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sleepingsun501 · 9 months ago

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Shared Experiences

(Part 1, Part 2 tbd)

Pairing: OFC Sellé x Fives x OMC Aergad

Summary: Fives takes the chance at a threesome and being shared.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (Minors DNI)

Warnings: Threesome F/M/M, smut, bisexuality, hand-job, established open relationship between OCs, dirty talk, praise.

Word Count: 3.2k

Ao3 link

A/N: MINORS GET OUT OF HERE!! Hello everybody, it's been a while since I wrote much of anything. Been working way too much for my own good with not enough time to be creative. This has been sitting in my wips forever, and there will be a Part 2 eventually. For now, I hope you enjoy Fives being the bi king he is!!

Shared Experiences

Fives was no stranger to what went on behind closed doors in the storage closets and refreshers of 79’s. More often than not, he was the one who would run off to a vacant space with a willing partner in tow, but tonight, he had been pulled into the darkness of a hallway by a gorgeous, feisty Twi’lek woman.

“Fucking hell, Sellé,” he moaned, gripping the plush of her hips as she nipped at his neck. With her bright reddish-orange skin under the singular overhead light, she was nearly luminous in the dim hall, but her gold eyes were dark with want.

Sellé trailed her lips across Fives’ neck and jaw as she pressed a hand against his codpiece, holding his back to the wall. Even beneath the plastoid, she could tell he was getting harder as he rutted into her palm and grinned down at her.

“Take me right here, soldier,” she whispered against his sweaty skin. “I don’t want to wait anymore. Watching you all night has been torture.”

Fives shifted down to scoop her up, his hands full of her perfect ass as he pushed her little black skirt up her hips. In just a few steps, he was pressing her against the back wall, trapping her in a cage of blue and white armor.

She gasped as he pressed a thigh between her legs. The plastoid ridge put the most exquisite pressure on her sensitive folds and clit as he traced his tongue over the black ring piercing in the center of her bottom lip, begging for entrance.

Before he could draw a breath, Sellé invaded first, licking into his mouth and capturing his lower lip in her sharp teeth to pull him closer. He let out a sultry growl at the slight pain, but ground his hardening cock against her belly, wishing she had unclipped his codpiece first.

“Come on, Fives…” she begged with a needy gasp, gyrating her hips as his armor rubbed against her rapidly dampening core.

He pulled a glove off, chuckling and nibbling at her ear cone playfully as he worked her black lace panties aside. His goatee scratched against the hot skin of her neck as he prodded her entrance, and the drag of her nails in his hair sent a shiver rocketing from the crown of his head to the base of his spine. Every little sound she made went straight to his cock, and he was eager to feel more of her wet heat on his fingers.

He explored her folds expertly as she hooked her leg around his hip, pulling him closer and proving her impatience. Fives had no problem fucking her right there if that was what she desired, but her breathy whimpers suddenly turned to a fit of giggles, causing him to pause.

“What’s so funny, baby? Did that tickle or something?” he asked, confused and pulling back to study her. He was no expert on Twi’lek anatomy, but he had never had much trouble pleasing a woman of any species before.

Sellé bit her kiss-swollen bottom lip, looking suddenly adorably shy and trying to hide her smirk as her seductive gaze flicked past him. “No, but… we seem to have caught my boyfriend’s attention.”

Fives’ eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, and his stomach felt as if it had dropped to the floor.

“Your what?!” he exclaimed, quickly setting her firmly on her feet and whirling around. Although he had never been truly picky about his partners, Fives was no homewrecker and detested the idea of cheating. “You didn’t tell me you were here with someone!”

From the lights pulsing brightly just beyond the entrance to the hallway, he could make out the shadow of a tall figure leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed.

The seconds seemed to drag by as the figure lazily pushed off the wall and drew closer with long, slow strides. He could tell it was not another clone from the way the man moved, but Fives felt the panic start to rise in his chest when he noticed a crown of small, spiked vestigial horns encircling the man’s head.

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. He’s a Zabrak.

Fives had two options: either he was going to have to very convincingly talk his way out of this predicament, or fight his way out. Even with his venerable skills as an ARC trooper, the last thing he wanted at the moment was a scrap with an angry man of a species known for their natural brute strength.

“Don’t stop just for me,” the man suddenly said with a low chuckle. “I like to watch her have fun.”

Fives’ wary eyes flicked between the two of them as the man stepped into the dim light. He was a bit taller than Fives, leaner with a gentle grace about him, and looked as though he had no intention of picking a fight. As if to prove it, the Zabrak smirked at them as he affectionately brushed Sellé’s high cheekbone with his knuckle.

“Oh, please,” she huffed, rolling her eyes and distractedly playing with the end of one of her lekku. “You like to do a lot more than that.”

“Wait a minute,” Fives said, holding up his hands and looking between the couple again. He needed more information. “You’re both okay with this?”

“Relax, Fives, Aergad isn’t going to hurt you,” she said reassuringly, placing a hand on his vambrace and nuzzling up to him. “I like being shared, too, you know. Would you be interested in something like that?”

Fives gave Aergad an inquisitive look, his forehead wrinkling in surprise, and the Zabrak nodded suggestively.

The prospect of sharing a female partner, with someone other than Jesse for a change, had piqued Fives’ interest intensely. Although he was not entirely sure of the dynamic that existed between Sellé and Aergad, he was not about to pass up an opportunity to have a woman screaming with pleasure if she wanted him. Taking a quick, steadying breath, he made up his mind.

“I-I… uh… I wasn’t expecting this,” Fives’ stammered, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as an involuntary grin spread across his face, “but y-yeah, I’m game.”

Nearly giddy with excitement, Sellé stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss Fives’ scruffy cheek and began pulling him back out of the hallway. Aergad wore a cocky smile as he clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly as he passed, following on their heels.

The crammed cab ride to their apartment was thankfully short. If it had been any longer, Fives would have pushed up Sellé’s tight skirt again and had her cockwarm him because she would not quit wiggling in his lap. The warm, sugary vanilla scent of her skin was intoxicating, and he particularly enjoyed the way she would dig her nails into his neck every time he gave her ass a squeeze.

“Easy, Sel,” Aergad said, playfully admonishing her. “I doubt he wants to cum in his armor.”

“He’s right, sweetness. I’d prefer to cum in you,” Fives muttered, kissing the little black, diamond-patterned tattoo resting at the base of her throat. As she ground her hips down into his lap again and giggled her approval, he hazarded a glance back at Aergad, realizing they had not yet discussed any ground rules. “That okay with you?”

Aergad’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he gave Fives a sexy wink while he unabashedly readjusted himself in his pants, watching Sellé squirm with delight.

“If I’m okay with it, he’s okay with it, handsome. It’s safe for you to cum in me all you want. Let’s talk more about this inside, though. We’re here,” she said, scooting off Fives’ lap and out of the cab.

As he followed them into the turbolift to their upscale apartment, Fives found it a bit odd that Aergad was so willing to let his girlfriend so lewdly seduce and fondle another man right in front of him—a complete stranger, no less. However, he conceded that unless they had anything other than a healthy open relationship, he would have been grappling on the sticky floor of 79’s.

Sellé practically dragged them both down the hall and shoved them inside the apartment when they got to their floor, and promptly asked Fives to help unlace the back of her corseted top. With such an edgy beauty proudly shedding her clothing for him, it was extremely difficult for Fives to take his eyes off of her.

She let the corset fall to the floor, revealing more diamond-patterned tattoos flowing along the curves of her back, and shivered as Fives traced them with gentle caresses of his fingertips. He pulled her close as his hands wrapped around her waist with her tattoos, kissing her neck and giving her waist an affectionate squeeze.

“Get that armor off, soldier,” she sighed as his hands came up to cup her full breasts. “I’ll be right back.”

Fives released her and watched hungrily as she scurried off down a hallway. But out of the corner of his vision, he could not help but notice the way Aergad’s violet eyes were drinking him in with a look of barely-contained lust.

He could not deny just how attractive the Zabrak was as he recognized that look, and it made his half-hard cock twitch as he began placing his armor in a neat pile next to the discarded corset.

Aergad’s angular face was covered in smooth, light tan skin marked with sweeping, symmetrical linework tattoos of a darker shade, and his striking eyes were stoking that ember into a flame in Fives’ gut. The tight fit of his clothes also left little of his lean physique to the imagination, and if he said the word, Fives would have been on his knees in a second.

After finally plucking up the courage and stripping down to nothing but his briefs, Fives turned to face his admirer and asked, “Like what you see?”

Aergad gracefully pushed off the table he had been resting on and slowly circled him, trailing his fingers across Fives’ burning skin. Fives felt his cheeks darken, and he shuddered pleasantly at the taller man’s light touch.

“I think you’re absolutely gorgeous,” he mumbled, his hands settling on either side of Fives’ neck as they came face to face. “I’d love to fuck you.”

Fives blinked in surprise and swallowed nervously. “Oh, I thought you might want me to do that,” he chuckled bashfully, briefly locking eyes with him before averting his gaze again.

Shrugging, Aergad caressed Fives’ pulse points gently. “Either way works for me. Sel’s only into males, but I like to keep options very open.”

He did not quite know what Aergad had meant by that, but he had a good feeling he would soon find out—a prospect that thrilled him more than he expected. He was suddenly overcome with the need to kiss the beautiful man in front of him, but instead settled for resting his hands against Aergad’s trim waist.

The rush of nerves must have made Fives’ heartbeat quicken because Aergad quickly shifted his hands to Fives’ chest to steady him.

“Hey, now,” he said soothingly, “it’s okay if you don’t want me. You get to decide, since you’re our guest. If you only want Sellé tonight, that’s fine. I’m… I’m sorry if I’ve come on too strong.”

“No! No, you didn’t. I-it’s fine, really. I just…” Fives found himself gripping one of the man’s slender, but sturdy wrists, soaking in the warmth of his palms and searching for the right words. “I’ve been with men before, but I’ve only been a top. You’re the first who’s ever said he wanted to fuck me.”

“We can share you, too, you know,” Sellé said quietly, reentering the room. Her slender arms encircled Fives’ waist, and she pressed her lips into his shoulder blade. “There’s no pressure at all. If you want to stop now, if you need some time, it’s all right. Whatever you want, Fives, you can have it.”

“I… uh… I’m not sure,” Fives replied, reaching down and holding onto one of her arms as well. “Never been given so many choices before… with anything.”

Being sandwiched between them was starting to become overwhelming in the best way possible. He was already so hard from the knowledge of both of them wanting him, and the warmth and feel of their bodies were keeping him grounded as his curiosity burned hot for the first time in a long time.

“Aergad?” Fives finally asked, swallowing nervously. “Kiss me?”

Aergad smiled brightly for a brief second before cupping Fives’ face in his hands and bringing their lips together.

Something deep and primal sparked in Fives’ brain as Aergad’s lips slotted with his own. He breathed in sharply and leaned into the kiss, but he let Aergad control it. The Zabrak’s lips were thin, but both tender and firm at the same time as they moved against his. Though it only lasted a few seconds, Fives could feel the desire rocketing through him. He could barely hold back the urge to chase him when Aergad pulled away.

“I think I’d like it if you shared me,” Fives confessed, left breathless and dizzy from the kiss.

With a pleased smile, Sellé came around to his front and took his hands, guiding him to their bedroom.

Fives had barely noticed before, but the whole apartment was incredibly spacious and finely decorated, and the bedroom was no exception. Later he would wonder what they did to afford such a place, but he kept his eyes mostly on Sellé, loving the way her bare, luscious body jiggled slightly with every step.

However, the oversized bed draped in nothing but plush white blankets and pillows was difficult to ignore. As she sat him down on the bed and crawled behind him, Fives was certain he had never felt a softer bed in his life.

“Wh-what should I be doing?” Fives asked uncertainly.

Aergad quickly stripped off his vest, revealing his athletically lithe torso and even more sweeping tattoos. He came to kneel between Fives’ parted knees, resting reassuring hands on his thighs. “Tell you what, since you’re new at this, we’re going to take this very slowly. Have you ever used toys on yourself before?”

His voice was like rich velvet, and Fives once again felt the excitement bubble in his stomach at the sight of the bulge visible through Aergad’s pants. “Yeah. A plug… just a few times, but nothing fancy.”

“Perfect, I have a few I can use on you first to warm you up. That okay?”

Fives nodded, struggling to control the arousal coursing through him from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“Go get comfortable with Sel first,” Aergad murmured, stroking Fives’ cheek. “I’ll get everything prepped.”

As he strode off into another room, Sellé pulled Fives further onto the heavenly bed. She waited for him to settle into the cloudy pillows before straddling him and grinding delicately over his still-clothed cock, smiling at his contented groan.

“Fuck, you’re kriffing hot,” Fives hissed, eagerly running his hands up her body and bucking into her gently. It was also the first time he noticed the barbell piercings in each of her nipples, and he gently thumbed one to tease her, delighting in her little moan. “I still wanna cum in you before the night’s over.”

Sellé giggled, kissing the tip of his nose and leaning into his touches on her breasts. “That can be arranged. But first, some ground rules. In this room, we use the color system, and ‘red’ and ‘no’ mean we stop immediately. I may look kinky, but I’m not into anything non-consensual. Neither is Aergad. Do you understand?”

Fives nodded seriously. “Yes, I do.” Just from her tone, he could tell he was in experienced hands in a very safe space. Nothing would happen without him wanting it to, and it helped him relax further.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, either. This is going to be new for you, and Aergad and I have done this before, so if we see you slipping, we’ll stop and check in. Understand?”

“Yes,” Fives replied again. Her gold eyes were just as fierce as they were affectionate, and he felt himself wanting to melt beneath her from the fire coursing through his veins. If it had just been the two of them, he imagined he would have already made her cum on his tongue, and that desire to do just that quickly cemented itself in his mind.

A heartbeat later, Aergad reentered holding a small container full of various toys, lube, gloves, and bio-sheaths.

“All set?” he asked, kneeling beside them and lovingly petting down the full length of Sellé’s lek to make her shudder pleasantly.

As both Sellé and Fives replied affirmatively, Sellé shifted further up onto Fives’ abdomen, covering his hands with hers as they continued playing with her breasts and piercings. She began grinding her aching clit against the curls disappearing into his waistband, searching for the delicious friction between them.

Sliding up against Fives’ side, Aergad began slowly pressing a hand up his muscular thigh and teasing the edge of his briefs, pulling them down just enough to reveal the swollen tip of Fives’ already weeping cock.

“I’ll use my hands first, then we’ll work up to toys,” Aergad whispered against Fives’ shoulder, kissing his bronzed skin as tenderly as his words. “I promise I’ll be slow.”

Fives nodded fervently in agreement and gripped Sellé more firmly above him. “Need one of you to touch me. Please… touch me,” he gasped, barely able to believe how desperately he desired them both.

Fives thrust involuntarily into Aergad’s hand as the Zabrak pulled his underwear out of the way and grasped his cock, and his moan sounded wanton to his own ears. The callouses on his palm were a bit rough, but it was nothing compared to the relief of the pressure and warmth. As he looked at the man beside him, he was once again captivated by his violet eyes.

“You have a beautiful cock, Fives,” Aergad praised, his mouth watering at the sight of it. He released him to thoroughly lick his palm and adjust his grip before stroking him even more firmly. “So thick and hard. Look at him, Sel.”

Sellé twisted around and grasped Fives’ length behind her, joining her grip with Aergad’s. “Oh, he’s gorgeous,” she praised, deliberately pressing hard against the prominent, pulsing vein running up the underside. “Can’t wait to have you inside me and stretching me out, soldier.”

“F-feels good… so good,” Fives groaned, his every nerve tingling with need at their words. “Want… I-I want…”

“It’s okay, don’t be shy,” she said softly, slowing her movements to lean forward again and take Fives’ face in her delicate hands. “Tell us what you want.”

Fives could hear his heart hammering in his ears, but he gripped her thighs and pulled her up with surprising strength. “I want you to sit on my face,” he growled, once again finding his confidence and dying to taste her.

As soon as she shifted up onto her knees and straddled his head, Fives pulled her down and began devouring her like a man starved. He felt his cock twitch hard in Aergad’s grasp as Sellé let out the sweetest gasp of pleasure, and he knew he was in for the night of his life.

TBC

Part 2

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#arc trooper fives #OC Sellé #OC Aergad #twilek #zabrak #arc trooper fives smut #nsft #fives being a bi king #star wars #the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #arc trooper fives x ofc #arc trooper fives x omc

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lieutenant-teach · 8 days ago

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‘Master & Apprentice’ book – a Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan story, featuring Rael Averross. From the outside, it looks like a quite Jedi-positive book – it’s written from Jedi’s POV, Jedi are protagonists. But during reading it’s clear that the book is haunted by typical for many Jedi-centric fics and books false takes; more specifically in this book, they are – shitting on the Jedi Council, ‘love vs attachment’ problem, ‘it’s not how the Force works’ problem, repeated fanon interpretations, ‘child-stealing’, and more.

Now on each of the points above. Spoilers ahead.

1.The Jedi Council is depicted (as per our ol’ nice familiar pattern) as full of bureaucrats who allow all bad things in the Galaxy happen (as they probably sip wine in the Temple scrolling holo-pads with space TikTok, I guess). And, of course, Qui-Gon is the only one who remains close to the Force as a True Jedi ™ should. “Qui-Gon knew the Council to be wrong about many things. He felt they’d allowed the Jedi Order to become a sort of chancellor’s police, rather than concentrating on knowing the Force. Yes, they were wise to refuse to rule—but unwise to simply accept the status quo. Short-sighted, to lose touch with the living Force by spending so much of their time and energy on enforcing laws that could as easily be left to civilian authorities. Immoral, to refuse to act against evils such as slavery.” I would be very glad to have it attributed to ‘unreliable narrator’, but I haven’t seen it debunked in the book by Qui-Gon himself or anyone else. So I conclude it’s supposed to be ‘the objective truth’.

2. Rael Averross is a very much clear foil of Anakin (was taken too old, has problems with attachments, dangerously reckless – had to kill his Padawan because he ignored the Council protocols). He’s also depicted as ‘so different from the other Jedi because he wears casual clothes & keeps his accent’ – bullshit. Depa Billaba also appears in the book and she wears her traditional make-up! Also others from different SW media have some markings of their cultures – Shaak Ti and Ahsoka wear Togruta headdresses, Luminara and Barriss have whole Mirialan outfits and tattoos, Quinlan also has Qiffar tattoos of his clan, and these are only the most prominent examples. Same as Ayala Secura keeps her Twi’lek accent – so again, Rael isn’t so special. Even within the Council – Mace and Obi-Wan have different accents, and Yoda has a whole different speech pattern.

Of course, the question of ‘love’ is touched heavily upon. Rael claims that the Jedi shouldn’t love – but at the same time he says the Jedi love their Padawans/friends/etc. Choose the stance you stand on, author – can Jedi love or not? Especially taking in consideration that Rael’s attachment to his mistake with his Padawan blinds him to the point he’s ready to sacrifice the planet’s people in favour of ‘righting’ his own past failure attributing it to Fanry. Also, I think Rael confuses ‘love’ and ‘fucking’, claiming Jedi are not allowed to fall in love. What did Obi-Wan say in TCW? “It’s not that we’re not allowed to have these [romantic] feelings, it’s natural”. The Jedi shouldn’t allow feelings cloud their judgement, that’s it. Either the author doesn’t understand it, or Rael.

