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clanoffetts · 4 years ago

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someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

chapter I

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blooms.

warnings/things to note: star wars swear words; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); blatant lack of knowledge of ship mechanics; only one use of ‘Y/N’

word count: 5.1k

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. Actually, one had never showed up. And this one was huge. A buff man, covered in heavy armor that had been painted blue. Even his helmet evoked fear. The townspeople were watching myth become reality.

The large man walked into Aliria’s Shop. The shop had a name once, when Aliria’s parents had opened it, but that was some 80 years ago now. The shop had survived the Clone Wars and the Empire, not to mention the constant flow of smugglers and thieves customary to the Outer Rim. Aliria’s Shop wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

It was a fairly small shop, especially considering all the things packed into it. Aliria carried food, clothes, a small array of weaponry, and medical supplies. There wasn’t much in the little town, a droid mechanic, a ship mechanic, a small infirmary, and a bar. Aliria’s Shop was the hub, she had the essentials.

The Mandalorian was like a bull in a china shop inside the store. Aliria had crammed crates, tables, and shelves into every crevice of the store. Not to mention the various pieces of merchandise hanging from the ceiling.

“Watch it, Mandalorian!” Aliria yelled at the man as he almost hit the shelf of fruits with the huge gun on his back. She may look like a frail older woman at the age of 75, but her voice didn’t show it. Aliria’s tan skin was weathered and her body was tired, but her voice held life. She was the backbone of the community.

The armored man let out a gruff sorry before moving on. He was looking down at his gauntlet, reading some kind of list. “Kriffing hell, how do I find anything in here?”

“We don’t get many outsiders, Mandalorian,” she said. “But my sales associate can help you. She was an outsider once, too.”

The pitch black of his visor shifted to you. Your hair was a bit messy, as you’d just helped your co-worker unload a speeder of goods. But you smiled at him. A change of pace is always nice. You walked from behind the counter to be in front of the Mandalorian and you asked, “What are you looking for, sir?” Your customer service voice was rough, you never needed to use it with most of the customers. They knew you personally, everyone knew everyone here.

“You got ration bars?” His voice was gruff and deep, but you couldn’t tell if that was just because of the helmet.

“Not many,” you told him. “Maybe ten? Aliria has such good prices, no one ever needs to buy a ration bar in place of real food.” It was a sales pitch you’d been taught when training here, but it was the truth. Why pay a credit for a ration bar when you can pay a credit for instant noodles?

He huffed a little. “I’ll take all ten.” This man was weird, you decided. “Non-perishables? Do you have any?”

“We’ve got some beans, some vegetables that won’t go bad for at least a few years, rice, and a few other things. They’re all kind of scattered around.”

“Of course they are,” he was annoyed. “Where’s the vegetables?”

You pointed through a door at the back of the shop. “Greenhouse out back. Tell me what you need, I’ll go grab it.” Reluctantly, he showed you his gauntlet. It was a grocery list. You locked the information into your mind, grabbed a basket and headed to the greenhouse.

When you got back, he was in the same place. He must’ve seen your confusion because he said, “I’d rather not waste time looking for things myself. I figure you’d be better at it.” And you were. You helped him get everything he needed, but the list just got weirder. Baby formula, toddler sized coveralls, ammunition, a journal, and more miscellaneous items that made no sense to you. You didn’t believe a Mandalorian was going to hand write something and in a journal, no less.

You wanted to know more, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t be keen on questions. Before you’d come to Dantooine, you’d been all over the galaxy and heard stories of Mandalorians and their secrecy.

“What brings you to Dantooine, Mando?” You ask as you ring up the last of his items, putting them in the up-cycled grain bag grocery bags. You were tired of the tense silence, Aliria had gone into the back to do Maker knows what, and the Mandalorian’s stare was unnerving.

“Work,” he said. His visor remained unmoving, his eyes were on you. You had a feeling that ‘work’ was something either illegal or close to it. “You?”

You were surprised. And, again, he must’ve noticed. “The old lady said you are an outsider, too.”

“Was an outsider, Mando,” you correct, bringing up his total. “I came here for work, too.” He could tell you were lying, or at least not sharing the whole truth. “It’s two-hundred credits, Mando.”

He reached into a pouch on his belt, and pulled out all the credits. “That should be two-hundred.” It was. Exact change and everything. Once you’d counted the money and placed it in the register, he grabbed all his bags with ease and turned to walk out.

“Have a nice day!” you tell him, remembering your lines Aliria insisted on. He said nothing in return.

Paz Vizsla arrived back at his ship far out from the town. He put the bags of supplies for the covert in the cargo hold and cleared the message from Armorer that detailed what they needed. After the covert had to relocate, they were in desperate need of supplies. Especially for all the children who lost a buir or, Maker forbid, both buire. The children who had basically become foundlings. Paz’s heart broke for them, he tried to be the best ba’vodu, but there some things that even stories from Uncle Paz couldn’t fix.

He’d spent the little bit of left over change from the bounty on something for each kid, even Bezza, who was old enough to be treated as an adult at seventeen. She’d lost her buire, and the least Paz could do was get her a nice, leather-bound journal that she’d been pining for. Something hard to come by in a galaxy that had moved on from physical writing.

Paz closed the cargo hold and began moving himself towards the cockpit. He was tired, and though no one else agreed, he was getting old. Nearing 44, he was ready to just be Mr. Vizsla the teacher, Uncle Paz, and hopefully buir someday. But he was one of the Tribe’s best fighters. They needed him to keep hunting, so he did. This is the Way.

He moved to start up the ship. It gave a groan, but lit up all the same. Paz began his takeoff procedures, but the ship wouldn’t budge. Kriff, he thought. This can’t happen. Paz Vizsla was a capable fighter, fluent in Mando’a, and a brilliant teacher, but he was no mechanic. That had always been his biggest shortcoming. I have no credits, he realized. Stuck on Dantooine with no credits.

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. But this one had now shown up twice. The awe of the townsfolk was still the same. He trudged back into Aliria’s Shop. This old woman would know someone willing to fix a ship for some food, he thought. She seems to know everything.

Except, when he walked in he was greeted by a new face. Not the saleswoman who’d helped him a few hours ago, nor was it the old woman. “How can I help you?” The boy asked. He couldn’t be more than sixteen.

“You know anyone who’d be willing to fix a ship for a meal? Or maybe a small blaster?”

The kid shook his head. “No one around here is that desperate. I’ll go get Aliria, though. She might know someone I don’t.” The kid retreated into the back room without fully taking his eyes off Paz.

When he returned, he had Aliria hobbling along next to him, bony hands around his arm. “Zenith says you need a mechanic? There’s a shop down the road but what he charges won’t be worth what you get,” the woman says.

“I need someone who will work for something other than credits,” he says. “I don’t have any.”

You looked up from the datapad in the backroom. You had experience as a mechanic, you were rusty after all these years, but better than the other option, who probably learned by seeing a few pictures on the holonet. Maybe this was your ticket back out of the Outer Rim. You’d amassed enough credits to at least get an apartment for a bit until you can get work. Core Worlds always had open jobs, and you have connections. You hated to leave the little town, but it had always been the goal. You just thought it’d be many more years.

You stepped out of the back room. “I’ll do it, Mando. I’ve got experience, I can probably fix it.” Zenith seemed surprised, but Aliria just smiled.

“I can’t pay,” he reiterated.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you’ve said. We’ll negotiate the price on the way to your ship. You got tools?” He nodded. “I’ll be back tonight, Aliria. I’ll finish up inventory then.” The old woman told you not to worry about it and shooed both of you off, ready to get back to whatever she was up to in the storage room.

As soon as the door shut behind you, you said, “Passage to Hosnian Prime. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Hosnian Prime? Do you know how long it’s going to take me to get from Dantooine to Hosnian Prime?” He was annoyed. The ship must be having a minor issue, but you were wanting a major payment. “And so far out of my way, my home is in the Outer Rim. And I’ll have no credits to refuel.”

Now you were the annoyed one. “I’m fixing your ship, Mando. You said anything but credits. My offer is passage to Hosnian Prime for the fixing of your ship.”

“How do I know you can even fix my ship? Why aren’t you the town mechanic?”

This wasn’t something you wanted to get into. You hadn’t talked about it in so long. Not since you got to Dantooine and Aliria took you in, vowing to help you back to wherever you wanted to be. “I was done being a mechanic, Mando, that’s why.”

“So you decided to work in a dingy little shop? With the galaxy’s oldest woman?”

You felt anger grow stem from the seed of annoyance. Aliria was like your grandmother. Like the whole town’s grandmother. And here comes an outsider, insulting Aliria’s shop. Aliria’s family built that town from the ground up. And this outsider insults her. “Do not speak of Aliria or her shop like that again, Mando. Or I won’t fix your ship and you’ll be stuck on Dantooine forever.”

Paz felt bad. He’d cut too deep, he’d only meant it to be a friendly dig about your job, a job most people weren’t ever satisfied with. He’d thought you’d laugh. He’d thought wrong. You walked in silence the rest of the way.

“This is your ship?” you asked. No wonder it wouldn’t get off the ground. “Maker, Mando, what have you put this thing through?” It was dented, covered in carbon scoring, and there were chunks of it missing. You could only guess how bad the inner workings were.

“A few altercations,” he replied. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was looking at this sorry excuse for a Mandalorian’s ship with love and pride.

You laughed a little and shook your head. “I haven’t even looked at the wiring, but I think taking me to Hosnian Prime is the absolute least you could do for the work I’m going to have to do on this thing.”

“I just need it to fly,” he told you. “Nothing fancy.”

“Mando, this thing is going to pull itself apart when you try to leave the atmosphere. I’m surprised it even made it through,” you told him.

The ship always groaned a little when Paz asked it to do things, but it always had obeyed. Without fail. Until now, of course. “It did sound a bit...pained when I arrived.” He left out the whole being fired at by ex-Imps and the harsh landing he’d made that’d landed him here.

“Alright, I’ll go take a look, if that’s ok? And I’ll try to tell you when I think I’ll have it done.” He nodded, and pushed a button on his gauntlet, giving you access to the ship.

“Bad news and good news,” you told him as you reemerged from the ship. “Bad news is this is a piece of junk and you should replace it. Good news is I can fix it and it’ll only take a few days.”

A few days. He needed to get these things back to the covert, they needed them. “Ok,” he said. “But before I take you to Hosnian Prime, we’ll need to make a pit stop on Yavin IV. I gotta get these supplies back.” You nodded, just as long as you’d be getting to Hosnian Prime at some point.

“I’ll get started, if that’s ok?” He nodded and you retreated back inside. The external damage wasn’t as crucial as the internal, your job was going to be rough.

It was a long, hard rest of your day. The blasted ship held the humidity of the planet tightly and your coveralls were thick. You’d brought down the top half to tie around your waist, leaving you in your tank top and bra. You caught glimpses of the Mandalorian as you moved past the port holes, and he just sat there on a rock, not moving. All day. You couldn’t imagine the heat under that armor.

When you came out of the ship again, it was night. “I’ve made good progress. It won’t be done tomorrow, but maybe the day after. If I’m lucky, of course.” And worked almost non-stop, you silently added.

“Good,” he says. “Go home and rest, dal’ika.”

You furrowed your brow. “My name isn’t dal’ika.”

“I know,” he said, and then he moved past you onto his ship.

“Good night to you, too!” You called.

You walked to Aliria’s small home once you got back into town. She deserved to know your plans, you thought. She’d probably even help.

“Ah! Dear! You’re back!” she said. “I was worried the Mandalorian would take you, but then I figured you’d comm if he’d try anything.”

You smiled. “He didn’t do much of anything. Just sat there.”

“What did you tell him your price is, dear?”

You took a deep breath and sat on the sofa next to her. “Passage to Hosnian Prime.”

“You’re leaving?”

You nodded. “It’s time,” you said. “I have enough credits, especially since I won’t have to pay for transportation.”

“What will you do there, dear?” Aliria was worried. You were a grown woman, yes, but she felt protective.

“Find General Organa,” you said. “See if she keeps promises.” You knew she would. She always had.

Aliria gave a bittersweet smile. “I knew you’d leave someday, but I never thought of how it would feel.” Her heart was breaking, and so was yours. This woman took you in when you showed up a mess on Dantooine, she held you during nightmares, and she helped you buy the little hut you now call your own. She gave you a job and a place in the community. “You’ll do much good on Hosnian Prime, dear. I know you will.”

You didn’t know what she meant, but somehow you believed her. “Thank you, Aliria. Thank you.” You couldn’t seem to say anything else, but it wasn’t adequate to what you were feeling. You needed a stronger phrase, but you didn’t know one.

“Take care of that Mandalorian, now,” she said, trying to be a bit more lighthearted. “I’ve always thought you’d like a warrior husband.”

You rolled your eyes. All the old women in town were like this. “He barely even talks to me and calls me dal’ika instead of my name, which he hasn’t asked for, by the way.”

“He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure. Especially if he’s got to take you from here to Hosnian Prime,” Aliria said. “You didn’t talk much when you arrived, either, remember?”

Aliria always had a way of finding the good in people, even if it was hardly there. That was rare, especially this far out in the galaxy, and you cherished it. You’d learned early on not to do that, but Aliria helped you open up more. Maybe she was right, this journey would result in a new friend.

“Ok, Ali, I will take care of the Mando,” you said. “Now I think I’m going to go home. Want to be up early tomorrow to fix his ship.”

She nodded and patted your knee. “Take the speeder bike tomorrow, it seems like a long walk.” You nodded, and placed your hand over hers for a moment. “Good night, dear. Sleep well,” she said and then she shooed you out in the way only an old lady could.

The next morning it was cooler outside. The trees swayed gently in the soft wind, and you became grateful for the coveralls as you picked up speed on the bike. You looked the same as you did the day before, just a little less rested. There was a little sunlight, but not much, and there were still a few nocturnal animals on the path.

Arriving at the ship, everything was still closed up, and the big Mando nowhere in sight. You contemplated banging on the door, but before you made a decision the door lowered into a ramp and he walked out. “You’re very early, dal’ika.”

“Told you I would be. Need all the daylight I can get.”

“Indeed.”

His gaze bore down on you again. You really took in how large he was. He had to be over six feet tall and maybe even closer to seven in the armor. A few people in town speculated that he wasn’t actually as buff as he seemed and that it was just the armor, but you doubted that.

“I’ll go ahead and get started, if that’s ok?”

He nodded. “You don’t have to keep asking, dal’ika.”

“That’s still not my name,” you said in a singsong voice over your shoulder as you walked up the ramp. He walked over towards some of the denser areas of trees.

You tried to watch him as discreetly as possible through one of the port holes, but you had a suspicion that, somehow, he could tell you were watching. He walked over some of the logs of fallen trees that had piled up towards the edge of the clearing. He picked two large ones, one in each arm, and set them upright. Then, he placed the large stones on the top of and behind them to keep them standing.

He retreated a few yards, and his hands slid down to his thighs. He brought two blasters back up. Ah, you thought. Target practice.

As much as you knew you needed to begin your day’s work, you stood at the port hole and watched him fire blast after blast, and you knew he hit each spot he intended to. He moved back farther, fired some more, and then moved off at angles. You never thought you’d be attracted to a man whose face you’d never seen and name you didn’t know, but here you are.

Finally, you tore your gaze from the beskar-covered man and began your work, getting the tool box from where you’d left it yesterday.

It was noon when you walked down the ramp again. The Mandalorian had finished his shooting hours ago, and had now shed his shin and thigh armor, along with the heavy cannon he carried on his back. He was already looking at you when you stepped into the doorway.

“Need something, dal’ika?”

You shook your head. “Lunch time, Mando.” You pulled some kind of bar out of your pocket. “It’s got meiloorun filling,” you brag.

“Sounds good,” he said, a little amused at what you considered something to brag about.

You sat down on the rock opposite him. “You want one? I’ve got an extra.”

“No, thank you, dal’ika,” he replied.

You sunk your teeth into the grain and meiloorun bar, chewed, and swallowed. “What language even is that?”

“Mando’a,” he said. “The language of my people.”

“The Mandalorians?” You ask dumbly.

He let out a chuckle, it was small, but the vocoder processed it. “Yes, dal’ika, but I thought that was obvious.”

“What’s that mean? That word you’re calling me?”

He contemplated for a moment, but finally told you. “Dal’ika means woman in Mando’a. Well, dala means woman. The ‘ika bit just means it's a nickname. It implies that you’re, well, small. It’s used for kids a lot but also for friends.” He regretted saying that, in case you found it insulting or weird. He quickly moved on. “And I definitely consider you more than an acquaintance, especially since we’ll be spending some time together.”

You looked at him. You’d never thought of yourself as small. “Well, that’s good to hear. And I think everyone is small next to you, Mando.”

He laughed again, and you took another bite. “I suppose so. What is your actual name?” You tell him, and he nods. “I can call you that, if you’d like?”

“Dal’ika is fine,” you say. You’d never really had a nickname before. “But you can call me my name, too, if you want.”

“Ok, dal’ika,” he said. “Where are you from?”

You looked at him. Why all the questions? You briefly thought of home, but closed your eyes. “Rather not say.”

He nodded, understanding. “I’m sorry that I keep saying the wrong things. I really should know better, considering I don’t like too many questions, either.”

“It’s ok, it’s not like you know what will strike a cord,” you tell him. You hurriedly finished your lunch, eager to get back on the ship in case memories of home flooded back into your mind and tears flooded your eyes. “Well, I’m off,” you say, standing awkwardly and walking back to the ship, leaving the Mando by himself again.

You sat on the floor of the ship, one of the flooring panels removed, working on some wiring. In the back of your mind you saw your childhood home, the mountain peaks you could see from the backyard, and the neighbor kids that you’d played with every day after school. You remembered leaving. You remembered never being able to go back.

Your hands are still in the wire compartment in the floor. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and smiled to yourself. Aliria always said smiling makes you feel better. It worked, and your hands began moving again, replacing and connecting wires.

Again, it was nightfall when you came out of the ship. The Mandalorian had all his armor on again, and he stood as you emerged. “I should’ve walked you home last night, dal’ika. It was dark when you left, I’m sorry for not offering.”

You felt your heart swell a little. He was a gentle giant, you decided. “Thank you, Mando, but I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s not like there’s dangerous people here.”

“Still,” he insisted. “I should have.”

You gave up and replied, “That would’ve been a kind gesture. I would take you up on the offer tonight, but Aliria lent me her speeder, so I don’t need an escort today.”

“As you wish,” he replied. “Just be careful, dal’ika. Hosnian Prime awaits.” He walked past you and onto the ship, just like he had the night before.

The next day was almost the same, except you had to walk. Aliria needed the speeder for Zenith and supplies he was picking up from a nearby farm, but apart from that, everything was the same. You made small talk with the Mandalorian over your lunch (a star fruit bar today), and watched him shoot his blasters from afar. You got a lot of work done today, most of the hard stuff was finished and now just needed some tweaking. You moved on to the exterior of the ship a few hours before nightfall.

“Dal’ika,” he said as you started working on the exterior. “Only do what you absolutely need to on the outside. I’d hate to see your hard work go to waste when I get into another altercation.”

You nodded, but replied, “I hope you don’t plan on getting into one of your altercations while I’m aboard.”

“Well, I never really plan on them, but I’ll be extra careful if it makes you feel better,” he told you.

You smiled. “It does.”

“It’s going to get dark soon,” he said.

You nodded, opening one of the exterior panels and examining it. “I know. I just have a few more things,” you assured him. “And then I’ll take you up on your offer to walk me home.” You turned your head towards him and smiled, but what you didn’t know was that your smile brought the slightest blush to his cheeks.

Paz sat back down on his rock while you worked on the exterior. He thought about the smile you’d given him, how you weren’t afraid of him. There’s something more to this one, he thought. Something’s made her tough, and it wasn’t this village.

Finally, you finished. “Alright,” you told the Mando as you exited the ship after putting the tools up. “It should fly, but we can test that tomorrow. For now, I need to go home.”

He nodded and stood from the rock. “Lead the way, mechanic,” he said.

You walked a pace or two in front of him, even though he didn’t really need to be led to the town. It wasn’t like there were many of those around here, but he let you, and you rambled about the place with pride. About Aliria with pride.

After a few beats of silence, he spoke up. “May I ask what’s on Hosnian Prime? If you don’t want to answer, just tell me.”

“An old friend,” you said and looked back at him again. This smile was different, he noticed, but he wasn’t sure how. “I haven’t seen her in a long time, but I know she still cares.” You were telling him the truth, so why did you feel like you were lying? He didn’t need to know that General Organa was the friend or why you knew her. But you almost wanted him to know. Still, you held back.

“Oh,” he said. “Sounds nice. I’ve heard good things about Hosnian Prime.” Truthfully, he hadn’t heard anything about Hosnian Prime except that it was the new capital of the New Republic.

“I have, too,” you agreed. “What about you? What’s on Yavin IV?”

“Family,” he said. He was telling the truth, so why did he feel like he was lying? And why was he trusting you with the planet of the covert?

You nodded. “I figured, with all the baby stuff you bought. Is your wife a Mandalorian, too? I heard Mandos can only marry Mandos.”

He was shocked a little, forgetting that you didn’t know much about his culture. “No, I don’t have a wife. Or kids of my own. My Tribe is my family, and there are kids in the Tribe. They’re just not mine.”

“Oh, interesting,” you said, kicking a rock in front of you. You were surprised to find yourself relieved that he did not have a wife. “So, like, can you only marry inside your tribe?”

“No, dal’ika,” he laughed. “We’d end up with some interesting children if we kept it in the tribe. Some people marry within the tribe, some never marry, and others marry outsiders.” He didn’t really know how accurate his answer was. Maybe, in big tribes, people did just marry in the tribe. But the covert he belonged to was too small for that.

You kicked the rock again as you arrived at the place it had landed. “Huh,” you said. “Guess I never thought about that.”

“We prefer people not think about us at all,” he replied. His tone was solemn when he said this, and you instinctively placed a hand on his armored arm to comfort him. The Mandalorian was brought to a blush under his helmet again. Maker, he thought. How’s she doing this to me?

You walked into the town in comfortable silence, your arm now wrapped around his, fingers lightly rubbing the armor. It was meant as a soothing technique, but you doubt he could feel it under the layers of metal and cloth. Eventually, you neared your home. “That one’s mine,” you pointed. The house’s door was painted blue, and your flowerbed was filled with blue flowers.

“Your house matches my armor, kebiin’ika,” he said.

A new nickname. “What’s that mean?”

“Kebiin is blue. And, you know, ‘ika is ‘small’ and an endearment.”

“Little blue?” You ask.

He nodded. “Ding, ding, ding,” he said. “You’d pick up Mando’a quickly, I think.” You smiled at him, you spoke Basic and Huttese already, why not learn a third? He smiled back, though all you could see was metal and visor. “Are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes, I think that’d be good. Tomorrow after lunch, maybe? I’ve got to pack up my stuff and say good-bye to everyone.” He nodded. He’d forgotten that you’re leaving your life behind. “I don’t have much stuff, by the way, so don’t worry about that.”

He chuckled again. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t worry. We’d find the space.” There was a warmth in his voice that made your whole body warm. You could tell he cared about the people close to him deeply if he cared about a stranger like this.

You unlocked your door and stepped inside. You weren’t expecting a good night, as you had no reason to, but you did stop yourself from closing the door all the way.

You looked up at him through the half-open blue door. “Thank you,” you said quietly. “For walking me home. It’s very kind.”

“You deserve kindness, Y/N,” he replies, as if it was painfully obvious. Then, you realized he said your name. Your real name, not some Mandalorian nickname.

You smiled again, your lips were beginning to hurt but your face wouldn’t let you stop. “Will I ever get to know your name, Mando?”

“Someday.”

#paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #mandalorian #Star Wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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starculler · 3 years ago

Text

Whumptober 2021: Day 3

Word Count: 6341 || Read on Ao3

Tags/Warnings: Star Wars, Anakin Skywalker, Boba Fett, Time Travel, Alternating POV, Violence, Injury, Blood, Slavery/Tatooine Slave Culture, Death Mention, Hopeful Ending

Inspiration: Family is more than Blood by Quillfeet

Got this one in by the skin of my teeth lmao. Did my best to handle any sensitive topics as carefully as I could under a time constraint, but feel free to let me know if any issues crop up.

Anakin bounced on his toes, eager to see the stranger who’d drawn so big a crowd long after the suns had set, but unwilling to leave his mom’s side. Not when he could practically feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut through with even the dullest, poorly-made shiv. Still, impatience and curiosity burned through him and his admittedly small well of patience had already been wrung dry after an unbearably long day of having to behave in front of Watto, his customers, and the other masters in the market.

He tugged on his mom’s warm, calloused hand and she squeezed his, her grip tight but not painful as she peered over another slave’s shoulder. She frowned at whatever she saw, brow pinched and her mouth pursed in the way it sometimes did when she tried not to look worried in front of him. Anything that worried his mom like that should have made him nervous. It didn’t. He practically vibrated out of his skin at her side instead, his need to know turning to a prickling itch that crawled up his arms and down his back.

“Mom,” he said, low and in the tongue only Tatooine’s slaves knew, the word drawled out into an almost-whine he was nearly too old for.

His mom only squeezed his hand briefly, a reprimand and warning, and Anakin’s shut his mouth before any of a dozen question slipped through his chapped lips.

One of the slaves, a twi’lek near his mom’s age, on his other side turned their head just enough to make it obvious they’d heard him. He flushed, embarrassed until they winked and shifted so there was a a small gap to see through between them and the human blocking most of Anakin’s view. He wasted no time leaning over, putting most of his negligible weight on one foot so he wouldn’t pull his mom’s hand while he snuck a glance and give himself a away. Not that it mattered.

He gasped, all the breath stolen from his lungs when he caught his first glimpse of a scene seemingly pried free from some of his worst nightmares. Funny enough, the first thing he saw wasn’t the stranger body, but the sand beneath them: wet like someone had spilled water on it and dark red, almost black in the low light of old, flickering lamps made of more rust than metal — most of which he’d helped his mom fix more than once. Eyes wide, his gaze trailed up from there, from the soles of the stranger’s ratty boots to the top of their head for just long enough that the image of them burned itself into his memory.

