#bo katan? mourning the death of din

[black-cat-babe]

*giggles excitedly* this is the most fucked up shit I've ever written

[kalevalakryze]

Bleed It Out

For Bo-Katan Week Day 6: Bo-Katan and The Armorer Pairing: Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer Characters: Bo-Katan Kryze, The Armorer, Din Djarin (mentioned), Axe Woves (mentioned) Warnings: NSFW, explicit, not safe for minors Word Count: 4,125 Notes: don't look at me, I realized I only wrote bosoka smut for this week, and I couldn't just not remedy that... AO3 Link: Here!

nsfw warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Sex on the Rougher Side, Spanking, Don’t Worry There Will Always Be Aftercare, Crying During Sex, But Not for Bad Things, You Ever Trust Someone So Much You Just Gotta Cry?, Or Miss Someone So Much You Have To Fight Everyone? Anxiety, Bo-Katan Is A Biter, Who Needs Thrown Around Sometimes

To say Bo-Katan got a little ‘antsy’ around the anniversary of Satine Kryze’s death and life days was an understatement. The entire week prior to both anniversaries would lead to progressive alcoholism and violent outbursts towards those closest to her.

Din Djarin had been on the receiving end of one of these outbursts not long after he’d arrived with Grogu. He had only been trying to help, had been trying to learn more and understand from the woman he called his Mand’alor and his friend. Yet, when he’s asked her what was troubling her, the woman had lashed out. She hadn’t attacked the man’s character or religion, but she had thrown insults, many of which couldn’t even apply to the man in the shining armor. When she’d shoved past him to exit the small Mandalorian bar they’d built in the ruins of Sundari, her pauldron had scraped across his chest, leaving a streak of blue across the metal with the force she’d used to shoulder past him.

He had been receptive to her reaction of his presence and had to change his plans to go to the forge to buff the streak out. It was there he’d seen The Armorer and had questioned her on the Mand’alor’s state. She hadn’t known, of course, she’d taken notice, but had yet to voice her concerns. It was in the form of Axe Woves that they’d learned of her annual devolution of her convictions.

The Armorer had helped Din repair his armor, before sending everyone away from the forge, with the mission to find the woman and send her that way. The Armorer could understand the tension in the woman, but she needed to help her find some way to let it off, before she went after more than just Din, who she was lucky enough to have been a very understanding person.

It took a few good hours before anyone had been able to get a hold of her, and she’d heard over the comm channels that Axe would be in the med bay for the night.

When the woman entered the forge, her boots landed heavy on the stone, her helmet covered the way her face was no doubt twisted in irritation. When she came to a stop just feet away from The Armorer, it was with a defiant jut of her hips and her chin raised, shoulders squared and muscles tense, like she was waiting for the most opportune moment to start a physical altercation.

“You called?” There was a strain in her voice, as if civility was physically painful. The Armorer did not doubt that it could have been, if the volatile energy that was brimming just over the surface was anything to go by.

“I hear Axe Woves will be spending the night in the infirmary,” she started, shifting her attention away from her workstation to focus intently on the woman before her.

“He shouldn’t have touched me,” the woman defended herself with a snap, body weight rocking on her heels. “He had it coming,”

“He shouldn’t have, this is true. And yet, you should not have responded by attacking him,” the woman’s foot moved forward, though The Armorer’s hand raised to both stop her advance and stop her rebuttal. “Whatever your feelings about the Duchess Satine’s death, reacting in anger is no way to mourn,”

“You don’t get to tell me how to mourn my sister,” Bo snapped, fingers flexing into tight fists. It was clear that the Mandalorian was ready to snap, that she was looking for somebody who would give her a proper fight. The Armorer was not loathe to the fact that it would be her to spur the coming altercation.

“You are mourning a woman who could barely be considered Mandalorian. A woman who gave up her armor and way of life, and then pushed it on to everyone else, banning those who did not wish to conform. Is she worth wasting the breath, now?”

Bo-Katan’s windup was fast, just enough to register in The Armorer’s brain and give her body a moment to tense. Her head snapped to the side, shuffling backwards to regain her balance with the force of the woman’s fist crashing into her face. “You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Venom dropped from her voice, fingers flexing from the spasming of muscle in her hand. There would forever be permanent damage from the way her hand had been broken, leading to what could be considered a merciful punch, despite the way it still had hit like getting kicked by a Bantha.

The next punch was met with empty air as The Armorer moved around her fist to land her own blow into the woman’s chest. The woman was sent off kilter, but responded in turn with her foot kicking out into the leather padding of The Armorer’s shin.

Blue dodged out of the way of the grappling attempts from gold, feet and fists lashing out between the two women. The Armorer stayed silent as she moved around a leg sweep, her elbow driving into the hard metal on Bo-Katan’s back, thanking whatever power led to the woman leaving her jetpack at home for the day.

Bo-Katan lost her footing at the downward pressure applied to the small of her back, a feral sounding growl leaving her helmet’s vocoder as she stumbled. The Armorer pulled up against the woman the moment she found an opening, forcing her arms under Bo-Katan’s elbows, locking behind her back, and then forcing the woman into her workbench with a loud slam, the wooden legs of the table creaking with the force the Mand’alor was shoved into it.

Bo twisted and turned, writhing to find some way to break the impenetrable hold. Her hips bucked back against The Armorer, who leaned her body into her to keep her pinned, her feet kicking into her shins, stomping on her boots, and catching on her apron in her vain attempts to free herself.

When The Armorer tried moving both of Bo-Katan’s wrists to one hand, the woman managed to free herself. The bench moved back with the force of the woman shoving herself away from the pin, when she turned, her foot raised to plant firmly into The Armorer’s gut and shove her back.

The uppercut that The Armorer retorted with was enough to have Bo-Katan’s head snapping back, the pressure seal of her helmet breaking with the force of it and leaving the armor askew and clouding her gaze. There was no gentleness in the way Bo-Katan removed her helmet and threw it to the floor, where it scraped across the stone and jagged rock formations that littered the inside of the forge.

Her hair was a mess, her cheeks reddened, lips dry and chapped from the heavy breathing that moved her entire chest. Her eyes held an intense anger, though the thrill and excitement of being evenly matched was clear. Purple bruises were already forming along the pale skin of her jaw and cheek, with darker purpling closest to her cheekbone where the helmet had bashed into her face with the hit.

Bo’s arms spread, urging The Armorer to swing again. When she did just that, Bo managed to force her knee up into The Armorer’s stomach with force, keeping her doubled over enough that she’d put a hand on the top of her helmet and shoved her backwards.

With the space created between them, the two warriors began circling each other, Bo, with a snarl on her lips, and The Armorer, with a practiced indignation. When she’d passed her workbench once more, the blacksmith slid her hammer from the surface, hefting its weight in her hand as they continued their walk. This seemed to only excite the fiery woman more, as the vibroblade inside her gauntlet unsheathed quickly.

When they met again, it was with metal meeting metal, knife meeting hammer. With the proximity, Bo-Katan had managed to kick into The Armorer’s bad knee, sending her down to one knee and causing her to drop her weapon. In the next second, the woman’s boot found her chest plate and kicked her to the floor.

“Get up,” Bo rasped as she put distance between them again. She was tiring, but the anger still vibrated the core of her being, keeping her blood burning as she kicked the hammer back to The Armorer as she raised on her knees.

The Armorer’s leg wobbled from the hit, a decade old pain shooting from her knee and leaving her leg practically locked. She took up her hammer once more, testing its weight with her flared up knee injury, staring down the bellicose woman across from her.

Teeth bared, Bo-Katan charged once more, the hammer swung into her side, but to no avail, without being able to put her full weight on her leg, she wasn’t able to put enough power behind the swing to divert her course. The redhead slammed into her with the force of a hundred mythosaurs, leaving The Armorer just enough time to dodge her head out of the way of the bladed gauntlet aimed towards her visor.

She’d have to call it, but Bo-Katan was very much out for blood, pushing herself far enough to chase her anger and her thrill. Over exerting herself, The Armorer jammed her knee upwards as the redhead moved to straddle her. Their positions were reversed in short order, both panting, hot breath filling her helmet as blood and spittle dripped from the Mand’alor’s mouth.

With enough of a struggle to have her wheezing, The Armorer managed to roll Bo-Katan onto her stomach, forcing one arm behind her back, while carefully avoiding the blade in the gauntlet, and forcing her other arm against the ground. It was a struggle to remove the grappling wire from the armor with one hand, but she wasn’t an expert in her craft for nothing.

Once the length of grappling wire was removed, she started forcing the redhead’s other arm behind her back. Bo-Katan kicked and tried to throw her off, but the woman was heavier, and she’d worn herself out, her muscles aches and screamed their protests with each contraction as she writhed.

The wire was wrapped tight from her wrists, halfway up her forearms, locked in tight with the grapple hook. Bo-Katan seethed beneath her, insults in a mixture of languages, basic, mando’a, huttese, even the growls and grunts of Tusken left the older woman as she tried to free herself.

As she struggled, and The Armorer fought to regain herself while keeping the woman pinned, the woman was able to decipher the confusing insults: none of them had been directed towards the people she’d lashed out at, but herself, instead. “Lady Kryze,” she tried to call, one last attempt to soothe the inferno that was the youngest Kryze sister.

Her hand reached around to try and still her writhing head, to stop her forehead from smashing into stone. Instead, she was met with the feeling of sharp teeth sinking into the thick leather of her glove, a stinging pressure behind four too-sharp-to-be-human canines, and the warm mixture of blood and spit soaking into her glove.

Her other hand reached away from bound wrists to tangle into sweat damp hair, yanking back hard enough to have the woman yelling out, releasing the hand in her mouth as her head was wrenched backwards.

The woman’s writhing form stilled for as long as The Armorer kept her hair pulled in her fist, the woman’s response to the painful stimuli was telling, and while it was something they’d talked about when this had first begun between them, The Armorer had yet to see Bo-Katan in such a state.

She was used to burning herself out in these fits of anger, would fight anyone who got close enough until no one would come near her, and then take several days to recover, no one had ever stuck around long enough to attempt to aid in releasing the violent energy (not that she’d wanted them to, there wasn’t anyone she’d ever really trusted like this, to give back what she put down, and still offer some sort of care in return). The Armorer’s weight shifted once more, sliding off the redhead’s back. With a violent shake, the taller woman tried to break her bonds, to no avail.

The Armorer hauled her up by the wrists, before she found herself once more slammed into the workbench. The kicking and squirming resumed, though each hit that landed felt like nothing as the woman spent herself on the thought of freedom.

She preferred to take her time with the woman, to go slow enough and give her a clear way out each time, instead, with her hand reburied in Bo-Katan’s hair and pressing her face into the cool metal of the work bench, The Armorer levelled her head near a red-tipped ear. “You are going to tell me if I have to stop, and you are going to get the attitude fixed,” She growled, low and venomous in her ear.

Bo-Katan growled and bucked back against her. “Go fuck yourself,” she snarled, even as she arched her back and pressed her hips up into the warm hips that kept her against the table. The anger was still palpable, but there was no doubt that the arousal was there, that the wire digging into her flight suit and scratching the paint on her gauntlets didn’t do something to her.

There was no one she trusted enough to fight like this, and even less people she trusted to bind her arms uselessly behind her back like this. Even through the cloudy haze of seething anger, Bo-Katan could still recognize the relative safety of the situation.

Her armor was tossed away with as much care as her helmet was., her flight suit ripped at the clasps, only the upper half of anything remained, the leather holsters attached to her belt hung loose against shaking, sweat and slick damp thighs. The ripped remains of her flight suit pooled uselessly around her greaves and ankles. When cool air met flushed skin and a warm cunt, the woman clenched around nothing.

The Armorer did not bother to wait, not with how violently the woman was contortioning herself to keep fighting. She yanked off her glove in one fluid motion, before shifting to stuff the leather in Bo-Katan’s mouth, leaving the woman confused when she’d snapped at the prospect of digging her teeth into flesh again, and met only the thick softness of leather filling her mouth, without the promise of flesh and blood inside.

Two bare fingers slipped into the Mand’alor, who groaned and growled against the glove in her mouth. She could spit it out, if she’d truly wanted, though, between the lewd squelching of her fingers setting a brutal pace against Bo-Katan’s cunt, she could hear the creaking of the leather in her mouth as she’d chewed on the thick hide. Drool dripped from the corner of the redhead’s lips, while her hips bucked back into the harsh pace that was set.

When The Armorer’s fingers slipped from her spasming cunt, Bo-Katan’s forehead dropped against the metal of the table with a hard thunk, her foot once more trying to land a substantial hit back against The Armorer’s bad knee.

Instead of sending The Armorer down once more, Bo-Katan was met with a sharp sting against her ass and the sound of flesh smacking against flesh ringing in her ears. She’d gasped hard against the glove in her mouth, back arching as her ass raised into the air.

The next smack was expected, but the relief and arousal was not minimized one bit. Tears sprang to her eyes at the register of pain, though she did not let one fall, even as The Armorer set a pace that involved dipping her fingers into her cunt, only to retrieve them and smack her ass again. Red marks painted her backside, from the bottoms of her thighs, to the seat of her ass, though each time the palm of The Armorer’s hand smacked against her absolutely soaked cunt, Bo-Katan’s writhing would increase tenfold. The tears started to fall by the fifth repeat of the torturous pleasure, until she was breathing in deep, muffled gasps from behind the glove. Cheeks painted as deep a red as her ass, pupils blown wide, and a mix of blood and drool in a nearly dry river from the corner of her lips.