3. In this book we read the whole prophecy about the Chosen One. Aaand it tells about ‘Jedi sins’ – again this idiotic idea from Legends that Jedi were at fault of their destruction! ‘It will bring balance of light and dark’ – it’s not how the Force works! It’s not Yin/Yang!

4. Dooku didn’t leave the Order because he disagreed with the Jedi! He left because he disagreed with the Senate! Come on, it’s right in the main media! It’s so fucking infuriating when official authors blindly repeat fanon interpretations.

And then some say ‘the books are printed, therefore canonical’. No, if they claim smth that is outright different in canon – they’re ‘paid fanfiction’, nothing more.

5. A weird moment when the child stealing argument is brought up, and not only Qui-Gon doesn’t refute it, but says he didn’t have any voice in choosing the Jedi way of life, although he loves it now. And it’s portrayed as sad and melancholic. So, in my eyes, this book proves that Jedi are ‘baby-stealers who indoctrinate kids’.

6. How old is Qui-Gon? Lucas says 60 in TPM. Wookiepedia – 48 in TPM. The book claims Liam Neeson’s age during TPM – 48, and is set 8 years prior to TPM, as Obi-Wan is said to be 17, so according to the book, Qui-Gon must be 56 in TPM. Who to believe?

The only point I LOVED without any qualms – how Obi-Wan began to hate flying. Awesome story!!!

#star wars #master and apprentice #obi wan kenobi #star wars legends #qui gon jinn #jedi #jedi order #pro jedi order

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burnwater13 · 4 months ago

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Garsa Fwip's Sanctuary in Mos Espa, on Tatooine. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 2, The Tribes of Tatooine. Calendar from DateWorks.

Grogu had heard of ‘Cantina Culture’, but honestly he thought it had something to do with infectious disease control. All sorts of people travelled to Tatooine and as a planet with a limited water supply, hygiene practices that were typical on Corellia or Chandrila couldn’t be readily employed. You had to bring your own sanitizer and you had to understand that the sanitizing stations at the space port near Mos Eisley had run out of sanitizing anything a long time ago.

He was explaining that all to Peli Motto when she began to laugh, loudly and with more gusto than a serious discussion of public hygiene deserved.

“Buddy, ‘Cantina Culture’ isn't about that kind of biology. It’s about the people who go to a cantina and the sort of things they expect of that cantina. For instance, here, everyone who goes into the cantina knows ya gotta be able to play sabacc. If ya can’t play, ya stay. Simple rule. Now, take Mos Pelgo…”

Grogu waved his hands to interrupt her to no avail.

“They… Okay, okay, Freetown, whatever. Any how, up there ya gotta have a spotchka. Ya gotta share the latest gossip. Ya gotta laugh at the Marshal’s jokes. That’s how they roll up there. Over in Mos Espa, well, there you better have more credits than ya know what to do with. Those Twi’lek dancers and servers will spend it for ya before you can say, ‘No, I don’t want my boots polished’. Even if I had boots needing polishing I wouldn’t let them do it at three times the cost of having the pit droids do it. Ridiculous waste of credits.”

She stopped talking to take a breath and then didn’t start back up.

“Where was I? Oh, yeah, depending on the town, the people, the products available, and a bunch of other factors, every cantina you walk into is nothing like the last cantina you were in. That’s ‘Cantina Culture’. I’m surprised yer dad didn't explain that to ya. Although, come ta’ think of it, do Mandalorian’s even have cantinas?”

Peli was looking at him expectantly as if he and his dad had been to a bunch of them over the course of their adventures. He shrugged at her. He didn’t think that Mandalorians bothered with stuff like that. They were too busy trying to make sure that ex-Imps weren’t hiding around the corner from everywhere they were.

“Well, when yer dad gets back, he can tell us all about ‘em.”

Peli had settled the matter to her own satisfaction and then walked back to her office, yelling at the pit droids to get her boots and start polishing them. Grogu giggled at that. You never knew which part of a conversation you had with her was going to be the part that stuck. Grogu doubted that she’d remember to ask his dad about Mandalorian cantinas and what kind of culture they had.

Grogu thought that was a silly question any way. Based on everything they already knew about Din Djarin and the handful of other Mandalorians he’d met, Grogu could tell you just what a Mandalorian cantina was like.

First, it wasn’t called a cantina. It was called a ‘bar’. It was called that because cantina sounded too fun and tavern was too friendly. ‘Bar’ conveyed the right sort of purposefulness of the establishment. Get in, get out, get back to work.

Mandalorians were very deliberate people and they didn’t mess around with subtleties. You lined up at the bar top and were given a drink with a straw and you put your foot on the bar at the bottom of the structure to allow you to rest a little. No chairs. No tables. No booths. No music. No decorations. No problems.

Grogu had no doubt that they entered and left in shifts and were only allowed there at certain times of day and on certain days of the week. Organized, methodical, routine, predictable, boring certainty.

Then he considered what a Jedi cantina would be like. He sighed and laughed at the same time. His first thought was that it would be empty and his second thought was it would be the absolute opposite of a Mandalorian bar. It would be filled with sound. At least two or three different sources of music would be present and playing at the same time. You would just focus on the one you liked better and you wouldn’t even notice the others. The furniture would look like it had been found at a recycling center. It would be every size, every style, every color and just pushed into the large room in a manner that would immediately suggest that it had once been used to barricade the entry.

Grogu didn’t know who would have been foolish enough to try and attack a Jedi cantina. Only a bunch of fools. Of course the Jedi wouldn’t have called it a cantina either. They would have given it a semi-ironic nickname like a ‘watering hole’ or a lounge. The images those names evoked were almost opposites and that's just what the Jedi would have been counting on. No reason to advertise that the location was primarily about goofing off and playing chess or darts with your fellow knights and masters, no padawans allowed.

He giggled at that. He suspected that rule would apply to younglings as well, but he couldn’t imagine a Jedi watering hole that would have been able to keep Ian out. His friend had an absolute sixth sense for spaces like that and had made a regular study of them at the Jedi Temple. That’s how Master Yoda’s private swamp ended up hosting a younglings festival night when the powerful Jedi had been called away to travel to Trymant IV. Grogu wished that event had established a youngling cantina culture, but you couldn’t hide a fifty foot water slide from Master Yoda, no matter how many of the younglings worked together to make it disappear.

“Hey buddy, I’m back. Peli said you wanted to go to the Cin Vhetin.”

The Mandalorian was suddenly there and seemed pretty happy for a change.

Grogu asked why.

“Peli said you wanted to see a real honest to B’Omarr Mandalorian drinking establishment. One just opened here in Mos Eisley. If we go now they’ll still have Fire Stacks. You won’t want to miss them.”

Huh? A Mandalorian drinking establishment that served food? You could have knocked Grogu over with a feather. His dad wanted to get something to eat that wasn't a ration pack? Grogu jumped up into his dad’s arms and bumped his head against the Mandalorian’s helmet. He thought it was important to encourage his dad to go new places and try new things, especially when he was along for the ride.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #the book of boba fett #peli motto

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vibratingskull · 1 year ago

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I HAVE TO SHARE THIS BCS THRAWN

also hellurr hope you’re alright 👀

So I’m a bit of a history nerd and the Empire in the Ahsoka series is giving me strong Roman Empire vibes. Bear with me image Thrawn as the Emperor and you’re his Empress, you’re aware of him having some private time in the evening watching some girls making out and doing more sometimes. A bit like Jabba on Tatooine, however Thrawn is always loyal to you and would never engage in serious activities with the girls.

However he isn’t the only one who enjoys these activities, you enjoy them as well and tend to join him during these nights like some Emperors did in ancient Rome. He wouldn’t even necessarily tell the other girls to leave he’d simply have you in his “fun” room not caring about anything else as he’d have his way with you. Istg Thrawn is doing things to me. 🫠

Emperor Thrawn you say... 🤔 🤭

ThrawnxF!reader

Tags: Smut, p in v, creampie, bulge, dacryphilia, pet names (good girl, Empress,...), light breeding kink

You lazily yawn.

You’re so sleepy right now… Ulertepi’s hands are doing wonders on your body.

“Do I please you, Mistress?” She asks.

You moan, nodding. She’s the best at giving massages, you could fall asleep right now. The young Twi’leks caresses your body with oil and perfume, applying pressure and grazing your sweet spots on your back.

“You have the hands of a fairy…” You let out in a daze.

You sigh, today again Thrawn is away on campaigns, leaving you alone to rule the Empire. You had enough of your solitude and got down to the Bath House of the Palace to enjoy some company. On another chaise lounge a Togruta and a Twi’lek are embracing each other in an intimate dance of caress and touches, on the couch a human girl and a Mirialan are beyond the caress stage and are engaging in a passionate coitus, two or three other groups of slaves are around the Bath House, in pools or chairs, enjoying each other for the pleasure of their Empress.

With the snap of a finger your glass is refilled with an expensive wine. You savor it, listening to the couple's moans like music.

“When do you think he will come back?” You lament.

“I don’t know, Mistress.” Ulertepi responds.

“He’s always away on campaigns, he’s never at the Palace for more than one week. It’s like I married a ghost.” you complain.

“I am sorry, Mistress.”

“I am the saddest woman in the universe…”

“Your cross is the heaviest of them all.” She has the presence of mind to agree with you.

She knows better than to upset and contradict you.

“My Empress?” a voice call to you.

“Mmmmmmmh?”

“Heads of the Council want to see you.” Rivihk informs you.

You snarl, can’t you be alone for five minutes?

“What do they want?” You grouch.

“They want to discuss with you about an heir and succession.”

Thrawn’s not good at politics. So it falls on you to rule the court and the State while he’s out conquering new worlds. He sometimes chimes in when something goes against his morals, but you’re pretty free to rule as it pleases you. You still had to circle yourself with a Council to manage everything, but they are also real pains in the ass.

“They will understand I cannot do much about it without my husband around.” You growl.

“They ask you to discuss it with him when he comes back.”

“What do they think I’m doing exactly? I know what the state needs, of course I’m asking him for an heir. But he hasn’t complied until now.“

“The Council may have a solution for this… problem.” He announces, by his tone you can say he isn’t on board with the solution in question.

You turn your head towards him, annoyed. Who they think they are to tell you what to do and order you around. Next to Rivihk stands a young male slave Pantoran of the exact same shade of blue as Thrawn but with your eyes and hair color. You look at them black, waiting to see if he will have the balls to expose their very clear plan.

“This is Acyyr Ju, they…” He gulps, weighing his words “They think he would be a good progenitor.”

The scream you hit them with will be recorded in the archives.

“Out! Out! I should have you all beheaded! Disappear from my sight!”

They both flee without further ado as you throw anything you can grab at them. If you had decent attire under that thin towel you would have pursued them with a blade for the insult. You scream at the top of your lungs. Rats! Vermin! You conducting orgies doesn’t mean you’re ready to cheat on your husband!

Across the room all the couples have stopped their caresses, to stun to do otherwise.

“Resume!” You order them, enraged “Ulertepi, I never told you to stop massaging me, girl!”

Bunch of idiots! If you knew you would have to compose with them you wouldn’t have asked Thrawn for the crown that much. The assumption of power was really a you thing, he did it for you. When Emperor Palpatine finally died he came back from nowhere, slayed the young New Republic in its infancy and brought the crown to you. Like he promised you long ago, well before his exile.

He’s a man true to his words.

Unless when it comes to spending time with you, he’s always on the move with his fleets.

That is one of the downsides of power.

You feel deliciously large warm hands on your body.

Those are delectable but they are not Ulertepi’s hands. You look over your shoulder ready to shout again only to meet a burning red gaze.

“Thrawn!” You exclaim full of joy.

“How is my Empress doing?” He asks with a light smile.

He’s in full emperor gears, uniform and fur cape in this steamy atmosphere. You wonder how he can even stand in the room without passing out. But he wears it so, so well… You can’t help but lick your lips.

One day you will have him fuck you in this gear.

“Annoyed, she is surrounded by idiots.”

“As I saw.”

“You’ve been here a long time?” You ask, surprised.

“Enough to witness the scene, I was observing you from the other doorway.”

His hand travels to your tummy, caressing it tenderly.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“It is okay.” He nuzzles your noses, “But Rivihk was not at fault here. A messenger cannot be punished for the message it delivers.”

You can’t believe he just witnessed someone proposing you to cheat on him and he worries about the servant.

“I missed you!” You coo, feeling yourself melt under his touch. “You’re always away for so long!”

He finally leans forwards to kiss you. You moan against his lips just like you know he loves.

“I see you have found a use for my personnel while I was away.” He parts with you gesturing to the orgy of slaves in the room.

“Yes… I am so alone when you’re away, I wanted some warmth.”

“Did you…” He lowers his tone darkly, hypnotizing eyes in yours “See one of them in my absence?”

You remain mute in surprise, but you relax seeing his amused smile. He’s playing with you.

“No.” You chuckle “Of course I didn’t.”

“You can, you know.” He puts his forehead to yours “As long as you invite me to watch.”

“I know you love to watch.” You peck his cheek.

He does love to watch people having sex, especially girls. He never joins any of them, remaining on his armchair with a glass of alcohol slouching like a lazy king.

But he’s more than a king.

He’s an Emperor.

Your Emperor.

“I think I would like that. Seeing you getting railed by others, that must be a sight to watch.”

You never considered joining the orgy either. You prefer to sit on his laps, sharing the glass and peppering him with kisses and little attentions.

“I will think about it. Maybe for your starday…” You promise with a sultry voice.

He starts purring as you kiss the corner of his lips. He captures your lips again, his hand traveling your back to the strap of your bikini that he unclips with practiced ease.

“Thrawn! How dare!” You gasp with surprise and false modesty.

“Is it not you who complain about being married to a ghost?” He bites back.

Oops, he was already here?

“I’m sorry.” You pout.

“Do not be. I am here finally, let us make the most of it.”

He lets his cape fall to the ground with a sweeping shoulders move before pushing you back on the chair with his hot body, pulling on your bikini top to get rid of it. He kisses you with a deep purring, your tongues meeting to dance and hug. You undulate your body under him, entangling your legs, digging your nails in the fabric of his uniform, growling. He chuckles in the kiss.

“So… About the heir.” He starts, “I figure it is time we get up to it?”

“You don’t have to listen to those jackasses if you’re not ready.” You reassure him.

“No, it has been some time since I thought about putting a baby in this womb. This is as good a time as any.” He leans in to sneak in your ear, “I cannot take the risk of you getting behind my back, now can I?”

“Thrawn!” You exclaim, indignant.

Why is everyone alluding to you being a cheater today?

But he just smiles, he’s just having his fun picking on you, getting you flustered.

That man, you swear…

“I cannot have the council of my wife think I am impotent. What kind of an Emperor would I be?” He continues, lowering himself between your legs.

“Thrawn, they are just idiots. Don’t listen to them. I will have them punished first hour of the day tomorrow for what they insinuated about you, I-Ah!” You’re cut off by the flat of his tongue against your clothed cunt.

He hooked your pantie to the side and kisses your inner thighs with love.

“You are always protecting my honor, my love. My Cha’cah. I could not have dreamed of a better Empress.” He blows on your exposed pussy, sending shiver to your spine “Now, what do you say we give them a little spectacle? Show them how it is properly done?”

“Is it not their whole job to fuck for us?” You ask, trembling under his touch as he parts your pussylips with two fingers.

“Yes but I must show them how to fuck you good. I want a good show for my starday.” He grins carnivorously and dive between your legs.

He takes a big sloppy lap at your cunny, sucking and licking across your clit like a lollipop, prompting you to throw your head back in pure ecstasy. You yelp, helpless under his assault. Like everything about him, he is meticulous and precise, leaving no area of your pussy untouched, probing your entrance with the tip of his tongue, massaging your thighs with his large hands, keeping them wide apart to lick you better. You wave your body against his mouth. He always makes you see stars when he eats you out like that.

“Oh Maker, Thrawn…” You mewl.

He growls approvingly in responses, he loves hearing your pleasure out loud so you give him a performance. You hold his head between your legs, running your fingers in his hair as you feel your pussy and abdominals contract under the pleasurable assaults. He always loved to eat you out, that’s his selfish pleasure to have you come undone for him with only his tongue.

It makes him feel powerful.

Your pussy is leaking and he drinks it up like wine, making all the most obscenes noises to turn you on and it works.

A bit too well.

You feel yourself trembling, shaking and your sex convulsing until you suddenly squirt in his mouth. You let you fall down on the pillows with a “oof.”

“I love it so much when you squirt in my mouth like that.” He lets you know, licking his lips clean, your essence dripping off his chin.

He wastes no drops.

“I know.” You giggle, a bit tired by your orgasm “I just wished I had more control over it to give it to you each time.”

“Now, now, you would be spoiling me too much, cha’cah.”

He stands on his knees to get rid of his uniform, opening his jacket. You raise up to free his erection of its painful prison. He throws his shirt somewhere in the room before taking your hands off his cock.

“Will you let me taste it one day?” You ask a bit annoyed to get deprived of it each time.

“Of course, my love.” He purrs deeply, peppering kisses on your face. “But not today, we cannot waste any drops while trying for a little one.”

You pout, unresponsive to his advances.

“You promise?” You want to see him come undone with your mouth alone too, it’s not fair he only gets to do it.

“I promise, cha’cah.” He smiles mischievously.

He’s on you immediately, pressing your hots and bothered bodies together. You feel his dick poking your side and you slide your hand to pump it a bit. He lets a satisfied gasp at your cooler hand on his very warm shaft.

“Open your legs for me.” He lowly growls.

You open them wide for your lovely husband. He aligns his well endowed cock with your entrance. He’s gonna stretch you out so much, he always does…

He enters you gently, talking you through it.

“There, take all of me.” He coos

You open your mouth round as he does stretch you out as predicted.

“You are so good for me, always taking what I offer.” He nibbles your ear.

Once he is buried to the hilt he remains unmoving, letting you time to adjust to his size. You feel each muscle working to welcome his huge dimension inside your poor little pussy.

“That is it, relax my cha’cah. You always manage to take me whole, it is gonna be okay.”

You just nod with a gasped sob.

He’s so massive…

You train your pussy with toys but none feels like him. Only he can make you feel like that.

You look up at the bulge in your tummy. It turns you on so much.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” You moan.

He starts rocking his hips, very gently at first but soon installs a rapid, merciless pace of deep thrust reaching the most profound parts of your being. You feel his tip hitting your cervix with such ease and the only thing you can do is take it. He could break you in half without so much as thinking about it!

He uses your poor pussy like a fleshlight, a toy for his amusement, but damn if it isn’t pleasurable to you. You shout mute cries and choked gasp letting him abuse your body, his massive stature shielding you completely.

You always liked your men bigs, but Thrawn immediately hitted differently. You became obsessed with only one night. He’s just made like that…

“Good girl. My Empress. My cha’cah…” He punctuates each pet name with a devastating thrust, sending you overboard.

“Ah! Thrawn!” You whine for him, enticing him, turning him insane.

“I know, cha’cah, I know. Do not fight it. Come for me.”