Too soon and not soon enough, his mom pulled roughly on his arm, tugging him close against her side and hiding his face in her skirt. He clung to the dull, brown fabric and soaked in her familiar warmth even though it did nothing to stop the way his body shook. She squeezed his shoulders, but did nothing to scold him for looking. There was no sheltering a slave from horrible things. Not really.

Anakin had seen a lot of bad things in his terribly long eight years. He’d seen slaves beaten bloody and others blown up, some so violently that there was almost nothing to give back to the sands when they were mourned. He’d watched his mom scream and bleed and, once, beg to take his punishment when he’d been even younger and taking it himself might have killed him. He’d seen slaves in chains marched across the market and put up for auction. Others he’d watched be chased out of Mos Espa entirely, out into the sea of sand never to be heard from again.

This, however, was new. A cruelty his mom had so far kept him safe from, laid out on the sands of the slave’s quarters for all of them to see. The stranger’s face had been the most visible without any of the tattered bodysuit in the way. It almost looked like some master had at least taken a vibroblade to their face, carved him up bad enough that they were missing a good amount of dark, curly hair on one side of their head. The rest of them, he thought, looked a bit like a krayt dragon tried to chew them up only to spit them out halfway, leaving them worse for wear but just functional enough that they hadn’t just left them out on the sands to die.

Whoever they belonged to, Anakin hoped he never found out if only because not knowing might keep him and his mom safe from being sold to them too.

By the time he’d calmed down enough to pry his hands free from his mom’s skirt and shuffle back around to see, the bulk of the crowd had drifted away — off to sleep or work or wallow until the suns rose on another grueling day. The only ones left were him and his mom, a few adults rushing soiled and new strips of cloth back and forth, and the three grandmothers kneeled beside and working on the stranger. His mom squeezed his shoulders again, half distracted by a conversation with another mother about infection and recovery and the fact that they had no water to spare for the stranger bleeding on the sands as aged but experienced, sun-weathered hands stitched the worst of their wounds closed.

Anakin leaned back against his mom, watching. Without anyone to block his view, he could see more of the picture than his first glimpse had allowed. A red and tan bodysuit torn to shreds that might have been white before the blood and the sand had gotten to it. Strips of cloth ripped by experienced hands to be used as bandages. Green armor whose paint looks like it had been half-dissolved rather than properly stripped off, carefully pried away from the body and set aside with all the gentleness something so obviously expensive deserved. A not-so-small arsenal of blasters, grenades, a rocket and rifle, and more knives than Anakin cared to count all set just as carefully aside with well-deserved fear rather than reverence.

And pain. He saw it in the twitch of the stranger’s lips and the furrow in their brow. In the way they seemed to flinch at the grandmothers’ not-quite-gentle touch despite how he was sure they couldn’t be awake. He saw it in the ragged, uneven way their chest rose and fell, like just breathing was so hard it might as well have been crossing the dunes in a sandstorm.

He frowned. He remembered being so sick once he could hardly breathe — how much his chest had hurt and how his mom had helped soothe it by rubbing something gooey and awful-smelling into his skin. Remembered being punished, ten stinging, throbbing, bleeding lashes on his back, and how he’d cried while his mom held his hands, whispering in his ear to comfort him while another slave had stitched the worst of them closed. He wondered if the stranger had someone like his mom to hold their hand and help them breathe before they’d wound up with whatever awful master had done this.

It made his stomach twist itself into knots to know that they had only the grandmothers to help fix him and an audience to watch and fetch supplies, but no one to help make the worst of the hurt go away. And Anakin…

Anakin felt a tug, deep in his stomach and behind his navel. The kind that urged him to be silent, to run, what people to avoid, or what he needed to do to fix up a droid or appliance just right. He didn’t think before he moved, ducking out of his mom’s loose grip and ignoring her startled cry of “Ani!” as he trotted forward until he stood next to the stranger, deliberately slotting himself into place where he knew he wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.

One of the grandmothers, Amiya who Anakin knew his mom still called auntie even if she’d only ever been grandmother to him, looked up at him as he approached. She slanted a glance at his mom and for a second after she looked back at him, he thought she was going to send him away. Instead, and to his surprise, she only pursed her lips and waited, her work paused mid-stitch and her one scar-split brow arched as she waited. Anakin complied hastily, though the words come out tongue-tied and clumsy despite how he’d spoken the slave’s language just as long as — longer than, even — he had Huttese or Basic.

“They need someone,” he said, soft and suddenly too aware of how quiet the quarter was at night. “To help. Like mom does when I’m sick or hurt.” He stopped, floundered for a moment before adding, so low he almost doubted she heard him: “There’s not a mom to help them, but I can. I want to.”

Amiya watched him, her gaunt, wrinkled face the even and placid mask most of the adults like her and his mom wore where they might catch a master’s eye — a mask Anakin would also wear one day when he was older and had to hide his feelings from whoever would own him. After a long, almost uncomfortable moment she nodded. He flashed her a bright smile and kneeled in a patch of night-cooled, mostly blood-free sand. For a long time after Amiya turned her attention back to the stranger, Anakin just stared. The damage looked so much worse up close and the smell of the gore alone was nearly enough to make him sick. He didn’t realize he’d started to shake until a gentle hand pressed against his back, slick with blood that would stain his shirt as it rubbed comforting circles between his shoulder blades. The white-haired grandmother the hand belonged to smiled, thin and sad, when he turned to her, and he offered his own much wobblier one back.

“Breathe through your nose,” she advised, voice cracked and croaking from long-healed damage, and he did. It helped, but not much. Still, she patted him twice more on the back and offered up a firm “good boy” that sounded prouder than he thought was warranted.

Anakin sucked in three bracing breaths, shallower than he would have preferred, before carefully — more carefully than he’d ever done anything else — picked up the stranger’s larger, brown hand to cradle between his own smaller palms. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull. Barely even breathed. He just rubbed his thumb over their split, scabbed knuckles and pushed safety and comfort and the other warm things he felt when his mom chased away his pains and nightmares at them. Imagined them flowing down from his thoughts to his arms, pooling in his hands to be poured out from his palms and into the stranger’s rough hands, absorbed through the skin like the first sip of soothing water on the worst days.

Whether it worked or not, he wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe some of the tension in the stranger’s brow and the stutter in their chest eased just a little bit. He stayed there, holding their hand and sometimes babbling, soft enough it almost counted as a whisper, switching between all three of the languages he spoke and even into brief bouts of untrained Bocce in the hopes that they knew at least one and would find it comforting. It could have been minutes or hours before his mom came to collect him, his head bobbing and eyes threatening to close as exhaustion swept over him. She crouched behind him and ran her fingers through his hair a few times before she spoke.

“Time to sleep, Ani.”

“But mom—” he started, voice more of a brief mumbling slur for all that he didn’t get to say more than those two words before Amiya cut in.

“Mind your mother, Anakin.” He ducked his head, chastened. “You’ve done good tonight, but it’s past time for little ones to rest. This one’ll be here come the suns’ rise and you can sit with them then until you and your mom are off to your master’s.”

Anakin nodded, mumbled a tired “Yes grandmother Amiya,” and patted the stranger’s hand twice before setting it down with a quiet promise that he’d be back as soon as he’d woken up. He stumbled when he stood, grateful for his mom when she put her hands back on his shoulders and steered him back home all the way to his flat pallet. Sleep claimed him easily that night, too tired to even dream.

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

The world was pain. Burning, stinging, cutting pain day after night after day for what might as well have been a small eternity trapped in the wet, writhing darkness where only his own nightmares provided grim relief until he clawed and rent and tore his way out of that hell and into another. He gasped and dragged himself forward, burning from the heat of the suns above and the sands below until he felt he’d boil away entirely.

Death would have been a mercy, but mercies had never existed for men like him.

He crawled and shoved and pried his way through the sand with the same desperate, all-consuming determination he’d relied on all his life. A legacy left to him by his father. A curse when giving up would have been a kindness to his battered body.

Time was nonexistent. Unimportant to him in his struggle. Day or night mattered little in the suffocating, sweltering heat when he knew the desert would swallow him whole at any moment. Should have swallowed him whole, but didn’t. The desert, for once, was kind and he hated it for that.

He hated it for letting him live, tortured and weak and pitiful enough that no one he knew would have looked twice at him. There were voices and hands, reaching and gentle and alarmed. He hated this one act of kindness — not mercy, this could never be mercy — the desert had granted him and he fought, battered and bit and snarled in the vain hope they’d leave him for dead when he proved too much trouble. They took it as challenge instead and won.

Defeated, he let himself fall into his exhaustion wondering if he might slip away in his sleep instead and prove their efforts useless.

His nightmares weren’t welcome, but they were familiar to him by then.

He watched his father’s head fall from his shoulders a half dozen times as his body was dragged, unconscious, through the desert.

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

Anakin sat with stranger the next morning like he’d promised, all but sprinting out the door of their tiny home as soon as his mom had told him he could go. He stayed until his mom called him back and worked with her in Watto’s shop until the toydarian let them leave just as the first of Tatooine’s suns had touched the horizon. When they returned, the stranger had been moved into one of the few empty homes in the quarter — the slave who’d lived there recently sold and a replacement yet to be found — to avoid the worst of the day’s heat. He sat with them again after late-meal, holding their hand and talking, helping with any small task he could until they shooed him off to bed.

His mom stayed with him, longer sometimes and well into the night. She helped whoever else was there keeping an eye on the stranger teach him how to change bandages, spot the signs of infection in a wound, to decide which remedies and medicines were critical and which could be spared and saved for later, as well as how to make a few of the most basic ones.

“There isn’t much we can do for them,” Amiya had told him, grave but gentle, on the third night, “except wait and watch, and ease some of the pain if we can.”

He’d nodded, feeling tears prick at his eyes even as he bit his lower lip to help keep them from falling. His mom brushed her fingers through his hair, pulling him close to her side while he worked to breathe through the tangled knot of emotion pressing on his throat.

“It’s not fair,” he said, voice thick, and his mom clucked her tongue, not unsympathetically.

“Life rarely is, Ani.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then leaned her cheek there like she could drape herself over him — a blanket to blot out the world’s cruelties. “Sometimes, your feelings won’t matter,” she said, sounding wretched as the words settled heavy in the air between them. “Sometimes — most times — all we can do is live in reality and accept that it might be cruel no matter what we do, knowing that denying it will do us no favors.” Anakin sniffed, pulling his knees in towards his chest. “And we will live, knowing this and knowing that being kind in the face of this cruelty is the bravest choice we can make.”

“Are we?” he asked after a long stretch of silence, feeling small and miserable. His mom hummed a question against his hair while Amiya stared at him, dark eyes seeming to peer right through and into the core of him. “Kind, I mean. Is. I mean. I heard some of the other adults — I didn’t mean to listen, really, but they were talking about. About…” He trailed off, but Amiya picked up the thread as seamlessly as if she’d read his mind.

“About a mercy.”

He nodded. His mom stiffened, hugging him tighter. He knew there was mercy in death on Tatooine. He’d heard slaves beg for it before, beaten half to death and left, bleeding and wheezing on the ground. He’d watched one new mother walk out into the sands with her baby one night and come back alone in the morning. He’d even seen a grandmother, withered hands bloody and holding a shiv as she walked out of the house of a slave who’d lost most of their arm when their chip detonated and survived, only for the wound to grow infected and the slave so weak they could hardly drink a sip of water.

He didn’t like it, but he knew.

Amiya sighed, leaned back against the night-chilled stone, and looked at the ceiling.

“Let me tell you a story, Anakin,” she said, and he thought she sounded older then than she ever had before.

“Okay.”

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

The nightmares had no end. They played on loop — his worst and his best memories twisted together with things that had never happened at all until he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. He lived them. Was them. Played his part in them until he was sure he really had died out there on the sands and this was hell.

If it was, he wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of seeing him beg even if all he wanted in the worst of it was to wake up, ten years old again before everything had gone to shit.

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

The stranger woke with a groan on the fifth morning, just as Anakin had turned his back to follow his mom to Watto’s shop. He gasped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed to spin back around.

“You’re awake!”

They blinked up at the ceiling, stiff as a board the second Anakin had practically shouted the words before slowly, probably painfully, turning their head to look at him. Anakin rocked back on his heels, mouth open and the words just about ready to burst out of him when they beat him to it.

“What?” they asked in Basic, voice a rough, crackling growl that could have been natural as much as it might have been from a parched throat or their injuries.

It was Anakin’s turn to blink then, uncomprehending for a moment before he realized he’d spoken to them like he would have any of the other slaves in the quarter. He flushed, fumbling for a moment from embarrassment before managing to wrangle together the right words.

“I said: you’re awake. You’ve been asleep for five days! Well, four, but today makes five. So, five days.”

“Oh.”

They stared at him, blank except for the obvious signs they were in pain — their pinched brow, their thinned lips, the pallor of their skin, better than it had been but still noticeable — and Anakin fidgeted in place until his mom called his name. He looked back at her, to the stranger, and briefly to his own feet before turning a bright grin on them.

“I have to go now, but Mom and I’ll let someone else know you’re awake. They’ll give you some of the water we all helped save up just in case you did really wake up. Which you did!” he added, too excited to keep himself from pointing out the obvious.

“What?” they asked again, but Anakin had already turned back to his mom with a cheerful “bye” thrown over his shoulder.

The day passed in an agonizingly slow haze of nerves and excitement that had cooled briefly after Watto yelled at him some time close to midday, and reignited when he and his mom started the walk home under the violet-orange lit sky of late-evening-nearly-night. She steered him home and forced him to eat his late-meal before setting him loose with a small smile and a firm warning to be careful. He grinned at her, nodding even as he practically tumbled through the door and back out into the quarter to make his way to where they’d been keeping the stranger.

“Hi,” he said, peeking through the tattered fabric hung up in place of a proper door.

The room was almost empty, lit mostly thanks to the three moons peeking up over the horizon and the last traces of the twin suns falling on the other side spilling through two windows, little more than a pair of squares cut out of solid rock, and the open, arched entrance. The stranger was the only person inside, propped up to sit against the wall furthest from the door, and mostly hidden in shadow except for the light cast from a neat little device about as big around as the palm of Anakin’s hand that they’d put down next to them. On their other side was a pile of their green armor, all but a pauldron which they’d been turning over in their hands until Anakin had poked his head in.

Their small arsenal of weapons, however, had been moved to the corner of the room furthest from them. Not that he faulted anyone for that. Every slave in the quarter would be in trouble if anyone found them, whether they’d actually helped the stranger or not.

“Hi,” they replied, suspicion all but dripping from the word as they slowly lowered the pauldron down to rest in their lap.

Anakin smiled and took the attention as permission to step inside, settled down with his legs crossed on the room’s sandy floor. Even from a few feet away, he could tell they looked better than even that morning — still battered and bandaged and a little paler than they probably should be, but whole and alive in a way they hadn’t been while asleep. Unconscious, technically, but technicalities rarely mattered to an eight-year-old. The silence stretched between them, both of them staring at each other until he chose to break it.

“How do you feel?” It was only polite to ask, even if it wasn’t what he really wanted to know. A dozen questions burned his tongue, but his mom hadn’t wasted time teaching him to be rude so he kept a tight leash on them and waited. Thankfully, not for long this time.

“Fine,” they said, curt if not a bit gruff. They sounded better, he noted, than they had earlier. “You’re the kid from this morning.” They furrowed their brows, speaking slowly like they weren’t quite confident about being right. Anakin nodded even though it hadn’t quite been a question. He knew that feeling well, after all. “What’s your name?”

“Anakin. What’s yours?”

“Boba.”

Anakin cocked his head to one side and asked, shameless: “Just Boba?”

“Just Anakin?” they drawled in return, their unbandaged brow arched. Anakin grinned, all teeth and excitement. He liked Boba.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he offered, expecting to get Boba’s surname in response only to be disappointed when all got instead was a a slow blink and a huff of breath that could’ve meant anything and nothing at all.

“What’re you doing here, kid?”

He pouted, watched Boba’s lips twitch up into a smirk, and pouted harder. He wondered, somewhere in the very back of his mind, if it was smart to be there, alone with someone who wore armor and had weapons and as much muscle and healthy bulk as Boba did. There was a danger to them, in the way their eyes never quite settled on Anakin in favor of scanning their surroundings again and again. It was there in the way they sat, too. At ease, like even injured and newly-woken they knew they could fight their way out if needed. Anakin wondered, but stayed, knowing his mom wouldn’t have let him come if anyone had mentioned they were dangerous.

“Rude,” he said, still pouting but also a little joking. Testing. Boba rolled his eyes and waited for a proper answer. “I come here every day. I even did the bandages on your arm.” He gestured to Boba’s left arm where they’d been sliced from elbow to shoulder, jagged and sloppy. It had needed stitches in three different places where the cut ran extra deep — the wound too long to spare enough thread for the whole thing. “Mom had to fix it the first three times, but I got it right this morning. Before you woke up.”

“Shouldn’t you be out doing … kid … things? Fun things?” Boba asked, sounding suddenly awkward, their gaze sliding away from Anakin after the clumsy question and looking for all the world like they hadn’t really meant to ask it.

“Maybe.” Anakin shrugged. “Watto’s been in a bad mood though, so mom and I have been getting home really late all week. Even if I wanted to, all the other kids would’ve gone home by the time he let us go.”

Boba’s gaze snapped back to him as he talked, focused instead of awkward, and only offered a low hum in response. He felt a little like a piece of meat in front of a starved massif, but did his best to channel a bit of his mom’s unwavering calm. Not the mask she used in front of the masters so much as the air she adopted in front of some of the new slaves brought to the quarter, scared and alone.

“Any siblings?” They sounded almost hopeful when they asked, only to scowl when he shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “It’s just mom and me. Do you? Have siblings, I mean.”

“No.” Boba sighed. “Sort of, but not really.” Anakin wrinkled his nose.

“How’s that work?”

Boba didn’t answer, only waved a hand at him in a vague gesture he took to mean it was complicated. He nodded, understanding. Slave families were always complicated, and he’d learned not to ask about complicated things when they didn’t want to be talked about. Instead, he changed tracks and poked at one of the many other threads he’d wanted to pick at since Boba had woken up earlier.

“How long have you been on Tatooine? I’ve been here my whole life, but my mom wasn’t. She got sold to Gardulla a long time ago before she lost a bet to Watto and he won both of us.” Anakin’s lips tugged up into a grin and he leaned forward, excited despite himself. “Before that she said she was in space, on a real ship and everything. I’m gonna go up into space one day! Get on a ship and fly right off Tatooine and see all the stars up close.”

Boba leaned back, drawing one of their legs up so they could rest their left arm against the knee as they listened. It made it harder for him to read their face, but not impossible. And Anakin was nothing if not good at figuring out how people felt if he concentrated hard enough.

“Sounds like a good goal,” they said, amused. When they said nothing else, Anakin frowned.

“Aren’t you gonna answer?” Boba tipped his head just slightly to one side, and he huffed, shoving as much exasperation into the breathy sound as he could. “My question? About how long you’ve been here.”

“Long enough.”

He nodded, humming a little in response. It made sense, he mused, that someone with a master as mean as Boba’s might not want to keep track of how long they’d been with them. That thought, though, brought up another very important question that Anakin wasn’t sure anyone else had thought to ask them yet. He hesitated, mouth suddenly dry as he shifted in place, and picked at the hem of his tan shirt to buy himself a few seconds more.

“Have you—” He stopped. Pressed his lips into a thin line so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to lick them. “Terrin and Bhan found you out in the sands behind the quarter,” he said, carefully picking his words. “Mom said they brought you back here. And. Well, uh.”

“Spit it out kid,” Boba said, not unknindly but not kindly either.

“It’s just, five days is a lot y’know? And-and some masters’ll wait a few, yeah, if they hurt you bad enough, but. But five is a lot, ‘specially for a slave, even if you look really well fed and have cool armor and get to actually hold weapons. But five is a lot of days! And I was really scared I’d wake up or-or come back from Watto’s and you’d be blown up ‘cause your master didn’t wanna wait anymore and—”

Boba moved, faster than someone that hurt should have been able to, and leaned forward, almost crouched, with his hands up, palms out. Anakin’s mouth snapped shut on instinct and he sucked in a huge breath of air, relieving the ache in his lungs he hadn’t noticed in his rush to get all the words out even as the rest of him tensed. They waited until he wasn’t practically gasping, their already dark eyes almost black in the shadows.

He’d thought Boba felt like danger before, but now they looked it, balanced on the balls of their feet with their hands out in front of them. For a moment, it was like seeing double: Boba as they were, bandaged and hurt, and another Boba clad in green, well cared for armor, crouched much like they were now except they held a blaster in one hand and a vibroblade as long as Anakin’s forearm in the other.

Just then, Anakin thought, a little hysterical, they looked like the predator they could be.

As quickly as it had come, the moment passed and he was left with only Boba as he knew them: unarmored, unarmed, dressed half in the remains of his once-white undersuit and the ratty strips of cloth they’d used to dress their wounds. He breathed, long and slow, until his heart felt a little less like it wanted to beat its way out of his chest, and forced the rest of his body to loosen up at least a little, not wanting to look too much like an animal about to run.

“You think I’m a slave,” Boba said, almost a whisper, but Anakin couldn’t find it in himself to nod or speak. Not yet. “Thank you,” they added, a lot like they were trying not to spook him, “for the concern, misplaced as it is.”

It took a few tries, but Anakin finally found his voice for long enough to ask, soft as he could: “If it wasn’t a master, then —” He swallowed even though his mouth felt drier than the desert. “Then who did this to you?”

They didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to lower themself back down with a groan half-muffled behind gritted teeth. Anakin felt small under their gaze if not quite scared, but did his best to keep himself upright rather than cowed.

“I did,” Boba answered, strained, with a weight to the words Anakin didn’t understand. They did nothing to make him feel any less small, no bigger than a single grain of sand. “I was stupid. Wound up in—” They paused, squinted at Anakin, and then quickly amended what they’d meant to say. “Wound up in trouble with no backup.” They shrugged, the dark circles under their eyes looking suddenly so much bigger. Heavier. “I remember a little of how I got out, but not how I wound up here in … Mos Espa I think someone said.”

Anakin opened his mouth, not sure at all what he wanted to say, if anything, until his mom’s voice at the entrance startled him.

“Anakin, time to sleep.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, eyes firmly set on Boba, but Anakin nodded anyway.

He stood, brushing sand off his pants for a moment before looking back at Boba. He smiled, dimmer than before, and said: “Goodnight, Boba. See you tomorrow,” he added and waited until Boba’s lips twitched up again — not quite a smile, not quite a smirk, but an invitation back all the same. He did grin then, offering up a little wave before turning on his heel to follow his mom.

“ ‘Night, Skywalker,” he heard Boba say, as the cloth in the doorway settled back in place.

Anakin took his mom’s hand when she held hers out. She squeezed his fingers briefly, then tugged him close. He breathed in. Out. And listened for the little notes he sometimes heard on the wind — the tug in his gut and the pull in his bones that sometimes pulled him closer to one decision or another. He felt it, faint but there. A warmth like good, hot food in his belly or his mom’s hugs after an awful dream, and for a single second, the scrape of fingers on metal ringing in a way he’d never heard before but made him think of Boba regardless.

He let his mom hold him all the way to his room until he kissed her goodnight. His last thought before he fell asleep, curled up on his pallet and tucked under his thin, scratchy blanket, was of the stranger named Boba and the pleasant notes plucking a tune inside and around him, whispering to him even on the edge of his dreams.

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

Boba watched Skywalker — Anakin Skywalker — leave, nothing but a kid smaller than Boba ever remembered being: naive and vulnerable and dressed in all the inadequate trappings of a slave and so damnably bright that it hurt to look at his little, hopeful face. Not so much as a hint of the Jedi knight he remembered from his youth — most of it propaganda he’d caught glimpses of in prison and a few jobs before the Empire erased everything — remained in the child except maybe in the edges of that smile, confident if not yet cocky, but innocent. Painfully innocent.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, the skin on his palm still a little raw from the acid in the sarlacc’s stomach. Maybe, he thought desperately, he was still there, being slowly digested to death because surely, surely, that made more sense than what every other conclusion he reached for pointed to. He had to be dead or dying, not—

Not 36 years in the kriffing past, if the date the woman who’d told him where on this godsforsaken planet he was had given him was right. It made no sense. He wasn’t a Jedi — little gods no — and he had no connection to their Force or any other magic. He didn’t think the sarlacc had anything to do with it either, but that still left him with no answers and a galaxy’s-worth of questions.

“Fuck,” he growled, as much a helpless sound as it was a curse to whatever or whoever had caused this. He’d wring their neck as soon as he found out, even if it meant figuring out a way to strangle some magical cosmic thing that a dead order of damned wizards had believed in. For now, though, he was stuck. Injured and healing, without a ship or a credit to his name, no reputation to speak of, and Anakin fucking Skywalker who apparently helped nurse him back to health and had promised to come back in the morning.

And a father who was alive somewhere in the wider galaxy.

The realization came slow and with all the strength of an imperial star cruiser hurtling forward at full speed. He swallowed, blinking back a wave of stinging tears as something thick and pitiful welled up in his throat. He breathed, deep and slow, and forced himself back into order by sheer force of will. He was still stuck on Tatooine, tucked away in the slave’s quarter by some idiotic sense of communal good-will that would do nothing for their self-preservation, but he had time. He had time, if not a lot, to find his father and… Do something.

“Fuck,” he said again, but it was tired. A thick and bone-deep weariness that threatened to suffocate him if he thought about it for too long.

He sighed and wondered, for just a moment before he let sleep drag him back down into the darkness and nightmares, if his father was the man who’d raised Boba already, or someone else entirely. He hated that he didn’t know which one he’d prefer if he woke again tomorrow and found that time travel really was the answer to where — when — he was.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you?#star wars #anakin skywalker #boba fett #fic #blood #injury #death mention #my fanfic

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hopelikethemoon · 5 years ago

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Stand Up (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Stand Up Rating: Explicit Length: 3600 Warnings: Smut (kink negotation, female recieving oral sex, facesitting, fingering, teasing, regular good ole unprotected sex) also Angst and Period Typical Sexism. Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set in 1993 Summary: Reader is reminded yet again about how things go at the DEA.

