#i know she’s watching Bo closely under her helmet for real though

[sapphicsparkles]

One of the many benefits of wearing a helmet

[amiedala]

SOMETHING DEEPER (a mandalorian story)

CHAPTER 1: There's Always Three Things

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, hints of voyeurism

SUMMARY: HELLLOOOOOOOOOOO AND HAPPY SOMETHING DEEPER SATURDAY MY LOVES!!! this is the first chapter in Something Deeper, the

second installment in the Something More series. in this one, Nova is her established character, they're still trying to save the galaxy, and the spice is racketed up even hotter ;) more notes at the end, as always, and until then, ENJOY!!!

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY!!!! this chapter is quite the whirlwind, i hope you love it! more notes at the end as always <3

*

Novalise Djarin is absolutely certain of three things. One, that the strongest thing in this galaxy is the green alien baby she calls her son; two, that her gorgeous, commanding bounty hunter husband is an excellent leader but a fantastically horrible diplomat; and three, that she is by far the most skilled person she knows at getting out of a particularly sticky situation.

Nova is excellent at getting out of things, period—her husband would argue that she’s an expert at getting the both of them out of their clothes and Mandalorian armor, respectively—but she excels at somehow, miraculously, wriggling herself free from between a rock and a hard place. And, right now, the asteroid belt that makes up Polis Massa is the abundance of rock, and the TIE fighters right on the tail of Kicker’s infamously sporadic power is the hard place.

They’re relentless. Nova squints her eyes, making the starry backdrop of the Outer Rim split and fractal into a thousand more glittering balls of light. There’s only three of them, this time, but this is the closest they’ve ever dared to follow her to Mandalore, and there’s something dangerous and electric kicking around somewhere inside of her chest. They keep shooting, jarring bolts of blasts that do their best to try and knock down Kicker’s very stubborn shields.

“Stupid,” Nova whispers, her breath low, the ghost of a smile stretching across her face, even in the crush of space. A year ago, she wouldn’t have recognized herself—this fearless, feisty pilot, the fully-formed reconstruction of the girl she used to be. On the ground, even with the Force on her side, she’s clumsy, an amateur. But up here? This is where Novalise shines. She has the upper hand out in the stars, and, besides, even if she were being chased by an artillery of a hundred more, there’s reinforcements on her old, lovable beater of a starship.

“Surrender,” one of the mechanical, ordered voices comes over the comm, and Nova giggles to herself in the darkness.

“Does that ever work?” she asks, flipping the right switches to make Kicker drop down and over itself, sending one of the fighters careening into the nearest asteroid. It doesn’t deter whoever’s in the cockpit for long, but it’s enough to utilize her infamous barrel roll to twist up and away from the other two fighters close in tow. “You know, asking impolitely for whoever you’re chasing to surrender?”

Silence. Nova smiles again, biting her teeth down against the fullness of her bottom lip. Her stomach grumbles. It was a sleepless night and a long day she spent back on Hoth before making the short trek back home—Mandalore, which isn’t the kindest of planets to call your own but is undoubtably better than some of the other alternatives—and the broth-based soups and dried legumes that frequent the base there are not nearly as filling or delicious as the feasts that being Mandalorian royalty entail. Still nothing from the other fighters, which is perfectly fine, because she’s about to feign dropping into warp and leading through a wormhole that’ll lead nowhere but the barrenness of the Mid Rim, but usually, they’re much more demanding.

“Surrender,” comes the voice again, and Nova sighs, cracking her neck, readjusting the familiar, worn helmet still stamped with the orange Rebel insignia. Kicker beeps angrily, and she lends a soft hand to the worn metal of her beloved ship’s dashboard, coaxing the metal to just go a tiny bit further.

“I’m just saying, you might have a stroke more of luck if you’re a little bit nicer. Less demanding, more asking. Who am I surrendering to?” she asks, and even though the TIE fighters are still volleying an array of blasts at the back end of the starfighter, they’re not quick to identify themselves. Nova squints again, catching a glimpse of one of them as she swoops to avoid a larger chunk of asteroid. It was stupid to come here, she admits internally to herself, even though it makes her heart drop a tiny bit inside of her chest. All she wanted for the hours she spent on Hoth was to get back to Din, to hold Grogu against her heartbeat for as long as she could before she reluctantly had to relinquish him to the one and only Luke Skywalker, but when Wedge called, it seemed urgent. “Hello?” she whispers, only to dare the strange, affected voice on the commlink to rattle back across the stars.

“Andromeda Maluev,” the comm blurts, and the sound of her name—her birth name, still heavy and pearlescent with the weight of losing her parents—makes Nova’s heart drop even further. Everyone left in this galaxy that Nova associates with—Din Djarin, Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles, Bo-Katan Kryze, Boba Fett, Cara Dune, Greef Karga, and every person she met along her trip with Din through the galaxy and back—knows that Andromeda Maluev is dead, and that Novalise Djarin rose from her ashes. But every single bounty Nova’s had on her head has slammed that full weight of her first identity back into her bones, like a brand, like something she can’t escape. It makes the force of people after her—the shadowy legion of the obscured First Order, and all of their cronies—feel just a bit more insidious.

“Not my name,” she volleys back, but the brace in Nova’s voice doesn’t sound like anything dangerous, anything sharp enough scare them off. “I’ve ran into enough of you by now for you to get it right.”

“We’ve got you surrounded. Surrender or be killed.”

Nova snorts. There’s three fighters on her tail, and they’re nowhere close to surrounding her. It’s so ludicrous, so unexpected, that the laugh catapults out of her mouth and echoes in the small hull of Kicker. She wishes Din and Grogu were here to equally share in her utter disbelief—she can practically see the helmet cocking and the baby’s giant, intuitive eyes crinkling—but she dodges another set of shots, which are almost completely aimless and hardly land on the tail end of the ship. “Be killed?” she repeats, swerving and ducking through another large chunk of asteroid, seamlessly, barely paying any attention to the terrain around her. She doesn’t need to. Even in a field this littered, space is Nova’s strongest suit. She could do this with her eyes closed. “As far as I can see, you’ve landed what, three shots? I don’t think you’ll be getting anywhere near close enough to even do damage to my ship. You’re three fighters strong, and one of you has a wounded wing. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“The First Order demands your services.”

Nova’s blood runs ice-cold. It’s a familiar request at this point, but still, the name sends a very real shiver all the way down her spine, rocking and rattling her vertebrae. She swallows, blinking furiously, avoiding the tailspin of a smaller asteroid as she lurches out of the chase. That wasn’t the lowly voice of some sorry stormtrooper that got the shitty job of trying to wrangle her out of the skies. It sounds evil. Dark. Mirthless. It wasn’t Moff Gideon’s voice, but it was something close to the memory of the dark timbre of it. Fear forms wet and cold on the back of her neck, curling up through the bottom of her hairline, seeping underneath the warmth of her standard, Rebel-orange jumpsuit. She swallows, but the air feels like it’s evaporating out of her mouth.

“The First Order,” she manages, finally, trying to detach the nervousness from her voice, “will not be getting my services. Not now, not ever.”

It’s only been two weeks since Din’s coronation. Two hectic, packed weeks in which her big, brave bounty hunter boyfriend got forcibly turned into a very reluctant diplomat under the watchful—and perhaps slightly resentful—eye of Bo-Katan Kryze. Din never seemed to really need sleep the way a normal human being did, but Nova watched as the bags under his eyes darkened and grew as he spent long hours in the war rooms, buried somewhere in the giant, stark palace they’d moved into, eyelids pressed into the warm hollow of her neck in the early hours of the morning when he made it to bed at all. In the meantime, Nova was spending every single precious second of her waking hours with Grogu, who she knows is on the verge of needing to go back to Jedi training, trying to absorb as much of his small, green light as she possibly can. When Wedge called the other day, though, he sounded desperate, which didn’t happen often, and she had wrenched herself away from her family on Mandalore to try and stop the impending doom of the First Order on Hoth, but it had been yet another dead end. Polis Massa was a pit stop—an impulsive, foolish one—because Nova ran furiously out of the library archives the last time she was here, and she wanted to pick up books on the history of Mandalore for Din and herself, and a small star of yearning in her chest was to spend a little more time in the shelves like her father used to before the Empire killed him.

And as much as Nova wants to put Andromeda Maluev to rest, longing for the days when she was tiny and growing up on Yavin with her parents alive and happy beside her outweighs the alternative. She swallows through the lump in her throat and closes her eyes to shake the starshine of her past lives away. The time to focus on getting the hell out of here is now, all yearning and ache can blossom fully formed when she’s away from the reaches of the First Order, safely back on Mandalore.

“Surrender,” the voice says again, only this time it is the timbre of some sorry stormtrooper and not the one that still haunts her nightmares, and Nova sighs, flipping all of the switches on Kicker’s dashboard to feint left and fake drop into hyperspace.

“I’ll ask you again. When,” she exhales, straightening up in the pilot’s chair, “has that line ever worked?”

“We are granted permission to obliterate your starfighter under Order Number—”

“Obliterate?” Nova interrupts, stifling another giggle. “Is the Order giving you vocabulary lessons? I’m impressed, trooper—”

“Andromeda Maluev,” the voice comes again, and Nova tries her absolute hardest to ignore the pulsing and aching in her heart that comes with the punch of her previous identity, “you are to surrender to the First Order. Failure to comply will result in termination. This is your final warning.”

Nova sighs, pulling Kicker to a temporary halt. If she stares, the ghostly outline of Mandalore, embedded forever in her memory, will flash in front of her vision, even out here in Polis Massa’s gigantic asteroid belt. She knows that the troopers, whoever they are, whoever they’re working for, will understand that she’s intending to go straight back to the strange palace she’s started calling home, but she also knows that any force in this galaxy, no matter how dark, no matter how strong, is smart enough to know they can’t take on a planet full of Mandalorian warriors without all the strength they’ve got. From the way Kicker is paused in the middle of space, she knows it looks like she’s about to surrender, or at least like she’s weighing her options heavily, and the satisfied, smug silence of the trooper on the other end of the commlink is enough to assure herself that her plan—hasty and rash as it may be—is working.

“Okay,” she whispers, feigning resignation, into the comm. “I understand I’m dealing with forces a lot stronger than I am. I don’t surrender, but I’ll come with you. But first,” she whispers, silencing the clicking that the switches to go into hyperdrive with the muffler of her right hand, “I need to tell you something.”

There’s a pause. “So be it. Reeling you in via tractor beam now.”

The unmistakable whirring of a ship forcibly being dragged onto another’s power starts up, and Nova swallows, pushing the second to last toggle into place, keeping a steady eye on the rocketing meter on her dashboard that indicates the ship is fully charged. Under the noise of Kicker being pulled into the largest TIE fighter’s proximity, the beeping goes unnoticed by the other party. Nova slips her hand off the switch and finds the necklace Din gifted her back before he accepted his role of Mand’alor, pressing hard enough that the symbol embosses itself into her thumbprint. “First of all,” she starts, trying her hardest to keep her voice level and even and not reveal a single ounce of the glee that she’s concealing, “my name hasn’t been Andromeda Maluev in a decade. You want me to answer to you, to answer to the Order? You’ll call me Novalise.”

The sigh from the trooper is short, clipped. “Noted.”

“Second,” Nova continues, leveling her jaw with the center of the dashboard, watching every single thruster lock itself into gear, “I am married to the galaxy’s most ruthless bounty hunter. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than the word surrender to scare me into submission.”

Kicker grinds to a halt in midair. Nova straps herself in tighter, just enough to ensure that she won’t be sent reeling across the perfectly aligned dashboard when she breaks free of the tractor beam and shoots Kicker straight into the stars, back to Mandalore, back to Din, back home, and steels herself.

“Stop,” another voice says, tinny and nervous over the speaker. “She’s—she’s screwing with us, sir—”

“I’m assuming,” the original trooper speaks, trying to intimidate Nova with the ice in his voice, “that there’s a third thing?”

“Oh, there’s always a third thing,” Nova volleys back, eyes catching the light of what’s been powering up the entire time the troopers thought she was weighing her options and deciding the First Order’s clutches sounded warm and delightful, after all. “Not only am I a commander in the New Rogue Squadron, not only am I the wife of the reigning Mand’alor, I contain multitudes.” She grins, her teeth bared and gleeful in the low light of space, knowing this is by far the most badass exit she’s ever attempted. “And do you know what that means?”

The trooper in the largest fighter sounds defeated. This was barely even a scratch compared to the narrow scrapes Nova’s been entangled with before. She bites down on her bottom lip, cracking her neck, taking advantage of Kicker’s stationary position to break free of the tractor beam, and as the angry clamor of the three troopers in the fighters trying to reel the ship in starts to filter across the commlink, Nova does what she does best.

She barrel rolls the entirety of Kicker, flipping downward and over so that she’s facing the three fighters, staring through her Rebel helmet at the floodlights drenching her whole ship in florescence that shouldn’t be possible in space, and shows every single one of her teeth, smile stretched so far across her face that it hurts, “My starfighter is Rebel-made, sure, but it’s gotten a few upgrades in the past few weeks. The only reason you got this far was because I was waiting to unload the artillery loaded up in the guns that are pointed at you right now. And you know what they’re made of?”

“All aim to kill—”

Nova can’t resist. She tries, but this whole royalty thing, the whole leading the New Rogue Squadron thing, this whole being a Jedi thing—well, all of it has been tallied up enough to recognize she can stand to be the tiniest bit cocky to the people trying to kill her or bring her in as a slave. She raises a single middle finger, making sure that the pilot of the largest fighter catches her elongated, elegant bird with the floodlights. “Same thing as my resolve is. Beskar, bitch.” And with that, she punches all the thrusters, Kicker dazzling and evaporating through hyperspace, gone before the first trigger even pulls.

Mandalore is quiet. There’s a strange serenity that lives on the horizon, pulsing and shifting, but never quite tangible from the planet’s surface. It’s hard to look at the place where the greatest warriors in the galaxy are born and bred and not see anything but a whetted, sharp arena, but so much of this planet is soft around the edges. The blue architecture in the capital, for one—something Nova knows is much newer than the ancient history of the land here—and there’s a silence here that teeters on eerie but mostly stays in a strange sense of tranquility.

It doesn’t hold the feeling of abandonment, like so many other planets do these days, but it seems like the rest of the world around the city is disconnected. Inhabitable. Nova parks Kicker in the nearest landing bay, watching the strange haze that hangs over the atmosphere, trying to find other places where lights are lit, where people live, but so much of the planet is quiet. It’s the same sort of stark contrast that Yavin had when her and Din got engaged all those months ago, or Hoth’s anesthetic brutality, but Mandalore’s environment feels different.

And, Nova reasons, as she disembarks off Kicker’s gangplank, running the tips of her fingers over the Rebel insignia hidden under the outermost coat of white and silver detailing, it’s likely because this isn’t home. Not yet, anyway, and it might never have that feeling of belonging that the Crest did, that Kicker does, that her and Din found on Naator and Kashyyyk and Nevarro. Nova climbs the marble steps to the palace, smiling at the stoic Mandalorians stationed outside as she slips up the stairs and through the main entrance, immediately cutting sideways up the hallways to the left, watching as her shadow traipses behind her in the blue dusk, trying to not stake stock of the silence that most of the building holds. In true Mandalorian fashion, their holding cells are built into the palace itself, alongside training arenas and the war room where Din spends most of his time. Nova moves as quietly as she can through the halls, up the other marble staircase, and when she bursts into the chambers twice the size of the starship that she and Din usually call home, a gurgle from Grogu on the floor makes the entire day turn around.

Nova grins, dropping to her knees. Grogu beams up at her, his big bug eyes full of nothing but love, and she scoops him up, pressing his tiny, warm body against her chest. It chases away all the chill of Hoth and the crush of space, and for a second, she just runs her fingers over the top of his fuzzy head, pressing kisses to his green skin, soaking in every second she can.

“I missed you, lovey,” she murmurs, and Grogu’s giant green ears perk up. “What did you do in your day here?”

Grogu pulls away from her chest, pressing a three-fingered hand against Nova’s temple. The visions that used to terrify her, the ones Grogu put into her head, filled with screaming and loss and desperation, fall away as he shows her the bath he took, the feast he got for dinner, sitting on Din’s lap while in the war room. As he drops his touch, Nova grins down at him, all teeth and excitement, all of the panic and isolation of the last few hours melting away.

“He terrorized Bo-Katan,” a familiar voice rings out from behind her, and Nova pushes herself up on the heels of her hands, her heart flipping over with the same butterfly menagerie Din’s always given her. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.”

“Hi,” Nova whispers, giddy, watching as Din steps forward out of the shadows. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s been lucky enough to gaze over his handsome face, it doesn’t matter that he’s been spending more time helmetless here on Mandalore, every time she sees him, it’s like the first time. In the moonlight, obscured by the permafrost of Mandalore’s blue twilight, Nova’s eyes roam over the valleys and mountains of her husband’s face. His hair is the length it was when he proposed, long enough for the ends to curl up gently. His mouth, even in the near darkness, is pink and gorgeous, his lips slightly parted in the unconscious way they do when Nova’s the only thing in his eyeline. His scruff is there, long enough to scratch her chin—or her thighs—up something terrible, and the ghost of the mustache she used to feel in the dark is strong, dark, manicured. His eyelashes are longer than the length of her thumbnails, and his eyes, his gorgeous brown eyes, soften around the edges the second Nova smiles.

“Hi,” Din echoes, bridging the gap between the two of them with two quick strides, and Nova feels her breath catch in her throat. Din’s hands, gloved in black and twice the size of her own, balance on the curve of her hips, his fingers digging into the loops of her orange jumpsuit, pulling Nova over her own feet, anchoring her body right up against hers. The way he kisses after only being separated overnight is desperate, longing, filled with words he doesn’t always know how to say. Nova leans into his embrace, head fuzzy, waterlogged, like everything else fades away. It does. She loses track of time, how many minutes pass, the stars behind her eyes dazzling, supernovae, regenerated.

When they break apart, Nova’s hand trails over the regalia Din’s wearing. It’s his familiar beskar, the armor he’s worn since they first met, but it’s been cleaned, and underneath, where his typical black undergarments used to cling to his build, he’s wearing Mandalore blue. It’s the color of the skyline at dusk, a faded azure that signals something more than warrior, something a shade closer to royalty. The material is lightweight, practical. It’s the same kind that every single one of her matching outfits are made out of—Mandalorians don’t have much use for aesthetic, it just gets in the way of practicality—but it seems more vibrant on Din. “How was today?” she whispers into the hollow of his mouth, and Din exhales, low and slow, tipping his bare forehead against hers.

“Long without you,” he admits, his voice barely anything. Nova’s eyes search his deep brown ones, trying to figure out where his exhaustion is hiding. “Come with me. I—I want to show you something.”

Nova nods, catching sight of the dirty orange jumpsuit stretched over her tan trousers, the black tank top she’d spent the past year replacing every time Din tore it off of her body. “I should change.”

Din’s eyes flick hungrily over her silhouette, and when he speaks again, his voice is husky. “No,” he says, finally, digging his thumb slightly into the flesh on her hip, “you shouldn’t.”

The trek downstairs is quiet. Both of them move in the shadows, lulled into an easy silence, their hands knitted together in between their two bodies. Nova watches as the low light of the corridor flickers as they cross over another staircase and down a side hallway, entering through the war room by the back entrance instead of the front, even though there’s no one left in here to try to hide from.

Nova’s been in here at least ten times, but the decoration steals the breath straight out of her mouth every time. A glittering holotable, top of the line, at least twenty years more advanced than the one on Hoth, sits in the direct center. The ceiling looks more like a cathedral than it does anything else, which is perfectly fitting for a group of people who treat fighting as their religion. Nova looks up through the sheer domed ceiling, watching as the moody dusk falls into a silent, quiet night. Stars dazzle and shine from above, and even though they’re not nearly as poignant and powerful down here as they are out in space, the direct line to the cosmos is bright enough to make her throat ache. “Wow,” Nova whispers, voice barely anything at all, staring straight upward, mapping constellations under her breath. Eventually, her eyes slide off of the ceiling, traveling over the careful architecture, the shrines in the corners, the murals painstakingly hand-painted across the circular walls, all of beskar and helmets and Mandalorian history. It feels so ancient, even though the palace was recently rebuilt, reconstructed from nothing during both of their lifetimes. She’s been in here a handful of times before, but never as night is on the horizon. There’s something transcendent about this place, this holy center of Mandalorian worship. Something deeper, something divine enough to make a Jedi believe in them, too.

Din’s standing across the other end of the holotable, fidgeting with the controls until a map of the galaxy sparkles to life in front of them. Through the light, Nova watches the peaks of her husband’s face getting caught in the reflections, letting everything except his face blur out to stardust. “Did you get anything from Wedge?” he asks, and Nova blinks her eyes to refocus on the map. “Anything new? Anything…useful?”

Quietly, Nova shakes her head. “He thought—he called me back to Hoth because of a prison break in one of the sectors Cara doesn’t have jurisdiction in, or I’d suspect she’d have already taken care of it. It was small, just a few criminals with nothing more than petty charges breaking out of a hold somewhere, but he thought it might be related to—”

“The First Order?”

“Me,” Nova finishes, quietly. Her eyes narrow just a fraction, refocusing on Din’s silhouette through the glitter of the galaxy between them. “Yeah, the Order. We couldn’t prove anything, but I—”

“You feel something is coming,” Din interrupts gently, stealing the words right out of her mouth, bracing his strong, gloved hands on the side of the holotable, and Nova nods, watching his grip, starting to get a little dizzy, with lust or with the reflections above them or both. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” she echoes, confirming his theory. “I—I took a detour coming back here. I went to Polis Massa, to try and return to the library archives so I could learn more about Mandalore and bring you back something other than a dead end.”

Din stares at her, his face partially hidden in the glow of the rotating image of the holotable. “You brought yourself back here,” he says, finally, and Nova’s knees buckle a little under the husk of his voice. “It’s hard to care about much else.”

Nova bites down on her lip, butterflies swirling up a storm inside her tummy. “Din,” she whispers, leaning forward on the table, cocking her head in the signature way he always does, lifting her chin slightly with the tilt, “we are tasked with the incredible privilege of saving the galaxy, you know—”

“Fuck the galaxy,” Din breathes, and despite the fact that what he’s wanting to shirk is their top priority, and really has been for months, it buzzes inside Nova, wet and hot. “Let someone else handle it for once. I don’t care.”

“You do care,” she protests, weakly, but his tongue slides out from the hollow of his mouth, and everything else seems to evaporate. “I know—fuck, I don’t know, I know you missed me when I left overnight, I know we’ve been apart more than we’ve been together, but it’s for good reason, and when we save, y’know, the whole galaxy and everything, it…it’ll be all the time in the world for the two of us.”

“I’m impatient,” Din counters, roughly, and then he’s around the table in three quick, determined strides. Nova sighs, letting her body crumple a little as Din moves forward, his hands on her hips, anchoring her pelvis against his. “Don’t make me wait any more for you, cyar’ika, I won’t be able to stand it.”

Nova inhales sharply, feeling him harden against her leg, and she lifts her chin a touch more, enough for their lips to only be an inch apart, enough to make eye contact, enough for all of this to let the rest of the world fade right out. “You know,” she whispers, finally, blood pumping furiously, “you’re the leader of this planet. You could order me to do anything, and I’d be helpless to do anything but comply.”

Din lets out a groan, low and desperate, a choked off, guttural one. “And if I told you I wanted you right here on this table?”

Nova grins, her teeth glittering against the quickening darkness, pulling away only to drape herself over the holotable, face down, letting the spots where her body occupies the space filter out of the reflection. The glow of the lights is disrupted by her figure, and she hears Din’s voice catch in the dark behind her as she arches her back, still fully clothed, an invitation for him to come closer, to take what’s rightfully his. “Then you’d have me right here on this table, Mand’alor.”

She feels Din press up against her, hard against the soft, voluptuous curve of her ass. He inhales, heavily, she can hear it whine through the darkness, not hidden under the evenness of the modulator built into his helmet. Nova knows she’s an expert at getting out of things—sticky situations, clothes, everything in between—but right now, she wants to make Din wait beg for it before she complies. Something to prove that even while he’s the one on the throne, her neck is holding up the crown. At least here. Especially here.

“And if I told you I wanted to fuck you on the floor?”

“Then you’d take me on the floor, Mand’alor. I quite like the floor, you know.”

“You—” Din’s breath cuts off again, and Nova lets the timbre of his voice soak into her. It turns her heart over, first, that excitement tangling up with the knowledge that she’ll let him do anything. It’s been over a week since the last time they fucked, because he’s been spending most of his time in this room, trying to prove to the rest of the planet that he’s worthy enough to hold the throne, and she’s been splitting her time between Grogu and saving the galaxy. All of them necessary evils, deserving distractions, but it’s nearly impossible to think about anything other than the feel of Din up against Nova, his mouth on her neck, his hands on her hips, concerned only with burying himself as deep into her as he possibly can. “I brought you down here to show you the stars. You’re distracting me.”

Nova smiles, then braces her palms on top of the holotable, pushing herself up, gliding her body backwards up against her husband’s. “What an honor,” she purrs, quiet, low, the same kind of voice Din always uses when he wants her so badly it hurts to breathe, “that the king of Mandalore thinks I am a suitable distraction.”

