One of them is freeing slaves, as he did on Kessel. He’s generally very careful with these, using his little strike team of three to destroy records, kill or arrest the royal family or Hutt or whoever is actually in charge, and set up the absolute barest government before phoning in the Service Corps.

He has not, Tholme explains, failed to call them to come in and sweep the mess clean yet. The Senate finds this suspicious, and keeps asking if the Jedi are secretly bankrolling this maniac. They are not.

The Senate, supposedly, does not hate Skywalker’s work. Ending slavery, they agree, is generally a good thing. Only, he’s causing some massive and unexpected price hikes for these luxury goods…

Tholme rolls his eyes, and Mace has to nod solemnly in agreement to avoid laughing at the boy’s irritation at adults in politics.

The other hobby is the attack, ransacking, and mockery of Trade Federation vessels.

It’s very targeted, Tholme explains. He never attacks solo ships, or even the intrasystem transport companies. It’s always either the Trade Federation, or the crime syndicates.

“He says the Federation are basically a crime syndicate anyway,” Tholme intimates. “The Senate got really mad about that one.”

“I see.”

Mace isn’t sure if he agrees, but at least he knows what he’s dealing with now.

The good news, Plo tells him with a smack to the shoulder, is that Skywalker almost always leaves the Federation employees alive.

“Like little fish,” he says, and it’s a direct quote. “So they can come back big and strong with a better meal.”

Mace has a terrible feeling about this.

--

Mace is assigned to find and ‘capture’ Skywalker, at the Senate’s request.

The Council tells him to just establish a line of communication and call it a day.

This is going to be awful, and he knows it.

“I can come with you, if you’d like,” Qui-Gon offers. “Feemor hasn’t been to the Outer Rim yet.”

“I have, Master.”

“Yes, but have you been to Mon Cala and Christophsis and Eriadu, or have you been to the Outer Rim?”

Mace rolls his eyes. Feemor just sighs. “No, I have not been to the stereotype of the Outer Rim, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon ruffles the teenager’s hair with the grin of a bastard. “See? We shall accompany Knight Windu on his adventure.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Mace says, but he knows it’s already a lost cause.

“We’ll be packed by the fifth bell. Come along, padawan!”

“Yes, Master Jinn.”

(Continue on AO3)

[cc-0420]

au of an au: han and boba parent trap cody and obi-wan

“i’m not doing it.”

“is it really that bad?”

“there is no negotiations. you are his excellency’s best bounty hunter,” the droid translated as the slug looked to boba, “and you are his best smuggler,” he said turning to han. “the two of you will have to work together for this job or neither will get paid nor have his services again.”

“if it’s full pay, i’m in,” han responded, “no reason to turn away from this job.”

“you doubt pirates, child?” han scowls at that. “both you and fett will get the pay promised if you complete the task.”

fett didn’t even glance at han from his helmet, “if he dies, it’s not my fault,” and walks out the door.

“man, you need to chill,” han follows him like a loth-cat, “we got a better chance together, right?”

not responding to the question, “we’re taking my ship,” boba sneers, continuing his path.

“you know, my ship made the kessel run in less than 12 parsecs!”

“i don’t care.”

~~~

the ride to florrum was silent as the two men were up to their own devices. upon landing they were greeted by a group of pirates.

“what can i do for you, boys?” what han assumed was the leader inquired.

before han had a chance to speak, his companion butt in, “we were hired to pick up the product for jabba. i assume you are hondo?”

i see he avoided mentioning that were to capture this hondo under jabba’s orders, han thought, would cody do this? Maybe he should’ve commed him for advice.

“captain hondo, i am. best pirate in the galaxy,” he made a jester to the building, “come on in and we can get you a drink to settle in-“

everything went black.

~~~

“why did you do that? the drugging normally works!” a voice broke out from the ringing in his ears

“sorry, boss, but I thought the helmeted one was going to pull a blaster on you.”

after a moment, han’s eyes were finally able to peel open. he was inside a cell, it seemed, with two weequays watching him, one of which being hondo. before he could quip to them, they already left and locked the door.

han began to look around, his mind running the simulators cody would make him go through for situations such as these, when his eyes landed on the body in armor.

he snorted, not so mighty, are you, fett?

han worked to untie the bonds from his arms, then shifting to the door. kriff, he’s never seen anything like it.

suddenly, a moan was heard as fett began waking up, “what the kriff happened?”