Taglist: @grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @longitud-de-onda @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @seeking-a-greatt-perhaps @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 (more tags in the replies)

“Thanks to the hard work of the DEA the US Customs Service just successfully bagged nearly six thousand kilos of cocaine being smuggled into the US.”

You perked up, “Wait, do you mean we got Raul Marti?” Holy shit. You had been pursuing that jackass right up until you went on desk duty. Even then, Javier had been taking your lead and following through. It was a big fucking deal.

Your supervisor nodded. “We did indeed.”

Javier looked pleased with himself, “We caught him bright and early this morning.”

You grinned across the table at him, heart beating a little faster. That explained why he was up and out of the apartment before even Josie had woken up. Sometime after three his pager had gone off, prompting a hushed conversation on the kitchen phone.

That explained why he’d strolled into the DEA looking like a rockstar. Something you hadn’t seen out of him since Steve was still in Colombia. You wanted to kiss that stupid grin off his face. Marti was one of the last things you had all worked on together and the fact that he had wrapped it up was exhilarating.

“I couldn’t have done it without—”

You. The word died on his lips as Chris interjected.

“That son of a bitch got what he deserved.” He leaned forward against the table, slamming his fist down for emphasis. “You should’ve seen that asshole crying like a baby in the back of the car.”

You rolled your eyes. “Any follow through with Mexico? Guadalajara seemed convinced they’d start pushing through Mexico if the US got cut—”

Chris interrupted you, “Yeah, that’s nice, sweetheart. I could use a cup of coffee.” He turned his attention to the supervisor then. The same one you knew was a buddy of his. You’d caught them talking about hitting the shooting range a few weeks back. “I think this warrants a raise.”

“You didn’t do a fucking thing.” Javier snapped, glaring at Chris. “There’s one person in this room who should be praised for apprehending Marti and it’s not you.”

Your cheeks burned hotly as everyone looked at you. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s keeping on a lead.” You rubbed at the back of your neck, glancing down at your hands in your lap. You were buzzing with excitement, but the current situation in the office was robbing you of being able to fully embrace it. “I should call the guys in Mexico.”

“Sit. Stay.” The supervisor urged in a vaguely condescending tone. “Please.”

You sank back down into your seat, your eyes flickering towards Javier before looking back towards the supervisor then.

“Moving forward, I’d like to see Feistle taking the lead on this.” He clasped his hands together. “You’ve certainly done hard work on the case, but this requires—”

“Let me guess, a man’s touch?” You shook your head and looked away.

He cleared his throat, “We’re aware that you have duties beyond the DEA. This requires careful attention to detail moving forward and Feistle can handle that.”

“Duties beyond the DEA?” You raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean my kid?”

He simply shrugged, shuffling files. “Gather the files and make sure Feistle has the relevant contacts.”

“Fine.”

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Can I get some clarification on those duties?” He questioned, staring the supervisor down. “Because we have the same duties outside of the DEA.”

“Javi don’t.” You held up a hand to stop him from going any further. “Let me get those files together for you Feistle.” You said with a tightlipped smile as you scooted your chair back.

It wasn’t a fight that was worth fighting. The fact that you had managed to remain part of the case, through everything, was shocking enough. You could do a lot from the comfort of your desk, but apparently even that wasn’t possible anymore. Fucking Feistle.

When you looked through the window into the conference room from your desk, it was clear that Javier hadn’t dropped the topic. He was standing, hands on his hips, heatedly discussing something. And given the fact that he was gesturing in the direction of your desk — you knew who he was talking about.

You didn’t need a fucking white knight… but it was nice to know he cared.

No one at the DEA believed he really cared about you. You had heard the bullshit that got spread around after the news broke.

You and Javier Peña. How pathetic did you have to be to trap a man like him with a baby? What, you couldn’t get your partner to want you so you got yourself knocked?

Not that any of them would’ve cared to know that you had planned to do it all on your own. That Javier was the one who had consistently wanted to spend the night at your place. That he was the one who confessed that he loved you first.

When the assholes at the DEA looked at Javier they saw some bad boy agent, free to sow his wild seeds on hot Colombian nights. And you ruined that image for them. Who could picture Javier domesticated? None of them would ever be able to reconcile that this was the same man who badly sang Stayin’ Alive to your daughter to entertain her after dinner last night.

And that ate at Javier worse than anything else.

Which said something.

He wasn’t the man they wanted him to be.

——

“You’re angry.” Javier pointed out as he sat down on the side of the bed, glancing back at you. You were tucked in under the covers with a good book and a glass of red wine.

“Not really.” You shrugged as you wet the tip of your finger to turn the page. “I think ‘annoyed’ is a better word.” You could feel his eyes boring into you as you skimmed over the page half-heartedly.

You didn’t want to be mad at Javier. Work was stressful enough. The last thing you wanted was to come home to another evening like this one. Your only conversation all night had revolved around Josie and getting her settled for the evening.

She was finally starting to sleep through the night and it seemed like a damn shame to waste that.

“I don’t want to fight—”

“—This is stupid.”

Both of you laughed. You sat up slowly, sitting your book aside on the nightstand. “Do you remember what I said when I told you I was pregnant?” You questioned, tucking your legs beneath you as you stared at him.

Javier dragged his fingers through his hair and exhaled heavily. “That whole day was a blur.” He admitted. “Everything before and after you told me you were pregnant is a little shaky.”

“I told you I didn’t need a white knight.”

He frowned, nodding his head slowly. “Do you want me to sleep on the sofa tonight?”

Your heart clenched. “That’s the last thing I want, Javi.” The bed creaked as you moved towards him, fitting yourself around him from behind. You rested your cheek against his shoulder. “I’m glad you want to protect me, but… I don’t need it. I’ve never needed it.”

Javier’s shoulders sank. “It’s hypocritical bullshit, baby.”

“I know.” You sighed, kissing the flat of his shoulder. “It is what it is.”

“I couldn’t bite my tongue. He’s sitting there acting like you’re incapable of doing your job because you’ve got a kid, but she’s mine too. They’re still sending me out in the field.”

You lifted your hand to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, “Welcome to my life.” You laughed bitterly. “Their opinions aren’t going to change because you get bent out of shape, Javier. I just want to keep my head down and ride this out, alright? I don’t need you sweeping in to try to make things better.”

Javier reached back to squeeze your thigh, “C’mere.” He urged and you moved to slide into his lap. Your legs wrapped around his hips as you draped your arms over his shoulders. “I’m not doing it to be a white knight or whatever you wanna call it, baby.” He ran his hands along your waist. “I’m doing it because you’re a damn good agent and you deserve to be out in the field.”

“I know.” You curled your hand around the back of his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “But they’re not going to change, Javi. They’re always going to look at me and see a scarlet letter.”

“But I—”

“You’re a man, Javier.” You reminded him, looking downwards pointedly. “In case you forgot.”

Javier rolled his eyes. “I haven’t.”

You fluffed the hair that fell against his forehead, before tracing your fingertip over the crease between his brows. “I appreciate your willingness to fight my battles, but they’re mine to deal with.”

“I spent months biting my tongue, baby.” Javier squeezed your hips as he searched your eyes. “I fucking hated it.”

“I wasn��t a fan of it either, but… I love my job. Look, we’ll be out of here soon enough. Just…” You shook your head. “You’ve got to listen to me.”

Javier quirked a brow upwards, a faint smirk playing over his lips. “Why don’t you make me?”

Oh.

You leaned forward and kissed him. “I have ideas to make that happen.” You grinned as you nipped at his bottom lip. “Wanna hear them?”

“Yeah.” He nodded his head, running his hands over your hips and waist, keeping you seated firmly in his lap.

“I’m going to use you,” You whispered lowly, tracing your fingertip over his bottom lip. “But I don’t want you to come, okay?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in this throat.

“Remember when I mentioned handcuffs?”

“Fuck. Yeah, I recall, baby.” He grinned. “Just remember my right shoulder.”

You rubbed his shoulder, “I remember. I’ll let you have you right hand free, how's that?” Javier had fucked his shoulder up a few years back and it always bothered him when it rained.

He pulled you in closer, your chest pressed flush to his as he kissed you. His mouth slanted over yours, a hunger igniting a fire in your own veins.

Javier was typically the more in-control presence in the bedroom. But there had been discussions… And tonight seemed like the perfect excuse to make them a reality.

Reluctantly you pulled away from the kiss, sliding off his lap. “Strip.” You told him, moving towards the dresser to get your handcuffs out of the top drawer.

He complied, laying back on the bed in all of his bare glory. That was all yours. Holy shit.

You dangled the handcuffs on your finger, brandishing the key. “You want a safe word? In case you want out?”

“I can just tell you.” He shrugged, tucking his arm behind his head as he curled his fingers around his cock and lazily stroked himself.

“Have a safe word, Javi.”

“Fine…” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Raspberry.”

You rolled your eyes. “Alright.” You moved back onto the bed, kneeling beside him. “I’m not cuffing your right hand, but that doesn’t mean you can touch me. Understood?”

He nodded.

“Good.” You curled your fingers around his as he stroked his cock, before you pried his hand away and slid the handcuff around his wrist. You carefully drew it back towards the headboard, attaching it to the wrung. “How does that feel?”

“It’s fine.” He told you, tugging at it slightly. “It’s not too tight.”

You smiled at him, before you leaned down to kiss him. “I know this isn’t something you’ve ever really done before…”

“I’ve definitely never been the one cuffed.” Javier countered, leaning up just enough to brush his lips against yours. “Do your worst, baby.”

“I love you.” You whispered, bumping your nose against his before you sat back. You let your eyes wander over his bare chest, following the dark path of hair downwards to his cock.

“As much as I’d love to take advantage of that,” You started, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You have to learn to listen first.”

“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” He countered with no small amount of sass.

You scoffed. “I think you’re proof that you can.”

“Touché.” He grinned, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m not telling you.” You laughed, moving to get off the bed then.

“Where are you going?”

“Chill, Javi.”

You vanished out of the bedroom to retrieve a chair from the kitchen, returning with it and sitting it beside the bed.

“I’m going to remind you that I can take care of myself.” You taunted as you slid off your pajama bottoms, followed by your underwear and sat down on the chair.

“Damn.” Javier whistled quietly, his dark gaze settling between your thighs as you parted your legs for him. “Was this supposed to be punishment, baby? Because you know I love watching you get off.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re such an ass.”

“Because I like watching my girl get herself off?” Javier arched a brow at you.

“Keep talking and I’ll have to find a way to shut you up.”

“Sounds like a good time.” Javier shot back, grinning at you.

You held his gaze as you ran your hands along your inner thighs. “This could be you.” You told him, scraping your teeth over your bottom lip as you touched yourself, “I wanted to celebrate our success.”

“Our success?”

“How many stakeouts did we go on?” You questioned, a breathy moan escaping you as you circled your clit slowly. “Catching Marti was our success.”

Javier pulled at the handcuffs as he tried to sit up to get a better view of you. He raked a heated gaze from your face to your cunt, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip as he watched your fingers work over your slick flesh. “So you’re telling me if I hadn’t stood up for you, I could be doing that right now?”

You nodded slowly. “It pays to listen.”

“I’m enjoying the view.” He drawled out with a nonchalant shrug as he sank back on the bed.

“Fuck you.”

“Wish you would.”

You stopped what you were doing, nearly knocking the chair over in your haste to get up. You climbed back onto the bed, moving to straddle his stomach — which really just denied both of you what you wanted.

He tucked his hand behind his head to resist the urge to touch you, grinning up at you. “Yes?”

You leaned forward, elbows resting against the bed on either side of his head. “You’ve got one hand. Put it to use.”

“Fuck.” He swore through his teeth, pulling his hand out from under his head. Javier trailed his fingers down your back, over the curve of your hip, before slipping it into the space between your bodies.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, letting your lips hover just above his, barely brushing against them. “Javi.” You panted out as he pressed two fingers into you, the angle wasn’t perfect but he made the most of it.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?” He questioned, trying to lean up to kiss you but you pulled out of his reach. He roughly circled his thumb over your clit in retaliation, working his fingers in and out of you. “You’re so tense.”

“Don’t push your luck.” You warned him, tugging at his hair roughly before you sat up. You rose up on your knees, giving him better access to your cunt. You leaned back, bracing yourself on his thigh, rolling your hips as he twisted his fingers within you. You were so close but it wasn’t enough… and he could tell.

“C’mere.” He whispered, withdrawing his fingers from you and curling his hand around your hip. Your brows furrowed, head cocked to the side as you stared down at him. The second he swept his tongue out over his bottom lip, you knew exactly what he was wanting.

“Oh.” You laughed softly, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I like the way you think.”

“I figured you would.” Javier teased, grinning up at you as he maneuvered yourself further up his body. The slight stubble on his cheeks prickled against your thighs as they framed his face, his breath hot against your slick folds.

You gripped at his hair tightly as you lowered yourself to his lips. His tongue swept between your folds, teasing your center with shallow thrusts, before he sought out that little bundle of nerves that was throbbing for attention.

“Like I said,” Your words came out broken and breathy as he sucked at your clit, making your stomach muscles clench. “Creative way to silence you.”

Javier chuckled, the low reverberation going straight through you.

“You’re never shaving that mustache off.” You told him, tugging at his hair pointedly as he pressed his tongue into you and his mustache dragged over your sensitive clit. “Fuck.” You rolled your hips, grabbing at the headboard for support as you rode his mouth.

He strained against the handcuffs, reaching up for your arm where you had your fingers curled around the headboard. You interlaced your fingers with his, gripping tightly at his hand as you came apart. He didn’t relent, flattening his tongue out and dragging it between your folds, teasing you until you had to pull away from him — feeling far too sensitive.

You moved off of him then, flopping back onto the bed beside him. Your eyes flickered downwards, taking in the sight of his cock resting hard against his lower belly. Getting you off had clearly had an effect on him.

Javier was staring at you, his dark eyes filled with lust and his mustache glistening with your arousal. “Baby.”

You reached out and brushed your fingers over his cheek. “Should I let you out?” You questioned, running your fingertips down his throat, his chest, until you could curl your hand around his cock.

“You should.”

“I’m not hearing the magic word.”

His brows furrowed.

“The word is ‘please’.” You told him, pushing your hair behind your shoulders as you sat up. You kept pumping him slowly as you leaned down to kiss him. “Do you want out?”

“Yes, please.” He said hotly, surging up to kiss you again, the handcuffs rattling against the headboard.

You abandoned him long enough to grab the key off the nightstand, freeing his hand. As much as you wanted to tease him a little longer, you much preferred when he was greedily groping at you. He always found an excuse to touch you, to trace your stretch marks and make you feel beautiful.

Javier roughly pulled you into his lap, his cock dragging between your sensitive folds, before he rolled you onto your back beneath him.

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you are when you take control like that?” He questioned, grinding against you.

“Whatever you say, babe.” You taunted quietly, scrapping your nails down his back. He groaned, his hand fumbling between you as he guided his cock to your center.

You moaned, a little too loudly, and he kissed you to silence you as his cock pressed into you. You rocked into him, hooking a leg behind him for leverage as you moved with him.

You were sensitive from his fingers and his mouth, pleasure making you flutter around him as he snapped his hips into you. Sometimes you wondered how the two of you hadn’t fallen into bed years earlier. The chemistry had always been there, just waiting for someone to snap.

And you worked really well together. Not just as partners, or as parents, but as lovers too.

“F-fuck.” Javier grunted out, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “Gonna come.” He warned you, as if you couldn’t tell he was about to come apart by the way his pace had gotten sloppy.

You raked your fingers through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. He shuddered, your name on his tongue as he slammed forward — spilling within you. You moaned, arching your back as you grinned into him, chasing your own release.

“I’ve got you,” Javier promised, pressing his hands against the mattress as he dragged himself up. He kept his cock buried within you as he wet his thumb and reached down to tease your clit.

Your toes curled as your release washed through you, hips twitching as your inner walls clenched around his cock. “Holy shit.” You breathed out as you looked up at Javier.

He snorted, reluctantly slipping from you as he laid back on the bed beside you. “That sums it up.”

You rolled onto your side, draping your arm over his chest and your leg over his legs. “Fun?”

He curled his arm around you, rubbing at your side. “Always.”

Both of you were quiet for awhile afterwards, just laying there basking in the afterglow of really good sex. But then Javier spoke, breaking the silence. “For the record… I’m not going to stop.”

“Hmm?” You tilted your head to look at him better.

“Standing up for you. It’s not because I don’t think you can handle yourself… We both know you could kill Chris and no one would ever find the body—”

“I know where to get lye.” You confirmed.

“It’s my fight too, baby. You and Josie... “ He clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head slowly. “I’m gonna stand up for you because that’s what you do for the people you love.”

You leaned in and kissed him, cupping his cheek. “I love you.”

Javier bumped his nose against yours, smiling up at you. “We good?”

“I just said ‘I love you’.”

“I know.” He tilted his head and kissed you again. “Just checking.”

“We’re good.” You promised.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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ahsokatanope · 5 years ago

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Battered and Bruised: Chapter I

(Un)friendly Encounters

Summary: It’s two years after the Clone Wars ended with the fall of the Jedi Order. As the First Sister, it is your duty to hunt down the Jedi that remain in the galaxy after The Purge. On what you believe is just another ordinary mission, you encounter your former best friend, Obi-Wan Kenobi and memories of your past come flooding back. After believing that he betrayed you and left you to die, will you kill him to get your revenge? Or will your feelings for him rekindle under unexpected circumstances?

Pairing: Inquisitor!Reader x Obi-Wan Kenobi

Word Count: 3,129

Warnings: some violence. decapitation. death. negative thoughts. (reader is v sad)

Note: Hi everyone! This is my first SW fic, so go easy on me! Feedback would be very helpful as I go on with this series! :) I’ve been wanting some more Obi content right after Order 66 lately, so I decided to make it come to life. Reader is an inquisitor, so beware of slow burn, untold feelings, and a bit of angst! Let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged! Enjoy!

The heat from the twin suns of Tatooine radiates off your black attire as you hop out of the top of your TIE fighter. You jump off your ship and when you land, the sand around you dusts up towards your eyes, but your helmet protects your face.

You hate this planet. There is nothing about it to like. It’s barren, hot, and full of uncivilized scum who’d do anything for credits. The last time you were here, you came as a Jedi Master at the start of the Clone Wars to negotiate for safe passage for Republic ships through the Outer Rim Territories.

Sighing internally, you make a mental note to make this visit quick. With your cape flowing behind you, you make your way over to the entrance of Jabba’s Palace. This time, not as a Jedi Master, but as the First Sister instead.

One of Jabba’s droids waits for you at the entrance of the palace. You give it the password and it accepts it, making a high-pitched beep sound. Waiting patiently, you wait for the door to open, but it doesn’t quite yet.

“No weapons allowed in the throne room.” It says, voice monotone. “The door will not open and you will not be permitted to enter until your weapons are given to me.”

You grudgingly call both of your sabers to your gloved hands with the Force and place them in the tray that flaps out of the droid’s rusting torso. “If I so much as see a scratch on them by the time we’re done here, I’ll throw you in an incinerator myself.”

“No need for threats, Inquisitor. They will be right here the whole time.” The droid says, opening the door and wheeling away from you. “Follow me.”

The throne room has not changed since your last visit. It’s still as grimy and dreadful as you remember. You didn’t think it was possible for Jabba to look even more slimy and disgusting, but here he is, more than surpassing your expectations.

He couldn’t even bother to be awake for your arrival? Disgraceful.

“Jabba! Glad to see that you are excited to be in my presence.” You state, sarcasm oozing from your words. You move to stand in the center of the room and all eyes fall on you.

He awakens suddenly and stares at you with his big, grotesque eyes. He slurs out a jumble of words you don’t understand and you wait for his protocol droid to translate, but a man to the right of Jabba does instead.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Inquisitor?” The man says smoothly, narrowing his eyes at you.

“I came here to speak with Jabba. Who are you?”

“I am Plin Fazabar, one of Jabba’s negotiators.” He says with a smirk. “It’s quite rude to have a conversation with a helmet on, don’t you think? Why don’t you take it off and let us see if the rumors of the First Sister’s beauty are true.”

“I don’t have time for this.” You say, struggling to hold back the annoyance in your tone. “You reached out to the Imperial Inquisition to make a trade for intel on the whereabouts of a Jedi survivor. I’ve come for that intel. Why don’t we make this trade swift, yeah?”

“Oh, don’t be hasty, Inquisitor. What’s the rush? You’re not enjoying this quality time together?” Jabba’s droid translates while the Hutt chuckles.

“Are you afraid of being alone in a room full of crime lords and bounty hunters?” Fazabar adds, outwardly mocking you. You exhibit restraint to kill him right then and there.

“Afraid of what I may do if you don’t give me what I want, yes. Slightly.”

Fazabar hums and crosses his arms. “And how much would you pay for this information?”

“We agreed on 8,000 credits. The Empire will pay you generously.”

The tattooed man looks at Jabba before he nods. “Yes, yes.” He sighs before continuing. “There have been whispers of a hooded man in a cloak that looks eerily familiar to one a Jedi would wear. He was last seen at a cantina in Mos Eisley, where there are rumors of… a bit of an incident with a blue-colored laser sword.

Your fists clench with anger and your jaw tenses before you speak up.

“You mean to tell me that I came all this way, to a planet full of nothing, for rumors?”

“You should be thankful we gave you the information before we received our payment. Perhaps we should charge you double if you are not going to be grateful for our offering.” Fazabar walks over to the droid who holds your weapons. Your eyes follow his every step.

“Now, I know you most likely did not come prepared with 16,000 credits, but I’ll tell you what. Jabba and I are going to cut you a deal, aren’t we Jabba?” The Hutt grunts in agreement and the creatures that surround him laugh. “Why don’t we keep your lightsabers as a fair bargain and call it a day. They would more than cover the cost: military grade, custom durite metal… These are unlike any other Inquisitor saber I’ve seen or heard of. I’m sure they are worth a fortune. Tell me, Inquisitor. How many Jedi have you killed with these blades?”

Fazabar picks up one of your sabers and runs his fingers over the hilt lightly. You feel your anger well up inside you.

You narrow your eyes and lick your lips, looking around the room before your piercing gaze settles on the man. “21.”

“Well, that is an incredible feat! Maybe the lightsabers are much too sentimental for you to trade. I’m sure we can work out a different type of payment. One that would involve a bed and the absence of your helmet.”

He can’t see your expression behind the mask of your helmet, but if looks could kill, he’d already be 10 feet under.

Plin sends you a dark, twisted smile but before he can get another word out, you use the Force to pull him towards you by his throat, choking him. Simultaneously, you call the lightsaber he holds to your right hand. Releasing your Force hold on his throat, you allow him to breathe again and roughly grab Fazabar’s shoulder to make him turn and face Jabba while you ignite your red blade and bring it up to his throat.

The room goes silent and the bounty hunters that were lurking around earlier raise their blasters and point them in your direction. At this point, Fazabar’s demeanor has completely changed. You can’t see his face, but you can feel the fear radiating off of him.

Not caring about the blasters trained on you, you lean forward to murmur in Fazabar’s ear. “You didn’t really mean any of that, did you?”

Suddenly, Jabba starts to laugh and your eyes snap over to him over the man’s shoulder.

“What’s so funny, Jabba?” You ask darkly. “Did I miss a joke?”

The protocol droid translates what he says. “Surely, you’re not stupid enough to kill him in a room full of bounty hunters.”

“Surely, you’re not ignorant enough to try and scam an Imperial Inquisitor.” You spit, glaring at him.

Without tearing your eyes from Jabba, you push Fazabar into the red blade of your lightsaber, decapitating the man in a smooth, swift motion.

Gasps can be heard around the room and the bounty hunters tense up, waiting for Jabba to make the call to shoot. Their fingers itch to pull their triggers, but the call doesn’t come.

You call your second saber to you, and clip it to your belt. Keeping the other saber ignited, you pull out a sack of credits and throw it to the translator droid.

“This is only half of the original amount!”

Keeping your attention around you, you make sure you’re able to defend yourself at any moment. You begin to walk out of the room. Before you exit, you state, “You’ll get the other half when I kill the Jedi.”

And with that, you take your leave.

Jabba yells in anger, garbling something.

The translator droid says, “Initiate protocol 757.”

The bounty hunters in the room nod. One of them presses a transmitter on his wrist.

__________________

You’ve got to give it to Fazabar. The intel he gave you is accurate. There is a Jedi in Mos Eisley… you could feel it. His presence in the Force is faint, but it’s there. Something about it feels familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

You’ve been tailing the Jedi through Mos Eisley, so when he gets in his rusty, run-down speeder and travels to a scrap yard on the edge of the port city, you follow at a distance. Silently, you watch the cloaked man hop out of his speeder from the top of a building nearby. As he walks towards the scrap yard, he takes a second to pause and check his surroundings.

The twin suns hang low in the sky as you wait for him to move on. You jump down from the building when he’s a good distance away and continue to tail him through the scrap yard as he looks for spare parts. You assume they are for his speeder since it looks like it’s about to break down at any moment.

As you get closer to the Jedi, his force signature grows stronger, but you can tell that he’s trying to conceal his presence as much as possible. He must have been a Jedi Knight or Master, judging from his ability to do this.

You patiently wait for the right moment to strike as you hide behind an old wrecked LAAT Gunship.

Suddenly, you feel a whoosh of emotions come over you as the concealed Force presence now intoxicates you. Your breath catches in your throat and you close your eyes as you struggle to push back your feelings as quickly as possible.

Flashbacks of your past flood your mind, overwhelming you. Feelings of pain, betrayal, laughter, sadness, and love all fill your senses at the same time, overwhelming you. Voices in your head begin to overlap.

“Master Y/L/N and I will be able to handle Grievous. We make a great team.”

“I see you decided to take a page out of Anakin’s book. That was reckless, Y/N! You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“You and me on a mission together again, Kenobi? I’m starting to think you’re swaying the council just to get a little more quality time with me.”