When The Armorer’s fingers dug back in, there were three nimble digits to spread her out. Her hips jutted back into each rough thrust, with her tongue, she pushed the glove from her mouth, letting it fall against the workbench with a wet thunk. Her breaths came heavy and uncontrolled, chest heaving and arms pulling at tight restraints as she lost herself to the rhythm of fingers curling into the textured coil inside, on the fires that spread from the knot in her stomach all the way.

“Ekur ni,” Bo’s command came out raspy, hesitance thick, despite the anger ebbing into the tone.

The Armorer responded smoothy, her free hand moving from the back of Bo-Katan’s neck to curl around her throat. Pressure was applied to the front of her throat, causing the woman’s eyes to roll to the back of her head, her walls clamping down on The Armorer’s fingers as her orgasm crested the horizon. Each breath came in a restricted wheeze, though the woman rode herself hard back on The Armorer’s fingers with each breath.

She could feel the moment the fight had finally left her body, released with the slick that coated The Armorer’s fingers and the insides of her thighs, when she went to remove her hand from the woman’s throat, there was a quiet command of “Don’t,” Too quiet to hear, she would have missed it if she hadn’t been watching her face so intently for some signal of discomfort.

The Mand’alor kept herself leaned into the hand that was cutting off her air, even after the other woman’s fingers slid from her cunt, she seemed lost in the world of her own wheezing breaths. Wiping off the mess from her fingers onto the ripped back of Bo-Katan’s flight suit, The Armorer started to categorize each injury on the both of them, as far as she could look still leaned over Bo and holding her throat in the palm of her hand.

“I am going to let go now,” The Armorer warned, once the redhead’s eyes started to cloud and each breath grew more of a struggle to take. She was gentle in releasing her bruised throat, guiding her head to rest on the table instead of letting it smack against the metal once more.

From her position, she could see the dark bruises that covered the front and sides of shaking thighs, along with the red-hot sting of abused flesh across the backs of her thighs and her ass. Shoving up part of her flight suit, The Armorer prodded the bruised skin across her ribcage, frowning to herself when she felt the displacement among her ribs. The Armor should have protected her from the swing of the hammer, though they had fought quite a while, and the edge of the table had found the already damaged space on more than one occasion.

Bo-Katan stayed limp against the table, allowing The Armorer’s hands to roam across her spent body, her breaths still coming in deep and uncontrolled. When she was sure the older woman would not lash out again, the wire around her wrists was carefully undone and tossed to the side with her discarded armor. The fabric around the cable had ripped and torn into flesh with the Mand’alor’s struggling, though the woman did not seem phased by any of it.

“You’ll take care of me..?” Bo-Katan rasped as The Armorer started to peel away the rest of her armor and ruined flight suit, shifting with each tap against her body as fabric and armor was pulled away.

“Always,” The Armorer promised fervently, her bare thumb pressing into the damp skin on the insides of her wrist. “How is your hand?” She questioned as she pressed into the curled up extremity. Without her glove, the bruising and swelling was substantial, fingers twitching with every press into damaged tissue, though she was unable to straighten any of her fingers.

Bo-Katan went silent once more, body lax against the table as The Armorer waited for a response. “Mesh’la,” She called, raising a hand to card through and straighten out her hair, wincing to herself at the strands of hair that came free with her hand.

There was a quiet, keening sound from the woman who’d pressed her face against the cool table. The quiet sniffle and near hyperventilative breath had worried The Armorer, who caught the wet shine of tears pooling down her face and dripping onto the table, the small pool streaming to the edge of the caving in table in thin rivulets.

“Cyar’ika,” She tried again, as Bo-Katan’s body shook with a mixture of emotion and exhaustion.

“Don’t want to talk,” She whispered into the metal, before she started to shift her body just enough to push herself up on shaking arms.

The Armorer nodded her head in understanding, shifting back to allow the woman to rise up once more and to aid her in turning around to face her. The Armorer then assisted the Mand’alor into jumping back up onto the table, though they were both immediately hit with the startled yelp of pain from the woman, who’d leaned as much of her weight into the woman in front of her to ease off her ass.

“Let me help you to the room,” The Armorer spoke after a few moments of Bo-Katan’s heavy breathing in her ear. When Bo nodded, The Armorer helped her up once more. Truthfully, they’d both leaned on each other for support as The Armorer led the way to the small room that occupied the great forge. Bo-Katan stood bonelessly against the wall beside the door, watching The Armorer move around with tired eyes.

They kept everything they needed in the room, from bacta, to sedatives (a long story), to any other item they may need, including extra clothes and flight suits. With the small fire lit and casting dancing shadows across the room, The Armorer went about gathering supplies.

“Come,” She called once she settled against the edge of the bed, her leg spread out to take pressure off her knee. Bo came obediently to stand between her legs, her nose crinkling at the sharp smell of bacta invading her nostrils. Generous amounts of patches and salve were spread across damaged skin, and a scan was taken over her ribs with the small handheld device that confirmed the crack. “You are going to take it easy, six weeks, at least,” The Armorer spoke with no room for argument, leaving the woman to simply nod in a quiet understanding.

There was a small shift in the woman, before Bo-Katan was being tugged gently and guided across her lap. The pliable woman allowed herself to be moved, relishing in the moment to press her sweaty forehead against the hot/cold feeling of her apron. A cool sensation numbed away the stinging heat of her backside, applied with more care than Bo-Katan figured she’d deserved, enough to nearly bring tears to her eyes once more.

When she was finished, Bo-Katan, still pliant as ever, allowed The Armorer to shift and move her around as she pleased, until she was resting back in the soft furs and the downy sheets from Coruscant. The Armorer did not lay back with her, which rose a sound of argument from the exhausted redhead.

“My leg,” Was the only response Bo-Katan received, though she’d understood easy enough. She had landed a pretty solid hit to her weak point, she’d doubted it would feel much better without heaps of bacta either.

“Do you need help?” She questioned, even knowing she would be turned down. The most she’d seen of the woman’s skin had been of strong hands, hardened by a long life of work. It was truly an honor to see as much of the woman, one she would never believe she was worthy of, but one she would never take for granted.

“I need you to rest, Mesh’la,” The Armorer’s voice was soft as she reached to card her fingers through Bo-Katan’s hair until the woman’s eyes drifted closed, the crackling of the fire and the soft sound of the woman’s voice reciting old poems giving her a serene soundscape to fall asleep to.

Translations: -mesh’la – beautiful -cyar’ika – darling, sweetheart -ekur ni – choke me

[awholelottayeehaw]

Mando Finale Thots (Spoilers Below Cut)

I was honestly disappointed with the Season Finale. Was it fun? Sure. Did it have everything I ever wanted for Din and the gang? Almost. But this is why I can't be happy with what we got:

What happened to Paz?? If he died this heroic death why was he never brought up again? I'm glad his son got his baptism finally but like... what about his dad's funeral?? You're telling me that Din wouldn't be mourning the loss of his childhood rival?? Either Paz isn't dead and will make a return next season in a villainous role or the writing was weaker than white people's tolerance to spice

What was the point of the Dr. Pershing episode?? It took precedence over the premiere AND the finale yet nothing came of it?? That whole episode could've been a fucking email if it wasn't that important to the season's overall plot

What happened to the armor the Armorer gave to Grogu?? It was never brought up again and you can't tell me Season 2 and BOBF Din WOULDN'T have been sobbing under his bucket upon seeing it. Also, who bathes Grogu?? Din is a parent is he allowing his son to be a stinky stank and that's how he never saw the armor?? Whack.

How could the darksaber, an ancient indestructible weapon that is capable of slicing through beskar... be defeated in a Ghetto Stomp. Either that wasn't the real darksaber or they got lazy and tossed a major SW artifact out the window because it no longer serves them and they wanted the easy way out hoping no one would notice

Why was everyone suddenly okay with Bo-Katan?? She's a racist terrorist who not once had gone in depth or atoned for her war crimes and I'm genuinely disturbed that people chose to forget that. It's like cheering on Hitler because you liked him as a person outside of his political beliefs. I wanted Bo's redemption to be fulfilling while holding her accountable cause like what the actual fuck how is anyone okay with Bo's leadership after so many failed attempts and lies

The build up was to show that Gideon is so full of himself he had to clone himself?? I doubt that was the big reveal, what they saw in the lab on Navarro wasn't Gideon. I refuse to believe they needed Grogu just to make a more OPed version of Gideon. Gideon isn't stupid why would he clone himself with powers he doesn't have when he knows he'd just overthrow himself? That was bait and I'm not buying that or that he's dead that was a clone

Whomst the fuck wasn't watching Grogu and how did he manage to save Din without being detected????

The Mythosaur deserved better. I'm glad it's getting it's centuries long nap in, but I still refuse to believe the darksaber or Din being a himbo was the reason for her seeing it and then barely remembering to mention it again in the end like if it doesn't come back I'm suing Disney

Why was Din made out to be such a damsel until it was convenient? You're telling me this man easily passed out sinking to the bottom of a historic well despite knowing how to swim and his armor being canonically light, but was able to take down half an army by himself?? Din in the finale was the Din I knew who would never have perished from just being a dumb ass not watching his step. Even Grogu conveniently using the force after refusing to all season felt cheap and you can't change my mind

It's great Din adopted Grogu and all but he still hasn't called him his son?? Just his apprentice?? We spent three seasons with everyone else calling Grogu his son and Din his father but the titular character can't?? Where was that cuddly fatherhood from season 2 and episode 1 of this season? He's been treating Grogu like a nephew at most and I just... give me my space dad back

And why did they name drop Dooku but not Satine? What were the stakes? Why is there a season 4 when there's nothing that really needs to be said or done? Going back to the space western season 1 and 2 promised is fantastic but like... at what cost? Are they going to pretend season 3 never happened? Will it all be a dream? Will the peace be destroyed and Din and Grogu need to save Mandalore themselves and the galaxy with the friends they made along the way???

[morganwrites-starwars]

Time is a social construct pt. 8

Mandalorian Time Travel AU

Summary: Din is trying his best, ok? But between trying to find a teacher for his magic kid and learning there were other Mandalorians who follow a different creed, Din is very confused and lost. So when he ends up on a plant that his HUD says is Manda’yaim and encounters two teens on the run from a group of dar’mandas called Death Watch, Din figures he way as well help them. He never meant to adopt them. Or become Mand’alor.

Note:  This chapter is shorter than I prefer, but I like the ending point, so we’re just going to go with it.  

Masterlist

<Back/Next>

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            They didn’t talk about it till the following day. Obi-wan said he needed to mediate before having any further conversation. Din asked if that was something Grogu was supposed to do, and Obi-wan had looked resigned to being Din’s Jedi expert.

         “He can join in a little while if he wants,” Obi-wan said before returning to his room. Thirty minutes passed before Din asked Satine how long mediating usually took.

         She shrugged. “It varies. I’m guessing it’ll take longer today with everything.”

         Din had gone with the answer and decided to get Grogu late meal. The kid was unusually quiet as he ate his jerky, repeatedly glancing at the door to the bedroom Obi-wan was in. When he was done, Grogu walked over to the door. Din quickly got up and followed him so he could open the door lest Grogu tried to use the Force to throw something at the controls.

         Din saw Obi-wan sitting on the floor of the room with his eyes closed. The teen smiled when Grogu came over but otherwise didn’t move.

         “This ok?” Din asked, watching as Grogu settled on the floor across from Obi-wan.

         “Yes.”

         With the confirmation, Din let the door close. Din gathered some food to eat and headed to his room. Before he opened the door, Satine spoke.

         “I know we aren’t talking about it tonight,” she said quietly, “But I have one question. You probably don’t know, but I need to ask.”

         “Go ahead,” Din prompted.

         “My family- my little sister,” Satine said, looking at Din with sad eyes. “We don’t get along very well, but I love her and, and I-“

         “Want to know if she’s ok?” Din guessed, already feeling bad about the unlikeliness Din knew Satine’s sister.

         “Yes. So, do you know anything of a Bo-Katan Kryze?”

         Din was stunned for a moment. “Actually, yes. I do.” Satine looked hopeful. “She told me where to find one of the last Jedi. She leads some other Mandalorians. Apparently, she’s planning to take Mandalore back.”

         Satine slumped like a puppet whose strings were cut. “Oh, thank the Manda.”

         “She’s a brave woman and a good fighter,” Din added, still a little confused about how Bo-Katan was Satine’s sister. They were very different people.

         Satine’s smile was small and a little bitter. “She has never been a fan of pacifism. But I am just happy she does well for herself.”

         There wasn’t anything Din could add to the conversation, so he left Satine to her thoughts and ate his dinner. Once he finished, he decided to clean and check over his helmet while he was alone.

         It had been about 15 minutes since Din entered his room when there was a knock on the door. Din put his helmet on and called the person in.

         Obi-wan was standing in the doorway with a fast-asleep Grogu in his arms. Din couldn’t help but chuckle at the small snores coming from his son.