You spasm and shake violently before coming in a spectacle of fireworks and white lights, your toes curling deliciously.

“Oh my, you came really hard this time.” He sounds so pleased with himself.

You weakly nod, taking back your breath.

“Roll on your tummy for me, my love.” He purrs in your ear.

You tiredly oblige with a satisfied sigh.

“Hips in the air.” He orders.

You frown. He wants another round? But you’re so sore already…

”Thrawn, I don’t think I can…”

“Of course you can. You are a big girl, I know you can take everything.”

You groan, your face buried in the pillows and you raise your butt as he asked. He kneads it before giving it a slap.

You gasp, indignant. He just chuckles.

He enters you again, it’s easier with your former release and he quickly picks up the pace. He holds your arms in your back with only one hand, holding your hip with the other. You moan at each rock of his hips, letting you do anything it pleases him to your tired body.

“I must make sure you are satisfied.” He explains, “What if a younger man catches your eyes during your little show and you left me for him? I must prove to you I am still worth it.”

What’s this nonsense?

“Would you, my love? Leave me for a younger lover and leave your old man behind?”

“No!” You broke down crying, “No, I would never!”

Why does everyone assume things about you? What did you do to make them think that at all?

He fucks you through your tears, giving you so much pleasure you cry as much because you’re upset and because he gives you too much.

“I know you would never, my cha’cah. I know it.” He leans to lick one tear off your cheek, “You are mine alone.”

“Yes I am!” You almost shout, as much at him as to reassure yourself.

You are a lot of things, but not an unfaithful wife.

“You are the only one for me too. No other woman could compare to my Empress.” He purrs the title. “You deserve to be taken care off, to be loved and fucked properly. Only I can give you all of that.”

You shake by your sobs and the waves of pleasures.

“And I will give you a little one, like you always wanted.” He continues, barely breathless “Not because of those fools, but because you want a family. I cannot deny you any longer, my love. You will have the family you always desired.”

“Really?” You sob.

“Yes, my love. I will give you a little girl like we talked so much about, and I will give her so many siblings to play with.”

It’s a real mess on your face, so much tears and drool, your makeup ruined, as your spasming pussy. You exhale painfully, air knocked out of your lungs with the rutting his mighty hips, wondering how long you can still hold on without breaking even more.

“Thrawn, please come quick! I-I cant’...”

“Yes, cha’cah. Your desires are my commands.”

He violently pounds into you like a jackhammer bringing you over the edge, pushing you in the sea of pleasure, drowning you in sensations, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, the moans of the other couples and his groans, the scent of sex, so strong, making you dizzy and his mighty hips slamming yours making your leaking pussy clench on his hard cock, trying to keep him inside desperately.

“Give it to me, good girl.” He simply orders in your ear like a secret.

You come hard again, feeling all your blood flowing down your puffy cunny spasmming painfully around him. You let out a cry, a shout of his name that resonates in the whole Bath House.

“Your tight pussy is strangling my cock.” He groans.

His hips action finally slows down to become erratic until he freezes down completely and cum inside you. Your pussy milk him for all his worth, til the very last drop and he remains inside you, kissing your back tenderly as he hunches over your form, folded in half.

You let out deep breaths, trying to calm down with a pounding heart. He purrs loudly behind you, inviting you to raise your bust and cuddle with him. You let him manipule your body with a weak yelp. He embraces your body and hugs you tight, peppering your face with kisses like a young lover entranced by his fiance. He holds your shoulders, caressing your side with his warm, large hand.

“Was that enough of a show?” You ask, exhausted.

“It was grandiose, my Empress.” He kisses your cheek fondly

He doesn’t slip out of you, keeping himself deep inside you as you straddle his laps, panting. You feel him hard still, does nothing tire him? You caress your bulged tummy dreamily.

“Do you think we did it?” you ask, full of wonders.

“If we did not, we will just keep trying. I can play that game all day long.”

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth’raw’nuruodo #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn smut #fanfic #vibratingskull

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mermaid-of-the-woods · 1 year ago

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"Meet Ugly" Commander Fox x OC

“I’m just saying,” Fox heard the woman before he could even round the corner. “If you would’ve been smart enough to read the sign that says Carnivorous Plant on the door you wouldn’t have gotten bit. The fact you were that kriffing stupid is no reason to call your Commanding Officer on a student.” For a moment he couldn’t tell which of his brothers it was that made a comment about her plant, but the woman was furious.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Fox asked, looking up from his datapad when he entered the office. He stopped at the doorway in shock at the mess that had been caused. When originally signed to Coruscant, he had expected to keep Senators and politicians safe. In the past seventy-nine hours he had dealt with a drunk Academy student, being chastised by the Chancellor, and now dealing with a plant that had bit off one of his brother’s fingers.

The Twi’lek turned over to look at him, eyes glaring. “Stay.” She growled, turning to wrap the bleeding clone’s finger. “It should serve until you get to the medbay.” She snapped, “Next time, please do not put your fingers in someone's plant when you see the word carnivorous on a door. Or better yet, when you want to explore and meet the faces you will see every day of this war, knock.”

Fox watched as his brother passed by, holding the rag against the area where the missing finger was. “Need to make a report on this.” He drawled, standing there looking at her.

The blue Twi’lek bent down, starting to mop up the blood with fabrics. “Sure, I came to check the progress of my plant since we had to deal with coming from Ryloth and travel is hard on her when I believe he said his name was Hound, was in my office. He had taken the gate off of her and she bit him. I’m not even scheduled to be here and I had dinner plans with my roommate.”

Fox typed in his datapad, shaking his head. “Do you even have clearance to have that plant? Need your name for the report.”

“Isolde. I’ve had my plant for ten years. Part of my project as an academy student is training her to be aggressive only on commands. I know that clones are all genetically the same, but does that mean that all of you are this level of stupid?”

Fox raised his eyebrow under his helmet. “So they called you before they called me?”

Isolde raised her eyebrow, “Another clone got his finger bit off. They were afraid that you’d shoot my project and the Republic would have to fund another Morogian Snap sapling. I spent the entirety of my birthday and holiday credits from infancy until ten years old to purchase her.” She turned to hand him half of the bloody fabric, “Follow me.”

He followed her, “How are you going to keep this incident from being repeated?”

“Remind all that by written authority of the Academy and the Republic that my office is by appointment only.” Isolde snapped, “And pass that message on to the Clones stationed on Coruscant. At that point, I’ve done all I can legally do.”

“Why the Morogian Snap?” Fox asked, dropping the fabric into a biohazard bin.

“Are you asking me for your report or are you just curious?” She dropped her bandages down the shoot, shutting it.

“Curious.”

She turned to him, looking up at his armor. “Pick me up tomorrow. Make sure to tell Hound to straighten up. As long as you guys don’t dosh up my projects again, we’ll be fine. As you can tell, a lot of students are not excited about you guys being here.”

“Where am I picking you up?”

She smiled at him, giving him a wink. “You’re a smart man, Commander Fox. I think that you can figure it out. I’ll be waiting for you to get off tomorrow.”

#commander fox x oc #commander fox #commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #star wars clone troopers #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #clone commanders

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spacemagicandlaserswords · 2 years ago

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The Clone Wars 2x13 ‘Voyage of Temptation’ Reaction

There was so much in that little “Very well.” from Obi-Wan

Anakin is on to you Obi-Wan and you are not helping yourself with all of those defensive and unsubtle reactions.

Why did that clone sound like an Aussie? G’day mate?

Lol of course there’s something in the crates

Satine is making an impassioned argument against war but it is rather undermined by her lying on a pile of plush cushions on top of a giant stepped throne that positions her above her subjects so she is literally looking down on them. The opulent setting, servant droids and champers being passed around doesn’t help either.

“I meant no disrespect.” said with all the underlying sass possible. That “Really” from Satine shows that she saw right through it.

“Senators, I presume you are acquainted with the collection of half-truths and hyperbole known as Obi-Wan Kenobi.” SCREECHING THE SAVAGERY

“Your highness is too kind.” The Sassery Continues!

I only noticed this while pausing but why the fuck does Orn Free Taa have two Twi’lek girls hanging off him?!

I love the framing here when Obi-Wan is addressing Satine. He’s almost at her eye level even though she’s on top of her throne pedestal. Visual metaphor for how similar they are yet how they are kept apart from eye other due to their duty to their beliefs? So close and yet so far.

Mum and Dad are fighting again.

“I think a multitude makes discord, not good counsel.” Satine absolutely shutting down Orn Free Taa. I love her. She takes absolutely no shit.

“There may be two sides to every dilemma but the Duchess only favours hers.” And you don’t only favour yours Obi-Wan? Side eyeing

Hello Mixer! Oh, they’ve named a clone, and we’re in a dark and spooky environment. He’s not going to last very long is he?

R2 you cheeky little shit

The clones definitely sound Australian. They’re supposed to be Kiwis, not Aussies. Very different accents. Humans are space australians though so maybe we can use that as the loosest of explanations?

“Droids” (derogatory). Is immediately stabbed to death by a droid.

The flirting continues! I mean fighting! The fighting continues. Yes, they’re definitely fighting. Totally not flirting at all.

“Even extremists can be reasoned with.” I love you Satine but I’m gonna have to disagree with you on that one.

“Ah, the sarcasm of a soldier.” “The delusion of a dreamer.” So that’s where this exchange comes from. That is some serious staring contest going on and neither is backing down.

“Fine.” ALL THE SASS

Oh rip Redeye, we didn’t even find out his name until after his gruesome death.

The jump from the clone getting stabbed to death by the droid to the opulent surrounds of the upper levels of the ship was jarring. Probably intentionally so.

“You and Satine have a history.” ya don’t say

CACKLING at Obi-Wan’s side eye at Anakin after he said Obi-Wan’s description of his year protecting Satine sounded romantic. Anakin did have a point though. Obi-Wan’s voice definitely sounded like he was reminiscing about old (romantic) times.

“That would’ve been problematic.” YA DON’T SAY

Anakin finding out his Master had a girlfriend?! Surprised pikachu face.

“A jedi must not form attachments” says the little shit with A WIFE

“But he usually leaves out the undercurrent of remorse.” Aw sadge

“Alright men, what’s the problem? I’m missing dinner.” Anakin back to being a shit again I see. Normal service has resumed.

Anakin did you just cut off Cody to talk to your droid?! How Dare.

Giant empty box in an obvious spot in the cargo bay. Yup, that looks pretty obviously out of place.

“That’s not good.” Do I have to say it again?

Anakin talking to R2 like he’s a dog. That is definitely Talking To My Dog Voice. WHOSEAGOODDROIDYESYOUARE

The droid walking out the dead body of Redeye is maximum levels of creepy

Is this a spider droid?

Oof lightsaber right through the droid eye

Oh of course there are babies. Of course it had creepy tiny baby assassin probe droids. More nightmare fuel.

It’s probably cruel but I did laugh at Orn Free Taa screaming and running away from the tiny assassin probe droids.

They’re fighting back to back and protecting each other! Aaaaaaaaaaaaah

“Do you always carry a deactivator?” Obi-Wan is so not impressed

“Just because I’m a pacifist doesn’t mean I won’t defend myself.” “Now you sound like a jedi.” Hmmmm he’s got a point there

I don’t think Rex got the braincell today

“I meant the scar I got after you fell and dropped me.” “Oh. Yes.” CACKLING AND SCREECHING

Satine completely stepping on Obi-Wan’s knight in shining armour moment there.

I think that quote about how people treat those below them rather than those equal to or above them is really relevant to Anakin here, who treated that droid like absolute shit.

A traitor?! The sinister plot thickens!

Dark!Obi-Wan decides to come out and play as he basically threatens the senators with an assassin droid.

Hello to senator Kin Robb

Called it. I thought there was something off about that dude when we met him in the last episode, though I thought he was a slimy advisor rather than a senator. Reminded me of Wormtongue from LotR

Obi-Wan did you just hit the assassin droid away from Satine with a frying pan?!

So Merrick has instantly transformed from smooth talking slimy advisor/senator to OTT scenery chewing villain

Lmao at Cody just randomly shooting into the air when the baby assassin droid leapt onto his bucket

Rex freaking out and smacking into the storage crates as he tries to keep the other baby assassin droid off his bucket

Anakin: Well, we found the little ones. What about the mother? Rex: Haven’t seen it Also Rex: *immediately gets body slammed by the mother assassin droid*

Rex when you see the mother assassin droid, don’t just point at it! Poor Rex, he definitely didn’t get the braincell for this mission

Rex just catching the assassin droids giant stabby legs and then kicking it off him like it’s nothing

Rex taking it up a notch and leaping on top of the assassin droid, pinning it under his boot and blasting all the tiny assassin droids to bits. Sir did you have to go So Hard?

I didn’t catch this until I replayed this little section over quite a few times but Anakin actually signals to Cody to stop firing at the mother assassin droid so that Anakin can fling his lightsaber at it and chop off some of its legs.

I also didn’t notice this little detail until after multiple replays but the mother assassin droid actually headbuts Rex straight in the bucket. Poor Rex, if he didn’t have the braincell today before that then he definitely doesn’t now.

Also the assassin droid sounds like it screams when Rex steps on it. He can step on me like that any time he likes

“This may not be the time to ask” YA THINK ANAKIN?!

Lol @ Obi-Wan’s defensive reaction. It definitely has a bearing on the situation at hand. Their reactions and expressions after are just as hilarious. Poor little Obi-Wan and his sad little face.

That is one weird looking ship

Well that’s one way of boarding a ship

“Anakin, she’s not my girlfriend!” CACKLING

Merrik has gone full villain stereotype

“Satine…” MYEMOTIONS.GIF

OMG THIS WHOLE LOVE CONFESSION SCENE

“I’ve loved you from the moment you came to my aid all those years ago.” SOBBING

Also, Merrik’s look of utter disgust in the background and the overly dramatic eyeroll is absolutely sending me

“Satine, this is hardly the time or place for…” DAMMIT MAN LISTEN TO HER

Satine: *puppy dog eyes* Obi-Wan: Alright

“Had you said the word, I would have left the Jedi order.” SHAKING AND CRYING

Merrik utterly ruining the moment there. Though the absolute over the top scenery chewing villainry that he’s channeling is still deeply amusing me.

Was that a tactical love confession from Satine? I’m not saying it wasn’t genuine or real, just that it seemed a both obvious and clever time to tell the love of your life that you’ve loved him ever since you met. We’ve already seen that Satine is exceptionally smart and shrewd and I wouldn’t put it past her.

“You have the romantic soul of a slug Merrik *stomps* and slugs are so often trod upon.” YASSSS GET HIS ASS SATINE

Merrik getting his villain monologue in. He has got them in a philosophical quandary though and he knows it. I am absolutely loving the over the top sarcastic overly dramatic villain mode. It’s like they’ve got every stereotypical villain trope and shoved it in him.

Merrik: “Who’ll strike first and brand themselves a cold-blooded killer?” Anakin: Me!

That was definitely a slowed down few notes of the Imperial March playing over the shot of Anakin popping up after stabbing Merrik through the chest with his lightsaber. It’s an interesting juxtaposition because Anakin pops up from the bottom of the screen with this little smile and looking almost sweet and wide-eyed. Yet the music is hinting at what we all know happens in the future. Another thing I didn’t notice until multiple replays of this little section is that the framing of Anakin here is also very dark. The entire background is black or dark grey. Plus his armour and jedi robes are black, very dark grey and red. How did anyone not see this coming? Or rather, they probably did and didn’t know how to handle it or realise it was past the point of no return until it was too late.

“Obi-Wan, I…” DAMMIT CODY. Why did you have to pick now to be your usual hyper competent Marshal Commander self? Talk about a cock block

“I must get back to the business of diplomacy.” Nooooooooo

“As you say Duchess, some other time.” SOBBING

That feels like Obi-Wan’s version of “As you wish.” from The Princess Bride.

That is a lot of fancy words and diplomacy and Great Negotiator-ing for ILOVEYOU

“I’m still not sure about the beard.” CACKLING

Obi-Wan’s little concerned and flustered reaction. My girlfriend doesn’t like my beard?!

“It hides too much of your handsome face.” Dayum gurl Satine with the smooth talking moves right there.

Anakin: A very remarkable woman. Obi-Wan: She is indeed. Anakin: Ya know, if you need any tips on how to keep a relationship a secret, I know a guy.

Also, that hand on the shoulder from Anakin spoke volumes

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my-head-is-an-animal · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! I heard your requests are open, could you do a Togurta Padawan f!reader x Plo Koon? Maybe reader is a hybrid (Twi’Lek or Nautolan) and like has a hard time with it and he’s just really sweet about it instead. Sorry if this is way too specific.

I'm so sorry this took so long!! I'm a little backed up with requests and my own fics, but that's no excuse. I really hope you enjoy this!

Obvious Solutions

Plo Koon x f!reader

Word Count: 440

You tried not to let anyone see you, especially your Master, how disappointed he would be to find you crying in a corridor.

You rarely did this anymore, you tried to hard to contain your feelings, to not let it get to you, but when you did let it out, it was like waterfall carving through your cheeks.

Hybrids weren’t exactly uncommon, but a Togruta – Nautolan hybrid was an extremely rare thing indeed. So much so, that the few health problems you’d had took longer to fix with the added complications. It made you feel such shame.

‘What is the matter, little one?’ A familiar baritone voice sounded behind you, making you freeze for just a second. You quickly wiped away any sign of tears and turned to see your Master watching you with concern. ‘Something is upsetting you.’

You sniffed, trying to shake away the anxiety and pretend that you were okay.

‘There is no need to hold back, my padawan.’ Plo gently eased his hand around your shoulders, showing a much softer and caring side that you had never seen from your Master before. ‘I am sorry I did not sense your distress sooner.’

‘I…’ without realising it, your voice had almost entirely disappeared.

‘Take your time.’ Plo hummed, guiding you out towards an empty balcony, overlooking the city. ‘We have all the time in the world.’

You sat down next to your Master feeling a sense of calm wash over your mind, one you were sure he was responsible for. You took a calm soothing breath and allowed your mind to fill with all the things that bothered you about being a hybrid, all the shame you felt, and how often you would cry about it.

‘You feel your genetics put you at a disadvantage?’ Plo asked, frowning slightly.

‘Yes.’ You replied, quietly.

‘I see.’ Your Master nodded. ‘And what of all the advantages it gives you?’

You looked at him, confused.

‘Nautolans are known for their aquatic capabilities, Togutas for their auditory skills when sensing dangers nearby.’ Plo explained. ‘I think these are wonderful advantages of being who you are.’

You sniffed again. ‘But I don’t know how to do that stuff.’

‘Then we will teach you.’ Plo smiled, warmly. ‘Master Shaak Ti and Master Fisto are obviously the most qualified to guide you on the right path. And I will be here to assist in anyway you require.’

You felt a rush through your chest. All this time of panicking and worrying, the shame that filled you, and the answer was so simple. At least Master Plo made it seem that way.

He always did.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

#plo koon x reader #plo koon #master plo koon #requested #plo koon fic

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ospreyeamon · 1 year ago

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I’ve been trying to tease out reasons why the Inquisitor, who is just trying to get by in a Sith-stab-Sith world, has fewer opportunities for neutral to positive encounters with Jedi than the Warrior, who is there to actively cause problems during Acts One and Two. Doylist-wise, it’s probably because you can’t change faction so there needs to be an implied reason why the Sith Inquisitor doesn’t go skipping off to the Jedi Order as soon as they are permitted to travel to neutral space.