“Novalise.”

“Use me as a distraction, then,” Nova continues, taking hold of one of Din’s gloved hands, guiding them against the curve of her chest, making sure he feels how her nipples harden under his touch, a soft, mewling sound with her mouth completely indicative of the flush of warmth rushing between her legs. “Show me anything you want, oh worthy Mand’alor, please—”

Her breath is cut off as Din whirls her around by her throat. It’s sudden, desperate, the kind of electricity he used to greet her with whenever he finally tracked down the bounty he was hunting and could let loose with her on the Crest.

“Get on,” Din starts, voice raggedly, both hands clenching against Nova’s cheeks, puckering her lips, “the fucking throne, cyar’ika.”

“The—throne?” Nova repeats, breathless. “You want—”

“I want to fuck you on my throne,” Din interrupts, and stars above, she can feel the way that his cock is throbbing in his pants, through the regalia, through the beskar, all of it. “You said anything I want. I want to make you scream my name on the planet we rule while I’m seven inches inside of you. That work for you?”

Nothing but a strangled moan comes out.

Din nods. “Good. Get over there.”

Nova reels back as he releases her. It takes more than a few seconds to collect herself enough to move, and when she does, her legs feel like they’re made out of rubber, elastic and wobbly. She can feel his heavy gaze on her as she makes her way around the holotable, and when she takes the few steps that lead to the ironclad, menacing chair that sits atop the highest point in the room, Din’s voice rings out.

“Stop,” he commands, and she does, feeling her heart hammer. “Face me.”

Nova turns, her breath caught in her throat, staring down at Din. The few steps she’s scaled make her just a tad taller than Din is, and she watches as he slowly moves forward, crossing the tile of the floor with quiet, intentional steps.

“Take your clothes off,” Din manages, and Nova’s almost a hundred percent sure that he’s whispering, even though it might just be that she can’t hear anything over how loud her blood is pumping, over how hard her heart is hammering.

“Now?”

He raises a single dark eyebrow, and Nova nods, trying to peel off her shirt and her trousers as fast as she can. She kicks off her shoes, and they land at the bottom of the steps with a very incriminating thud, but Din just kicks them out of the way as he presses the soles of his beskar boots deliberately against the tile. Everything in here is blue and reflective, even after night has fallen on Mandalore, and Nova catches sight of her silhouette in the floor. Her breath stutters in her throat, suddenly very aware that she’s completely naked and Din, save for his forgotten helmet, is fully clothed, but with the way his eyes are roving over her body like he’s starving and she’s the only thing in this galaxy or the next that can satiate it, she forgets how to care.

“You,” he starts, trailing a single gloved finger down the curve of her body, “are so beautiful.”

“Stop,” she whispers, smiling, everything burning and in flames. It’s the opposite of what she means—she never wants Din to stop calling her beautiful, stop revering her, stop treating her like something holy—but when they’re in a public room that just about anyone left on this planet can walk on, and she’s the only one naked, the risk burns hotter than her desire. “Din, I—”

His finger is on her lips before Nova even realizes he’s moved. “Do you believe me?”

Nova blinks, stuttering over the dying words hidden somewhere between her teeth and the back of her throat. The answer is yes, because Din Djarin never utters a single word that he doesn’t mean, because he uses so few of them to begin with, and also because he’s seen every single inch of her body and worshipped it, but in this reflective room, usually full of figures so much more athletic, razor-sharp, warrior-grade, a tiny bead of insecurity spools down the back of her neck. Nervously, Nova’s gaze filters off of Din’s, flicking over to the ornate door on the other side of the room, and when she looks back, he’s staring at her.

“Nova?” he repeats, gently, and something about the way he’s saying it makes tears spring up in her eyes. “Here. Come here. Look at yourself.”

She lets him guide her over to the throne, which is made out of the shiniest, most reflective beskar she’s ever seen, polished so effortlessly it doubles as a mirror, and Din pulls curls of her dark hair away from her collarbone, fingers grazing the new necklace he gifted her, one hand curling around her jaw, the other sliding down the side of her body.

“Look at yourself,” Din repeats, his touch still so light, and when Nova doesn’t immediately obey, his grip tightens. Not hard, just filled with enough desire to snap her back to her senses—that he took her into this room to fuck her senseless, that his eyes don’t meet anyone else’s, that Din Djarin isn’t a pious man in any other capacity than his Creed and all the rules he broke to worship Nova instead. She relaxes under his touch, her eyes glazing as they travel over the valleys of her naked body. Her skin doesn’t glow in the darkness like it does during the daylight, but it’s a rich brown, three or so shades darker than Din’s. Her eyes, a deep sage green that dips into brown in the darkness, glitter as they flash against the beskar. Her eyelashes, dark and tangled up in the corners from where her laughter lines are. Her nose, not as prominent as Din’s hooked, curved one, but big, slightly upturned, and anchored in the center of her face. Her mouth, plump and perma-stained deep pink from where she bites hard on it in concentration. Her hair, so long now that it trails down to where her curved hipbones protrude, woven into a deeper curl than the natural wave of her hair from the braids it’s always tied back in. Din’s hand on her hip clenches gently at his knuckles, and she lets her gaze shift off of her face, down the stocky muscles of her upper arms, slightly sore from twirling Grogu around and from flying out of her skirmish with the TIE fighters. Her hands are long and elegant, princess fingers, her mother used to call them, dainty and slender, nails kept short to flip all the necessary switches on whatever vessel she’s flying, thumbs worn down with callouses from fighting and twirling Luke’s lightsaber around for the last two weeks, trying to conjure the power he radiates on her own. Down the left side of her tummy, which is rounded and collects weight around her bellybutton, is the scar that Jacterr Calican left in an attempt to rip her soul out of her body, and Din’s finger traces over the bump of it, gentle, endearing, protective. Her hips, which are wide, the curves of her upper legs, the muscles that pack on more weight in her calves. Nova looks at herself and sees, just for a glimpse, just for a split second, that sure, she’s not shaped like a Mandalorian, but she’s certainly desired by one. Din pulls her hair back from where it’s settled against her throat, pressing his lips to her skin.

“What do you see?” he murmurs, his voice deep and electric.

“The girl you love,” Nova whispers, grinning at him in their reflections. Din spins her back around, much gentler than he did a minute ago, all the fire gone, his eyes gentle like the oceans on Yavin.

“Damn right,” Din affirms, the timbre of his voice in her ear making goosebumps spark up across Nova’s bare arms. “Now get on the throne.”

She’s giddy. Her heart is, as usual, racing a thousand beats per minute, threatening to hammer right out of her chest. It’s cold—the throne—cool to the touch. As Nova slowly slides down onto the beskar, she watches Din’s brown eyes flash with lust and longing, and his look alone is enough to take away the chill against her bare skin. The beskar warms to her touch, and she crosses one thick thigh over the other, trying to quell the nervousness that’s still whining at the back of her mind.

“Don’t look at the door,” Din orders, his head cocked to the side. It’s been a few months now since Nova’s seen every single contour of his face, but every new expression not hidden behind the helmet makes her stomach lurch up into her throat. Right now, she can see the tenseness of his command in his clenched jaw, but his eyes soften as they roam over her body. “Look at me.”

“Din—”

“Look at me.”

Nervously, she does. The second her eyes meet his, everything else fades away. In the back of her mind, she’s aware that she’s completely naked, her skin up and against something divine, something not meant for her, this throne that she’s about to be desecrated on.

And sweet Maker above, she doesn’t even care. Din slowly canvasses the distance between the two of them, the intensity of his gaze never once wavering off of Nova’s face. The pure look of animalistic desire on his unmasked face makes her whimper under her breath. If she were weaker, she would cower away, avert her eyes, but by this point, she’s earned her brazenness. There are exactly two things in this galaxy that the ruler of Mandalore, the most ruthless bounty hunter, and the man in front of her would do anything for. Grogu and Nova.

He doesn’t make a noise. Everything is an electric wire as he finds his secure, silent footing on the first step, and Nova’s heart catches in her throat. She wants to say something, to make a silly comment, to cut through the tension, but she knows that whatever’s about to follow Din’s ascent will be worth her quiet. Instead, Nova bites down on her trembling lip, watching the rest of the throne room disappear as Din steps closer, still not making a single noise, pulling his body weight up the lip of each step, staring at her.

“What?” she manages, finally, the word all air.

Din moves closer. Nova’s seated against the throne, the beskar suddenly warm against her bare skin. Everything in her is burning. “What do you want?” Din asks, his voice deep, rumbling through her like a honeyed thunderstorm. He doesn’t even have the modulator to filter his words, and even though the deepness of his voice through the helmet runs rivers through her, Nova’s suddenly glad for the bareness of all of this. It makes it easier, dirtier, better.

“I want you,” Nova manages, hollowly, the words surrender out of her parted lips. “Just you.”

“You want me?” Din repeats, and a flash of lust sparks up behind his beautiful brown eyes. There’s something dangerous in his tone, something deeper, something electric. She stares at him, unwilling to break his gaze. If it were anyone else, Nova would think that the timbre of Din’s voice was teasing, but the edge to it suggests towards pleading.

“Yes,” Nova echoes, and Din moves forward, towering over her. She stares up at him as one gloved hand easily notches against her right cheek, eyelashes fluttering as the pad of Din’s fabric-laden thumb traces over the mountain of her cheekbone. “I want you, Mand’alor—”

“I’m not Mand’alor right now, cyar’ika,” Din interrupts, his voice low and ragged, sparking somewhere in his throat. “Look at who’s on the throne.”

Nova gulps. Air is suddenly impossible to come by. Everything in her is electric, alive. Everything else fades out except for Din’s touch. Her doubt, her insecurity—it’s all been chased away and zapped into obliteration by the way Din’s speaking, touching, breathing. “I—”

“Say my name,” Din says, hooking his free hand under Nova’s chin. She swallows, letting the roughness of his gesture manipulate her body in any way that he wants, pliable against Din’s weathered hands. “Say you want me.”

“Din,” Nova squeaks out, and a single one of his dark eyebrows quirks up against the celestial darkness of the throne room, daring her to speak. “Din Djarin,” Nova rectifies, her voice suddenly loud and clear. It booms out, fills the throne room with sound. For once, the buzzing in her head completely drowns out her fear of being discovered. This palace doesn’t exist. Anyone walking the strange, ornate, blue halls doesn’t exist. Stars above, Mandalore itself doesn’t exist at this point. She’s emboldened, as if her will has flooded back, full-force. “Three things. There’s always three things included in how I want you. I want you without armor. I want you without titles. I want you like I had you back on Dagobah.”

“And how,” Din whispers, his voice running through Nova like heat, “is that?”

She gasps as Din’s hand slowly slips down to her throat, bracing itself there. He barely squeezes, and without all of her senses screaming at her that Din’s hand is against her, she thinks his touch would feel like a ghost, like nothing there at all. “Like we belong to each other,” Nova manages, and Din’s grip intensifies. It’s a slip. She can tell, with the way that his eyes roll back, with the way that a moan slips out from the hollow of his open mouth. Stars blur through her vision—some refracted from the open sky up above, and some from the restriction to her airflow, and she leans into the pressure just as Din retracts his grip.

“Cyar’ika—”

“I belong to you,” Nova whispers, the words sounding like a confessional, deeper and darker than she intended. Her hands find Din’s, wordlessly pulling his hand back to rest like a vice against her throat. “Everything in me is yours. Remember?”

Din squeezes again, and the grin that was hiding slowly spreads across Nova’s face. She knows that in the darkness, her teeth glow white, framed by the plump pinkness of her mouth. Din’s standing, still fully clothed, but she can tell by the way his grip tightens against her throat that he’s rock hard under all that beskar.

“Din,” she manages, her voice high and thready through the pressure of his hand, “what do you want?”

“I want you,” he chokes out, guttural and dangerous, his voice coming from somewhere beyond the horizon. Immediately, he pulls Nova to her feet by her throat, eyes flickering carefully over her own gaze to double-check that what he’s doing isn’t too far. She smiles back at him, and when she’s fully standing, smile still plastered across her starstruck face, she drops her grip on Din’s wrist and immediately moves to unhook his armor. She could do it in the dark. She could do it blind. By now, Nova’s memorized every single inch of Din’s body, whether he’s armored in all of his beskar or not. Even the new additions to his regalia since becoming Mand’alor are burned into Nova’s memory, bright and gleaming. She doesn’t break Din’s gaze as she undresses him, pulling the pauldrons off, the chest plates, the silver V of covering that protects his lower stomach and his crotch. It’s over in what feels like seconds, and then the only thing covering Din is the soft fabric of his underclothes. Nova tugs at his trousers first, pulling them down to reveal the silky feeling of his boxers. She positions herself in between Din’s legs, grabbing his right hip to anchor his hardness against her, and he groans out again, the desperate, wet sound filling up the throne room. It's loud. Too loud. The kind of loud that Din never reaches, not unless they’re the only two people on a planet, not unless they’re lost out there in the crush of space. If his cheeks redden at the sound, though, Nova doesn’t catch it, because her touch is too focused, her vision still spinning off starry, impassioned, loud. Slowly, she reaches up through Din’s weakening grip to pull the shirt off of his torso, breath catching in her throat as she takes the King of Mandalore without armor, without clothes, without anything. Nova smiles up at Din, blinking away the small tears of pleasure that gathered in the corners of her eyes, and then she sinks back down on the throne, squaring her shoulders, tossing her loose hair out of her face, eyes full of allure and desire.

“I want you,” she echoes, and then her mouth is on his stomach. Din gasps out, the sound of it ringing out like infernal bells, and Nova hides her teeth as she grins against his stomach, tongue swirling up and down his belly, fingers grazing like butterfly wings across the bones of his hips. She can feel him growing harder and harder as she teases, parting some of the faint hair that trails down his stomach with the wetness of her mouth. Din’s hands find her shoulders, and his fingers clench down, leaving small half-moons imprinted on either side of her neck. “Can I taste you?”

“W—want you,” Din chokes out, his voice demanding and desperate, but the rocking of his hips against her chest betrays him, and before he can make good on his command, Nova’s already slid every inch of him down her throat. She moans in rhythm with him, as Din’s hands leave her shoulders in a frenzy and instead tangle in her hair, wanting. Quietly, Nova swirls her tongue around the base before she pulls off of his cock with a loud, slurping, sucking noise, and she doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed before she’s sinking her mouth all the way down over Din again, the tears that have returned at the corners of her eyes springing back to life. They feel like satisfaction. She can feel him trembling, and when she drops one of her hands between his legs, lightly cupping his balls, Din cries out again. “Nova—”

“Shh,” she interrupts, which is truly a feat, considering her mouth is full of him and her saliva and not much else, “let me finish you here.”

“No,” Din interrupts, and his voice is strangled, muddled. Immediately, Nova does, pulling her mouth off of him regrettably, blinking up at him, lower lip slowly jutted out. “I k—fuck, I know you wanted to finish me like this, but—but I need you to break in my throne.”

A jolt of lightning strikes through Nova’s body, and she shudders as Din’s shaking grip finds the small of her back and pulls her to her trembling feet. For a moment, everything else evaporates, just the two of them breathing and holding each other, Din’s forehead stooped low to press against hers, and then he whirls her around.

Nova’s used to Din’s manhandling, the expert way he spins and lifts her, like she’s made of nothing but air. This is much clumsier than his usual vigor, and when she’s done a complete 180 and is facing her husband, Mand’alor, the big brave bounty hunter, he’s seated on his throne like he owns it, and his hands are on Nova’s hips in the same place where she was sitting a second ago. There’s something deeper and more intense in his gaze right now, something beyond just lust. It’s power, Nova recognizes as Din pulls her hips down, her knees splaying to the sides of the beskar throne. The metal is unyielding against her bones, but still, she doesn’t feel the impact. Din has collapsed her on top of him, the only thing keeping her upward is his grip and her knees trying desperately to cling onto the straddling position that Din’s holding her in.

For a moment, she just stares at him. He looks like divinity, here, something deeper than just another human being in front of him. Nova doesn’t know if it’s the starry sky spinning through the throne room, or because this feels like a holy place of worship, or if it’s just been weeks since they’ve had longer than a handful of minutes at the end of the day before they both fall asleep, too exhausted and dizzied by their work to touch each other relentlessly, but she feels like she’s spinning. Like this has been months in the making, even though it’s only been a handful of days since Din pulled her down over his lap and anchored her hips to his. Her eyes are on his, desperate, searching. When a single hand trails up to brush against her throat, she eagerly leans into his touch, nodding before his outstretched hand makes contact with her neck, skin on skin.

“You want this?” Din breathes, eyes fixed on her open mouth, and Nova nods against his question, his touch, everything.

“More than anything,” she manages, voice throaty and high, stars spinning beyond her eyes. Din nods in assent, and then his hand is gone, a claw rounded around her hipbones, his fingernails sinking into the plushy flesh. The way he holds her as he grinds her down on top of him is enough to make the rest of the world—and every insecurity—trickle out of Nova. When he pushes inside her, slick and warm and so big from this position, she gasps, the sound of it wet and obscene, too loud for the silent room.

“Fuck,” Din hisses, and then Nova starts moving of her accord. She can’t really feel her knees as they dig into the smooth, impenetrable surface of the beskar throne, but it doesn’t even matter. This is worth never feeling either patella ever again. There’s something humming low and urgent in Din’s throat, his scratchy face buried in Nova’s neck, tongue licking and snapping at her most sensitive pulse point. She groans. “You—you’re perfect, cyar’ika.”

“Not perfect,” she murmurs, hands wrapping around Din’s neck and tangling in his dark hair, eyes fluttering open enough to catch a glimpse at it, her fingers long and beautiful as they tug at his hair.

“Listento yourself,” Din pleads, one of his strong, toned arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her down over and over. In any other situation it would be embarrassing, the sucking noise coming ceaselessly between her thighs, but she’s so wet and so close to the edge that she doesn’t try to obscure it, and doesn’t try to fight Din’s insistent, guttural words. “You’re perfect. Everything about you. Your hips, the—the way they move. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as I fuck you. Shit, Nova, everything about your pussy, I—”

She can feel her cheeks burning. It’s not often that Din is this vocal, this unhinged, especially not in this situation. It’s dirty and forbidden, and as she bounces up and down on his cock, eyes rolled back like he loves, everything wet and slippery between her legs, she forgets all about the fact that they’re naked and desecrating the throne of Mandalore. It’s everything. It’s so much, and when she’s right on the edge of orgasm, Din grinds his hips up into her.

“Din—”

“I want to show you off,” he grits out, and before she can ask him what he means, he’s lifting her off of him like she weighs fucking nothing, pushing himself down to the hilt inside her as she watches the empty throne room, the empty seats around the holotable, watched by the lifeless warriors painted on the wall. She doesn’t try to hide any part of her body. Din’s still whispering every dirty sound he can think of in her ear, one broad arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand tangled up in Nova’s hair.

“To whom?” she asks, the words barely even air. She’s on the edge still, eyes blinking, torso trembling. She wants Din to let her cum so bad, she can barely hear what he’s saying over the pumping rush of blood in her ears.

Din lifts up a lock of hair, the same stubborn wave that always falls in her face, tucking it gently behind her year. For a second, she sees red, legs shaking, completely subject to whatever Din’s doing. “Everyone,” he whispers, and the shock of how guttural and feral his voice sounds sends Nova right over the edge she’d been teetering on. He makes her cum so hard that everything explodes out into the same number of stars shimmering above, divine and dangerous, white-hot, so, so alive. And before she has a chance to gain her senses back, Din’s dragging and rushing as deep into her as he can, every inch of him warm and desirable, and when he lets go to follow Nova over the edge of the cliff they’re both standing on, she gasps as he fills her, hot and thick. It’s so much harder than the last time they fucked, both of them devastated, exhausted, fulfilled.

Nova leans back against Din’s chest, heaving, spinning, trying to catch her breath. They’re both inhaling and exhaling intently, trying to return back to the planet they rule, to the throne they just fucked on. “Well,” she starts, pulling the long waves off her back, looking over her bare shoulder at Din, “wow.”

He laughs, and he’s still inside her, slowly softening as he comes back down from the high of it, pressing his pink lips against her exposed skin. “High praise.”

“It’s the truth,” she whispers, giggling, suddenly remembering where they are. “I—I can’t believe we just did that—”

“We’re newlyweds,” Din interrupts, his voice still rough from the aftermath of sex, and something sparks up low in Nova’s belly as he talks, “plus I’m the ruler of this planet, remember?”

She grins, tipping her shoulder back into his bare chest, trailing her fingers over his tan skin, tracing fault lines she’s never seen but knows are there. “I like power on you.”

“Nova—”

“No, seriously,” she continues. “It’s hot. Do you get a crown, maybe? Do I?”

“I think one of us will have to duel Bo-Katan for that one,” Din groans, and Nova laughs again, sliding off of his lap, slowly pulling together the pieces of armor she discarded earlier, tossing them through the dark air for Din to collect. The mention of Bo-Katan, though, sends a shiver of a reminder down Nova’s very exposed spine. She pulls her own underclothes on, quickly whipping her tank top back over her head, suddenly remembering how cold it is in here when she’s not writhing between the proverbial sheets with her husband. She bites down on her lip, hastily zipping her trousers up, the noise loud and discordant. “Nova,” Din continues, squinting at her, “what’s wrong?”

“Oh,” she says, dazed, tossing the last piece of armor back over to him, “you know, we—we just desecrated a holy part of Mandalore, we don’t know how the hell to fight off the First Order, and Bo-Katan is probably standing right outside that door, ready to kick both of our asses.”

“She,” Din answers, pushing against the heavy beskar doors, “is not here. We’re working on how to stop the Order. And this holy part of Mandalore,” he breathes, walking back towards her, one eyebrow raised, as if he’s questioning the way his face is displaying expression, “is ours to desecrate.”

“When you said,” Nova breathes, staring back at him, everything else fading out, “that you wanted to show me off to everyone—”

Din suddenly looks sheepish, and she giggles. “Nova, I didn’t—I was just into the moment, if you don’t want to—you never have to, I—”

She grins, smile glittering in the dark, sliding past him and into the empty hall, drifting in the general direction of their bedroom. “I didn’t say,” she whispers coyly, holding out one hand for Din’s gloved one, “that I didn’t want to.” She winks, pulling a still-stammering Din behind her. “I just can’t believe you want to share me with anyone.”

They’re up the stairs and back to the entrance to the master bedroom, and Din finally finds his words—or his grip—and grabs her, twirling Nova back into his arms with the force of the bounty hunter that he used to be. “You’re mine,” he whispers. “I won’t let a single person in this galaxy forget it.”

Nova grins, heart doing backflips in her chest. By the time they finally make their way into the suite, it’s dark across the whole wide expanse of sky, and Grogu is asleep in their bed, comically small compared to the king-size that takes up most of the room. “I know,” she whispers, looking back and forth from her husband to their son, a smile etched into her lips. “We should get to bed,” she murmurs, after a second, and Din nods, pulling off the armor and his underclothes in his silent Mandalorian way, Nova weaving her hair back into her usual braid, feeling the bruises from her knees banging forcefully into the beskar throne.

“What’s on your schedule for tomorrow?” Din asks, both of them gently pulling the pillows that line the bed onto the ground, until it’s empty except for their usual spread and the baby’s tiny body. His eyes drift down to Grogu, and so do Nova’s. He knows. She knows. Neither of them want to say it aloud. It’s time for Grogu to go back with Luke and resume his Jedi training, even though none of them want him gone. Nova swallows.

“You know,” she tries, halfheartedly trying to lift her voice into excitement, “Back to business.”

Din rolls over, facing Nova in the darkness. “You don’t have to,” he whispers, and she knows losing Grogu again, even though it’s to Luke Skywalker, even though they’ll be able to fix it, is wreaking havoc on him too. Nova settles down next to him, ears focused only on the miniscule snores of Grogu’s open mouth, her hand finding Din’s, her eyes falling over where Luke’s lightsaber is hanging ceremoniously by the door.

“But I do,” she answers, finally, closing her tired eyes. “We have a galaxy to save. And I,” she breathes, snuggling in closer to the baby, “have a Jedi to see.”

*

TAGLIST: @myheartisaconstellation | @fuuckyeahdad | @pedrodaddypascal | @misslexilouwho | @theoddcafe | @roxypeanut | @lousyventriloquist | @ilikethoseodds | @strawberryflavourss | @fanomando | @cosmicsierra | @misssilencewritewell | @rainbowfantasyxo |  @thatonedindjarinfan | @theflightytemptressadventure | @tiny-angry-redhead | @cjtopete86 | @chikachika-nahnah | @corvueros | @venusandromedadjarin | @jandra5075 | @berkeleybo | @solonapoleonsolo | @wild-mads | @charmedthoughts | @dindjarinswh0re | @altarsw |  @weirdowithnobeardo | @cosmicsierra | @geannad | @th3gl1tt3rgam3roff1c1al | @burrshottfirstt | @va-guardianhathaway | @starspangledwidow | @casssiopeia | @niiight-dreamerrrr | @ubri812 | @persie33 | @happyxdayxbitch | @sofithewitch | @hxnnsvxns |  @thisshipwillsail316 | @spideysimpossiblegirl | @dobbyjen | @tanzthompson | @tuskens-mando | @pedrosmustache | @goldielocks2004 | @fireghost-xas always, reply here or send me a message to be added to the taglist!!! (and if you’ve already asked me and you’re not on it, please message me again!!!)

if you would like to be taken off the taglist or put on it, send me a message/ask/comment!! <3

I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!! whether you're a returning reader or a longtime lover, i m so happy you're here with Din, Nova, Grogu, and me. i just simply could not stay away from this story, and i cannot wait to go across the stars and back with the second fic in the series!! leave all your thoughts in the comments here, or find me over at tumblr @ amiedala, or scroll through my tiktok @ padmeamydala

CHAPTER 2 WILL BE UP SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 11TH, @ 7:30 PM EST!

xoxo, amelie

[furiosophie]

DINLUKE F1 AU

ok so I had this in my notes for fucking ages so fuck it here we go

inspired by @ehi7backup incredible art [look at it here]

TW: Luke lost his hand in a crash, Luke has ptsd Luke is the new hotshot star driver for Ferrari, Anakin was the best F1 pilot the world has ever seen, but after a horrid crash, he had to stop. Now his kids step up, Luke as driver and Leia as team principal (tho ppl say she could have surpassed Luke as a driver). Wedge is his co-pilot or Mara idk.