         “He fell asleep while meditating,” Obi-wan said sheepishly. Din gestured for Obi-wan to lay Grogu on the bed.

         “Must mean he’s ok,” Din guessed, watching fondly as Grogu immediately curled up once placed on the bed. Obi-wan pulled the sheet up to cover him.

         “Yeah,” Obi-wan muttered.

         “And you?” Din asked. “Me’vaar ti gar?”

         Obi-wan shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, none of that stuff had happened yet, and maybe I can help it not happen. And it feels silly to mourn for people who aren’t even dead. But…”

         “But they’re your aliit,” Din said gently. “And the thought of something bad happening to them hurts.”

         “Yeah.” Obi-wan sniffed but did not start crying. They both looked at Grogu for a silent moment. “I think you were right when you said you and Grogu were sent here for a reason.”

         “Yeah?”

         “Yeah.” Obi-wan smiled slightly. “I think the Force is trying to give us a second chance.”

         “And why do you think that?”

         “When I was meditating, I asked the Force why- why it gave me those visions, why you and Grogu were here. When I considered the idea of changing the future, it felt right. There’s no good way to explain it.”:

         “I don’t know about the Force, but I do know that very few things are true coincidences,” Din offered. Obi-wan smiled again, bigger this time.

         “It’s funny. Acting on my visions, trying to change the future is the exact opposite of what my master has always told me to do.”

         “Master?” Din asked, slightly concerned. Satine had confirmed that Obi-wan was a Jedi, but the only people who used the term ‘master’ were slaves, as far as Din knew.

         “Oh, my teacher,” Obi-wan chuckled.

         “Jetii call their teachers master?” Din asked skeptically.

         “Yeah, it’s a respectful term used for older Jedi who have a mastery of the Force.” Obi-wan winced. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was a Jedi.”

         “Don’t be,” Din waved off the apology. “The first thing I was told about Jedi was that they were enemies. I can guess you had a similar experience.”

         “More like to be wary around Mandalorians, but the younger you were, the better off you’d be.” Obi-wan shrugged. Din noticed the slump in Obi-wan's shoulders.

         “Why don’t you eat and get some rest,” Din suggested. “Going to be a long day tomorrow.”

         Obi-wan was silent for a moment as he looked at Grogu. Then, he nodded and said goodnight. Din stayed with Grogu, watching his ad’ika face scrunch in sleep. Gently, Din stroked a finger down Grogu’s ear. Grogu twitched

         Looking back on Din’s life, it was funny that he’d never been interested in having a child of his own. Yes, he loved the children of his covert, but having one of his own? It hadn’t been in the books.

         When Din was first adopted, he’d asked his buir what made them adopt Din. His buir had chuckled and replied, “When I first saw you, I knew in my heart you were mine.”

         Din had never really understood that until he met Grogu. No matter how often he told himself Grogu would be gone soon, his heart insisted that this little green Jedi was his ad’ika. He would gladly walk through hellfire if it would make Grogu smile. And here he was, doing the impossible and changing the future for the kid.

         It wouldn’t change the horrors Grogu has seen. But maybe whatever baby version of Grogu was out there (if there was? Din didn’t know how that worked out. Would there be a baby Din born soon?) would be spared the pain and be able to grow up to be a happy Jedi. And Maybe Din would be able to spare whatever fate Obi-wan and Satine had endured. Maybe Din could save his family and save his people.

         Just maybe.

         He’d probably already changed the future just by interacting with Obi-wan and Satine. But that was a wormhole of thought Din didn’t feel like thinking about (like would he have to make sure his buir meets young him? Was that even possible? Would Din just not be a Mandalorian in this timeline? Wasn't that a paradox or something?)

         There was a soft knock at the door. Satine opened the door and smiled softly at Din.

         “Do you want me to stay up first?” She asked quietly.  Din thought about it. He was tired, but Satine had just gotten a big shock too.

         “No. I’ll do it,” Din answered.

         “Ok,” Satine said. “But get me for second watch. I think Obi-wan needs all the rest he can get.”

         “Got it.” Din examined Satine, noticing a red tinge in her eyes. “How are you doing?”

         Satine frowned and rubbed her arm. “I- Can I get back to you an that?”

         “Sure. But, uh, if you need to talk, I’ll be here,” Din offered awkwardly. Satine smiled again, seemingly amused at his awkwardness.

         “Ok.”

         “Ok. Uh, jate ca, Satine.”

         “…jate ca, Din.” 

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·  

Masterlist

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Mando'a translations:

jate ca- good night

[pencilscratchins]

rebecca PLEASE could you share more details about your bo-katan/fennec headcannons? sincerely, a lesbian dying to write fanfic of star wars wlw who was delighted by your clone wars zine

the entire purpose of that zine, actually, was to scam people into getting invested in fennec/bo katan so they get more content made SKSKS

so, fennec and bo are both in their mid to late 20′s around the events of the Clone Wars, and we know that by the time of the Bad Batch, fennec is already a pretty established mercenary. i feel like fennecs one of those people who’s always just been competent and straightforward-- at the same time, she clearly got a sense of irony sksks.

bo katan is clearly already a member of the death watch, which means they both are running in the circles of the Shadow Collective.

i’m thinking they probably met when fennec is hired for a job that corresponds with a Death Watch mission; fennec’s probably contracted to take a hit out on someone they’re also tracking, and since pre vizsla just wants the job done, he’s like “we’re all work together” but tells bo katan to keep a close eye on fennec.

(actual fic writers, I’m sure, can create a real mission for them but i am a village idiot and therefore, simply present what few beans i can grow in the barren soil that is my brain)

personality wise, they aren’t exactly compatible LMAO bo katan is... well Bo Katan All The Time, which is not exactly easy to hang with lMAOO. fennec thinks she’s a self righteous hard ass; and bo katan thinks fennec is a disrespectful dick.

that does not change the fact that there is 100% very thick sexual tension between the two of them. 

like, we know canonically that bo katan can be a little flirty and you think that she’s gonna be around 1990’s ming na wen and be able to not flirt with her once? i know shes a strong woman, but she’s still human, damn

so they don’t like each other, but boy golly, do they end up pressed against a lot of walls in tense situations, or arguing in very close quarters. and i mean, they both got competency kinks clearly. and they do fight well together- bo is confrontational and fennec doesn’t miss a shot, so they’re sorta unstoppable. 

they complete that mission and don’t hook up yet (maybe they kiss idk) but pre vizsla is impressed by fennec so he considers her an ally, and tells her to contact them if she ever needs back up and shes like “i dont ever need back up.

bo kinda thinks that’s the end of it, they likely wont ever meet again, but after that mission: they keep running into each other. on missions, in bars, in jail, one memorable time.

After maybe the third or fourth time they run into each other, fennec makes a move to which bo is like “i’m not interested in a relationship with you. i dont even like you as a person,” and fennec’s like “??? who said anything about liking each other, are you or are you not trying to bone?” and that’s a pretty salient point so then they bone

~ romance ~

like they’re not enemies to lovers, they’re just nemesis's AND lovers LMAOO

Then on out, they hook up anytime they see each other and over the years, things soften between them. they never want anything more, relationship wise, but they become something resembling friends.

that’s just the nature of knowing someone that long, i think. fennec sees bo mourn her sister, bo sees fennec get seriously hurt on the job for the first time; they see each other through the beginnings of the purge and the war. sex becomes less about getting in and out of there fast, and they start hanging out afterwards. talking.

eventually, they are friends. But they’re still living two very separate lives; bo katan has to face life after the mandalorian purge and becomes more and more certain of her need to reclaim the throne of mandalore. fennec’s jobs are coming more and more from the empire and she’s doesn’t feel right about seeing bo after those jobs. besides, her reputations growing and suddenly, she’s a hot ticket assassin.

they drift apart and lose contact- it happens. there’s a war going on. neither like to think of it for too long, honestly.

Cut to, Din introducing his group of vaugbounds to each other and bo being like “we’ve met, :/” Din’s like “??” fennec’s just happily like “oh, we boned on and off for like 15 years. What’s cracking, bo?”

[theewokingdead]

Kyr'tsad

Chapter 8 of “Another Way”

{Chapter List}

Kyr'tsad - [KEERT-sahd] - Death Watch (lit. Death Society) - breakaway Mandalorian sect Summary: You and Din come across some unexpected allies on Lothal before confronting Bo-Katan about the future of Mandalore. Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ ONLY. Words: 11.6k Warnings: Language, Rebels and Clone Wars spoilers if you care (concerning Bo-Katan and Mandalore), mention of canon violence, fighting, smut, roleplaying, dominate Din, female masturbation, oral sex (male receiving), ejaculating on breasts. A/N: A character from Star Wars Rebels enters the fold. There are mentions of events from Clone Wars and Rebels to establish the history of Mandalore as well as the history of Bo-Katan’s character, but you don’t need to know either show to understand. Sorry this took so long! I have two young kids who make it impossible to write sometimes.

Sitting in the passenger seat of Slave II, watching Din insert the coordinates for Lothal, you feel a slight sense of mourning over the fact that your wedding trip is over, just a thing of the past. It’s been days since you last boarded the ship for your journey to and from Aq Vetina, and though you had once become so accustomed to ship life, your time on Naboo reminded you how wonderful it is to be somewhere, anywhere but the confines of a ship as it hurls itself through cold, dark space. The warmth of the sun, the coolness of the night breeze, a bed bigger than a sardine can, a mattress more comfortable than a rock. You have no idea when you’ll have those things again.

“I meant it when I said we’d return one day,” Din assures you. He must’ve noticed that you're staring longingly out the window, trying to soak up every bit of the planet before it disappears.

“I know,” you respond with a smile. “But how different will our lives be when we return?”

You know you won’t be back anytime soon.  There’s much to do, and it wasn’t going to easy. Reuniting scattered survivors of a fractured culture, reclaiming a land that would likely need rebuilt, reinforcing it so they Empire never reclaims it again. The thought is terrifying. To make matters worse, you feel like you have ticking time bomb inside of you, one which will explode into your life in a matter of months. You worry about whether you’ll have time to prepare for the baby at all. Most expectant mothers need only worry about prepping a nursery. You can’t even begin to think about creating a special space for the baby without first having a stable planet to put it on.

What will Mandalore even have to offer? Boba had said the land was inhospitable from war. You know the planet consisted of domed cities. What would living in them mean? Would there be fresh air and grass and plants? Or would you feel that you’re living inside some sort of large-scale box? It’s nothing you can’t adjust to, just as you adjusted to life on the Razor Crest and Slave II, but you’d hope your child – your children – would be able to experience so much more.

But what if the domed cities are gone too? What if the Empire left literally nothing behind? What if the people don’t want to be reunited? At one point, if any, would Din say “fuck this” and just walk away? Would Bo-Katan even let him? Would she finally decide to fight him for the Darksaber?

And what then? Where do you both go? What do you do? Is it back to bounty hunting, back to living a life of planet to planet, Din’s life – your lives – in constant danger?

Din engages the ship’s autopilot, then turns in his chair to face you. “What are you thinking, riduur? It looks like your mind is flying a parsec a minute.”

You release a low laugh. “It usually is, isn’t it?”

“What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing new,” you respond simply. “I just want everything to go smoothly.”

“I know. Everything will go smoothly.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I won’t let anything else happen. Smooth sailing from here on out,” he avows. “I swear it.”

You give a small smile, wanting to believe it. You know he will do his best to ensure you’re safe and happy, but he can’t control everything.

“There’s so much to do and so little time,” you divulge. “This baby is coming, ready or not.”

“What’s the benefit in worrying then?” Din questions.

“What?”

“If the baby will be here whether we’re ready or not, then what’s the sense in worrying?”

“I-” you start to say, but immediately find that you don’t have an argument. You look down at your lap, realizing there may be no benefit other than pretending you’re being productive. “I don’t know. I guess it makes me feel like I’m doing something. Otherwise I feel like I’m not doing anything at all.”

Din reaches out and grabs your hand. “You’re doing so much just by keeping yourself and the baby healthy. And really, that’s all that matters. That’s all I want you to think about. Let me handle everything else.”

“I can’t just live in the dark. You know that.” You smile weakly. “In fac, I want you to talk to me. I’ll feel a million times better if I know you’ve got things handled. What’s the plan once we land?”

Din lets go of your hand and sits further back in his seat. “We meet Bo-Katan, of course.”

“And then…?”

“We discuss the future of Mandalore.”

“Which is…?”

“Which is…to be determined.”

You stare at him, unamused. “You don’t currently have a plan, do you?”

“Of course I have a plan,” Din replies confidently. “The plan is to…” -his face contorts as he thinks- “come up with a more concrete plan.”

“I see you have this handled,” you reply sarcastically, smirking.

Din chuckles. You watch as the smile on his face slowly fades. “I-I’m sorry, riduur. I honestly don’t know how this is going to go,” he admits. “I don’t exactly trust or respect Bo-Katan.”

“I know.”

“She deceived me when she changed the terms of our deal mid-mission on that Gozanti freighter. She put us all at risk to get what she wanted.”

“I remember.” You recall the mission on Trask very well, how Bo-Katan wanted more than just the weapons and wouldn’t help them find a Jedi unless Din helped take the whole ship.