It’s ironic how much less murdery my Warrior’s reputation with the Jedi is than my Inquisitor’s. Especially since one of the things that contribute to them acquiring those reputations is that Lys’trel tries to approach the Jedi she encounters with diplomacy and honesty (her views on the Jedi are ... complicated, but she doesn’t hate them or want them destroyed) while Tsojât is hostile and manipulative (he believes the Jedi Order is rotten to its core and the galaxy would be a better place without it).

Jedi like Nomar Organa and Masters Ryen and Ocera assume Lys’trel is lying when she proposes exchanges of mutual benefit and professes to have no intent to fight because the Empire and Republic are, technically, at peace. She’s a Sith. Obviously she’s lying. Every encounter the Sith have ever had with the Jedi from invading Republic space without making a formal declaration of war to holding the lives of the civilians on the capital hostage while negotiating the Treaty of Coruscant has proven they can’t be trusted.

They decide to lure her into traps to kill her under the justification that it’s what she’s trying to do to them and leave messages that are discovered by other Jedi after their deaths saying things like “played along with Sith’s plot to get Rehanna Rist out of the firing line, will intercept before Sith can enter the Elysium to carry out terrible plan” and “Padawan Zavros was tricked into believing Sith had non-threatening reason to be on Taris, will spring trap in the ruined temple when the Sith infiltrates it” because they’ve convinced themselves that’s what’s going on. When she kills them in self-defence it is taken as evidence confirming that version of events.

Another factor in Lys’trel poor reputation with the Order is that many Jedi’s initial impression of her is that she is a fallen Jedi defected to the Sith. Coming from a family enslaved during the Empire’s conquests during Great Galactic War and raised among many native Basic-speakers, Lys’trel speaks Republic Basic with a Rim accent rather than an Imperial one. She’s a very unImperial looking Rutian twi’lek and the Empire’s former policy towards Force-sensitive slaves is that they were to be killed on discovery. Viewing her as a proven traitor is more comfortable than viewing her as evidence of the fate of the Force-sensitives born in the territory lost to the Empire in the Great Galactic War.

She also has what some people perceive to be an unsettlingly erratic death-tinged Force-presence. Other Sith tend to attribute it to Lys’trel being a necromancer. Jedi, being less familiar with necromancy, are left wondering how many people would need to die around you for you to feel like that and why your aura would oscillate like an amateur unicyclist plotting a sine graph.

Tsojât is on a quest to reveal the Jedi as villains with good publicity. All the Jedi and the Republic’s posturing about peace and tolerance and standing against genocide is just that – posturing. He is going to rip off that mask, which means his own and the Empire’s behaviour must contrast favourably to their enemies’.

He was raised to follow the standards of right behaviour that seek to balance honour and obligation. Honour and obligation don’t disappear just because you’re dealing with enemies and inconveniences. He makes no promises he does not intend to keep, attempts negotiation even when he is certain (and maybe would prefer) that there can be no peaceful resolution with the Pubs, and tries to avoid civilian casualties.

Where Lys’trel proposing exchanges of mutual benefit was deemed suspicious, Tsojât’s stark distain is expected. Sith hate Jedi, so a Sith being open about that is a Sith being honest.

Tsojât spared Master Yonlach and Knight Yul-Li (because that was the price Yul-Li asked when he gave up his information), persuaded the Willsaam parents to leave with him and departed Castle Organa without attacking Master Volryder, spared Knight Ulldin (so he could recount how Zylixx snapped after having a Sith quote the Jedi code at him), and delivered Nomen Karr back to the Order alive (that was Jaesa’s decision and Tsojât considered it a mistake he had to respect her right to make).

To the Jedi, this apprentice of the infamous Darth Baras appears an unexpectedly honourable enemy. A Sith showing signs of somehow overcoming the disadvantages of his birth. Many Jedi who know of him imagined that he is struggling against the genetic disadvantage of a “Sith Pureblood” naturally attuned to the dark-side of the Force (the tsissai aren’t), that his childhood must have been brutal and neglected (it wasn’t), and that Tsojât’s disinterest in killing every enemy in his path is a sign that he is subconsciously feeling the call of The Light and The Jedi Path (he’s not).

Ironically, this interpretation of Tsojât has similarities with Tsojât’s own evolving view of the Jedi, softened by studying Jaesa’s life while hunting her. He hadn’t methodically contemplated how deeply a person’s understanding of the universe would be shaped by the dominant narratives of their culture before. Of course most Jedi don’t know the truth about his people and what the Republic did to them when all the histories they were raised on are a mess of propaganda, prejudice, and omission. Of course they don’t understand the Force if their Masters spoon feed them lies about it. Of course the experience of being on the other side of the Great Galactic War gave many people a plethora of bad impressions of the Empire. Succeeding in flipping Jaesa does nothing to disabuse him from this perspective.

While the SIS and Jedi Order do share information, they aren’t always the most efficient about it which leads to an … interesting conversation at the official big-shot Sith dossier swap after the Battle of Corellia as the SIS agents attempted to figure out why the Jedi Order ranked the new Emperor’s Wrath a lower threat than the freshly named Darth Occlus.

#Meanwhile in a Galaxy Far Far Away #oc: Lys'trel Kallig #oc: Tsojât Zihae

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general-ida-raven · 2 months ago

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I Hate You the Least - Chapter 5

Summary: Jude Voss has had her life flipped upside down twice in her life. The first time when she was thrust into a galaxy-wide war as a Separatist strategist, and the second when she was taken hostage by Clone Force 99. A prisoner turned unexpected baggage when the war came to a brutal end, she alongside the Bad Batch have to navigate the aftermath that is the Empire as well as navigate everything in between- down to how they feel about each other.

Pairing: eventual Hunter x Jude

Mostly follows canon, SLOW BURN, enemies-to-lovers, angst, occasional swearing, eventual fluff (no smut)

divider by @stars-n-spice

Jude leaned herself against the doorframe as she settled on the front porch, her gaze following Omega as she ran about with the pair of twi’lek children. The grass in front of the house was short-trimmed, far better kept than that of the meadow they’d landed the Marauder in and surrounded by a high wooden fence with slots big enough to duck through.

She shifted to stretch her legs out before herself, head leaning back into the wooden doorframe as she puffed a small breath to send air over her own forehead. The bun she’d gathered her hair into was all but ruined, sweaty scraps of hair draping themselves into her face and clinging to her skin dampened by the humidity.

“So you’re keeping her.” Her eyes cracked open at the voice of the clone deserter- Cut- from inside the house, slowly turning her head to glance inside and watch him as he leaned against the kitchen counter beside Hunter.

The sergeant raised his brow, lowering his cup from his lips. “Well, she is a clone like us, so—”

“Not Omega,” Cut interacted, his head tilting a bit as his brow raised. “The Separatist. Jude.”

Hunter paused for a moment, cup dropping to his lap. His gray eyes darted to Jude’s form, locking gazes with her before the woman quickly looked away, her attention turning down to her own lap and the pale gray trousers adorning her lower half.

“No.” Jude curled her fingers a bit behind her back at Hunter’s response, turning her head enough to watch the sergeant through her peripheral. “We haven’t been able to hand her in with all… this. She’s a prisoner.”

“A prisoner for the Republic,” Cut commented, the clone straightening from the counter. “The Republic fell, so did the Separatists. You and I both know the Empire will kill her if you give her up to them.”

Jude was suddenly very aware of the way her uniform clung to her skin, eyes flicking down to the Separatist patch stitched into her shirt. Is that true?

She swallowed, stomach turning itself inside out as a chill passed up her spine despite the humidity of the air. What if that’s what they want?

Of course it’s what they want, you idiot. Hunter’s lack of response, his lack of denial, proved that.

“Dad! Mom!” Jude quickly looked up as the twi’lek children came bounding up the deck, their eyes wide and panicked as they ran inside. “Omega went outside the fence!”

Cut and Suu were on their feet in moments, Hunter right behind, and Jude felt the twisting compulsion to do the same as she watched them sprint down the deck steps. She used the doorframe to help push herself up, moving after them more slowly as her brows drew together. Why is her being outside of the fence a problem?

Her unasked question was answered by the snarl of a nexu that was quickly advancing on the girl, her golden eyes wide and her form cowering as she hugged the large ball she and the children had been playing with earlier tightly to her chest. Teeth gnashed close to her face, black eyes sharp as the creature lunged toward her.

It quickly recoiled as Hunter’s vibroblade was brought down close enough to graze its whiskers. The sergeant had moved so fast Jude hadn’t even registered he was beside the girl, putting his larger body between hers and the nexu’s and pointing his knife straight at its bared maw.

The creature recoiled to lunge at him, letting out a screech as a blaster shot struck its shoulder. Black eyes raked upward and past the fence, to Suu’s form crouched on the roof of the cabin, before it hissed and turned. Its tail nearly struck Hunter in the leg as it fled, vanishing moments later into the thick stalks of surrounding crop.

“What were you doing out there?” Hunter’s voice practically shouted, bringing Jude’s attention back from where the nexu had been and to him. He was practically hovering over Omega now, fury toward the nexu turned on the girl as his eyes narrowed. “Don’t you realize you could’ve been killed?”

“Hey, easy.” Cut thrust himself between the two, sending Hunter a look over his shoulder. He knelt, hands gently caressing Omega’s arms as he inspected her. “There you are. All okay?”

Omega nodded with a sniffle, curling in on herself and pressing to him as he gently moved to lift her up into his arms. “There you go. I’ve got you.”

Now he knows how to be a father. Jude’s hazel eyes moved from him to Hunter, narrowing slightly. His dark eyes caught hers, narrowing evenly in response as he followed Cut more slowly back into the fence.

He does not.

“We need a way to get Cut, Suu, and the kids on that shuttle.” Hunter let out a slow breath as he crossed his arms, frowning as he looked between the squadron. “Any ideas?”

Jude bit down on the inside of her cheek at the silence that followed, shifting her wrists behind her back carefully in her attempt to ease the way that the metal was rubbing them raw. She didn’t miss Hunter’s glance her way, jaw setting the moment she felt his gaze on her before watching as he sighed in response to the lack of answer from his squadron. “Fine,” the sergeant muttered. “We’ll scout the area surrounding the docking bay and sneak Cut and the others on board the ship before it can take off.”

“That’s not going to work,” Jude murmured under her breath, watching Hunter as he looked to Tech. “Get me a layout of the bay,” the sergeant ordered.

“Not going to work.”

“And a list of where Imperials should be positioned on the street.”

“Not going to—”

“Voss.” Hunter turned a sharp gaze to her as he bit out her name, gloved hands fisting tightly at his sides as he stepped toward her. “Will you shut up?”

Jude pushed herself to her feet as she approached, lifting her chin as he moved toward her. “All I’m saying is that your plan isn’t going to work.”

“And you have a better one?” Hunter countered, voice tightening alongside his fists as the muscles up his arms tensed. Not that she noticed.

“Break into an Imperial office.” Jude stepped closer to him, eyes narrowing. “Forge chain codes.” Another step. Now they were chest to chest. “Get them onto the ship through the normal line. Legally, or at least pretend to be.”

Hunter set his jaw. “That wouldn’t work—”

“Actually, that would work perfectly.” Tech looked up from his datapad and to the sergeant, nodding faintly. “She is correct. I am capable of forging chain codes for each of them to pass through boarding undetected.”

Hunter took in a slow breath, then let it out, chest expanding with the intake of air. His gray eyes raked from Tech back to Jude, remaining dark behind shades of skepticism. “And how would you know to do that?

“I told you.” Jude lifted her chin, narrowing her own eyes toward him coldly. “I’m a strategist.”

Tags: @high-ct5555 @bananasugarwarrior

@domino-twinss

#star wars #bad batch #tbb #the bad batch #clone force 99 #sw tbb #tbb hunter #hunter bad batch #hunter x oc #bad batch fanfiction #bad batch fanfic #girbook

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lovelessdagger · 1 year ago

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Starlight - Chapter 37: Where it Began

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Explicit Sexual Content. Talk of Mental Illness.

Words: 10.7k

Summary: If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he’s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

Masterlist | Starlight Masterlist | AO3 | Prev | Next

Tatooine is hotter than Din remembers, the automatic cooling system of his suit on overdrive. Twin suns beam down at high noon, the public of Mos Espa flocking to shade. His footsteps mark in the sand and Grogu grows restless off the transit in a satchel across his body. Together they make way in the city center, towards a building of scandal and bustling populous. The option had been displayed to meet at a more reasonable and less horrific time of heat. He could never be so kind to himself as to accept.

His company sits at a back table, soiled boots on polished wood, nursing a cup of Maker knows what. “You’re late,” she says. “I was beginning think you bailed.”

“Fennec,” he greets. “You don’t sound too upset by the prospect.”

“I would have chalked it up to divine intervention.”

He glances behind to the entrance. “The Force?”

A pair of Twi’leks approach, offering to clean his helmet. Fennec waves them away and orders another drink. Her stomach, she says, makes alcohol more like a juice. She lives to indulge.

“Why did you agree to come?” She asks.

He chooses not to answer, taking internal inventory of the room. Once deciding it safe, he allows the Child to roam free. He runs to the band, cheering for the attention of the Ortolan. “What is this place?”

“The Sanctuary. I thought it fitting.” She tosses a bag of credits. “I’m hiring you on for a job.”

“A job?”

“Call it a favor if it makes you feel better.”

“Since when do I owe you a favor?”

“Since you left me shot for dead a year ago.”

“It’s been that long?”

She shrugs. “And some change. Say yes, it’s easy money.”

“I thought Fett called the shots. He know you’re here?”

“He does.” Feeling Din’s surprise she adds, “Mostly. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

He responds, “Not always.”

“In this case it is. Do you remember the Marshal who used Boba’s armor?”

“Course. Cobb Vanth.”

“Are you friendly?”

“I killed a krayt dragon for his people. Planned on leaving the kid in his care if something were to happen so—” his head bobs “—you could say that.”

“How’d you like to pay him a visit?”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing tragic, don’t worry.” She takes a swig, briefly offering the drink to Din. “All I need is for you to talk to him, do some of that convincing you’re so good at.”

“For?”

“There’s a treaty we need signed with Mos Pelgo—Freetown. Unification is important to Fett. All we ask is they recognize Boba as Daimyo and agree to follow a new constitution of laws.”

“Marshal Vanth’s a smart man,” Din says. “He’s fought hard to keep his people free. Won’t give into city say-so’s.”

“Believe me there are far more benefits than cons. Fett is shockingly well versed in politics. The treaty is brilliant.”

“If it’s so great why do you need me?”

“Because we need this signed, you’re our best shot at getting a yes. This is more than giving Boba more power or tribute. He wants to ensure underworld business stays in the underworld.”

“You’re cleaning up Tatooine?”

“Trying to.”

“How’s that worked out?”

“Well, we killed the Mos Espa mayor a couple months ago. Drove out some Pykes. Stopped a spice trade line. Established land agreements between some Tusken clans. And given the people a fair water tax and management system that is beyond me. We’re getting there.”

“I hate to say I’m impressed.”

“Then say you agree to speak to the Marshal. If he’s as decent of a man as you say, there should be no problem.” Din lends no response, crossing his arms. Fennec leans on her elbows. “What?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

A smile plays on Fennec’s lips, disguised by another drink. “Here I am thinking you aren’t smart,” she says. “If you agree, you would have to be accompanied by a member of the Fett Gotra.”

Foolishly, Din asks, “Who?” An answer given by Fennec’s wryly smile. “No,” he says. “No, forget it.”

“I wouldn’t have come to you if I had another choice.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me?”

“Yes. I’m asking you to do a job. Take it as just that.”

He grasps for a new excuse. “She’d never agree.”

“She already has,” Fennec says. “Granted I haven’t asked her yet, but she’s on board.” He gives a look. “If you agree, she will be. I know you want to so let’s skip the back and forth.” He swallows thickness, leg bouncing. Fennec stands, shoving the flask in the calf of her boot. She takes her helmet, unnoticed by Din on the ground, pulling it on. “You’re saying yes,” she tells him. “Come to the palace before nightfall. We’ll officialize details and get you briefed.”

‘Fennec…” His words are lost when she looks, though meaning still perpetrates.

“She’s fine. But don’t make me regret this.”

---

Contrary to popular belief, the Mandalorian known as Din Djarin is also fine. He isn’t doing particularly great, but he is fine. He’s okay, and that’s enough. Frankly, okay is the best he’s ever been in these past months. Okay is what lets him sleep at night for a full six hours and okay is what reminds him to eat. Okay means he doesn’t need a sip of alcohol at least twice a day, and maybe he should watch his temper.

So yes, he’s okay.

Frankly he thinks okay is the best he’ll be.

At least for a long while.

Nevarro isn’t shitty anymore, he’s as surprised as anyone else. Din isn’t exactly sure how the money came in or from where, but Karga—now deeming himself High Magistrate—saw to Nevarro’s settlement as a trade anchor and hyper lane port of the Hydian Way. The schools were proper, roads paved, water clean. The town bustles, new homes and land being established every day.

Din is the only one to still find it all insufferable.

He stays off world as much as possible. He never planned on returning at all until word came through about Cara. Greef said he reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who eventually got to Din.

Neither she, Moff Gideon, or the New Republic vessel arrived to Coruscant for deliverance. Three and half months after what Din has only referred to as The Incident, they were found. Stagnant in space, exterior hull destroyed, bodies… A vigil was held with candlelight and Din left when Karga asked if he wanted to say any words.

He didn’t.

Cara was his friend. Now she is dead.

Gideon was his enemy. Now he is dead.

That’s all there is.

Din thought himself changed, arguably for the better. Emotion became too difficult to ignore, compassion bit at his ankles, all he wanted to do was give. Now caring is the least of his worries. Nothing matters. In an objective sense, nothing matters. Din is determined to go about his every day knowing this. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the Empire, the New Republic, the Jedi, or whateverelse there is. He doesn’t care about Nevarro, or Coruscant, or Mandalore. He doesn’t care about his lost ship, he doesn’t care about the stupid sword stuck to his hip. The only thing he can be bothered to give a damn about is the Child.

Din does his best for Grogu. He gets up everyday, he works, he travels, he lives for Grogu. No one else.

He does an okay job at this too.

The parenting thing is… a learning process on his own. The Child, what with his immense powers and inability of speech, makes for an interesting dynamic. Din still isn’t a talker, less now, but he read an article about the importance of enrichment so he tries. He likes to think Grogu appreciates the effort.

They make the best of their nomad life. The kid learns to behave on public transit, Din learns the quickest way to check his weaponry to not hold up a line. Grogu stops fussing when it’s nap time, Din uses the opportunity to have time alone. Grogu uses his magic to eat a frog for lunch, Din builds a fire to camp for the night.

They’re content.

They’re okay.