“we got captured, no thanks to you.”

“well, it’s not like you did anything!”

“i’m a smuggler. hurting people is not my job!”

fett didn’t respond, but han would bet 10 credits he was rolling his eyes under his helmet.

“did you try and get out?”

“if i could, i wouldn’t be here,” yet still held up his free wrists, “I’ve never seen a lock like this,” han continued pointing towards the door.

“i wouldn’t have expected you to. hondo has captured jedi before. he knows his stuff,” by then, fett already freed his hands.

“how do you-?”

“ah! you boys are up!” before han could finish his question, hondo was already barging in, “and yes. i once captured my best friend, obi-wan kenobi and a few other force users in this cell.”

“oh, i know. though he wouldn’t consider you a best friend.”

“how would you know? sadly, he is long dead. i was sad to hear when the jedi were killed. he will always have a special place in my heart.”

fett scoffed, “thanks for the story. can we leave?”

“nope, jabba’s been a pain in my side for years. instead, we’ll bargain you off for the highest bidder. you both seem pretty valued by the empire…” hondo ended walking out.

“that hypocrite!”

“oh, stop pouting under there.”

the next day passed slowly, the door only opening for food. han was growing homesick. he was with cody for 5 years now and chewbacca 2. he’s taken jobs without them, but at least he was kept busy. fett lounged in his corner, sitting still. it was creepy how he never took off the mask, and han made sure to let him know.

one night, he pulls out his holo of cody. it was hard to forget, but it was easier to have on him on long missions away. the glow from it lit up the room and caught the bounty hunter’s attention.

“what’s that?”

“none of your business,” han reached to turn it off. fett clearly saw it and reached into his own armor.

he pulled out his own holocron and the same picture emerged, cody and a man with red hair and beard. when he first received the holo, han would ask cody about the man in the robes, but would always get brushed off. he learned not to ask as he recognized the faraway look in his eyes.

“how do you have that?” han spit out. cody was his family, through thick and thin and fett wasn’t welcome.

“ben is my guardian,” he said pointing to the other man.

“you know him?”

“obviously.”

the thick air was broken by fett first

“how do you know cody?”

“he’s my father,” and before fett could respond, “well, the closest thing to a father i ever had.”

fett stared again and before han could say anything else, he reached for the helmet.

underneath was the eyes he knew to love. the lips that pulled into a firm line whenever han misbehaved. the nose that would scrunch up when han disgusted him. in front of him was a young copy of cody. a clone.

“you’re a clone.”

“i’m a person.”

“why are you younger than cody?”

“cause i’m a person.”

that didn’t answer han’s questions.

“do you work for the empire like the clones?” fett asked.

“what do you mean? cody doesn’t work for the empire. the clones are there against their will! there’s chips in their brain! cody told me!”

“really?” unlike most times he talked, fett wasn’t being sarcastic, “if that’s true…”

“so, cody knows ben?” han pushed. cody told him many stories of his brothers, but not much of anything else.

“he was his jedi general before he shot him down,” fett’s eyes trailed their faces on the holo, “no one knew of the chips and began blaming the clones.”

“is that why you wear the mask?”

“no!” boba rose from his makeshift seat, “how many times do i have to tell you i’m not one of them? this helmet was my fathers. i was never a mindless soldier.”

“they’re not mindless soldiers!” growing irritated, han thought back to all the times cody stood up for him when he was in trouble. the tales he would tell of his brothers.

boba shrunk at that and whispered to himself, “they’re not mindless soldiers.”

the silence fell over them again. han trying to make out the emotions on boba’s face, while he was looking anywhere but at han.

“cody was a better brother to me than he should have been. i treated the clones like scum, but now i know this truth,” boba waved his hand around, “he never would have wanted us to fight. neither would ben.”

“i’m sorry for your loss.”

“excuse me?” boba stared, “ben is not dead,”

han stared back, “what? you said cody shot him. and cody never talks about him.”