“The only reason she helped us find Grogu was because it allowed her to get closer to what she wanted. Which is why I’m all but certain she lied when she told me she doesn’t want to lead. Because she doesn’t seem like a follower.”

“No, she isn’t,” you agree. “Especially to someone she views as lesser than her.”

“She shits on anyone who isn’t anything like her, what with her ‘higher purpose’ bullshit.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying too.”

“I fear that she’ll keep me around long enough to unite the people and take back Mandalore, but then what?”

“Assassinate you, I presume.” You give a small smile, half joking, but also not putting past Bo-Katan if she’s desperate enough, not exactly knowing her wants or desires or motivations.

Din chuckles lowly, then takes a deep breath and sighs. “What do I do, riduur?”

“You know what I’m going to say,” you warn. “Fighting her is the easy solution. If you lose, then you don’t have to rule, we can do whatever we want. If you win, then well, like I’ve said before: you deserve to rule.”

“I’m not leaving my fate – our fate - up to chance, riduur,” Din replies simply. “Besides, she won’t fight me if I were to offer.”

“Why not?”

“It would be a false fight, and she knows that. She knows I don’t care to win, and it wouldn’t give her the grand story she thinks she needs.”

“But what if she ever does challenge you?”

Din shrugs. “I have to accept any challenge to my rule.”

“Any challenge?” you question, a sly smile on your face. “What if I were to challenge you?”

Din looks taken aback. He’s confused, yet he chuckles. “Why would you do that?”

“I mean, the Darksaber is pretty badass.”

“You would challenge me because you like my weapon?”

You fold your arms across your chest and lean back in your chair, confident. “Mhm. Why not?”

“You think you could take me, riduur?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I could smother you in your sleep at least.”

Din lets out a loud laugh. “Let me save you the trouble.” He rises from his seat then reaches to his left side and unhooks the straight, rectangular hilt hanging from his utility belt. He holds it out for you to take, but you seem hesitant, prompting him to add, “We will share all, remember?”

“Oh, those vows are still relevant?” you ask jokingly, gripping it with your dominant hand. You’ve never held the Darksaber, or any lightsaber for that matter, before. You look down at it, wondering how something so small could hold so much power. You also wonder many people have held it before, and how many more had found themselves on the wrong end of it.

“Go ahead,” Din instructs, leaning back on an empty wall of the cockpit. “Ignite it.”

After rising from your chair, you walk to the middle of the room. You tighten your grip and angle the hilt away from you, then look a Din, who nods, encouraging you. You press the button to activate it. Immediately, the saber comes to life. You stare in awe, admiring the thin, black core of the blade, the edges a faint white aura.

“Wow. It’s beautiful. Heavier than it looks,” you say as you slowly wave it, listening as its high-pitched hum changes with the movement. “How does it work anyway?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Din reminds you. “You know I have no idea how any of that Jedi stuff works. Which is why I’ve never dared to fight with it.”

“Really?” You’re only partially shocked, knowing he’s much more of a gunslinger than swordsman. “Why not? Would’ve made catching bounties a little easier. I mean, could you imagine walking up to someone and whipping this out? The sound alone would have me shitting myself.”

“I’m not exactly trained to fight with laser swords.”

You smile then deactivate the saber, the blade immediately disappearing. “Well, that’ll change, I presume.” You hold out the hilt. “Here. I prefer a blaster anyway.”

“It looks better in your hand than mine,” Din says.

“Are we still talking about the saber?” you question, eyebrows raise devilishly, causing him to chortle. “Besides, it belongs to you, Your Majesty.”

Din groans as he pushes himself off the wall, them accepts the saber. He wags the hilt at you. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” you question, the corners of your mouth twisting into a sly smile as you watch him place the saber back on his belt.  “I’m only giving you the respect your title commands. Have I offended you?”

Din rolls his eyes.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” you continue, bowing your head and dropping your gaze to the floor as you curtsey.

He’s silent for a moment. You can see him shift his stance, putting all his weight on one leg, as he usually does when he’s tired of bullshit. You feel his eyes on you, but don’t move.

“Are you going to stay like that all day?” Din questions, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“I will do whatever you wish, Mand’alor. I am at your disposal.”

He’s quiet and still, making you wonder if he truly doesn’t want to go along with…whatever it is you’re doing. Before you can move, he finally speaks.

“Stand.”

You straighten yourself, keeping your eyes on the floor.

He steps closer to you then lifts your chin with a gloved hand. “Look at me.”

Your eyes shift up and meet his.  

“Kiss me.”

“Is it acceptable for the Mand’alor to be kissing someone as lowly as me?” you jokingly question.

“Kiss. Me.”

Without question, you do as he says, your lips meeting his in one small, deep kiss before pulling away. He immediately pulls your back, devouring you. When he pulls away, you slowly peel back your eyelids, feeling as he walks past you.

“What can you do for me?”

You smile to yourself before biting your bottom lip, excited that he was playing into your little scenario. Erasing the look on your face, you turn to face him. He’s sitting stoically in the captain’s chair, facing away from the console and toward you. In your mind, he’s on the throne of Mandalore. He has donned his helmet, and you run your tongue across your inside of your cheek, knowing that he knows exactly what you’re into.

“Anything,” you reply. “Your wish is my command, Your Majesty.”

He’s quiet, his eyes glued to you. “Undress for me.” Hearing those words in his modulated voice is enough to make you wet.

You nod to show you understand, then slowly, teasingly, remove your clothes, letting everything fall to your feet.

“Does this please you?”

Din moans but doesn’t otherwise respond to the question. “Touch yourself.”

“Wouldn’t you rather feel me yourself, Your Highness?”

“Are you going to do as your told or am I going to have to take you over my knee until you’re ready to listen?”

You swallow hard, having never heard him talk in such a way before. “I-No. I’ll be good.”

“Good girl. Start with your breasts.”

You lightly run the tips of your fingers down your chest, moving them between your breasts. “Like this?”

He nods in approval, watching as your hand glides to the side. “Pinch your nipple.”

You take your nipple between your thumb and index finger, rolling and pinching.

“Does that feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you exasperate, your actions sending tingly sensations down below. You squeeze your thighs together, releasing the pressure there.

“Now the other.”

You move to the other nipple, your breathing hitching as you close your eyes and enjoy the feeling while imagining Din is the one touching and feeling you.

“Tell me. Are you getting wet down there?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mand’alor.” As you continue to play with your breast, you slide your other hand down your body, toward your hips.

“Oh, you want to touch your pussy now?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“Hm. I don’t think you’re ready for that just yet. I want you to get as close as you can without touching it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mand’alor,” you say, taking your fingers down to your thighs. You run along the groin, wishing you could feel his fingers and breath there.

He’s quiet as he watches you for a minute. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“Yes, Mand’alor. I’m ready.”

He’s silence once more, and you wait for his command. Finally, he says, “Rub your pussy for me, sweet girl.”

You don’t immediately obey. Instead, you remove your hand from yourself and take your index and middle fingers in your mouth, sucking on them, getting them nice and wet with your saliva. Din shifts in the chair and clenches his fist, rolling his fingers into a ball of leather and lust as he watches you. You’re satisfied with his reaction. You reach down and put your fingers between your folds, your breath hitching the moment you find that sweet spot.

“Slow,” he says, and you circle slowly. “That’s a good girl. Close your eyes and imagine I’m touching you.” You close your eyes, licking your lips before sucking them inwards and biting on them. “Can you feel my tongue on your clit?”

“Maker. Yes.”

“Faster,” he commands, and you massage a little more quickly. “How does it feel?”

“Good. So good, Mand’alor.”

“Put a finger inside for me. Imagine my cock there.”

You stop what you’re doing and spread your legs a little further before inserting a finger into your opening, feeling the wetness and warmth.

“So wet and tight for me, aren’t you, sweet girl?” Din says. “I want you to pretend I’m fucking you, my cock moving in and out. Are you enjoying this as much as I am?”

You nod.

“Words, cyar’ika.”

“Yes, Mand’alor. Yes, I’m enjoying it.”

“Add a second finger for me. Yes. Yes, keep going for me.”

The palm of your hand runs across your clit as your fingers plunge in and out of you. You squeeze onto a breast, looking for something to hold.

“Are you just going to watch or are you going to fuck me?” you question between grunts.

“What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” Din questions. “Fucking is a reward, but you haven’t proved that you deserve it yet.”

“Won’t you at least help me?” you question. “Please. You know I don’t like getting off on my own.”

“That’s a lie,” Din replies simply. “Lie again and maybe I won’t let you finish.”

It was only partially a lie. The memories of Felucia immediately flash into your mind. How you masturbated while talking to Din, how he later punished you by edging you. The truth is that you much preferred him to yourself though.

“Good girl,” Din praises, his eyes not breaking from you as he removes his gloves. He tosses them aside, then reaches down, unbuckles his utility belt, and reaches into the flap of his flightsuit. You bite your lip as you watch him retrieve his hardened member and slowly stroke it.

“You don’t like this, do you?”

“Fuck, Din, I-”

“Din?” he questions. “Is that how you address your Mand’alor?”

“S-sorry, Your Highness. I forgot. Yes. Yes, I like it.”

You whimper, feeling the warmth grow in your stomach, but finding you can’t quite reach climax.

“What do you need, cyare?”

“I-I need to come,” you beg.

“Then come. I want to watch you.”

“I can’t. Not like this. Gaa’tayl, Mand’alor. Gedet’ye.” Help…please. Your legs feel weak and you fear they may buckle unexpectedly. Desperately, you wish he’d allow you to fall to your knees.

“Come here then.” He beckons you forward with two fingers. “Get on your knees.”

You remove your fingers from yourself then move to him, kneeling at his feet. You reach up to grab him, but he grabs your wrist with his free hand.

“Please. Let me touch you,” you plead.

“One condition, cyar’ika. You keep fucking yourself until you come on your fingers. Can you do that for me?”

You nod. “Yes. I’ll be good. Ori’haat.” It’s the truth, I swear.

“Good.” He releases his hold on you then sits back in the chair. “Open your mouth for me. Let’s see what you can do with it besides beg.”

Dipping forward, you take the tip of him into your mouth, looking straight into the T of his visor as you swallow the first couple inches, draw back, and swallow once more. He inhales sharply. The third time, you stop at the tip and swirl your tongue around it, reaching your hand back down to your swollen nub as you do so. Moaning, you close your eyes and swallow him whole, easily taking him into your throat.

It’s much easier to get where you want to go on your knees than it was standing. It doesn’t take long before you find yourself on the edge. However, you stop yourself before falling off, wanting to push Din closer before taking the plunge yourself.

“Are you holding back, cyar’ika?”

You pop him out of your mouth and look up at him sweetly. “I want you to come too.”

“Cyar’ika. Don’t you know ladies should come first? Now, come for me. I know you’ve got it in you.”  

You nod your head and return to swirling your fingers around your clit.

“Fuck,” you whimper, closing your eyes and lowering your head as you ride the wave to orgasm.

“That’s it. There’s my good girl.”

You fall forward, holding yourself up with your free hand. Meanwhile, your thighs squeeze tightly against the hand between your legs, releasing only once you’ve come out of your high and removed your fingers from your clit. Panting, you look up at Din, seeing that he’s replaced your mouth with his palm, steadily stroking himself. Your eyes remain focused on his visor for several moments as you regain composure, then you dip down and suck on his tip while he continues to stroke himself.

“Do you think you earned my seed?”

“Elek, Mand’alor,” you say, sitting back on your heels, watching as he takes over. “Gedet’ye, Mand’alor.” Yes… Please.

“Where do you think you deserve it?”

You bite your tongue, watching his hand rapidly glide up and down his shaft. “Wherever it pleases you.”

He grabs your chin with his free hand and forces you to look him in the face. “Ke'rejorhaa'i. Jii.” Tell me. Now.

 “On my breasts,” you spurt out, knowing he must be near the point of no return. You sit straight and puff out your chest, your arms squeeze your mounds together. “Mark me as yours.”

“Shit. Oh, shit,” Din utters the second after you speak, and his pace quickens. He groans as he shoots ropes of his seed on your chest. It’s something he’s never done before, only ever finishing inside you or your mouth, and you find it very erotic.

“Vor entye, Mand’alor.” Thank you.

 “Jate dalyc,” Din pants. Good girl.

You bend forward and lick his tip one last time, cleaning up a tiny bead left there before returning to sitting on your heels.

“Maker, fuck.” A groan turns into an awkwardly laughs. He reaches up and grabs his helmet, lifting it from his head then letting it fall to the floor. “Fuck. What the…what the fuck was that?”

You giggle, looking up at him. “I think you like being ‘king’ more than you realize.”

“I don’t think coming on your chest makes me a king,” he says awkwardly, putting himself away. “Shit, I made a mess.” He grabs his cloak and moves to wipe you up. “Here, let me-”

“It’s fine, Din,” you say, giggling as you take the fabric from him and wipe away the fluid on you. “I told you to, and it was kind of…kind of hot, to be honest.”

“Really?” he questions, rubbing his shoulder as he laughs.

“Did you not like that?” you question, holding his cloak to you, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Any of it?”

