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crumbledcastle28 · 2 years ago

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Din Djarin: Bright and Shiny

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (she/her)

Excerpt: “Do you like It?” he whispered, and you swore you were dreaming. You had pictured him like this so many times—so many times—but it was real. This was fucking real and you were fucking on fire.”

“Yes,” you said, breathily. “I do.”

You were locked on his helmet so badly that you didn’t see his right hand creeping up to frame your face with it. Holding your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, forcing you to focus on his face.

“What do you like about it?”

Warnings: smut smut smut and more smut (me writing a dom man?), with softness at the end. The Crest is aliveee. Grogu isn’t here yet.

A/N: Happy Dincember everyone, aka my absolute favorite tumblr tradition. To all the authors updating prompts every day…are you Gods?

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be very appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

There was no bigger hypocrite in the galaxy than the infamous Mandalorian.

Blood-crusted beskar coated the majority of his body every time he placed his feet on solid ground—every time— in addition to the metaphorical armor that was his demeanor. Solid, unbreakable, stern, terrifying.

It was not until you had spent a few months as his “partner” at the Guild, thus living together on his quickly crumbling Razor Crest, that you were met with his true doctrine of hypocrisy.

It was as if every time he elected to remove a piece of his armor for you, he knocked down one of his walls. First was the night he removed the small shoulder and shin pieces, the same night he elected to crack his first joke. Next was the dark-browned chest, sharing with you that he was a foundling in his Covert. Then the belt, covered in more weapons and weight than you had ever seen, and he told the story of his first kill. Then the wrists, along with the story of his toughest kill. The one that haunted him as he attempted to fall asleep at night. Then his gloves, with the story of the first woman he had ever fell in love with.

“You remind me of her,” he had said to you, “except you have actually stayed.” He had said the last part quickly before immediately exiting the pit to hide in his “room” for a few hours.

You remained in your copilot seat, staring off into the stars of hyperspace, unable to think at all.

Slowly—very slowly— the Mandalorian had revealed more and more of his true self to you. The one who would sneakily hum around the Crest, make sure to turn your heated blanket on early on cold nights, and always—always—avoid spiced food like the plague.

“It upsets my stomach,” he had defended, and you scoffed in return.

After such long travel-times on jobs, you would get so used to the softness of his true personality that when he would have to put his armor back on—literally and figuratively— you almost felt like you were looking and speaking to a different person.

The heat in your lower stomach felt that way too.

It flared when he was soft, but the switch from the man you knew to the Mandalorian always reminded you both of when you first met him and what he was truly capable of.

Plus, seeing the width of his shoulders accentuated by the most expensive and impenetrable metal known to man was not bad either.

You had been sitting at the usual meeting spot with Greef, ready to discuss the dozen pucks already sitting in front of you. You were still due for a new job after the boat-load of beskar given to you for the little green baby— which definitely was not still on your conscious— and Mando was running a bit late due to the crafting of his new armor. You waited anxiously to see the results.

“I have never held this much in my own hands before,” he had said to you, and you beamed up at him as he spoke. “This will likely be enough for an entirely new set.”

You had no idea how right he was.

You sat at the booth with Greef, making pleasant enough conversation, but mostly daydreaming of what Mando was seeing, feeling, touching. The pleasure to watch his own armor be crafted by hand, you could not even imagine what that would be like.

You took a sip of your drink—one that Greef had been so gracious to buy for you—and let it burn as you set it down on the sticky wooden table. As soon as the glass touched the wood, the entire cantina silenced, and all eyes went to the entrance. Your eyes followed the crowd’s, unable to see for certain what everyone was looking at.

It only took a few seconds for you to realize that the “what” was actually a “who,” and that “who” was the kindest man you had ever known wrapped in wealth, power, and impenetrability.

It was a good thing you had set your drink down, because it would have dropped to the floor, shattering into millions of pieces, because he was the sexist thing you had ever laid your eyes on.

This was the Mandalorian.

You thought his previous armor was intimidating—small shoulder pieces, a wide chest piece, and even wider thigh pieces. He was both a distraction to you and a threat to everyone else in that armor.

But now, now he fully covered, head to toe, in shimmering silver. His waist the tiniest you had seen it, with his shoulders as wide as they had ever looked. Almost the entirety of his legs were covered now, and even his helmet gleamed and glistened in the light. He walked straighter, stood taller, and stepped slower. Like he was enjoying this.

He had never looked more lethal, and with all of the eyes on him, his own were on you.

You stared back at him as he made his way, mouth slightly parted, and legs squeezing tighter and tighter together with each step he took. The typical slight steam in your stomach at the sight of him was now boiling hot, running through the blood in your body faster than you could process. The lack of blood flow to your brain caused it to wipe itself clean and focus solely on the warrior in front of you. Your hands began to shake and your mouth parched.

You were speechless. A deadly bounty hunter stunned speechless.

He said nothing as he scooched his way into the booth, and you remained looking at him even when his body was turned towards Greef.

“I want my next job,” he said.

Greef said something, something witty, but you didn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear it.

“I want my next job,” Mando repeated. Amban rifle in his lap, leaning slightly forward.

Holy fuck the heat in you.

He grabbed a puck and began walking out, turning back to signal you to follow. You stood slowly, thanked Greef, and exited the Cantina, eyes locked on the expanse of his back the entire walk to the Crest.

~*~

It wasn’t two seconds after Mando put the security lock on the Crest that he had you cornered with his words.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, taking a step closer to you. You were both in the cock pit, ready to take off, and you were standing in front of the controls.