“Y/N! I’ve got you. Grab my other hand. No!”

Your eyes snap open and you take a deep breath.

“Obi-Wan.” You whisper to yourself.

You don’t let yourself dwell on your past for too long. Your fists clench when you’re reminded of what Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order did to get you to the point where you are today. They are traitors, the lot of them. And Obi-Wan is no different, as much as you once wanted to believe he was.

You hear boots hitting the dirt from a distance and a voice brings you back to reality.

The Jedi lowers his hood and shouts out, “Reveal yourself. I’m afraid you are not as stealthy as you think you are.”

You finally step out from the shadows and Obi-Wan’s eyes watch you, studying your every move.

He hasn’t changed a bit. Save for his slightly longer hair and beard, he looks exactly the same since you last saw him. When he let you fall to your presumed death. He’s still as handsome as you remember, but The Purge hadn’t done him any good. You can see the deep sadness in his eyes and you know by looking into them that he barely rests.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” You drawl, your helmet distorting your voice slightly. “You haven’t changed since our last encounter.”

He looks at you wearily before he cocks his head. “I’m quite embarrassed. I don’t seem to recall your name, how rude of me. Remind me of who you are again?”

So his wit surely is still intact.

He removes his cloak, revealing his robes and lightsaber hilt attached to his belt. You wonder when he used it last. You take a few steps closer to him, but keep your distance.

“They call me the First Sister. I’m the first of my kind, trained in the ways of the Dark Side by Lord Sidious and your fallen apprentice.” You state and you two circle around each other. “My Sisters and Brothers answer to me.”

Sadness flashes in Obi-Wan’s eyes at the mention of Anakin. “So, the rumors about the Imperial Jedi hunters are true, I presume.”

“They are indeed.” You chuckle darkly. “You had to have known you’d encounter one eventually, Master Kenobi. I sincerely hope, for your sake, that your lightsaber skills are still sharp.”

“I’m afraid you never answered my question. Who are you and why do you speak to me like you know me?”

You know the time to reveal yourself has come. Your hands reach up to take hold of your helmet and you pull it off slowly.

Obi-Wan watches with curiosity and as your face is revealed, inch by inch, his expression shifts to one of shock and heartbreak.

“Y/N…” He whispers and his body freezes, tensing up. “I thought you were dead.”

You smirk at him. “In a way, I am. Y/N Y/L/N, the Jedi Master who was loyal to the Order was weak and I replaced her with someone who is stronger and more powerful than she could ever be.”

He starts to shake his head slowly and the wind blows a tuft of his auburn hair to his forehead. “No… no, I watched you die on Utapau. You were shot and you fell to your death.”

“Believe what you want, Kenobi, but it’s not going to change the fact that you turned away your apprentice and your best friend. Nothing will change that!” Two years of pent up anger and hate flood through your system and fuel your every move.

Noticing your increasing aggression towards him, his eyes widen. “Let us talk about this. This is not who you are, Y/N.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Always the negotiator.”

You call your lightsabers to your hands and ignite them, the red light from the blades illuminating your face.

“Don’t do this, Y/N.” Obi-Wan begs, his blue eyes plead with yours. “Please. I do not wish to fight you.”

“Then this will be easy.”

You get into your fighting stance, your eyes not leaving his figure.

“You leave me no choice.” Obi-Wan says, broken and defeated. He unclips his saber from his belt and illuminates it.

You are the first to strike and both of your sabers strike against Kenobi’s. Blue and red clash together as you two move with grace and precision, an equal match for each other. You always were.

The power dynamic shifts back and forth, but you can tell that Obi-Wan is holding back.

“Why do you hold back, Kenobi? Are you afraid?” You spit out when your lightsabers are locked. “Don’t want to be responsible for my actual death?”

“You must know that I did everything I could to save you! I couldn’t stop Order 66 or you getting shot, but I still blame myself for it everyday!”

“You could have come back to see if I survived the fall, but you didn’t!” You push him back with the Force to create distance. “The Empire saved me instead!”

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t!” Obi-Wan yells, trying to plead his case. His beautiful blue eyes start to well up with tears. “I had to stop Anakin’s fall to the Dark Side. I did—”

You cut him off by reaching your hand out to Force choke him. His feet slightly lift off the ground as tears fill your eyes.

“Yeah? Well, how’d that work out for you?”

Obi-Wan is finally at your mercy after two years of wanting him to pay for what he did. After two years of resenting his existence and taking your anger out on killing other Jedi and force-sensitives. You were trained to use the anger you had towards him as power, and you wanted to cause him as much pain as he caused you, but...

As much as you want vengeance, you just… can’t find it in yourself to finish him. Your feelings for him before The Purge came flooding back the moment you saw him and now, it’s making you weak.

You release your hold on his throat and he drops to the ground, but Obi-Wan had already flung a large piece of scrap towards you in defense. You couldn’t move in time and it hits you full on, knocking you to the ground and your lightsabers out of your hands.

You groan in pain as you fade in and out of consciousness. Struggling profusely, you try to get up and wobble on your feet, but fail to stand straight. Falling back to the ground, you attempt to drag yourself towards one of your lightsabers. You have no idea where Kenobi went, but you know you need to defend yourself.

Suddenly, there is creaking heard from above you. The tall pile of scrap a short distance away is beginning to crumble. Kenobi must have removed the perfect amount of scrap to make the whole thing tumble down.

As the pile starts to loom over you, you know, deep down that you won’t be able to make it a safe distance away. You could barely stand. So, instead of running, you decide to drop to your knees and close your eyes, your lightsabers lying forgotten in the sand. You welcome the death that awaits you. Maybe you deserve it, after all. You’ve done so much wrong by killing Jedi and innocent force sensitives across the galaxy. Years of letting your fear, hate, and anger drive your actions are finally catching up to you. Maybe, just maybe, after enduring all the pain and suffering in your life, you’ll finally find peace. Maybe peace isn’t a lie.

You jolt at the feel of strong arms starting to drag your body across the sand. You open your eyes and stare at the night sky to try and register what’s going on. Turning, you see Obi-Wan’s face etched in pain and concern.

“No,” you mumble. “Don’t touch me.”

You try to pull away from him and drag your heels into the sand, but he stops to pick you up over his shoulder and runs to safety. Struggling against him, you finally wriggle free and drop to the ground on your hands and knees.

“What in the blazes do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get kriffing killed?!” Kenobi yells as the scrap pile crashes behind you, old fuel tanks exploding from the impact. The orange light from the glow falls on both of your faces.

“Get away from me!” You yell, slow to get up. You didn’t have any energy in you to push him back with the Force. You're finally able to stand on your feet, swaying a bit as you try to catch your balance.

“Y/N, please let me—”

Obi-Wan suddenly stops talking as a light thump emits from behind him. His eyes droop closed as his body starts to go limp and fall forward.

Witnessing this, your eyes widen as you see a dart in the back of Kenobi’s neck. You quickly glance around (your head spinning) and with newfound adrenaline, you call Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to you for defense and press the emergency communicator on your left forearm. Milliseconds later, you feel a slight pinch in your neck and you quickly remove the sharp object, but it’s too late. You feel the effects of the dart begin to take their toll, numbing your body and making your vision go black.

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misseffect · 4 years ago

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VIDEO GAME TAG

Me: gets tagged

Also me: immediately forgets every video game i've ever played

Thanks to @thealexmachina for this - it made me think about games I haven't thought about in years! Tagging @shepgarrus @zaeedmassanis & @garriante (but only if you fancy it).

Games

First game you ever played: oh boy, probably Monsters Inc on GBA. I'm a woman of culture, you see.

Favorite game: LoZ: Twilight Princess. It was the first game I'd played with a story that utterly hooked me. And my first LoZ title.

Game you’ve played through multiple times: Lego Star Wars. BF is making me watch the prequels atm and I keep recognising rooms from the games. If they just smash up those chairs they'll get some studs and an extra heart.

Game you hated at first but now love: Shadow of Mordor. Hate is a strong word. Didn't care for it initially and it's not normally my type, but it was actually a lot of fun.

Game you used to love but now hate: Okami. It's beautiful and the mechanics are cool, but there's this stupid fucking digging mini game that I just cannot beat. Non-optional mini games can eat my whole ass. I put it down last year in a rage and never picked it back up.

Your favorite game atmosphere/setting(s): RDR2. Rockstar's worldbuilding is second to none - the dialogue, the locations, the horses, the little bits of lore scattered through the world for you to find. Stunning. Very close second goes to BotW because the peaceful post-apocalypse vibe is really refreshing. And it also has horses.

A game with your favorite ending: LA Noire. Sometimes shit's broken and people are difficult and the bad guys get away with it, and there's nothing you can do about it but god damnit do we we try anyway. That final sequence in the sewers was some high-octane shit.

A game with the WORST ending: obligatory Mass Effect 3. Otherwise, Skyrim because it just never fucking ends. 100+hrs in and you're a Dragonborn Arch-Mage Dark Brotherhood assassin vampire Nightingale warewolf who could kill a Giant with a sneeze but half the quests are broken so you can't bloody finish anything properly.

Best character customization?: New Horizons. Fight me.

Hero and Companions

Your favorite playable character: FemShep, obviously. Corvo from Dishonoured is also very cool.

The funniest playable character: ooh that's a tough one. Arthur from RDR2 doesn't get enough credit imo. He's a funny dude.

Your favorite companion(s): Midna from Twilight Princess. The bit after the water temple where she gets hurt you have to take her to Hyrule Castle in the dark and the rain? Yeah. Honourable mention to Wrex from ME and Bekowsky from LA Noire. We only get them both as actual companions really briefly which a shame.

Companions you could live without: Thane. Sorry buddy, I just didn't care about you at all.

Relationships

Favorite game friendship(s): Arthur and Lenny from RDR2. FemShep and Ashley are hugely underrated in the fandom imo - there's a scene in the Citadel DLC where you both get hammered and start a bar fight. Just gals bein dudes. Also Phoenix and Maya from the Ace Attorney series for the 10/10 sibling dynamic and found family wholesomeness.

Favorite game relationship(s): Shepard and Garrus because I'm always a slut for relationships built on a foundation of mutual trust and respect. Also the one in Transistor. You know the one.

Favorite companion banter: gotta be the OG Mass Effect alien squad - Garrus, Wrex, Tali and Liara. I love how their interactions evolve through the games.

A relationship you weren’t sure of but loved: Alistair and the Warden. They got off on the wrong foot initially in my first Origins play-through but he's a sweetheart really.

A minor character you wish could be a companion: every Star Wars game should have a Gonk Droid companion option and that's the tea.

A character you wish you COULD romance: Morrigan. You expect me to believe the swamp witch is straight? Please.

Fun

Shoutout to a random NPC: ISAAC NEWTON IS THE DEADLIEST SONOFABITCH IN SPACE.

A game you love watching playthroughs for and want to play: the Uncharted series. I'd give anything for a PC port, Sony. ANYTHING.

Love watching playthroughs but won’t ever play: literally any horror game. Until Dawn, Dead Space, etc. But even then I never watch them full screen and usually only have one headphone on.

Online gaming or solo?: Solo. The only online game I really play is GTA V because I don't have friends.

Why do you play video games?: I don't read a lot at the moment so they get me my fiction fix, and games like Animal Crossing and Stardew Valley are thereputic. And I just think they're neat.

#tag post #tag game #it me #i can't remember how ive tagged these before #i wrote this on mobile because apparently i enjoy suffering

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capricornus-rex · 5 years ago

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The Haunt of Redemption (4)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 4: Incoming! | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 - 2 | Previous: Chapter 3 | Next: Chapter 5 | Masterlist

4 of ?

His holotable beeped, signaling an incoming message.

“Admiral?” he greeted when he answered the call.

“Sir, the transport containing the suspect has arrived. Shall I call an escort for you?”

“No need. I’ll be on my way.”

“Very good, sir. Transmission out.”

He strode through the hallways, Stormtroopers stiffened their backs until they’re erect at the presence of the Eleventh Brother, commanding officers curtly saluted when he passed them by, and he blatantly ignored the Fifth Brother and Eighth Sister in his periphery.

He arrived at the interrogation block and entered the cell where they’re keeping the captive.

It was Boss Lora.

Cal stood by the Stormtrooper and demanded the details.

“Lora Argul, proprietor of the Yewa Docking Bay & Inn,”

“And where is this docking bay located?”

The Stormtrooper glanced at his datapad, “In Hoga, sir. That’s in Cameegon,”

Cal repeated the planet’s name in a questioning tone.

“A temperate planet in the Daoro System, Jama Sector,”

“Daoro? Then it’s an Outer Rim planet,” the young Inquisitor pointed out, he stepped closer to the adult woman strapped to the interrogation machine. “Don’t bother struggling, it’s not like we’re going to set you free anytime soon.”

“Please, I don’t have anything to do with you! I’m just a business owner!”

“Oh, I know,” Cal cooed emotionlessly. “But I think you know something that I need. You might know somebody I’m looking for.”

“I don’t know anybody! My customers come and go, I only have my family!”

Lora tirelessly pleaded to Cal—it’s the same words in different order, but the same idea all in all. The young Inquisitor watched the prisoner wriggle in the torture machine, begging without a pause, until she succumbed to her tears.

Cal walked closer to Lora, a colorful woven bracelet stood out from the drab of her dark brown work clothes. He reaches for the bracelet and now his Force ability comes in play.

“Look what I made you, Mama!”

“Oh, how beautiful! Thank you, sweetheart!”

“Here, I’ll help you wear it. Do you like it?”

“I love it! I’ll always wear it so everyone can see.”

He saw the bright-eyed girl that is her daughter. The warmth of the child’s love radiated all over this woman’s being. His Psychometry allowed him to “borrow” such emotions, thoughts, and images for a period of time; he has done so to his multiple captives on their various campaigns ever since he was induced into the Inquisitorius.

Yes, he thought as he found her weakness.

“You have a very kind daughter. Kaleen, isn’t it?”

“How did you know her name?!” Lora roared.

She knew she never said anything, she only thought of her child when Cal started to enter her mind using his powers. It was something she has never seen or experienced before—and it terrified her. The wild, out-of-pace beating of her heart throbbed through her chest, any moment now she might feel it burst through.

“Oh, I should remember to apologize to your daughter personally. The little brawl in your cantina must have given her a big scare—with what her papa unconscious and her mother taken away right in front of her very eyes. Who knows what that little girl is thinking right now.”

Lora tugged herself from her restraints as far as she could until she’s eye-to-eye with Cal.

“You do so much as touch the tip of a hair strand from my daughter, I swear I will kill you!”

Cal smirked albeit concealed by his mask, satisfied that he had provoked the woman, he kept the bait hanging right in front of her until she tells him what they want to hear.

He consciously avoided the question, “You are going to tell me where you’ve seen the fugitives.”

“What fugitives?”

“You will tell me,” the smirk seemingly lost its amusement, Cal stepped closer and clutched the woman by the wrist as he demanded. “Where she is.”

At that exact moment, Lora suddenly felt like someone or something was tearing her brain open while fully conscious—the pain was excruciating, albeit the absence of the high-voltage shocks of the actual machine; Cal’s grip grew tighter, nearly barring the circulation to her hand, the next thing in Lora’s mind was you. She never intended to think or speak of you in front of this fearsome, young man—to her, it just happened.

There…! Cal celebrated sooner than he could wait.

The memory that played was your first time in the docking bay, her very first interaction with you, Lora still had that stingy tone when speaking to you. The image of you examining the ship she asked you to fix as an entrance trial and smiling back at her with a smug confidence played behind Cal’s eyes.

“Well now, I gotta say your work is impressive, kid!”

“When do I start, boss?”

There.

Your smile. Your laugh.

Even the faintest melody of your laugh came through for him.

For one, his heart skipped a beat—he saw the length of your hair has changed but your smile remained the same.

“Please…! Enough!” Lora sputtered out crying.

Cal jerked his hand away and turned around abruptly.

“Prepare my ship!” the boy Inquisitor commanded.

“Right away, sir!” a lower-ranking officer promptly replied and went ahead for the task.

“Bu-But, sir,” the admiral stuttered, hoping that it doesn’t offend the Eleventh Brother to stop him in his tracks. “What about the prisoner?”

“I leave it to you then, Admiral.”

The Eleventh Brother marched to the hangar, flanking him were two TIE pilots. Upon his arrival, the technicians have just finished recalibrating the TIE Fighters as well as his ship: a TIE Interceptor that he personally modified to his liking. The technician unclamped the docking boot of the Interceptor while his co-workers did the same for the two other Fighters.

“I want transports each carrying assault units and a squad of fighters deployed en route to Cameegon with me.”

“Yes sir, understood!” the attending officer’s heels clicked and marched to the hangar’s command center with an urgency.

The young Inquisitor climbed into the cockpit, the glass dome slid shut with the touch of a button. His fingers follow an invisible yet learned pattern of switches and buttons. There was an indescribable feeling that he cannot pinpoint with a single word, perhaps the closest being “elated.”

The TIEs’ engines hummed in a collective baritone, lights on the screen flickered to life, the ships hovered and then zoomed past the ray shield of the hangar.

—–

Meanwhile, back in Cameegon, you’ve been training in the forest for the rest of your day-off. You were out of breath, but the clean air from the trees refreshed your lungs as you inhaled and then exhaled. This expansive stretch of land has become your own haven—it’s where you mostly do your Jedi training and meditation, it took a long while for you to get used to doing them alone.

BD-1 may have kept you company while you spend your time in the woods, but it was different having someone actually with you, though you didn’t want to offend the little one so you always kept him close to you.

“Alright, BD, toss me another!”

The little white droid—perched upon a tree branch a few paces in front of you—trilled and threw the whole, rotten fruit in its claw—that you’ve installed yourself some time ago—and you went charging towards it; when the distance was enough, your heels sprang from the carpet of leaves and you somersaulted in the air, severing the target in half in the process and then landing back on the balls of your feet.

BD cheered for you in high-pitched whistles and song-like trills, followed by another string of conversational tones.

“Really? Should I have jumped a bit earlier?”

“Trill, chirp!”

“Hah, well, I really can’t tell if it’s by the second, little guy! Maybe I could borrow your scanners next time,” you joked.

The droid replied with a nervous trill, but you knew that he was only playing along.

“How’s the claw? You getting used to it or should I modify it some more?”

“Boo…” BD’s singular scope-like scanner examined the external appendage. “Woop!”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do later,”

You beckoned the little droid to come to you, it activated its little turbojets on its feet and then willingly clambered on your shoulder. You continued on with your training, cutting down the training dummies that you made out of logs and leaves—your own regimen consisted of combining new moves with learned ones, last-minute improvisations if the need arises, and inventing more styles which is a hybrid of both old and new. You liked the adrenaline pumping in you when using the environment against your “enemies.”

Afterwards, you’re traversing the terrain, knowing the twists and turns of the forest like the back of your hand—a result worth of seven months’ progress. The path that you followed was one of your personal favorites—it was still an obstacle course, but you cut through and traversed it effortlessly. You decided to banter with your little droid friend while you trekked uphill.

“Hanging in there, BD?”

“Woop! Bee-woop.”

“Oh, you think so? I sounded like him for a moment there?”

You gave a weak chuckle in response to your exploration droid’s comment. Next, it gave out a somewhat apologetic tone, to your surprise you asked him why he was sounding like that.

“No need to apologize, buddy. It’s okay, don’t worry.”

“Woo!”

“Heh, you sure perk up quick!”

You’re almost to the top. The end of the hill’s path wasn’t the real summit—at least for you. You scaled the rock face of the waterfall nearby, there were enough rocks sticking on the wall to serve as handholds and footholds. It was a quick climb to get to the top of the waterfalls, only then, you’ve really seen the true expanse of Cameegon. The sight of the lower jungle and the river delta connecting to the sea was breathtaking.

How I wish you’re here to see it. You muttered under your breath, dedicating it to Cal.

The entire view took off a heavy load from your chest. Simply look at it warranted a smile from you and a look of wonderment as if seeing it for the very first time.

“So pretty, isn’t it, BD?”

“Woo-boop!”

You patted the little droid’s head as the two of you gazed upon the majesty of the unspoiled part of the planet.

Over time, you’ve grown to love this planet because of the solitude that the trees have given you, it was your secondary comfort next to the company of your family, the Mantis crew.

Your sightseeing was disturbed when you heard machinery humming—the noise got louder by the second—and then three black ships come speeding past your view. Your eyebrows furrowed, something about them tells you that this is not your regular merchant convoy.

Their flight direction came from the east and they’re heading westward. Your eyes squinted in suspicion—you peered through your binoculars, zooming in by turning the knob resting by your thumb, until you got a better look of the silhouettes. Your lips parted open.

“Oh no…” you shuddered.

Without a second’s notice, you kicked the coil of rope sitting by the edge of the waterfall and rappelled down. You started bolting through the path in the forest, while running you try to reach Cere’s signal from the Mantis—but the wildlife was so dense that it interfered with the clarity of the signal.

“Cere! Can you hear me?! Cere, come in!”

A garbled radio frequency was your only response, but your feet kept running—it’s as if it was moving on its own—and made your way back to the ship.

The thought of the settlement suddenly entered your mind, but logically, the town is much farther from your training course in the forest—you’ll never make it in time even if you drive with your speeder’s top speed. In the middle of your combined panic and contemplation, you stumbled upon a detour and realized it too late.

You look around and find that there are no familiar landmarks around the area.

You’re lost and alone among the trees, accompanied by the chittering of unseen animals, and the apparent presence of the Empire… or the Inquisitors.

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smokahuntis · 5 years ago

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Salvator

Star Wars original Series!

Summery: Maze Attakin, is just a Mechanic with a secret black market job. When a lightsaber is given to her for repair she discovers she is much more then just a mechanic.

Chapter 2: Tulitque

Authors note: this is based after the Sequals, if you would like to tagged please inform me. All characters are mine! But some are the children of actual Star Wars characters! Also please don’t be afraid to tell me how you feel!

Chapter 1: Salvator

The shop was quiet today, no normal customers, no, not so normal customers. Of course, only a few people on the planet really knew about the “Not so normal” side of the job. Of course, only a few people were interested as well. She found herself behind the counter of the shop, cleaning away at the tools she hasn’t gotten to use in a while. That was until Vin walked in, sweating and panting. She perked up at the sight of him, Vin was always the one who brought in new clients who crashed in the desert not to far from the town. He was a medic, and so he would help them, and She would help their ships.

“Maze,” He said panting and wiping his forehead on his blue sleeve. “We got an X-Wing.” He said and she looked at him shocked grabbing her equipment.

“An X-wing?” she said tapping at the buttons on a tablet, and a few large droids came in. “What is an X-Wing doing in Stewjon?” she said and sent the droids out for the plane.

“I don’t know, the pilot will live, but the fighter,” He shrugged, and she chuckled.

“who’s the pilot?” She asked grabbing her tool belt.

“Don’t know, he’s not awake yet.” He said walking out of the shop with her and into the dimly lit street. There weren’t many people out tonight because of the rain that was coming. They walked for a bit until her droids came back with the X-Wing on the trailer.

“Do you know anything about him? Other then he has an X-Wing?” She said looking at him, until one of the droids made a noise and she looked at what remained of the X-Wing. “Had an X-Wing.” She corrected looking at her Blonde friend. Vin sighed.

“He’s Resistance.” He said looking at her.

“This mystery pilot just keeps getting mor interesting.” She said sighing.

“I’m going to leave you to that, and I’m going to try and wake him.” He said walking away.

Maze found herself in the hangar late into the night working on this guys X-wing. It was almost completely unsavable. Almost. Had any other Mechanic found it they’d have scraped it as soon as they saw it, but maze made it her personal mission to fix things like this. Also, because it was her second job, to fix the unfixable. She fixed what most people wouldn’t dare try, given a lot of it was illegal but she didn’t care. Business if business. Speaking of business, she was to distracted, under the X-Wing she didn’t notice the man walk up beside it until he spoke.

“Black Bird?” He said causing her to jump and hit her head off the X-wing when she tried to move.

“Shit!” she said feeling the pain in her head as she rolled out from under the Jet, seeing him she immediately calmed. “Who’s asking?” She asked looking him up and down. Only a few people knew her as Black Bird, and those people were usually the ones who were doing black market trade. He looked to fancy, to rich to not just pay for a cover up of another mechanic. She knew just by the case he held, whatever was in it was high class, and highly wanted.

“Spiro.” He said extending his gloved hand down to her. “Darth Spiro.” Her face showed shock as she looked up at him and then she shook it off and nodded.

“I’m a mess right now, sir.” She said showing her darkened hands, grabbing a rag and standing up wiping her hands off. “So, what can I do for you, my lord?” she asked looking at him.

“I heard you can fix anything.” He said looking at her. “And please, call me Spiro.” She gestured for him to follow her as she walked towards her office. Once inside she typed in a simple code into pad on her desk.

“SYI, keep guard.” She said looking at the Advanced IG unit that leaned against a bookshelf.

“You don’t tell me what to do. I am a free droid.” The droid said standing straight.

“Mhmm” Maze said nodding at the droid. “Well next you get hurt ill remember that.” She shrugged and turned to go into the room.

“Fine!” the droid said before leaving the office to stand watch. Maze entered the secret office with the Sith lord trailing behind her.

“I can fix everything, but his attitude.” She said walking over to the glass table the centered the bright white room, its walls decorated with Pre empire weapons, helmets, and other things people would pay Beskar for.

“he’s an advanced looking droid, did you do that?” he asked setting the case down on the table before her.

“I found him in the jungle a few years ago, almost completely ruined.” She looked up at him. “Saved him, modified him. He was an old IG, IG-S7YI.”

“He looks as if he can be a heavy assault droid.” He stated as he unlocked the case. His hands moved delicately as he opened it, almost like he feared the item.

“Keeps people from stealing, or not paying.” She chuckled as the case was spun around to face her and he opened it.

Now she was expecting a high-class item, an item wanted by all, Darth Spiro brought it himself, he didn’t trust anyone with it. But she was expecting the shiny broken item in front of her. Really, she’d never even fixed one, let alone see one.