“I-I did like it. All of it. It was…different.”

“Different is good though, right?” you question, crawling into his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck. “Keeps things from getting too boring.”

“I will never get bored of you, riduur,” he assures you before planting a kiss on your lips.

“Good.” You return a kiss and go to pull away, but he doesn’t let you, the kiss turning deeper. Pushing yourself off, you giggle, “Din, quit. I need to get dressed.”

“Mmm, no, you don’t,” he responds. “I’m not done with you yet. We have a bit of a journey ahead of us. Let’s see how many more times I can make you come.”

It wasn’t until the two of you stood in the airlock of Slave II, watching the ramp drop, that reality hit once more. The honeymoon’s over, and everything is about to change. Gone are the days of traveling planet to planet, staying on the ship for days or weeks at a time. Gone are the days of just you and Din. Gone is…likely everything you’ve come to know the last few months.

You turn your head and look up at Din, giving him a reassuring smile. He returns one before donning his helmet.

Walking side by side, you both descend the ramp. You look around, seeing the half dozen or so of other starships parked nearby. In the distance smoke bellows from the large factories that litter the industrial world that is Lothal. Between there and the provisional landing pads stands the large circular building that houses the cantina; your destination.

��Where’s the royal welcome party?” you joke, causing Din to grunt at least.

There are only few people walking about, mostly to their ships from the cantina or vice versa. None seem to pay any notice to the two of you. You didn’t expect otherwise. You didn’t expect Bo-Katan to have dozens of loyal Mandalorians waiting for the two of you, ready to take back Mandalore. Yet you wonder why there seems to be none at all, wondering if it’s any indication that she found little support if any at all in the months since you last saw her.

You pass a large red and white ship, which you recognize as a T-6 shuttle. It’s a class of ship you’ve only seen in pictures, considering it was an older design mostly used during the Clone Wars. Mostly used by Jedi.

Who in the world would be flying this?

 Your admiration of it leaves you distracted.

“Cyar’ika, look,” Din utters.

“Hm?” You look at him, seeing that his gait has slowed. He stops, and you follow suit.

“I had a feeling we would see each again,” a familiar voice speaks from ahead.

Your snap your head to face forward, your gaze immediately falling on a familiar orange hued Torgruta walking toward you. Immediately, you recognize her as Ahsoka Tano, the Jedi you had met on Corvus many months prior. She’s dressed differently, wearing a white cloak and robes, holding a large staff, but it’s obviously her, the trademark white markings on her face, the blue stripped montrals falling over her shoulders.

“I see your little friend has chosen his path.”

“Yes,” Din confirms. “Thank you for your help.”

You open your mouth to respond, but cannot find words, your eyes drawn to Ahsoka’s companion: a female wearing Mandalorian armor. Not just ordinary armor, but a work of art. She is a walking masterpiece, the beskar painted purple and pink, the wearer expressing herself confidently, boldly, and uniquely. On her left pauldron is a whale-like creature, while on her right is the Rebel Alliance starbird. Finally, she lifts her helmet, revealing short purple hair and tan skin. She holds her helmet in one arm, pressing it against her thin frame.

“What? Never seen a Mandalorian before?” the woman jests, a smile on her face.

Hearing her words make you realize that you had been staring. Nervous laughter escapes your lips, and you break your gaze before looking back up at her.

“Well, I mean, I think we can count on one hand how many we’ve encountered,” you say. “And a Mandalorian with a Jedi? That I didn’t see coming.” You look at Din out of the corner of your eyes, smiling as you remember him saying something similar while working with Ahsoka on Corvus. You’re in shock that you’ve come across another Mandalorian. Maybe she’s just the person you’ve been looking for.

“We find someone willing to give us answers…We find others.”

 “Others? Other Mandalorians?”

You wonder for a moment if Bo-Katan had called them both to Lothal. Maybe she was finding support after all. But you don’t ask, choosing to allow them to divulge that information themselves.

“Great things happen when differences can be put aside,” Ahsoka says with a smile.

“I’m Sabine of Clan Wren,” the woman reveals warmly. She offers her hand to Din.

“Din. Din Djarin.” He takes her forearm above her wrist, and she similarly clasps his. A typical greeting amongst Mandalorians, you assume, though you’d never seen him exchange such pleasantries with Bo-Katan.

“I’ve never seen you around before. Were you born on Mandalore?” Sabine questions.

“No. I was a foundling. A Child of the Watch.”

“Oh, you’re one of those guys,” she says, her face scrunched as if she smelled something horrible.

“Not anymore. Technically. I’m not even sure how many of them are left. My covert on Nevarro was massacred by Imperials. What was left scattered.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sabine offers her condolences. “Even if they were a bit…”

“Extreme? Crazy?” you suggest.

Sabine nods. “They were still our people.”  

It’s quiet for a moment before Sabine realizes you haven’t introduced yourself. You give her your name, adding, “I’m his riduur.”

“That’s new,” Ahsoka says, a look of interest on her face.

“Fairly new, I’d say.” You glance at Din, shooting him a half-smile.

“How do you three know one another?” Sabine questions.

“We met on Corvus,” Ahsoka answers. “They were searching for a Jedi and Bo-Katan sent them to me.”

“Searching for a Jedi?” Sabine laughs. “That’s not exactly an easy task these days.”

“Tell me about it,” you say.

“Why would you need a Jedi?”

“We found a child who needed to be returned to his kind,” Din informs her.

Ahsoka nods. “A youngling taken from the temple on Coruscant at the end of the Clone Wars.”

“A youngling?” Her eyebrows raise in surprise as she looks from Ahsoka to the two of you. “How did you come across him?”

“It’s a long story,” Din replies, putting his hand on his hips.

Ahsoka turns to Sabine. “They helped with Morgan Elsbeth. Without them, we wouldn’t be any closer to finding Ezra.”

“Is that so?” Sabine asks, and Ahsoka nods. She turns back to you and Din, putting her hand across her chest and bowing her head. “Then for that, I thank you.”

“Who’s Ezra?”

“Ezra Bridger,” Sabine replies. “A Jedi and a friend who’s missing. He was last seen on a ship belonging to an officer of the Imperial Navy, Grand Admiral Thrawn. We are on a mission to find him and bring him home.”

“I see.” You give Din side-eyes before looking back at Sabine, wondering if you should divulge information on your own task. “Well, I would offer our help, but we are on a mission of our own.”

“What do you know about the current state of Mandalore?” Din asks candidly.

“I haven’t stepped foot on Mandalore in nearly a decade,” Sabine replies, shocked by the question. “Not since the last Civil War.”

The last Civil War. Boba wasn’t kidding when he said Mandalore seemed to always be engaged in some sort of fighting. A civil war amongst its people in the last decade doesn’t give you the warmest of feelings. You look at Din, wishing you could gauge his thoughts.

Sabine places a hand on her hip. “Bo-Katan roped you into helping her with her plan to reestablish the planet, didn’t she?”

“You could say that,” Din says simply.

“You know about it?” you question.

Sabine nods. “She asked for my help a while back. Or at the very least support from me and Clan Wren. But I couldn’t give it to her.”

“Why?” Din questions.

“It’s…complicated.”

“Can you uncomplicate it?”

Ahsoka and Sabine look at one another.

“We really don’t have time to waste,” Sabine says.

Din reaches behind him, under his cape, and you know exactly what he’s retrieving. Sure enough, when his hand reemerges into view, he’s holding the hilt of the Darksaber. “Does this change your mind?”

Shock crosses Sabine’s face, her eyebrows rising momentarily before furrowing as she seemingly switches to confusion. “Is that-”

Before she can finish her sentence, Din ignites the saber, and its familiar high-pitched hum and black blade instantly appear.

You watch as shock crosses her face once more, and Din disengages the saber.

“Well, things certainly escalated quickly for you,” Ahsoka says, smiling.

“Where did you get that?” Sabine asks.

“Moff Gideon sought out my foundling to perform experiments on him,” Din says as he returns the saber to its place on his belt. “He kidnapped him, and we tracked down the Moff’s light cruiser. Bo-Katan offered to help me rescue the founding in exchange for supplies to aid in her effort reclaim Mandalore. She intended to kill the Moff and retake the Darksaber.”

“And I’m guessing you beat her to it?” Sabine asks. “I’m sure she loved that.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” you insist.

“Intent doesn’t matter. What matters is if you won it in combat.”

“He won. Fair and square,” you affirm.

“Then the Darksaber is yours, and with it, the title of Mand’alor,” Sabine states. “And I do not envy you for it one bit.”

The four of you sit at the table in the galley of Slave II. Knowing Din had a decision to make and little knowledge to help him with that decision, Ahsoka and Bo-Katan agreed to tell as much as they could about the recent history of Mandalore. Din sits helmetless, showing he trusts the two, and he listens intently.

“Mandalore used to be a strong, beautiful planet,” Sabine says. “But no one alive has seen it that way thanks to centuries-old devastation from in-fighting. The land never got the chance to rebound because there’s always…there’s always something. But people stayed because they saw the planet as a sort of symbol. A symbol of strength and endurance and tradition. It was a reminder to the people of why they held their principles.”

Sabine stops for a moment and shifts in her chair, as if uneasy about the information she’s sharing. But she continues, speaking matter-of-factly. “Many turned their back on violence after seeing the ecological devastation. But the rise of a pacifist government, led by Duchess Satine Kryze, caused a civil war. Families were pitted against one another. Many great Mandalorians died, and the planet incurred further devastation. Clans who supported Mandalore’s violent past were exiled to the moon Concordia, where a terrorist splinter group was formed. A group known as Death Watch.”

“Death Watch?” You look at Din, who’s sitting stoically, listening intently. “Any relation to the Children of the Watch?”

“Yet another splinter group that came later,” Sabine informs. “Death Watch believed in the old warrior ways of Mandalore and sought to overthrow the pacifist government. It was led by a man named Pre Vizsla alongside someone we’re all very well acquainted with: Bo-Katan Kryze.”

“The Duchess’ sister.” A hint of surprise is in your voice. You knew that Bo-Katan’s sister had once ruled Mandalore but had no idea the two were on complete opposite ends of the political spectrum.

Sabine nods. “The group allied with Count Dooku, a Sith Lord and Separatist leader. Rumors spread that Bo-Katan was building an army to fight to Separatist cause, but really he helped grow Death Watch’s forces.”

“A friend of mine sought revenge on Count Dooku and teamed up with a group who promised to help him with his vengeance,” Ahsoka informs you. “I was with him when he met with them on the planet Carlac. Unbeknownst to me, that group was Death Watch, whose relationship with the Separatists had soured. Bo-Katan was there, at a village. A village where they used the natives for slave labor. A village they pillaged and burned, slaughtering its people. I had to fight my way out again Bo-Katan and her men.”

“I can’t wait to see how in Malachor you became friends with her,” you say.

Ahsoka flashes a small smile and a shrug before returning to seriousness. “Soon after that, Death Watch stumbled upon and formed an alliance with a Sith Lord known as Darth Maul,” she continues. “They created an army of criminals and unleashed them on Mandalore to create chaos, undermining Duchess Satine and her government’s ability to protect its people. Death Watch swooped in and made themselves look like heroes in the eyes of the people, and convinced them that the planet needed action, not pacifism. The Duchess was captured and Vizsla declared himself Mand’alor, who then double-crossed Maul and imprisoned him.”

Not surprising.

“Maul freed himself using the Force and fought Vizsla for control, but he bested Vizsla, seized the Darksaber, and killed him, declaring himself the new Mand’alor. Bo-Katan refused to accept him, a non-Mandalorian, as ruler, causing Death Watch to split into those who supported Maul and those who didn’t.”

How many damn groups did she create?

“Bo-Katan tried to rescue Duchess Satine, but Maul killed her. It was then that she turned to the Republic for help,” Ahsoka says. “She tracked me down and asked me to help her free her people, citing that we had a common enemy in Maul. I signed on as an advisor as she planned and eventually carried out the Siege of Mandalore. I faced Maul in a duel and captured him, while Bo-Katan dealt with the rest. Once the Siege was over, she was made Regent of Mandalore.”

“How long was she Regent?”

“Not long.” Ahsoka stops, a sad look on her face. “The Galactic Republic left forces stationed on the planet to assist Bo-Katan with her rule. Clones. It wasn’t long before Order 66 was initiated.”

“Order 66?” Din questions.

You look at Din, shocked that he has never heard the term before.

“The start of the Great Jedi Purge,” Ahsoka solemnly replies. “The order was programmed into clone troopers. Originally designed as a contingency protocol, but Emperor Palpatine used it to bring the fall of the Jedi Order.”

“I’m…sorry,” Din replies.

Ahsoka nods. “After Order 66 was initiated, the Empire began an occupation on Mandalore. Bo-Katan refused to do the Empire’s bidding and she was betrayed by Clan Saxon. A man named Gar Saxon was put in charge.”

“I was raised during the Imperial occupation,” Sabine intercedes. “I believed in the Empire. I followed its orders blindly, as so many people in the galaxy did. In fact, I was a cadet in the Imperial Academy. I watched the Empire subjugate Mandalore and oppress my people, so I spoke out against it.” She looks down, as if remembering painful memories. “My family sided with the Empire and cast me out. My father was taken hostage while my mother was forced to prove the clan’s loyalty to the Empire.”