Luke's first season was incredible but he got into a horrible crash and lost his hand and now everyone is very skeptical if he can make his comeback this season. The team is under pressure anyways bc ppl say there is a curse on them since Anakin also had a horrid crash, you know Skywalker fuckery.

Din drives for Red Bull, tho they are referred to by some as the death watch, drawing suspicions with their weird training regiments. The Armorer is the team principal and Boba is Din's copilot. Din never takes his helmet off, mostly bc he rly just got into racing bc it's the only thing he was ever good at and he just wants to care for his kid and be left alone.

Bo-Katan is on Toro Rosso, and fucking hates Din's guts bc she used to drive for Red Bull but got knocked down to Toro Rosso last season so Din could have her spot (Din is oblivious to that rivalry). Koska is her copilot. Satine is the team principal and she and Bo never see eye to eye. Also, Satine has a weird history with that old dude that hangs around Ferrari all the time it's Obi-Wan.

Han and Chewie are in one of those weird teams that keep changing their sponsor and team name all the time so they are just known by the name Han lovingly gave his car, the Millennium Falcon. Lando is somehow their team principal even though no one knows where the heck he came from.

Then there is Mercedes with Gideon as team principal and Maul and ikd Ventress or someone as their drivers (nothing against Mercedes it just has to be one of the top teams u know for the drama).

Palpatine is the slimy old dude that has some shady money and hangs around like a menacing presence. He keeps trying to recruit Luke for one thing or the other and Anakin fucking hates his guts.

Cobb and Fennec are Ferraris and Red Bulls head mechanics respectively and always share the hot gossip. Obi-Wan, who blames himself for Anakin's accident, floats around like a weird ghost and occasionally offers strange advice. There is also Ashoka who was one of the most promising drivers and used to drive with Anakin but then shit happened and she noped out.

ANYWAYS Luke has always been curious about the gruff Red Bull driver who never takes his helmet off and they have a lot of run-ins, where ppl tell Luke to stay away but he's just so intrigued. And then one night he exists his trailer and wants to get away from the attention for one night bc he's already fighting a panic attack and runs into Din with Grogu on his arm who is fleeing as well. And Luke, bless him, does not connect the fact that Din and the mysterious driver are the same person, he just sees a hot dad and is head over heels.

And Din is nice and he is gentle and funny and knows how to talk Luke out of a panic attack and it becomes somewhat of a habit for them to meet up after races and they low-key start to date all while Luke has no clue who Din is bc he only ever introduced himself as Din, but on the track they are all called by their last name so---

Well you guessed it, Luke's season is actually going fucking great, so he and Din end up being pegged as rivals and it's blown up real big and Luke doesn't mind bc it's all in good fun, but what he does mind is that Djarin is suddenly always a bit too close to him when they are standing in line to be weight? Or their hands will brush when they pass each other in the hallway?? And he'll always somehow magically be around when Luke is about to have a panic attack and he does this thing where he leans their helmets together when Luke is freaking out and look it's all rly nice and lovely and he appreciates it so much, but also he has this rly nice thing going with Din and ppl are starting to talk and he doesn't want Din to think he is dating someone else but also he's getting kinda attached to Djarin and his rly soothing voice and oh gosh

But yea anyways there are so many possibilities like

it was actually Din who pulled Luke out of the wreck when he had his accident, Luke doesn't remember bc he was out cold

news articles and tweets and stuff that talk about Skywalker's and Djarin's rivalry that eventually morph into talking about them having a secret affair

Leia telling Luke over coms to come in for a tire change and Luke absolutely refusing bc Djarin is hot on his heels and he can't lose to him while Din is watching the race

Din telling Luke he can always call him and he'll always be there, except during races and Luke is high-key sad about that bc he would love to talk to Din before the race bc he's anxious but he respects Din's boundaries etc. BUT THE REASON DIN IS UNAVAILABLE IS BC HE'S IN THE DAMN RACE

eventual shit going down when they discover that Palp is cheating or some shit

Leia absolutely losing it when she finds out Luke thinks Din and Djarin are two different people

Han

[texanredrose]

Look Before You...

Blake took her seat, sweeping her gaze over the field currently filled with ‘knights’ from all over Menagerie. While they’d operated as a kingdom for years, only recently did they begin matching the other kingdoms of Remnant in certain ways and first came the overwhelming vote for the Belladonna family to become the ruling family. Her dad had tried explaining that that wasn’t how it worked, you couldn’t be voted into kingship, but it became one of the few arguments he lost during his tenure as Chieftain of Menagerie- a title he continued to hold, with the wider understanding being that he was their king and just had a unique title, which most people accepted enthusiastically. It seemed to be the widely accepted logic that, since they were exiled and driven away from the rest of Remnant, they didn’t need to strictly adhere to the other kingdoms’ precedents. When they did, it was with a bit of cheek, as evidenced by the array of ‘knights’ preparing to fight in the grand melee.

In other kingdoms, knighthood came after years of testing or with the proper bloodline. In Menagerie, anyone willing to challenge Ghira to a duel would become a knight after. The challenge came in the fact that her father was a moving mountain who spoke softly but hit very hard. Alternatively, prospects could challenge Blake’s mom, Kali, but even fewer would dare attempt that challenge. It was common knowledge that Chieftain Ghira, although strong, would simply beat you and leave it at that; Chieftain Kali, on the other hand, would usually leave you with a scar- not out of malice, of course, but because her opponents underestimated her and she sometimes couldn’t pull back her blows in time.

Blake shifted, one ear flicking back to hear the metallic tink of her sword’s scabbard hitting her chair. This would mark the first time Blake would be challenged as well for knighthood, which would be after the grand melee; the reasoning being that, those who felt well enough to continue fighting after the melee would be just as taxed fighting the relatively young Chief as they would fighting fresh against the more experienced Chieftains. Blake, for her part, looked forward to the tests to come; faunus all over Menagerie had taken up combat arts in the past year, starting the moment the tournament was announced. It would be an important, historic moment for them as a people.

Not least because the other kingdoms were becoming nervous about how easily the faunus thrived on the desert island they’d written off as being uninhabitable.

“You look bored.”

“I’m impatient,” she replied, sparing her best friend a glance. “I’m surprised you didn’t join the tournament. Isn’t the grand melee exactly the sort of fun you’d be dying to have?”

Sun shrugged, leaning on his bo staff as he stood next to her with a wide grin. “Yeah, but I’m already a knight. There’s no real benefit to me joining in, except fighting you at the end, and we do that enough when we’re training.”

“Well, I think it would be fun to fight in the melee,” she said, picking out the specific styles of weapons and matching them to the different regions around Menagerie. But then, her attention was caught by one figure specifically. “Is… that…”

“Something wrong, dear?” Her father took his seat behind her, awaiting the signal to officially begin the grand melee. When he followed the direction of her gaze, he saw what she did and muttered a curse under his breath. “An Atlesian knight.”

“A high ranking one at that.” Her mother mused, cautiously intrigued. “You can tell by the helmet.”

Blake didn’t know the different Atlesian knight ranks well enough to be able to discern much more but she did know that the closer the armor resembled the late King’s, the higher the rank, and this one matched the description she’d heard and read to the smallest detail, even the plume down the backside of the helmet. If not one of the Royal Knights, this one was close to the top of the order, despite seeming so… small and slim, standing there among the other warriors. The armor added bulk but it didn’t match up to the farmers turned warriors surrounding the knight. “What an Atlesian doing here?”

“I don’t know… but they haven’t started any trouble yet. Keep an eye on them, Blake.” Ghira rose to his feet and bellowed out that all might hear him. “Welcome, all, to the first annual Unified Menagerie Tourney! As a celebration of overcoming our struggles thus far, the first event will be the grand melee. Those arranged before you will fight until only one stands and, then, whoever can muster their strength may face Chief Blake to earn their knighthood. Then, we look at the advancements we’ve made…”

As her father continued to explain the three days’ worth of events, Blake watched the Atlesian knight, who seemed to hardly acknowledge anything aside from the details regarding the grand melee. It annoyed her, to some extent, because she felt like the knight might be there as some sort of statement, as if to prove that an Atlesian knight could best anyone in Menagerie. Then, she noticed something else. “That knight doesn’t have a shield.”

“Isn’t that a big taboo in Atlas?” Sun leaned towards the edge of the elevated box they sat in, tilting his head. “Everyone uses the same style; only the royal family can go without a shield, because their knights are their shield?”

“Maybe it’s not an Atlesian at all?”

“That might be worse.” Sun cringed. “Don’t think Atlas will be too happy if they hear someone wearing their armor got their butt kicked at our tourney.”

Blake pressed her lips into a thin line, watching the knight’s posture.

“As a reminder, all events are in the spirit of celebration and community; as such, killing blows are strictly prohibited during the grand melee,” her father said, impressively not allowing his gaze to linger on the Atlesian. “With that, contestants, assume your positions and prepare for the fight to begin!”

As the contestants moved to make a large circle, Blake watched the Atlesian’s movements with all her attention. However, the longer she watched, the more she noticed that the knight appeared to be… supremely uncomfortable, or at least unaccustomed to wearing the armor; their movements were sluggish and they turned awkwardly, as if they lacked any sort of awareness as to their size and expected to bump into something they couldn’t see at any moment. In fact, the more the knight moved, the less alarmed Blake felt; if anything, she worried that Sun might have a point and the person in the armor wasn’t Atlesian at all. That would be a diplomatic headache if word got back to the royal family of Atlas.

Her parents exchanged a look of concern but remained silent until the circle had formed. Then, her mother stood up and shouted. 

“Begin!”

A horn was blown and about forty people shouted in response and charged forward. Metal clashed as weapons crossed, but in the hectic melee, Blake watched the Atlesian knight’s movements closest and… well, there was skill there, somewhere, but the person beneath the armor obviously had never worn it before during combat. Their left arm rose, a thin blade- so unlike the universally larger swords favored by Atlesians- blocking or deflecting errants attacks, but it seemed… sluggish. They certainly weren’t used to the limited view of the helmet, unaware of someone swinging a giant hammer at their back until it smashed into their backplate. No matter who was in the armor or what their attentions were, Blake winced when the blow landed; it looked painful.

The knight was sent sprawling in the dirt and essentially forgotten about; while many grand melees operated under the idea that a contestant either died, ran away, or won, and no one cared how many fell into the first category, this one was different. As long as an opponent stayed on the ground or only crawled, they would be left alone; the last person standing would be crowned victor, and each was in charge of gauging whether getting back up would be a wise idea. The knight got back up.

“Tenacious,” Ghira said. “I would’ve stayed down.”

“Only in a contest,” Kali replied, a lilt to her voice. “If something was riding on it, though, you’d get back up.”

He nodded. “True. They must be fighting for something.”

The knight- perhaps because of their weakened defense, perhaps because they were the only one fully armored, perhaps because they had the audacity to wear a foreign kingdom’s armor, who could really tell the motivation- became the favored target of those closest to them. Hammers, maces, mauls, swords, clubs, axes: every weapon on display turned against the knight, who met or blocked most but couldn’t be quick enough to block them all. When a battleax struck the knight in the head, a cascade of sparks indicating the killing edge of the ax had penetrated the helm, Blake thought the knight would stay down. It would be safer. But the knight got back up.

“Why won’t you stay down?” Blake leaned forward as the knight stumbled back a few steps, their right hand reaching up and roughly pulling off their helmet.

If possible, many mysteries were solved by the act, only to be replaced by a plethora more as an uproar began rising through the crowd. The entire Belladonna family jumped to their feet and leaned forward, each disbelieving what they could plainly see before them. Blake leaned against the banister, straining her eyes and ears for any hint of deception- because, surely, what she was seeing couldn’t be what was actually happening.

Yet, as the helmet fell to the ground, the visage of the mysterious knight became visible- piercing blue eyes, a scar across the left just a few weeks’ healed, and long white hair like an unbroken line of moonlight. In other words, a member of the Atlesian royal family, and a very prominent figure at that: Princess Weiss Schnee. She was busy fumbling with the straps to her chestplate while Ghira tried to call an end to the melee- the last thing they needed was a royal heir of another kingdom being seriously injured during the tournament- but the roar of the crowd drowned him out. Blake held her breath, unsure of what she expected or what she wanted to happen next.

Then, the Princess tossed aside the breastplate and all its attached bits- the heaviest part of her armor- and raised her sword, bellowing something at the opponents who surrounded her. Whatever she said, it moved a few of them, and three stepped forward to meet her. Three weapons sought to strike at her, without the bulk of her armor.

However, without the bulk of her armor, she was quicker than anyone expected. Without the helmet, she had her full field of vision; without the breastplate, she could twist and turn easily; without the pauldons, she could lift her arm with ease. Her sword flashed, knocking aside two of the three weapons turned against her- a scythe and a battleaxe- while meeting the third- a sword- which she batted away. She was akin to a dancer gliding across the battlefield now, twisting and turning to keep her blade between her and her enemies, even when they surrounded her. The wise ones, those who had battled previously, chose now to weed out some of their opponents, fighting off to the side, while those who had little experience attempted to best the Atlesian.

“Stop the melee!” Ghira took a deep breath, preparing to bellow the words when it became apparent that he couldn’t be heard over the raucous excitement below. But Kali put a hand on his forearm.

“Wait… she wants to fight; let her fight.”

Blake could see it, too. Doffing her armor hadn’t made her invulnerable; she still seemed to be at a disadvantage and a few blows managed to land anyway. Yet, she kept getting back to her feet. One didn’t submit to this sort of punishment for no reason. Blood ran from an open wound on her head on the opposite side of the scar and she was clearly having difficulty breathing- perhaps a bruised or broken rib from the hammer blow earlier.

The veterans had nearly thinned out all the other contestants and the Atlesian had done her part to discourage the rest from continuing to fight. 

But everyone had their limits, and the Princess found hers when one of the veterans wielding a giant hammer took a swing from her blindside. The blow sent her sprawling and though she obviously struggled to try and regain her feet, another defeated contender nearby lifted his head just enough and seemed to say something to the Atlesian. Whatever he said, it convinced the woman to simply lay down until one of the tournament’s attendants hurried in to whisk her and the other defeated combatants away.

Blake turned immediately.

“Cub.” Her father’s voice held equal parts a warning and concern. 

“I’m just going to make sure she’s alright.” She was already halfway down the stairs by the time she responded, searching for where the disqualified contenders were brought. She could see some tents where people limped about and the occasional cry from wounds being tended drew her towards them. A few people acknowledged her- attendants who had no interest in watching the melee, competitors awaiting one of the later events, and those who left the melee but had recovered enough to move of their own power- but no one stopped her as she searched through those wounded during the melee to find the Atlesian. She eventually found the woman struggling to pick up her dirty and discarded breastplate, stringing together words in what Blake thought was Old High Atlesian but could’ve easily been an eldritch curse. “Well, at least you’re standing.”

Those piercing blue eyes landed on her with a force similar to one of the hammer blows she suffered earlier but softened almost immediately as her expression shifted from fury to embarrassment. “Your Highness, you needn’t worry about a- a lowly warrior-”

“You’re the Princess of Atlas.” Blake crossed her arms over her chest. “I think you underestimate how recognizable you are or how intelligent I am. Hopefully, it’s the former.”

Although her lips twisted into a sour expression, she nodded. “It is, I assure you. I intend no disrespect, Your Highness.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed, unsure what game the Princess might be playing at, seeing as they were of equivocal rank as far as Blake could see: both daughters to ruling monarchs. If anything, Blake might be positioned slightly higher, as she was an only child and Weiss was second born, but hardly enough to warrant the constant, stiff formality of the Atlesian aristocracy. Then again, she would expect an Atlesian to disregard her rank entirely simply to snub her. “None taken… Your Highness.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment longer before they were interrupted by a tourney attendant entering the tent bearing a tray with a tea set.

“Ah, Chief Blake, apologies for intruding-”

“It’s fine.” Amber eyes fell on the tray, noting the single cup. “Could you bring a second cup?”

“Of course.” A low bow after setting down the tray preceded the attendant- a ram faunus, if she didn’t miss her guess- ducked back out of the tent.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, taking the teapot and pouring the cup. It had to be some sort of Atlesian tea, dark and pungent, as no tea leaf in Menagerie was that dark brown color. Then again, Atlas sat high in the mountains amid snow and ice while most of the tea shrubs they cultivated in Menagerie were surrounded by dirt and desert; it seemed there was some sort of inverse relationship between the color that surrounded a tea bush and the color of the liquid it produced. “But I find myself curious as to what a member of the Atlesian royal family is doing joining a tournament in Menagerie.” She picked up the saucer and held it out to Weiss, making it clear that she’d poured the cup for the woman and not herself. ��Perhaps you can indulge me over a cup?”

Weiss looked at her as one might regard a snake poised to bite before relenting, sighing heavily and letting the breastplate drop unceremoniously to the floor so she could accept the saucer. “I suppose.”

Her ears canted back. “I don’t want to twist your arm about it.”

“It’s… not that.” The woman sighed, frustrated, and trudged over to a chair, setting down the saucer on a nearby low table as she eased herself into the seat, her greaves creaking with each step. “I’d hoped to earn a knightship as a means of proving… something.”

“Something?” Blake grabbed a chair and brought it over next to Weiss as the attendant returned. She poured herself a cup from the teapot and sat down next to the Atlesian. 

“Yes, something- if I could articulate it-”

“That wasn’t me prompting you,” she said, settling into her seat and grabbing her saucer. “It was… I suppose a bit of camaraderie. I know what it’s like trying to prove something you can’t explain… and you aren’t sure if you’re proving it to someone else or yourself.” A small smile. “To put your mind at ease, you can still attempt to earn your knightship; you don’t need to defeat me to earn the title.”

Weiss narrowed her eyes, pride bristling. “Are you implying I couldn’t defeat you?” Blake pointedly looked over the woman’s battered form. “I don’t mean right this moment, damnit.”

“I’m not sure but I’d like to see you try.” As she took a sip from her cup, Blake paused, then spat the whatever it was out of her mouth as her expression twisted up. “What is this? This tea is horrible!”

“It’s not tea; it’s coffee,” Weiss said, barely concealing her amusement behind her cup as she took a long sip without flinching.

Blake threw her a baleful look while setting down her saucer. “You knew.”

“I knew that I’d given her coffee grounds and told her how to make coffee and that she brought me back what smelled like coffee; you were the one who thought you knew what was in the teapot. You could’ve asked.”

The attendant from before- either anticipating the fallout or hearing Blake’s reaction- appeared with a second teapot that poured blessedly green tinted tea. She almost burned her throat trying to wash out the taste left in her mouth. “I hope you realize this is even more incentive to make you regret applying for knightship in my kingdom, Princess.”

“Then my impending knightship will be all the sweeter once it’s won, Chief.”

As much as she should be annoyed by the flippant response, Blake found herself smiling before taking another sip of her tea.

[underworldobsessed]

I Don’t Intend to Suffer Any Longer ll Extra Fic! Bo-Katan Week Day 7: Free Day

Title: I Don’t Intend to Suffer Any Longer Rating: T Ship: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze Characters: Bo-Katan Kryze, Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker Series: This Life is Mine (Bo-Katan Week 2021) Collection: Obitine Cave Fam Summary:  Bo-Katan knows that when she doesn't feel safe, she doesn't sleep. She so rarely feels safe, that even visiting her sister's family on Tatooine leaves her feeling unsafe and refusing to sleep. However, on this particular trip, that changes. ll Extra fic for Bo-Katan Week Day 7: Free Day Author’s note: So this is actually based on a roleplay universe a bunch of my friends and I created, and I got permission from them to create a little fanfiction universe based in it. I adore the AU we created and I'm so excited to bring this world into my writing. Also, I felt kinda bad that my last day of Bo-Katan week was smut, so here’s an extra fic for all of you Bo-Katan fans!! I had a blast with this week! Thank you all for sticking with me!

Tagging: @bokatanweek

Read here or under the cut

Bo-Katan got the ship ready to land as she lowered into the atmosphere of the most backwater planet she could think of; Tatooine. She never understood why both Satine and Obi-Wan chose this planet to settle down on, and raise their young adopted son; Luke. It kept them safe, which to her, was the most important thing.

Yet despite all of it, she never felt safe enough to get rest while she was there.

She still felt uncertain with Obi-Wan, still trying to get accustomed to working with a jedi like him. Her sister knew this well, which was while she questioned it, she never judged her sister for not  sleeping while she was on world. It was something she wished she could do, but sleep never came to her while she was there.

Wherever Bo was, if she didn’t feel safe, she wouldn’t sleep or her sleep would be plagued with nightmares. Even places she had been dozens of times, like the main Nite Owl base could cause her to become anxious and prevent her from sleeping. If they got a new member, or if they had recently had a close call. She became used to working on limited sleep, if she ever slept in general.

As she landed on the created landing platform, she picked up her helmet off the console. She would only hope her sister didn’t see that she had bags under her eyes from the stress she was under and sleepless nights. She hid a yawn as she walked down the ramp, only to get slammed into by a four year old, seeing her sister and her husband walking up towards her.

“Auntie Bo!” She smiled despite her exhaustion, lifting Luke up to set him on her hip. She pressed a kiss to his head. “Welcome home, Auntie Bo!”

Her heart warmed at the greeting, still unbelievable that she had a home that wasn’t a military base. Her sister and family actually had a place for her to stay, and wanted her there.

“Hello, Bo.” Satine walked up and wrapped her arms around Bo to try and hug her without crushing Luke. “How long are you going to be here this time?”

“I’ve got three days of leave before I have to return to base.”

“Awww,” Luke whined as Bo set him down. “Why can’t you stay longer, Auntie?”

“I’ve got people to save, kiddo.” She didn’t want him knowing just what she was doing when she wasn’t on world. At least not while he was this young. She knew her sister would frown at the consideration that she wanted to tell him of violence. Best not to let her know that she was planning on buying him a dagger for his birthday this year. She got one when she was this young from her parents, so it wouldn’t hurt to get him one as well.

He pouted but hurried into the cave where he lived. Obi-Wan smiled at Bo, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m glad to see you in one piece, Bo-Katan.” He smiled “Perhaps once Luke goes down for the night, you can tell us about what you’ve been doing and the progress on Mandalore.”

“Of course,” She promised as she followed them inside. On the table was already a full meal prepared. She was still not used to someone preparing a meal like this for her. She typically made herself something quick and easy, or just resorted to eating rations to get buy. A real home cooked meal like this was rare for her. Not that she was complaining necessarily, and she knew Satine had become a relatively good chef in the time since they were younger.

They all took their seats at the table, Luke making sure to sit next to Bo. She knew how much the kid missed her and she had to admit, she missed him too. It killed her to be off world more and more, finding less chances to come back and visit her family. At least for now, this was the way it was going to have to be.

“Is Korkie gonna come visit us anytime soon?” Luke asked, and Bo sighed. She looked over at Satine, who was pointedly not looking at her anymore, but she knew she was listening. Satine had still been keeping Korkie’s true identity a secret, but she always worried about the state of her son now that he had joined the Nite Owls in their fight to reclaim Mandalore.

“He wanted to join me this time, but he went on a supply run and won’t be back on base for another few days.”

“Oh…” Luke pouted as he took a bite of his food, before launching into a description of what he had been up to for so long since she had come to visit. The story was disjointed, but Bo could keep up fairly well. She listened to his story, smiling to herself as he went. She caught that he was making friends with some of the other kids, though always under the watchful eye of Satine when they went out. They had been to Mos Eisley a little bit more frequently, but lost what they did there in his rapid talking.

“Luke, you need to not talk with your mouth full,” Satine chided him, and at least he had the chance to look a little sheepish as he stopped talking briefly to eat a few bites.

“Sorry, Mamma.” He said, and Bo could see that same stunned face she made every time Luke called her that. She knew that Satine and Obi-Wan had told Luke the story of his birth parents, of Anakin and Padme and all they had accomplished. She had almost expected Luke to stop calling them mamma and papa after that, but the affection of them as his parents remained.

She knew anything different would tear Satine’s heart apart.

“Let the kid talk, Satine, I’m here so infrequently. I want to hear his stories.”