“No,” you said, meeting his gaze as fiercely as you could. Your hands were glued to your sides and your fists squeezed so hard they stung.

“Okay,” he said, so fucking softly it hurt you. He was still making his way closer to you, forcing you to look up.

“Okay,” you responded, and you thought that was it. He would back off.

But your fucking eyes betrayed you, darting down to the expanse of his body, and he laughed.

“Do you like It?” he whispered, and you swore you were dreaming. You had pictured him like this so many times—so many times—but it was real. This was fucking real and you were fucking on fire.

“Yes,” you said, breathily. “I do.”

“What do you like about it?”

You could barely breathe enough to respond. Your throat instantly dried, and every word of any language was lifted from you.

“I—I like—” you started, swallowing “—I like the chest.”

“The chest,” he said, bringing your hand up to the cold metal. “What about it?”

You traced your fingers down it, still forced to look up at him by his leather glove. “I like how wide it makes you. How powerful.”

He stood there in silence before asking, “what else?”

“The legs,” you whispered. “I really like the legs.”

He nearly growled. “Why Y/N? Tell me.”

Your name on his lips at this stage of the game was too much.

“It makes them look big. Strong,” you said, heart in your throat. “I like that.”

He softened his grip on your face and moved his hand to the back of your neck. “I know you do.” He then tapped twice on his helmet. “Heat signature.”

Your face fell and paled.

How long had he—

“I’ve known since the first day I met you,” he said, massaging your neck. “Just never knew how to bring it up.”

“Why now?” you whispered, voice deep from the pleasure of his fingers.

“Because this is the strongest it’s ever been for you,” he replied. “And for me. Seeing you watching me like that…”

He brought his hand back to frame your face.

“…I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than you in that moment.”

He started pulling you forward by your face.

“And now i have you, don’t I?”

Yes he did, so much of you, parts of you you didn’t even know about before him.

“Yes.”

He let go of you and sat in the pilot’s seat, spreading his legs.

“So ruin me, Y/N. Ruin this bright and shiny armor.”

You practically jumped on him.

You immediately mounted him, wrapping your hands around his shoulders, and felt all around the metal. Your breaths fogged up his helmet as you did, practically moaning at the chance to finally feel the expanse of his body. He kept his hands firmly on your hips, watching your face as you panted and whined in his.

After a few moments he picked you up and sat you on his right thigh.

“Go on.”

You immediately rolled your hips, fully moaning at the feeling, and rolled them faster and faster and deeper and deeper.

Your head began tipping back as the metal ground against your clit perfectly, but Mando pulled your face forward to rest your forehead on his.

“Mando—”

“It’s Din,” he said firmly, squeezing your hips enough to bruise. “Say it.”

You rolled your hips over and over, desperation dripping off your voice. “Din.”

It was then that he released a moan, ripped your pants and underwear off of you, and took control of your hips on his thigh. He placed you down just right and tears coated your eyes, sweat poured from your pours, and with one inch of incline from his leg, you shattered.

Your forehead fell against his, panting and whining “Din” over and over again as he kept you moving on him through your orgasm. You felt yourself drip down onto the floor and run down his legs, and your eyes rolled at the thought.

You held onto the fabric around his neck for dear life, gathering as much breath as you could, and Din just let you.

It was then that he started to feel you up.

He moved from your hips to your bare thighs, back up to your clothed breasts, then to your face to brush back your hair, and finally back down to your thighs. He gathered your drip from his thigh onto his leather glove. He brought it underneath his helmet, and your mouth dropped open.

He sucked it slowly, not making any noise except a slight groan. “I knew I was right.”

You swallowed, still panting in both exhaustion and shock. “Right?”

“I knew every part of you was perfect.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you smiled nice and wide. You had a feeling he was smiling too.

It was this sense of elation and euphoria that gave you the freedom not to think before sliding your hand over his hardened bulge and raising your eyebrows in question.

He chuckled, which somehow melted you more than anything he had done previously.

“Not right now,” he said sweetly, and pulled you into his chest. You cozied up into him before he slowly lifted you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t think I’d last two seconds.”

You smiled, humming. “Okay Din.”

His body tensed a bit when you said that, and you wondered if you crossed some sort of boundary, but he continued on his way to his bed. He set you in It, wrapping you in his sheets, and grabbing a towel to clean you off. You got a good show of yourself stained and running all over his thigh and nearly jumped on him again.

“Like I said,” he countered, likely picking up on the change in your temperature, “I wouldn’t last two seconds.”

You nodded with a smile and he took the towel to the laundry room before returning to you, sitting on the side of the bed.

“Get some rest,” he said. “We have a job to do in the morning.”

He stood, making his way back to the cockpit, but you called out to him.

“Mando, wait,” you said, and he froze before slowly turning back around. “Are we okay? Was that…okay?”

He paused, leaning himself into the doorway, sighing as always, and said, “Y/N, I wouldn’t trade the world for the last hour I’ve had with you.”

You enjoyed this forward, talkative Din much more than you anticipated to.

“And call me Din,” he said. “Please.”

He then left you, starting up the Crest to make its way to hyperspace, and you drifted slowly into sleep, still on a high. You finally fell asleep to the feeling of a warm body wrapping itself around you, and a deep voice whispering in your ear, “We’re okay, Y/N. We’re okay.”