Sabine breaks for a moment before continuing. “I joined the Rebel Alliance. That is where I met Ezra Bridger. Ezra led me to the planet Dathomir, where I came into possession of the Darksaber.”

“You possessed the Darksaber?” Din questions.

“Yes,” Sabine says simply. “It was needed to rally Mandalorian warriors for a rebellion attack. I did not want the responsibilities that came with it, but I learned how to wield it. I returned to my former home to try to recruit my family into the rebellion, but they saw me as a traitor, and my own mother nearly had me arrested. I showed her the saber, and she told me that my ownership could be disputed since I didn’t win it. My mother offered the Darksaber to Gar Saxon in exchange for my life, and in response Saxon ordered the execution of my clan for colluding with traitors. I dueled him, defeated him, and won the saber.”

You wonder, at this point, who hasn’t wielded the Darksaber.

“I stayed with my family to help reunify Mandalore,” Sabine continues. “I did not want to become the new leader and vowed to help find it’s true leader. Many believed Bo-Katan to be that person since she was Regent. I met her on Mandalore when attempting to rescue my father from execution at the hand of Clan Saxon. We were overwhelmed by Saxon forces but were saved when she arrived. I offered her the Darksaber, but she believed she had failed Mandalore when she was regent and refused to accept it.”

“After working with and getting to know Bo-Katan, I assured her that she’s the rightful leader. Despite uncertainty, she took the Darksaber under the support of Clan Wren, under the support of many other clans. As far as I know, she ruled the planet the best she could with what she had to work with: a fractured planet and people. Maybe it could’ve bounced back under her.”

“But the Purge happened, right?” you question.

“Right,” Sabine confirms. “The Empire knew that Mandalore would never submit to their control, especially with Bo-Katan in charge. Mandalore tried to stand their ground, but it was futile.  The Empire outnumbered them in bodies and resources. They were overwhelmed, and when word got out that Bo-Katan had lost the saber, everyone scattered. Soon after, the Emperor was killed, and the reign of terror led by the Empire seemingly came to an end.”

“Seemingly.” Din laughs, knowing that the Empire didn’t magically disappear overnight, or completely at all.

“The Emperor left behind instructions for an orbital bombardment campaign. A campaign known as Operation: Cinder.”

You look at Din, having heard the term from him once before. He had mentioned Operation: Cinder after the mission on Morak, when looking for the coordinates to Moff Gideon’s ship. Migs Mayfiend had brought it up, had even participated in the destruction of a planet in the Imperial Army.

“The Empire knew they’d never be able to control the planet, and they wanted to ensure no one else could either. They bombed the cities internally, reducing them to ash, before bombing the land, turning an already broken land to glass.”

“Has no one gone back?” you question. “To at least see if anything’s salvageable within the domes? To try to put it back together?”

“Why would they?” Sabine questions. “A planet that was once seen as a symbol of strength and endurance was reduced to a physical representation of our failure and humiliation.” She hangs her head low for a moment and sighs. When she looks back up, you can see the defeat in her eyes. “We worked so hard to unite our people, to free our planet from the Empire, only to ultimately lose it. It was devastating. To our culture, to our spirits… And that…that is why I cannot offer my support. I’m sorry.”

“What about the Resol’nare?” Din questions. “Does it mean nothing to you?”

The Resol’nare. The sacred law. It outlined six principles of what it means to be Mandalorian: education, armor, defense, armor, language, and leader, all of which helps with survival. Tradition dictates that anyone who is considered Mandalorian must abide by these guidelines and to live these actions daily.

Sabines stares at Din. “It is sacred to me and to all who call themselves Mandalorians. Which is why I’m sure most of us would answer the call should you ask us to. But I’m also sure there are just as many if not more who would beg you not to. The last time we answered the call of the Mand’alor, it brought ruin. We can’t afford to go through it again.”

The ramp of Slave II closes behind Ahsoka and Sabine, leaving you and Din alone in the ship. You purse your lips, all the information swirling in your head.

“Well? What now?” You look at Din, who’s standing beside you rigidly. He doesn’t immediately respond.

“Din?”

Din exhales loudly, then puts his hand against the wall, standing with his body bent. “Fuck me,” he utters.

“I could, but I’m not sure how that will help.”

A small chuckle escapes his throat. He looks at you. “Just tell me what to do, riduur.”

“Fuck if I know,” you say with a small smile. “I mean, there really shouldn’t be much of a discussion, right?” you question. “Unless you want to discuss what makes your decision easier: the fact that few Mandalorians seem to support the idea of retaking Mandalore or the fact that Bo-Katan is bantha-shit crazy.”

“So it would seem,” Din sighs, pushing himself away from the way. “I don’t trust Bo-Katan any further than I can throw her.”

“Then why are you acting like this is a difficult decision?” you ask, almost irritated. “You owe nothing to her. She held up her end of the bargain by helping you find Grogu, and you held up yours by allowing her to take the supplies she needed. You never actually promised to help her in her efforts, only that you’d consider it. Well, you have considered it, you’re done considering it, and it’s time to move on from such an idiotic idea.”

“Yeah, well, I also promised her that I’d let her deal with Gideon and take the Darksaber, but obviously that didn’t happen.”

“What were you supposed to do? Let Gideon kill you?” you question. “You can’t change what happened. But you can decide what happens from here on out. You can say ‘Okay, we’re not doing this.’ If Bo-Katan is not okay with that, she can raise her blaster to you and win the saber in a fair fight.”

“I’ve told you before that she won’t challenge me because knows it wouldn’t be a legitimate fight. Fuck, it’s probably even less legitimate now because I give even less fucks about being Mand’alor.”

“Then make it legitimate.”

“I have no quarrel with her,” Din assures you. “In fact, I probably have more of a reason to be loyal to her. She led the group who saved me.”

“Or…,” you begin, but you hesitate. You’d been formulating a thought ever since Sabine brought up Death Watch. It didn’t make sense at first, but the more you thought about it, the more the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit.

“Or what?”

“What if she created the group that killed your parents,” you suggest.

Din seems confused. “What? What do you mean? Separatists droids killed my parents.”

“Did they?” you question. “Think about it, Din. Death Watch was not a group of vigilantes or heroes. They were a terrorist organization who only cared about restoring the violent warrior culture of their planet. Why would they care about saving some little village on Naboo? And how would they even know about an attack on a planet that’s lightyears away from their home let alone get there in time to save the day?” You stop for a moment, then pose an important question: “What if the entire scenario was orchestrated by Death Watch themselves?”

Din scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Sabine said that one of the tactics employed by Death Watch was staged attacks. They set up attacks so the group could swoop in and squash the ‘enemy’ to gain support. Is it really that hard to believe they did that very thing in Aq Vetina? That they didn’t say ‘Look, we swept in and saved this village, and, oh, here’s some orphans we can take in as foundlings to raise and join our efforts’?”

Din puts his hands on his hips and paces around the room, as if trying to piece it all together himself. He looks at you, not wanting to believe it. “But the droids…”

“Droids can be easily reprogrammed,” you say. “Remember IG-11? An assassin droid turned nurse droid who protected the very thing he once sought to kill? Death Watch was allied with the Separatists at one point. They could’ve easily taken their droids, reprogrammed them, and used them to stage an attack.”

“Why would you even think that? Why would you even bring this up without being certain?”

“It’s a possibility you should be aware of,” you say simply. “How could you not put the pieces together yourself?”

“Because it’s fucking insane,” Din replies harshly. “What you’re saying makes everything I know about the incident a lie, makes everything I know about the people who saved me, who raised me, a lie.”

“Maybe not all of it,” you assure him. “Your tribe splintered from Death Watch at some point. Perhaps not all of them agreed with what happened, with what they did. I’m not saying they’re all bad people.”

“Good people don’t do that kind of twisted shit,” Din seethes. He stares at you for a moment, before backing away. “You know what. Fuck this.” He turns toward the door, presses the button to open the ship, throws on his helmet, and storms down the ramp before it can even completely hit the dirt.

“Where are you…?” you start to question, standing at the open door.

“I’m going to ask Bo-Katan myself,” Din snarls.

Oh, shit. What have you done?

“Maker fucking damn it,” you utter, following him. You hadn’t completely intended to push his buttons, but you did. What did I just do? You fear why he may do to Bo-Katan if what you suggested is true.

“Din, wait,” you call, walking quickly to catch up with him. He’s walking with determination and doesn’t stop, doesn’t even seem to care that anyone or anything is around him.

You follow him to the cantina, the very one where you, Din, and Boba Fett had once asked Bo-Katan for her assistance. He stops in the doorway, squeezing a hand into a fist as he looks around the room.

“What are you-”

He spots Bo-Katan and walks toward her before you can get any more words out. Inhaling deeply and swallowing hard, you follow.

Bo-Katan is sitting at a table in the corner of the room, across from Koska Reeves. She goes to take a sip from her mug but must spot Din marching toward her because she leaves her drink hovering as she speaks.

“So nice of you to join us,” she says simply. She looks up at him. “How regal of you to think that your time is the only one of value.” She then takes a sip from the mug, then places it on the table.

“Is that the role you’re playing today?” Din asks, anger in his modulated voice. “The village bitch?”

Koska rises from her seat, sneering as she clutches her fists.

Bo-Katan looks up at Din with a smug smile on her face, as if proud she had struck a nerve. “Udesii…,” she says to Koska. Take it easy. “Remember, you’re dealing with the Mand’alor. It’s a crime to assault him. Unless you wish to object to his rule, of course.”

Koska glares at him for a moment before lowering herself back into her seat, not once breaking eye contact. “He’s lucky I’m not interested.”

“Is there something I’ve done to upset you, Mand’alor?” Bo-Katan asks complacently.

“Depends. What do you know about Aq Vetina?”

“Aq Vetina?” Bo-Katan questions, seeming confused. “The settlement on Naboo? What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has to do with a lot of things. What do you know about it?”

“What is there to know?”

“Don’t play stupid with me,” Din warns.

Bo-Katan glares up at him, likely choosing her next words carefully. A part of you hopes that your thoughts aren’t true, while another wishes Din would have a reason to wipe the smug look off her face.

“Aq Vetina was the target of an attack perpetrated by the Separatist Alliance during the Clone Wars,” she responds matter-of-factly. “A band of Mandalorians intervened and saved what was left before droids could decimate the entire village.”

“How heroic,” Din says, a hint of sarcasm escaping from the modulator.

“Heroic indeed,” Bo-Katan agrees, staring up at him.

“Tell us then,” you chime in. “Why did Mandalorians intervene in an attack on Naboo? I thought Mandalore took a neutral stance during the Clone Wars.”

“I would think a Child of the Watch would know the answer to that,” Bo-Katan says, her eyes still locked on Din. “Unless he has no idea where he came from.”

“I know exactly from where I come,” Din states, stepping closer to where she is sitting. “I am Din Djarin. A child of Aq Vetina.”

You watch as the look of smugness on Bo-Katan’s face changes to one of shock as she calculates that that means. As far as you know, it’s the first time she’s hearing that Din is a foundling, that he was saved from the very city that Death Watch destroyed – a fact that is becoming clearer and clearer the most you look at Bo-Katan’s face.

“My parents were killed in the attack,” he continues. “An attack that I believe was arranged by Death Watch.”

“Now why would they do that?” Bo-Katan questions, likely feigning ignorance.

“I would think the leader of Death Watch would know the answer to that,” Din spats.

She is silent for a moment. “Everything we did, we did for Mandalore,” Bo-Katan says firmly. “We thought we were acting in the best interests of the planet, of the people.”

“You thought they needed heroes,” Din says. “Heroes who weren’t afraid to bomb cities, who plucked newly orphaned children from the homes they destroyed just to grow their numbers. Heroes who waged a war against those who sought to abolish it. I hope you’re proud of what you’ve done.”

Bo-Katan doesn’t respond. She looks down, unable to look up at Din.

“I think we’re done here.” He turns and begins to walk out of the cantina.

“I don’t think we are,” Koska says before he can get more than a few steps away.

Din stops. He doesn’t turn, but you look from him to Koska, knowing what she’s going to bring up.

“Where were you when the Purge happened?” Koska asks. “Because Bo-Katan was on Mandalore, fighting for her people. For that alone, she deserves the Darksaber more than you.”

“If she wants it so bad, she can have it,” you say, stepping close to Koska. You can sense Din turning and stepping toward you, but you don’t back down. “She’s taken it once before; she can take it once again.”

“The people need to know she’s the rightful heir,” Koska says. “They will not be cursed by another pretender to the throne again. The story matters as much as the saber.”

“And does that story include all the terror and violence she wrought upon Mandalore?” you question. “Does it include the fact that she lost Mandalore – what, twice now? That she got her own sister killed for wanting nothing more than peace? Or have the people forgotten about all that? About Death Watch? About Duchess Satine?”

“How dare you speak her name with that whore mouth,” Bo-Katan snarls.

“You will not speak to my wife like that,” Din growls, stepping forward, face-to-face with Bo-Katan once more.

“Oh, so you upgraded her to wife while you were out doing Maker knows what around the galaxy? While you made us wait here like loyal little dogs waiting for your call?” Bo-Katan questions. “How nice.”