Luke beamed and launched into another story, this one about his recent love of reading some of his mamma’s old books. Bo had been bringing Satine some old Mandalorian children’s tales that Satine would find appropriate to read for Luke so he could learn. She knew there wasn’t much she could do for Obi-Wan’s past, but had found books that he would approve of for him to read to Luke as well.

They had been trying to get him to learn Basic and Mando’a, and possibly Huttese as well though neither were fluent in that.

But it was a connection to his father nonetheless.

As dinner wound down, they retired to a seating area to continue talking. Bo had taken up a seat on the couch with Luke and was playing with his starfighter toys, engaged in a playful fight as Satine sat comfortably on Obi-Wan’s lap as she watched her sister interact with Luke.

Paying attention to this caused her to notice just how Bo’s movements started to become sluggish. Her eyelids lowered as Bo let the starfighter drop to her side.

“Auntie?”

Bo’s eyes opened briefly, and she looked over at her nephew.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” She ruffled his hair, and picked the toy up to continue playing with him once again.

As they played, and eventually just sat as Bo started to read one of the books she brought for him. She felt Luke grow heavy against her and she smiled, her eyelids lowering as well. Her arm wrapped around Luke’s shoulder and her head slowly fell to rest against the armrest of what she was sitting on. It wasn’t long before both of them started to fall asleep.

Satine looked over at the couch and gently nudged her husband to look at them.

“Obi, look.” Satine’s voice was soft to try and keep from waking Bo by mistake. “She’s actually sleeping.”

“Forgive me, darling, but I would assume Bo-Katan would sleep, it is quite late.”

“Obi, in the years my sister has come to visit us, how frequently would you say she came to sleep?” When silence greeted her, she continued. “When she doesn’t feel safe, Bo won’t sleep. She knows she has nightmares, and knows they’re more common when she doesn’t feel safe, so she won’t sleep. The fact that she’s willingly fallen asleep means she’s finally starting to feel safe while she’s here.”

Satine looked once again at Bo, who seemed so much younger now that she was asleep. The stress had melted away on her face. While she knew that they were twins, Bo had been graced with a younger face, so she always reminded Satine of when they were children and Bo would fall asleep next to her.

Finally, her sister felt safe enough in the same place as her where she would willingly sleep like this.

The thought brought tears to her eyes, and she felt her heart warm.

“Should we carry them to bed?” Obi-Wan finally spoke up once again “I don’t want them to get a crick in their necks.”

“Don’t worry about it, Obi.” Satine reassured him. “Bo used to be able to sleep pretty much anywhere once she was comfortable. Besides, I don’t think she will be able to fall asleep once again if we accidentally wake her. Let them sleep. Luke will be happy to sleep close to his aunt since Bo is so rarely here.”

“I’ll get them a blanket.” He said as he went to the spare bedroom that Bo never used. In the meantime, Satine got up and went to brush her sister’s hair out of her face.

“I love you, Bo’ika. I’m so happy to see you finally feeling comfortable here. This is your home too and we will keep you safe so you can always get a full night’s rest while you are here.”

[folklord]

3. winless fight

part 3 of HOAX series | din djarin x f!reader (au)

ao3 | my masterlist

summary: when you promised the Empire that you would destroy Mandalore, you did not expect that approximating your old friend would become yet another obstacle in your hoax. Suddenly, to know Din Djarin was to watch the death of your past plans and, at the same time, the creation of a faithless love.

warnings: this part is about war, literally. mentions of blood, death and injuries. emotional vulnerable din. season 2 spoilers. but don't worry, next one is all about romance | word count: 2k

thanks @mrpascals for the review <3

About ten Mandalorians stared intently at the Mand'alor instructions in the meeting room. All war strategies were taught by him in a didactic way and all questions were calmly answered. You were there for about ten minutes, waiting for your permission to speak. Bo Katan and Vizla often questioned Din about his tactics, but the two seemed to have opposite ideas. Din acted as a mediator between the polarities in the room.

"Can the Empire's presence be confirmed?" The Mand’alor asked, bringing you back to the present moment.

“I did a meticulous analysis. It was, in fact, a kind of BT-1, the ancient droid of Darth Vader.” All the Mandalorians began to whisper upon hearing the famous name, while Din continued to stare at you. “But that doesn't mean anything. The circumscribed initials are from a disabled imperial cruiser. And believe me, the Empire would not send messages or threats in the form of carcasses.”

Silence filled the room for a few seconds until Din’s voice echoed between the walls:

“You may leave. Kaya, please stay.”

It was surprising how everything was going according to your plan. Every person who left the room stared at you, especially Bo Katan - you already knew her from past situations, but her crystal eyes seemed to burn you when they analyzed you from head to toes.

Approaching Din after the last soldier left, you noticed that the visor was facing a specific place: Keldabe, the old capital. He seemed to have lost himself in his thoughts, so you decided to start a conversation.

"Din, if I may ask…" he turned to you, "Why are you so sure an imperial invasion will happen?"

"Because I screwed up Moff Gideon's plans." The tone of his voice as he spoke that very specific name sent goosebumps through your body. You kept staring at the helmet, waiting for him to explain even though you already knew what happened. “The child… Grogu was special. He is special… He was important to the Empire”

“Grogu…” you repeated the name, as an affirmation.

“Moff gave me the darksaber so easily, and laughed at Bo Katan's frustration when she saw me with the weapon that she wanted so badly… But he didn't care, as long as he had the kid.” His voice cracked. You could swear his eyes were teary. “But he didn't expect… No one expected a Jedi to save Grogu. Gideon shivered in fear as Luke Skywalker destroyed all of his droids, and he did it all alone.” The last word was said almost in a whisper. “The Empire does not dare to challenge him to get Grogu back, not without the saber that is now in my hands…”

“And you are sure that they will come because they know that Mandalore is already too weak to fight...”

Your words were chosen carefully. Din turned to face the board, and his left hand held a miniature of a Mandalorian soldier so tightly that you could only see half the helmet escaping between his thumb and forefinger. In that instant, you knew it was the perfect time for your next move because it was clear that Din took everyone out of the room to be alone with you, so he could be vulnerable. He trusted you enough to let you watch even the human being behind the tiniest beskar slowly slip between his fingers.

“Din, you saved my life… and it was so easy for you…” stepping closer, you took his hand between yours. The black glove was rough on your skin, but you didn't hesitate to draw small invisible circles over it with your thumb until Din was slowly undoing his fist. “I noticed, two different groups are respecting you and they are all fine… The child, Grogu, is fine” the miniature Mandalorian soldier was already a little crumpled, but you kept it on his palm. "There is no other Mandalorian with more honor than you."

When you finished the sentence, Din tried to remove his hand, but you pulled him by the fingers. The miniature fell to the ground, but the loud sound its fall produced was unimportant when you decided to hold his right hand as well. His hands were so big that they covered yours, but you found a way to fit them between your palms.

"I did what I had to do." His voice cracked.

“You did so much more…” you looked directly into the visor, trying to meet his eyes. “He wasn't your son and you crossed the galaxy to rescue him, you fought ruthlessly against villains to have him back… That's all Mandalore needs, a protector, a lover…”

“It was this love for him that made me less Mandalorian.”

The words came out with tremendous anger and pain. His hands dropped yours into the air, making you realize again how cold Mandalore's air was today and how he had warmed you. You rubbed your palms together to recover from the heat shock, while his last sentence still echoed in your ears. What made him less Mandalorian and yet worthy of the Crown? What had Moff Gideon not told you?

"Din, I-"

"Sir!" A child in mandalorian armor ran across the room to Din, leaving your words stuck in your throat. "Mand’alor, the Empire is here!"

His exit from the room was so fast that you almost didn't see it, and in the seconds you tried to process what had just happened, the first imperial attack came upon the skies: you saw through the window that the place you admired, where the children were playing yesterday, was already on fire.

"Kaya!" The same child who alerted Din called you, pulling you by your cloak. "The Mand'alor told me to give this to you." He handed a key into your hands. "He told you to take your weapons and go to the Great Room: Burc'ya vaal burk'yc, burc'ya veman."

The key was to the Kyr'bes Room, you deduced. Din had given you the key to the entire Mandalorian arsenal, unaware that you were the greatest imperial weapon - and you were pointed directly at him.

(...)

The next few moments went out so fast that you didn't have time to think. With the key in your hand, you opened the room and searched for your weapons. The rest of the arsenal was made of the kind of weapons that not even the soldiers could carry with their bodies and that would, therefore, also be useless to you. Din's voice echoed down the hall, mixed with the screams and doors being rashly shut.

With your weapons, you ran to the Great Room, the same one you were greeted in. Din was standing next to his throne, in front of hundreds of Mandalorians, all facing their Mand'alor.

“…and you know they only want me. So protect your ade, Mandalore's future must remain safe"

All the children were taken to a corridor on the right, and you noticed that none of them hesitated or cried. This was the most beautiful example of how Mandalore culture raised their warriors.

“We know all the strategies and we know that there are no better creatures than the Mandalorians when it comes to wars. But we also know that our weakness is in our differences. Don't you dare fall into the imperial tactic of playing us against each other… this is the oldest trick in the galaxy, and it always works.”

Din took his darksaber and walked across the room until he was face-to-face with Bo Katan.

“Someone once told me: Mandalorians are stronger together. This is the way.”

The huge doors began to open as some Mandalorians put on their helmets and took up position. The Mand'alor, in front of them all, held his saber in his right hand and the beskar spear in his left. You saw at the opening, the glare of the imperial bombs hitting the planet's ground.

“Aruetii! Aru'ela!” someone in the crowd shouted. You knew what it meant: foreigner, enemy.

Suddenly, the doors closed again. The rattling of armor echoed off the palace walls and all the Mandalorians turned against you. All the blood in your body was frozen.

One of them, in blue armor, came out of the crowd with a spear similar to Din's and pointed it at you, positioning it right in your chest. You almost acted on impulse and wrenched the spear from your body to start a fight, but Din's visor — highlighted over the crowd by the reflection of the darksaber's light — made you hesitate.

"What are you implying?" You tried to speak as calmly as possible.

"You entered the room confirming that this was an imperial droid. In the next moment, they are already on our planet. Aru'ela!”

Shit. Moff was a real son of a bitch. You weren't even allowed to take control of the situation… you were, really, just an imperial doll who needed to find a quick way out.

“Can't you smell smoke under your helmet? Your planet is coming-”

“Aru'ela!” this time, everyone screamed. Dozens of soldiers raised their weapons in your direction.

"KE'MOT!" Din's scream followed by the sound of the spear hitting one of the doors made everyone fall silent. In the next instant, everyone turned to him, except the man holding the spear, at which point was almost ripping off your clothing.

The doors opened again, probably on Din's orders, but you were too nervous to be sure. Then everyone shifted their bodies and turned their weapons down. The blue soldier with the spear ran the point down your neck, but without hurting you, just as a warning which you understood very well. When the entire doors were open, the crowd went out towards the battlefield that had become the Palace garden. It wasn't hard to tell Din apart from the rest of the crowd: his darksaber cut through every droid and every stormtrooper in just one try.

[...]

You were fighting for Mandalore. Everything you've done so far resulted at that moment when you decided to hurt the first stormtrooper - but this one seemed insignificant when you lost count of how many you'd already killed. You were an intruder, an aruetii, fighting for the wrong side as hard as your body and heart could - and you were already feeling the effects of that effort. Your now weak arms acted like an instrument of annihilation and your legs tried to find a balance between the bodies of imperial soldiers on the ground. Your entire physique felt like a death machine on autopilot. Nothing stopped you until you realized there were no more stormtroopers around, at the same moment when your eyes caught the glimmer of Din's darksaber against Moff Gideon's neck, and an imperial weapon bigger than an X-WING directed to the Mandalorian Palace.

From the distance you were, and the weakness your body was at, you couldn't see much beyond blurs. All the Mandalorians around had guns pointed at the Empire - which at that moment, as far as you could see, was just Moff Gideon and a dozen private soldiers. The instant you've managed to open your eyes again, the glow of Din's saber seems to have faded and you saw Gideon walk toward his ship. The imperial weapon was dragged into the cruiser, and everything disappeared into the sky.

When there was nothing else to distract you, your exhaustion took over. Your legs could no longer support the weight of your body, making your knees ache as you hit the sand floor. As you tried to draw in more oxygen, the right side of your body throbbed as if it had been burned. Sitting on your feet, you brought your hands up to your ribs, and shit, you were bleeding.

If there was anything in the galaxy that was divine, you'd be sure to beg now so you could at least get away near some body of water. You haven't seen or felt clean, natural water since you were a child when everything was still fine. In your dreams, you imagined your death with the sound of a lake in the background, but all you could make out at that moment was the sound of someone approaching you and beskar material crashing against some surface.

“Cyare… what did you do?”

-----

Part 4

@la-lunaluna @meetmwhallway

let me know if you want to be added on the taglist :)

[i-write-sometimes-blog]

Only you (Koska Reeves x Reader)

Summary: A new Mando joins the team, and gets a little too flirty to you for Koska’s liking.

Requested by @koskareevesismyqueen

Word count: 1,634

A/N: This is my first time writing Koska and also other characters like Boba so sorry if they feel a little out of character. I tried my best. Koska deserves more love, so I'm happy I can contribute to put more stories for her out there. I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think!

It was rather unusual to see so many mandalorians in the same place without fighting.The small canteen was almost empty aside from the group of warriors in beskar armor reunited in the farthest point of the small place.

Leaning your back against the corner of the bar you took a look around, Bo-Katan was still focused on discussing the plan with Din, they'd been planning for hours now, trying to figure out the next steps to regain Mandalore.

If it wasn’t for the woman next to you, you would have probably lost your mind with how many strategies Kryze rejected. Your gaze traveled to the seat at your left where you met Koska’s brown eyes, a smile curling her lips. She had just finished telling you the adventures of her last mission with Bo.

“So, how did the missing go?” she asked you as she ordered a new round of spotchka.

“Really great, actually.” you told her taking a sip of the blue liquor she put in your hand. “There were about half a dozen troopers on the ship. Easy target for Axe and me.” you said remembering the quick fight against the stormtroopers.

“Like that time we took that star destroyer?” Koska asked with a grin.

“Kosk, there were about fifty troopers that time.” you chuckled.

"True, but we managed to get rid of them.” she murmured leaning closer to you, playfully. “Just you and me.” She winked before getting back to her drink.

Koska and you have known each other for a long time. Ever since you joined the Nite Owl there was a strong connection between her and you, it was an unspoken love that grew stronger over the years, expressed only in complicit gazes and looking out for each other in battle, you and Koska were inseparable.

But even though you were close, none of you dared to say anything. There was no time for love in a war, no time for this, as your boss always said, Mandalore before anything else.

“Looks like I missed all the real action.” you added looking at the glass in your hand, a bit disappointed you couldn’t be in the last mission.

From across the room you felt a strong stare fixed on you and turning your face towards the direction of it you caught a green and red helmet focused on you. However, you decided to ignore the man in the helmet and get back to Koska.

“Oh, come on.” She said trying to comfort you. “You’ll get your chance, sweetheart. It’s not like this war’s over, anyways.”

“You’re right.” you told her with a small smile and soon you were lost again talking with Koska, admiring her delicate features, that bright smile of hers and delighted with her melodious laugh.

You didn’t even notice when Boba Fett walked up to your spot in the canteen until you heard the spurs of his heavy boots. Koska’s smile immediately disappeared when she realized the man was definitely standing in front of you.

“Wanna get your ass kicked again, Fett?” Koska said in a defensive mode. She just didn’t like him, couldn’t stand him being close to her and her team, she didn’t want him close to you.

“Easy there, Revees.” Fett spoke, his deep voice echoing under his helmet. “I’m not here for you.” He was here for you, he didn’t know you and since you took off your helmet a sinful plan crossed his mind.

“So you are him, huh?” You said holding your drink, looking at him up and down. He was tall and seemed real strong, intimidating, mysterious. But he was not really your type.

“What do you mean?” Boba asked confused, just watching you as you drink the blue liquor.

“When Koska told me about how easy she put you down I imagined something very different.” you told him with a playful smile. Koska had told you that with a few punches he was on the ground, you imagined someone not that strong, Koska certainly was a powerful woman, the mandalorian saying was right after all: train your sons to be strong and your daughters to be stronger.

“What you imagined?” He said in a cocky way, getting closer to the corner where you were leaning.

“Not this.” You told him with a smirk before taking the last sip of your drink.

Koska’s jaw clenched when she saw the way Fett was moving closer to you with every passing second, the extreme teasing tone in his voice. She didn’t need to see his face to know what expression was under the helmet: pure lust.

“I’m Fett.” He said.

You told him your name. Boba savored your name in his lips when he said it, there was lust on his tone. You didn’t notice, oblivious of his attraction towards you and even more oblivious of his true intentions, but Koska did.

Koska didn’t trust this man, and didn't like him at all. He had the power to set all the red alarms in her body. She just wanted him to stay as far away from you as possible, if not, she’d make sure to break Boba’s every bone.

But she tried to keep her rage to herself, the last thing she needed right now was a scene. So she just stayed in silence close to you, watching his every move in case he happened to try something stupid.

“So, Y/N.” Boba said, walking a few inches closer to you, helmet tilted down to look at you. “While they talk '' He said gesturing to the table where Bo and Din were trying to solve the next move, “How ‘bout we go back to my ship for a ride?.”

Bad choice of words.

“I doubt Y/N would want to go with scum like you.” Koska raised her voice frowning at Fett.

But Boba just chuckled, never taking his gaze away from you.

“I didn’t know sidekicks were allowed to talk.” He said these were the exact same words Koska herself had said the first time they met.

“I already mopped the floor with you once, can do it again.” Koska responded immediately getting up from her seat and walked closer to the man, hands already formed into fist.

“I wasn’t talking to ya.” he says without even caring to look at Koska, he was focused on you and only on you.

“So, what you say, little one?” he asked, his gloved finger tilting your chin for a brief moment.

That was enough for Koska to let out the rage she had been trying to control.

“Touch her again you lose the arm” She dared or rather warned him.

You looked at them, confused with the sudden way everything went from a peaceful chat and the next moment the room was filled with tension.

Koska walked even closer to Boba, you recognized her battle face, she was most definitely going to fight this man but why? He didn’t seem like a menace to you, he was maybe way too flirty and insolent but it was not like you were going to say yes to his offer anyways.

“Enough.” you said, standing in between them, stopping them from beating the hell out of each other. “Kosk, can we talk outside for a moment.” you said looking at her.

She nodded and followed you outside the small canteen, she was still angry, you could tell by the way she was frowning, the way her jaw was tightly clenched, as she kept her arm crossed over her chest.

“Alight, what��s going on?.” you said as soon as you were at a good distance from the building.

“I don’t like him.” was all she said.

“Yeah, I see that.” you said. “But why?”

“You didn’t see it, did you?” she asked.

“See what?”

“The way he was talking to you, the way he was looking at you. He doesn’t need to take the goddamn helmet off to know he was eye fucking you.” Koska told you, a really irritated and angry tone in her voice.

“He literally walked up to you with no other intention but to fuck, Y/N.” she added. “He’s an asshole and you deserve so much better than that.”

Oh.

Suddenly you realized what was bothering Koska so much, it was Boba’s flirty chat with you and his offer towards you. It was the fact that she knew you for so long and never made a move and this man had the audacity to come ask you out that easily. She was jealous of him.

“Wait a minute.” you chuckled, finally figuring out what was going on, you never thought you’d see this day. “Koska Reeves, are you jealous?”

“No, I-i, I just-” she mumbled, she was good at speaking her mind up but not really good at lying.

“Oh, shut up.” you said with a grin on your face before pulling her in for a kiss. She seemed surprised at first, but she immediately relaxed under your touch. This was a kiss you both had been waiting for a long time, a proof that you loved her as much as she loved you. “I don’t want anyone else but you, Koska.” you murmured, breaking the kiss to look at her. “I love you.”

All the tension was gone, the anger in her face was replaced by satisfaction and perhaps, relief. Koska wrapped her arms around, pulling you even closer to her body, the playful look back on her face as a smirk curved her perfect lips.

“Say that again.” she mumbled, softness in her eyes.

“Do I really have to?” you giggled, her only response was her smile growing wider. You shook your head before leaning to steal a new kiss from her lips. “ni kar'taylir darasuum gar.”

Tagging: @natasha-danvers

(In case you want to be tagged for specific things or everything I write, just let me know)

[generalfoolish]

Aay'han

Rating: 18+ (minors take a hike)

Warnings: lots of bad space language, talk of Bo-Katan and Death Watch, mentions of lost family, Soft!Luke (needs a tag), maybe some lusting over Luke? He's handsome, y'all, mad!Mando, some Grogu because I can't help myself, some nightmare talk/horror type themes-blink and you'll miss it though

Word count: ~2.4K

Pairing: (eventually!!!) Din Djarin x F!reader

Summary: Two Mandalorians on the road to Dagobah, in search of a Jedi.

A/N: Hey babes! This is number six of the #mandomay2021 prompt list. This one is soooo self-indulgent, but it's pretty exposition heavy. Our sweet mandalorian doesn't know Mando's story like we do, so bear with me! Enjoy 💕

Masterlist | Cyare'se | Partaylir

Mando is silent as he toggles the destination into nav, and remains silent long after the jump into hyperspace. You don’t know what to do. The cockpit isn’t cramped, but you feel like your thoughts are too loud. You wonder if he can hear you thinking.

If he could hear you, he’d know that you were second guessing this whole quest. You had once been spurred on by hate and loss and grief, but in the starkness of this new ship you think you may have run head-long into something you couldn’t control.

You wonder, not for the first time since meeting Mando, if your resolve is weakening or if you’re simply intrigued by this mandalorian.

As if he could read your thoughts, Mando turned to face you.

“I’m not sure that Skywalker will be much help. I have hope, but I need you to know that it may not be productive.” He sounded so earnest, that all you could do was raise your shoulders in a pitiful shrug.

“Where is Skywalker?” You asked quietly.

“Dagobah. It’s a swamp planet.”

“I’m not sure I know it.” You thought back to the last time you mapped the galaxy. It had been a long time.

“You wouldn’t. It’s almost Wild Space. Further south than Naboo.” You nodded, then considered it.

“That’s across the galaxy?”

“Yeah, but he’s the only one who would know anything. Except for Bo-Katan, but we both have reasons to avoid her.” He added, wistfully.

“You do?” You asked, and Mando shook his head.

“Yeah, but it’s a long story.” You shrugged, it didn’t really matter. As long as you were on the same page when it came to clan Kryze. You sat back in the seat, and Mando turned back around. You wondered about his motives. He had mentioned having a son, one that could still be hunted by the Empire. But, he was alone. And there was no covert on Nevarro. If he was staying away from Bo-Katan, then the son wasn’t likely near Mandalore. You narrowed your eyes as you worked through it.

You didn’t have children, not your own. Your Tribe had been very closely knit, and you had loved and looked over the children. They were why you had thrown yourself into this plot. You would never leave them behind, though. If you had them in your arms, would your hate dissipate as well? He mentioned loved ones, and you wondered again about his entanglements. Was there a Tribe? More hidden? His son had been hunted, was his Tribe destroyed along with the covert?

You wouldn't speculate anymore.

“Mando, where’s your ad?” He stiffened visibly. You worried you had crossed a line, one that you couldn’t easily retreat from.

“Why?” His voice was terse, and his shoulders remained tense.

“If he’s alive, you should be with him? This is a suicide mission, you said so yourself. Why would you agree if you had a son who was waiting for you?” You prodded. It felt important to know. You needed to know what kind of man he was, that’s what you told yourself, anyway.

You needle people, that inner voice told you. You needle and push until they’re gone.

Minutes passed before you heard Mando sigh, long enough that you had started to regret ever getting on the ship.

“He’s in training. He’s a foundling.” You nodded, but didn’t fully understand. Training for what? Combat? Guns? A bounty hunting mandalorian should be able to handle that.

“Training?” You asked, no longer able to keep your question at bay. He exhaled loudly, and turned to face you, the tension released from his shoulders.

“He is with Skywalker. They’re Jedi.” He told you plainly. As if that explained anything.

“Jedi?” You scrambled trying to remember if your buir had ever mentioned Jedi in your lessons. You recalled their weapon, the jetii’kad, a laser sword, you thought.

“They use the Force.” He told you, confusion laced in his words. “I...I’ve seen it. They use their powers and laser swords to fight. I have seen things I can’t explain.” You listened intently. You had only heard the stories, the reason Mandalore needed a Mand’alor, and the reason mandalorians wore beskar. But even in your wildest machinations they weren’t true, just stories for the children to cling to. Something to believe in, when everything else seemed helpless.

“The jetii are real? You said “they,” are they more than one?”

“Mm. Two, well three if you count the kid.” You closed your eyes under the helmet, and wished you could rub your face. It didn’t seem real. You turned your attention to the streaking colors of hyperspace. It wasn’t impossible that Jedi would be real. The dark saber was real, you had heard the chatter. A mysterious mandalorian, one without ties, wielded it now.

Your eyes snapped back to Mando. A mysterious mandalorian, one without ties.

You rolled your eyes at yourself. This guy wasn’t the Mand’alor.

Why else would he be running from Bo-Katan?

He’s connected to the Jedi.

The Mand’alor a Child of the Watch from a backwater like Nevarro?

It would be impossible...right?