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@leahkenobi @cityofidek @burned-dorito @tiredbuthappy @punkiwiki @lovesbiggerthanpride @darth-voder @samanthacookieone @torchbearerkyle @stardust-galaxies @c4psicles-blog @joelsflannel @mysun-n-stars @tateelii @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @martinsmomo @letaliabane @cathenan @big-ol-boat @niiight-dreamerr @jezebel1945 @call-me-doll-face @yelyahcardella @letskeepthislo-ki @misspearly1 @petals-opento-the-moon @just-a-sewer-goblin @em---r @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @reader8679

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dankmyfarrik · 3 months ago

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Eternal Sunshine | Chapter 9: Know Hope

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Summary: An alternate universe where the only thing that happens differently is... well, the Emperor wins. And Luke wakes up with a mysterious scar on his temple.

Read it here:

AO3

Welcome back! Sorry about the delay! This took way longer than I was expecting to finish. But here we are - enjoy!

Chapter warnings: Cannon typical violence, Grogu is put in a dangerous situation but is completely fine.

Word Count: ~7k

*~*~*~*~*~*

A few things happen when a Star Destroyer enters lower atmosphere.

First, because there are other ships that serve similar purposes more eloquently, a Star Destroyer needing to leave the vastness of the galaxy, and stoop so low is considered a rarity and thus a necessity. A docking Star Destroyer is not an everyday occurrence.

It begins as dark omen cutting through the sky—small at first, eventually growing to eclipse the suns. Large enough the beast ever so slightly captures the curvature of the planet, it dwarfs whatever landmark of civilization or nature lies below it.

Second is what happens in the mind.

It's a humbling sight that freezes the blood of the non-imperial.

Then, the wind begins sweeping the land like a beckoning storm. And that's when the roar of the engines, deep and resonant, echo through the valleys, cities, mountains - whatever is in the way, sending shivers down to the marrow.

The only sensible action then becomes surrender. But most of the galaxy, Din had found, was not sensible. Star Destroyers, more often than not, served as the beginnings of glorious tales, a demon descending to find itself unwelcome.

So when the Descant slowly clambered its way through the docking procedures, the shadow cast on the ground growing larger and larger it was a rarity that the planet below it offered no fight. The fight had been beaten out of it years ago, now it had succumb to the great galactic Empire.

It was an odd sight, Din thought. The world was beautiful: pristine grassy hills, a bright blue-purple sky, soft tufts of cherry blossoms. Yet the planet was swarmed by the Empire; it was a hive home to parasites. Two worlds of freedom and order.

As a passenger, Din was not permitted to land with the Descant. The Crest, forced to depart with a grumble from underpaid and overworked imps, left the Descant and Natus behind. He would have stayed as long as he could have, even against the beckoning draw of the beeping fob in his hand—seeking the bounty, calling him on. Everything in Din's beingknew it was wrong to leave Natus alone and vulnerable. And Leia. Maybe even the Maker didn't know what they were doing to her. But her orders were clear—say his name. Get through to him. Leave if you must.

A glance behind the departing Crest revealed the Descant was exchanging large creates, and to his horror chained people between the Imperial facility.

The Crest lurched into hyperspace.

Stars encompassed the viewport.

It wasn't long before Din was circling Tatooine and preparing his own docking procedures. As he got closer, a black dot, a silhouette of a ship against the pale gold marble, slowly slid into focus. His gloved hands paused on the controls.

The silence in the cockpit was palpable, broken only by the hum of the ship's engines and the faint, rhythmic beeping of the navigational systems. Tatooine sprawled beneath him, a desert planet of endless dunes and scorching suns, a placewhere survival was as harsh and unyielding as the landscape itself—an old, familiar pain. The ship in the distance, stark against the golden sands, seemed almost a mirage, a specter born of heat and light. One of the suns eclipsed the planet just behind the Crest, eliminating the shadows.

The familiar husky voice sparked over the com.

"If you're looking for the trandoshan, I've just bagged him." Slave One drifted closer. The monitor thrummed and beeped innocently.

Boba broke the silence again, something abnormal lacing his usually jolly tone. "Djarin… I have something you need to see."

"Fett," Din started, believing this to be the reason, "how we left things—"

Solo. We fought. I left you behind. I think you got hurt.

All unsaid.

"I know." His brother recognized his tone. "This isn't a trick. I respect you. If I ever come to my senses and choose to finally fight you, it will be with honor."

Slave One latched onto the Crest from where they circled high above the desert hell.

Din entered Boba's ship still aware of the weight of the blaster at his hip, but his hands didn't itch for it like he normallydid seeking through the scum pits. Din trusted him.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight when the latch door hissed open.

A small human girl, her hair tight in braids clung to Boba's leg nervously. At the sight of Din she jolted behind Fett further, only leaving room for her wide eyes to peek over, head as high as his knee pad. Awkwardly but with a demonstrated practice, the burly man placed a comforting and familiar hand on her back. She couldn't have been older than four.

"Now my kar'ta, it's alright. Din is a friend. He has a little one he watches over too."

Din's chest tightened, a sharp pain piercing through at the thought of leaving the kid with the imps for so long. His only solace was knowing there was a protector on the inside.

Instinctively, he dropped to one knee, trying to make himself as small as possible. Even then, he still towered over her.

"Hi kid."

The attempt was pitiful, even to him. But the act seemed good enough to her. Her eyes looking through him, into his soul and he thought he met her eyes through the visor for a split moment but maybe it was just his imagination. She seemed to see what she was looking for and hesitantly stepped out from Boba's shadow. She reached a hand up, and Fett instinctually held his arm out. They locked pinky fingers as she guided herself and Fett closer to Din. She needed to take three steps for every one of Boba's.