“Don’t talk to her again,” Din warns.

“She’s got you whipped. A slave to her body. Laandur.” Pathetic.

Din clutches his fist, but you intervene, pushing Bo-Katan further.

“You’d know a thing or two about slaves, wouldn’t you?” you question. “Does Carlac ring a bell?”

“So Ahsoka is the one who’s feeding you all this Bantha shit.” Bo-Katan’s eyes narrow, as if she’s been betrayed.

“Maker bless your delusional heart if you believe that anyone sees you as anything other than an evil, power-hungry psychopath,” you say derisively.

“Ne shab’rud’ni...,” Bo-Katan growls. Don’t mess with me. She lunges toward you, but before she can do anything more than that, before you can even react, Din grabs her and throws her to the floor. She quickly recovers, kicking at Din’s ankles and sending him to the floor before jumping to her feet. It happened so fast that you almost can’t process what just happened.

Your instinct is to leap forward, wanting to intervene, but Koska holds out her arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“Leave them,” she says. “Mandalorian custom and law says no one can interfere.”

Both are now on their feet, throwing punches at one another. Bo-Katan dodges with speed and precision, as if she can guess what he’s going to do before he does it. She dips backwards when Din throws his right fist forward, then drops down when he punches with his left before spinning and kicking him into a wall.

You clutch your chest as you watch them. You’ve suggested that Din fight her countless times, but now that it’s happening, you wonder why you would ever suggest something so stupid. You’re not worried about him winning or losing. If anything, losing is ideal. At least then he’d get Bo-Katan off his back and everyone could go their separate ways. No, winning or losing doesn’t matter. What matters is they stop before seriously wounding or killing the other.

Din is mostly playing the defense, depending heavily on his armor as he usually does, hopefully a sign that he’s not out for blood. You’ve seen him face off in a series of hand-to-hand combats, but you know it isn’t his strong suit. What he lacks in skill, he usually makes up for in luck, but you are afraid luck isn’t enough this time around.

Meanwhile, Bo-Katan is fighting with such passion, anger, speed, grace, showing off her years of training in martial arts with all the flipping and punching and kicking. It’s clear that she’s fought the likes of Sith Lords, academy trained Jedi, and Maker knows what else. It’s not the first time she’s fought for her honor, for her right to rule.

Oh, Maker. What the fuck have you gotten him into?

You have no idea what lead to it, but Bo-Katan pulls out her blaster and starts shooting. The second Koska sees her retrieve the gun, Koska shoves you closer to the bar, knowing that you, unlike her, didn’t have any armor to protect yourself. You crouch down, protecting your lower body, but peek from behind the counter watching as Din deflects the shots with his armor, sending the yellow bolts flying before he ducks behind a pillar.

Just fucking shoot her, you want to yell. She’s not even wearing her helmet. One shot is all it would take. But he wouldn’t. You’re now convinced he doesn’t want to kill her; he just wants to fight.

Bo-Katan lays off the trigger long enough to sneer, “K’olar, hut’uun.” Come here, coward. It was the worst insult you could throw at a Mandalorian.

Din pops out from behind the pillar and engages the flamethrower in his right vambrace. Bo-Katan instantly activates a plasma shield from her left vambrace, the light blue shell guarding her from the flame. He approaches her before deactivating the flamethrower, kicking her shield, sending her backwards onto a table, dropping her blaster in the process.

She fires her whipcord, shooting it towards Din. It wraps tightly around the beskar spear and, before Din can stop her, she yanks it. The spear breaks free from its place on his back, flying towards Bo-Katan, who grabs it and holds it in her hand.

“Let’s see if you even know how to fight with the fucking thing,” Bo-Katan taunts.

Din responds by reaching and grabbing the hilt of the Darksaber, removing it from his utility belt. He takes it in his right hand and ignites it.

“Now we’re talking,” Bo-Katan says.

Neither one attacks immediately. Bo-Katan steps to her right and Din shuffles, shifting to keep her in front of him. They drift around the room, maintaining the same distance and letting their weapons dance hypnotically. It’s as if they’re assessing one another, trying to ascertain weak spots while contemplating strategy.

“I’m waiting, Your Highness,” Bo-Katan mocks.

“Ladies first,” Din retorts.

Bo-Katan tightens her grip on the spear while Din holds the saber ready in front of him. Then, almost suddenly, Bo-Katan leaps forward in a frenzy, coming in hard with the spear. Din catches it with the black blade, the two weapons meeting with a clang and a crackle. Sparks fly, and your heart skips a beat.  She drives hard in a flurry of strikes that keeps him too busy parrying to make any counters of his own. She keeps going until Din’s arms appear to be straining from holding off her simultaneous attacks.

You slip to the ground and sit with your back against the bar, unable to watch anymore, unlike Koska and the handful of spectators watching through the windows. The sounds alone are making you sick. Each clash, each crack, each grunt and groan cause your heart to stop. The Darksaber wasn’t an ordinary weapon, and you worry that Din’s inexperience with it will be his downfall.

You clutch your rings as you close your eyes and find yourself, for the first time in you don’t know how long, legitimately praying, asking the Maker, every god and goddess you can think of, to keep Din safe. He is your everything, your husband, the father of your child, the love of your life. You can’t live without him.

Keep him safe. Please.

You’re unsure how long the fight goes on, but eventually you hear several small clanks as something flies and skitters across the floor followed by silence.

Is it…is it over?

 You take a deep breath before opening your eyes and reaching for the top of the bar, pulling yourself to your feet. You see Din and Bo-Katan, standing close to one another. While she is unarmed, Din is holding the Darksaber to her, the edge of the blade close to her throat.

“Go ahead then. Finish it,” Bo-Katan sneers, taunting him to kill her with a blade that once belonged to her. She looks up at him proudly, hiding the defeat from her eyes.

Din stays still for many moments, the hum of the Darksaber the only sound in the room. After numerous seconds, he deactivates the saber.

“Kote lo'shebs'ul narit,” he states. Keep your glory. He throws the hilt on the ground, as if it means nothing to him, and you know the fight had nothing to do with the Darksaber to him. “Go be ruler of the glass and ash. I want no part of it.” With those words, he turns and walks away, leaving Bo-Katan standing stoically.

You’re in such a state of shock after what you just witnessed that you don’t immediately follow. It takes a moment to snap to reality, then you turn and take a step, nearly tripping over pieces of a broken table. Stopping, you look down at the crumbled pieces of stone, the look at the room, seeing tables and chairs overturned and broken, pieces of a pillar chipped away. You fumble around in your bag, looking for credits. After grabbing a handful, you return to the bar and set them down there, the bartender watching from the other side, stunned to silence.

“S-sorry. So sorry for the mess,” you mumble as you back away, then turn and walk hurriedly out of the building.

Entering the sun and air of Lothal, you see that Din is nearly back to the ship. You jog across the field, past all the other ships, but don’t catch up util you’re both inside Slave II. You hurriedly press the button to close the ramp then turn to look at Din.

He quickly tears the helmet off his head, then throws it across the room, the clang it makes when it hits the wall causing you to jump.

“Damn it!” he exclaims.

“Din-”

“Help me get this fucking armor off.” He’s tears his gloves off and throws them on the floor.

You quickly step to him, concerned as to why he wants help undressing so rapidly.

“W-what is it?” you question frantically, quickly looking him over as you remove a pauldron. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No,” he replies irritably. “I just want it the fuck off.”

“Okay, okay,” you assure him. “Alright. Calm down.”

You kneel on the floor in front of him, carefully detaching the armor on his thighs before removing the other pieces.

“Can’t fucking breath with this shit on.” Din rips off his chestplate and throws it, his cloak falling to the floor as he yanks it from around his neck, leaving him in just his flightsuit and boots. “Maker. Fuck. I’m going to shower,” he says angrily, turning and storming off toward the lifttube. “Get us in the air.”

“Oh…Okay,” you utter, awkwardly putting your hands in your lap. “Where are we headed?”

“Fuck if I know,” he says before pressing the button and closing the tube, leaving you alone on the floor in the corridor.

You stare at the closed door for a moment before looking around at the mess Din made, his once sacred armor tossed carelessly around the passageway. Seeing his helmet, you crawl to it and grab it, holding it carefully in your hands. You stare at the visor as you rub your thumb along the metal, which is cold and smooth against the pad of your finger. It’s almost hard to believe that there was a time when you knew nothing of what he looked like under the beskar. Now, you wonder if he’ll ever put it on again.  

You inhale and slowly let out the breath as you grab his cloak and spread it out on the floor. You place his helmet on it, then gather the other discarded pieces, knowing you couldn’t just leave the mess. Once you have everything, you gather up the fabric, using his cloak as a makeshift rucksack, then carry it up to your quarters, where you leave it on the floor.

As you turn to leave, the sound of running water from the refresher catches your attention. You stop outside the door and put your hand to it, wishing you knew what Din’s thinking, how to comfort him. You hope a shower will help him calm down at least.

For now, you opt to follow his order, taking the leaving the room and talking the lifttube up to the bridge. You sit in the captain’s chair and stare down at the console, looking at all the buttons and levers. Getting the ship in the air would be no problem, but what in the galaxy are you supposed to do once you get it there?

Where are we supposed to go?

Your first thought is Nevarro. Din isn’t too proud to ask friends for help, and Greef and Cara would surely provide whatever support the two of you would need until you figure out what’s next. Maybe you both could find work there, anything to bring in some income before the baby comes. Plus, it’s not terribly far from Lothal, both in the northeastern edge of the galaxy, so it wouldn’t take much gas to get there. Or there’s Tatooine, the planet you’re most accustomed to. Maybe Boba Fett could offer guidance, maybe some work too if Din’s willing to go back to hunting. For a moment you even contemplate returning to Naboo, returning to the honeymoon cut short by this useless venture.

Fuck it. Here we go, I guess.

 You ready the ship for take off then take her in the air, going higher and higher until you’re in space. After entering coordinates, you engage the ships auto-pilot but leave it out of hyperdrive, not wanting to get too far before one of you comes up with a more concrete plan.

Knowing the ship would be okay on its own, you return to the second level. When the doors to your quarters open, you find Din there, sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s dressed in a clean flightsuit but nothing more, his hair towel dried and messy. His elbow rests on a knee, his chin resting on his palm, two fingers covering his lips while the others rest against his cheek.

“I know my takeoffs are too smooth to tell, so I’m just letting you know I got us in space.” You offer a small smile, fiddling with your rings as you wait for his response.

“We’re not in hyperspace,” he states.

“No,” you confirm. “Realspace.”

“To?”

“Tatooine.”

He grunts to show he heard you.

“Should only take a few hundred thousand lightyears to get there at this rate, right?” you try to joke. “Plenty of time to figure something out.”

Din doesn’t respond. You move to the bed and sit beside him, but keep to yourself at first, the air filled with awkwardness.

“I’m sorry if I disappointed you,” he says.

“Why would I be disappointed? You just kicked a very well-trained Mandalorian’s ass.”

“What?” he looks at you, confused.

You realize what you said and let out a small laugh. “I mean-”

“What in Malachor am I?” Din interrupts. “Chopped bantha liver?” Din tries to look offended, but you know he’s trying not to grin.

You giggle, grateful that you broke the tension at least. “No, I just… You know what I mean.” You share a smile before turning serious once more. “Look, Din. I never cared one way or another about Mandalore working out. You know that. You made the right choice today.”

“Did I?”

“Yes,” you reassure him. “Even if Bo-Katan’s somehow grown as a person and is no longer a psychopathic terrorist, I know we could never trust her, could never forget what she has done.”

Din pushes his palms into his eyes before rubbing his face. It’s clear he wishes he could forget.

“Plus, she’s fighting an already lost war over a dead planet,” you assure him. “She lives in a world where she thinks claiming the saber will unify the clans and return the planet to a powerful place, but Sabine made it clear that the people’s morale has been crushed. They want to live out their lives in peace. And now, that’s what we can do. We can settle wherever we want, do whatever we want.”

“And of all places you chose Tatooine?” Din questions with a smile.

“I thought maybe you’re finally ready to ditch that armor for some farming tunics,” you joke, nodding toward the pile on the floor.

Din rolls his eyes then chuckles. “I would rather put on the armor again,” he mutters.

“Would you?” you ask quietly. “I mean, will you?”

He’s silent, reflecting as he looks at the armor peaking out from the cloak.

“It’s okay if you want to walk away from the Mandalorian lifestyle, Din,” you assure him. “No one could blame you, especially the circumstances under which you came into it.”

“You can take the man out of the Creed, but can you ever really take the Creed out of the man?” Din ponders.

“I didn’t know you could be so wise.”

“It comes with age, I guess,” he says, a small smile on his face. “Don’t worry about me, riduur. I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. For now, let’s just… Will you lie with me?”

You nod. “Of course.” You scoot yourself onto the bed and lie down your place close to the wall.

Din groans as he lays down and scoots close to you.

“You’re definitely going to feel it in the morning,” you say, snuggle into his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

“I know. But tonight, I just want to feel you.”