You snapped your eyes back to Mando. He had busied himself with the control panel, seemingly lost in thought.

“Mando?” He turned toward you slowly, his body language a question.

“Why are you hiding from Bo-Katan? I don’t care if it’s a long story.” He sighed at your request. He didn’t answer, he simply stood and left the cockpit. You sat up straight, fear creeping up your spine. You had pushed too far.

He returned after a moment, though it didn’t seem as though he had grabbed anything. Confusion replaced your fear, and you leaned forward on your knees.

“I kind of made a promise to her that I never intended to keep. She knows my face, and I have something she wants. I just need to keep space between us.” You narrowed your eyes again, his story sounding like bantha shit.

“Okay, Mando. We’ll stay off her radar.” You told him, but that dark voice crept up from your stomach and filled your throat with bile. Something was wrong. He was lying.

~

“Well, this is Dagobah. Nowhere to land. At least an X Wing will be easy to spot.” Mando muttered from the pilot chair. You said nothing. In fact, you had more or less kept silent for the few days it took to travel. Mando seemed to operate quietly usually, so it didn’t bother him. Or if it had, he hadn’t voiced it. You had been keeping in the hold, for the most part, as well. Keeping distance seemed the proper course for now. Until you could parce out why he had lied about Bo-Katan. A growing part of you was terrified you’d awaken to him standing over you, wielding that damn dark saber. Your thoughts ping ponged from the saber to Bo-Katan, and when you could finally put them out of mind, you were assaulted with the new information about the Jedi.

You were having trouble processing. And you had kept your crikking helmet on for far too long.

At last, you had seen the planet looming in the darkness of space, massive and green. You’d have answers soon. You had a mental inquiry for this Skywalker, ranging from Mandalore to the New Republic. The Empire side-lined for a moment, was queued up after your current thoughts were sorted. It was too much.

Mando piloted the ship easily down into the muggy swamp. You wrinkled your nose, and were actually thankful for your helmet. It would filter out the worst of the smell. Mando had set the ship down on the, seemingly, only piece of dry land. It housed another ship, the X wing, you presumed.

He motioned for you to follow, and you complied. Not speaking for almost a week had it’s advantages, the two of you had become masters of nonverbal signals. You looked around outside of the ship. Skughole, that was your only thought. Crikking skughole. Not even a port. Mando walked forward, and you followed behind.

You heard the man before you saw him. He was cursing a blue streak through the muggy air. He wasn’t what you expected. You weren’t sure what you had expected, but the lean, human male wasn’t it. He was dressed in tan, loose fitting clothes, and was covered in the bluish mud. His brown hair hung messily in his face, which was plastered with sweat.

You tore your eyes away from the only Jedi you had ever seen, and gaped at what you saw. A massive boulder was levitating in front of him. It was just floating there, in the open space. You turned quickly to Mando, and he nodded once at you. It felt like a confirmation that you weren’t insane. That what was happening was real.

Not that you had time to dwell on it. Before you could blink, the rock imploded. Tons of small rocks fell to the mud, and the man exhaled loudly.

“Mandalorian. I’ve been expecting you.” The Jedi panted, before walking over.

“Grogu?” Mando asked. You blinked in confusion. It wasn’t Mando’a. Or any other language you knew.

“He’s napping. We’ve been training hard. Searching for more of his kind. My Master was one of his species, and I believe there to be more here. This planet…” He trailed off before turning to face you. “Apologies, I am Luke Skywalker, a Jedi Master. The Jedi Master, I guess? There’s not many of us left. Not to worry,” he added, leveling a kind look at you, “You travel with a kind man.” Mando snapped his head down at you, but you were as confused as him.

“Can Jedi read minds?” Luke laughed and wiped his forehead off.

“No. I can sense that you are nervous though.”

“With the Force?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. You had never had to filter emotions more than through your voice. The beskar hid everything else. You felt Mando’s eyes on you, burning through what was left of your shield.

“Kind of. Let’s get some food, yeah? Grogu needs to eat, and I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you, Mando.” You followed Luke, but you could feel Mando’s eyes on you the short walk to the hut. Luke dipped into the small hole, and disappeared inside.

“You don’t trust me?” Mando asked, gruffly, as soon as Luke was out of earshot.

“No. You lied to me.” You leveled. He scoffed, putting his hands on his hips.

“You lied to me!” Exasperated, you yanked your helmet off.

Of course, you regretted that immediately. The smell of the swamp nearly gagged you. You hadn’t gotten acclimated to it at all, and it hit you full on. Mando took a neat step backward, hands mid air, helmet looking down. Luke was walking out with bowls, and peeking around his leg was a long green ear.

Your eyebrows pulled together, and you opened your mouth to say something--anything. But Luke beat you to it.

“Oh criff.”

~~

You sat with Luke, helmet beside you on the log, and faced the fire. Mando had taken a walk with Grogu.

“What makes you so apprehensive to the warrior?” Luke asked, slurping stew from the bowl. You looked at him, aglow from the flames, and sucked your teeth. You didn’t know their relationship, but you couldn’t hide it from the Jedi.

“I think he has the dark saber.” Luke nodded.

“Would this be an issue?” You considered it for a moment.

“I don’t know. I keep having nightmares. He...strikes me down with it.” Luke drained his bowl, and sat it aside.

“Why would he do that?” Luke asked, full attention on you.

“That’s what I’m nervous about. He doesn’t have a reason. Unless, he thinks I’m a threat to him. Luke, do you know the story?” He shook his head, and you thought about it. “My buir, sorry my Mom, taught me many lessons of the mandalorians. My father was lost during one of the many civil wars. I saw the destruction and horror first hand, as I’m sure Mando did. The difference though, is that his people were the ones that murdered mine. It’s hard to separate the man from the myth.” Luke nodded thoughtfully.

“I am afraid I know little of Mandalorian lore, but I have seen my share of pain and betrayal. We cannot always know what path is right, but we can trust in the Force to lead us there. What does your gut tell you about Mando?” You sat silently, staring deep into the flames before you. You had been turning it over since Nevarro.

“He’s safe.” You told the Jedi, so quietly it was almost lost to the crackling fire. But the man beside you nodded, and patted your knee. You looked down and saw that his hand was mechanical. You snapped your eyes up to his face, and his eyes twinkled at you. You heard a twig snap and your eyes shot to the source, fingers wrapping around your blaster.

You saw Mando’s beskar reflecting in the low light, and the curl of his arm, before you heard the child’s babbling.

Mando was a mystery, but Grogu had stolen your heart immediately. He had been in Mando’s arms, cooing, since he woke up. Mando, for his part, had nodded and participated in the very one sided conversation.

You offered Mando a small smile when he approached, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

“It is a bittersweet reunion for him.” Luke told you quietly, when Mando dipped into the hut.

“Why?” You asked, watching the hut closely.

“He knows he must leave him. Grogu’s training takes precedence, but their bond is strong.”

“Ah, we have a word for this: aay’han. It is both mourning and joy at once.”

“Aay’han,” Luke echoed the Mando’a back perfectly, and you thought it sounded lovely. “Such a beautiful word, the meaning is interesting. I would like to know more of your culture, someday. First, I am seeking my own.” You smiled at Luke as he stretched beside you. It had been days since you had truly spoken.

You hated this swamp planet, but you were growing fond of its inhabitants. Aay’han, indeed.

**Translations

Aay’han: bittersweet

Ad: son

Buir: parent

Mand’alor: Ruler of Mandalore

Jetii: Jedi

Jetii’kad: lightsaber

[soulmate-game]

Oneshot #2

What if Marinette had never won the Wayne Enterprises competition?

Well, her and Damian’s meeting would have probably went something like this.

—*—*—*—*—*

The asian-French hero looked down at her palm, where a plain silver ring sat at the center of the long silver chain around her neck. They had done it. Seven years, lots of reversed deaths, way too many close calls, and Adrien was in a wheelchair for the next few months at least. If he ever got back on his legs at all.

That wasn’t even brushing over the painful fact that he was now an orphan by all rights, his mother finally buried and his father rotting in prison. It was the epitome of a bittersweet victory, and Marinette couldn’t stand to stay in the same city as where it had happened anymore.

It wasn’t like she had a choice, anyway. Marinette was the Guardian now, and the fallout of the last fight led to her parents figuring out her identity. That couldn’t be allowed to stick, so she had asked Plagg to erase their memory of the discovery. She knew Plagg didn’t have the best restraint with his powers, but the effects would never wear off and could never be reversed.

Sure enough, they didn’t just forget that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug. They forgot that Marinette Dupain-Cheng had ever been born.

So the Guardian, for she had held that title since her eighteenth birthday, gathered up all her belongings. She emptied her bedroom as if it had never held a child to begin with, sold everything she didn’t need and packed away what she did. She took the Miracle Box with her, of course. And Chat’s ring. He could wear it anymore anyway, and Marinette didn’t have anyone she could trust it to.

Kagami and Luka gave back their Miraculous, too. As did Chloè. They didn’t need to fight HawkMoth anymore, and they deserved normal lives now that the war was over. Marinette was not about to take from them the very thing she couldn’t have.

So she found herself in Gotham City, her hair cut into a long pixie in an attempt to change up her look. She didn’t need people recognizing her, especially since she had no intention of giving up her hero work. She set up a boutique, she already had more than enough of a clientele and solid reputation to keep her in business for at least a few years. She was twenty years old, and the world saw her as a rising star instead of the crashed meteor she felt like.

The Kwamis saw it. Every time they left the Box (and Marinette liked giving them all at least a day or two every week to stretch their legs, so to say), they would see her darkening bags under her eyes and the almost permanent slump to her shoulders. Her bed almost looked brand new even after several months in Gotham.

She closed her hand around the ring for a moment, before slipping it onto her right thumb. The now-familiar coursing energy of Destruction ran over her body like a current of electricity, promising a fatal shock at even the slightest mistake.

Good thing she was a manic perfectionist.

“Plagg, merge.”

The cat Kwami was sucked into the ring, dying it black and giving birth to the green paw on the flat top. Marinette’s already darkened and Gotham-ized Ladybug costume gaining a few spikes, a black leather jacket, her utility belt holding her yo-yo darkened into charcoal gray with green accents and a red-and-Black extendable bo staff. Instead of a domino mask, stylized black ski goggles covered her eyes, the magical glass tinting maroon in the right lighting. The tips of Marinette’s short hair dyed into a dark mossy green.

“Let’s show these Gotham villains that they can’t just toss us around,” she said to the empty air, as if promising to herself that her half-year absence from the hero scene hadn’t filled her skills at all.

(And it probably hadn’t, since she had kept up with her own training regiment during the hours she really should have been using to sleep, but she wouldn’t be Marinette if she didn’t doubt her own skills every now and then.)

With a soft whisper of “cataclysm,” she laid her hand on the metal door that had been slammed shut. It rusted and crumbled away into dust immediately. She wouldn’t let Scarecrow hold her charity gala hostage. Sure, it hadn’t been as extravagant as something thrown by the Waynes, but it was her first gala and had had a surprisingly large turnout. People had fallen in love with their new Gotham celebrity philanthropist.

Surprisingly, she wasn’t alone. Right then, the windows in the rented building shattered, allowing three very familiar masked men to drop in at the three other corners of the room. With Marinette, they made a full square of heroes surrounding the Gotham villain and his screaming hostages.

“Separate,” she whispered, her Plagg-induced accessories fading away to reveal her in just her Ladybug outfit. Her domino mask was replaced by a maroon and black-polka dotted motorcycle helmet with a rose-red visor covering the upper half of her face. She had on matching fitted cargo pants in the same pattern, and a long-sleeved black turtleneck with two large, hot rod red half-circles over both sides of her waist. Calf-High black combat boots with red soles and maroon stripes up the outer edges completed the new Ladybug look. Not including the ever-familiar yo-yo sitting on a thin red utility belt on her hips, anyway.

The three Gotham-native vigilantes observed everything, including the unfamiliar figure in red and black that seemed to be on their side, at least for now.

“Robin,” Batman spoke up. “Red Robin and I will engage Scarecrow. Get the hostages out and administer the antidote for the fear toxin. If we haven’t wrapped things up by the time you're done, come back here.”

The colorful vigilante let out a tsk at being left out of the combat, but knew he would be the fastest at evacuating the victims. They were all under fear toxin and several were having very violent reactions to it, so his no-nonsense approach would be the best match up with wrangling the civilians out of the building.

“I’ll help you,” an unfamiliar female voice crackled over their coms, making the three vigilantes stiffen. “Relax, my suit’s magic patched me in to your frequency. You can call me Ladybird. I won’t get in your way, but I’m not gonna just sit back and watch either.”

“If you slow me down, I’m hogtying you and leaving you for the Commissioner,” Robin warned, her gaze flashing over to the unfamiliar hero right as her ruby-red lips curled up into a secretive smirk.

“Fair enough.”

Batman and Rex Robin rushed into the fight then, seeing as Nightwing couldn’t distract Scarecrow forever. The blue vigilante used their sudden take over of the fight to turn his attention to Scarecrow’s rented goons, and knock guns out of hands.

Ladybird and Robin took over the rest. Working like a surprisingly well-oiled machine, they seemed to know exactly which victim to grab next to avoid getting in the other’s way. Robin noted that Ladybird seemed surprisingly well-versed in handling panicking victims that fought back, easily trapping their limbs to their bodies and carrying them out forcibly yet efficiently. She was also surprisingly quiet, whispering to the more coherent victims and doing her best to keep the evacuation as subtle as possible.

She was equally quick in administering the antidotes that Robin handed out to her, her hands clothed in black motorcycle gloves easily sliding the needles of the syringes into the right arteries without a second of hesitation.

Luckily, they hadn’t had to go back into the fight after getting all the victims rounded up and cured. Ladybird has just finished handing out shock blankets when Robin’s team filed out of the building with an unconscious Scarecrow held limply between them. A few statements and evacuated victims later, and the three met up with Ladybird in a nearby alley.

“Who are you, and why are you in Gotham?”

“Ladybird,” she said calmly, ignoring the beeping in her helmet. She had used her cure discreetly to reverse any physical damage the vigilantes and victims had taken, and hoped they wouldn’t notice until the next day. It had taken her a while to learn how to make the magical ladybugs invisible, but it was a useful skill. “I used to be Ladybug, back in Paris, but Paris doesn’t need heroes anymore. I came here for a new start, that’s it. I don’t plan to get in your way, but don’t expect me to stay out of it when bad things happen.”

“Oh, so we’re just supposed to accept a new vigilante with magic popping up and sticking their noses in our business, are we?” Robin challenged, stepping forward with hostility in every muscle of his body. Ladybird, to her credit, did not even flinch. In fact, even though she was over a foot shorter than Robin, she just straightened up to make the most of every inch of height she had. It was shockingly effective. She petit female could apparently make a very intimidating presence when she wanted to.

“I don’t plan on leaving, so you either play nice or get the nice beat into you,” she said with a falsely cheerful voice. A growl pulled itself from the back of Robin’s throat.

The rest of the BatFam watched with barely restrained tension. None of them were happy about a new, unknown vigilante in town, sure. But Robin was by far the last person they would have chosen to confront the new person.

“I’d like to see you try, shorty,” Robin purred menacingly, a sharp grin overtaking Ladybird’s mouth at the challenge.

“Gladly, little birdy,” She chimed right back. They lunged at the same moment, Ladybird’s hand gripping Robin’s bicep to try and throw him over her shoulder at the same moment that the man’s fist made contact with one of the large spots on her waist.

But before any real damage could be done, a flash of green light erupted around them, surrounding both heroes and separating them with business-like speed. They blinked at each other as they were forced to separate, wondering if Green Lantern had made a surprise visit to Gotham.

But that was not it, they realized, the green was much too dark a shade and proceeded to sink into the skin around their wrists. A mechanical voice sounded in the air.

“WARNING: GAME FOUL. ATTACKS BETWEEN SOULMATES OUTSIDE OF FRIENDLY SPAR ARE PROHIBITED.”

“What the hell—“

“INITIATING GAME START.”

Both heroes’ vision split in half, just as Marinette’s one-hour timer ran out and her transformation dissolved.

“Well. I’m Marinette, I guess. Your soulmate.”

She watched from two different perspectives as Robin’s eyes widened behind his mask and her own star-struck face contrasted starkly with her unaffected tone of voice. Apparently exhaustion saps the emotion from someone’s tone.

“Holy plot point, Batman.”

“I thought we agreed you would never say something like that again, Nightwing.”

—*—*—*—*—*

[changingourdestiny]

Beyond Light Part 4: The Lightborn Captain

Summary:

Fireteam Paralight have successfully tracked down Phylaks. But after the baroness mocks Tif for their rank as a captain and association to Mithrax, both she and Fireteam Paralight quickly learn just why she was made a captain in the first place...

Previous Part: Here

Next Part: Here

As Fireteam Paralight entered the Nexus, Phylaks contacted them again, “They say you all are great warriors. Rae, Slayer of the Red Legion. Blaze, Destroyer of Oryx. Marcia, Light’s Shadow. But you I’ve never heard of…”

“I think she means you, Tif.” Berhane whispered. “I’m Tif. Captain of House Light and right-hand of Misraakskel.” Tif replied. “A human captain? Bah!” Phylaks began to laugh, “What a joke.” Tif let out a low growl as Phylaks continued, “You all are built with machine-weakness. God-dependence. You flee from battles you think you’ll lose. Prove you are worth my time.”

Tif muttered a curse in Eliksni under her breath as they continued into the Nexus. “What did Phylaks mean by ‘god dependence’? The Traveller?” Ghost asked, “I don’t feel dependent on or limited by the Traveller. I feel close to the Traveller. Protected. Or…I did.”

“What do you mean?” Rae asked.

“Ever since you got that splinter…I feel further away than ever.”

“Don’t worry. The second this power does anything to hurt you or me, it’s gone. I promise.”

“Thanks, Rae.”

“Don’t worry ya little core, Ghost.” Marcia grinned, “As someone who had Darkness that did hurt them, I can say- WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?!”

Marcia looked on with a horrified expression as she spotted a large Vex marching with a group of smaller ones. “Is that a harpy…with legs?” Rae stared with a confused expression. “Who cares what it is, just kill it!” Blaze called out, gun at the ready.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Rae’s Dawnblade faded from her hands as the last of the Vex burned away as Blaze took out the cube powering the barrier blocking their way. “We should be close by now.” Marcia sighed as she reloaded her gun. “I see now you are a worthy challenge. A chance to hone my blade.” Phylaks’s voice came through once again, “Come find me, machine-spawns. I am waiting.”

“Alright then. Let’s keep pushing.” Rae said as the fireteam made their way deeper into the Nexus. As they did, Rae noticed Tif looking a little peeved. “You okay, Tif?” she asked. “Yeah…it’s just…” Tif began, “Phylaks is wrong. Just because I’m a Guardian, doesn’t mean I’m no less of a captain! And I’ll prove it to her! With or without Stasis.”

“That’s the spirit!” Marcia grinned, giving Tif a playful nudge, “Let’s give her a piece of our mind and let nothing get in our way!”

“Another Brig up ahead.”

“SON OF A-!!”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Fireteam Paralight arrive at what seemed to be piece of land surrounded by radiolarian fluid. Nearly as soon as they arrived, a ketch appeared overhead and Phylaks emerged from it, cackling as she landed on the ground, “I will bring your corpse to Eramiskel. I will forge myself a ring from your armour.”

“You won’t! We’ll defeat you!” Tif countered. “Ha!” Phylaks laughed, “You really think that you, a human playing pretend, can defeat me? I always thought Misraaks was a fool when I head of his ‘house’. But the fact he made a weakling of a human a captain? He’s truly an idiot.”

Tif tensed up, “Take. That. Back.”

“What-?”

“TAKE BACK WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT MISRAAKSKEL!” Tif roared.

“Why should I? He’s an idiot kelling a house of idiots.”

Tif growled, “Rae, Blaze, Marcia. Stay back.”

“W-what?” Rae stared at Tif in disbelief. While her captain-esque mask hid their expression, Rae could make out Tif’s eyes behind the semi-transparent eyepiece that was designed to give off the illusion of Eliksni eyes. Tif’s expression wasn’t their cheery or determined one. It was rage. Tif took several steps forward until they were between their Fireteam and Phylaks. They glared directly glared at the baroness and growled out in Eliksni, “She da hu, et? Sha da go do bo ra!”

Phylaks narrowed her eyes at Tif as Blaze and Rae’s went wide. “What? What’s happening?” Marcia glanced between her fireteammates and Tif and Phylaks. “I recognise that phrase.” Ghost replied, “That’s what Taniks said when he was challenging us in the ways of old. Or at least that’s how Variks described it.”

“Tif’s challenging Phylaks by themself…” Rae muttered.

“Are they crazy?! They’ll get themself killed!” Blaze exclaimed.

Phylaks glared down at Tif before chuckling, “You may be small and weak…but I appreciate an opponent with guts. Come then! Show me what a ‘captain’ of House Light is capable of!”

Tif brandished their arc blade and lunged at Phylaks who managed dodge out of the way and fired at Tif with her own gun. Tif took a few shots to the shoulder but shook it off and fired her submachine gun at Phylaks.

Rae, Blaze and Marcia looked on as the two fought each other. Blaze’s expression was one of concern and fear as she reached for Firelight. Rae stopped her by putting her hand on her shoulder, “No.”

“But-!”

“This is Tif’s fight. If she gets in real trouble, we’ll intervene.”

Blaze, albeit hesitantly, removed her hand from her gun’s hilt, feeling helpless as she watched Tif take on Phalyks.

 “Surprising strength for such a tiny creature!” Phylaks chuckled as she teleported from platform-to-platform. Tif gave chase as the ground beneath them began to disappear, the others following suit but not engaging in the fight. Tif could feel themself running out of steam as they began over-exerting their Light, yet they kept pushing. Rae had never seen Tif like this. In battle, Tif would usually be chipper and easy-going, almost seeming to enjoy the battle and treating it like a fun experience. Now they seemed like a whole different person. Serious, determined, unrelenting, even aggressive to a point. This was it, she realised. This was why Mithrax appointed Tif as a Captain. Tif was more than just an optimistic soul who was friendly to everyone. They’re a strong leader who never gives up on others or themself; who would fight until they reached their limit and would still keep pushing if it meant protecting others; who put the safety of their friends and allies before their own. The best way Rae could describe Tif was the living definition of a Titan; a defender of all.

“GYAH!!”

Rae was snapped out of her thoughts as Tif went skidding across the floor as their helmet tumbled next to them, a large gash carved in it. Tif went to get to their feet but was grabbed by the neck and slammed against one of the blocks jutting up from the ground by Phylaks. Even in their situation, clawing at Phylak’s arm, Tif never dropped their expression. Their eyes wide with rage filling to the brim never looking away from Phylaks’s and their teeth bared as they struggled to break free from the baroness’s grip. “I must say, I’m impressed.” Phylaks began, “For a machine-spawn, you definitely put up a fight and I can respect that. But it still wasn’t enough to beat me.” Rae went to grab her gun to get the large Fallen away from Tif but stopped upon seeing a familiar shard floating above the platform, beginning to glow orange. “I’ll make your death quick as a reward.” Phylaks raised her arm as stasis began to gather in her hand. Tif squeezed their eyes shut as a familiar surge of energy began to swirl within them before letting out an enraged yell as a blast of stasis came surging outwards, sending Phylaks stumbling backwards. Phylaks looked back at Tif who had stasis swirling around them as they glared angrily at her, raising their fist. “I’m. Not. Done.” Tif growled as they clenched their fist which became covered in stasis crystals. “Good.” Phylaks hissed, a grin evident in her voice. Phylaks began to send waves upon waves of stasis towards Tif who swiftly weaved between them while sending out walls of their own. However, Tif seemed to be aiming at different points throughout the battlefield instead of towards Phylaks. That combined with Phylaks’s spikes made it hard for the baroness to move throughout the battlefield…yet Tif was able to squeeze past with ease. “Can you see them?” Blaze asked, desperately searching for Tif in the sea of stasis. “No, it’s too cluttered.” Marcia sighed in frustration, “We just have to hope Tif knows what they’re doing.”

“Hiding, are you?” Phylaks chuckled darkly, “That won’t defeat me, machine-spawn.”

“Nah. Just using size to my advantage!” Tif leapt up from behind a spike towards Phylaks and grabbed onto her face, using their stasis in an attempt to freeze her from the top down. Phylaks roared out in pain as she scratched at Tif’s back. Tif cried out in pain as Phylaks’s claws pierced their armour but refused to let go as Phylaks’s movements began to slow as the stasis began to freeze her in place. “Never call me or my house idiots again!” Tif yelled, “I’m Tif Kariuki the Lightborn Captain! And I will never let ANYONE hurt my friends!” As Phylaks slowly stopped moving, Tif leapt up, using Phylaks’s shoulders for momentum, and with a mighty yell, slammed down onto her with their frozen fist, shattering Phylaks into pieces. Tif landed on the ground amongst the frozen shards, breathing heavily as the stasis faded from them once more. They saw Phylaks’s splinter lying amongst the frozen shards and picked it up before turning to where Rae, Blaze and Marcia were watching, slack-jawed in awe at what they just witnessed. “That…” Marcia breathed, “…was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.” Tif smiled brightly before picking up her helmet and placing it back on, “Let’s go back. I’m super tired now.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “You guys should’ve seen it!” Blaze beamed as she sat by the fire with Drifter, Marcia and Eris back at the campsite, “I’ve never seen Tif like that! They were all like ‘Rah!’ and ‘Ba-boom!’ and- oh man, you should’ve been there. Phylaks deserved all of what she got!”