Sometimes, and only sometimes in the rarest moments of bliss, Din can pretend everything is good and believe it. When he has enough credits to rent a ship for particularly long or dangerous excursion, he can close himself inside the bedchamber and do nothing. He can take off his helmet without paranoia, he can escape to a galaxy where the Razor Crest still exists. Where he doesn’t have a Darksaber or have to worry about an Empire. Where he doesn’t know of the existence of Jedi, or Inquisitors or—

He can pretend nothing changed. He is still who he was at the beginning of the cycle. He’s made no promises, no oaths, he’s not tied to anything or anyone. He’s totally and utterly free.

Din likes the dark. He doesn’t like much at all these days, but he likes the peace of nonexistence. He likes being able to forget, to live without a dragging burden or guilt or shame. He likes not being able to see two inches in front of his face. He likes being able to feel his face. He likes sleeping with his head on a pillow. He likes waking up without a direct stare of himself from the reflection of his helmet. He likes forgetting the helmet exists.

He likes forgetting that he likes forgetting the helmet exists.

The idea complicates things, so he forgets that too.

He is still a Mandalorian. That’s what he tells himself anyways. The helmet is… a technicality, and he convinces himself he never broke Creed to begin with. The Child saw him yes, but Din had also seen the face of his caretaker as a child. Neither of them burst into flames then, they won’t now. Boba Fett is also a Mandalorian whether he admits to such or not. He is born Mandalorian or… created. That alone gives greater credibility than Din has to the people.

He supposes the exposure to Migs Mayfeld was unwarranted. Although, according to New Republic record, Mayfeld is dead. There’s no reason he can’t have died in Din’s recollection either.

All who’s left is…

Din does a remarkable job of moving on. Truth be told, he never thinks of Lumina once. He forgets all about her, every little aspect. The way he should have after the first time. He doesn’t spend nights caught on what ifs or maybes or would’ve could’ve should’ves. He just, forgets. He’s far happier this way, he is. Life is less dramatic, uneventful overall and… a little boring. He blames the unfamiliarity of calm on peace, a stranger to his life for so long.

He isn’t complaining, all it is is a learning curve.

He hadn’t begun to feel anything close to normal until the third month. The first caught him hollow, irritable, angry. He slept and drank and slept and wandered and got into one too many needless fights.

In the second the headaches stopped. He wasn’t angry, he was tired. He felt guilt about everything, about nothing. But all the nothings he shouldn’t feel guilty about and all the everythings he should. He lived in a hole.

On the dawn of the third he decided to live again.

And living is hard.

Living is the most dreadful part of his day.

But it gets easier, somehow.

Easier when he’s occupied, when he’s with the kid, easier as he stops thinking about her.

Forgetting isn’t easy, until it is.

Though, he isn’t sure he likes it.

Within the Sanctuary on Tatooine, the lights of the fresher refuse to work. But every now and then one will flicker and reflect off a piece of armor.

He thinks it is symbolic after all.

---

Peli Motto’s 3-5 hangar is virtually unchanged. A few spare parts have disappeared, a few more having spawned. A small ship of some client taken where the Razor Crest should be. Pit droids scurry like rats, astromechs follow along with aimless direction. Din prefers the sight in the day, illusions remain uncommon.

He’s selfish to expect what he does and too proud to admit it. Everything has been a cyclical repetition so far, how dare it stop now after so much has happened.

He should be greeted with what he expects. It should all play out exactly the same. It has happened once it should happen again.

It does not.

For a moment, Din considers the possibility that he has finally learned.

But moments pass and he is the same.

Maybe he will always be.

“Thank you,” Peli says, leaned against some wall. For the past five hours they’ve worked in relative silence on what Din would classify as a piece of junk. A halfway skeleton of some starfighter from Naboo.

Of course it’s from Naboo.

Din peeks over the defunct astromech port, wrench in hand. “What?”

“Thank you,” she repeats. “She wanted to tell you that.”

“Who?”

“Do you remember that girl that was here way back? The one you kept asking about?”

Yes.

“Not really.”

“She lives here now.” Grogu is the one to react, his play built of nuts and bolts toppling. “Not here, but Mos Espa.”

“Can you hand over a circulator? Uh… three inch circumference.”

“You know, I like her. Comes in to help every now and then, works hard, doesn’t take payment. Used to ask about you.”

“That’s… kind of her. I think the parts are over there if you could just—”

“Lumina Fett. That’s her name. Remember that refugee story? No family, no nothing? Turns out she found em. Her old man came back here and took over Jabba’s place, runs the joint now. Guy with your reputation I’m sure could just… walk right in. Introduce yourself.”

“Why would I do that?”

Peli snorts. “Because you’re as obvious as a rancor. You need an excuse to see her.” She holds out a set of shiny shock absorbers. “And I need this delivered to the palace, they’re for her. Two porgs one stone. C’mon, take it.”

Reluctantly, he does.

“I’m always right,” Peli says, smug.

“What are you talking about?”

“Her. I told you you’d like her, didn’t I?” She bumps his side. “And you do. I can tell. If you didn’t you wouldn’t keep lookin at my door like you’re expecting someone to walk through.”

If only the sand could swallow him whole.

“It’s okay, she likes you too.”

---

Boba Fett is not a man of faith, on the contrary he is far from it. He submits to no man, no god. He has not once fallen to his knees in prayer and has never cursed a deity or power greater than he. The matter is all trivial. Faith did not spare his father and there is no god to thank for his test tube creation. Kaminoans deserve no such honor.

He is without.

Life is simpler this way.

There is no fate, no prophecy, no one way life is meant to be. Life only is. Destiny is but an excuse to alleviate misery. All that happens is of natural effect, not a greater plan. No ineffable strategy.

The Force exists, sure. Boba is in no position to deny the fact. What he is in position to deny however, is its power. It’s ironclad grip on the galaxy, on the living. Power lays in the hands of the creations not the creator.

Every problem has a solution. A perfectly logical, reasonable, and achievable solution. All that is required is patience.

A patience running rather thin.

“My methods are unorthodox but proven in many studies of my people.” A Rodian speaks to him the floor of his throne room within Jabba’s defunct palace. Changes made in the past months have been both minimal and monumental.

“How unorthodox are we talking?” Fennec asks. She sits on the arm of his seat, wiping the tip of her rifle, a performative action.

“There is a creature I possess which I have named Cxhenc, after the philosopher. It is not unlike a leech. You see, the Cxhenc will attach itself to the base of the patient’s skull and in doing so release a chemical—”

“I’ve heard enough,” Boba says. “You may go.”

“Buzz kill,” Fennec mutters at his exit.

“You’re serious? Absolutely not.”

“Don’t you want to know what it does? Could be useful in other cases.”

He thinks it over, she does have a point. She usually does. “We’ll call him,” he decides. “Who’s next?”

“Doctor Shuez Bhilba,” the 8D8 droid introduces, arm out. From the palace steps walks a human female. “Doctor Bhilba holds many degrees from the esteemed Academy of Medicine located in Coruscant. Including human neurological operations and advanced psychologics.”

“Coruscant?” Boba whispers.

“You said to cast a wider net,” Fennec responds.

“Cast wide, not tell the whole galaxy.”

“She knows as much as the rest. Daimyo Fett of Tatooine requires a royal physician. It can’t get worse than a parasitic lobotomy.”

Doctor Bhilba bows, reaching the pair. She wears glasses which slide down the bridge of her nose and a lab coat with a foreign emblem. “Lord Fett,” she says. “It is an honor to meet you. I’ve heard many stories since your come to power.”

“Flattery will get you no where with his lordship,” Fennec scoffs. “Whores are for confidence, jesters for stories. Not doctors.”

“My apologies, I mean no offense. I understand your hesitancy what with my tutelage, however I want to assure I hold no connection to the New Republic or any form of galactic government. My application comes in no way to betray, I promise you. I believe my skills will be of tremendous use.”

“How do you mean?” Boba asks.

“You are Boba Fett,” Bhilba says. “You are a clone, a man who has survived the unlivable, beaten the unbeatable. A man who despite all odds and in mere months establishes himself as a force matched only by Jabba the Hutt with one drastic difference. I’ve seen articles, met with locals. You are in the midst of accomplishing something truly good, truly great. Forgive my saying, but I am shocked you haven’t sought professional psychological aide sooner. It shows your resilience and your keen awareness to be unafraid to ask for help.”

“Hold on,” Fennec says. “Lord Fett does not seek psychological aide. He seeks a physician.”

“Which I too am qualified for, however it does not take even a single doctorate to deduce the true reason for your request of applicants. Great physicians can be found on Tatooine or any world. The reason there has been no hire is a lack of trust in psychology. Bacta heals the body not the brain.”

“She’s good,” Boba mumbles.

“Too good,” Fennec responds. “Doctor Bhilba, do you question Lord Fett’s sanity?”

“Certainly not,” she says. “In fact… I would need clearer consultation, but I classify Lord Fett as being entirely sane. Stressed, anxious slightly, and exhausted, but sane. Am I wrong then in thinking there is perhaps another in need?”

“She is good,” Fennec admits. “Your observations impress the Daimyo.”

“Thank you.”

“This is not to say the imaginary patient does indeed exist.”

“Of course not.”

“Should you however come across a patient with… deep psychological distress, how would you treat them?”

“Deep psychological distress?” She repeats.

“Anxiety, attacks of panic, insomnia, general detachment, paranoia, hallucinations, and being a risk of harm to oneself and others.”

“My,” Doctor Bhilba says. ”And, there is no way for me to meet this… Imaginary patient?”

“Of course not,” Fennec says. “They do not exist.”

“Of course. In any case I would treat them as I would any client. The first few sessions would be spent in simply building trust. Then after assessment I would start medications and general therapy. My goal would be to ensure the patient feel safe above all else. Psychosis can be terrifying, but I’ve treated it many times. There may not always be a cure, but there is always a better.”

“I like you,” Boba says. “I do not like many people.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Should we take you on as the royal physician you will need to relocate permanently,” Fennec says. “And you will be bound to never speak of your work to any being under any circumstance.”

“I understand. I established a very successful practice on my homeworld of Naboo. Leaving would be difficult, but I have an excellent team whom I know will continue to do great things.”

“Naboo?” Boba repeats.

“Yes. I’ve been aide to our queens, common folk, and members of aristocracy since completing my studies.”

“No.”

Doctor Bhilba blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. You’re dismissed.”

“Sir I—I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

“Lord Fett has dismissed you,” Fennec says. “Quite kindly might I add. I will not be. Leave.”

Boba slumps against the throne when the doctor is out of sight. “From now on we stick to calls in the Outer Rim.”

“Perhaps we should take a break, just for a short while. She said so herself, the call has been out for some time now, it’s suspicious you’ve found no one.”

“I don’t care if they think I’m mad.”

“You should. Mad kings rarely go down in splendor. Should the people get even an inkling that you are unfit to rule they will revolt. We’ll stop now and revisit later.”

“After last night I don’t know how much longer we can wait.” He sighs. “Gods help us.”

“Lord Fett,” the 8D8 speaks. “There is still one visitor awaiting your audience. Shall I dismiss them?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I’ll see no one else today. Preparations must be made for Freetown.”

“What are the chances I get an exception?” Down the winding steps comes the Mandalorian Din Djarin, beskar shining as bright as a knights. His head bows, fist to his chest.

To note Boba Fett as being a particular fan of Din Djarin may be a gross exaggeration. He does not like the Mandalorian. He does not like his unpainted beskar and how it shifts in the light. Boba does not like his stubbornness or arrogance. For the past few months Boba has been bound to specifically not like Din. It is his duty as caretaker to not like Din, and he does not.

He does however, like the Mandalorian’s dedication. His oath for a Creed Boba could not care for. His gall in ever showing his beskar helm to any of them again. And how absolutely pitiful he looks right now.

That Boba enjoys very much.

“You’re here,” Fennec says. Boba knows her too well now, and so he knows her attempt to mask surprise.

“Not without reason.”

“And…” Boba says. “What would that be?”

The Mandalorian presents open palms, a shock absorber in each. “I have a delivery.”

---

The palace hangar is a large and desolate thing. Fuel canisters litter half empty and half full, the flooring untiled, windows unheard of. What lighting the room has is limited and dimmed, more so casted in shadow than life.

Really it looks more like Peli’s than Peli’s ever did.

A rather unfortunate guarantee in this exact situation.

“You’re just in time. Thanks for coming so last minute.” Comes as he enters, the owner bent over a speeder bike. A girl crouches at the bike, running her hands over the exposed power cell. She whispers, “Let’s see…” The speeder struggles, wheezing for life. It rumbles on the ground, repulser lifters desperately wanting to ignite. Instead, the light above Din flashes.

“Fuck.” She stands, back muscles stretching under a black shirt. “Whatever. Listen, I did everything you said and I’m telling you the shock absorbers the speeder came with can’t handle the new engine. If I don’t have that double padded K2-R, the second I hit top speeds I’m gonna fly right off this thing.”

For the second time in his life, and the first with discontent, the Mandalorian’s heart flutters.

What. The. Fuck.

“I’m not Peli,” he says, an echo of the past.

The other turns quick, nearly breaking their neck in the process. Suspicions confirmed. They’re more than a girl. They’re the reason Din’s brain malfunctions and now the both of them are staring like they’d just seen a ghost.

Ironic.

She has speeder oil smeared across her cheek, her clothing is worn and stained. Her hair loosely tied back, but too short to stay. Curled bangs escape to the front. Her eyes are wide and bright grey under the light. They sit with overwhelming grief and unending exhaustion.

If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he’s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

That’s the problem with only being okay. Din lies to himself more than anyone else. Because while he can say he’s moved on, life catches up and shows him a mirror. It can bring back every memory he locks away, every feeling he convinced himself didn’t matter and it will only mock his reaction.

Because while Din has forgotten everything and never thinks of Lumina once, he’s also builds exceptions. He’s perfectly fine and okay without her until it rains. He’s okay until he walks through trees. He doesn’t care until he reaches for his knife. Until he gets in bed with all his anger and frustrations. He’s doesn’t think of Lumina once unless he sees a flower. He forgets she exists until he looks at the moon and watches the sunrise and is faced with stars.

Those stupid fucking stars.

Din would give anything to never see one again.

And now there’s one right in front of him. Her. Lumina. His flower. His sun. His star. Looking… utterly terrified.

No one moves. No one speaks.

So Din does the only reasonable thing he can think of.

He says, “Hi.”

And Lumina responds with the only reasonable thing she can think of.

“Hi.”

And so they both find that neither of them are very reasonable people and the mutual action does very little to suppress any panic at all. They continue to stare thinking one may simply disappear or the galaxy will self correct and vanish the other itself.

The galaxy does no such thing.

By this point they should have each learned that the galaxy is as kind as a god. That is to say, not at all.

As it turns out Din is still moronic when it comes to planning. The space between their words are longer than he would prefer but he can’t necessarily blame her.

Not this time.

The light above flickers, and neither flinches.

“What brings you?” She asks.

Nothing. Everything.

“I was in the area… Thought I’d pop by. You’re a mechanic now?” His feet feel heavier than normal, trudging. He places the absorbers on the nearest table, their fall sounding like wrenches.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I help Peli in Mos Eisley where I can, take more off days than I do on.” She slides off thick padded gloves. A bandage wraps her right wrist, ending at her knuckles. Her hands shove deep into the pockets of her pants. “Gives me something to do.”

“Do you like it?”

She shrugs. “Beats calculating water tax.” Her weight shifts, sinking an inch deeper. “Where’s your kid?”

“With Peli,” Din answers, ignoring the pang of it all. “I didn’t know if it’d be good for him. Coming down here. He’s good, really good actually, but—”

“I get it. I wouldn’t bring him either.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did. It’s okay.” A fluttered chime sounds, echoing against the walls. “That’s dinner.” Lumina wipes oil off her face with a red rag, staining the fabric. “Will you be there?”

“Yes,” he says, sudden and eager. “Dinner.”

“Yes,” she repeats laughing, though the smile is never full. “Dinner.”

---

Din can’t help but wonder whether the circumstances of dinner is a direct dictation of Boba, or rather a natural fall of events. The dining hall is large and undecorated, a long table in the center. One chair sits at the head, another to its right, two to its left. Servant droids deliver the banquet from the kitchen, but Lumina—now cleaned from earlier—sets the table. Glassware, plates, spoons, forks. Fennec places the knives when she enters. Passing Lumina she says, “I’ll take care of clean up tonight,” and doesn’t accept argument.

Boba enters last, helmet removed and held against his hip. His skin is cleared from last they’ve seen of another. Scaring relatively gone, tan returned. He pays Din no mind, which isn’t entirely unexpected. Instead, the newest Daimyo hugs Lumina by the side and kisses the top of her head. Their hushed conversation is one Din can’t make out. The bulk comes from Boba, Lumina nodding along. She speaks thrice, the second after she looks at Din, the third a simple confirmation of whatever it is Boba says.

Lumina sits first then Boba. Him at the head, her the single chair. Fennec takes the left closest to. Din is stiff taking place next to her, the empty seat given with no setting.

Food is passed between the three, Lumina taking the smallest of servings, Boba the largest, Fennec in the middle. The scene feels too intimate for Din’s intrusion. Too nuclear.

“Adi,” Boba says. “Have you finished your bike?”

“Not yet.” She cuts the same piece of meat over and over, pushing it around. “I will tonight.”

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I know.”

“You go to Freetown in the morning.”

“I know, Boba. I’ll be there. Are the documents ready?”

“The majordomo approved them this afternoon,” Fennec says. “He compliments your skill.”

“Does he still oppose my proposal for an election?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t care for his compliments.” Fennec snorts, Boba shoots her a behave look only a father could master. “I don’t,” she reiterates. “The people need representation and fair council.”

“I agree,” Boba says.

“A new mayor must be selected by those they will run, not us.”

“Adi, I said I agree.”

She slows. “You do?”

“Yes. I do. Fennec has read through your proposal, it’s excellent. The initiative will take time to implement, but your strategy is good.”

Fennec nods, mid bite of a fried porg. “Good job,” she says, mouth full.

Lumina says, “Thank you.”

The table falls into silence again, forks and knives scraping plates, wine pouring into Boba and Fennec’s glasses.

Boba clears his throat. “Din Djarin,” he says. No one misses Lumina’s fork dropping, a loud clink clink clink. “Tell me, how goes the life of the Mand’alor? Fulfilling I hope.”

“I am not Mand’alor,” Din says in his chest. “And I do not plan on becoming.”

“Yet you still carry the Darksaber? Seems counter productive.” He pushes his plate aside, dabbing the corner of his mouth. “Have you given the position any thought before dismissal?”

Din does not answer. He thinks it a growing habit, comfort in the unknown.

“Ad,” Boba says. “I should like the Mand’alor accompany you to Freetown in the morning. It will serve as his first taste of diplomacy. What say you to that?”

She sounds like a child, a quiet, “What?”

“I think it an excellent idea,” Boba continues. “Don’t you agree Mand’alor? Your first taste of politics coming from an expert?”

He wishes he could hesitate. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Ad?” She gives no answer, he tries again. “Lumina?”

Her body startles first, then her mind. She sits up impossibly straight. “Yes, yes of course,” she says at once. In her momentary silence, she looks in a daze.

“Lumina,” Fennec says.

She jumps again, standing her chair knocks over. Watching the floor her hands turn to fists. She mumbles, “Excuse me,” and hurries out.

Din’s motion to stand is waved down by Fennec.

“I do hate when you’re right,” Boba says, sipping wine.