“well,” boba paused, thinking of the pros and the cons. pros being that ben could see cody again and boba wouldn’t have to watch him be all weepy. con would be that han is lying. he weighed his options before coming to a decision, “that was the point. the jedi had to be believed to have been wiped out.”

han contemplated on his end. despite never talking about ben explicitly, cody always talked about how amazing his general was. if fett really knew him, and it seemed like he definitely did, maybe they could come to an agreement, “cody would want to know.”

“i know,” before thinking, boba added on, “they cared for each other too much.”

rather than dwell on that phrase, “can we get them to meet up again? after we get out of here.”

“ben wouldn’t want to give up his position,” boba put his holo away, “but you are right about them wanting to know. i have an idea.”

~~~

the escape was easy once the two worked together. they also decided, screw jabba and abandoned their mission. both of them were smart enough not to have a debt with him anyway.

they decided that they will each send a signal to their respected guardians saying they need help on tatooine due to a mission gone wrong. it was easy for han to come cody, in which the commander responded he’ll be there in a few hours. on the other hand, boba didn’t have a comm for ben, with the fear of giving up his position. instead, he got in contact with a tuskin raider.

han stared in shock as boba let out a series of growls and hand motions to the creatures before they ran off. at his disgruntled look, boba replied with a simple, “ben helped them out a couple times,” that didn’t answer any of his questions.

ben got their first. he looked much more aged compared to the holo. the man gave boba his best wtf face. “kenobi,” han’s head shot up at that, “sorry to bring you out here.”

suddenly, the man locked up, all emotion wiped and reaching in his robes, “are you turning me in boba?”

“no, i didn’t mean to scare you,” he looked to han, “this is a companion i made on my last bounty. he has some news for you.”

really, fett? you’re making me talk? luckily, cody’s ship was pulling in overhead, but the elderly man got more on edge. han quickly reached for his holo and pulled open the picture of the men.

“umm, this is my father figure,” he said pointed to cody, “boba said he knew you and that you should talk it out.”

ben glanced between him, boba, and the ship that was slowly opening up.

“i didn’t give away our position, but you need to know,” boba said, looking towards the ship.

cody emerged and rushed to han, enveloping him into a hug, “are you alright? did these people help you?”

his eyes swept over boba, not recognizing the armor and turned to ben who was looking at him like he saw a ghost.

“general?”

“cody?”

“i’m sorry. i couldn’t- i’m sorry…”

before he could go on, obi-wan swept him into a hug, “it’s okay, commander, it’s okay…”

[ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing]

I really loved ‘the galaxy’s worst kept secret’!!! I would love to see it from Anakin/Obi-Wan’s POV.

For the ask game: soulmate au + arranged marriage ? 💗

Hello Anon Friend!!

I'm working on TGWKS from Obikin's POV! Now that you said it I kind of want to see it too!

As for your ask, here you go! I don't think there's any warnings for it but if you find something, do let me know.

Your Soul Greeted Mine Like a Long Lost Friend (2.9k) (possibly part 1, haven't decided whether or not to write a part two)

Read Below the Cut

They were ruthless.

The stories had been passed down from person to person since before Anakin had been born. Although they tended to leave the Republic alone, the same couldn’t be said for any of the planets that were under the Hutt’s rule.

First, they had come for the small planets that were close to the newly reestablished Republic space. Nimia fell first. Then Klatooine, Delacrix, and Renatsia. Word reached Tatooine as Slehegron and Simban fell and then before they knew it, there was a siege on Kessel.

Everyone held their breath through the next week as Kessel fell to Jetti.

It was impossible, that’s what they said. Kessel was too far into Hutt territory for them to lose. It was a defensive war. The Hutts should have had the advantage of knowing the land and the amount of money they had between them.

The whispers of Kessel’s fall rattled everyone and Anakin remembered how pale his mother’s face had been when news reached them.

“This can’t be good,” she’d told Erinata one day over a cup of caf, “They’re savages. If this is what they are doing to planets, I can’t imagine what will happen to us.”

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” Erinata had told her, her wrinkled hands tightening slightly around her cup, “It’s not as if there’s a way to stop them. They’ve taken Kessel and I doubt that they will stop there. They never do.”