"They must have kept her in one of the most secure places in the whole kirffing galaxy." It was too late to fix his language so both the men just winced. "Yet she got out. They had glowing wristbands on her–maybe something for a shock? This little thing. Can you believe those monsters? And she still got out. An'edee!"

She paused, seeing herself in the reflection of the polished beskar. She reached a tentative hand, the pad of her finger brushing Din's chestplate and for a moment, with her small hands on them both, she linked them together, and whatever hurt and unspoken words he and Boba had harbored dissipated into the universe.

She had a firm face and stern eyes despite her age–a childhood cut too short. She, at four, may already know of danger and death, and her place in all of it. In a flash, Din saw a small boy hidden in a red hood looking back at him—reaching out—screaming for his mother. And with an unheard clang on an anvil working beskar he was back, looking at this freckled, fair girl with hurt soulful eyes.

And a small scar in the same exact place Natus had his.

"I'm Rey," she said—proud of every word, "It's nice to meet you."

"They sent me after her." Anger shook his voice as he bit out three words Boba prayed to the Maker she wouldn't understand.

"Hot or cold."

At these words Din's jaw clenched, drawing blood from his cheek. Boba's fists balled so tightly Din could hear the leather creaking from where he stood. "So she stays with me now."

Fett obviously skipped a lot in between, but enough went without saying.

She will never go back.

"I said the oath," He was full of warmth and pride. "She's my ad'ika."

"I'm happy for you."

"You're looking at it," Rey piped up softly. Her hand moved some of the hair blocking Din's view of her scar. Now he saw it wasn't red and angry like Natus' cut, it had scabbed and healed over rotations ago—losing a time war and fading into her skin as a small ice-like sliver. "You want to know."

"Yes. Someone I care about a lot has a similar mark."

Boba's helm turned a sliver of a degree, he must now understand the depths of Din's affection for the Sith but he didn't comment.

"They hurt my mommy and daddy," her voice a broken whimper. "I got mad. They wanted me to not remember anymore." Her small, childlike hand touched her scar again.

"There was a nice man in a black mask. He held my hand and told them: no more!"

"Wait," Boba breathed, "Nice man in a black mask? Karking Darth Vader??" The men winced at Boba's language again.

Rey nodded happily.

"But your scratch, they wanted you to forget?"

"Yes. Then my head hurt bad. But he helped me."

Din had the start of an answer.

"Thank you," he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him, a tooth missing.

Mission now set, Din quickly turned to leave, Fett caught his arm at the elbow.

His voice a hiss, "Wait. If you go now while they are docked or anywhere near that hub—it's a death trap Din. They would never give him up easy. You will get swarmed and will lose any trust you ever gained."

Din knew he was right. But he had a thought of those Imps hurting him like they hurt her, with maybe less reservation because he wasn't child—maybe they didn't think that way. No matter, it clawed at him, seared in his mind, urging action. He knew he didn't have long.

"You heard her about forgetting. Natus—Luke—How many times do you think…"

Fett looked down at Rey.

"I can't leave him. Like you can't leave her. He knows something is wrong. I can't let him forget. Not now." Not when Leia is there too.

"I'm not going to put her back in danger."

"I would never ask that of you."

"I know."

Din stepped through the latch separating the ships. Boba continued, "Reach me if you need a quick escape."

Din nodded, the door between them slid shut, and the ships separated.

—-

Leia had felt the Descant dock with a low rumble and a jolt so subtle it would have gone unnoticed if she weren't trapped in a bright, blank cell. The rumble and the jolt, however minor, were a disruption in the otherwise unchanging monotony, a reminder that the galaxy outside still moved and shifted; she could only pray that the pawns she put in place were strong enough to shift the tide in her direction. It was what she excelled at, after all.

Her intricate braids were held up by a sharp blade that, at a moment's notice, she could brandish or slowly use the tool to chip away through the backside of the door's control panel. She could knock out a trooper, commandeer a pod, and be in lightspeed minutes before an alarm would even sound. Leia knew she would neither fight nor flee, and the opportunity, the ability, and the willingness to do so were more torturous than anything the cell itself could muster.

She mediated some, always keeping her brother and his whereabouts in a quiet corner in her mind. Before everything fell apart that day an eternity ago, he had been a steady constant to her–-and she knew it went both ways. In some way she always had known of their shared blood, drawing to him like a magnet in her head. Now, Leia knew she also still had a home in that quiet part of his mind, but it felt like that home had been boarded up, or the path to the home eroded away.She still felt him. Kept him close.

Thus Leia knew when the Mandalorian executed his part of the plan. Neither of them had been clear on specifics, just–say his name. Get through to him. Find a way.

Well, the hunter certainly found a way. A blush found its way to her face, the tips of her ears turning a shade of red. Leia was, thankfully, able to tune out their connection momentarily, choosing to focus on… literally anything else. Even her dull box.

She didn't fail to notice, before tunning him out, his feelings of dread soften and even turn to bright comfort she hadn't felt in a long time. How rare, she thought, love in a place like this.

Leia froze the instant she felt him again. With her absence, he had gotten close; a plume of worry and fear surrounded his movements—that's what snapped her attention to him. Maybe the Mandalorian got through to her brother a bit too well…

The seamless panels of durasteel��parted with a light mechanical whirl. The corridor beyond was bathed in more of the cool, sterile light casting sharp shadows on the metal floor. A breeze, carrying the faint scent of recycled air and machinery flooded inwards as her brother stood in the doorway panting, looking like he was living through a nightmare.