“Sounds like you got quite a show.” Drifter chuckled, “Though I’ll admit, wouldn’t have guessed so much rage could fit into that tiny kid.”

“Looks truly can be deceiving.” Marcia added as she looked over at Rae and Tif who were briefing the Stranger on what happened. “And that’s the majority of what happened.” Rae finished explaining. “I see.” The Stranger nodded before turning to Tif, “Well done. You’ve taken to stasis like a fish to water.”

“D’aww…thanks!” Tif grinned, blushing with embarrassment. The Stranger chuckled before continuing, “Eramis’s presence on Europa is not happenstance. Temptation set the wheels in motion, but obsession propelled her here. To destroy the Light with an army of Darkness – she and her followers make those selfish choices moment to moment. The Darkness places a spotlight on our desires as it once did me and those I cared about. For a time, I had forgotten…Humanity relies on our selfless acts to bring about a better world. Darkness is no more than a tool with which we do so. With splinters of Darkness still in hand, Eramis remains an immediate danger to humanity. Look within. Focus your power. Let it grow. The Ziggurat awaits.” Rae gave her a nod before turning back towards the campfire, “Marcia. We’re heading back up to the Ziggurat.”

“I’ma comin’.” Marcia called back as she got to her feet and began following them up to the Ziggurat. The whispers returned as they ascended the stairs. “I want fried chickeeeeeeen.” Marcia whispered, mimicking them. “Eramis stiiiiiiiiiiinks!” Tif whispered back, stifling a giggle. “Guys, knock it off!” Rae giggled. Upon reaching the top, Tif took out the splinter they got from Phylaks and held it towards the shard on the left. The shard glowed brightly as Tif felt another surge of energy flow through her. “Anything?” Rae asked. Tif held up their arm and summoned an orb if stasis in their hand. Their eyes lit up as they turned to Marcia and Rae, “I-I did it!”

“Nice!” Marcia grinned before jolting as she felt another pull, similar to the first time they arrived at the Ziggurat. “You feel that too?” Rae asked. “Yep.” Marcia replied, “Let’s go find another shard.”

 To Be Continued…

[ramblinganthropologist]

From the mouths of thresher maws

Summary: Well, they had to do something to get that N7 recommendation. Find out what set Bo Peep and Alistair Shepard down the path to being badass space marines. Hint: It’s a fucking thresher maw.  (Warning: blood, gore, dead bodies. Mass Effect good time!)

---

“This is Lieutenant Shepard, can anybody hear me? Repeat, Lieutenant Shepard requesting assistance ASAP!”

But the com line was dead, and he got the feeling they were going to match soon.

Bo pulled him down just in time to avoid flying debris. Hundreds of yards away and closing in fast was something all teeth and bad attitude, just trying to finish the job it had started an hour prior. Funny, there'd been a lot more of them before it showed up. Now...

Now it looked like they were on there own.

“Do you want to wind up like Michaels and Benner?!” Her voice was hoarse, maybe from the smoke or from screaming. She had a long cut that was still bleeding. Anti-coagulant in the saliva? There was only a few doses left in his pack. Of course, she waved it off when he reached for it. “I'm fine. Save it for a real injury.”

Alistair tapped his cracked omni-tool one last time in the hopes of picking something up, but all he got was static and a fuzzy map that showed there was something big in the area. They had no idea if any of their unit was left, where their CO was, or what the fuck was trying to eat them.

It had been a standard mission, too. Go to the weird planet, check shit out, get home. At best, somebody might break a bone messing around. Now there were a lot of broken bones, and they were becoming food for that... that thing.

“We're going to have to move soon.” Bo grabbed her gun and discharged the thermal clip – it hissed in a mud puddle by her side. “You got enough in you to put up another shield?”

He was already reaching into his pack for his emergency energy supply. Down it went, so sugary that it made him want to throw it all back up. But he swallowed it down, and almost immediately felt it working. That would give him 3 more shields of varying strengths and maybe one blast if he didn't get too fancy.

“Yeah. I'm in front then?” He reached for his own rifle and ejected the clip. They were running low on those too; soon it would be nothing but biotic blasts. And if it got down to that, they were beyond fucked.

They waited for their moment, when all was silent, and then they charged from their hiding spot. Almost immediately, the ground began to shake as a massive hole exploded. As it sent razor-sharp shards of rock spewing miles high, there it was.

God, it was fucking ugly. He would've called it a worm but they didn't have mouths like that. Something with that many teeth shouldn't have fucking been alive – it was some Cambrian era shit. Only it wasn't a fossil and it was trying to kill them.

Man, why couldn't it have been a fossil?

It spit something just as he put up his barrier. And there went his barrier. They dodged out of the way just in time, but it still hissed and bit into his gauntlet. Alistair managed to unbuckle it  just before it hit the skin level and watched in horror as it ate right through the damn thing.

“Of course it has fucking acid!” Bo had avoided the attack as well, but she had a cut on her forehead bleeding into her eyes thanks to the flying debris. “Well, now what the fuck do we do?!”

That... was a good question.

Back in training they had covered pretty much everything you could cover being the new kids in space. Batarian pirates – fuck them – had a plan. Krogan battlemasters, had a plan. Turians? Remove the stick up their ass and bargain with it. Hell, even the unexpected flora and fauna they ran across had fucking A and B plans. This thing, though? There was a whole lot of nothing about what to do besides kiss your ass goodbye.

And you know what? He really wasn't in a kissing mood. Forgot to brush his teeth that morning.

The creature let out some bone-rattling sound when it didn't find them and popped its entire body back underground. Wherever it was burrowing, it wasn't going to leave them alone. He might not have known what it was, but he knew in his gut that it was coming back. It was a predator, and they were the prey.

Well, good thing they played apex predator on earth.

He looked over at Bo. There was a boulder in her range, maybe a quarter ton if he was estimating right. “Chuck that thing with your biotics right in the middle of the clearing. Once it pops up, we'll hit it with everything we have left.”

“And if it doesn't work?” The ground was starting to shake a little again.

“We run like hell and use every bit of biotics that hasn't been worn out. We're making it to that landing zone, I don't care.”

The shaking was getting worse and felt like a small earthquake under their feet. Briefly, red eyes met blue. The two nodded, and then Bo started glowing. The boulder shook itself free from the earth and rose into the air by nearly a  foot. Then there was nothing to do but hurl it as hard as she could. It sailed over head and landed hundreds of yards away with a sickening crack that split it clean in two.

And then it was gone as the creature shot out of the air and swallowed it like it was a piece of candy.

“Now!”

Al's rifle was molten hot as he unloaded the entire clip as fast as humanly possible. Bo was right there with him, blood trickling from her nose and down her face. By the time both had realized what was going on, their guns were empty.

And it was still fucking perfect.

They didn't get their chance to run – it was on them so fast that they had barely had time to think. Bo managed to dodge cleanly out of the way, but her partner wasn't so lucky. A spray of razor sharp debris hit Al dead on and smacked clean through his visor.

Blood poured from under the seal in his cracked helmet as he hit the ground hard. The creature had already gone back underground and was no doubt digging its way towards them to swallow him up. He was moving, but not a lot.

Bo didn't even think – she sprinted over, threw him over her shoulder, and made a break for it through the no man's land clearing. The ground rumbled and exploded behind her just as the large worm with too many teeth shot out of the ground, hissing and spitting its acid. A shuttle-sized puddle where the two had been became a puddle of acidic mud that bubbled in its wake. A few seconds earlier, and it would have been then.

“Talk to me, you better not be dead!”

“Eye's gone. I can't see.” Al's voice betrayed his terror as his hand glowed. “Keep running, it's a couple clicks left!”

The landing was in sight and someone was waving them in – rescue squad after the coms had gone dead? Fuck if it mattered, as long as it was human Bo was going for it. They could do a hostile takeover later if they had to do it.

The creature was rearing up for another round as it exploded from the ground. Al, still bleeding and barely conscious, grunted as his remaining eye glowed a brilliant blue. His hand shot out a huge disk of blue light, slamming hard enough into the worm's side to stun it for a few seconds. That was all they needed to slide into the safe zone.

“Get this damn thing moving before it comes back for seconds!”

That was the last thing Al remembered as someone tried to get his helmet off. Whether it was the blood loss or the overuse of his biotics, but the world was going dark. He slumped against Bo's shoulder and that was all he knew.

---

It was much calmer when he woke up.

“I'm not dead, am I?”

Fuck, it hurt to even talk. So did the punch that almost broke his fucking arm.

“Learn to fucking dodge, asshole.”

Bo sounded like she hadn't slept in days, and when Al looked over that just confirmed it. She was in the same clothes he had seen her in the day before it had gone to hell, the only difference was there was less dirt on her skin. She was sitting upright in the chair next to him, her omni-tool displaying details of the attack.

The council called it a thresher maw.

“They said they're amazed that even two of us made it out.” She snarled as she clicked it close. “Fuckers should've warned us about the fucking hell worm.”

Alistair nodded, but that made his head hurt even worse. He placed his hand up to hold it and touched the bandages that were wrapped around almost the entire right side of his head. Memories flooded back, and his shoulders sagged as he sighed.

“Was it a total loss?”

Bo had been in the process of making a rude gesture to her omni-tool. “What, your eye? It's still in there but the doc said it's shot. Too bad, pretty sure if you had lost the whole thing they would've put some tech thing in. You would've loved it.”

Oh, he would've. Alistair let out a weak laugh as he closed his working eye. “That's gonna be fun to live with if they put me back on duty.”

When, probably. If they were the only two Alliance soldiers to ever throw down with a thresher maw, there was no way in hell that either of them were going to be discharged anytime soon. Well, that was fine by him. It wasn't like he had any more marketable skills.

Still...

Alistair's voice went quiet as he looked out the window at space. “Did they find anyone else?”

Bo didn't answer for a long time. She too looked out the window as they passed stars far in the distance. Right then, space looked bigger and colder than it ever was. Now it was even worse – there were killer space worms out there.

“Only thing they found were chewed up bodies and dog tags. They think they identified about a quarter of our unit.”

She looked back at the man in the bed. “So... that's a lot of calls they're making.”

“Yeah.” Alistair swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. “Well... guess we're going to have to find a new unit. Dunno who's gonna want two disaster lieutenants.”

Much to his surprise, Bo snickered. It wasn't often she laughed – and when she did it was usually after beating the shit out of somebody – so he blinked back surprise. She was showing him her teeth in a bitter grin. In a way, it reminded him of a wounded wild animal trying to get out one more snarl.

“Wanted to tell you when you were better. We're getting a rank up.”

And then she slid the datapad over. There in black and white on pixels, the Alliance invited them both to the fabled N7 training in Rio. Some of their squad had gone through it before – the record was N3 – and said it was hell on earth.

Well, it couldn't beat nearly getting eaten by a thresher maw, so hey. Maybe they stood half a chance in hell.

Alistair found himself chuckling bitterly too as he pushed the datapad to the side. “We're going to be the best N7 marines ever.”

“Damn straight. You read the shit, I shoot the shit.” And then she pushed him down. “Get some rest. They're going to be grilling you when you're up to it.”

Of course. Alistair rolled his eyes as he settled back into bed, datapad still at his side. Whatever they had used on him was making his eyes heavy. At least he knew Bo was still there at his side as he blinked out for a nap.

After all, that's how they did things.

[junker-town]

We drafted basketball teams made up of ‘Star Wars’ characters. Which is best?

Was the Force with any of us as we made our picks?

A short time ago in a galaxy very close to here, the Skywalker saga reached its conclusion with the release of Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. Episode IX maybe the finale of the series’ third movie trilogy, but it’s far from the end of Star Wars as we know it, thanks to the limitless runway Disney+ offers and the overwhelming desire for nostalgia that is Hollywood today. (Give it a decade before we get the beginning of another movie trilogy). But it still marks a pivotal turning point for those of us invested in the saga.

So to celebrate, five diehard sports and Star Wars fans came together to do something (long pause) truly special: draft a five-man basketball team to take down a crew of alien ballers hiding out in the Unknown Regions.

There will be a substantial reward for the team who defeats these invaders. Managers were free to use any draft methods necessary, but we want this to be a fair fight. No superteams.

So, we laid out some important ground rules:

Only one Force-wielder — i.e. Jedi, Sith, etc — per team.

Only one droid per team. (Though one of the teams doesn’t have a droid).

Each team must possess at least one sentient alien. Unlike the Empire, who looked down on non-humans, we don’t discriminate.

All Star Wars canon can be considered, and by all, we mean all. (No Legends canon, though). Because of that, we made use of lots of characters from the many animated shows, The Mandalorian, and other side projects. We took this very seriously.

We’re building an actual basketball team, so chemistry matters. As the old basketball saying goes, there’s only one thermal detonator.

Those guidelines — particularly the one limiting everyone to just one force user— made for a fascinating draft. Here’s how it played out.

Allow everyone to explain themselves.

The Slamdoshans (Tyson Whiting)

PG: Ahsoka Tano (Force user) SG: L3-37 (droid) SF: General Grievous PF: Bossk (alien) C: Sarlacc COACH: General Armitage Hux

With the guidelines in place for the draft, I wanted to make sure I picked a team with players who would bend the rules as much as possible.

Some might find it “unfair” that I have two lightsaber-wielding players on my team. To be clear, Grievous may have lightsabers, but he is not a Force user. Plus, though he is mostly machine, he is technically of the Kaleesh race, therefore making him an alien pick. (My masters degree in Star Wars is already paying off). His four arms and ability to turn into a weird spider thing has the potential to surprise opposing players.

I was criticized at the time for choosing Ahsoka Tano over a Skywalker as my Force user, but she was trained by Anakin Skywalker, so she knows all his moves. She’s a great leader and showed her craftiness in tight situations during the Clone Wars.

L3-37 and Bossk are my sleeper picks of chaos. L3 will-trash talk you into submission, though I might have a problem with her on Twitter. I picked up Bossk’s nasty 7-foot-tall ass because he will walk through you, hissing and spitting while he does. I also assume he has incredible ball control with those three-finger hands.

So the Sarlacc. I know what you’re thinking: yes, I AM a genius. Sure, he (it?) can’t move, set a pick, or really leave the ground in any way. But stick this bad boy under the net and you’ll never surrender a layup or rebound EVER AGAIN.

Also Coach Hux will hit you so hard with those pregame speeches that you’ll have no choice but to win.

Tosche Station Power Converters (Caroline Darney)

PG: Cassian Andor SG: Lando Calrissian SF: The Mandalorian PF: Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader (Force user) C: Chewbacca (alien) COACH: Orson Krennic

Look at this perfect squad. Getting Chewbacca with my first-round pick (No. 2 overall) was clutch, and his big frame will dominate in this league. Anakin/Vader was a steal in the fourth round, and this is Rogue One peak-condition Darth Vader. His rage may lead to some bad fouls, but he’s been instructed not to force choke the refs.

I decided to lock down a pair of sharpshooters on the wings in the form of Lando Calrissian (Solo’s Donald Glover version) and the Mandalorian (affectionately known as Mando). They can run off of screens set by either big man (seriously, the screens are going to be so beautiful), and are both catch-and-shoot players. Mando’s inability to take his helmet off could get in the way at times, but his support of Baby Yoda makes it all worth it. Also, imagine the fits Lando will wear walking into the arena before the game. The capes! So many capes and furs!

To bring it all together, I needed the ultimate team player running the point. Enter Rogue One’s Cassian Andor. Quick, resourceful, and full of the intangibles coaches love, Andor is the perfect distributor for this squad. He doesn’t care about personal stats, but he will come through in the clutch if he has to get a last-minute bucket.

I know there may be questions about Director Krennic running the squad, but he’s here solely for the perfect quotes. Just imagine: when the defense is lacking, Krennic can hit them with “Are we blind? Deploy the garrison!” When my team wins the title, you can already hear him saying, “As we stand here amidst MY achievements.” Or, if his job is in question, hitting ownership with “your concerns are hardly warranted.”

But let’s be real. Vader is the player-coach of this team.

Dooku Blue Devils (James Dator)

PG: Yoda (Force user) SG: Greedo (alien) SF: Boba Fett PF: K2-SO (droid) C: Rathtar COACH: Watto

How did they sleep on this roster? The fools. The intergalactic fools. I’ve got Yoda running the point as my Muggsy Bogues-esque hero and distributor. I wanted my Force user touching the ball every single possession, and this was the best way to do it.

From there, I wanted to lock down the paint. I have some big basketball beasts as my enforcers. K2-SO is 7’1, and Rathtar has as astonishing 20-foot wingspan thanks to its tentacles, which will be too much for most teams to overcome.

The secret to my team is Greedo. I needed offense, and everyone knows his love of shooting first. (Editor’s Note: Please strike the end of that sentence from the record). If he needs to be kept in line, I have complete faith in Boba Fett’s “game respect game” bounty hunter familiarity.

Finally, I picked Watto to be my coach because I want a merciless cheater.

Project Harvester (Mike Prada)

PG: Bo-Katan Kryze SG: Sheev Palpatine (Force user) SF: IG-88 (droid) PF: Captain Phasma C: Jabba The Hutt (alien) COACH: Grand Admiral Thrawn

My toughest decision came in the first round. Do I wait on picking my Force user and build up the rest of the team, or do I just bite the bullet and take the most powerful being in the galaxy, personality issues and all? In the end, I gave in to my hate. Talent trumps character.

After that, I couldn’t take any good guys because there’d be obvious philosophical clashes. Jabba’s ego makes him a risky pick, but I’m gambling that he’ll be fine protecting the paint if Palpatine gives him a few post touches. IG-88 and Phasma are quality 3-and-D wings that’ll take on the tough assignments, and Thrawn is a master tactician who has the star’s trust. Point guard was tricky, but Bo-Katan has the versatility to play a secondary role while not being afraid to challenge the star if he steps slightly too far out of line. (I hope she has more respect for Palpatine than she did for Maul in Clone Wars).

Palpatine will take all the shots, which isn’t ideal. But hey, it works for the Rockets.

The Bombads (Russ Oates)

PG: R2-D2 (droid) SG: Rey (Force user) SF: Jar Jar Binks (alien) PF: Cara Dune C: Wampa COACH: Admiral Ackbar R2-D2 is the true hero of the Star Wars saga and always knows what to do in a tight spot. He’d be an excellent floor general on the court. While she is new to the Force, Rey keeps picking up points and has been able to disrupt the First Order’s offense. Cara Dune is a former New Republic shock trooper, so yeah, she’s going to grab all the rebounds. Better watch out for the claws on the Wampa, or you’ll be sorry. Admiral Ackbar can spot a trap by the opposing team.

Y’all can hate on the Jar Jar Binks pick if you want. I’ll accept the creative destruction he will cause on the court.

Which team are you taking to address this looming threat in the Unknown Regions? Vote in the poll below. The winner gets the full bounty. The loser is stuck with a bunch of useless tracking fabs. (Click here if you can’t see the poll).

[amiedala]

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 29: We Don’t Scare Easy

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content & descriptions of violence

SUMMARY: There’s a war coming,” he continues, and you feel the heaviness of his confirmation, “and I think the only way we’re going to win any part of it is if we work together.”

You smile down at him, strangely emotional. “I thought you liked doing things alone, Mandalorian,” you manage, voice high and breathy.

Din’s eyes flutter from your own and your lips, and you inhale sharply as he stares at you like he’s about to devour you. “Not anymore,” he answers, finally. “You’re proof that it’s so much better to be part of a team.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY!!!! this chapter is quite the whirlwind, i hope you love it! more notes at the end as always <3

*

Bo-Katan steps forward again. You narrow your eyes, straightening up as high as you can to try and match her intimidating, perfect posture. Her gaze locks on the Darksaber, once, twice, then she squares her shoulder, staring at Din. Even though the helmet, you can tell he’s staring at her right back. “We have a problem,” she says, lowly.

“Who’s we?” Din asks, voice cool and level.

For the first time, she looks over at you, not the Darksaber, not trying to size you up. You raise an eyebrow. “I said I’m not here for that,” she continues, pointing a slender finger at the weapon hanging from your grasp, “and I meant it. As much as I hate it,” she sighs, crossing her arms, “you won it in battle, Mandalorian. And it’s not really in my best interest to try and take Mandalore for myself again.”

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach flip over. You don’t know what she’s done in the past, you can barely string two events in the history of Mandalore together, but the way she insinuates another plot to take the throne puts you on edge.

“Then what do you want?” Din asks. His voice, through the modulator, is so even. There’s a sharpness to it that you don’t entirely understand. You glance over at Cara, her arms bulging from where they’re crossed against her chest. She shakes her head, almost entirely imperceptibly, and you inhale sharply, looking back at Bo-Katan like she’s a venomous predator, ready to strike the second you show her any weakness.

“You gave me Gideon,” Bo-Katan continues. “I took him back to Mandalore. We have facilities. Prisons. Holding cells. But I can’t get anything concrete out of him, and there’s something dark behind his eyes whenever we question him. Smug. And…” she sighs, “I would have no quarrel with killing him, but he seems to still be a part of something bigger.” On this last sentence, her gaze shifts over to you, and you swallow, feeling your heart flip over in your chest.

Din regards her. “What’s your point?”

“Well,” Bo-Katan says, looking back at Din. You can feel the way she’s steeling herself, pressing her lips down in a thin line like she’s driving a bargain she doesn’t think is fair. “My point is that I know Gideon’s the tip of the iceberg. And I know all you’ve wanted for months is to see him dead. I’m saying that if you come back to Mandalore with me and figure out what he’s planning…” she trails off, looking own to the blue armor of her boots, “then I’ll turn both him and Mandalore over to you. For real.”

You badly disguise a gasp. Din looks over to you, then the visor slides back to Bo-Katan. You’ve become an expert in reading his body language, knowing what he’s thinking from his movements alone. But right now, you feel entirely and completely out of your depth. You can’t get a read on him.

“If you’re looking to double-cross me,” Din finally says, voice icy, “then just fight me right here and win the saber back. If you want Mandalore, you can have it.”

“You’re telling me,” Bo-Katan starts, and you can hear the anger in her tone, “that you seriously don’t want the throne?

Din looks back at her. “Look at your helmet in your hands.” She does. “You can take yours off. You have no��no issue with showing your face. From what it sounds like, you know how to be a leader. I don’t have to understand, or like what you’re doing. I—” he cuts off, just for a second, and then he regains his vigor, “I don’t want to put more of a target on my back. I’m tired. There’s something darker out there that we’re only just now seeing. I’ll question Gideon,” he continues, “but if I do, then you take the Darksaber. You rule Mandalore. I’ll be too preoccupied helping my fiancé and the rest of the Rebel Alliance wipe Gideon and the evil he’s hiding off the face of the galaxy.”

Bo Katan’s eyes narrow. Your heart sings a tune of pride in your chest, fiercely and brazen. “That’s not how it works.”

“It is now,” you finally say, lifting your chin. “There’s something out there. Something that wants all of us to either become pawns for their evil cause or for us to die and stay dead. You want Mandalore to be taken care of?” you ask, stepping forward. Bo-Katan’s still guarded, but she nods, just slightly. “Then take care of it. We have to make sure that the rest of the galaxy survives, not just one planet.”

Bo-Katan stares at you, then at the Darksaber, then to the new Alliance symbol hanging from your throat. You bite down, hard, and you pull your hair to the side. In your palm, the Darksaber vibrates, and, immediately, her eyes refocus on the weapon. You wince, realizing you’re holding it there with the Force alone, your grip empty. “You can use the Force,” she says. Her voice sounds poisonous, and your heart starts thumping again, but then you remember that she’s the one who led you to Ahsoka, so she doesn’t seem to have any particular distaste for Jedi, even though you know most of the galaxy does.

“Do you know anything about the Order?” you ask. Beside you, Din sighs, thick and heavy, and you realize that asking someone who may not entirely be an ally about a mysterious collection of people trying to use you as a weapon might not be a good idea.

But in Bo-Katan’s face is a flicker of recognition. She swallows. “Come interrogate Gideon,” she says, finally. All the fire that was there a minute ago seems to drain out of her backward, and Din steps forward, just an inch, but you know he feels it too. “Figure out what he wants. Then, if you’re so adamant about not being Mand’alor, we can fight over the Darksaber. But you’re not allowed to go easy on me,” she continues, stabbing a finger at Din midair. “For me to retake the throne, it needs to be a real fight. Understood?”

Din nods, sharply and intently. “Don’t worry,” he says, and because you know him so well, you can tell that there’s a small smirk etched across his face under the helmet, “going easy isn’t really in my job description.”

There seems to be something ceremonial about boarding Kicker. The two of you are going to follow Bo-Katan to Mandalore. If needed, Cara will follow the both of you, but the rest are starting on their own missions, to try and track down any more information about this mysterious Order so that when you regroup, Wedge and the Alliance included, you have a fighting chance. Parting ways, though, seems to come after making sure you get back to Kicker safely, a small ensemble of bounty hunters and experienced fighters flanking both you and Din as you make the trek back to the ship. Everyone says their goodbyes as Bo-Katan boards her own ship. It’s sleek and newer than Kicker by far, but there’s an emptiness to it. You sigh, slinging yourself down in the cockpit, flipping all the necessary switches and preparing for takeoff.