She was right.

Toydaria and Hollastin were the next to fall.

Anakin had been in the shop, fixing and cleaning parts for Watto to sell when he heard the news.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Watto had yelled, “Get your own slaves. Are you telling me the Hutts don’t have da money to be buying their own? You bantha herder!”

It seemed, the Hutts knew that they were losing and they’d had a backup plan.

So Anakin, along with any of the available male slaves were carted away, off to fight on the front lines against the Jetti.

His hands shook as he looked back to his mother, who couldn’t hide her tears, as he was forced to board the ship that was meant to take them to the front lines. It would figure, that an empire built on slave labor would use those slaves to fight their wars but Anakin still couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised.

Anakin was given a blaster and what had to have been old clone armor and then they were sent to Teth, the next planet that they thought would be invaded by the Jetti. His hands shook as he saw the unfamiliar ships hit the atmosphere.

The rich had evacuated and all that was left were slaves who were fighting, slaves that had been abandoned behind, and those too poor to leave. Anakin and some others had been stationed outside the Hutt’s palace, though it was empty for the most part.

Anakin could see the twin moons beginning to rise and realized that this must be it. This must be how he died. The ships landed only a few klicks out and then he could see them on the horizon.

As they came into view, Anakin wished desperately to turn back but he knew either way he would be dead. The chips under their skin would kill them all if they were to try to venture into the protection of the Hutt’s palace and out here they were as good as target practice for the Jetti.

As they approached closer, Anakin swallowed thickly, realizing that not one of them was dressed in full armor. Some of them had pauldrons and reembraces and a few had cuirasses but most of them were free of armor, only dressed in neutral-colored robes and Anakin felt a chill run down his spine.

“We’re so dead,” he told Kit, hands shaking so hard he could barely keep grip on his blaster.

“What do you mean?” Kit asked, looking over at him with wide eyes, “They don’t have any armor Ani. We’ve got to have a chance now, right?”

“They don’t have any armor because they don’t need any armor,” Anakin told him, unable to keep his eyes off of them as they marched forward, “They so so confident that they will win that they didn’t even bother to put their armor on.”

He heard the sharp intake of breath around him and then, “We’ve got to run. We don’t stand a chance.”

Anakin looked over to the man next to him. He was an older gentleman named Kreck who had been a slave for most of his life. He was already taking a step back as Anakin reached out a hand.

“If we head back towards the palace we’re dead,” Anakin reminded him, “This is our only shot.”

He looked around and realized with a pit in his stomach that they were the furthest to the front. Everyone had begun stepping back and now it was obvious that they were all itching to run. Anakin took a step forward, “If we run we’re dead.”

“We’re dead anyway!” Kreck yelled back at him, “At least this way we won’t be prisoners of war.”

“We’re already slaves!” Anakin argued, “At least this way we leave with our lives.”

Still the restlessness grew in the group and Anakin stepped forward. Even if everyone ran away he’d be damned if he ended up dead.

The Hutts had taken everything from him but he’d be damned if they took his life too. He ran his fingers over the raised skin on his wrist and looked down to the burn mark that had once been his soulmate mark.

Kark the Hutts and Kark the Jetti too. Anakin wasn’t going down without a fight.

The Jetti were only steps away from them when the man in the front stopped. The group behind him stopped as well and Anakin took a shaky breath, trying to still his trembling hands.

“Hello there,” the man in the front said and Anakin looked at him.

He was-.

Well, he was beautiful, was Anakin’s first thought, followed by what the kriff are you thinking? He’s an enemy.

But he had auburn hair that shined copper in the last of the sun’s rays and clear blue eyes that Anakin felt like he could drown in. He was steady and standing tall as he looked to Anakin, face calm in a way that Anakin knew his wasn’t.

Was the man serious? He was going to chat with them before the massacre? Was this how war normally went or was this some kind of war tactic that Anakin had never heard of?

“What do you want?” Anakin barked out, raising his blaster, though his hand shook so hard he was sure he was more likely to accidentally shoot himself than anyone else.