"Leia," he paused and sucked in more air, he had been running, "what do I do?"

She jumped to her feet from where she had been failing to meditate. An impending dread was closing in on them both. It was nameless but in the air nonetheless, as real as them both but nowhere to be found. But he was there, seeking her like all the other times before.

"Leave this awful place with me. I have help–lots of it–they are coming soon, we just need to leave and get outside."

"I cannot abandon my father and Master. Or are you suggesting I leave and be with rebel scum?"

He wasn't as far long as she had hoped. Leia pushed down her own panic to speak, needing to be heard more than she needed water or to breathe.

"You've called out to me before. We've met like this briefly, a few times. I need you to remember. Remember me now Luke. You know something is not right."

"I don't know!"

"Focus on what you feel." Her eyes were wide.

"I don't know you!" He pointed a wicked finger at her, his body quivering.

Leia clamped her mouth shut, absorbing the hurt. She took a step forward so that his quivering crooked finger poked her straight in the heart. She could feel his pain seeping through his anger and confusion.

"You came to me just now," she whispered, "why."

His voice made more of a choking sound than actual words. "The Empire is good. I know it to be true. We need order to the chaos. But there are deep and painful secrets being kept from me. Everyone knows but me. And then you show up."

He growled and she didn't dare to stop his flow of words.

"I can't write you off as a fool like my officers would like me to believe. I spoke to a scientist---they are manipulating force users with an operation—I. They are doing something terrible to me, and I don't even know what it is."

"It's true. They are doing something to you, I'm not sure what. But over and over again they make you forget when you remember—when you remember me. They are hurting you."

Even still, he shook his head like he couldn't fully believe her, "How have I known you all of my life when I've never met you before?"

"I am your sister, Luke."

He dropped his accusing hand with a soft gasp. He knew very few things about this universe and much less about himself, but he knew this to be true.

"And we haven't known each other for very long. Not a lifetime. But I…I feel the same."

Family.

More than just him and Father.

"Leia," his voice broken, "help me."

She rushed to him, grasping his face in her hands with gentle urgency and pressed their foreheads together. Energy of the Force bloomed from her, amplifying the beauty of the planet that lay beyond the walls of the Descant. Through this, he tangled his hands into her hair, holding onto her with all his might, a plea for permanence, he would never let go, not when she was this close. Never again. He loved her.

The floodgates opened, and memories rushed in. The ones with comfort. Feelings of friendship—closeness with faceless people he knew so well. Flashes of family, Leia was there, but so were other people. A home, a stove, cinnamon, nutmeg, warm bluemilk. An old man and woman's faces etched with lines and crinkled eyes—the woman's simile.

The smile was contagious, it bloomed on his lips, a simple joy. Leia felt it too and she shared her warmth with him in the Force. He wrapped her into a hug, squeezing her somehow even harder.

More memories followed, a cascade lightheartedness. Laughter—oh, the sound of it was like music, so pure and rare. Someone's laugh, bright and unrestrained, resonated through his mind. It spoke of simpler times, of shared jokes and carefree moments with friends and a droid. He laughed, very light with the memories.

Another laugh, no a cackle, shattered this world–cutting through his mind like the jagged lines on his skin. This wasn't a memory.

The walls of Leia's cell reeled open with a mechanical hiss. Palpatie—glowing eyes peering from his hood—his clawed hands outstretched at his sides undoing the illusion of the cell. The larger room was lined with data pads, testing tubes, an operating table with restraints cipped open, waiting.

An interodroid buzzed next to him, and behind that was Pershing, the man didn't look up, he just pushed up his glasses from his hardened stare at the floor.

Despite the bile, he fell on one knee. Leia stayed tall—lips morphing to a scowl, defiant as the day she was born. They were still so close, he could feel her warmth next to him in his bow.

The soulless cackle continued, and more memories hit him. Bad ones. Sadness, fear. The old couple lay burned, home on fire, the smell of their flesh. Father struck down a cloaked figure, and a horrified scream escaped his own lips.

"Natus, my boy," Palpatine spoke, a squeaky gravely wine, "I came all the way here because I felt your pain."

Natus wouldn't have felt this pain. These memories didn't belong to him, these memories belonged to the other one, the one ripping him in two. The one Leia reached. Luke.

Yet, he still felt the wave of shame and embarrassment that not only was his weakness palpable to his Master, but it was strong enough that it compelled Palpatine to check on him. And to see that he was failing.

"I'm sorry, Master," he whispered, casting his eyes to the ground.

Then, Luke reminded him about those memories. Did those memories feel like he was a failure? Certainly not.

"It is my sincerest apologies you had to find out this way, but the princess, manipulative as ever, forced our hand."

"Liar!" Leia cried.

Palpatine continued diplomatically, ignoring the outburst of the girl beside him. "You were sick. Your mind hemorrhaging from a concussion. I had my best scientists save your life. We need to check your mind often…for your saftey. Only the Empire has the technological resources and the facilities for such unprecedented advancements."

His yellow-bagged eyes grew, "Without me you will surely…" he paused a crawling, tingling feeling, as he placed extra emphasis on every syllable, "...parish."

"Then why not just tell me?" His voice not as strong as he intended. Still on his knees.

Why didn't you tell me? You told me that Darth Vader betrayed and murdered my father.