“I always am,” she says.

“You may take a plate to the kitchen to eat in privacy,” Boba says to him. “I will have a room prepared for you when you are finished.”

“You said she was fine,” Din tells Fennec.

“You said you were done with her,” she counters. “I guess we both lied.”

“I should talk to her.”

“You will not,” she snorts. “You’ll go to the kitchen and eat your food like a good little Mandalorian. Then you’ll go to bed, get up, go to Freetown, get that treaty signed, and leave. I will talk to Lumina, and you,” she says to Boba, “will reconsider Doctor Bhilba.”

“The answer is no.”

Fennec stands, grabbing a leg of nuna. She takes a bite, juices drip. “Then find your sister.”

---

Lumina resides in the second largest room of the palace. Her walls are circular, the floor a white marble tile. Her door is atypical, a thick curtain on a steel rod, a carried theme to both her closet and fresher. Her bed is larger than necessary and softer than she knows what to do with. The sheets are perfectly steamed to conform to the shape. She thinks it was meant to be Boba’s but bacta does little to heal bones sore with age.

She can’t open her windows, though there are plenty. A desk is littered with paperwork and ink, a small computer terminal, books on books, open, torn, written in. A potted plant, yet to bloom. A map of the known galaxy, pinned to the wall.

She sits in the center of her room on the floor, legs crossed, one bedside lamp dimmed. She stretches out, breathes, and retracts. The motion repeats several times over until the pain of the pull subsides.

Three knocks come at the limestone outside, one right after another. She’s slow to rise, slower to approach. The curtain retreats to the image of the Mandalorian, tall and not so proud.

He says, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.” Groggy, like he’d just woken up.

She moves aside, an open invitation to which he accepts.

He ends standing where she sat, turning. “It’s nice.” Pointing to a seven-stringed hallikset in the corner. “I didn’t know you played.”

“I didn’t. Boba gave it to me. He says it’s important I have hobbies. I get too caught in my work here, it worries him.” Unsure how to move, Din begins to pace. Looking anywhere feels like an invasion of privacy. “Listen,” Lumina says, sensing the unease. “I want to apologize for earlier. I got overwhelmed, I didn’t mean to cause a scene. Fennec talked it over with me, you coming along… and I agree, I—it would be very beneficial for you to come. I can—” she stops short, a deep exhale passing her lips.

Stepping forward is a guttural response from him.

So is her step back.

Lumina takes the moment to recompose, blinking away the oncoming panic. “You’re welcomed to come along if you wish,” she says. A true diplomat in ways, she passes Din in favor of her desk. “I thought it best if you read over the treaty yourself and then posed questions afterwards rather than my explaining it to you. I write better than I speak.” Instead of handing the datapad to Din directly, she places the tablet on the trunk at the edge of her bed between them. “I’ve met with Marshal Vanth twice before, he is kind, mostly agreeable. With luck the deal will be simple. Now, I know taxes and tributes will be an issue but I’ve commodified some numbers and with the elimination of spice our annual capital growth is already going to shrink horribly and we need to make up losses… What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Din asks. “You’re standing here talking about economics like any of this is normal and all I can think about is why didn’t you tell me? I deserve an answer.”

She whispers, “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I said I—”

“I know what you said, I’m asking why. What did I do to make you think you couldn’t tell me? That I would see you any less? I already knew so much about you, or I thought I did. I knew how you grew up, I knew your connections, I knew you could get sick and act differently. I knew you weren’t normal. I knew that and I never held any of it against you. Everyone else called you something, everyone else hated you. I didn’t. So why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t,” she replies. “I tried. I tried so many times. Do you think I wanted to betray you? Do you think it was easy for me to lie to you every single day? It was hell. You were so wonderful, even when you were a dick you were a million times better than me. I know that you’re hurt, you have every right to be. But all this anger you’ve had for me for what… four, five months?” She points to herself, jabbing her own chest. “I have had to sit with every day of my life. You always give me shit for leaving but you left! You left! You get to leave, you get to run away and forget. I don’t. So I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I used to kill Jedi when I was teenager. Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t want to ruin the one good thing I’ve had in years.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined anything—”

She laughs, palms pressed to her eyes groaning. “Gods just shut up! Are you kidding? Grogu scared the shit out of you and he’s a baby. You called him dangerous. You wanted to send him away because you couldn’t handle it. Where does that leave me?”

He hesitates. “We would’ve figured it out.”

“Din, I didn’t think you were actually here until Boba said something. Do you know how many doctors they’ve brought for me? There is no figuring this out, this is just who I am.”

Din is too quiet for either of their comforts. He takes the tablet from the bunk, gives it a once over glance. “You wrote this?”

“I did.”

“I think you need to give yourself more credit. Cause you’re a lot more than you think.”

“Maybe.”

“You used to freak out when you thought someone wasn’t real,” Din says. “Why talk to me?”

She shrugs.

“I missed you. A lot has happened. I wanted someone to talk to. Take your pick. Why are you here in the middle of the night?”

He repeats. “Take your pick.”

---

Tatooine is significantly colder at night, moons high in the sky. Lumina and Din exit the palace with relative ease, Gamorrean guards asleep at their post. She wears a cape with a large hood drooped at her neck. They keep a simple distance, sabers on their hips swinging in tandem.

“You once asked if I knew of the Force,” she says. “Do you remember this?”

He does, so he nods. “I do.”

“What do you know of it?”

Within the helmet he frowns. “It’s…” He searches for the words because in truth he does not know. Not really. The definition given to him by Ahsoka feels too textbook and manufactured. Like it were to be given to hundreds so that no further questions may be asked. “It’s… energy, of life.”

She nods once. “Do you know what that means?”

He does not, and admits such. “No.”

“For as long as sentients have existed,” Lumina says. “The Force has been studied. No one knows what it is, not really. It’s everything, and nothing, and it’s everywhere, but also no where. All at once, all of the time.”

“Right,” Din responds curt. “How does that work?”

“Think of it like the air. You can’t see it, but you know its there and sometimes you can feel it. The Force is like that, except it never ceases to exist. Not in space or water or dirt… really it is all of that, except it’s never tangible either. It just is. Does that make sense?”

“I guess.”

“There are two sides, like a moon. Light and dark. The dark is cold, lonely. It’s an infection that feels like it can never be cured. It’s being trapped in a frozen lake wishing for anything to pull yourself out with but nothing is ever within reach. So you get angry, and you hurt. My father—” she says with far greater ease than ever before. “He held so much hurt for all I knew him. He passed his hurt to me, encouraged I grow my own. I am in the dark, I always have been. A Jedi would call me a Sith. I’m not given a choice to disagree.”

“And the light?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I imagine it’s beautiful.”

“So… Moonlight is good?”

“Yeah,” Lumina whispers. “Moonlight is good.”

Lumina takes her lightsaber in her hands, twisting at parts. “This weapon belonged to Ahsoka Tano when she was young. My father trained her before he got sick, and gifted it to me when I came of age. There is a crystal inside which…” She struggles, pulling said crystal out. It’s presented to Din between her thumb and forefinger, a dull red. “Gives the sword its power. We call it kyber. The crystal connects to the Force, we connect to the crystal.”

“Why red?”

“They were blue once, when I got it. My people we… conduct a process called bleeding. This crystal is bled.”

“Ahsoka’s were white.”

“They were,” Lumina confirms. “I don’t know why. I’ve never seen anything like it. Or yours.”

“That’s reassuring,” Din mutters.

“Could mean nothing. The Darksaber is older than the Republic, maybe there were different methods of building back then. Have you tried using it at all?”

“Very little, nothing to count. It’s heavy.”

Lumina reassembles her saber. “Let me see?”

Vertical, the Darksaber ignites, black blade shining. His elbows drop.

“Are you trying to hold it up?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t. You focus on its weight, it will only be heavier. Close your eyes… are they closed?”

Truthfully he answers, “Yes.”

“I want you to breathe, slowly like you’re learning. Pay attention to everything else. The temperature, the smell, the sand, the sky. Relax into all of it.”

Din can’t all together describe the sensation. Not with any hint of accuracy anyways. He worries he does it wrong at first, focused too closely on the ‘other’. His feet, his hands, the weight of his helmet. Her. Gradually the oddness settles and all becomes natural. A wind or a flame, a particle of sand in a greater world. Light.

“What do you call this?”

“Meditation. Technically a Jedi practice but… well I find it helpful. How’s the sword feel?”

“Better.”

Sounds crackle again, he sees a red hue flashing from behind his eyelids and visor. Pressure comes from the sword. He pushes back.

“I want you to remember that when you use this sword, you are using energy. It’s your job to direct with intention. Understand that the currents are a part of you. The kyber wants to connect and you should want to allow it. Think of it as liberation, not a hinderance.”

The pressure vanishes, as does the weight.

Din asks about her wrist, Lumina too caught up in rubbing the wrapped bone to pursue conversation. She blames the sprain on an accidental fall the day prior.

He isn’t sure why he still lets her lie, but it becomes a comfort to them both.

“You’ll like Krrasantan,” Lumina tells him. “Even for a Wookie he’s huge. Scary too, but secretly sensitive. When he found out I used to live with Trandoshans he wouldn’t speak to me for a week.”

“Have you heard from any of them since?” Din asks. “The Trandoshans.”

“I’m not allowed to use the comms,” she says, head shaking. “Fennec monitors my calls. I’m can only call her or Boba when they’re not home. She says it’s a security issue, but I know better. I do miss Sully though… Don’t tell BK. His dad and Boba were friends. Went bounty hunting together a lot actually. ”

“Speaking of, I hear you’re officially a Fett.”

Her head ducks. “Who told?”

“Peli.”

“Of course.”

“So it’s true?”

“It is.” She kicks sand, watching the clump blow into the air. “Fennec introduced me as it once before to the old mayor. I had a meeting with him to discuss the spice trade, he said he’d only talk to Fett. Fennec told him I was his kid and since then it stuck. People talk a lot around here, word spreads. I still can’t tell how Boba feels about it.”

“I’d think he’d be welcoming to you claiming his name.”

“Oh he is. You should see how he lights up when he hears Lady Fett get thrown around the palace.” A smile grows on her the same, the first real one he’s seen since arriving. “I think it suits me well. Lumina Fett. It’s my favorite name I’ve ever had.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“He never claims me as his.” Her brightness dims, pace slowing. “He explicitly says he isn’t my father whenever someone says otherwise. Doesn’t explain why either. Fennec says it makes him feel guilty, whatever that means.”

“So… you guys are what exactly?”

“Family,” Lumina says. “We’re family.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Lumina says, their walk to the palace gate cautious in step. “Marshal Dune.”

“How’d you hear?”

To Din’s knowledge word had only been sent to Nevarro by way of Adelphi Ranger, Capitan Carson Teva. The coming and going of Moff Gideon still unknown to the Core, a ‘nonissue’ so to say.

“Boba has access to New Republic channels, not that they know. Remnants from Jabba’s rule, the tech is old but it works. I like to listen when he’s not looking. It’s harder to stay in the loop now that I don’t live in the Core. Boba offered to send something to her family when I told him but…”

“Alderaanian.”

“Yeah. Alderaanaian. I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

They come down the steps into the throne room, empty, unlit. “It is, actually,” Lumina says. “It’s entirely my fault. I failed in killing Ghost, in turn she killed Gideon. She killed your friend. That is my fault, and I am sorry.”

“You’re certain it was her?”

“Who else would have done it? If Gideon were to successfully arrive to the New Republic, who knows what he would have said. What they would have made him say. I’ve already ruined the secret of Inquisitors. The New Republic is a beast in disguise. They wouldn’t rest until he said more. He failed his duty to the Empire, proving himself no longer useful. Killing him was a security measure. I would’ve authorized it myself honestly.”

Din continues to follow Lumina back to her room. He realizes he shouldn’t. Their farewells and goodnights should end now. The night has been long, the morning will be longer.

He does not think himself a man of sound mind.

Lumina pulls back her curtain, leaning in the entryway. “She loved him,” she says, suddenly. “She loved Gideon and she killed him. We grew up together, she spent years looking for me and the moment I turn out to be different, I’m no one.” She takes a breath, leaning her head back. “Gideon was the first person to show her any kind of love, empathy, desire. Whatever you want to call it, that is what he provided her. And she wanted him just the same, and now he is dead, she is missing, I am here. I worry I may have underestimated her.”

“You think she’ll come back?”

“Oh I know she will,” Lumina chuckles, soulless. “The question is when. How. That I’m still working out.”

“I would argue it’s not your problem anymore.”

She walks inside, casually imploring a use of the Force to hang her cloak. “I was the first to come back from the dead. I am still the rightful heir, and I’ve yet to abdicate. I should like to dissolve my inheritance before others are reborn as well. When rooms are crowded, navigation becomes trickier. If the downfall of my father’s empire is not my problem, it is no one’s.”

---

Lumina sits at the top of her bed, Din across on the edge of the mattress. With the Force, she closes her curtain door, hooking it’s fabric latch. “They took out my door a couple days ago.” She calls it a ‘safety issue’, and doesn’t elaborate.

She falls onto her back, he looks up. Unnoticed until now, her painted ceiling. A dark galactic blue, hand drawn thin white lines connecting various dots. Nothing is labeled or really makes logical sense. The image isn’t one Din would recognize.

“Finding a hobby meant I had to try everything at least once,” Lumina says.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Descriptive.”

“Shut up. It’s a map.”

“To?”

“No clue. I would see it in my dreams a lot, visions I guess. Could be nothing.”

It’s too obvious he struggles with the words. “Do your visions… usually mean nothing?”

She snorts. “My visions usually don’t happen. Not on their own anyways. I’m more of a historian than a psychic.” She sits up, preemptive to his declaration of confusion. “Psychics see the future, I see the past. I touch an object, I see it’s history. Some things more vivid than others. Sight, touch, smell, sound, everything. It’s why hotel beds make me uncomfortable. I’m good at controlling it, but some things just set me off.”

“Your gloves…” he says, a sudden realization.

“Like you said, dirt talks to me,” she chuckles. “And everything else.”

“The clones, on Nevarro. They’re what made you sick.”

“The last time something that bad happened was when I grabbed my dad’s lightsaber as a kid. I was out for a week straight. When memories are sourced from the dark side I go into shock. On Nevarro it was the clones, in Arkanis it was the school. I can’t handle it, so I drop.”

“Shit,” Din swears. “Fuck I’m sorry.”

She ignores this. “I can access memory too,” she says, like the notion has only just to come to her. “In sentients. I can go inside anyones mind and do whatever I want to their consciousness. With Doctor Pershing I… I let him relive memories of his mother. I used to do it with Grogu all the time, let him remember his life before.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not when the other agrees.” He can tell she isn’t totally there, mind wandering. “ It’s totally painless, I’ve been told euphoric.”

“And when they don’t agree?”

“Unbearable. It’s how I would information out of Rebels, Senators. I just—go in. It’s what I did to Gideon…”

“What?”

“It’s what I did to Gideon,” she says again, growing confidence. “I went inside his mind. I took out every memory he had of me. Everything just—I made it all disappear so he couldn’t turn me in. Din, I—I have an idea. And you can say no but… I think I can help you.”

“Help me?” He repeats.

“I can feel your emotions. I know you’re not totally comfortable right now, with me. I understand. You’d rather not be here, you’d rather not see me. I’ve done… irreparable damage to you, your friends, your kid. You never wanted to see me again and now you’re here because Boba and Fennec made you think that’s what you want, right? What if… What if I—What if I made you forget me?”

“I don’t follow.”

“I can access your memories,” Lumina says. “I can alter your memories. The topic is specific enough, I can go in and make it so you’re totally free from me. You’ll never have to think about me again because I won’t exist. Every single thing, as far back as you want to go, can be gone. Everything. You won’t even remember you showed me your face.”

That gets his attention.

“You’d still remember,” he says.

She rubs her wrist. “That can be remedied.”

“What about everything else? I wouldn’t know any of it?”

“If it didn’t involve me, you would. If it did… you have two options. Total erasure, or your memory just gets spotted. You go to Trask, not Arkanis. You lose your ship, the kid, but I’m not there. I’m not saved. You might feel like you’re forgetting something but you’ll never know what. You can leave all of this behind you. Forever.”

Before his conscious can command otherwise, the Mandalorian removes his helmet, dropping the beskar onto the marble floor. Were it a simpler material, it would shatter.

In some ways he’d be better off if it did.

Her shock is the same as the first time, if not greater.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he says. “I need you to look at me when I say this. I am never letting you do anything to control my mind again. Never. Because out of every single thing you’ve done to me, that is the worst. I thought I was going insane. You made me hate you. You made me say a million things I don’t believe, things I still don’t believe.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I thought—”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t think. You don’t think. If you did you would know better. Why the hell would I be here? Why do you think I’m still here? I know you’re not familiar with free will, but I am capable of making my own choices. This is my choice. You are my choice. You have been for a very long time and you’re the only one who can’t see it.”

“I don’t understand. You said—you said we were done before I did anything to you. You said that. You acted on that. I’ve respected that, I always have. I’m trying to help you and—and you’re mad at me.”

“How can I not be mad?”

“How can you? Every good thing I’ve done has been for you. This is a good thing. This is good. I’m letting you let me go. I need you to let me go so I can let you go. I waited for so long for you to change your mind. All I wanted was for you to change your mind and come back. You didn’t. You stayed away and I never blamed you. I’m never going to have a good life. I’m never going to escape this. You can. You have. I want to. If you let me go, if you say you’re finished, I can be too. I want to let you go. I want to know you’re doing good. I can if I know that I’m not hurting you anymore. So stop telling me I’m wrong. I know what I’m doing, I know what I’m asking.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why?”

“Because it is impossible, Lumina,” Din snaps, whispered. “You would have to erase every memory I’ve ever had. You would have to kill me. There is not a point of this galaxy that I can go to be free of you. I see you everywhere I am. Every dream. Every sun. Every star. I see you. I want you. I have spent months trying to do nothing but forget you and I cannot. You have put a hunger in me that I cannot feed in your absence. I starve without you. I’ve broken my Creed for you. I’ve yet to face my people due to my own fear. You have made my life a hell worse than any sin I could commit on my own. But that is a hell I would walk a million times over if it meant having you for just a moment. You have never insulted me more than to say I would want otherwise when I want you. I have always wanted you.”

Lumina says nothing at first, until she says everything.

“Do you still love me?”

He does not respond, bringing their lips together.

---

“You’re so handsome,” Lumina whispers. She cradles the side of his face, he keeps her steady on his lap. It’s all hands and mouth, attempts at closeness. His armor is off, placed delicately on the ground. Her shirt hrown somewhere unknown, so is his. He unbuttons her pants but they’ve yet to be removed. “I wanted to tell you then. I couldn’t believe it. I always had an idea, hard not to. But… Stars you’re beautiful Din.”

He tells her to shut up, mumbled into her neck and in-between kisses. He buries himself there, nose pressed to her shoulder at the start of her scar.

“You are,” she says. “I was right. The galaxy wouldn’t know what to do with itself if it got to see you like this all the time.”

He bites her. “Quit.” His chest is too tight, too full. He’d be better off if she killed him now, save the embarrassment.

“How do you say that? Gar mesh’la?”