“Well perhaps I was hoping that we could avoid the whole fighting part and skip to your surrender,” the man’s smile should have been condescending but it was so bright Anakin could barely look right at it. He brushed a shaky finger over where his soulmate mark burned. He’d do anything to know the name of the person who was meant for him.

Then his words processed and Anakin realized.

“Is that an option?” he blurted out, face reddening even as Kit hissed behind him, “What are you doing man? They’re going to blow our brains out if we surrender.”

The man looked so stunned that Anakin wished the ground would swallow him up. It’s not that he wanted to surrender, it was just he knew they were defeated before they’d begun and he at least wanted to live.

“Did you just offer to surrender?” the man seemed confused.

Anakin swallowed thickly and then quietly, “Yes. But if they know we’ve surrendered they’ll kill us all.”

The man’s face became very serious and he stepped closer, “And if you were to come with us?”

“Then we’ll still be dead,” Anakin bit out, their faces inches apart from each other, “They’ve got our trackers.”

“Trac- you’re slaves,” realization crossed his face and then he straightened up, turning to one of his comrades and said sternly, “Tell air support to fall back. Tell them to abandon the plan. Don’t begin the air raid.”

“Wh-?” the man to his left began to say.

“Just do it,” he said tightly, “And get me that electro-proton bomb.”

Anakin swallowed, standing up straighter himself. Had he just gotten everyone killed? Were they just going to bomb them and be done with it?

“It takes out electromagnetic fields,” the man reassured him softly, as if he’d known what Anakin was thinking, “When we used it during the war we found it had some unintended consequences. It took out prosthetics, blasters, and-.”

“Chips,” Anakin breathed in realization, “It will fry the chips.”

“It will,” the man agreed, “Just give us a bit of time.”

“Okay,” Anakin agreed and then swallowed, “But you should get back. If they find out your helping they might flick the switch and if all of the chips go off at once...”

He looked at the man seriously, “It will be as bad as a bomb. So for now, you need to get back. You don’t have much time to find your device and if you don’t make it in time, I- I don’t want to hurt anyone. None of us do.”

He gestured to the group behind him.

The man’s face softened, “I promise, we’ll find it in time. Just hang in there… what’s your name?”

“Names have power,” Anakin told him, “So you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t give you mine.”

“That’s alright,” the man told him, “You’re right. And since you’ve been so helpful, my name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed the name with a sort of reverence Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he’d ever heard, “Thank you Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan stepped back and looked over at his comrade, “Find the electro-proton bomb. Now. We don’t have much time.”

---

Slaves.

Obi-Wan wished he could say that he couldn’t believe it, but honestly, it was something that they should have expected. Still, it hurt Obi-Wan to think about it for too long.

Having someone who had nothing to do with your empire to fight your battles for you was something that was so in character for the Hutts that it almost hurt.

The young boy who had headed the so-called army had really been something.

Fearful, but unwilling to run, hands shaking even as he held his chin up in defiance as they’d reached them. Obi-Wan knew that everyone had been told that the Jedi were some undefeatable, to-be-feared warrior race from what he’d gathered during their siege. But still, the boy had stood tall and proud, ready to face him for his life.

And, he’d been more beautiful than anything Obi-Wan had ever seen in his life. Dark golden skin and light brown hair threaded with streaks of blonde from what must have been working outside constantly, with blue eyes, brighter than the waters of Lake Paonga and clearer than sky on a cloudless day.

He was taller than Obi-Wan, but lither and the way the force had swirled around him had stopped Obi-Wan in his tracks.

He’d asked them if they’d like to surrender because of how taken he’d been with the boy but he hadn’t actually expected anyone to accept.

Now, he was grateful that he had been so distracted or they might have slaughtered countless innocents and that wasn’t what they were there to do.

They were there to free the slaves, at the behest of the Republic, not to kill them.

None of this would have happened though, had Gardulla the Hutt not stolen the man that Obi-Wan had been set to marry.

It was a timeless tradition and one that was said to bring bad luck if it should be broken. The prophets of the Jedi thousands of years ago had come up with a list of Jedi to be who would eventually marry their soulmates, non-Jedi but force usually force-sensitive, to keep the peace between force and non-force users.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was the six hundredth and fifty-ninth Jedi to be added to the tradition, or he should have been.