Your father... was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force. He ceased to be the Jedi and "became" the Sith Darth Vader.

His head throbbed.

"The scientists thought that would hurt you more." As his Master continued Pershing didn't budge, didn't look up. Locked, frozen. "But I am telling you now."

A cold washed over him in the Force.

"You know it's not true, trust your feelings."

Search your feelings. You know it to be true.

Impossible!

"Nonsense. I have loved you, boy, and cared for you for as long as you can remember. I want what is best for you. Come with me now."

The interrodoid buzzed closer. But it wasn't going for him.

It was after Leia.

"NO!!!"

Then he was falling. Falling. Falling through the clouds.

He searched the Force, frantic for something not bolted to the ground to throw–to collapse the Descant into itself as to how he had done with the Profundity. In half a breath, he scanned the room, sensing every detail: the muscles and veins of windpipes, Pershing's abnormally fast heartbeat, and his shaking hands on a remote button.

There was a slight hiss; he felt a single drop fall a short distance—the sound soft through his own screaming as the drop mixed with a solution.

Before his breath could be finished, the Force stopped slowing his perception of time as the sound of screaming durasteelpropelled itself at them, followed by a wall of fire. He felt himself thrown to the floor—reaching out to block debris with the Force.

With an unidentifiable wail, Pershing and Palpatine vanished into the sea of flames. The chemicals ignited along the walls, shattering—pops and bangs—spitting their glass and spilling onto the floor.

Leia's hand found his, yanking him up and pulling him through the chaos. Flames licked at his feet, his cape singeing, smoldering black firey holes into his pristine uniform. The smoke swirled around them, shifting to shades of green and magenta, as they struggled to breathe, sprinting through the demolished opening.

With one glance back into the room, he saw the operating table, restraints still open, reaching out to them. The broken interrogation droid lay amidst melted, warped surgical tools and scattered syringes, vanishing into the thick smoke.

Trial 3.C—

Trial 14.A stim–

Leia!!! I'm here—

No this is wrong—

Trial 21.D—

Trial 27.B, stimulating superimposed inhibitor chip…Pain.

He was limping badly. The onslaught of memories couldn't be stifled, and everything and anything was a trigger. He was vaguely aware of the smoldering patches burning in rings into his body as they ran.

The old couple told him to run. That woman after him. He was smaller then, his legs carrying him as fast as he could through the desert. Sand kicking up as he ran and ran.

Was he crying? He was aware that Leia had taken his communication device and was giving commands into it, but her words didn't register in his mind.

Bleeding and broken. Alarm shrieking and echoing through the red-flashing halls.

"Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured."

"We just need to make it out of the Descant!" Leia cried above the jolt of the speaker.

"Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured. Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured. Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured. Initiate—"

They turned a corner, then another, and another. He kept a strong enough posture to pretend to be in possession of Leia. It worked; troopers practically leaped out of his way—just as they had done every other time he had made the same path with crazed eyes and blood-stained clothes. Because Natus is a monster.

Horrors he committed came to him. He gasped, and a tear fell.

They pasted another dozen soldiers all of then running paying them little mind. But it only took one to put two and two together. One com-in and they would all descend upon him.

"Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or—"

A horrible screeching sound ripped through the air, and they followed—leading them to the outside world lit by starlight and burning ships. Hundreds of ties rocketed past them, in the disarray hitting each other, causing multiple collisions in the sky as the tie-fighters desperately returned to their designations, incapable of making a lightspeed retreat by themselves, like cockroaches in the light as rebel fighters loomed down from the heavens.

An attack of this scale must have taken months to plan. How had he let this happen under his nose? He was thankful.

"Watch out! Go. Go!"

Dazed, he felt as though he were watching himself in a holo--removed from the situation and scenes providing him information seconds behind as he tried to filter through the onslaught of memories.

Leia seized his hand again, jerking him down as a ship hurled itself just above them, slamming into the Descants' hold. Fire and steel tumbled down on them, forcing them to jump blindly, limbs flailing in the air, hitting the ground hard. Tumbling, rolling, damp grass and foliage clinging to him.

Leia hauled him up once again.

"Hurry, to the landing spot! We can't slow now—I have you. We are so close!"

Then out of the corner of her eye she spotted the Descant behind them. Troopers were all but running—loading equipment and prisoners back on board. The red lights still flickering, illuminating them in the hellish light, revealing their chains.

—-

The Crest fell from the sky with a roar.

Din only had seconds after completing the jump to discover the firefight he had been dropped into. By that point, the Crest was already spiraling downwards with a cracked thruster.

Din's arms strained with the might of pulling up on the controls. He aimed for a patch of trees; it was the best he could do. If he survived and found the siblings, they would have to steal a ship or make that call to Boba. He wished he had told Leia he would come back for them. He would just need to survive this… controlled crash.

It was the beskar that had saved him.

When he awoke, ears ringing, approximately ten minuets after the impact. Muscles protesting, he dragged himself out of the shards of transparisteel, treelimbs, and smoldering rubble of what used to be his home.

No time for sentiment now.

Once his feet were comfortably on the aborial floor Din toggled through the settings on the visor. He ignored the chaos in the sky with swarming X-wings, ties, and the Star Destroyers beginning the slow ground-quaking take-off process. It remindied him of tired banthas trying to stand as they were swarmed by flies. Maybe his humor wasn't fully gone. And somehow he knew Leia was responsible for all of it.