Din shoves his hand down the front of Lumina’s pants, two fingers going directly inside. Her gasp is silenced, his mouth swallowing the sound, his tongue pushing inside. His fingers hook in a practiced way, pumping in and out.

“I said shut up,” he whispers. “Boba walks in I’m dead.”

“Don’t—Do not talk about Boba right—now.”

There’s pride in Din, knowing she’s just as responsive as she was. Knowing he’s the cause.

He pulls out, the sound making his head spin. Selfishly, he takes time to inspect the mess, a long quiet groan. “Go turn off the lights.”

Her left hand raises above their heads, with a twirl of her wrist the power cuts.

“Gods,” Din mutters. He takes a hold of Lumina’s waist, turning to lay her down. He yanks her pants over the swell of her ass. “This whole fucking time…”

“Lights are new,” she tells him, moving up to assist in the removal. “Can’t control it. Better at turning off. Not good at turning anything on worth shit.”

He grabs her hand, placing it over the warm swell between his legs. He squeezes rough over the fabric saying, “You are.”

She squeaks, “Oh.”

“There she is,” Din whispers. He guides her palm, rubbing slow strokes. “There’s my shy girl.” His other hand unbuttons his pants, shoving them down, pulling himself out. “Used to think it was the other way. Only pretended to be all sweet. ’S the other way isn’t it? You just act scary. Don’t know better.”

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I am scary.”

“Mm yeah…. terrifying.”

“Fuck you.”

He cups her jaw. “I’m trying.” He guides her mouth to his cock, which she accepts graciously. “My pretty girl,” he says, breathless. “Oh my Sarad.”

That gets her, a high whine around Din. Her hand snakes between her legs, rubbing at her clit. Din pulls her off as soon as he notices, which isn’t for some time in his current state.

“No,” he says. “I take care of you. Me.”

She lets him.

Like there was ever an argument not to.

Din lays her down again, mouth following to kiss. He’s never been one to like the taste of himself, but from her mouth it’s all so sweet. His fingers find their way inside again.

“Have you…” he tries to ask, brushing their noses together.

“No,” she answers. “No one. Tried once. Got drunk. Sad. Punched him. Threw up.”

“How far—”

“He kissed me. That’s it. Hated it. Called me a bitch.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Please,” she moans. Though it could just be so he’d hurry along.

“Hold on baby. Hold on almost.”

“You?” She asks. “Did you?”

“Have I?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Tried.”

“Tried?”

“Went to Canto. Moon. She looked like you, wanted… needed someone like you.”

She pulls away, holding his jaw. “What happened?”

“A lot. Accent was wrong,” he mutters, embarrassed. “Called me Mando. Wasn’t you. She got naked, I got pissed, left.”

“You left her naked?” Lumina asks.

“Yeah.”

“Did you pay?”

Now he moves back. “What?”

“Did you pay her? You know… for her services? She got naked, she deserves to be paid.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m very funny.”

“You’re not—” He does laugh though, quiet. “Fuck me.”

“I’m trying,” she mimics. “Hurry up.”

Din kisses her once. “Brat.”

She laughs. “Can’t change everything.”

They don’t take long, after Din enters. She’s sweet as ever, taking without issue. Things slow to a crawl, pressed to the hilt, they become acutely aware of what exactly it is they’re doing.

“Are you okay?” Din asks, whispered. He moves at a snail’s pace, gentle. Focused more on grinding and getting her comfortable than any real fucking.

If this can be called something as simple as fucking.

He thinks not.

“Yeah… Yeah just, thinking.”

“I know. Me too.” Lumina rubs at his stubble, thumb circling the one spot hair never seems to grow. He turns, kissing her palm. “I missed you,” he whispers. “Feels like I shouldn’t.”

“We’re fucked up,” she tells him. “’S why we work.”

Din thrusts after that, slow and cautious movements soon turning fast, needy. He fucks into her like its his dying day. She takes it all and begs for more.

Lumina releases first, without warning. He feels her tightening, her squirms, hears his name pass from her lips.

“Din.”

He comes after, her sound the key to nirvana. His mind fogs, muscles weaken, filling her. Pulling out, he collapses besides her, panting.

She looks over.

“I still love you,” she says, catching her breath. “That part was never a lie.”

Fuck.

---

The air is sweet, comforting when Lumina wakes. She faces the Mandalorian’s bare back, running her fingers over every scar. She could stare at him for the rest of eternity and at last know peace.

The suns have yet to rise, the room is dark. She is the most herself she has felt in ages.

This is halcyon remembered.

Gods she could die now and find no bitterness in what awaits.

Lumina smiles, she can’t believe she remembers how to do that, leaning her head on him. Whatever this is, it is real. He is real. It is good. It is just, it is right.

Daybreak cannot come soon enough. The stars have been fun but she aches for the suns warmth.

Lumina kisses his shoulder, settling into her pillow. She’ll try to sleep again, fluttering nerves aside. The sooner to sleep the sooner she’ll wake again. He will be here, they will go to the Marshal together and he will see how she’s grown. He will see her maturity, her politics, her good will.

He’ll be so impressed he’ll retrieve the Child from Peli Motto. They’ll all be together again.

She runs her hands through her hair, the shortened length still not familiar. She should clean it up before departure, Fennec would do it for her.

Lumina decides she is being silly, those are plans for later, this is now. She should enjoy right now. And she does.

Until that is, Din begins to stir.

She doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to wait for him. She’s been too forward in every regard, the calls will be his for now. She assumes that is the correct choice to make.

So Lumina continues to lay, just as she has been. She does not move, she does not speak. She only watches.

She watches Din’s shoulders move, she watches him sigh. He does not sound particularly pleased, but he never has enjoyed waking in the middle of the night.

He sits up, moving his feet off the bed. Then, he stands. He dresses. Undergarments, pants, top. Piece by piece his armor reattaches, each a subtle click.

He hasn’t looked at her once.

Lumina isn’t smiling, she doesn’t know what to do.

So she does nothing.

Din sits again, the bed caving in. He pulls out his boots from under the bed, shoving them on. He picks up his helmet and rubs at a scuff.

He puts it on.

Hiss. Click.

He leaves.

Lumina sits up, pulling the sheets to cover her exposure.

Maybe he’s gone to the kitchen, thirsty. He’ll come back, she’s sure of it.

He will.

She’ll wait until he does.

An hour passes, then half the next.

Her room is still dark, her stomach sick. Sunlight may have been too hasty a request. She would settle for the moon and silver hues.

She wants nothing but moonlight.

------

CHAPTER 38: Losing Dogs

------

Taglist: @lexloon @jay-bel @xsadderdazeforeverx @spideysimpossiblegirl @sarahjkl82-blog @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @hello-th3r3

#din djarin x original character #din djarin x female oc #din djarin fanfiction #Din Djarin fanfic #din djarin x ofc #Din Djarin x oc #din djarin x original female character #Mandalorian fanfic #mando x oc #mando x ofc #starlight

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ashes-2-ashes57cba · 4 months ago

Text

The Bad Batch: Specter

Episode 11: Devil's Deal

edited by: @ryleeeeeenn warnings: verbal argument, a really short chapter

Specter bit back a smile, watching as Omega scrunched her face while trying to practice her sign language. The girl was quick to understand but lacked finesse in her execution; still, Specter couldn’t ask for a better student.

“And… there! How’d I do?” the girl eagerly asked. Specter clicked her tongue.

“Much better than last time. But remember, it’s about how clearly you sign, not just about how fast,” she critiqued, adjusting Omega’s fingers as she held the last sign. “Alright, final check: introduce yourself.”

“But we already know her name’s Omega,” Wrecker said, oblivious to the lesson. Specter made a swatting motion at him before giving the girl her full attention.

[Hello! My name is Omega], she signed. Specter grinned, seeing her practice come to fruition.

“Very good! Just keep at your vocabulary and alphabet, then I’ll check with you later,” she ruffled the girl’s hair. Hunter came in from the cockpit, clearly in a different mood than the girls.

“So what did Cid say?” Echo asked him.

The Batch had just left Ord Mantell not too long ago, hauling about thirty crates of weapons ranging from blasters to grenades; Cid refused to tell them the location of their dropoff until they were far enough away and on a secure channel. And by the way Hunter refused to meet her gaze, Specter could tell she wouldn’t like where they were going.

“Hunter?” she tried again. He took a breath.

“We’re heading to one of the moons of Ryloth to meet with a Twi’lek named Gobi.”

Wrecker, for once, went still, while Echo and Omega only sported confused expressions. Specter felt herself stand but wobble in place. Her heart churned with sorrow and anger. They were handing enough weapons for a small army over to the Twi’leks—her guilt would increase tenfold.

“Specter-”

“Why did you say yes?” she interrupted him. "Why would you put me in this position?”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” he shrugged. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to take steadying breaths against the flood of memories. “Look, I’m sorry that we’re going to Ryloth, but we’re just doing a job.”

“That’s the problem! We’re doing nothing but a business transaction when you know very well of the promise I made!” she snapped.

“A promise you made,” he muttered, turning away and shaking his head.

“We have a chance—a small chance—to help them just one time, and you can turn your back on them for money? You can turn your back on me?”

“Specter, we can’t help them,” Hunter said, simply, trying to de-escalate the situation.

“Can’t or won’t?” she replied in the same tone. He turned to meet her glare.

“I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of this.”

“Oh, that is rich coming from you. You know very well why I’m upset.”

“Do I? Remind me!”

“Because you’re making me go back to the place you forced me to abandon-”

“I had to pull you out to keep you fit for battle! We’re on a different mission. And as the leader of this group, need I remind you that we need to follow the orders of our job despite whatever personal-”

“Need I remind you that Crosshair would say the exact same thing? Follow orders and turn a blind eye?” Specter countered in a low voice, taking a step.

For a moment, palpable silence had filled the cabin. Omega opened her mouth to say something, but Wrecker shook his head, knowing it wouldn’t help. Specter’s gaze was fiery, Hunter bared his teeth, both of them caught their breath after the heated exchange: but it was far from over.

“How dare you bring us—me—here, despite knowing what happened to us last time,” she seethed, taking another step closer.

“As the sergeant of this squad, I have the final say in what jobs we do or do not take,” he growled, trying to keep himself calm and controlled.

“We aren’t in the military anymore!” Specter cried.

“They all trust me to lead them!” Hunter’s control was gone; he gestured wildly to the rest of the squad in the cabin.

“Do they? Good for them. I don’t anymore!” Specter shouted, now in his face.

“Fine!”

They both marched off to opposite ends of the ship; Hunter holed up in the rear gun while Specter sat down hard in the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. Tech gaped at her until she shot him a fiery glare: he turned back to the viewport, and she turned her back to him. Back in the main hold, Omega had covered her mouth, and Wrecker had covered his ears. Echo had simply remained as still as he could.

“What… what just happened?” Omega asked quietly, more confused and concerned than scared.

“I have never, ever seen them go at it like that before,” Wrecker said, almost more shaken up than Omega. “That came outta nowhere.”

“What was she talking about?” Echo quietly asked. Wrecker grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s not for me to tell…” he said. Echo sighed, wondering if his desire to contribute more to causes against the Empire had rubbed off on her. But for now, he just hoped they would be able to complete the job without killing each other.

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

Finally, the Marauder arrived with no further incident; Specter helped Tech land while Hunter finally emerged from the rear gun. He caught the gazes of Wrecker and Echo, awkwardly clearing his throat and putting on his helmet, feeling a little guilty that they were caught up in the midst of his fight with Specter.

Specter appeared shortly after, still looking angry but tired as well—she shoved her helmet on. Hunter quietly sighed and opened the door, stepping out onto the planetoid, Wrecker hoisted a crate over his shoulder and dragged the other one.

“Stay on the ship, hun,” Specter instructed Omega as gently as she could. The girl nodded and sat on the steps, watching as her teammates went forward toward three Twi’leks.

“Are you Gobi? Cid sent us,” Hunter greeted. The blue-skinned male stepped forward.

“Along with three dozen blasters and a case of thermal detonators,” Tech added.

“Let’s see them,” Gobi said. Tech and Echo knelt down to reveal the contents of the boxes. Specter noticed one of them—a green-skinned girl, probably about 10 years old—step out of line and make her way toward the Marauder with wonder in her eyes. She noticed Hunter following the girl as well.

“What type of ship is this?” the young Twi’lek asked Omega.

“A modified Omicron-class attack shuttle,” she answered.

“Can I have a look inside?” Omega eyed the girl.

“Hunter, can she come aboard?” she asked. Hunter nodded in approval. Despite all that had happened earlier, Specter was happy to see Omega making a friend, but it didn’t stop her from worrying. Standing off to the side, she leaned toward the other Twi’lek woman and spoke to her in Twi’leki.

“Tell me, what are the Imperial forces like down there?” she asked in hushed tones. The woman seemed surprised she spoke her language but answered anyway.

“Not good. Senator Orn Free Taa and Cham Syndulla welcome them into a new era of peace. He’s convinced everyone to lay down our weapons. We are defenseless; they occupy the mines and the capital,” she reported.

“And what of your people? And the clones?” Specter pressed.

“There is unease among us, but the clones haven’t done anything. It’s the man that leads them I’m worried about,” she said, almost shivering. Specter contemplated the news; she was more worried that Syndulla wasn’t fighting back, but she hoped things would remain status quo at least.

“Thank you. I would have thought Syndulla would be the one amassing another defense militia,” she admitted. The Twi’lek shrugged.

“Hard to say. He’s tired of fighting. His wife is the one more suspicious of the Empire,” she said before turning back to Gobi and the others.

“It’s a start,” he said, “have Cid contact me when she has more to sell.” He handed the case of credits to Hunter; whether either of them heard her conversation was not something Specter particularly cared about.

“Building an arsenal attracts attention. You better know what you’re getting into,” Hunter commented. Specter scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Now he cares, she thought to herself. Wrecker noticed her demeanor and nudged her a little. She quickly schooled her expression into what she hoped looked more neutral.

“We don’t have a choice,” Gobi said with a sigh. “Hera, we’re leaving,” he called, taking a crate and dragging it back to their ship with the other Twi’lek woman. The two girls came forward out of the ship.

“Thanks for the tour,” said Hera.

“Anytime,” Omega nodded with a smile. The girls waved goodbye before Hera ran back to her ship. “Good luck!”

“Make a new friend?” Hunter asked.

“She’s kind of strange. I like her,” the girl replied with a smile. “Did you know flying’s about a feeling?” she added before trotting back to the ship. The Batch eyed her, quizzically.

“What ‘feeling’?” Tech wondered.

“The only thing I usually feel when I fly is Tech glaring at me,” Specter shrugged. Her brother shot her a look as they followed the group back on board.

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

She and Hunter still did not speak to each other, even after they had taken off and set themselves on a drifting course back to Ord Mantell. Tech and Echo looked at each other from the pilot-copilot seats, eyeing Specter, who quietly sulked in the seat behind Echo. She was hugging her knees close, staring off into the controls. Neither of them thought her standoff with Hunter would last this long. Echo sighed quietly and gave a look to Tech, silently telling him to leave the cockpit so he could talk to her. He nodded and left Echo and Specter alone.

“So, what did that Twi’lek say?” he started. Specter came back into focus, letting her legs down.

“She said that Cham Syndulla was able to convince everyone to lay down their weapons and let the clone army protect them. He and Senator Orn Free Taa are convinced it’s a new time of peace. But they’re defenseless,” she said almost robotically. “She’s not so worried about the clones themselves but rather the man currently leading them.” Echo hummed in response before turning to face her.

“Why is this really bothering you?” he asked, leaning in close. She crumbled under his scrutinous gaze and gave him an answer… one she dreaded.

“Sometime before we had rescued you, we were dispatched on Ryloth to help cover a skirmish. It was rough,” Specter started to explain, resting her elbows on her knees. “Hunter and I were evacuating a village while Tech, Crosshair, and Wrecker tried to stave off the oncoming droids. I was sidetracked with getting a family to cover when I-” she paused to wipe her face, “I lost track of the kids from the school. When I finally had the time, I tried to go back and find them. I was so convinced that they were right there in the school shed, but Hunter had to physically restrain me to keep me from going back in. And I thought I could hear a scream…”

“Oh, Specter,” Echo sympathized, putting his hand on her shoulder as she started to quietly cry. He now understood why she was so angry at Hunter; he was sure that if he were in the same situation, he would be too. But at the same time, he understood Hunter’s side; it was his duty to fulfill the mission, yes, but also to protect his squad. Specter sniffed back tears and wiped her face again, sitting up straight.

“I can’t look at Ryloth and forget what happened when I didn’t do enough,” Specter’s voice was shaky, fighting back more tears, “and I promised myself I would not make that same mistake again. Not here.”

She couldn’t forget how hard she had cried out. Hunter had to hold her back and tell her over and over that there was nothing more they could do, and that they had to leave. She knew that even though they never talked about it, the sound of her screams echoed in their heads for days after they had left the planet.

Echo sat back in his seat, letting her finish processing. He had no idea she had such a past and couldn’t fathom the guilt she still harbored or how she managed to hide it.

“I think the worst part,” she continued, “is hearing Hunter so easily shut down the idea of helping them—without any remorse—and then saying how he’s such a trusted leader. That crap hurt, and it reminded me… reminded me of…”

“Crosshair,” Echo finished for her again. She nodded, hugging her knees again. Unbeknownst to the both of them, Hunter was listening from the main hold, his heightened senses picking up their hushed tones.

“This is the longest we’ve ever been apart.” She ran her hand over the back of her neck; there, a matching tattoo of a shared phrase between her and Crosshair. ‘Strike hard’, his read. ‘Aim true’, said hers. “Maybe I’m just looking to find him—his trace, his presence—anywhere.”

“Well, I can certainly relate when it comes to missing your brothers,” he muttered.

“Your twin, right?” she looked up at him. He nodded, solemn and missing him.

“Yeah. Fives and I were practically inseparable. I don’t think I can name a mission where we were ever apart. And like you said, I’m finding parts of his presence in all of you,” Echo reminisced.

“He knew about Order 66, didn’t he?” asked Specter, although it sounded more like a statement. Echo looked at her, surprised she knew. “I overheard the Coruscant Guard once, talking about having to shoot down some delusional clone—I’m sorry,” she stopped herself, not wanting to stir up any more sad memories.

“It’s alright. He did know about it, but it was after I had already ‘died’,” he finished, almost smiling at the ironic misfortune. Silence passed—more comfortable than when Hunter and Specter had fought—before he spoke again. “Waking up, and finding out that he was gone hurt more than anything Watt Tambor did to me. Even after Rex told me everything, I never got closure; and while the Batch has become my new family…” Now Echo was at a loss for words.

“You still feel like part of you is missing,” she finished for him, reaching over and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I used to think Crosshair and I were so close, that if one of us got hurt, the other would feel it,” she gave his shoulder a squeeze before bringing it back to herself. “But back on Bracca, he was caught in that engine blast… and I didn’t feel anything. It feels like I’ve lost touch with him completely; I don’t know if he’s okay or if he’s going to be okay. And worst of all, I still feel guilty for hating him so much.” Specter sounded angry, but Echo could see the frustrated hurt on her face. He smiled to himself.

“You know, you’re just as stubborn as Crosshair.” A smirk flashed across her face.