Shmi Skywalker had born a son, Anakin, who was set to marry Obi-Wan, but on her way to the Jedi Temple, she’d been taken by the Hutts and somehow ended up in the hands of Gardulla. Anakin, who was only a few months old at the time- being nearly fifteen years Obi-Wan’s junior- had been taken with her.

Then, the Clone Wars had happened and the Jedi had to put a pause on their search to find the boy so they could fight for the Republic.

Finally, nearly two decades later, they resumed the search for the missing boy and his mother. It was finallly time to pay the Hutts back for their wrong-doings and it had been decided by the Republic, that their Empire was to fall.

So here Obi-Wan stood, in front of a group of slaves, fighting against the clock to save them.

“We found it!” he looked over as Quinlan came running towards him the bomb in his hand. It had taken a while for them to finally get it sized down that it could be carried on their person and it had changed the tide of the war when they’d finally managed to do it.

Obi-Wan took it from him and turned to start running towards the group. They’d decided that one hundred meters would be far enough away should things go wrong but Obi-Wan wished he would have been able to stay beside the man who had led for the whole time.

He wanted to know his history, his story. If Obi-Wan was being honest he wanted to know everything about him.

But he was set to be married, he knew. That was the whole point of this and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by someone who had caught his eye.

He had a duty to the Jedi.

He pressed the button on and then using the force, tossed it so that it was in the middle.

“It should be-,” Obi-Wan started to say and then stopped short as he heard a beeping noise, looking in horror at the man as he swallowed thickly.

“It’s too late,” the man told him, “They’ve just hit the-.”

There was a bang and everything was covered in the dust that the explosion caused. Obi-Wan looked up in horror but he couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t even yell for the man.

He’d never even gotten his name.

“Obi-Wan!” Quinlan and Qui-Gon were at his side almost immediately.

“Are they- are they-?” Obi-Wan started to ask, looking as the dust began to settle.

“We’re fine!”

Obi-Wan looked as the man stepped forward, coughing but unharmed, “It’s fine! Your bomb thing worked! I think only a few of the trackers went off!”

Obi-Wan didn’t often do things on impulse. He was a good Jedi, one of the best and one of the youngest to ever achieve the rank of Master. He was a fierce fighter and a brilliant negotiator praised for his level-headedness.

So, he’s not sure what comes over him as he twists his fingers into the other man’s tunic and pulls hard, letting their lips meet in a clash of teeth and tongue, but the man kisses him back, letting his long fingers cup Obi-Wan’s face and brush through his beard as their lips lock.

Then they pulled back and Obi-Wan realized what he had done.

“I- I’m- I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan apologized, “I don’t even- I don’t know what came over me.”

But the force was singing around them, dancing brilliantly as if it was rejoicing and Obi-Wan couldn’t regret what he’d done. He wanted to do it again. He would have done it again if only-.

Anakin Skywalker was waiting for him. He couldn’t be doing this when he was supposed to be waiting for his soulmate. He was supposed to be on a mission to save his soulmate.

He tried to step back but two hands on snaked around his waist to stop him.

“Wait,” the man said, “Wait. Don’t go, please.”

“I-I can’t,” Obi-Wan’s face turned pink as he realized everyone was watching, “I- I’m supposed to be on a mission to save my betrothed. I’m- I’m not sure what came over me but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Wait!”

He looked again but the man wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at his-.

Obi-Wan realized that part of his collarbone was showing and went to cover it, only to have a hand stop him.

“Is- is that-?” the man stopped as he took a deep breath, looking back to Obi-Wan with a look of awe, “The name! The name on your-! Is that my name?”

“I don’t know your name,” Obi-Wan said dumbly, and then the man was leaning forward, lips brushing Obi-Wan’s ear.

“Anakin. Anakin is my first name,” he said, “Is that-? Is that really my name?”

Obi-Wan took the man’s face into his hands and let the relief wash through him. He was drawn to this man for a reason. He wouldn’t have to let him go after all.

“Anakin,” he said, “Anakin Skywalker.”

“Yes?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan pulled him back down for another kiss.