{Next}

A/N: Inspired by the fact that Kattee Sackhoff (Bo-Katan Kryze) says that Bo-Katan has had some nefarious intentions in the past and it's unknown if the audience of The Mandalorian should trust her yet. I thought it would be fun to make her an antagonist. In canon, I truly hope Din becomes Mand'alor and kicks ass at it

[leiainhoth]

chapter summary: But the Armourer wasn't a nurturer by trade. She was a protector by Creed, a builder by profession. She was the serger of broken things, and after spending her life in service to those in her care, the Armourer was fixated on returning home once more.But Mandalore was a pipe dream, a foolhardy quest. There was nothing but death and devastation waiting for them there. Whatever Mandalore had once been, whatever Bo-Katan recalled it being under her pacifist of a sister was far removed from what Mandalore was, what it should be.And moreover, the Armourer mused, readying her tools for the footsteps that sounded from the staircase behind her. It had been a long time since she had considered a future for her covert in the light of day.

work summary: For so long, Din fought the reality of giving the child up, giving him to the jetii and moving on. He had prepared for it, packed a bag and left it all behind, so his son could have the life he deserved. All until he didn't have to. Or the one where Luke rescues Grogu on Tython, and Din rescues Luke in return.

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But Mandalore was dust and glass, and the traditions that had survived were thin of the ground, mournful, subdued. In a time where food and safe water were sparse, and it became known that there were no extra funds for extravagance; the Armourer had resigned herself to mixing the beskar they had with lesser metals to make the strength of their heritage pass to many. She broke the promise of her people, her parents, to mix sacred iron with lesser compounds, but what choice did she have? She prided herself on scrounging together enough pure beskar to sponsor every foundling who came to her forge with a buy'ce . If nothing else, durasteel laced with beskar and enforced with the pride of their heritage might keep their children safe.

Although it had failed to do so thus far , the Armourer thought bitterly, thinking of the mass of beskar ingots that rested in the chest beneath her forge. The ingots of a people she had raised, friends, vode ; warriors who had passed on, dead and gone and ensconced forever in the place they had once called home. The place their buire and elders had deemed safe .

It mattered not , the Armourer thought dismissively, pragmatically. Death was death, and death was what awaited them all . The Armourer had been born on Mandalore, had been reared on Mandalore. She had learnt its tenets, sworn its Creed within its glass walls, and its fate was hers . Its redemption was within grasp.

continued

[elionwriter]

STAR WARS TOP TEN CHARACTERS AND RELATIONSHIPS (PART 3)

7) PADME AMIDALA

Usually when characters are "TOO GOOD" they end up being unrealistic and unlikable. NOT HER! A queen by election, an uncompromising senator, a great speaker, a true defender of democracy, a politician that fights in the front lines if necessary and definitely the one true fashionista of the Galaxy. Padme, both in stile and principals, reflects all the good and opulence of the High Republic, an age of stability, greatness and awareness in which debate was a preferable weapon to actual weapons even though she had no problems handling a blaster. Even though we are presented with many great politicians throughout the series no one is quite as resourceful or capable as her. Not even the great Bail Organa. She manages to gain and hold the respect of most senators, even her rivals, despite her young age; she brokers seemingly impossible negotiations, at one point almost bringing the Clone Wars at an end via a peace treaty with the Separatist Alliance; with a single speech she stops the production of new clone batches saving the Republic from bankruptcy. And yet, despite all this wisdom and capacity her greatest asset is her pure and kind heart. It's truly heartbreaking that she of all people found herself in such a painful and controversial relationship. Her love for Anakin is ultimately her downfall as she realizes too late how far gone he is. If anyone ever died of heartbreak is her. It seems a contradiction that someone so strong could abandon herself to sadness in such a manner and yet this single weakness makes her all the more precious, pure and beautiful. With her death all the goodness of that age is burried too leaving the Galaxy colder, dimmer and scarier.

8) HERA SYNDULLA & SABINE WREN

While the entire Specter crew is worthy of the spot, I want to celebrate its queens. I already called Ashoka Togruta pride, but for a species whose females are usually objectified and reduced to cantina dancers, Hera really elevates Twi'leks to the next level. Daughter of a famous and respected leader, Hera inherits that leadership and creates her own rag-tag team to guide the Galaxy towards insurgency against the Empire. It's always a brave decision to stand up against power and tyranny but to do so when one doesn't even know if they're alone in that effort is a titanic feat. Hera leaded the Spectres before the rebel alliance was even formed and had a pivotal role in their operations both as a strategist and an A class pilot. Acting as the mother of the crew she is one of the main reasons the other characters of her team remained alive and bloomed to their full potential. If it wasn't for her, Ezra Bridger wouldn't have joined the fray. Also, she manages to make Han Solo admit that the Ghost is better than the Falcon. Can one blame Kanan for falling head over heels in love with her? And Sabine, well...she is proof that one can be level-headed and hot-headed at the same time. A sassy, trigger-happy, genius, teen Mandalorian with a talent for street art. If you don't love her for this alone then it's definitely all her colors and wicked style that are gonna knock it out of the park. Not only does she change hair-cut and dye each season of "Star Wars: Rebels" she gives her armour a different paint-job too! While Din Djarin's armour is probably the most beautiful and impressive structure and defence wise, Sabine turned hers into a proper masterpiece. Her artistic merits are so good that even art expert Grand Admiral Thrawn wants to collect some of her works. At one point, she wields the dark sabre and manages to unite Mandalorian clans against the Empire's puppet leader. The fact that she had been accepted as a leader by her people but still decided to take a step back and pass the power to older and wiser Bo-katan Kryze is truly a point in her favour. Unforgettable is her relationship with Ezra, built on camaraderie, mutual trust and frienship. Wherever Ezra has ended up Sabine will keep searching for him until he is safely back home.

9) CAPTAIN REX AND THE 501

The prequel trilogy doesn't really tell us much about the clones and what happened during the years of their faithful service to the Republic before the tragic events of order 66 unfold. Thank goodness a lot of additional material got that covered! (Anyone watching the Bad Batch?!) All clones should be celebrated and mourned but no clone captured the heart more that Cpt./Commander Rex along with all the 501st. legion. The faithful and elite group of soldiers led by Anakin Skywalker and Ashoka has proven itself both in and out of the battlefield. Not only did this squad survive the treacherous General Krell, they managed to win the battle he was actively trying to sabotage, get a full confession out of him and imprison him. Not only this, it was one of the squad members, Fives, that almost uncovered the full plot against the Jedi order designed by Chancellor Palpatine. While all clones regarded each other as brothers there was a special bond that tied the men of this group and its leaders. Rex went to extensive lengths to retrieve his lost companion Echo, a move that Anakin supported; Fives ran to Rex and Anakin to reveal his discoveries and had they all not been interrupted, even in his frenzied state, the two seemed willing to listen to his side of the story. There was a solid complicity and trust between Anakin and his men to the point that he revealed to Rex his secret relationship with Padme (Something he didn't openly speak of even with Obi-Wan and Ashoka) and told him of her pregnancy. In exchange, Rex always trusted his general even when he got them all in the most dangerous and unorthodox situations, looking up to him and regarding him as the best of the Jedi even years after the war had ended (when complimenting Kanan's skills he purposefully underlines that he's still not as good as Skywalker). But the most heartwarming instance of all is when Rex and the 501 greet Ashoka, banished from the Jedi order and the military, with painted helmets to remind of her markings still referring to her as Commander. Rex goes always above and beyond his duty, aiding Ashoka and the rebellion years after being dismissed from service. Even as an old timer, he proves that the new Stormtroopers have nothing on him and that he is truly the ultimate soldier and friend. I only wish he could have met Luke, considering he was one of the very few who knew Anakin was expecting a child and he never realised that Anakin hadn't died at the end of the war but had become Darth Vader.

[starwarsficreadingclub]

Reading Selection for 18 April 2021 to 01 May 2021

Questions for this selection to be posted at the end of this reading period, on 01 May 2021!

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Prequels Trilogy - Total Wordcount: 14,780

When the music stops by @kckenobi, 4,988 words, 1/1 chapters Relationships/Characters: Obitine | Obi-Wan & Anakin, Ahsoka Tano, Padmé Amidala Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s04e15 Deception, Grief/Mourning

the house built on fresh snow by Anonymous, 9,792 words, 1/1 chapters Relationships/Characters: Jango Fett/Shmi Skywalker | Nym, Zam Wesell Tags: Alternate Universe, Original Character(s), Slavery, Space Pirates, Found Family, Canon-Typical Violence

Original Trilogy - Total Wordcount: 9,338

for when my chin is on the ground (i pick myself up) by @phosphorescent-naidheachd, 2,268 words, 1/1 chapters, part 1 in series "Scenes from the Herd" Relationships/Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Nara (Bantha), Qui-Gon Jinn Tags: Character Study, Tatooine, Slice of Life, Banthas, Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, Angst and Humor, Exile, Force Ghosts, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, Obi-Wan Kenobi on Tatooine

because I don't know how to love any other way by rain_sleet_snow, 6,340 words, 1/1 chapters, part 1 in series "without knowing how, or when, or where" Relationships/Characters: Beru Whitesun/Owen Lars/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Biggs Darklighter/Luke Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Owen Lars & Luke Skywalker & Beru Whitesun, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Luke Skywalker | R2-D2, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Shmi Skywalker Tags: Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Unconventional Families, Polyamory, Tatooine, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Tatooine is a Death Planet, Women Being Awesome, Canon-Typical Violence, Jedi Mind Trick, Jedi Code

Nineteen by Thistlerose, 730 words, 1/1 chapters Relationships/Characters: Leia Organa, Padmé Amidala Tags: Mother-Daughter Relationship, Missing Scene, Angst

Sequels Trilogy - Total Wordcount: 10,884

Uncouth by AStarWarsFan, 215 words, 1/1 chapters, part 46 in series "English Vocab Prompts" Relationships/Characters: Rey, Leia Organa, Poe Dameron, Finn Tags: General Organa is awesome, The Millennium Falcon really is a pile of trash, and Rey is frustrated with it, Author doesn't know anything about mechanics, but tries anyway

We Are One by JasmineRey, 3,153 words, 1/1 chapters Relationships/Characters: Leia Organa & Rey Tags: Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Jedi Training (Star Wars), Padawan Rey (Star Wars), Jedi Master Leia Organa, Motivational Speeches, Mentors

Twin Suns by RoseThorn14, 7,516 words, chapters 1-2/? Relationships/Characters: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian, The Mandalorian & Rey, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Rey & Luke Skywalker | Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Finn, Poe Dameron, Maz Kanata, Mace Windu, Anakin Skywalker, Chewbacca, BB-8, R2-D2, C-3PO, Ahsoka Tano, Darth Maul, Paz Vizla Tags: Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Character Death, Genocide, Force Bond (Star Wars), May the Force Be With You, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Improper Use of Force Ghosts, Vomiting, Jakku, Adorable Baby Yoda, Found Family, Mandalorian Culture, Force Visions, Infanticide, Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, That's Not How The Force Works

The Mandalorian - Total Wordcount: 10,608

Crossed Paths by @romanmoray, 6,885 words, chapters 1-4/20 Relationships/Characters: Din Djarin/Cal Kestis | Grogu | Baby Yoda, BD-1, Greez Dritus, Cere Junda, Greef Karga, Luke Skywalker, Nightsister Merrin (briefly), The Armorer, Sabine Wren (briefly), Bo-Katan Kryze, Paz Vizsla Tags: Pre-Series, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Rare Pairings

And we are kind to snails by @vaguely-concerned, 3,723 words, 1/1 chapters Relationships/Characters: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Parent-Child Relationship

NSFW - Total Wordcount: 14,569

hang your last lariat in the hallway by @keensers, 9,223 words, 1/1 chapters Relationships/Characters: Din Djarin/Boba Fett, Din Djarin & Grogu Tags: 5+1 Things, First Time, Friends With Benefits to Idiots to Lovers, Porn with Feelings, The Helmet Stays ON (Until It Doesn't), The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers, Casual Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex

Nobody does it like that by @kazhan-draws, 5,346 words, 1/1 chapters Relationships/Characters: Codywan Tags: PWP, Established Relationship, Multiple Orgasms, Prostate Milking, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon Fix-It

[bobathots]

no actually wait i want to talk abt the music in ep 3

yes i agree the tusken death scene was a poor choice but for a moment i dont want to talk abt the visuals or the implications of it i just wanna talk abt the gorgeous music we got

because ok. its a death scene. we got a song of mourning. but instead of instrumentals or anything we get fucking. acapella vocals. and it makes me immediately think of religious chants

and like. isnt that something the mandalorian explored? mandalorian as a religion? like yes ok din is in the culty part of it or whatever according to bo-katan but the creed is his religion

and boba wasnt brought up the same way din was but he’s still a mandalorian!! and if jango taught all the clones those mando’a chants i would imagine he taught boba them too

which, speaking of, this makes me want to believe that ludwig took inspo from the mando’a chants that were recorded for the republic commando game bc those are ALSO vocal heavy (i think they’re accompanied but. its a choral piece in the same way the piece in tbobf is)

ANYWAY what im trying to get at ultimately is that i just think its so fucking nifty we got a song of mourning instead of a war chant and its so hauntingly beautiful and im so glad it was sung in mando’a and AAAAAAAAAAAA