“Oh, please. My stubbornness for hating him does not compare to Crosshair. He was once so mad at me, that when I told him to pack for a snow planet, he didn’t and insisted he was fine even though he was on the verge of hypothermia,” Specter giggled. Echo snorted.

“Fives was pretty grounded in his ways too. One time he mistook salt for sugar, and when he put it in his drink, he told us it tasted good,” he was already laughing with Specter by the time he finished his sentence.

Hunter could hear them, and while it felt good to hear her laugh after how angry they had been with each other, he was still upset with her. And he knew she would be upset with him too; that fact was made obvious when she appeared from the cockpit, her smile immediately dropping into a scowl, and shoved past him to lay on her rack. The corner of his mouth flickered into a frown, glaring as she watched her pass. It would be a while before either of them apologized, so the rest of the Bad Batch would have to deal with the tension until they worked it out. Whenever that would be.

Sorry this was a short chapter and I'm SO sorry Specter and Hunter had a fight. It was so hard for me to write I didn't want them to be mad at each other T^T

#f!oc #star wars #star wars oc #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x oc #the bad batch #sw tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb oc #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb omega #clone force 99

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badpancakelol · 2 years ago

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After completing his second term as King of Naboo, Steve would say that there wasn’t much from it that he missed. Yes, he misses being able to communicate with the people of Naboo so easily — being able to use his title for something inherently good instead of for the sake of intimidation — but the countless hours spent doing paperwork and being held up in his ivory tower, seeing the people from afar, and not being able to take a hands on approach?

No, Senator Steve Harrington doesn’t miss it. He’s grateful to his people for their support and their love, trying to amend the laws to let him serve another term, but the traditions existed for a reason, and one continuous ruler was not the way to let their world grow.

The one thing that he very much did miss, however, was the royal transport (and some of the ornate clothing, okay? You caught him. However heavy the headpieces were, and however cake-y the makeup was, he missed being carted around and dolled up. The silks the sheer sleeves, the heels). Being able to skip lines and take direct hyperspace routes to planets — he misses it.

He enjoys piloting, sure, but not being the one in charge lets him work on all the different things he has to do on before he arrives… wherever he needs to go. Perfecting speeches, replying to comm messages, keeping in contact with his people, staying up to date with what’s happening in the senate, messaging Eddie.

It’s what brings Steve to the commute shuttle, the cold air, and the mostly empty seats, on his way to some Force-forsaken freezing planet that he was visiting to gain data on the war effort. Was it technically his job? No. But it was data that would help with his bill, and he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to do it himself.

Sure, Hop had offered to continue serving for him, being his body guard and keeping him safe and flying him places, but Steve had just waved him off. Had told him that it wasn’t that big a deal, and that most people took the public commute anyway — why should he be any different when he’s representing these people?

“Caf, Senator?”

The woman strolling her hovercart down the aisle is polite in the way that she smiles — a twi’lek. Her purple lekku adorned with the intricate markings of her people. It was something that Steve had always found himself interested in. How there are so many different living species who had their own cultures around the galaxy; so different and so similar all at once.

“Do you have sugar?”

She nods and hands him the portable packets. Steve reaches for the smooth rectangular credits in his pocket, places it in the outstretched palm of her hand, and watches as she moves on to the next couple of seat in front of him. He has a lot of work to do, and yet he can’t stop himself from just— people watching. Seeing how all these little families were as complex as his own being. Dealing with drama and love and death all the same.

Maybe that’s why he’s so worried about the current political climate; with the Separatists and the Republic at war, the Kaminoans have started the production of clones. It’s not the actual process that he’s against — he’s heard that it’s actually quite nice growing up on Kamino, that you get to be with your own ‘batch’ of brothers, who stick with you well into your life and the war — it’s the way that everyone else has been treating them. He knows that the other senators don’t see them as anything but cannon fodder. They wear a bounty hunter’s face. They’re not really humans. They’re like those strand-casts. They are not citizens of the Republic.

They weren’t exactly subtle with their views.

It didn’t matter how many times the men rallied and shouted for the Republic! as they sent themselves off into a losing battle. The senators were not changing their mind. And, well. Steve has a real fucking problem with that. He’s looked at the fine print that the Kaminoans have given the senate, and he’s seen the way citizens of the Republic, of core worlds, sneer at the men when they are off duty. Nothing good will come from this. Steve feels in his bones that they are only set to fail.

He just wishes there was more he could do for them. Go out to every single on of them and tell them you matter, you are different, you are individual, you are alive. Because he had met some of them, earlier on. He had met a group of clones, seen the way that they were all different, the way that they had come up with names for each other and themselves, acting as their own fathers for that of the bounty hunter who had left them behind.

(“And what’s your name?”

“CT-7742, sir.”

Steve turns to look at the rest of the men — their armour adorned with a deep blue, different markings on each piece of armour. Some of them look more professional than others, but the Kaminoans had told him that these clones were new. That they were only so young.

“And you?”

“CT-3301, sir.”

Steve smooths down his robe from where he stands. Do these men not get named? He knows that the Kaminoans don’t let them have, well, anything. But surely they’re allowed this? They’re allowed to be named?

“Do you only go by your designated number? I’m not going to tell the Kaminoans if you like to be called something else.”

“No, sir.” CT-3301 says. “We are only allowed to be addressed by out CT number, or our rank—”

“But what do you want?” Steve stressed. “I’m not here to sing the Kaminoans praises. I’m here to figure out what you want, and how you want to be represented. You deserve to have someone advocating for you in the senate, so I need to know exactly what you want. Not what you were told to say.”

He settles his hands back into their long sleeves, the navy colour reflecting off of the white armour of the men in front of them. Steve had been informed about the accelerated aging in the clones, and how it was meant to be a ‘good thing’. How these men that had been on missions, had been moulded to be soldiers, were only ten years old. The senate had shied away from that fact, away from the idea of child soldiers fighting to keep them safe, while having less rights than the vehicles that carted them around their fancy Coruscant apartments.

“Buddy.” CT-7742, Buddy, says. “The Jedi that we served under — he didn’t like the idea of calling us numbers, either. So would call me Buddy. And then it stuck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Buddy.” Steve nods, and smiles. “What about the rest of your batch?”

“Ace.”

“Sev.”

“Fetch.”

“Per.” He says. “Pronounced like the fruit, spelt without the ‘a’.”

“Because he wanted to be ‘special’.” Snorts Fetch.

“There’s already two other clones I know called Pear! I can’t just go around taking their name.”

“You know, my partner and I have very mundane names. There are over a thousand humans called Steve or Eddie.” Senator Harrington said. “So I think one out of three is pretty damn special. With or without the ‘a’.”).

They are as alive as any other being, in Steve’s mind. In his heart. And they needed to be recognised as such in the eyes of the public and the senate. For the men that he met, for the ones that he will never get the chance to.

Senator Cunningham was on his side for this. She was a stern believer in clone rights, despite never having met any of those who served, but not as vocal as Steve was. And he doesn’t blame her, really. Her reasons are as valid as they come, with the way that her partner influences her votes, the way that he commandeers her speeches, the way that her whole family aches of rot. There’s more to the Cunningham’s than what meets the eye, and from the small moments that he’s shared with Chrissy, he’s worried for her.

He sighs. This is all too much to be thinking of on a public commute. He needs to keep working on the draft for clone citizenship and realisation of them as living beings in the eyes of the council. He doesn’t need to go on a tangent that nobody will hear, that nobody will take the time to consider. Steve needed to be articulate and smart with his word choice — things had to be put plainly enough for him to gain the public vote, and nuanced enough that the senate saw his reasoning.

“Next stop, T-minus, two standard Coruscant rotations.” The droid’s voice whispers over the intercom.

It was gonna be a long ride.

— — —

“Steve?”

He grumbles, tucks his head further into the corner near his window seat.

“Stevie?”

He feels fingers through his hair, a warm laugh as a pushes himself closer to the touch.

“You know, for a senator, you’re pretty careless about your own safety. Not even a guard around here?”

“Eddie?”

“The one and only.”

Steve opens his eyes to find his partner, his lover, adorning the seat that used to be empty, beside him. He sees the way that his eyes are soft despite the tiredness surrounding his being, the way that his shoulders slump forward into Steve’s space — trying to give him parts of his own warmth. His time on Tattooine had tanned his skin, slightly, not as much as Steve’s natural tone was, but enough for him to not be as piercing as the Hoth weather. He’s missed this. Being able to touch. Being able to see each other in the colour that holos don’t provide.

Steve pushes himself up from his slumped position against the window and into Eddie’s space, revels in the way that he tucks his head into Steve’s shoulder.

“Missed you.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know you were going off-world? I would’ve asked Hop to pick you up and we could’ve gone together. Or I could have flown.”

“You’re a terrible pilot.” Eddie laughs, and the movement sends a comforting rumble down Steve’s spine.

“And you know that’s a lie. Self-projection isn’t the prettiest look on you, Eds.”

They seperate, and the stars from the window reflect against Eddie’s dark eyes. Sometimes they seem as if they are an endless inky pool — as wide and diverse as the universe itself. It’s cliche, Steve knows it is, because he’s read it in about every romance series on his datapad, or heard it be said in every holodrama. He should be able to come up with a better way to articulate it, what with his whole job being about convincing people with his words, but he can think of no other way to say it. Maybe it is cliche, but even with all the starmaps of the universe, he would still get lost in Eddie’s eyes.

“Force, you know how many clients gave me bantha crap for being a mechanic who couldn’t fly properly? It’s honestly ridiculous.” He does the same thing he always does when this is brought up. Eddie leans forward and then dramatically slams himself into the back of his seat, arms crossed, eyes rolling throughout the action.

“Well, maybe it’s time that you re-learnt how to fly?”

“I’ve got my republic-mandated license, thank you very much.”

“You’re actually lying out of your ass right now. We both know that the republic has tried — and failed — to mandate flying tests. There’s literally no such thing as a republic-mandated license.”

“S’not the only thing the Republic has failed to do, recently.” Eddie sighs.

Steve shifts in his seat watches as the they move passed the stars beside him. The warmth that Eddie offered through his layers, his flight suit, shirt and jacket, were still there, but there was a sense of finality to the way that he was speaking that said I know what is going to happen, I’m scared.

There was always a part of Steve that felt slightly responsible every time the senate made a decision that effected the Republic in a way that was horrible. On their weekly holo calls, they would try and avoid the topic of politics, because whenever it was brought up, Steve could see how it was wearing down on Eddie, who lived in the Outer Rim, and Steve has no doubt that Eddie could see how it was wearing down at himself, as he failed to deny the passing of a key bill.

He can’t escape it, now. Now that they’re face to face, with nobody else in this section of the starship commuter.

“You know about what’s happening with the war?” Steve asks, although he already knows the answer.

“How could I not?” Eddie huffs, and when Steve turns to look at him, he has a faraway look on his face that he saw reflected in some of the older clones. “It’s fucked, out at Tattooine. I didn’t want to worry you with everything going on, but—”

“I thought the attack wasn’t near the main town?”

“It’s everywhere.” Eddie says. “I know you can’t do anything about it — the Republic can’t do anything about it — but I couldn’t stay there. I mean, Force, Steve, I don’t really want to be fixing ships in the middle of nowhere for the rest of my life, you know? It’s good and easy and honest work, sure, but I’m not really doing anything. It’s all just— meaningless.”

“My door is always open. You could have just holo’d me and I would have come straight there—”

Eddie shakes his head. There’s a furrow between his brow that reads apologetic, and Steve just can’t understand why he would’t come to him for help. This was their plan for the long run for years. Eddie said that he wanted to work on Tattooine, gaining experience, knowing the Outer Rim as well as he possibly could, while Steve ran as King and then senator. And once they had saved up enough, and Eddie was tired of the two suns, or Steve was tired of arguing for his job, they would move in together.

Not on Tattooine, not on Coruscant, but somewhere nice that they would choose together to foster a new home. Somewhere that Eddie would find a job that he was content in, maybe somewhere like Sorgan, or somewhere that was close enough to Coruscant that Steve could take one hyperspace jump to the council. Maybe— he doesn’t know. Moving back to Naboo, if they have to.

But with everything going on — the war, the clones, the Kaminoans and the Separatists — Steve understands. He hates the way that Eddie didn’t try and tell him, but he knows how he is. Knows that he would have tried to convince him to stay in a place that he was getting sick of, to move to a place that was overcrowded and filled with stuffy suits and nepo-babies.

“You’re going.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, turns to look at Steve head-on. “You’re doing your part to help with the war from the council. I’ve seen the way you’ve advocated for those clones, Steve.”

“And you feel like you need to be doing more?” Steve asks, almost wishing it to be not true.

“Something like that,” Eddie sighs. “There was an opening — they need a mechanic to help teach some of the new clones the basics to their venators and other warships. I know my way around them since Wayne was so obsessed with what made them tick when I was younger.”

“I remember meeting him that first time, and all he wanted to talk about was looking at the ship I arrived on.” Steve reaches his hand across their shared armrest and tangles his fingers with Eddie’s. “Do you know where you’ll be stationed?”

“Someplace warm, they said.”

“Maybe they read your file and thought you couldn’t get enough sun.” Steve replies, hand brushing against the warm tones of Eddie’s cheek. He doesn’t want him to leave. He only just got him back — just got to see him in person for the first time in almost a year, and now he’s going to go to the front lines, with no promise of coming back.

“Those men you mentioned me to, that first time you met a batch of clones? Sev and Ace and Fetch and Buddy and—”

“—Per without an ‘a’?”

“Yes! The brief mentioned that they were going to be stationed with me. At least I’ll have some familiar faces, right?”

Steve smiles, pinches Eddie’s cheek. “The Republic would say that they’re all familiar.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

“Yes,” He says, as he looks down to the datapad balanced precariously on his lap. The auto lock had turned on, password protected for miles on end, but if he looks hard enough at the black screen he can imagine the words of the drafted bill searing themselves into his brain. “You couldn’t be more right.”

Steve knows why Eddie has to do this. Because it is the same reason that he has to make sure this bill passes. It is the same reason why Steve hasn’t changed his last name, yet, despite not having a good or healthy relationship with his parents. Names held power, families held power, and he knew this all too well. Steve, Senator Harrington, knows that he wouldn’t have received his position if it wasn’t for his service as King of Naboo, where he was elected through the grapevine of knowing names and titles that held a stupid amount of weight for so little syllables. His last name holds more worth than his words about the clones, right now, and he will milk that curséd name for all its damn value if it means the clones get even a slight chance at being recognised as alive.

Their names — names that are not recognised by those who created them, are only given by those who care enough to ask — are not even names. They are designations. They are numbers. They are ways that the Kaminoans and the Republic and the Jedi can keep track of how many soldiers they have, elect to move certain batch numbers to certain bases for the sake of ease and replenishing the ‘stock’ that they lost after each battle. It is how they have been alienated from their humanity to the public, the reason why they are seen as a worthy sacrifice or a sacrificial lamb.

“They mentioned you, you know?” Eddie says, fingers fidgeting their way between Steve’s. “That little mission to Kamino you went on a couple months back — it really left an impression on all of them.”

Steve nudges his shoulder, “You’re exaggerating. I was there for all of two days.”

“No! I’m serious.” Eddie rummages through his rucksack on the floor, pulling out his pristine datapad that he had only recently bought. It’s covered in flecks of Tattooine sand, and dust and smudges, but also stickers and drawings and a personalised case. There’s always something about Eddie’s belongings that makes Steve want to stare at them forever — like an intricate maze or puzzle that keeps giving and giving the more he looks at it. If his wasn’t council-sanctioned, he probably would have asked Eddie to help him decorate his, too.

Eddie flips through a couple images, and Steve watches over his shoulder as his face moves by — stills from their last holo talk, an image of the two suns setting, an interesting and (maybe) cute small creature, and then—

“Here!”

It’s an image, yes, but not like the others. It’s marked as saved, showing that Eddie wasn’t the one who took it, meaning that one of the clones Steve had met up with had been given Eddie’s contact. But the image it’s, well. It’s of their humble barracks on warm planet’s base. The bunkbeds look rickety, and the mattresses look lumpy, and somehow, despite the dirt and the small space, it looks infinitely more welcoming than their ‘home’ on Kamino did.

Sev and Ace are stood back to back, arms crossed, posing next to the neatly tucked in sheets, smiles on their faces despite the war. Steve can see the reflection of Fetch in the mirror hung by the bedposts, taking the image. Buddy and Per are each on one knee, hands raised and bracketing a poster of— of—

Him.

“What?”

Steve pulls Eddie’s datapad closer, zooms in on the image that the two men are proudly showcasing. It’s one of the in-council-session photos that must have been taken only a short while after he had visited them. His robes are the dark blue that mirrors their armour, and he looks angry. Steve’s hands are on the floating platform before him, sleeve running down to his wrists, hair tucked behind his ears with the Royal Nabooian gold jewellery of the King that he was gifted on full display: earrings and headpiece shimmering in the council’s light. There’s a set to his jaw as he glares up towards another platform— out of view. If he’s remembering correctly, it was towards the new Chancellor — the blonde one who had all these horrible ideas on the war, that everyone seemed to be accepting without reason.

In the first time that Steve can really see what people mean when they say he looks powerful, and not just because of a name he didn’t want.

“It’s not just Per and his batch, either. It’s actually quite a lot of the clones, if they’re not exaggerating.”

“Who sent the message?”

“Fetch.”

“Well,” Steve sighs — but not of contempt or exhaustion, no. It’s something else. Exhilaration? Determination? “Then I better believe it.”

Eddie uncurls Steve’s fingers from the datapad, turns it off and places it pack into the rucksack. “They all watch your speeches. I think they’re finally starting to realise what it’s like to have someone who wants to fight for them, without wanting anything back.”

Steve rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder, pretends not to find comfort in the way his hair still smells like the sun, pretends not to hurt at the realisation that his hair has grown longer since the last time they met in person. Was their life always going to be like this? Rotating suns and moons only meeting every millennia in some freak accident that was never, truly meant to be? Were they only to meet when the galaxies were ending, when they were at the beginnings and the middle of a war?

“The clones — all of them. They deserve so much more than this.”

It’s Steve’s way of saying I don’t want you to leave, but I know that there is nothing I can do to stop you. It is his way of saying you have such a large heart, and I wish it all belonged to me, but I know that you want to make as many people feel loved as you can. It is his way of saying I know.

And Eddie gets it. The same way Steve got it when he had to leave, first, when he was the catalyst of the long distance and the infrequent holos and the even more sparse in-person meetups, because of his kingship, because of his place on the senate.

There is too much to be said, but the droid’s voice over the intercom squirrels out a destination, a cold planet that Steve is underprepared for, that Eddie does not stop on, and their time is already up.

“Come back to me?” He asks, but he does not make him promise it, because Steve knows there is no way to truly make sure. Promises are worthless he had always been told. And yet, it still hurt when they were not fulfilled.

So he doesn’t make Eddie promise it. There is no way of knowing if he couple truly keep it.

“Always.” Eddie replies.

#stranger things april aus #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie #eddie x steve #steveddie #stranger things #more of the star wars au nobody (apart from one person) asked for!!#steddie star wars au #day five: flight au #aka: steve takes public transport because he wants to get work done #has a crisis about the clones #falls asleep #and then has his heart broken <3

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