He instead opted to scan the chaos on the ground. No signs of the twins. Maybe they were still trapped inside. Din's heart dropped. He could see the Executor beginning lift off and the Descant's ion engines in the distance—behind three other Star Destroyers—slowly flicking to life.

Platoons of troopers, plastasteel armor that reflected red lights, marched to their respective ships. Some set up cannons to fire into the sky, while others brandished jetpacks and launched into the air.

Perfect.

A squad of four flew overhead, keeping a fair distance from each other. Timing was crucial. Din reached out, targeting the lagging trooper with his grappling hook. As the trooper flew just above the trees, Din pulled the trigger. The rope shot out, wrapping around the airborne soldier. Despite digging his feet into the ground, Din was flung into the air.

"What the?!"

They began tumbling and spinning out of control, going higher and higher. Din managed to unclip the pack from the man's chestplate. The engine cut immediately, and they both dropped. With strength he managed to clip the plastasteel to his back, and the engine roared back to life pulling Din skyward while the trooper kept falling into the darkness of the forest below.

Using the pack's momentum, Din navigated the battle, staying low enough to avoid the dogfight above but high enough to evade ground troops.

Dawn began to creep over the battlefield, the beginnings of light threatening to rise through the forested mountains on the horizon.

Then he saw him. Gideon holding the kid.

Nothing else mattered. He pushed the jetpack to its limit, rocketing towards the fighter where Gideon was forcing the struggling child inside. The kid spotted Din first, using the Force to slip from Gideon's grip.

Gideon turned just as Din collided with him, both crashing to the ground, a blur of punches and kicks. Pain shot through Din's back as he hit the fighter.

Gideon clawed to his feet, an awful black beam igniting in his hand. Unlike Luke's crimson lightsaber, this blade seemed to devour the light around it, a void of death. The blade pressed to Din's throat—Gideon chose this moment to monologue.

"Hello Din," his voice cold, a cruel twitch of his lips as he revealed to know his name, "I want to do a favor for you," he flashed his teeth, "Assume I know everything. Your bond to Grogu, your blossoming feelings for that little angsty twat, your deal with Princess Leia Organa…You see, I want to help you Din—"

That wasn't a good sign.

"I don't like Natus either. Force users and their obsessive entitlement stand in the way of the true potential of the Galactic Empire. I will be at the center—"

Din whipped around, kicking Gideons leggs out from under him, sending him to the ground with a thud.

The man reeled, eyes crazed, slamming the black saber into Din's despairing attempts to block. He dodged and intercepted another blow, Din was forced to be defensive in this fight, taking him out of his element as he possessed more technique than Gideon displayed.

With a particularly hard swing aimed at his neck, Din dropped himself to the floor, sprang back up, kicking the other man down on the chest, the saber retreated to its hilt clattering across the rough gravel and roots.

Din scrambled, grasping onto the blade to take away Gideon's advantage, swiftly clipping the hilt to his belt, secure. His. When Din whirled, bracing himself from an inevitable kick from the man who was a tad too slow to beat him to the deathly weapon, a blow never came. Instead, Gideon had the kid, his ears down, in one hand and blaster in the other.

There was a soft "Patu." The man slowly took a step backward.

Something cold and dark paulsed in Dins blood. He thought he had seen some of the worst things the galaxy had offered in these years since his parents and constantly searching through scum pits. But this was the first time he had ever been too terrified to move.

With all of his concentration, Din slowly raised his hands, dropping his blaster.

Gideon spat out a tooth, blood dripping from his lips, and limped another step backward, his cape hitting the entrance of the ship. The engines rumbled, the door closed and began to lift into the air.

Anger raged in his core.

One. Din breathed, trying to claw himself back together.

The wind from take-off whipped his cape with the long grass that had been trampled from their fight.

Two.

He felt the rough but tattered texture of the glove face brush against the hilt now clipped to his hip.

Three.

The pack shot a plume of smoke and fire. Din was hidden in the clouds in an instant, following like a hawk above the slowly rising fighter carrying his kid.

The pack's engine cut as the saber ignited. His stomach plummeted, and with an awful sound, the screeching metal and burning chemicals, the top was sliced off of the fighter, sending it spinning. Going down down down.

He heard the child's delighted giggles.

Din turned to see the kid floating (falling) next to him in the air, ears flapping in the wind, almost like a miniature parachutes.

"Hang on," he grumbled, placing the kid on his shoulders.

A hand thrust out of the tumbling wreckage clining to Din's cape for purchase but he jetted off—Gideons hand slipped past the cloth. The burning ship continued to fall, finally exploding in the distance.

No one would be able to survive that. Din thought.

Staying in the air, he turned his attention to the fight below.

—-

"Luke NO!!" Leia screamed feeling helpless to her bones.

After all of the tears, months of planning, years of holding out hope, all for just the smallest glimpse—any semblance of his past self—returned to her. And now she was about to lose him because he was being himself.

He held in his straining hand three Star Destroyers. They jerked and lagged in the air, and their ion engines, with nowhere else to place their energy, began crackling storms, rolling in the clouds.

Splinters of trees and leaves littered the artificial clearing as the forest had been stripped to its roots—the Force releasing itself in the might it took to keep the ships from leaving.

A tear of blood fell from her brother's eye, it splattered on his white cloak with the dropps of blood from his nose.

"I know what will happen to them when the Empire is done with them," he whispered.

The Executor groaned and there was a sound of thunder. The ships shuttered.

"Luke! Please this will hurt you."

It was Din. He ran up to them, the child clinging to his shoulder. Din held out his arms as if he were speaking to a rabid, wounded animal.