“This is a Jedi Lightsaber.” She said as he walked around the room, looking at her collection of rare objects. She picked up the two pieces looking at it in awe, how it got broken worried her, who’s it was worried her even more. “I can’t fix this.” She said placing it back gently into the case.

“I thought you could fix anything.” He said glancing over his shoulder at her.

“This is a jedi lightsaber,” She looked at him as he moved around to a helmet on the right side of the room. “Don’t touch that.” She said and he chuckled.

“This is a Mandalorian helmet.” He said looking at in its shining glory. “First Empire.” He tilted his head inspecting it, before looking over to the shoulder plates under it, he moved to get a better look at the right one. “Mudhorn signet.” He chuckled, then moved to wards the door. “I’ll be back when its fixed.”

“I can’t fix this!” She yelled but he ignored her, she sighed and rolled her eyes. He was gone, she dropped her head, feeling like eyes were on her she looked over at the helmet. “Shut up.” She said taking the case and leaving the trophy room she had.

“That went well?” SYI said looking at her, she rolled her eyes and walked away from the droid, hiding the case in her office before going back to the X-Wing in the Hangar.

Finding her way home later that night after working on the jet. Stumbling into her small house she shared with Vin. Vin should’ve already found his way to bed by the time she arrived, so the house was quiet and dark. Just as she was about to enter her room, she heard something move behind her. Turning quickly, she grabbed the staff that she kept just beside her door. Vin flipped the light on quickly already knowing the path of destruction that would follow if he didn’t. There he stood hands in the air defensively, that dumb look on his face made her roll her eyes.

“Why are you awake?” she asked leaning the staff against the wall, letting a sigh of relief out as she did. “And just sitting in the dark?” She looked around to try and find an answer to what the young doctor could be doing this late.

“the pilot woke up, he’s having a hard time remembering things, but he knows one thing.” Vin said looking at her, his whole easy-going demeanor tensed up fast. “He was shot done by a TIE Fighter.”

“A TIE on Stewjon?” she said sitting down across from him, leaning forward interested in the conversation he was wanting to have.

“He said they are looking for someone.” Vin said playing with his hands. It worried her; it wasn’t often something worried her friend. Vin was always so collected, calm, even if he was upset, he would cover it for everyone else, he never wanted to worry anyone else, specially his patients. “There are looking for a Jedi…” he said looking up to meet her gaze. She leaned back in the seat taking in what he’d said. That’s when she repeated the events of today.

First it was the X-wing and then the Sith, now she is in possession of a broken Jedi lightsaber. Was she being targeted by a Sith lord? or did he really believe she could fix that lightsaber.

“I have to go,” she said standing up and grabbing her coat. “If I don’t come back by morning, don’t come looking for me.” She said walking out to go back to the shop.

“Wait! Where are you going?” he said following her out, their neighbor eyeing his shirtless figure from her window.

“I have something to do!” she said yelling it back at him. Leaving him standing outside, shirtless and with his neighbor ogling him.

“Hey, Mrs.Abram!” he said waving at her before walking back in and closing the blinds.

Maze didn’t come home in the morning; she fell asleep in her office with the broken lightsaber laying near her head. She didn’t expect anything to work since she knows nothing about lightsaber repairs. She didn’t even know they could break until she was given this one. The dreams that plagued her mind, quickly disappeared as the door to her office opened and a guy fell to the floor, and IG-S7YI stood by the door. Maze shot up looking at them and quickly pushed the lightsaber into the drawer.

“I caught him by the X-Wing.” SYI said, his gun out. “What should I do with him?” the gun pointed at the dark-haired man.

“Don’t shoot him SYI!” she said jumping up from her seat and looking at SYI, pointing her finger at him. “Put the gun down!” She yelled at the droid. She helped the guy up and looked at his jumpsuit. He was the pilot from the X-wing. “Sorry about that.” She said looking at him then the droid.

“No, its fine, I just wanted to see how bad it was.” He said looking at her.

“Well,” she started and tied up her hair before walking out of her office and into the Hangar. “I’ll need to order parts for it definitely, but I repaired what I could, I can work some more on it, but I don’t see it running for a while.” Maze said walking over to the large black X-Wing that centered the floor.

“Damnit,” he said running his hands threw his thick curly hair.

“Is there any more resistance on StewJon?” she asked looking at him, “They could help you.”

“No, I was just scouting to see if our intel was correct.” He looked at her. “Sadly, it was, and I now have no way to communicate it back.”

“Well, I have a communicator, but Stewjon has a thick atmosphere so the communication won’t be that good, or” she walked away from the black beauty they stood by, moving over to a cabinet on the far side. Opening it showing sets of keys. “You could barrow one of mine, I have to warn you though, they’re all pre empire, untraceable, and illegal.” She said shrugging her shoulders casually. She didn’t particularly know why she trusted telling him this, but something about how calm and trusting he seemed with her, made her trust him.

“I think I’ll try the communicator,” he said looking at the sets of keys she had.

“good choice fly boy.” She said taking him into the main shop where her communicator was. “I’ll leave you to that, and ill be in my office.” She walked towards the door, before turning to look at him one more time. “Don’t try to steal anything, or SYI will shoot you.” He nodded in response before she left, and he tried to communicate with the Resistance.

Maze however found herself tampering with the Lightsaber again, setting it on the small display to hold it still while she worked on it. Never really holding it in her hands long enough to get a feel for it. She had tried everything, from rewiring it to welding it, but nothing would hold. At this point asking it nicely was on the table. So, she did. She picked up the two pieces of it and held them in her hands, and jokingly saying.

“You will mend.” And it did, it snapped back into one piece with a large blue blast knocking her back to the floor. Her eyes lit up blue and it was like she was in a different realm.

Blue, everything was blue tented and old looking, sleek, dark. The table that centered the room caught her eye before the people standing around it. They all spoke calmly to each other, not noticing her. She couldn’t particularly make out there words yet, her head was still fuzzy. It wasn’t until the small creature with the staff touched her did she focus completely on the world around her. His small hand rested on her head and he hummed.

“Force Sensitive, she is.” He said and everyone focused on her.

“She does not know who we are, yet we seem familiar to her.” The tall black man said looking at her. “she seems familiar as well.” He said moving over to her, helping her stand. “What is your name?” he asked looking at her, up and down trying to place why she seemed so familiar. From her honeyed hair to her brown leather jacket, there was just something he couldn’t place.

“Maze Attakin.” She said looking at him, he reached his hand out shaking hers, though he was not there, it felt to real.

“Mace Windu.” He said looking at her, “I don’t believe I am familiar with the name Attakin.”

“Am I dead?” she asked, and everyone just laughed.

“you’re not, but we are, which brings me to my questions.” A man behind her said as she turned seeing him, he was pale with an elongated head, and beard to match. “How did you get here?”

“I fixed a lightsaber.” She said and everyone started to speak amongst themselves. She was about to speak u again when her head started flooding with memories that did not belong to her, she gripped her head tightly before falling to the ground in pain. It was like nothing shed ever felt before, it was torture. The little green man moved to her side resting his hand on her head again. The pain stopped instantly, but the memories didn’t stop till he spoke. Just one word, breaking her from the trance.

“Kenobi, she is” He said, and everyone looked at her.

“Kenobi has no children.” The man with the strange head said looking at the green one.

“she is not his child, but rather a descendant of one.” The small man said.

“Once again, Kenobi has no children.” He stated.

“That we know of,” Mace said looking down at the girl. Her hair had long fallen from his pony tail, and cascaded down her face and shoulders. Her mind raced to try and understand who they were talking about, and who they thought she was.

“She is the Savior, she is.” The green man said watching her blue eyes.

“Somebody please tell me what’s happening!” she said looking at them, her heart was racing, her blood was pumping, and she was scared.

“You are a Jedi, child.” Mace Said before she woke p from the all to real dream.

She opened her eyes seeing he pilot from earlier shaking her shoulders, trying to wake her. The lightsaber was still in her hand as she lay in the floor of her office. Her vison was blurry as she focused on the man above her, finally noticing his deep chocolate eyes.

“Fly boy…” She chocked out, her voice hoarse and dry, her head falling back into his hand. Her eyes falling shut again.

“Hey! Stay with me!” he said shaking her again, his fingers tangling into her messy hair as he held her head. When she didn’t respond he picked her up bridal style and ran with her to Vin’s office. Her hand didn’t let go of the lightsaber; she had a death grip on it as Vin pushed things away from a metal table to lay her down on. Vin tired pulling it from her hand as she lay on the table, but she spoke up again.

“Don’t touch it.” She said her eyes fluttering open to see both men looking down at her.

“Where in Oblivion did you get it?” he said checking her for wounds.

“Kenobi…” she said under her breathe.

“Kenobi?” the pilot said looking at her, taking her free hand squeezing it to keep her awake. “Like the Jedi?”

“Jedi… I am the Savior.” That was the last thing she said before passing out on the metal table.

“So, tell me again, what happened.” Vin said as he sat in a chair across the room, he had done everything he could, she should be waking up soon.

“She let me use the Communicator, and I couldn’t get a signal, so I went to tell her. There was a bright blue light and I ran in and found her like that, with the lightsaber.” The pilot said looking at the blonde doctor. Vin sighed and ran his hand threw his hair. Just as he was about to talk, the girl shot up from her rest.

“What happened?” she said looking at the two men who sat away from her, lightsaber still in her hand, hair a mess, breathing heavy.

“We could ask you the same.” The pilot said looking at her.

She quickly collected herself and spoke about what happened and what she saw. What was said and what she knows. She wished she knew more but from what she does, she’s already overwhelmed. The pilot and vin listened to her, both freaked out by her story, yet in different ways. Vin was scared for her and the people of the town. The pilot saw this as a hope for the galaxy, Luke wasn’t the last jedi, she was. He was ready to do anything to help her. Maze, however, did not know what to do, if what she has heard is true, everything she’s ever known is wrong. Everything is changing, and she didn’t know if it was for the better. She was just a Mechanic from Stewjon, who happened to do black market repairs. She was no Jedi; she was no Savior. She was just Maze, but was she?

“I think you should leave.” Vin said looking at her. “If the Empire is already here, looking for you, you shouldn’t be here.” He claimed shaking his head, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Where will I go?” she said moving around the room biting at her nails. “what will I do?”

“You have ships, you can go anywhere! Find somewhere! Train yourself!” Vin said looking at her.

“I can’t fly anything bigger than an Land speeder!” she said looking at him at him, her hands moving around with her words.

“I’ll do it.” Th pilot said making them look at him. “I can fly anything.” He said smiling at her.

“you don’t have to do that.” She said looking at him and moving over to him.

“You’re a jedi, and if getting you out of here will save them, I’ll do it.” He looked at her. “What’s your best ship?” he asked, causing Maze and Vin to look at each other.

“No! you are not taking that!” Vin protested.

All 4 of them stood smiling at the shiny ship in front of them, with her things, weapons and other belongings. The pilot stood in Awestruck as he marveled at the ship, Modified with weapons and big enough for a small team of people. It was a masterpiece of it own.

“You have a Naboo Royal Cruiser….” He said staring at it. Moving to he can touch the metal that coated it. “Where did you get it?” he asked looking at her, shock still coating his face.

“My dad found it, it has been a project ever since then, it has weapons and everything now.” She smiled up at the huge Ship she called ‘The Arsenal’

“This is a bad idea.” Vin said looking at her.

“You’re the one who wanted me to go.” She said looking at him.

“Yes, in like, The Razor crest, not the Royal, Kriffing, Cruiser!” he yelled looking at her.

“I’ll miss you too.” She said hugging him, he returned the hug and calmed down.

“Come back when you can.” He said looking at her.

“Of course.”

“Love birds, we do not have time” SYI said from the loading ramp of the ship.

Maze and the pilot took off into space, along with SYI and a lot of her Black-market items. She had just set up her bed in the right wing of the ship, before entering the cock pit to check on the pilot, who she just realized, she doesn’t know the name of.

“Hey, fly boy?” she said standing behind his seat.

“Yea?” he said looking up at her.

“You never told me your name.” she said looking down at him.

“its Neo” he said and she nodded, but he continued and his last name is what caught her off guard.

“Neo Dameron.”

Tag list: @jediminddicks1000 @tereza-96 @hxldmxdxwn

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mynightingalecomplex · 4 years ago

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Don’t Get Too Comfortable

Ok, so here’s a (not so little) fic I’ve been toying with. It’s long, so I’m going to break it into parts. I default to Pre-Disney+ Mandalorians, so the helmets are not an issue.

Synopsis: Just off a successful hunt, Jesse Libarra finds herself traveling in company with another Mandalorian, Aden Nasreyc. The two Mandalorians are looking forward to a few days of rest on a backwater planet but, unknown to them, the Black Sun have followed Aden and are intent on exacting their revenge on the man who killed their leader.

Tags: previous injury, broken ribs, exhaustion, field medicine

Link to glossary

Link to illustrations:

Part One

Part Two

Aden floated up from dreamless sleep into a fuzzy, pink semi-wakefulness. Dreams still niggled about the edges of his mind and his eyelids were stuck shut, but he could feel the pillow under his head and the blankets twisted through naked legs. It had been so long since he had awakened in a bed --an actual bed!-- that he allowed himself to simply lie there without wondering where he was, how he’d gotten there, or who was trying to kill him. He couldn’t remember any reason to get up, so maybe he’d just lay there for five more minutes….

He surfaced again some time later. Judging by the light, it had been more than five minutes. Again he lay still, luxuriating in the feel of sheets and a foam pillow against a cheek that had slept for three months on the inside of a helmet. Golden light played through his eyelids. The enviro-unit grumbled and whined, insulating the room in a cocoon of noise. He drew up his knee and burrowed into his pillow, searching for the fragments of his dream, but it was fruitless. He was awake now and would find no more sleep for a time.

Aden opened his eyes. Light like liquid gold streamed through the curtains as they danced in the enviro-unit’s breeze. Dust motes floated in a ballet up and down the shafts of sunlight. Somewhere outside he heard a door slam, a voice, but then all was silence. He squinted at the chrono on the table. Fifteen hundred. He yawned. He knew he shouldn’t have slept so long. It was wasteful. It was foolish. It was dangerous. But it had been necessary.

The hunt on Vurus had been long and dangerous. Three months without a single full night’s sleep, of constant watchfulness and wakefulness, living always with the shadow of death, had left him at the edge of his very considerable limits. He had taken privation, discomfort, and mental and physical punishment, and if he hoped to take it again he had to have rest. It had been a risk to spend so long asleep, particularly after the mess at the space port, but in a blaster-proof room with another Mando’ad on his six the risk had been worth taking.

Memory jarred him further into alertness. He rolled up on his elbow to look around the room. There on a pallet between the bed and the window, slept the girl from his half-remembered dream. Feet bare, dressed only in red fatigues, long brown hair pooling loose about her face and shoulders, she lay in the sunlight like a porcelain doll except for the blaster clutched in her tapered fingers.

Suddenly conscious that he was dressed only in his boxers, he sat up to pull the sheets over his naked legs. The pain that had long been his companion, dulled just enough by sleep and medication to pass out of his mind, flashed through his body and left him gasping. Modesty forgotten, he hugged his legs to his chest and buried his face in his knees, all his efforts concentrated on silencing the string of curses that had lined up on his tongue.

When the spots finally cleared from his vision, he found Jesse at his knee, regarding him from the floor with grave green eyes. “Hiya.” She said, her voice low and rusty with sleep. “Do I need to ask you how you're feeling?”

He tried to smile. “Bout as bad as I look.”

“Sheesh. You belong in a hospital, then.”

“You up for breakfast?” His stomach had woken up and was reminding him that the last thing he had eaten was a protein cube on the train to the Vurus spaceport.

She turned to look at the chrono. The golden light caught in her loose chestnut hair, glistening like syrup in a crystal decanter. A rogue corner of his mind ran an imaginary hand through that long brown mane before he could stop it. He shoved the thought back into the depths of his subconscious and pulled the sheets up over his legs, trying to ignore the blush that was creeping up his neck.

“We might could find breakfast around here.” Jesse said. “I know a little place that caters to late risers.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She tossed his flightsuit at him and headed for the fresher. Gingerly, Aden eased himself into his clothes. Socks, suit, gloves, tak-vest and ammo belt went on with his usual care. Pushing himself to his feet, he stomped into his flat-soled boots and opened the curtains. He stood at the edge of the window -- no point making himself a target-- and looked out, enjoying the peaceful removal from the afternoon bustle and the warmth of the sun on his face.

His stomach growled. He couldn't remember his last meal. There had been a cup of burnt caf at the Vurus police station and a ration cube on the train to the spaceport, but after all the trouble had started an empty stomach had been the least of his problems. He rubbed his ribs absently and winced. Jesse was right; he was slow and getting slower.

“Fresher's open.” Jesse padded out in sock feet, tying off the end of her long brown braid.

“Vore.” He stepped away from the window. He looked reluctantly at his armor stacked neatly on the chest-of-drawers. “What do you think? Is this a blaster and beskar kind of place, or maybe a little more casual?”

Jesse shrugged. “Depends on how threatening you find greasy eggs and soggy waffles.”

Aden considered this. Battle-ready was all well and good, but three months in full kit left a man feeling more like a sardine than a member of society. It was just a diner, after all, not a drug den. Not even a cantina. And they hadn't been on Dantooine long enough to make any enemies. He bounced once or twice on the balls of his feet, enjoying the unaccustomed lightness. “Maybe just the body plates.” He said. “Just so they know we're Mandos.”

The diner was everything Jesse had promised. Basically a long chrome tube with big glass windows, the diner was alive with beings crowded into red vinyl booths. Waiters, humans and Twi'leks instead of the droids popular on city worlds, bustled about with pots of steaming caf and plates of greasy food, laughing, shouting, and bantering with the customers. Aden felt himself relaxing. This was a small town on a peaceful world, and the sense of community amongst the patrons was almost palpable. It felt like home.

They were seated in a booth along the big front window, working through their second pot of caf. The waitress had looked askance at them at first, but in only chest and knee plates, helmets off and sleeves rolled up, they looked less than threatening. Even in Verad, mercenaries were not unheard of and their money was as good as anyone else's, so here they were in a sticky vinyl booth waiting for their pancakes without drawing any more than an occasional curious glance.

Aden sipped his caf and looked out the window at the dusty street. “Nice place.” He commented. “Better than Vurus, but I'm a country boy at heart.”

Jesse nodded. “Beats durasteel streets and monorails, that's for sure. I grew up in the vhetin'e. Long rolling hills and grass as far as you can see so this always feels like home.”

Aden watched her as she looked out the window. He knew he shouldn’t ask. It was rude and it wasn’t remotely his business, but her sharp, sad, porcelain face and those deft fingers belonged to something more than an itinerant bounty-hunter on a third-class world. “What are you doing trapped out here, Jesse?” Even he could hear the despair in his voice. ”Don’t you have family waiting for you?”

“No.” She answered first, then looked away from the window. “No family.” He didn’t think she was going to elaborate. There was no reason she should and he was kicking himself for being a di’kut when she went on. “I was with the GAR before the… before the Empire took over. When Kal Skirata and his boys bugged out they went with hundreds, thousands of others, commandos and regular troopers too. The Empire lost almost a third of their fighting force, but they kept it quiet. Whole regiments disappeared at a time, and most of them headed for Mandalore. It was chaos.” She looked down at the cup in her hands but he knew she wasn't seeing it. “One of my boys got out. One didn't. Two didn't even try.”

Aden tried to think of a way to ask the obvious question without further insult, gave up, and asked anyway. “What about you? You bugged out with the rest?”

She shook her head. “Not a chance. I’d have stayed. I wasn’t there to serve the Republic. I was there cause my boys were there and it was a steady paycheck. What did I care what symbol the boys had painted on their armor?

“No, when the dust settled, the Imps repainted the troops that were left, brought in the last battalions of Kamino-trained soldiers, and all us irregular non-coms showed up the next morning to find our clearance revoked, our quarters occupied, our possessions confiscated, and our boys renumbered and reassigned.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, Jesse lost in thought, Aden shocked at this first-hand account of what had been only rumors through the Mando’a community. Finally Jesse shook herself and the gloom that clouded her face vanished as if it had never been. “So, here I am, foot-loose and fancy-free, back doing what’s best for the one who's most important.” She tapped her chest plates. “Me.”

Aden didn’t know what to say, but he was rescued from shoving his foot further into his mouth by the arrival of the waitress with their order. After months of hard work on nothing but field rations and will power, Aden felt he could eat an entire nerf by himself, horns, hooves and all, but he had settled on ordering basically the entire menu, because his momma had raised him with some manners. Werris eggs, fried nerf bacon, sausage, crispy potato patties, and stacks of waffles with cream and slices of shefna fruit on top all appeared from the kitchen together, still sizzling in pools of grease or dripping with sticky Alderaanian molasses. It took two waitresses to bring it all to the table.

After that, there was no more conversation for a while. Talking was a waste of time with food going cold on the table. Jesse was polishing off the leftover half of his third waffle - - he considered it more a gift to a good friend than an admission of defeat-- when she spoke suddenly, pointing an accusatory fork at him. “All right, pretty boy. Now it's your turn. What's a handsome fellow like you doing on Dantooine without enough money to buy a bed for the night?”

He winced, but it was only fair. “Oh, you know how far money goes in this economy. Gotta work where you can.” He tried a nonchalant shrug, knowing it wouldn't work.

“Vurus to Dantooine's a long jump with no money in your pocket.” She rejoined. ”And this isn't the place to come to turn a quick credit.”

No, he thought, but it might be a good place to stage a tactical withdrawal. But of course he wasn't going to tell Jesse that. No sense in getting her mixed up in whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into. “It's as close as I could get to Qilura on a passenger ship.” That at least was true.

“Family out there?”

“A sister. Brother's wife.” He answered immediately, glad to have something he could talk openly about. “She's not Mando, but she did right by him and she's trying to do right by his boy, so I do what I can.” ‘What he could’ meant going hungry and traveling forth-class on passenger ships so Miran and her son could live a step above the poverty line, but he could see Jesse understood that and wasn't going to ask him to elaborate. “It's not the kind of help I'd like to give her, but it's help she needs and it's the least I can do.”

Jesse nodded and scraped the last of the whipped cream off his plate with her fork. “Good for you. It's hard when they're not Mando'ade. How do you get from here to Qilura? That's another two jumps from here.”

He shrugged. “There's usually some freighter or other going that way. I'm not above hauling cargo and swabbing decks if it means a free hyperspace jump.”

“Makes sense.” Jesse said. “Tell you what. I've got a little extra on me this time, so how about I stake you a day's rations and a hyperspace jump and drinks'll be on you next time we run into each other.”

“Jesse, I…” Aden was at a loss. What could he say? How could he accept? But, on the other hand, how could he refuse? “That would be… “

Then the world exploded.

#star wars #mandalorian #mando #jesse libarra #wounded #injured #cared for #field medicine #caretaker #treated #broken ribs #explosion #hurt #collapse

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spectraspecs-writes · 5 years ago

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Dantooine - Chapter 51 (Juhani, Canderous)

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 50. Chapter 52 .

@averruncusho thank you for reading you get a tag.

We pick a prime spot in the grove between the Sandral and Matale estates. But as it turned out, the Mandalorians wanted it, too. They, much to Canderous’ dismay, were not eager to fight two Jedi padawans, a Twi’lek teen, a Wookiee, a droid with an attitude, and a Mandalorian mercenary, so they left without a fight. I get the feeling they’ll be back, but they still shouldn’t pose a problem. (Mandalorians don’t give up easily. But that’s one of the reasons I wanted T3 here. If they come while we’re asleep, T3 should alert us, no problem.)

“I’ve never been camping before!” Mission says, bouncing with glee, “I’m so excited!”

“It’s not so great,” Canderous says, “The ground you end up sleeping on usually ends up being cold and hard. You wake up in the morning with bugs hanging around your mouth. And sometimes it rains.”

“If you hate it so much, why did you come?” I ask him.

“It’s not the sleeping that makes it enjoyable,” he says, “It’s the time spent with friends and squad-mates. The camaraderie built by a shared experience…”

“I want to try to set up the tent myself!” Mission says, swatting away Zaalbar’s hand.

“... the chance to see that,” Canderous finishes, smiling.

“That tent is going to fall on her many times,” I comment, as it falls on her. She picks it up, attempting to prop it up on a pole. The pole bends and falls. She is covered by tent again.

“She’ll work it out,” Canderous says, “I’m going to track down an iriaz. I’ll be back.”

“Yeah, don’t get lost.”

“Don’t mock me.”

Juhani comes up to me. “Rena, would you rather I started on the other tent, or building the fire?”

“Whichever you like,” I say, “Zaalbar, do you think you could find some sticks?”

“I’m waiting to help Mission,” he says.

“If she asks, I’ll help,” I tell him. He shrugs a bit and trudges off to find some sticks. We’ll probably prep the iriaz on some makeshift spit or something. Or I suppose I could equip T3 with a flamethrower and he could roast it. That could be fun.

“Rena?” Juhani asks me, as I’m sort of wandering, trying to figure out what to do myself before settling on another tent set-up.

“What’s up?”

“I- I feel I must apologize for the way I acted towards you before, in the grove. It was wrong of me,” she says.

“Give me a hand here, hold this up,” I say, and she takes a pole from me, “And don’t worry about it, you weren’t yourself.”

“I am sorry for attacking you,” she says, “I am sorry for thinking you would only try to kill me. I hope that by helping you in your task I may redeem myself in your eyes… and in my own.”

“You’re putting a lot on just putting up a tent,” I joke.

“I meant…”

“I know what you meant, I was joking,” I say, getting the tent all the way up. “And really, it’s fine. I’ve forgiven you already.”

“Thank you,” she says, “It is most reassuring to know that you can forgive me, even though I tried to take your life. I can only hope that, in our time journeying together, I will succeed.”

Mission’s tent poles collapse on her again. “Help, please.”