“What exactly should we be expecting?” you ask, finally, breaking the silence. You’re jittery, chilled from something much stronger than the Nevarro night. That keyed-up, wired, electric current running through you matches the same one back on Khubeaie, after the strange, blaring messages, after thinking you saw Luke Skywalker. It’s unsettling.

Din sighs from behind you, low and heavy. You startle, just a little, because you weren’t expecting him to have moved, but his gloved hands find your shoulders, and you sigh happily as his fingers start pressing a familiar pattern into the sore muscles, coaxing them to release. “I don’t know,” he answers you, and you can tell he’s being genuine. “I can’t shake the feeling that we’re walking into a trap, but Bo-Katan also helped me try to get the kid back. I don’t think she’s being entirely forthcoming, but I don’t think she’s trying to harm us, either.”

You nod, too preoccupied with the feeling of Din’s thumbs on either side of your neck to really care about whatever’s coming next. “I don’t think she’s going to hurt us,” you manage, voice much more blissed out than his is. “She’s—resentful. Angry. But I truly don’t think she actively means us any harm.”

Din’s quiet behind you, just moving his expert fingers up and down your shoulders, digging into the tension. You watch as Bo-Katan’s ship powers up, eyes squinted to try and see where she is in the cockpit. As she lifts off Nevarro’s molten surface, you power Kicker up and do the same, following closely behind in her stream as she jets towards the atmosphere.

“Whatever’s waiting for us on Mandalore,” he finally says, grimly, “I don’t think we’ll make enemies, but I also don’t think we’ll be met with that warm of a welcome.”

Despite everything, a small smile moves across your face. You punch the thrusters, eyes still locked on Bo-Katan’s ship. “Sounds about right on par,” you manage, “don’t you think?”

Din sighs again. You put Kicker on autopilot, slowly turning around your chair to look up at him. Even shrouded in the dark, even entirely armored, you can feel him underneath. What used to be so intimidating is barely anything anymore. It’s just Din, the man you love, standing over you. He tucks a loose lock of your hair behind your ear, and you smile up at him, leaning into his palm. “You really think I would be a good ruler?”

You blink at him, astounded. “Yes,” you enunciate. “I don’t…I don’t exactly understand what you’d be doing. But I’ve seen the way you lead, how you somehow bring people with huge differences together. I know you want to go back to before,” you say, softly, taking his other hand in yours, “but honestly, Din, I don’t think we can.” You swallow. “I think we’re meant for something more than bounty hunting and babysitting.”

He stares down at you, through the visor, and then his hand pulls out of yours so he can hook his fingers under the rim of the helmet and yank it off. You pull him in closer, staring at his tousled hair, his lips still pink from fucking back on Nevarro in that back alley. He looks guarded, unsure, but when you hold him, the tension seems to leave his eyes just a little. “I don’t want to do it,” he says, finally.

“That’s okay,” you interrupt gently, “if you don’t think it’ll be good for you—”

“No,” he says, suddenly, and you stop talking. “I don’t wantto do it. It seems like this giant responsibility that I’ve never been prepared for. But I would,” he continues, voice low and urgent, “I would, except that taking the throne means breaking my promises to you.”

You stare down at the ring on your left hand, then look up back to Din, who’s holding hesitancy in every tense muscle of his body. “What do you mean?” you ask, voice wavery.

“I mean,” he sighs, stroking his gloved thumb over your cheekbone, “that there’s Gideon to deal with, and we have so much work ahead of us with the Order, and we’re in danger wherever we go. This would be so high-profile. And, Nova,” he continues, and you swallow, “I’m not going to be the one to take you away from the Alliance. You deserve to be there, fighting. And I meant it when I said I’d follow you anywhere, and I don’t even want to be…” he trails off, lips contorting around the word Bo-Katan used earlier, “…Mand’alor. I want to stop the Order. I want to be with you. And I want our kid back.”

You stare at him. “Din—”

“I’ll let Bo-Katan take it,” he interrupts, his voice steadier, “and then we help the Alliance. And then,” he continues, stepping closer to you, between your splayed legs, “then, we find Luke Skywalker and get him to train you, too. We’ll give the Order everything we’ve got. When it’s safe, you and Grogu and I will be together again. For good.”

Your heart is hammering a staccato rhythm on the left side of your chest. You don’t know if this is what you want—him giving up everything to stay with you, in the same way he doesn’t want you giving up everything to stay with him—but the two of you have more pressing matters at hand. Bo-Katan’s ship ahead of you slows down, and you pick the controls back up in Kicker to move accordingly.

“We can’t have everything, Nova,” Din says, and you know he’s being logical, and even beyond that, you know he’s right. You both owe it to the Alliance—and the galaxy—to stop the Order, to wipe clean any Empire leftovers that you can find. It’s a battle you can feel is only beginning, not one that you’ll be able to tackle and finish within a few weeks’ time. More than anything, though, more than stopping the Order, more than figuring out your Force sensitivity and visions or even becoming a full-fledged Jedi, is for you and Din and Grogu to settle down someplace, at least for a little while, and soak in as much happiness and peace as you possibly can before yet another war inevitably rears its head.

You swallow, and as you follow Bo-Katan down into Mandalore, you turn to face him, forcing an edge of determination into your voice that you don’t know if you entirely believe. “Don’t be so sure,” you whisper, and even though you don’t really have a plan, something inside of you knows that there’s a way that you can have everything, even if it’s an uphill battle. Because what you said to Din, way back on Nevarro, back before your life really started, still stands true. You don’t scare easy. And you’re more than ready to fight back.

Mandalore is not at all what you expected. It’s clearly been through the ringer, down to hell, and back again, but the city you follow Bo-Katan to looks rebuilt, fortified. It used to be glorious. You can tell. There’s elements that remind you of Naboo—not its natural beauty, but its serenity. Even though you know that the Mandalorians born and raised here have been trained into warriors, there’s an odd, peaceful way about the planet that you weren’t expecting.

Especially not arriving with Bo-Katan. She walks strong and tall, and as you pass handfuls of people walking away from the building she’s leading you towards, they lift their hands in greeting. Whatever your own feelings are toward her aside, you can tell that she’s well-respected. Fierce, but loyal. Kind of like Din. Kind of like you. As she smiles back to people who grin at her, your eyes track the back of her head, finding a kindness there you didn’t see before.

Din’s quiet. It’s a keyed-up, anxious kind of silence. He doesn’t take his helmet off, and his back is rigid and taut. You glance your hand off of his, and he squeezes it once before he drops it back to your side. Immediately, you understand. He’s trying to be proactive in his defensiveness, so that if some sort of opposition descends out of nowhere, he can fight them off without having to think twice about it. You’re not quiet. You don’t say anything, but your breath is heavy in your throat, and your eyes roam over the outcroppings of buildings and peer down the narrow alleyways between them. It’s not as eerie as you were expecting, but there’s something sad and lonely here hidden under all the rebuilt infrastructure and architecture. Even if you didn’t know how violent Mandalore’s history was, you would bet your last few credits that you could figure it out just by the energy of this place.

Bo-Katan leads you up the steps of a large building. The whole way up, your focus shifts from being perspective of your surroundings. The strange, haunted feeling here reminds you of your screeching radio, of the visions of a Jedi back on Khubeaie, you and Din and Boba Fett all seeing Luke Skywalker. And then, you remember Wedge saying he heard from Luke, right before your commlink went haywire, and something dangerous and anxious leaps up in your stomach. You’re breathing a lot heavier than either of the Mandalorians around you are, and you try to regulate how much air you’re taking in, but you give up when the staircase keeps going. Large, shiny marble slabs of stone stack up on top of each other, and the pattern swims before your eyes the higher up you get.

Finally, you speak. “Where exactly are we going?” you manage. Your voice comes out all breathless. You wince as your aching legs carry you up the last few steps, your head lolling back to see the grandiose ceilings in the building.

“I told you I’d take you to Gideon,” Bo-Katan answers, voice clipped but much steadier that yours is. You scowl at her behind her back, looking at her streamlines, athletic figure. “I’m making good on my promise.”

“Shouldn’t we…” you trail off, glancing up at Din’s stoic, silent figure, “I don’t know, plan what we’re going to say? I don’t think we should go in there blind.”

“You’re not going in there,” Bo-Katan interjects, and you stare at her, coming to a full stop. You fold your arms over your chest. Sighing, she turns around to face you and Din where you’ve stopped in unison. “What? That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It was implied,” you say coolly, staring at her. “Everyone in this galaxy associated with that monster of a man is after me. Not D—Mando. Not you. Me. I think I deserve the chance to figure out who I’m up against.”

Bo-Katan’s gaze flicks from yours to the visor, her eyebrow raised as if to ask Din for permission. You track the way his helmet tilts over to you and back to her. Eventually, he sighs. “She’s right,” he confirms, lowly, stepping forward so that he’s equidistant between you and Bo-Katan. “Besides, she did a better job holding him off than either of us did before he took the kid.”

You press your lips together, trying to look as intimidating as Bo-Katan does. You fail spectacularly, but when her eyes find yours again, she gives you a short, curt nod. Silently, the three of you fall into line. It’s a maze in here, cool blue and grey interior seemingly going on and on for miles. You swallow as you keep watching, weaving deeper and deeper into the complex, until the greyness of everything fades off into anesthetic, stark white. You walk down multiple hallways with holding cells, all empty, their lights blinding and too bright. You squint. You’re exhausted, and even though you don’t want to admit it to the two people around you who grew up in a community where fighting—and winning—was just a simple sixth sense, you have no idea what to say. Gideon doesn’t scare you, anymore—you’ve gotten so much better at staving him and his slippery evil off—but something about talking to him, milking him dry for information, in a place that’s not your typical playing field—well, it makes you anxious. Your stomach worries with an entire menagerie of butterflies as you follow Din and Bo-Katan into the belly of the beast, trying to plot out an even line of questioning in your head.

The door to where Gideon’s being held comes up out of nowhere. It’s menacing, thick, intentionally indestructible. You swallow again as the three of you buzz into the facility, eyes worried on the door when it swings shut, trying to not internalize the heavy click that signifies you’re all stuck in here, too. Bo-Katan is the only one who holds the keys.

She stops short in front of you, and you have to skid to an abrupt halt to avoid colliding into Din’s beskar as he stops walking. Bo-Katan turns around, looking at both of you. “I want to remind you,” she says, and there’s something complicated in her voice, “that he’s restrained. He—we have a strict protocol when it comes to dangerous prisoners,” she continues, staring over at you. “It’s just what we do here. But you need to know that when I turn him over to you, he’s yours. Completely. To do whatever you want with him. But I get to question him first, and only when I’m finished can the two of you start.”

You nod, slowly. Din doesn’t move at all. “And after?”

Bo-Katan looks over at Din, who’s still standing perfectly still. “You really don’t want the throne?”

He’s quiet. You hear him sigh through the modulator, so small that you don’t think she recognizes it. “I don’t think,” Din starts, voice measured and even, “that Mandalore would accept me as their leader. And I have responsibilities outside of this planet.”

Bo-Katan’s eyes narrow. There’s still something strange behind her eyes that you can’t quite quantify. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Din moved forward a half-step. “I’ll make it a fair fight,” he says, finally. “When we battle for the Darksaber. I won’t just give it to you. But you’re going to win, because this responsibility isn’t mine to bear. It’s yours, no matter what happened back on Gideon’s cruiser.”

Bo-Katan smiles, but it doesn’t fully meet her eyes. “You have no idea,” she says, finally, all the venom in her voice distant and faraway. “I question him first,” she reminds the both of you, and when she steps forward to rap on Gideon’s holding cell, all the nervousness that was fluttering around your body metabolizes in your diaphragm.

Gideon looks awful. He’s been stripped of his black robes, his cape that billow out like the personification of darkness. His hands are clasped in what looks like beskar handcuffs. There’s grey in his hair and the scruff on his chin, and he’s wearing pale blue scrubs that don’t do anything for his usually menacing exterior. When the three of you stand in a line in front of him, he looks up without a single glimmer of evil in his eyes. You swallow.

“How lovely of you,” he says, voice bracing and booming, “to come visit me.”

“You look great,” Bo-Katan spits at him, and even though the three of you have the upper hand, there’s something in Gideon’s face that starts glinting with that same wicked steel he used to hold. “Really taking to being in captivity well. What did you take that baby for?”

Gideon makes eye contact with Din. “He was important to me. Invaluable.”

“Important,” Bo-Katan says, evenly, stepping forward towards him, “right. Important why? Is Mandalore important, too?”

Gideon lifts both of his shackled hands, extends one long, menacing pointer finger in your direction. “She knows. Don’t you, Novalise?”

“Don’t say her name,” Din snaps, moving forward in a flash of beskar. You extend your hand as a barrier, and he stops behind it, even though you can feel him seething. “I should have killed you back there.”

“You should have,” Gideon agrees, with a sharp incline of his head. “Or you could have let me take her instead of the baby. Both would have been very useful. But the child served his purpose, already,” Gideon sighs, leaning back against the stark white bench he’s settled in on, “the girl has yet to serve hers.”

This makes the blood run white-hot through your veins. You clench your teeth together, narrowing your eyes.

“Why Mandalore?” Bo-Katan cuts in. “Why take the Darksaber? Why siege—”

“Why me?” you interject, stepping forward. You can feel Bo-Katan’s fiery glare on the side of your face, but you don’t dare take your eyes off of Gideon. “What value could I possibly bring to something that I hate so intensely?”

He smiles. It’s horrible. Even though he doesn’t show his teeth, you can still feel his venom lurking underneath. “You know the answer to that.”

“I’m not done—” Bo-Katan seethes, but you take another step, closer to Gideon. You can feel yourself shaking, and you clench your hands at your sides to not show him a single drop of fear.

“There’s not a thing in this galaxy you could do,” you say, inhaling sharply, staring down at the man in handcuffs in front of you, “that would make me join you. Ever. I’ll die before I let you take anything from me.”

Gideon smiles again, this time baring his teeth. “Oh, but you won’t,” he says, eyes roaming over you. You think you’re going to be sick. “You’re meant for great things. Far greater than being a Jedi. Far greater than being a silly little Rebel. The Empire didn’t die, girl. We only moved back into the shadows.”

You stare at him, shaking. “What’s the Order?” you ask. You want it to be direct, as sharp as Gideon is, but it comes out all wobbly. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to stand as menacingly as you can over Gideon, even though you know that even while he’s handcuffed, he could terrify an entire planet. You, for better or for worse, do not have that power. “What do they want with me?”

Gideon, for the first time, looks on edge. You track his eyes as they flutter; notice that his shoulders droop just a little under the weight of your question. Just as quickly, though, he recovers. Your heart is pounding a staccato rhythm of blood in your ears. “You think you’ve seen death and destruction?” he asks, and you hear Din sigh, angry and heavy, behind you. It startles you, and so does the sound of Bo-Katan’s boot on the floor. You were so preoccupied with Gideon, you forgot the both of them were there. You step back, towards the slight safety net of having two Mandalorians flank you, waiting for Gideon to continue. “You haven’t. We are going to rid the entire galaxy of opposition and build a bigger empire in its place. You will play quite the role. I’ve seen it,” he says, and even though the words terrify you, you catch a glimpse of a bluff.

“You don’t have the Force,” you retaliate, voice much more measured than you thought it would be. “There’s nothing special about your evilness. You haven’t seen a damn thing about what makes me up, but let me get one thing clear.” You squat down in front of him so you’re eye-level with his dark, malicious ones. “If the Order wants me, they’re going to have to catch me first. And even if they do catch me, I’ll die before they can corrupt a singular thing about me. I don’t know if you got the memo,” you continue, tilting your head to the left in the same way Din does when he’s bargaining, taking something in, “but I’m stronger than you. And however many members are in this Order, this new empire, know that each person resisting you and your tyranny is ten times the person that yours are.”

Gideon grimaces at you. You bare your teeth right back. “You have no idea what’s coming—”

“Tell me,” you interrupt him, jetting your chin up to match his menace, “or don’t. Either way, you’re going to rot in captivity, and your colleagues will be found. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but the Empire lost the last war we had. I don’t think they have the power to win another one.”

Gideon’s anger melts away as you stare at him. Finally, you push yourself back up to a standing position, ignoring the way it strains your tired, sore knees. Silently, you turn and nod at Bo-Katan, who steps forward and immediately starts interrogating Gideon like she was never interrupted at all. You tune out of most of it, trying to register and metabolize every single thing that Gideon just told you. Frustrated, you blow a chunk of loose hair out of your eyes. You’re no closer to figuring out who the Order is and what they want, and all you know is that the Empire—or whoever’s growing in their place—is going to try to exploit you, experiment on you, use your sensitivity and power for their bidding. You thought this was going to clear something up, or at the very least, give you a lead to go on to share with the team on Nevarro and the New Rogue Squadron, but you’ve got nothing. You clench your fist, wracking your brain, trying to find any hidden clue, anything you can steal and get the upper hand on. Tiredly, as Bo-Katan and Gideon go head-to-head, your own drifts off to the Alliance, to Wedge and the rest of the team scouring the galaxy for information. Wedge, who keeps saving you. Wedge, who brought you back into a team that you had given up on a lifetime ago. Wedge, who—

Wedge who heard from Luke Skywalker. You gasp, making eye contact with Din under the mask. You can feel his gaze on you, and you offer up a small, crazed smile, indicating that you have something. You spin to look back at Bo-Katan, whose tone is just as even and scary as Gideon’s is.

“Wait,” you say, loudly, stepping forward. Everyone stops, staring at you. “You,” you seethe, eyes locked on Gideon, “you tried to put a gun to your head back on the cruiser once you realized who was coming to save them.” You look back at Din for confirmation, which he gives you by way of his swift nod. “You would have accepted death over meeting Luke Skywalker. You’re a coward,” you say, evenly, looking down on him. “You have no plans. You have no next moves. You’re just as much of a pawn in the Order’s plans as I am.” You cock your head to the side, mind racing a million miles a second. “This is bigger than you are,” you finish, finally. “You aren’t in charge of the Order. You’re scared of them.”

“Everyone should be!” Gideon snaps back, violently. There’s hatred burning in his eyes. You can feel the intensity of it even from a few feet away, and you try your best to keep your face expressionless, steady. “If you don’t turn for them on their own, they’ll make you. All the powers in the world can’t stop them from taking control. And no one can stop them. Not you. Not your Mandalorians. Not me. They’ll keep coming for you,” Gideon rumbles, jumping forward so that his shackles rattle. You try not to jump, but you take a half step backwards, trying to escape the sound. “They’ll come for the child. And they’re going to win.”

Something inside you breaks. You stride forward again, glaring down at him. “Not a chance,” you hiss, voice low and angry. “They’ll have to get through me first.”

Gideon curls his lips at you. “The First Order will strike you down or use you for your powers,” Gideon says, evenly, and your eyes slide open a tiny bit as his admission. Until now, you’ve only heard of the threat as the Order, and the addition of the word first pings something intentional. “All Jedi will be exterminated or turned.” You bare your teeth back at him, trying to match his evil smile.

“Yeah?” you say, staring at him, heart doing backflips in your chest, “well, I highly doubt that. Because Luke Skywalker sends his regards.” On that, Gideon’s malicious face turns ashy and grey, and you turn on your heel, rapping on the door for the guard to get out of the holding cell. Bo-Katan calls your name sharply, but you keep moving. Behind you, you hear Din tell her she can keep questioning Gideon, and then you feel the weight of his footfalls down the hall, catching up to you.

“Nova—”

“I have to tell Wedge—”

“Nova, slow down—”

You sigh, turning around. “He gave us something in there,” you say, earnestly, looking up at your own reflection in Din’s visor. “The First Order. That’s something specific. That’s a name. I need to call Wedge, and Boba Fett, and tell them what to be on the lookout for. I don’t care how powerful they think they are,” you continue, as you step closer to Din. Your voice almost sounds like it’s pleading, but there’s something volatile and huge building up to a crescendo in your chest, “we’re just as strong, and we can fight back.”

Din stares at you. Even under the visor, you can feel his eyes on yours. “Okay,” he says, finally, “what’s our game plan?”

Your knees sag under you as gratitude and relief spreads through your body. You open your mouth, but then there’s a horrific scream from the holding cell, and immediately, Din turns around and sprints back there. You follow in his footsteps, slower but intentional, heart racing as you fly down the corridor to the holding cell. Somehow, Gideon has overpowered Bo-Katan, his chained wrists both anchored around her throat, tugging her body back with all of his might, trying to choke the life out of her. Immediately, Din runs toward them, but Gideon lands an exceptionally well-placed kick on the still-injured part of his leg, and Din stumbles back, winded. You panic in place, eyes fluttering back and forth between Gideon and Bo-Katan. His are evil, lit with a fire that you know he’s draining out of her. This is the most helpless you’ve ever seen her, this great Mandalorian warrior who could cut anyone down when they were standing. She stares at you, and it takes a half-second, but then the Darksaber is out of its holster on your belt, and the blade ignites, dark and electric. Gideon’s grip lessens, just for a moment, and you move to his side, positioning the humming, electrical current right at his left side, angling it so you can sink it deep into his chest without hurting Bo-Katan at all.

“You’d save her?” Gideon says. He looks like he could kill you with his gaze alone. “She wants to take this planet back from the two of you. She’s double-crossed you both before.”

“I’m not you,” you answer, simply, glancing at Bo-Katan, who looks like she’s seconds away from losing consciousness, and you level the Darksaber at Gideon’s neck instead. “I have something you don’t.”

He releases his grip. Din pulls Bo-Katan out from Gideon’s grasp, and, slowly, you point the blade at his Adam’s apple. Nothing in you is wavering. “What’s that,” Gideon spits at you, glowering. He’s unhinged. You offer him a smile, listening to where Bo-Katan is inhaling raggedy breaths in the corner. You feel Din step forward, and for a second, just for a fleeting moment, it’s you and your Mandalorian.

“Belief,” you say, simply, shrugging your shoulders, relaxing your grip on the saber. “Belief that there are far more people in this galaxy that will fight against evil rather than joining it. Belief that even if the Order does rise, it will inevitably fall the same way that the Empire did. I’m just a rebel girl,” you say, simply, “but I believe that when the First Order comes for me, they’ll be sent packing.” You hold his eye contact, just for a second, and then you straighten up. “I learned from the best. Luke Skywalker would call it hope.”

Gideon stares at you. You stare back. He doesn’t open his mouth, so you sheath the Darksaber, stepping back. There’s something that feels like a dove in your chest. You know this isn’t over. You know that this is just the beginning, that the battles you’ve been fighting all of your life are a precursor to the terror that the First Order could wreak on the galaxy. And you aren’t naïve enough to think that they won’t come after you or the people you love. But you know that you have everyone you need by your side, you know you’re going to marry the love of your life and be reunited with your kid, and you know that whatever the First Order holds, the Alliance has it tenfold. You turn on your heel, letting a small, genuine, tiny, fleeting smile slit across your face, revealed to no one except the heavy door of Gideon’s cell. This is how we win, you think, by fighting them with peace in mind.

But before you can get out of the door, you feel the Darksaber being seized from your belt. You whirl back around, horrorstruck, hands in the air to convey the Force to come forward, but it’s Bo-Katan. You lunge toward her, trying to stop her, but she isn’t trying to steal it out of your grasp. She moves forward, too swiftly for Din or you to stop her, and she ignites the blade, swings with intention, and plunges it through Gideon’s chest.

“What are you doing!” you scream, running towards her as that wicked light fades from Gideon’s eyes, “we could have kept him alive for bargaining—”

“No,” a voice rings out, and you spin around, distressed gaze landing on Din, who was the one who spoke. “No, we couldn’t have. If we took him out of here, Nova,” Din says, staring at Gideon’s freshly skewered body, “he would have escaped or hurt one of us.”

You stare at him. “Was this the plan all along?” you ask, voice wobbling. You look over to Bo-Katan, who’s still struggling to breathe, short red hair sticking out from her normally very neat bob. “Were you just going to kill him?”

“No,” Bo-Katan manages, “but he’s right.” She raises a pale finger to Din. “He gave us what we needed. The more of the members of the First Order are dead,” she says, pausing to wheeze, “the better chance we have of winning.”

You blink at her, shaking your head. You move away from both of them, closer to the open door. “Your sister tried to lead this planet with diplomacy and peace.”

A small smile snakes across Bo-Katan’s face, but you can see the sadness in her eyes. “I,” she sighs, moving towards you, “am not my sister.”

You watch, stunned, as her and Din make their way out the door, and you follow them, wordless, out of the maze of holding cells. The door to the cell Gideon’s being kept in buzzes to indicate when it’s swung closed, and you can’t shake the knowledge that he’s dead in there, that the evil you thought you were fighting for months is finished, but that darkness is nowhere near gone.