Luke looked back to them both, his cape smoldering and burning in places as it lashed around behind him.

"You above others should know," he strained back a scream of pain, stumbling, "they were loading the lab equipment and people. How many others could there be like me? It's too dangerous! They will just keep hurting."

"They lost their leadership and most of their artillery today," Leia tried to reason, "This attack is a massive blow. We will have secured dozens of those ships; we can let three leave. It will take them a while to regroup. We can take them then. But we need you alive."

Luke shook his head, another tear of blood, "No. I more than deserve this."

He opened himself to the Force, beiging to relax in its presence despite the pain. He was aware that like during the battle with the Profundity his feet were no longer on the ground. His arms stretched open—he may have been screaming but he wasn't sure.

The ships began to move backwards through the sky. His vision formed foggy and white but he knew he could do this.His energy continued when he was no longer aware of a physical world.

He heard the pleading voice of the Mandalorian. He felt his connection with Leia. Her love and compassion had never left him despite all this time and all the awful things. He felt clarity.

Names began to come to him. How fitting he would remember them now.

Aunt Brue. Uncle Owen.

Tatooine.

Obi-wan--Ben.

Anakin.

"My son, come back to me."

Father?

Luke's grip slipped for a moment, and he plunged back into the physical world. The ships screamed and shook.

He turned his head slightly, and sure enough, Vader was there.

"Father, I don't want to fight you. But I cannot let them get away."

"I know," Vader didn't move. Both the Mandalorian and Leia had blasters pinned on him. "You are my son, not a lab rat."

Vader lifted his arm, grasping onto the ships. A breath escaped Luke in relief simultaneously to the choking sound of his father's mechanics. The ships began to pull back further and faster.

They could do it. Together.

It was a moment, perfect for a breath but spoiled, when he saw Leia and the Mandalorian thrown backward, clawing at their throats.

Then there was a cackle.

"I was there for you in your worst moments. I raised you. This is the thanks I recive? You traitor and stain."

Purple lightning escaped Palpatine's pale hand and long yellow fingernails.

Then Luke remembered Endor.

A sickly smell of ozone and burnt metal, flashes of sharp purple light. Luke dropped his grasp on the Star Destoyers. Panic seeped into his bones—his heart beating faster than if he received adrenaline to the neck. The blank mask peered down on him. Palpatine's obsessive laughter. And the pain that crisscrossed his body, scaring every surface. His biggest mystery. The secret shrouded in darkness the pain. He couldn't breathe. It was as if he were locked in a Force chokehold—trapped.

His father's mechanics sparked, and he could feel his pain. His father still held onto the ships despite everything. There was a strangled, modulated cry. Lighting traveled the tension in the Force like a current, zipping through his father as a conduit and a massive bolt rung outwards. Hitting one of the battleships. Vader fell to his knees. The energy from the ion engines built with the lighting traveled back to his father, striking Palpatine and expanding outwards.

Two Destroyers slipped his father's grip, disappearing into hyperspace--the third burst.

More lives called out in the Force.

Luke whipped his head to see Palpatine's pained face one last time as the figure turned to ashes, blown in the wind. Only the cloak remained.

The last pieces of the Descant sparkled in the sky like a meteor shower.

He was free.

There was a strangled mechanical breath, and Luke rushed to his dying father.

—

Leia helped Din to his feet; they had all seen much better days. The kid crawled back onto his shoulder, sleep threatening his movements.

The three of them waited quietly from the dim treeline as Luke held his father in his arms, the dark mask cast on the ground next to them, watching the sunrise together. The Descant's falling particles caught the dawn, reflecting hues ofgold, pink, and lavender over the landscape before blinking out. She saw them exchange a few words, but Leia stayed back—Vader was never her father.

Anakin disappeared into the Force.

Luke tried to stand twice, relenting. He fell on his knees—his face to the rising sun, letting the warmth hit him and the memories flood in. There was a joy to it, remembering himself. But each contrasted painfully, a twisting dagger, with a memory of what he had done.

"What was he like?" Din whispered just above the vocabulator.

"Kind."

"He was kind before." She gave him a distrustful look. But he continued, "He was. It was buried sometimes, but he was."

"I guess it was something they couldn't take away."

—-

"So I guess this is it."

The day was bright, too happy for a goodbye. A cargo freighter blazing the resistance insignia took off nearby, blowing the blond's hair. Dozens of ships were now filled to the brim with whatever the Imps couldn't take with them. Leia said it was the largest victory since the desctruction of the Death Star.

The noise was so loud it cut off what he was going to say to Din, so he stopped. They just looked at each other. The words weren't needed anyway.

Din knew what he needed to do—to say goodbye. Din's hands shook in such an uncontrolled way that it was almost embarrassing as they locked onto the rim of his helmet and lifted upwards, above his jaw. But just before he could look at Luke in the afternoon sun without a screen in the way, his wrists were gently caught. Despite Luke's hands in cuffs, the visor fell back into place.

'No,' he mouthed, shaking his head under the noise of the freighters taking off and landing.

Don't waste that on me. It was unspoken but heard. Clearly. Like a voice in his mind.

Two guards came and escorted him away up the ramp, and Luke was gone.

END OF PART I

*~*~*~*~*~

Did I just attempt to wrap up the OT, Mando s1 and s2 in 7k words? Yes. I did.

Also what does END OF PART I mean? Absolutely nothing! It makes the most sense in my brain to mark this as the rough halfway point. Yay we made it this far!

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