Canderous returns with an iriaz slung over his shoulder, and Zaalbar helps me tie it onto a stick so we can roast it on a spit. (I expected Juhani to express some reluctance, but she didn’t. Either being vegetarian is just a Bastila thing, or it’s an optional Jedi thing. Or she was vegetarian, but needed to eat while living in the grove and went with whatever she could find. Or I suppose it could be a Cathar thing somehow, I don’t know. I’m not as familiar with Cathar as I would like, certainly not their customs. Anyway.) T3 starts the fire with the flamethrower I equipped him with, and Zaalbar mostly tends the spit. “You’re pretty good at that, Zaalbar,” I say to him.

“I’m out of practice, I’m afraid,” he says.

“You can’t really start fires just anywhere on Taris,” Mission says, “And even in the Undercity they didn’t have to cook very much.”

“Where did you learn this skill?” Juhani asks him, “On your homeworld?”

Zaalbar just sort of grunts in the affirmative. “Big Z doesn’t talk about Kashyyyk very much,” Mision says, “He’s more the strong silent type.”

“My affairs are my own,” he grunts shortly.

“I can respect that,” I tell him, “We’ll be going to Kashyyyk eventually, though, just so you know.” He grunts again.

“So what is this plan, anyway?” Canderous ask, “This mission the Council has you doing?”

“We found a Star Map in these old ruins, talking about this thing called the Star Forge,” I tell everyone, “We have no idea what it is but we’re supposed to find it and destroy it.”

“Sounds like a factory to me,” Canderous says.

“That’s what I said, a weapons factory,” I say, “But we have to go to the planets on the Star Map and put together all these clues to find the Star Forge.” I pull out my datapad and open up a copy of the map, and pass it around. “Tatooine, Kashyyyk, Korriban, and Manaan,” I say, “If anyone doesn’t want to go, I totally understand, but I’d love to have all of you.”

“Big Z and I are with you,” Mission says. I knew Zaalbar was, the whole life-debt thing.

“It sounds like you’ll need a Mandalorian,” Canderous says.

Juhani just nods. She already said she was with me. T3 beeps. As if he was going to go anywhere. I can’t help but smile, I love my friends.

“But that’s enough business,” Canderous says, “There’ll be enough time for that in the morning.”

“Do you have any war stories, Canderous?” Mission asks him, leaning forward eagerly.

Canderous smiles at her. He can’t say no to Mission. He hands my datapad back to me and settles himself. “I’ve got plenty of them.” This should be good. “In my time I was one of the best youth warriors in clan Ordo. No one before me had mastered the power of our Basilisk war droids as quickly as I had. Except Mandalore himself, of course.” Of course. He settles himself in again. “In those days we were sweeping across the Outer Rim. Destroying all who fought us.” (Juhani looks a little distant, but she stays and listens anyway. There’s something there.) “Young Mandalores would prove themselves in real combat with unknown opponents above a thousand worlds. Each brought back the story of his achievements.”

With the iriaz cooked clean through, I help Zaalbar divide it up. This one is a smaller animal, which is good because otherwise we’d have a lot of leftovers. I hand Canderous one of the legs. “So what was your story?” I ask him.

With one big hand he peels off a chunk of meat from the sinewy thigh of the iriaz. “I remember it well,” he says, almost like he’s gazing into the past, “orbiting high above a placid world, its defenses just stirring.” Mission takes a bite out of hers, can’t take her eyes off of Canderous. “As was tradition, I would go ahead of the first wave to find enemies in the thickest fighting.” T3 even looks raptured by the story, not making a single noise even as Zaalbar uses the top of his head as a table.

“I remember sitting there in my armor, linked directly with the Basilisk thrumming beneath me. My heart racing with fear at the coming battle.” Juhani scoffs a little, but Canderous doesn’t hear it. Or doesn’t acknowledge it, anyway. “The doors opened in front me and the air was sucked out of the drop bay, scattering crystals of frozen vapor across my path. I can't describe what it feels like to look directly down at a world, falling continuously as you circle it, with barely fifteen centimeters of armor plate protecting you. When the magnetic locks disengaged on my droid I plunged out of the drop bay towards the battle that waited below.”

Suddenly Mission breaks her silence. “You dropped from orbit riding a droid?!” Accompanied by a shocked series of beeps form T3.

Canderous smiles, at them and the memory. “The exhilaration, the euphoria I felt as I streaked into the atmosphere, dodging self-guided projectile and beam weapons, was unmatched,” he says, “An eighty kilometer plunge through the atmosphere, dodging and weaving, the outside of my armor glowing like the sun with the heat of re-entry. And with barely thirty meters to spare, I twisted and skimmed the surface, firing at the giant beam generators that were in my path. The explosion from that sent shockwaves that levelled the entire complex around it. It was the moment of my life.”

He sighs. “I'll never forget those times. But…” he says slowly, “things are different now. We can't go on fighting the way we had. There are too few of us left now.” He shakes his head, then looks at Mission. “I trust I've satisfied your curiosity for now?”

“Can I hear another?” is the only thing Mission says.

Again, Canderous can’t say no to her. “You want another war story, eh?” he says, “You want to hear about some other world getting wasted?” Mission nods. “Sure. I’ll humor you.”

Before he can start on the story, Juhani stands and walks away, having barely touched her iriaz. I get up to follow her. Canderous continues anyway.

“Hey,” I say as I catch up to her, “Are you doing alright?”

She gives me a sad smile. “I… I thank you for your concern, but I am still a bit shaken.”

“What’s wrong? Is it Canderous’ stories? He just has a soft spot for Mission, and Mission herself is a bit of an adrenaline junkie.”

“No,” she says, “I have been thinking about myself… about Quatra… and about my fall to the dark side. I keep thinking that it was my anger that drove me that far, that nearly damned me.” She sighs a little bit, looking at the horizon. “I look inside myself now and I can still see it, I still feel it.”

“Hey, maybe you just need a bit more time,” I say, placing my hand on her shoulder gently.

“Yes,” she says with an exhale, “More time would do me good. Time to distance myself from that anger. I think that is why the Council agreed to send me with you. They think, perhaps, that in your company I will be able to free myself from it.”

“I’m happy to help if I can.”

“I thank you for your concern and your acceptance. I will strive to prove that I am worthy of your company and trust.”

Girl, you don’t have to prove yourself. “Come on,” I say, “It gets cold out here at night.” And she follows me back to the fire.

“I just can’t believe it was a ship!” Mission exclaims. I’m sure that would make more sense if I’d heard the story. “Can I hear another one?”

“I don’t have any more stories for now,” he says, “Besides, there’s one story I’d like to hear myself.” I sit down. “Rena,” he says to me, “care to elaborate why Mr. Republic isn’t on this trip?”

I scoff. “Who are we talking about?” Juhani asks.

“Carth,” Mission says, “He’s our pilot. Wears an orange jacket, doesn’t shave.”

“I think I saw him a couple times outside the Council chambers,” Juhani says, “And a few times with you. The two of you seemed… close, I suppose.”

And I laugh. “They are,” Canderous says.

“Yeah, well you can forget about that,” I say, “It turns out I had him figured all wrong, the son of a bitch.”

“Whoa!” Canderous and Mission both say. “What did he do?” Mission asks.

“He told me how he really feels, finally,” I say. (Canderous scoffs, like he knows something I don’t, which I doubt. And even if he does, any chance of that has gone out the airlock.) “He’s been expecting me to betray him this whole time, and apparently still does! As if I haven’t saved his ass enough times before!” I can tell Juhani wants to advise me against my anger, but it’s not like I’m going to do anything with it. “Don’t you think if I was going to betray him, I would have done it already?”

“Look, Rena, I doubt he was actually upset with you,” Canderous says, “Something has been eating at him since Taris, and you just happened to be there when he blew.”

“That’s no excuse!” I say, “He could have told me what was going on without berating or insulting me! He could have told me what he was feeling instead of blowing up. He’s done it before.”

“Has he?” Canderous asks rhetorically, “Has he really? Or has he just told you stories? Stories that you could have figured out on your own.”

“What do you mean?”

“His accent is obviously Telosian, and everyone knows what happened to Telos at the beginning of the war,” Canderous says. Mission nods in response to the implied question, and so does Juhani.

“Hey, I was out in the Outer Rim territories until recently, you can’t blame me for not keeping up.”

“I’m not,” he says earnestly, “But as far as Carth was concerned, he was telling you common knowledge from his own perspective. The only new piece of information - that he served directly under Karath during the Mandalorian War - is something you could have found out if you’d been digging in the Republic records, which you easily could have done on the Endar Spire.”

Well… I mean, I guess, but… “And just how do you have this insight into him?” I ask, “I thought you hated each other.”

“I don’t have to like him,” Canderous says, “Carth and I are both soldiers, warriors. Men like us are cut from the same cloth. We don’t express how we feel so easily. If he’s ever expressed his feelings to you, it was today.”

“Are you telling me I should just forgive him for blowing up at me?”

“I’m not saying you should ever forgive him,” he says with a shrug, “But you need to decide if this is a deal-breaker for you or if you want to dig deeper and keep this relationship going in some form or another.” He takes another bite of his iriaz. “And trust me, he wants you to keep going.”

Oh? I’m intrigued. “And how do you know that?”

Canderous scoffs. “Are you kidding?” he says, “He spent a whole month missing you! But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Now Mission laughs. “As if you didn’t spend the whole month thinking about Bastila!”

Oh-ho! Canderous tries to shrug that off. “And where did you hear that?”

Zaalbar chimes in, “You talk in your sleep.”

And Canderous turns bright red, that is adorable! “Hey, there’s no shame in that, Canderous,” I say to his defense, “She’s cute.”

“Perhaps,” he says neutrally, but he obviously agrees, “but as you’ve so eloquently stated, the age gap is off-putting, if nothing else.”

“Hey, it’s a turn-off for me, sure,” I say, “but Bastila’s an adult, and for all I know… she could be into that, I don’t know.”

“It does not matter whether she is or not,” Juhani says, “She is a Jedi. Such things are not permitted.”

Canderous slaps his legs finally. “There you have it. It’s not going to happen. Just an old man’s folly.”

“Don’t give up so quickly,” I say.

“I would prefer to let the matter drop,” Canderous says firmly. And now he’s red for a different reason. I’m not eager to fight him. So I throw up my hands. It’s done. And he nods his thanks.

—-

I can’t sleep but there’s absolutely nothing else I could be doing. I feel so unbelievably stupid for shouting at Rena. And I’d give anything to take it back, but she’s so headstrong and stubborn she’ll probably never forgive me.

I suppose if she were still here she’d tell me to stop moping in the cockpit. Well, I’m not moping. Well… maybe I am.

“Carth!” Rena? No, Bastila. “I’m surprised you’re still awake.”

“Hey, Bastila.” She sits down in the copilot’s chair, making use of the computer for something. “So Rena didn’t invite you on her camping trip, either,” I say, “Well, that makes me feel a little better, I guess.”

“Hmm? Oh, no, she did. I declined.”

“So I’m the only one she didn’t invite.” Great. Perfect. “She even took Teethree, but I suppose she didn’t bother to ask him.”

“No, she did,” Bastila says, “Very politely.”

“She… well, of course she did.” I know this probably seems a little foolish that this is bothering me so much. I mean it’s just a camping trip. I’ve slept outside on the cold hard ground more than my fair share. I shouldn’t be so bothered about missing another chance to do that. Plus she took Canderous so the port-side dormitory will be quiet, I won’t have to hear him mumbling about Bastila in his sleep. (And I know he’d rather Bastila didn’t know about that so I’ll keep it to myself.)

But despite all of that it does still bother me. I upset her so much that she made a point of inviting everyone but me. And it hurts a lot more than it should.

“I wouldn’t take it so hard, Carth,” Bastila says, “It’s probably for the best this way, anyway. She is a Jedi, after all.”

Did I miss something? “What are you talking about?”

She takes a short breath. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it?” she says, standing up. What? “Good night, Carth.”

“Right.” What the hell was that about?

—-

I wasn’t sleeping well anyway, of course, but I couldn’t even pretend to sleep when T3 started beeping. Not kath hounds - there had already been a few hounds come close. T3 just fired off a couple warning shots and they retreated. It doesn’t feel like kath hounds, anyway. This feels like a different kind of familiar from that. Needless to say I grab my lightsaber and head right out.

Canderous beat me out, even slipped on his boots before coming out. Either that or he sleeps with his boots on, which is just as likely. “Seen anything yet?” I ask him.

“No... “ he says softly, “... but I can feel it.”

Mission tumbles out of her tent, with one lek draped over her head instead of on her shoulder like normal. “Whass going on?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes while Zaalbar gently places the lek back where it belongs.

Suddenly Juhani pops up from out of nowhere, running towards us. “Mandalorian raiders!” she says.

“Where the hell did you come from? Do you have a stealth field generator on all the time or something?” Because once I take a second to think about it it’s clear she’d just established a stealth field.

“A Force ability, Quatra taught me.” Neat.

“There’ll be time to chat later,” Canderous says, pointing his rifle at the incoming Mandalorian party. Mission ducks back into her tent for her vibroblade, and Zaalbar grabs a long sword (that looks an awful lot like one of mine - not that I’m complaining right now, but who else has been going through my stuff?)

A Mandalorian in red armor approaches me, flanked by two other Mandalorians and two Duros. “Ah,” he says, looking at me, “so this is the meddler. You have caused us far too much trouble for a mere Jedi.” All this for chasing some guys out of a prime camping spot?

“Now this is what I've been waiting for!” Canderous says.

But the head Mandalorian doesn’t pay any attention to him. “I will add your head to those of the other Jedi I have killed” - that sounds gross - “and take another lightsaber for my own!” He activates an energy shield. “Now you will know why the Mandalorians are feared!”

“Really,” I say, and I can’t even believe I’m saying it, “because only a coward would think to attack people while they were sleeping.” I can’t believe I didn’t keep that to myself.

He pulls out two swords. “A coward wouldn’t think to challenge two Jedi at once!”

Mission and Zaalbar have already started on the two Duros, and Canderous and T3 are engaged in a shooting match with the two other Mandalorians, leaving this one for Juhani and myself. “No, but a fool would!” Juhani jibes, standing ready with her lightsaber. I hope her form is better this time. She reaches out with the Force and whisks him into a whirlwind, leaving him quite vulnerable to my lightsaber, and I get in some good blows.

But suddenly his sword clashes against my saber when the whirlwind dies down, Juhani having moved on to help with the other Mandalorians. Great. This guy is all mine now.

He pushes with his sword. I push back. He tries to make me lose my footing. I stand firm. He cuts me. I cut back, slicing through his armor but not quite hitting flesh. He moves fast. As fast as I move.

Then he catches me in a saber lock. Through a crack in his helmet I can see his eyes, and he sees mine. “You fight like a Mandalorian,” he says, “I can see all your past battles in your eyes. You’ve fought us before.”

“And won every time,” I say, trying to keep his sword locked, “Feel like giving up?”

He smiles, I can tell from his eyes. “I was about to ask you the same,” he says, “Do you have any last words?”

I glance down. “Watch out for that grenade at your feet.”

Before he can say anything, I break the lock and jump away as far as I can. He was so busy with me that he didn’t even notice Mission come in behind him and drop the plasma grenade at his feet. He doesn’t even have time to react before he blows up, and he falls dead on the plains.

I take a deep breath and shout, “Thanks, Mission!” She cheers victoriously as Canderous guns down the last of the Mandalorians.

I check my timepiece - it’s three in the morning, but I honestly doubt anyone is going back to sleep.

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startrekandwars · 5 years ago

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Appearances are Deceiving

Word Count: 1919

Summary: Baves Urety finally reveals who he is to Din while also trying to avoid being killed by Bossk, a bounty hunter who is after the former Jedi.

Tags: None

AN: Written for @celebrate-the-clone-wars prompt Always A Bigger Fish

Din Djaren has been traveling with Baves for some time now. His new partner wasn't the most talkative person, but he was far from quiet. The thing that Din noticed was that Baves was mostly observant. Maybe too observant. The child seemed to like Baves, and it was hard to fault the poor kid. Baves has this... aura that puts you at ease and makes you want to like him. He's so optimistic even if he doesn't voice it. It's written all over his face.

The few times Baves has talked about his past, he just mentions his father taught him just about everything he knows. If it wasn't his father, it was one of his brothers. He also mentions that before the fall of the Empire, he worked as a bodyguard, and then decided to become a Bodyguard for hire. People used to pay this man to protect them. They used to pay him a lot.

Now is a good time for Din to observe Baves. He was an inch, maybe two taller. He could only be a couple years older than him too, though it's hard to tell because Baves keeps his face clean shaven. Baves says that he doesn't remember how old he is, and judging by how familiar the miralian is with a blaster, the mandalorian believes him. Baves isn't the strongest person. He looks like he should struggle to hold the child, all long limbs, and not a lot of muscle. He's also flexible. Din has watched Baves twist in ways he didn't realize a humanoid could twist their body. Baves looks like he couldn't hurt a fly, and he often tends to talk his way out of problems. It often works too. His royal blue eyes help soften his face, and the fact that there's a permanent smile on his face helps a lot. Even with out that, there are the beginnings of smile lines around the corner of his eyes. Din has never seen Baves's hair, and he had a feeling he never would. He could guess that his hair is jet black, if he were to judge it based off of the man's eyebrows.

Din just can't place his finger on it, but he can tell Baves is holding back. He's too aware of things to not be holding back. It's like he knows what people expect him to be able to do, and he tries to embody those ideas.

Even now, as they were walking through the market and Baves looks like he doesn't have a care in the world, Din has also learned that he is drinking in as much information as he can. "Oooooooh, Din look at this scarf!" Baves picked up a dark green head scarf with teal embroidery in miralian styles. "It's stunning!"

"You have seven scarves on the ship, Baves." Din countered, watching the man. None the less, the look in his eyes was hard to say no to. "When would you even wear it?"

"I don't know, around. I wear all seven of those scarves by the way." Baves countered, looking back at the scarf. "It's very pretty... But I suppose I don't need another one until something unthinkable happens to a scarf, like a grease stain." He put the scarf back, bowed politely, and kept walking. "I'm going to see if I can find any jogan fruit."

Din simply nodded and watched Baves walk away. Oh yes, that man could wrap just about anyone around his finger. Not because he was trying to be malicious, but because he was just so... kind. He was the sort of person you would want to protect.

"Is that young man with you? Because if so, good for you. I don't know what a Mandalorian such as yourself would see in a man as kind as him, but if you want to win his heart, you should probably buy that scarf." The shop keeper said, sounding amused. She was a Miralian, but unlike Baves, she didn't cover her hair all the time, it was jet black and feel to her shoulders.

"I'm not-" How does he explain that he's not romantically with that man? "He's an associate of mine. We're not involved."

"A pity, you don't find men like him everywhere in the galaxy. He's really one of a kind." She answered, looking back at Din before going to help a different customer.

Din simply nodded. "That he is." The bounty hunter started to walk in the direction Baves had walked off in until he heard blaster fire and screams from that direction. Then he started to sprint.

In the middle of the commotion was Baves, standing light on his feet, but looking relaxed. "Well that was rude!"

"Baves Urety- I am here to collect the bounty on your head. You can come quietly or loudly, but you will be coming with me." Bossk, a Trandoshan. And a member of the guild. Apparently there was a puck on Baves, and if Bossk was here to collect, then it was some bounty.

Baves sighed. He looked... bored. This happens to him a lot. "You know, a wise man once told me that there are always bigger fish out there. So you think you're the bigger fish in the ocean?" His question was really more of a statement. "Listen, Bossk. I just want to buy some jogan fruit and then I'll get out of your way- I'm not really looking for a fig-" When Bossk shot at Baves again, he side stepped, like he knew it was coming without even taking a breath from his sentence, "-ht today. We could leave in peace."

"No way, that bounty on your head can buy me a small planet!" Bossk countered. "Now come quietly. I would hate to make a mess of you."

The Miralian just shrugged. That was it. Bossk has two inches on Baves and several pounds of muscle on him. Anyone else should be very afraid of staring down Bossk, but the fact that there has been noise so far means that Baves Urety had managed to avoid Bossk for this long. "Fine, we'll do it your way. I can't give you a real fight to remember, but I can at least give you a run for your credits." That was when Baves chose to make his first move. He moved fast, faster than anyone can just run. He avoided Bossk's follow up shots with ease, a practiced ease, before jumping high over the Trandoshan, flipping and landing quietly on top of the roof of a shop. "But first you'll have to catch me!"

Din could have sworn Baves glanced in his direction. He was acting as a distraction, buying Din time to get back to the ship and make sure that the child was still safe. He was doing this intentionally. Din didn't even have time to consider shouting Baves's name. The miralian was already running in the exact opposite direction. So Din was running towards the ship.

~*~*~

Bossk isn't an easy bounty hunter to avoid, Baves just had to hope Din understood what he was doing, that he was buying them time. Besides, he was a bit of a romantic who had trusted Din with his lightsaber, even if Din didn't know he had it. So the name of the game was evade Bossk long enough to get him out of civilization. Or at least innocent bystanders. "Wow- they call you a bounty hunter? I wonder what the Score Keeper thinks of you? I've fought clankers that have better aim than you do!" That being said, Bossk was getting familiar with how Baves was evading him.

Once Baves could see the end of the market, he grinned and used the force to leap even further than he normally tries, turning around in the air and firing two rounds at Bossk. They were both close but neither of them hit the bounty hunter. "Kriff I miss my lightsaber."

"Running isn't like you- Urety, but it makes for a good hunt!" Bossk kept shooting at him, and Baves was all out of cover. He's good, he can evade people shooting at him for a while, but without his lightsaber, he was going to get shot eventually.

"Well, I've really needed the exercise and it's been a while since people have tried to kill me, so I'm just drawing this out for as long as I can!" He countered, trying to find anything he could use to his advantage.

Bossk shot at him again, and this time, Baves decided to get up close and personal. If he was too close for Bossk to use his gun effectively, then the former jedi could last a little bit longer. Again, Baves sprinted, using the force to move even faster and decided to disarm the Trandoshan with the force, flinging the weapon out of his hands, "Now this is what I expect when I made you my prey!"

"You talk too much," Baves countered, blocking the flurry of punches and opting to try to knock Bossk onto the ground. Sure he could use the force but he tries not to.

Bossk had a wicked smile on his face, and the Force warned Baves of what was about to happen before he could process it. He ducked low, barely avoiding a flurry of blasts from an assassin droid. "Kriff!" He was standing too close.

Overhead, he could hear a ship. Din's ship. Din didn't say anything on the ramp, he just tossed Baves his lightsaber. Din trusts him enough not to just disappear with this apparently.

Baves caught it and ignited it, the green blade humming into life, just in time to deflect the shots back at the assassin droid, taking it out. "That's better."

Bossk hissed right before Baves hit him over the head with his lightsaber hilt, "Oh shut up please! I've had enough of you for one life time."

Instead of waiting for Din to land, he just leapt up onto the ramp, turning his lightsaber back off and handing the hilt back over, "Here."

"No- I'm a Mandalorian, weapons are a part of my religion, and I know just what you're doing when you're handing that over to me." Din countered, closing the ramp once Baves was back inside. "You're a jedi."

"Well that's one thing to take away from today- you got the jogan fruit?" Baves had been focused on trying to do what he felt was right until he saw the real prize of today. "How?"

"The shopkeeper was grateful since you managed to not destroy any of his property. I also got you that scarf." Baves didn't need to force to know that Din was watching him as he set the lightsaber down on the seat, picking up a jogan fruit. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The miralian turned and shrugged, "Mandalorians hate the jedi, for good reason, but you need someone to teach the child how to use the force. And I am a Jedi."

Din looked at Baves, his expression unreadable with his helmet on. Perhaps that's for the best. "So you trusted me with your life... You were right about one thing though, Bossk wasn't the bigger fish."

"True, but there will always be another. Thank you for coming back for me." Baves's signature smile was back on his face, but it was sincere.

"Least I can do. Besides, you're handy in a fight." With that, Din climbed the ladder back into the cockpit.

#oc: Baves Urety #Din Djaren #The Mandalorian #Bossk #star wars #writing wednesday drabbles

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tenroseforeverandever · 7 years ago

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Dear Father Christmas... Chapter 21: December 24, 2036

MASTERPOST

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble; OC Therin Thomson; Javic Thane; Gray Thane

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love; gun violence; violence resulting in death; life-threatening injury; life threatening situations; life threatening illness; original characters

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Chapter Summary: Rose is feeling melancholy about having an empty nest, and the Doctor suggests a quick trip in the TARDIS for hot chocolate to cheer her up.

Notes: Hello, everyone! I hope you all spent the last week or so with days full of peace, joy, and love.

Today’s chapter references an earlier story of mine, The Cupid’s Arrow, revised edition.

To my betas, @rose–nebula and mrsbertucci, my endless gratitude. <3<3

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for their 31 Days of Ficmas prompts. The prompt I used today was Hot Chocolate.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2036

Dear Father Christmas,

It just doesn’t feel like Christmas this year. The girls are off studying (that’s nothing new), but Wilfred has left us too. He’s decided to do a bit of travelling on his own this year, a world tour. He’s a restless soul, he is, not a scholarly type like his sisters (they can buckle down and study when they need to). No, Wilf’s much more like his Dad, always needing to be on the move. He’s spending Christmas on a beach in Australia, surfing and eating shrimp from the barbie, and generally having a good ol’ time.

So, I guess that makes me and the Doctor official “empty nesters”, yeah?

Now I know how mum felt all those years ago, when I left to travel in the TARDIS. She must have been so lonely. At least I have my Doctor to keep me company; she had no one. And, at the time, I never gave it a passing thought how alone and worried she must have been… just the way my babies probably don’t think about me.

Look at me, blubbing away. Just as well I came out here to the treehouse. The Doctor would have been worried to see me cry. It’s been happening a lot recently. I’ll have to face the music soon enough, though. I can feel his concern, but at least he knows I’m safe, and he understands when I feel like I need some time to myself (well apart from Snowflake: she’s curled in my lap. You’re not leaving your mum, are you, darling?)

It’s a little chilly out here, to be honest, but being up in the treehouse makes me feel so much closer to the kids. So many memories here, and besides the view is unparalleled! The sky is so clear tonight, and the view from here is spectacular, though I can’t see many of the stars right now; the moon is directly overhead, in its last quarter but still so bright it’s hard to see anything else. But it is a gorgeous thing all on its own.