None of you have said a thing to each other when you resurface from the labyrinth of holding cells, or when Bo-Katan leads you down a new hallway. You’re drained, and you have no energy even to argue. Slowly, you trod after both of them, and the corridor opens up to a large arena. The seats aren’t filled, but you gape at how large this place is. It seems that the entire population of the planet could fit into this amphitheater alone. Finally, Bo-Katan stops, turning to face Din. “I broke my promise,” she says, finally, and there’s a weight to her voice you haven’t seen before. “I told you I would turn Gideon over to you, not that I would kill him. You have the saber,” she says, eyes glancing briefly off your figure, staring at where the Darksaber had hung from your belt, tossing it back across the air to Din, “it’s yours. I don’t have any grounds for dueling you. You’re the rightful leader of Mandalore.”

Din stares at her. Slowly, he shakes his head at Bo-Katan, taking a step forward. “Fight me for it.”

“I’m saying,” she sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in her voice, “that I don’t have any reason to duel you. You’re the rightful owner of that thing now, not me. Take it.”

Din throws it across the arena to you. “Fight me for it.”

Bo-Katan looks over at you. You gape, looking back and forth between the two of them. “I can’t.”

“Bo-Katan of the clan Kryze,” Din calls, voice booming and commanding, “as the rightful Mand’alor, I order you to fight me for this Darksaber.”

Bo-Katan looks over at you. You shrug, tossing the saber back through the air to Din. “He ordered you. I don’t think you have a choice.”

“Stop enabling him,” she grumbles, but she steps forward, squares her shoulders, preparing for a fight. You move to the edge of the ring in this giant, stone colosseum, sending a plea to the Maker himself that one of them doesn’t kill the other. They’re strangely on the same side, even after all of that, but you’ve seen how these two Mandalorians interact, and usually, every battle ends with the opposition on the ground.

Bo-Katan lunges. Din sidesteps her, quick and easy. He lets her jab and swipe and punch at him, pull at his beskar, and he just swirls around like they’re in a strange, choreographed dance. He’s good. He’s the best you’ve ever seen, quick and intentional, not pulling a single punch. But Bo-Katan is good, too, and she’s fast and fights with a specific vigor that Din somehow doesn’t match. You hold your bated breath in the hollow of your mouth as you watch the two of them lunge and toss the saber around, trying to knock the other to the dust.

For someone who claimed she had no legal or official standing to become the ruler of Mandalore, Bo-Katan fights like she’s in charge. She’s an expert, and her training outshines even Din’s. Her eyes aren’t even blazing with adrenaline. She’s just fighting like excelling is an extension of her body, like this is what she’s born for. Half of Din’s blows don’t even land on her, and neither of them are speaking or grunting. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they weren’t even breathing, just inhaling and exhaling punches and kicks, like that alone could sustain them.

You lean back against the ring, staring at them. Your hair hangs heavy in the braid it’s fallen out of, and exhaustion starts to leech in from the corners of your eyes, punishment from the sleepless night you had. It seems impossible that hours ago, you were being proposed to again. All of this feels a lifetime away from your real one, the strange, nomadic family unit you had on the Crest with Din and the baby. And you let your heart yearn for Grogu, which you haven’t dared to feel in months. It hurts too much to think about him, to remember that you didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye, that he’s off somewhere else in the galaxy and even if you could find him, you’d be terrified of the danger you might bring him. You uncross your arms over your chest and bring the pads of your fingers down on your shoulders, trying to eradicate some of the ache. Your eyes fall back on Din and Bo-Katan. She has the saber now.

You stare at her, watching her swipe the blade expertly at Din. You don’t know how much you trust her—you have faith that she won’t actively try to kill your Mandalorian—but the way she plunged the saber expertly into Gideon’s heart a few minutes ago is still a blazing image imprinted on the back of your eyelids. She catches the beskar, once, twice. You stand up straighter. You know Din said he’d let her win, but seeing him this much on the offensive is starting, jarring. It’s unlike him. She strikes, again and again, and right when you see him about to admit defeat and topple over, it’s like something ignites inside of him. Swiftly, he twists around, slides through the dusty ground, and lands his boot firmly against the plate of armor covering Bo-Katan’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her, pushing her into the dirt. You feel your eyes widen. Hers do, too. Din’s standing over her, triumphant, the flickering pulse and thrum of the Darksaber safely in his hand.

He hauls her to her feet. You’re expecting to see a bruised ego, to have to step between the two of them to play peacemaker, but there’s this intensity in Bo-Katan’s eyes that isn’t malicious or conniving. Impressed, you register after a few seconds of staring, she’s impressed. Her mouth is pressed in an even thin line, and she looks from the Darksaber to Din. “Told you,” she finally says, and there’s almost no edge to her voice, “it belongs to you.”

For what feels like the first time in this whole battle, Din looks down at the ignited Darksaber in his hand. It’s a wicked weapon, the outline spitting black and white sparks. It’s menacing and it’s scary and it doesn’t match the energy of Mandalore at all.

“Don’t tell me you still don’t want it,” Bo-Katan says, and there’s a spark of disbelief in her voice, “not after all that.”

“I want the weapon,” Din says, finally, his voice faraway. “But I don’t want the responsibility.”

Bo-Katan sighs, agitated. “You—”

“I won’t do it,” he interjects, looking from the blade to her. “Not unless you help me rule.”

You stare at him. Bo-Katan’s eyes bug out, and she furrows her eyebrows in confusion. “That’s not how it works,” she starts, and Din holds out a hand, stopping her.

“I’m Mand’alor now,” Din says, and the word, the regality of it, sounds like it tastes funny in his mouth, “I get to choose how I rule, right? I don’t want to do it without either of you.”

You step forward, looking at him. “D—Mando,” you start, catching yourself just in time, “we have—a war that needs to be won. We have evil all over the galaxy chasing us down. We—” you stop short, inhaling, “I don’t have—I—”

“Mandalore will be our home base,” Din interrupts. “We move the Rebels here, and this is where our hub of operations will be. For the time being, at least, until we fight back against the Order or someone else fights me for the throne. I said we can’t have everything,” he says, and you can feel the weight of his eyes on yours, “but maybe I was wrong.”

You stare at him. “This is a big deal—”

“I gave you my life, Nova, and my word. I’m never leaving you again,” Din interjects, looking back to Bo-Katan, “and I know no one will take my leadership seriously if you aren’t a part of it.”

Bo-Katan’s eyes narrow into slits. “I’m stubborn.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to butt heads ninety percent of the time. More, probably.”

“I know that, too. But I can’t—and won’t—do it without you.”

“Mandalore hates Jedi,” Bo-Katan continues, and you shrink when she looks over at you. “And they’re not the biggest fans of the Alliance. Not me. But most of our planet were purged by people who wielded the Force, and they’re not going to take kindly to her. And, in turn, they’re not going to take kindly to you, either.”

“I don’t,” Din starts, “hear the word no in there anywhere.”

Finally, something lights up as Bo-Katan smiles. “This is going to be hard.”

Din looks over at you, lacing his fingers through yours. You feel warmth spread through your entire body as he’s about to speak. You know exactly what he’s going to say.

“Well,” Din says, pulling you in closer, flicking the Darksaber off and tossing it through the air to Bo-Katan, “good thing we don’t scare easy.”

You’re fully expecting to spend the night on Mandalore back in Kicker, the place where you’ve made your home, and your bed, but Bo-Katan offers you a room at the inn attached to the main building, and sleeping in a real bed—not half-made ones in hostels and Rebel hideouts—is a luxury you can’t refuse. You spend what feels like hours just laying spreadeagled on top of the comforter, trying to take in everything from the last few days. Most of you is still shell-shocked in complete disbelief that you’re here right now, that Din will be ruling a planet, that Gideon is dead, and that you’re nowhere even close to figuring out what the First Order is or what they want with you. Power, maybe. Midichlorians, definitely. But so much of this is completely obscure, so hidden in darkness, and you have the sinking feeling that you’ve only won one tiny battle. The war isn’t here yet. And when it is, it’s going to take everything out of you.

You need to train. You’ve been so preoccupied with being on the run with Din, and just trying to stay alive as you move from place to place, that you haven’t spent enough time practicing your hold on the Force. You’re not sure where Din is—probably finding food for the two of you—so you sit up, looking for anything small and movable enough to practice with. There’s no little metal balls in the room, and your heart seizes with how much you miss the baby, but there’s small glasses next to the small food bay across the room, so you close your eyes, clear your mind, and let everything run out of you.

It should be easier by now. You’ve held Moff Gideon at bay. You’ve knocked down an entire regiment of soldiers. You’ve been able to do the impossible, by sheer energy alone. But there’s something preoccupying the rest of your mind, something pulsing and nebulous and just beyond your grasp, and you don’t know what the roadblock is. It takes almost all of your energy to move the glass across the room, and you sink back against the bed, depleted. You try to chalk it up to exhaustion, fatigue from running yourself ragged all over the galaxy the last few days, and there’s still that awful nagging feeling that you’re forgetting something, that you know what obstacle is in your path, even if you can’t visualize it.

It’s hopeless. You punch a fist into the soft down pillow and immediately settle your head down in the dent you created, letting your hair pool out of your braid and onto the bed. You sigh, watching night descend on Mandalore outside of the window. The planet plunges beautifully into darkness—it’s a slow, steady blueness. There’s nothing sharp about this planet itself, you realize, even though its people are. It’s fighting. Tired, but fighting. And something about that makes your heart ache in recognition in your chest.

There’s still a haunted part of you that needs to decipher the visions you’ve bene having—huge, symbolic clashes that are nearly impossible to figure out. Your visions and premonitions have always been hazy, but they’ve also had discernable elements—Ahsoka’s lightsabers, the expression on Grogu’s face, Din with his beskar staff. The only recent premonition that seems to have a directive is the one of you looking straight into Luke Skywalker’s face when he’s old and grey, his mouth twisted up into one word. Go.

The memory of him alone makes something frenzied catapult to life inside your chest. You push yourself off on the heels of your hands, ignoring the blissful way they gently sink into this mattress, digging through your stuff for your commlink. Hailing Wedge, who’s in the same sector as you are, shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but your commlink is impossible to connect. You curse, loudly, and you grab your blaster and strap the comm back on your wrist, about to run out the door to see if you have any better luck at a connection outside, until you collide straight into a full armor of beskar instead.

“Ow,” you remark, rubbing your forehead. “You know, having the skill of stealth is super useful when it comes to hunting bounties, but when it makes your fiancé run straight into indestructible armor, it’s not the greatest.”

Din sighs, airy and light, resting his hands gently on your shoulders. “Do forgive me,” he rumbles, and something wet and hot inside you ignites, “I couldn’t stand to be away from you a second longer.”

You grin up at him, all the frustration and urgency from the moment before slowly running out of you. “Where were you?” you ask, walking backwards, leading Din towards the big bed that swallows up most of the room. “I was getting worried.”

“Food,” Din says, and then he dumps a bag full of rations on the bed. You watch as he rotates around you, sitting on the bed. “We needed to stock up.”

You stare at him. There are weeks’ worth of food on the bed. “But—” you start, eyes tracking the massive bundle to his visor, “I thought we were staying here? On Mandalore?”

Din cocks his head to the side. “We will be,” he allows, sighing again, “but we still need to meet the rest of the team to fill them in on what we learned. And I have a feeling that Fett dug up more evidence than we did.”

You swallow. “Did you mean it?” you ask, and there’s a wobble in your voice you weren’t intending. “When you said that you’d take the throne, but only if the Alliance was able to operate out of here too?”

Din looks up at you, and then, before you can say anything else, he unlocks his helmet with a hiss, and you’re staring into his beautiful face. You step forward, hungry, trying to soak in every centimeter of it. Lightly, you press just your fingertips against his bare skin, landing between his open legs. For a minute, all you do is stare at each other in the silence.

“Yes,” he says, finally. His voice sounds so much freer out of the modulator. You nod slightly at his affirmation. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take to ensure that this is our main base of operations, but I meant everything I said back there. There’s a war coming,” he continues, and you feel the heaviness of his confirmation, “and I think the only way we’re going to win any part of it is if we work together.”

You smile down at him, strangely emotional. “I thought you liked doing things alone, Mandalorian,” you manage, voice high and breathy.

Din’s eyes flutter from your own and your lips, and you inhale sharply as he stares at you like he’s about to devour you. “Not anymore,” he answers, finally. “You’re proof that it’s so much better to be part of a team.”

Before he can say anything else, you bridge the gap between the two of you and kiss him right on the mouth. Everything in you is rushing and colliding, wet and hot. It feels divine. You’re dying for him. Every time the two of you have had your hands on each other since reuniting, it’s been quick and to the point, trying to inhale the other person longer than a handful of minutes. You sink up against Din as you kiss him, as slowly and worshipfully as you can, feeling his lips melding and parting yours. It’s fully dark, now, and you can make out the identifying features of his face only because you’ve spent so much time cataloguing it. His hooked nose, his plush mouth, his deep, devout brown eyes. You kiss him, and you keep kissing him, as you step closer and closer. He still has all the beskar on, and you don’t rush to yank it off. You press the flesh of your thigh up against his crotch, and you intake a sharp breath as you feel him harden against your touch. You don’t say anything. Neither of you do. You don’t need to, not right now. Your bodies can do the talking for you.

You’re sighing back and forth into each other’s mouths, like you’re kissing for the first time all over again. There’s something that feels ceremonial about this—so real, so far away from desert planets and back alleys and old haunts. This is the kind of love you made back on Naator, the pulsing warmth you shared on Yavin. There’s something more between the both of you, a nebula of energy and passion and knowledge that you’re equals, that you’ve been to hell and back together. As you slowly start removing beskar plates, letting the metal clatter to the floor at your feet, Din tugs at your outfit, removing the trousers he bough from you, his big hands lingering on the curve of your back, thumb pebbling over your tits, coaxing you closer and closer. When you’re both basically undressed—stripped down to everything except your underwear, you sink down on Din’s knee, and he moans into your mouth with the feeling of your slick on his bare leg.

“Stay,” he breathes into the hollow right under your ear, and a shiver of pleasure rockets white hot through your entire body. You obliged as his knee starts thrumming up against you, pressing that sweet vibration right into your clit, and between the intensity of that feeling and the way his mouth is mumbling kisses all the way down the slope of your neck, your orgasm comes quick and fast. You’re loud. Embarrassingly loud, the kind of loud you only ever feel bold enough to let loose when the two of you are alone on a singular starship in the crush of space. You don’t care enough to be ashamed as he keeps pulsing his leg up between your thighs, pulling at your hips to grind yourself down harder and harder on that same spot, your whole body shaking from the glorious impact.

“I’m not—” you choke out, voice laden with pleasure, “—going anywhere.”

Just as intensely as he started, Din’s mouth vacuums off of you, and the absence of his warmth is jarring. You gasp in the dark, feeling his scruff travel down the other side of your face. He stops right up against your ear. You wait with bated breath for him to speak. “Cyar’ika,” he whispers, “that’s my line.”

So quickly that you don’t have a singular breath to inhale before you register the movement, he’s throwing you back against the bed. You let out a gasp, and then you feel his teeth sink in lightly to where your panties are riding high up on your hips. He uses his mouth to pull them all the way off of you, and then he stands over you, staring.

“Open your legs.”

Shaking, you do. “Din—”

He looks up at you. You can barely make it out in the dark, but you know what his eyes on you feels like. You gulp. “This is my apology for not letting you fight your own battles back in Canto Bight,” he says, and then his mouth is between your thighs.

You should probably be used to this feeling by now. He’s an expert, his tongue swirling and flicking out hours of devotion on your clit, but somehow, he gets better every time. You cum again, then again, and then he pushes a finger inside of you, and you can’t even be embarrassed about the sucking, squelch of a sound that your pussy makes to let him in because it feels so fucking good. Then you’re on the edge again, and again, and then he’s pushed you over for the fourth time.

“Let—” you start, raggedly, “stars, Din, let me taste y—you—”

“Not done,” he murmurs from licking out his name between your legs, and you size the top of his soft, dark hair and pull him upwards.

“Didn’t say you had to be,” you breathe, licking a slight layer of your orgasm off his lips, “just that I wanted to even out the score.”

His moan is just as breathy and high as yours usually are, and you scramble off the bed to fall at his feet, wiping off the small bead of precum from the tip, trying your best to maintain eye contact as you take every single inch of him down your throat, not caring about the tears it makes your eyes spring up, and caring even less about the lack of oxygen. You just want him to feel as divine as he always makes you feel, and as his fingers clench in your hair without abandon, you gasp around the force of his cock pounding your mouth into the next universe. “’M close,” he rasps out, and, reluctantly, you pull your mouth free, marveling at how hard and swollen he is for your tongue alone.

“I can keep going—”

“No,” Din interrupts, and then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, spinning you around so you’re facing away from him, staring at the wall. You have no idea what he’s going to do, so you gasp when he pushes the head up against where you’re soaking, rubbing it up and down your slit, teasing you. Teasing both of you, really, by the moans emitted from his mouth mixed with yours, and when you bounce down to take a few inches, just a little bit, neither of you can control the rhythm. Din takes your hip with one hand, pressing the other flat against the small of your back, and you feel stars explode behind your eyes as his hand comes down to spank against your ass. It’s surprising and raw and when he takes his thumb and lightly drags it down the slit in your ass, you gasp, wet and hot.

“Do you like that?” he whispers, and you toss your hair over one shoulder, nodding vigorously. “Do you want me to play with this?”

Before you do anything but moan, he drags a clean finger through your slick, pushing just the tiniest bit against the hole.

“Fuck—” you manage, and as he wriggles his pinky inside you, you cum again. “Did—did you turn me around so you could do that?”

“Yes,” Din answers, one hand slinking over your shaking legs so he can rub at your clit again. “Moan for me, cyar’ika.” You do. Loudly.

“I want—”

“What?” he murmurs into your ear, “use your words.”

“When you take over the throne,” you gasp, blinded white-hot with desire, “I want you to fuck me like this on it.”

Din stands up. You aren’t expecting the movement, and you gasp as he walks you over to the wall. Before you can say anything else, his mouth is buried in the crook of your neck, telling you he’s about to cum. When he does, the feeling of him squeezing and shaking inside of you is enough to push you over the edge again. Slowly, slicked in sweat, both of you sink to the ground, still entwined, breathing heavily.

It’s so much like your normal position—up against the wall, staring at each other—that you start smiling.

“What?” Din asks, you can tell he’s wearing a grin, too.

“If you can lead just a fraction as good as you are at sex,” you breathe, “you’re going to be the best Mand’alor this planet has ever known.”

You hear him sigh, a tiny indication of a snort, and then his hands are on you, pulling you closer. “I can’t do it without you.”

You touch your fingers to his face, still warm. “Well,” you start, happiness flitting through your voice, “good thing I’m not going anywhere, remember?”

Din, suddenly, just pulls you closer. “Marry me.”

You blink up at him. “That is the plan,” you remind him, gently, and he shakes his head and starts redressing, throwing odd articles of clothing back over at you as he snaps the beskar back into place. “What are you—what are you doing, exactly?”

Din strides over to you, swallowing your face in his hands. “No. Right now Let’s go to the ship and say our vows.”

You stare at him. “I—”

“Do you not want to?”

The anxiousness in his voice nearly splits your heart in two. “Of course I want to,” you say, earnestly, closing the distance between the two of you, “but I—I��m not a Mandalorian. I want a ceremony. Somewhere—important to us. Like Yavin. Or Naator.” Your heart wrenches. “And I really want Grogu there.”

Din looks down at you, thumb stroking over your cheek. “Then we have a ceremony. With whoever you want. But I want to be able to take my mask off and kiss you as my wife, and I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

Your heart flips over. “Just the two of us?” you breathe, blood pumping in your ears.

“Just the two of us,” Din confirms. “No one has to know but us.”

A smile lights up your whole face. “Deal,” you answer, and then you’re being pulled from the inn by your Mandalorian, both of you racing back to the edge of town where Kicker is parked. Giddy, the two of you board, and once you’re in the cockpit, Din pulls off his helmet. You look around the ship for something light to wear in lieu of a vail, and you find a cream-colored shawl that you drape around your head.

“I love you,” you murmur to Din, staring up at him, taking in every inch of his face. “Ni kar’tayl su.”

“Darasuum,” he agrees. “I’m—I’m going to say my vows in Mando’a. You can, too, or you can say whatever you want.” He inhales, sharply, finger tracing a pattern over your cheek. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde, Novalise.”

Your heart turns over in your chest. “What—what does it mean?” Your heart is beating so fast.

“We are one whether together or apart,” Din recites, sounding dazed. “We will share everything. We will raise our children as warriors.”

“We are one,” you echo, softly. “We do share everything. But I think our child is plenty good at being a warrior on his own.”

Din lets out a laugh. A real one, unencumbered and free. “You have a point.”

“I love you,” you whisper again. “You’re the other half of my soul. You make me quiet when it’s loud; you make me bright when it’s dark. There is no other person I would rather fight this battle with.” You inhale, breath shuddering. “I know you. For an eternity, I’ll know you. And I’ll love you even longer.” You pulse up on your tiptoes, staring deep into his eyes. “This is only the beginning.”

Din cups both sides of your face with his big hands. “It better be,” he agrees, pulling your makeshift veil away from your head, “considering we have forever.”

You beam back at him, step one foot forward, and meet his mouth in the middle. The two of you kiss, in silence, in love, for what feels like an eternity. Only when your commlink starts bleeping do you break apart.

Your eyes find Din’s. He nods. “Hello?” you manage, voice an octave higher than normal.

“Rebel girl,” Wedge’s voice floats through. The both of you sigh, relieved. “I’ve been trying to reach you for over a day.”

“Bad signal,” you say, glancing back at Din’s. “We were—uh, preoccupied. With Gideon. We’re on Mandalore. It’s a long story—”

“Nova,” Wedge interrupts, “I heard from Luke again.”

Your heart accelerates, then floats down to nothing. “What did he say?” you manage, breathily, voice quavering.

“He said,” Wedge sighs, “that you keep showing up in his visions. He wants to talk to you. No,” Wedge adjusts, “he needs to talk to you.”

You turn away from Din, pressing the comm against your mouth, bracing yourself against Kicker’s sturdy wall. “About what?”

“Something called the First Order,” Wedge says, and you whirl back around, making eye contact with Din. “And—and he said your kid wants to see you.”

Din grabs at your wrist. “Is he okay?”

“They’re both fine,” Wedge says, “but—uh, he gave me—a way to reach him. You can send him a hologram. I would do it now. Whatever he else he wants, I think he needs it soon. Did you—did you say that you interrogated Gideon?”

“Long story,” you mumble, brushing your hair impatiently out of your mind. “I’ll explain everything after I send a hologram to Luke.”

“Call me back,” Wedge agrees, and then he’s gone, with the address of where to send Luke Skywalker a hologram bleeping on your comm. Shakily, you inhale, and Din stands behind you. You project your two figures into your commlink, silhouettes blue and faded.

“General Skywalker,” you whisper, and then stronger, “My name is Novalise Djarin.” You inhale, exhale, looking straight into the light. “I hear I have something you want.”

*

TAGLIST: @myheartisaconstellation | @fuuckyeahdad | @pedrodaddypascal | @misslexilouwho | @theoddcafe | @roxypeanut | @lousyventriloquist | @ilikethoseodds | @strawberryflavourss | @fanomando | @cosmicsierra | @misssilencewritewell | @rainbowfantasyxo |  @thatonedindjarinfan | @theflightytemptressadventure | @tiny-angry-redhead | @cjtopete86 | @chikachika-nahnah | @corvueros | @venusandromedadjarin | @jandra5075 | @berkeleybo | @solonapoleonsolo | @wild-mads | @charmedthoughts | @dindjarinswh0re | @altarsw |  @weirdowithnobeardo | @cosmicsierra | @geannad | @th3gl1tt3rgam3roff1c1al | @burrshottfirstt | @va-guardianhathaway | @starspangledwidow | @casssiopeia | @niiight-dreamerrrr | @ubri812 | @persie33 | @happyxdayxbitch | @sofithewitch | @hxnnsvxns |  @thisshipwillsail316 | @spideysimpossiblegirl | @dobbyjen | @tanzthompson | @tuskens-mando | @pedrosmustache | @goldielocks2004 | @fireghost-xas always, reply here or send me a message to be added to the taglist!!! (and if you've already asked me and you're not on it, please message me again!!!)

I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!!!! it's with such a bittersweet heart that i'm writing this message to all of you. it truly has been the joy of my entire year to write this story for myself, and then for all of you! we have one more chapter left (don't worry, it's going to be PACKED and likely extra long), and i cannot wait to share it all with you.

the sequel is coming! i promise! i might need a few weeks to prep and get all my thoughts in order, but i am so stoked to let this baby bird of a story fly free and start working on the next one. i've decided that i'm going to write it in third person, with Nova as her own character, so for all of you who typically enjoy OCs/third person POVs, this one is for you! it means the absolute world to me that you all care about Something More (and have come to love Nova) so much. SM started as something for me to write for my own sake, and when i decided to share it, it changed my whole life. i consider each and every one of you my friends, and i am so, so lucky to have shared this journey with you!!!

more details will come of course on tumblr (amiedala) and tiktok (padmeamydala) about the sequel and what the last chapter of SM is going to entail. i've also been brainstorming ideas for a new series of novels, so if you're interested in my writing outside of SM, i'll eventually post about that on tumblr and tiktok too!

CHAPTER THIRTY (the grand finale) WILL BE UP AT 7:30 PM EST SATURDAY, JULY 17TH!!! sending so much love to you all, let's do this fabulous thing one more time!

xoxo, amelie