I’m always in awe of the fact that I can actually make out some of the Lunar colonies. So much has changed in the last few years, and Torchwood has been at the centre of it all. The Doctor contributed his extensive knowledge about space bases (after all, he’s run through so many in his lifetime!) and supervised the design team and the actual installation. It never gets old, witnessing first hand, humans taking those first few steps into space, especially since I know what the future has in store for them (the privileges of being a time traveller.)

The Lunar colonies are actually becoming very well established now (you’ll need to start visiting the moon on Christmas Eve, Santa, if you haven’t already. The first official Lunarians… Selenites… (I dunno… The debate for a proper name is still on. Mum just calls them all Loonies!) were born there early this year. I don’t know how you’ll keep up once humans spread across the universe!)

Of course, Hope has decided to be a part of it all: she has a position as a physician on Lunar Base Shepard lined up for the coming year, once she graduates. She loves the idea of “pioneering” and has her sights set on eventually going on to Mars once proper bases are established there. That’ll be a while though, and thank goodness! The Doctor had a very bad reaction when she mentioned it. I’ve very rarely seen him so bloody frightened: pure fear and dread. He never could explain why, exactly, just that he had a feeling it was a very bad idea and muttered on about fixed points and such for hours afterwards.

But that’s years off. In the meantime, I’m just missing my babies so much. It’s funny how the holidays are the times we tend to miss them most. The rest of the year, since Wilfred went travelling, me and the Doctor (and Snowflake) have been too busy off adventuring in the TARDIS to really dwell on their absence too much. It’s almost like old times, and I mean really old times, back in the Prime Universe: the two of us; lots of running; saving the universe… only a bit slower than we used to (not exactly spring chickens, us!) and with a lot more vacationing in between… and with a cat (something my Prime Universe Doctor would never have entertained!) But now, it’s all so completely brilliant! It’s so good to know we can still make a difference out there in our own little way.

But now, standing still, that’s when it sinks in… the loneliness.

We’re only really here for the Hand in Hand feast, and Mum’s New Year’s Gala, back in full swing this year, now that she’s fully recuperated. It’ll be at least a full week before we’re back running through the stars!

But that doesn’t mean we can’t go for a short trip, does it?

Ah ha! Right on cue, here he comes: My Doctor. He must have felt my itchy feet over the bond, because he’s beaming away and shouting up at me “Where to, Rose Tyler?”

I guess I’m off on another great adventure… even if it’s just for a few hours!

--ooOoo--

We’re back, Santa! Made it in just in time for me to finish my letter to you… it’s almost midnight!

So, I was shivering when we set off, and the Doctor decided we should go somewhere for hot chocolate. Who am I to argue with that? Years ago, he’d discovered there was a Planet Valentine in this universe. We’d been to the one in the Prime Universe, back when he was still wearing leather (that was an adventure and a half!) and the Doctor had proclaimed one of the cafés there (The Cupid’s Arrow) had the best chocolate treats anywhere in the universe, hands down. We’d yet to properly visit this universe’s version and agreed it was finally time to discover if it was up to scratch. Sure enough, both the planet and The Cupid’s Arrow were just as tacky and over-the-top as I remember, and the hot chocolate was just as gorgeous.

I briefly wondered why we had never come here before (the kids would have had a blast!) but as we were seated at our table, and it ascended on its anti-grav platform through showers of confetti, I looked around me at all the other patrons, and all the reasons why this was not a “family” adventure came rushing back to me. I could feel my cheeks flushing in embarrassment and, I admit, a bit of arousal. This was indeed the planet of love, and many of the customers of The Cupid’s Arrow were very, very, very… sexually uninhibited! The Doctor, hearing my thoughts very clearly, waggled his eyebrows at me and gave me a cheeky wink.

Laughing and very glad it was just the two of us, we placed our orders on the touch screen. I should mention, our family is very particular about how we take our hot chocolate. Me, Charlie, and Wilfred all prefer loads of miniature marshmallows, but the Doctor and Hope prefer whipped cream with chocolate curls. And we always get into a huge debate about which way is best, the whole family, all five of us… together. So, of course, while we waited for our cocoa to arrive, me and the Doctor couldn’t resist starting in on the familiar argument. But it just wasn’t the same without our three not-so-little trouble-makers contributing their two pennies worth, and it didn’t take long before I was crying again.

Blimey, it doesn’t take much to set me off these days. Mum thinks it’s an early sign of menopause (most of my uterus may be gone, but the doctors managed to save my ovaries, so she may very well be right. I’m about the right age for it: forty-seven.) Poor Doctor, he has a loooong few years ahead of him with menopausal-me. And he’s just so lovely and sweet, holding me when I need it, and letting me know how loved I am (because it’s easy to forget when I get into a state like this.)

It wasn’t long before the sparkly, fuchsia Droid-waiter appeared with our hot chocolates. It fluttered its long lashes at me, its heart-shaped deely-bopper eyes bobbing slowly as it expressed concern for my tears. It was so ridiculous I couldn’t help but smile and thank it for asking after me. After it flew away, me and the Doctor broke into gales of laughter, again. He wiped my tears away with his thumbs. “Better?”

Oh, I felt so much better, and apologized for being such a nutter.

He grinned at me, took a swig of his chocolate, and with a full, whipped cream mustache, leaned in and gave me a big, sloppy, creamy kiss. “Now you look like a nutter too!”

I gave him a (loving) shove and told him he looked like one, as well.

“Oh, yes!”

And, oh Santa! I made a startling discovery as I licked the cream from my lips (and then from his.) I discovered that I really, really liked hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate curls, and he discovered that he enjoyed marshmallows, especially the little gooey bits that stuck to the edges of my mouth. So we decided on an exchange… and then, well… we might, possibly have got rather enthusiastically involved in the uninhibited spirit of Planet Valentine. I even forgot about my children for a little while there… But I did remember to pick up some chocolatey treats for them and my mum before we left.

I hope I’m not on your naughty list, now…

Happy Christmas, Santa. I bet you and Mrs. Claus would enjoy the Peppermint Hot Chocolate at The Cupid’s Arrow. It’s so good! Love to both of you, the elves, and the reindeer too!

Rose

#doctorroseprompts #kid fic #tentoo x rose #hurt/comfort #christmas #angst #love #family #fluff #ficandchips #tenroseforeverandever's fic

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chivalin · 7 years ago

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Alliance Base Bartender (Jonjar Tinglee)

640 words, Alien

Rating & Tags: General; Reflection

Notes: Alliance base has a new bartender from a small, secluded planet.

You were a bartender back at home too, Nissa had said. I see no reason why you shouldn’t be one in here too. Jonjar had not seen any reason either, especially when they had still mourned their own bar, the Tinglee’s, that had been burned to the ground by the Eternal Empire. That’s the spirit! I’m sure it will be fun!

“Fun. Right,” Jonjar said grudgingly. They were standing behind the bar counter, and were in the middle of closing. Jonjar’s eyes flickered to the customers who they still felt lost about as they had grown in a small planet, consisted of only their own kind. Nissa had said that the ‘culture shock’ would wear of eventually, but Jonjar wasn’t so sure about it.

What they had understood was that there were two species- No. Sides, Jonjar reminded themself, and scratched their head, starting to get frustrated. These two sides, the Republic and the Empire, had been fighting a lot and done a truce. However, they had continued fighting again but then a different Empire, Eternal one, had crushed them both under heel.

Thinking about any of it, made Jonjar very confused. They had never been that big on following any other-worldly news. Sure, they had heard about wars and what not, but those had never affected their little home planet.

Until now.

“Are you deaf?” a sharp voice came in front of Jonjar, who blinked. During their pondering, a red-skinned person, a woman?, had come to them. Red-skinned wore a lightsaber on their hip, which made Jonjar swallow.

Everyone in the base was not only divided by their side and race, but also what they could do. Despite Nissa’s insistence that “Jedi” were good, and “Sith” should be watched out for, Jonjar didn’t see any difference between them. They had witnessed both sides using the “Force” and it had terrified them to no end.

“Ah,” Jonjar said to the red-skinned. “What would you like to have?” Jonjar asked and when the red-skinned’s brow rose, they realized what they had forgotten. “-my lord,” Jonjar added hastily. Sith looked pleased and sat down, pointing at a bottle.

Jonjar gave it to them without hesitation, and watched how they began drinking, chugging big gulps straight from the bottle. Jonjar waited a little while, in case they wanted something more, before resuming their duties. After they had scrubbed down the counter, they nearly jumped when the Sith spoke again.

“These damn Jedi,” they said and lifted their eyes to Jonjar who stared back at them with widened eyes. However, they quickly recovered. Even if red-skinned was a Sith, they were still their customer. Jonjar nodded solemnly. “Like, I understand why we have to work with them,” Sith said. “But, I still don’t have to like it.”

“I understand,” Jonjar said, even though they didn’t. The red-skinned seemed encouraged to continue speaking. “The way they swagger around, like they own the place and have the guts to tell me, that they are simply walking around! Bah! Who would believe that?”

Jonjar continued nodding, agreeing to things they didn’t know much about. The Sith quieted down after a while which gave Jonjar time to get everything else done.

When they, the red-skinned and the security droid were the only ones in the room, the Sith spoke up again, “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Jonjar said automatically even though they were quite bewildered. Apparently, some things stayed the same no matter where they were or who their customers were. “Hopefully, you’ll last longer than the last bartender,” Sith continued and laughed.

They got up and left, leaving Jonjar behind.

Well, that’s one more day survived, Jonjar thought and closed the bar. There was a small smile on their face when they headed towards their sleeping quarters. Maybe being in the Alliance wasn’t so bad after all.

#swtor #swtor fic #swtor oc #chivjon #chivoth

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ri-writing · 7 years ago

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Cassian Andor and the No Good, Very Bad Day

Title: Cassian Andor and the No Good, Very Bad Day Rating: PG? Mild cursing, and Cassian kills someone Summary: Cassian isn't sure what he did to deserve this punishment, but ultimately, it doesn't matter. He'll follow orders – even if they are to bring General Cracken's teenage son with him on a mission to purchase a datacard. At least it's Taanab. What could go wrong on Taanab? Disclaimer: I have been ficcing it for 20 years, but I still own nothing.

Note - I wrote this originally in December 2016. I wasn’t planning on really sharing it - it was meant to be me getting Feels out of my system - but there hasn’t been as much R1 stuff on Tumblr lately and that makes me sad. So this is me trying to add at least one other R1 post to the Tumblr verse.

(Oh, and I really am going to finish that Jyn, Bodhi, and Mon fic. Promise.)

Dramatis Personae: General Airen Cracken (Alliance Intelligence) Captain Cassian Andor (Alliance Intelligence) Talon Karrde (Smuggler and Information Broker for Car'das organization) Pash Cracken (15 year old kid) Wes Janson (16 year old kid) Approx. 1 BBY Despite what Cracken said, Cassian Andor knew he was being punished for something. No one was assigned a babysitting mission when they were doing quality work. He mentally ran through the past few months, but found not one thing that Cracken could realistically take issue with. He was given jobs. He got them done. The Alliance received what they needed. Open and closed. And yet, Cassian could find no other rational for being told to take a kid with him than babysitting mission. Of course it was a babysitting mission, he told himself. They were on Taanab. The world was hardly a hotbed of useful information, unless one was particularly excited on the growing conditions of turnips. Meeting an information broker on this type of world was the sort of thing that not even Cracken's greenest recruit could mess up. Behind him, he heard a crash and shut his eyes. Correction. Not even Cracken's greenest recruit could mess it up – unless that recruit was Cracken's own son. If they didn't look so similar, Cassian would have sworn they could not possibly be related.

Why Cracken insisted the boy accompany him was beyond Cassian. The only explanation Cracken gave was: “Pash needs experience.” Roughly translated, that meant Cracken saw some sort of potential in his son as an intelligence operative. Cassian was quite sure that was wishful thinking on the general's part. Anyone with even the slightest bit of common sense could tell that Pash Cracken would make a terrible spy. He was hardly the sort who could make himself look forgettable – lanky and awkward, with bright red hair sticking out in several directions, a face full of freckles, and clothes that were just a bit too baggy. He also had all of no stealth ability. His track record in the fifteen minutes they'd been off the speeder bus spoke for itself - the kid had managed to knock over three fruit stands and trip over his own feet so many times that Cassian lost count. How he was going to get the kid through the open air market that lay between him and the meet point for Cracken's contact was a whole other problem. Steeling himself, he turned to survey the latest round of damage. Pash was scrambling to collect some sort of bright pink fruit and trying to return it to a stand in front of a grocer. Nothing looked permanently harmed. It probably could have been worse. Probably. He briefly debated sending the kid back to the speeder bus depot to wait for him. Tempting as it was, he suspected it would only result in being demoted even further in Cracken's opinion. The only thing that could be worse than being demoted to babysitting a child and going on a joke of an assignment was having no assignment at all. He'd given up too much for the rebellion to let Pash Cracken be the end of his Intelligence career. “Sorry.” The kid returned the last of the fruit to the stand, then hurried over to where he was waiting. Cassian gave him a long look, considered ten different ways to chew him out from here until next Sunday, and swallowed all of them. “We're late.” He turned back towards the street. “Don't touch anything else.” Pash fell into step beside him and dutifully shoved his hands in his pockets as if to say See? Cannot touch. “Is there anything I should be doing?” “Not touching anything,” Cassian reminded him. “Anything else?” Pash asked hopefully. “Is there anyone I'm supposed to look out for? Suspicious people? Contacts?” “No.” He turned into the market and prayed to whatever Taanabian deities existed that this would all be over soon. “Should I count red shirts?” Pash added. Don't ask, Andor. You don't want to know the answer. Despite his better judgment, he heard himself do the exact thing he'd decided against half a heartbeat earlier. “Red shirts?” “Dad says you should always pay attention to your surroundings. We play this game where we walk through a crowd and, when we're on the other side, I have to tell him how many red shirts I see,” Pash explained, as if these sorts of behaviors were normal father-son bonding activities. “Sometimes, he changes the color, so I can't get away with planning for the questions in advance. When we're around pilots, it can also be helmets.” He was right. He hadn't wanted to know. “You don't have to count shirts.” “Do you have another lesson I'm supposed to work on?” Pash asked. “No.” “Captain Andor?” Pash asked as they began to cut across the market. What could the kid possibly want to ask him now? Cassian was sure they'd depleted all possible sources of questions. He suppressed a sigh. “Yes?” “Dad said we're picking up some information about Imperial shipments from someone who works for Jorj Car'das.” Pash said. Cassian's shoulders tensed. Why not announce it to the entire planet? At least, he reminded himself, no one on Taanab cared what they were doing. He'd seen all of three stormtroopers since landing. All three were lazily resting with planetary control officers at customs checkpoints in the spaceport. Even the Empire knew there was nothing of use to the Rebellion on Taanab. Nonetheless, it was stupid to tempt fate. Cassian ground his teeth together and made a mental note to explain how the galaxy worked to Pash Cracken once they were back on base. “Yes.” “That doesn't make any sense.” Pash frowned. “Car'das – he's got connections to the Empire. What's to stop him from selling us out? They'd know what shipments we'd be targeting, and could set a trap. You don't actually trust him, do you?” Cassian could count the people he trusted on one hand without using all his fingers – and even one of those people was a droid. “Of course not.” “So then why....oh.” Pash said as they came to a stop outside an old building bearing the sign Ye Olde Ale Hall. “You're counting on Car'das selling us out.” He looked thoughtful as he worked through it. “The Imperials will be looking for a raid at the wrong places, meaning it'll be easier to go after a different target.” He had to hand it to the kid. He'd started seeing different ways information could be used. Cassian nodded once. “Something like that. Now, listen. You.” He gestured at Pash, “Are going to wait here. I'm going to go in and talk with this contact.” Pash pouted, looking even younger than his fifteen years. “Why can't I come?” Because my orders didn't say you had to meet Car'das, and I can't trust you not to blow this. “Because I told you to wait here.” He stuck the boy with a look. “I could have told you to wait at the depot.” Pash sighed in what Cassian defined as 'that privileged obnoxious teenager way,' but leaned against the side of the building and got comfortable. “And don't talk to anyone.” Cassian added. “You won't let me do anything, so no chance of that happening,” Pash muttered under his breath. He crossed his arms against his chest, but stayed put. For half a heartbeat, he wondered if keeping the kid outside was safest. He didn't know what was happening inside, but, if he brought Pash with him, at least he could put himself between danger and the child that he was supposed to ensure did not die. At the same time, he also wasn't sure what to expect from anyone associated with Jorj Car'das. A man did not get a reputation for brutality for no reason, and that sort of man would value others who shared his opinions on those types of topics. Cassian took one last look around the small central city. There were mothers pushing strollers, people buying vegetables, and a teenage boy trying to impress a group of girls by a nearby fountain. Not exactly a war zone. It's Taanab. He reminded himself. How much trouble can one teenager get into in a farmer's market on Taanab? “Stay here.” He repeated as he ducked inside the door. He'd expected some sort of hole in the wall or seedy bar. Instead, he found a sparsely populated, halfway decent restaurant. A few nicely dressed Bothans were holding some sort of business meeting over a meal in one corner. A young couple appeared to have opted for an afternoon caf as a first date, while a man with thick black hair and a shirt that likely cost more than Cassian's entire life perused a wine list at the bar. A woman in a waitress uniform had even taken up residence at a large table inside the door and appeared to be doing schoolwork. For the first time in a long time, Cassian found he didn't belong. How, he wondered, had no one bothered to include this information in his orders? While he should have known that anything safe enough for Cracken's son to tag along on wouldn't be the sorts of places he normally frequented, someone should have warned him to at least bring a jacket that didn't look like it had been to a war zone. “Ah.” The man with the wine list laid it down on the counter. “Something tells me you're looking for me.” Cassian nodded. “If you're waiting for Schopf.” “I was.” The man gave him a thin smile, then asked conversationally, “Will he be joining us?” “Unfortunately, he won't be able to make it.” It was, after all, quite difficult to make a meeting when you're dead. Another good man. Another mission incomplete. “I'm sorry to hear that.” The man did look sorry. “He had a rare appreciation for good food.” He pushed the wine list across the bar and fixed his full attention on Cassian. “So.” This time, the man's smile carried all the way up to his ice blue eyes, “What can Jorj Car'das do for you?” There was no way this man was Car'das. He was too young – at most, only a few years older than Cassian. A lackey, then. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse. It didn't matter; his personal feelings on the issue weren't important. “I understand you have shipping records.” “Ah. Yes.” The man motioned to the bartender to pour him a glass from the bottle she was holding. “Do you enjoy wine, Mr. …?” “Not particularly.” Cassian replied. “That's a shame. They have a local variety on world that is quite good.” The man watched him carefully. When Cassian didn't react, he shook his head slightly, as if disappointed. “Well then. Shipping.” Shipping schedules for Imperial supply freighters. “Yes.” “I hear it's a booming market out there these days.” The man picked up his wine glass and sniffed at it as if they were in a vineyard tasting room and not a building alongside a street market. “Cargoes going everywhere, comprised of every sort of thing imaginable.” “So I've heard.” Cassian agreed. He tasted the wine and smiled slightly. “Good vintage.” He set the glass on the edge of the bar and gave Cassian his full attention once more. “Well then, down to business. I'm afraid I'll have to ask for cash. Car'das is a bit behind the times and refuses to deal with accounts.” “Cash is fine.” Cash didn't leave a paper trail. Cassian couldn't imagine anyone would be stupid enough to pay by account – especially since that account information could easily be sold to the highest bidder. “Assuming you've got what was promised Schopf.” “If I didn't, I wouldn't be a very good businessman.” He smiled again. “You can't honestly think we're all savages.” Businessmen. Was that what they were calling themselves these days? Before he had a chance to respond, his contact's comlink chirped. The man gave him an apologetic look, murmured, “Excuse me one moment,” and motioned for Cassian to check out the datacard before directing his attention to the comlink. “Go ahead.” Cassian pulled his datapad out and slid the card into it. Pages of dates, shipment numbers, and freighter IDs sprung to life. He pretended to inspect it as he tried to catch what he could of the conversation. “And what sort of shape are they in?” Car'das' man asked. Cassian strained his ears to try to catch the other voice, but the comlink's sound was turned down just low enough that, to anyone even slightly outside the range, it sounded like nothing but a garbled mess. “Ah. Yes, I'm interested.” The man said softly. “Tell Ms. Hallik I'm finishing up with a client, but I'd like to meet her and see if we could do business. Say – an hour? Thank you.” Stowing the comlink, he turned back to Cassian. “Sorry about that. One of my colleagues stumbled upon a potentially profitable deal. I trust the datacards are acceptable.” He couldn't see anything wrong with them. The information certainly looked legit. Cassian nodded and handed the stack of credits over to Schopf's contact. The man smiled genteelly as he pocketed the money. “A pleasure. If you'll excuse me?” Yes, go find a new home for whatever spice or guns someone wants to sell you. Cassian nodded at him. He withdrew the datacard from his datapad and stashed it in an inner pocket to his coat. “Oh,” the man laid a few cred chips on the bar to cover his tab, “One more thing, Captain Andor. If you're interested in doing business in the future, just contact the owner of this establishment and ask her to put you in touch with Sabacc. She'll be able to arrange whatever meetings are necessary.” Cassian blinked. His mind tried to put the pieces together – tried to figure out how Sabacc (what kind of a name was Sabacc anyway?) knew the first thing about him – and reached two potential solutions: either Schopf had mentioned him (possible) or there was a mole in Alliance Intelligence (something he did not want to consider but now had to). His potential new contact smiled once more as he slid his hands into his pockets and walked towards the door. Cassian had half a mind to tail the man before he remembered the flaw in that plan. It was going to be impossible to tail anyone with Pash Cracken tagging along. He sighed to himself, then pushed away from the bar. Finding out more about Sabacc-the-man would have to wait. At least, he told himself as he crossed the restaurant once more, the mission was technically a success. He had the information. No one had died. He wasn't sitting in an infirmary somewhere. All things considered, it was better than most of the things he did for the Alliance. He blinked in the sudden brightness of the sun as he stepped outside and turned towards where he left Pash. The wall the kid been holding up earlier was now standing just fine on its own. Damn. What part of stay here had been that hard to understand? Cassian spotted the kid a moment later, standing by a nearby vegetable vendor with the boy from the fountain as they poured over a magazine. The boys' eyes were wide as they stared at the images. Pathetic. The Galaxy's Worst Spy could not only not understand the concept of orders, but was easily distracted by a skin magazine. Cassian strolled towards the kids. The other boy pointed at something in the magazine they held between them, and Pash nodded enthusiastically. Cassian snatched it from their hands. Rolling it up, he glared at his charge. “I thought I told you not talk to anyone.” Pash frowned. “I thought you meant people who could be dangerous.” “Anyone,” Cassian repeated. “But,” Pash tried again, “Wes had a magazine about TIE fighters,” he said as if that made it all better. How was he even supposed to respond to that? How? Wordlessly, Cassian unrolled the magazine. Imperial propaganda images stared back at him. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse than a skin magazine. Deciding that was Airen Cracken's problem, he shoved the magazine into the inner pocket of his coat. “Is this your dad?” The other kid (apparently Wes: owner of TIE magazines) piped up. “Maybe he can help us.” He looked up at Cassian for a moment, then asked, “How do you get girls to talk to you? I've tried 'hi,'” he began counting on his fingers, “And compliments, and jokes. And my new buddy here said he tries to talk with them about spaceships-” “We're leaving.” Cassian interrupted. “But this is important information,” Wes protested. Cassian ignored him. Motioning at Pash to follow him, he started into the market once more. “Sorry.” Pash muttered over his shoulder at his new friend. “Bye Pash,” Wes called after them as they rounded the corner of the building. “Bye, Mr. Cracken.” Cassian froze. Beside him, he felt Pash falter at the sudden stop. “What's wrong?” Pash looked around the market in confusion. “You told him your name?” Cassian asked softly. “Yes?” Pash's confusion doubled. Cassian resisted the urge to find the nearest wall and repeatedly bang his head against it. Airen Cracken's son thought telling people who he was ranked among his better ideas. Tilting his head back, he stared at the sky and counted slowly backwards from ten. What kind of idiot...? He grabbed Pash by the back of his jacket and pulled him behind the nearest building. Seeing the empty alleyway, he turned to face the kid. “Listen. When you aren't on Contruum, or with your father, and someone asks you your name, give a fake one.” “I'm a nobody,” Pash reminded him. “It's not like I'm Bail Organa. My name is as worthless as if it was John Antilles.” Cassian lowered his voice, “Do you have any idea how valuable you would be to the Imperials? Your father liberated a planet. He's helped set up resistance cells across the galaxy. He's one of the biggest thorns in the Empire's side. What do you think would happen if they could get their hands on you?” Judging by the look on Pash's face, he never thought that through before. And, Cassian suspected, right about now, he was probably trying to envision how his father would rescue him should the unthinkable happen. For half a moment, he considered letting Pash keep his childish illusions...but he couldn't. Cracken clearly thought it was a good idea to send Pash with one of his operatives. Pash needed to know what that meant. “Best case scenario?” Cassian told him, “They kill you quickly. Most likely, though, they'll slowly torture you to get every bit of information you might possibly know. You'd be surprised how much valuable information is already in your brain – things your father told you, things you've overheard, things about your family. You might tell yourself that you would never tell them – we like to think that – but you will. In the end, you will. Everyone always does. And after they've gotten everything out of you, after you've betrayed each and every secret you have, they will kill you. I can see what you're thinking, but before you kid yourself that there's a rescue coming, it's not. You aren't valuable to the Rebellion. Your father might love you – he might even be willing to die for you - but he can't send dozens of good men to their deaths to rescue someone who doesn't gain the Rebellion anything. They capture you. They torture you. They kill you. That is the only way it ends.” Cassian watched as Pash's face continued to lose color with each word he heard. When he still didn't speak, Cassian added, “Do you understand?” Silently, Pash swallowed, then nodded. “Good.” He held up two fingers. “Next lesson. Unless you are on base, never imagine for a second that you are safe. To the average person, Taanab is not dangerous. It's a farming world and Imperial oversight is lax. Just because they're lax, doesn't mean you are, because your stakes,” he pushed a finger into Pash's chest, “Are too high. You have everything to lose. The moment you forget that, or discount that? Is the moment you put yourself and your team at risk. And if your commanding officer gives you an order, you follow it unless you have a damn good reason not to. Do you understand?” Pash nodded again. “Good.” Cassian turned towards the entrance to the alley. “Let's go. Do not touch anything. Do not talk to anyone. Stay by me.” For the first time all day, Pash obeyed, no questions asked. The boy did not make a single peep as they waited for the speeder bus. He didn't even kick at the pebbles in front of his feet. Most of the time, he hung his head and stared at his shoes. Given what he'd seen so far from Pash Cracken, Cassian doubted it was an act. He almost felt sympathy for the boy, but pushed it away. Airen Cracken wanted Pash to learn about intelligence work. Cassian had told him what that meant. The sooner Pash came to terms with how war worked – with how the galaxy worked – the better. People didn't survive long in this sort of work. The ones who made it a little longer than most knew how to play the game, knew how to avoid stupid mistakes, and knew how to think on their feet. It didn't matter how many red shirts there were. It mattered whether you got the information you needed into the hands of the person who needed it. Period. The end. The transport bus slid to a stop in front of them and its doors whispered open. Cassian motioned for Pash to climb aboard, then dropped two cred chips into the bin in the front of the vehicle. A cold blast of air conditioning hit him in the face. Who, he wondered, felt the need for air conditioning on a day like today? It didn't matter. In thirty minutes, they'd be at the spaceport. He could probably get a slot to leave within an hour after that. His time babysitting was drawing to a close. Cassian leaned back in his seat and propped his knees on the back of the seat ahead of him. He resisted the urge to pull out his datapad and scroll through the information they'd purchased from Car'das to find anything of use. Whatever was there wasn't his business unless someone higher up decided it was. Considering how far he'd fallen, he doubted anyone wanted to trust him with any sort of useful information at the moment. Beside him, Pash looked out the window and shivered. Cassian watched him – watched the stubborn look building around the kid's eyes – and then shrugged out of his jacket. “Here.” Pash looked at him. “I'm warm,” he offered by way of explanation. Pash took the jacket and pulled it on with a mumbled, “Thanks.” “Guard that with your life.” Cassian told him. “Because it's your favorite?” Pash asked. “No.” Cassian tapped the side of the jacket with the datacard. “Because it has my cred chips and your magazine.” Pash nodded and zipped the jacket as if this would keep everything safe. It would, Cassian had to admit, protect against pickpockets. He hoped that the kid had done it for that reason. It would show risk management – or at least thinking. “When we get to the ship,” Pash finally spoke, “Can I do anything to help you?” “You can com home and let them know we're en route,” Cassian told him. “I can fly.” Pash's session of silence was apparently over. He should never have given the kid his coat. It wasn't meant as a silent everything between us is fine now. It was a I don't want to explain to the man who holds the future of my career in his hands how you died of hypothermia. “Can and will are two different things,” Cassian replied as the transport came to a stop. “I'll fly. You'll be on communications.” He tapped Pash on the shoulder. “This is us.” The spaceport was slightly busier than it had been when they arrived. While that wasn't saying much, “busy” on Taanab did come with a line all of seven people long at the Customs station. Cassian let his gaze sweep over the others, picking out five cargo pilots, an employee for a civilian transport company, and a kid not much older than Pash dressed in a coat with a crop dusting logo on the back. A discussion broke out over the transport company employee's papers, and Cassian leaned against the metal railing for the line area to wait. “Is it okay if I read?” Pash asked. Cassian nodded – it wasn't as if Pash could get in trouble reading – and watched as the kid pulled out his magazine and flipped it open. Now that he was paying attention to it, he could see the logo of the Imperial Flight Academy on Carida blazoned on the front. Of course, Cassian thought bitterly, It had to be Carida. Pash looked at it with the sort of rapt awe that Cassian had only seen on the faces of religious fanatics. Remembering the kid's requests to fly their shuttle, he asked, “You want to be a pilot?” “Yup.” Pash nodded as he turned a page. “As soon as I turn seventeen, I'm going to apply. My simulator scores are already better than most cadets' and my scores in mathematics are on track. Carida is my top choice – they have the greatest variety of programs – but Dad says Vensenor is a better program for pure flight training.” Pash needs experience. Cassian felt something settle in his stomach as he watched Pash read about Imperial starfighters. Sweet Force. Cracken wasn't planning to send Pash into the field to do what Cassian and countless others did. He was planting a mole into the Imperial military. “Next.” The Customs officer called out. “We're after her.” Cassian tried to keep his voice neutral as he played through the implications of Cracken's plan. “Find your travel papers.” What sort of man sent his own child into the Rancor's pit? You've been fighting since you were younger than Pash. Cassian told the voice in his mind to be quiet. That was different. When he joined the fight, he didn't have a family. There hadn't been anyone left to look out for him. The woman who had been talking with the Customs officer moved off into the spaceport. The officer waved at them to step forward. “Papers?” Cassian handed his over and waited for Pash to retrieve his from the rear pocket of his pants. He made a mental note to explain the importance of stashing papers in places from which they could not be easily stolen to Pash on the ride home. “Name?” The Customs officer looked bored. “Britt Dorset,” Cassian matched the officer's bored tone. “I'm Jon.” Pash put in. The officer glanced at their photos, then at them. “Your kid?” “Nephew.” Cassian offered. “Purpose on world?” The officer began stamping the documents. “Picking up a shipment of turnips.” Cassian replied. The Customs officer nodded once, then passed them their documents. “You're good to go. See Control on the second floor about scheduling an exit window.” “Can I meet you at the ship?” Pash asked as they moved into the spaceport. “I want to see if I can do the calculations for the nav computer and then compare them with yours. For practice.” Cassian tried to find the catch to that. The spaceport was pretty dead. It wasn't that far to the shuttle. The kid wanted to do math – and Cassian believed he was being truthful about that. “Sure.” He handed Pash a control chip. “Just lock it up once you're on board and don't let anyone until I get back.” He waited until Pash disappeared in the direction of the shuttle before taking the stairs to Traffic Control. Several rounds of paperwork – the boring predictable sort – and the traditional bribe, and he had an exit slot within the hour. It would have been perfect except that, upon returning to the ship, he was greeted with a locked hull and no Pash. You have got to be kidding me. Cassian stared at the hull of the ship and wondered how – how – he'd let himself be played by a fifteen year old kid. He was the galaxy's greatest idiot. No wonder Cracken no longer trusted him. He was dumb enough to believe a fifteen year old actually wanted to do math. “Are you looking for the redhead boy?” Cassian turned and saw an older man leaning against a pile of crates and smoking a pipe. “Yes.” “He went off with the Roat boys.” The old man pointed at Cassian with his pipe. He didn't know who the Roat boys were. He found he didn't care. All he knew was that he was going to make that kid's life a nightmare from now until they arrived back with the Alliance. “I don't believe it,” Cassian muttered. “Oh, believe it,” the man told him. “If it helps, he didn't really have much of a choice in the matter. They jumped him right quick. Can't say I'm surprised after all that nonsense with his old man.” Cassian felt himself turn cold. There was bad, and then there was bad. Pash Cracken being made as Pash Cracken – someone taking Pash Cracken because of Airen Cracken – that was about as bad as it could get. Cassian bit back a growl. Apparently, Pash's little revelation in the market did not go unnoticed. “Which way did they go.” “Can't seem to remember.” Cassian held up his last cred chip. “Just remembered.” The man pocketed the chip. “Their ship is docked in Bay 17.” A quick check of the spaceport map revealed Bay 17 was one of the furthest landing bays from the center of the spaceport. Of course it was. The sort of people who abducted children weren't going to do their dirty work where anyone could see them. If they were smart, they were also the sort who wouldn't hang around long. He ran. He ran because he needed to return Pash in one piece to keep his place in the Rebellion. He ran because he had orders and he'd be damned if some thugs named Roat were going to keep him from following them. He ran because Pash was a stupid, naive, privileged little idiot, and some damn foolish part of Cassian wanted the boy to stay that way – to stay a child even if it was just for a few more months. He needn't have worried about the Roats leaving Taanab. When he reached Bay 17, he found stacks of crates, some as high as the ship, that were either being loaded or unloaded. For now, they were forgotten. For half a heartbeat, Cassian wondered if the bay was deserted or if he had been misled. Then he heard the voices. Walking around the crates, unarmed, to confront people who almost certainly were not in compliance with Taanab's spaceport blaster restriction laws did not seem like a good way to recover his charge. Cassian glanced at the piles of crates, mentally measuring the heights of various stacks against the height of the ship. If he could get above them, he might be able to jump them.... He climbed. It was, as climbs were concerned, one of the easier ones. The crates were large and stable, despite not being tied down or otherwise attached to anything. At a height of about one standard story, he was able to transition from the boxes to the wing of the ship, and from there, crawl along the wing towards the voices near the back of the ship. “But that's what I'm trying to tell you,” Pash was saying as Cassian peered over the back edge of the wing. “ I'm not Jon Dorset. I'm not even from Taanab.” He looked between two scrappy looking thugs, neither of whom had been anywhere near a sink for days and both of whom held battered blasters. “You're a terrible liar,” the thug on Pash's left said. “We saw you in the market. Don't look at me like that. Everyone knows you run with the Janson kid. How many redheaded friends do you think Janson has? Mort here was even behind you in line when you went through Customs.” The thug on the right, obviously the “Mort” in question, looked down at Pash at sneered. “Yeah. How dumb do you think we are?” “Next he's going to tell us his daddy really doesn't have any money,” the other thug joked, waving a blaster under Pash's nose. Pash's eyes somehow managed to get even larger. Cassian rolled onto his back and took stock of the situation. It was not good. If K-2 was here, he could give Cassian a percentage of 'not good,' but Cassian was going to take a stab in the dark and say it was 100% not good. Alliance intelligence had messed up. Their names were supposed to be objects of fantasy, but either sloppy work or failed research resulted in Intelligence giving at least Pash the name of a real Taanabian. Worse yet, it was the name of a Taanabian that he resembled and that petty criminals cared about. Cassian silently hoped Jon Dorset was worth more alive than dead – and that the men would give him an opening to reclaim his teenage charge. Mort looked at Pash, who was doing a good job of saying nothing, and cycled through several more sneers. “Not so clever now, are ya?” Another four versions of sneer crossed his mouth. He caught his partner's eye and jerked his thumb around the back of his ship. “Load him in the speeder. I'll contact his father.” Cassian ran through a quick mental catalog of what he had available to him for use as a weapon. It turned up nothing useful – no knives, no sharp implements...he didn't even have his coat any longer. Beneath him, the remaining thug was waving the blaster in the direction of the speeder and ordering Pash inside. If that happened, his chances of recovering a breathing Pash Cracken went down dramatically. Don't get in the speeder. Don't get in the speeder. Pash hesitated. “Kid, don't make me tell you again.” The thug's slid the safety off the blaster. “Mort might want money from your dad, but I'm fine with my revenge the old fashioned way.” He was done waiting. The drop wasn't as bad as it could have been. Landing on the thug helped. And then there was nothing – no emotions, no pain – just simple, basic flashes from his senses. The clatter as the blaster fell to the floor. The hard muscles in the back of the other man. The flash of light against metal as his opponent drew a knife. The crack of ligaments as he manipulated the wrist of the knife hand. The way the knife bit into the skin of his arm as he tried to wrest it away. The heavy breathing as his opponent moved to throw him. The feel of a clean snap as he broke the neck of the other man. And then it was over, and Cassian found himself staggering backwards from his opponent. He was aware that his breath was ragged, and that his heart was racing, and that less than a minute had passed since he leapt from the top of the ship's wing. Regaining his footing, he straightened and looked at Pash. The kid's eyes were huge. They moved from Cassian, to the body on the floor, and back to Cassian. His right hand, Cassian noted, clutched the blaster the thug had dropped. “Is he...?” “Yes.” He retrieved the knife from where it had fallen and set to work cutting a sleeve off the thug's shirt. He didn't even want to think about how the gash on his arm was going to feel once the adrenaline began to wear off. Thrusting the fabric at Pash, he pulled back his own sleeve. “I need you to cover the wound, and bind it with this.” For a long moment, it looked like Pash was going to do nothing more than stare at the corpse. Then he blinked once, grabbed the stripped away sleeve, and pressed it against Cassian's forearm. “How much pressure?” He began to wrap the makeshift bandage. “I'll let you know if its too tight.” It was starting to hurt already. Damn. He couldn't get a good look at it, but he knew it was bad if it hurt already. Cassian waited in silence until the bandage was tied off. As long as the knife hadn't gotten an artery, that should hold until they got back to the spaceport. If the knife had caught an artery, well, then it wouldn't matter. “Here.” Pash shrugged out of Cassian's coat and held it out to him. “This is bulky enough that it should hide the, uh, bandage so we won't attract attention on the way back to the ship.” It was a little less bulky on him than on Pash, but at least the kid was thinking. Careful of the arm, Cassian pulled the coat on, then motioned to Pash with his good hand. “Okay. Good work. We're leaving.” He took three steps, watched the world swim, paused, then shut his eyes. “Kid?” “Yes?” “When you said you knew how to fly a shuttle,” while asking me to let you fly every five minutes on the way here, “How much experience do you have?” “I've been doing solo flights in a Z95 since I was twelve.” Pash told him. “Are you going to let me fly?” “No.” Cassian said gruffly. “But if I pass out on the way out of here, then you are allowed to fly.” ~*~ “Are you sure you don't want to use Bacta patches for this?” The medic set down a metal tray on to the table. Cassian cast a look at the suture needles and thread on the tray, then made a point of looking anywhere but at the tray. “Positive.” Bacta patches might be painless, but they were also not as plentiful on bases as the more archaic methods of healing. “It's just a scratch.” “It'll probably be a good twelve stitches.” The medic corrected him coolly. “You're lucky your assailant didn't nick anything important.” When he merely held out his arm in response, she shook her head once, then got to work cleaning the wound. He tried to ignore the pain and concentrate on developing a decent explanation for why a routine pick up had gone wrong. Sometime around the fourth pass of the needle through his skin, he had to admit the worst: there was no good way to spin your kid almost died on my watch to a commanding officer. There was also a good chance this was the end. Cassian shut his eyes and kept his teeth clenched together. He still wasn't sure what he'd done to get this unofficial demotion, but the day's events had surely cemented whatever poor opinions Cracken and the others must have had of him. This job was all he had. This fight was all he had. Everything had been lost or taken or given in the name of this cause. It would all be for nothing. “How bad was it?” Airen Cracken's gruff voice interrupted the silence. Cassian opened his eyes to see the general just inside the room, his shoulder leaning against the wall. “Twelve stitches.” The medic replied as she finished a knot on the sutures. “But the wound wasn't dangerously deep. He'll live.” Cassian gave her a wane smile and reached for his sleeve. “Don't even think about it, Captain.” The medic stuck him with the sort of stern look he always imagined school headmistresses would perfect for unruly students. “That shirt is filthy. Unless you'd like to be back in here with an infection?” He dropped his hand back to his lap. Cracken gave the medic a tired smile as he pushed himself upright. “Do you mind if we use the room for a few minutes?” “As long as you make sure he doesn't try to roll down that sleeve,” the medic waved a hand in Cassian's direction, “Be my guest.” As Cracken took up the spot that the medic vacated, Cassian found himself subconsciously reaching for his sleeve, only to stop under Cracken's gaze. He forced his hand away again and his chin to stay up. He opened his mouth to report, only to have Cracken hold up a hand. “Pash filled me in.” Cassian took a moment to run that through his mind before choosing the neutral response of, “I see.” “Not exactly how I expected things to go.” Cracken continued. It was the sort of moment where someone could use the phrases “I can explain” or “I'm sorry.” Either of those phrases implied guilt, however, so Cassian said nothing. Cracken sighed heavily and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the small table. “I just thank the Force you were the one with him.” Cassian blinked. That was not exactly the direction he expected the conversation to go. “Sir?” Cracken favored him with a tired look. “I suspect you're wondering why I pulled you from your typical roster of assignments to accompany a fifteen year old.” He rubbed at his temples, then leaned back in his chair once more. “Pash is a prodigy at military spaceflight. He was better than me by the time he was thirteen. He can beat any of the old simulator scenarios we have, and he's likely better than at least half of the military grade pilots we've got in the Rebellion. What he's not good at is espionage.” “He told me about the flight academy,” Cassian offered. Cracken blinked. “He told you?” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Figures. Yes, I plan on sending him to one of the flight academies if I think he can handle it. We're setting up some small training ops for him – things like spending a month at a boarding school here or several weeks in a group home there. They're ways for him to practice being someone else without the stakes being quite so high – and tests to make sure he won't make the sort of mistake that could end his life.” The several hours he'd had to mull over the idea of Cracken using his own son as a spy hadn't given Cassian any additional guidance on how to feel about that. Part of him wanted to shake the man and tell him how lucky he was to have a normal family, and that he needed to do everything he could to never, ever risk that. Another part of him had to admit that planting a mole Cracken knew he could trust was smart. Neither of those thoughts were thoughts he could voice, so he chose to stick to the practical aspects. “He's not going to be like your regular operatives. He sees life as black and white.” “He's young.” Cracken nodded. “Fortunately, he just has to attend classes and fly fighters and keep an ear to the ground. And when the time comes...well, he's starting to have his eyes opened to the realities of war.” Yes, watching a man get his neck snapped had that effect on a person. Cassian wasn't about to share that thought either, and returned to the safely neutral response of, “I see.” Cracken studied him a moment, then announced, “I'm looking for people to act as handlers.” “Handlers,” he repeated. “People to train Pash, get him ready. Make sure he knows how to take care of himself. Make sure he learns how to blend in and cover his tracks. Make sure he understands what he's getting into before it's too late. Make sure he stays alive.” Cracken continued. “I was wondering if you had anyone you'd recommend.” Cracken meant him. Cassian took a moment to consider the implications. What he'd seen as a demotion was, in fact, an audition - one he'd apparently passed with flying colors. There was probably some sort of promotion in it. It was most definitely meant to be some sort of honor. At the end of the day, though, he couldn't see himself spending the next two years grooming a kid for a long term undercover op. There were better ways he could be useful. “I'd recommend Lena Cavert. She's smart, trustworthy, and has a fair bit of undercover experience thanks to her days at CorSec.” If Cracken was surprised, he didn't show it. He merely picked up a pencil and jotted the name down on a piece of flimsy, as if he had just heard it and hadn't been speaking with the woman the day before. “That's a good recommendation. Anyone else you can think of?” “If I was going to send my son into an enemy stronghold, I'd want Cavert training him,” Cassian replied. Cracken was silent a long moment. Finally, he climbed to his feet. “Draven has a neutralization assignment on his desk.” The unspoken care to reconsider hung in the air. No one liked neutralization work. It was a necessary evil – and the sort he'd do dozens of times over during the two years he could be spending training Pash Cracken to infiltrate the Imperial military. He tried to imagine switching from ops to training, what it would be like to work behind the scenes and play an occasional character role if the situation required it. It was a relatively safe assignment – and a relatively unmessy one. And it was all to get one kid ready to do one thing two years from now. There was too much to do now. Cassian cleared his throat. “Thank you, sir. I'll report to him once we're back on world.” Notes: - There’s a lot of conflicting information on Pash’s age. Based on his story arc pre-RotJ, I calculated he'd have been born 15 or 16 ABY. *shrug* - Janson was one of the younger pilots at Yavin (despite not getting to fly because he was ill). I have him about Pash's age here. - Cassian suspects Car'das's organization would sell them out. Ironically, he deals with Karrde, who wouldn't have done so, as selling people out is terrible for business. Also “Sabacc Card” seemed to me like the type of absolutely horrible pun Karrde would love. - The “count the red shirts” game is taken from Psych, where the main character's father would have him count hats. I used red shirts because...red shirts. - Liana Hallik was one of Jyn Erso's pseudonyms. In about a year, “Liana” will be arrested for, inter alia, having weapons she shouldn't. - Johnny Dorset is the name of the kidnapped child in 'The Ransom of Red Chief.' - When I originally wrote that Pash had a brochure for the Imperial Academy on Carida, I did not know of Cassian's family connection to it. It actually came from some old Pash-centric stuff I'd written that he'd wanted to go there, but ended up elsewhere and just re-used it. The Universe apparently decided this was Meant To Be.

#cassian andor #pash cracken #RiFic

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paranoidsbible · 8 years ago

Text

The Testament of the Android

The Testament of the Android Non-profit and free for redistribution Written on November 11 | 2014 Published on October 27th | 2015 For entertainment and research purposes only

================================== DISCLAIMER: The Paranoid's Bible and its writers hold no responsibility for the acts of others. The Paranoid’s Bible is for research and entertainment purposes only. Please visit our blog for more PDFs and information: https://www.paranoidsbible.tumblr.com/ ================================== Contents Preface 4 What is Rooting? 5 Benefits and drawbacks of root 6 Common custom versions of Android 7 Basic apps Google doesn’t want you to know about 9 XPosed Installer 11 XPrivacy 12 Rooting 101 13 Installing your custom ROM 14 Afterword 15 ================================== Preface Hello guys. I was asked by the Paranoid’s Bible team to make a short segment about Android rooting and security to complement the main book as the team is too paranoid to move on from their Nokia 3310. Well, here it is. In this guide, I will talk about some easy methods to root your phone, why you need to do it this very moment without excuse, mention some ROM’s for you to load onto your phone and finally, some apps to protect the little privacy you have left in your life. At least for a week until the NSA decides to reveal that all phones since 2001 has had several hardware-level backdoors installed. ================================== What is Rooting? Rooting is the process of gaining “root”-level access on your Android device. For some reason, Google thought it was a brilliant idea to lock away the Android version of an Administrator account for “your own safety and ease of use”. Basically, your phone is gimped on purchase. While most people won’t even notice it, the admin account is out of your grasp. Imagine if that was true for your PC. Something’s wrong, and it’s easy to fix, but you can’t run CMD.exe as admin to fix the issue with three lines of commands. You want to install this piece of software, but you need admin rights to do it so you can’t use it. That’s the default setting on Android. As you can see, it’s basically a middle finger to consumers and developers alike, and many phone producers (like HTC and Samsung) are aware of the potential drawbacks of this and therefore have made it much easier for the average user to unlock this power of system administration. Also, with root, you can get rid of /ALL/ apps installed on your phone, so if you have a Samsung (or any American carrier phone with bloat installed), you will feel blessed by the seven gods of fate over the ability to remove said cancerous bloat that does nothing but take up space. ================================== Benefits and drawbacks of root As I touched on briefly before, Root has some amazing benefits. I’ll make a short list of it now, followed by a list of cons to make it easy to decide if rooting is for you. Pros: • System-level control • Uninstall carrier apps • Custom OS install • Hardware-level tweaks (CPU speed, battery life, better screen controls, multi-touch boost) • Install ALL apps on your device • Custom functions and button mappings • AdBlock • System images for 100% reliable backup • Super secret privacy stuff on your device • xPosed network Cons: • Risk of soft-bricking your device • You may void your warranty • All updates of your Android version must be done by hand • Minor compatibility issues • You won’t ever be able to live with stock android again ================================== Common custom versions of Android Even if you aren’t into rooting, you should already know about CyanogenMod. It’s probably the most expansive, compatible and well-marketed version of Android out there and it has been customized to run on a frankly insane amount of devices. But for now, let’s do a run-down on the most popular ROM’s and some a little more obscure and device-specific for your pleasure. ==Cyanogenmod - https://www.cyanogenmod.org/ == As mentioned just before, Cyanogenmod is probably the way to go for a beginner root user. It’s so simple that my mom actually uses it and likes it. That should tell you pretty much everything you need to know. If a 51-year-old woman finds joy in using this ROM, even the most tech-ignorant should be able to not mess it up. I would recommend this for every beginner because it’s as close to stock android as you can come, but with a hefty amount of added features like security reinforcement and theme support. The best thing about Cyanogenmod is that it comes with its own easy installer. Just hit up their site and follow their “how to install” guide and you are up and running in less than 15 minutes. ==Carbon - https://carbonrom.org/== Like CyanogenMod, this ROM is remarkably close to stock, but it has some nice goodies out of the bag as well. First off, it has a sleek, beautiful design, powerful optimization and is designed with a great user Experience in mind. The rom also has a nice toolbox for Carbon-exclusive features for you to tinker with. ==SlimRom - https://www.slimroms.net/ == SlimRom is another one of the UX-based roms that look, feel and work wonderfully. This rom is pretty unique and has a nice slew of features that makes the phone adapt to you, from theme inversions, left-handed mode, privacy guards and a lot more listed on their website. Do check this out of you feel like having some bling to your functionality. A fair warning: The ROM isn’t s light-weight as the previous mentions, so keep in mind that it probably won’t run well on a mid-low tier phone. ==AOKP - https://aokp.co/ == “Infused with Magical Unicorn Power” indeed. They don’t lie with that tag line. This is probably the most impressive ROM out there and needs no introduction to the people in the scene. You simply won’t find any ROM with more functions out of the box. An honestly baffling amount of hardware-level tweaks, software customizations and said Unicorn magic will make you love this ROM. Note that this will work on mid-high level phones and above. The drawback to this one is its honestly overwhelming feature set. So, if you want this to be your daily driver, please take your time to figure out how it works. ==Paranoid Android - https://paranoidandroid.co/ == Paranoid Android… Just the name makes it fit right into here. A bunch of security, a touch of amazing material design and always up-to-date, this is probably the rom for you if you like a great experience without all the hassle of tinkering with it yourself. ==Android Revolution HD - https://android-revolution-hd.blogspot.com/ == This ROM is for select HTC and Samsung devices only. Wait, why do you list it here then, Pleb, I hear the strawman in my head talk. Well, if you have ever used HTC’s version of Android they named “Sense”, you would know. The Sense overlay and features are simply some of the best. I am not even kidding here. I avoided to root my old HTC legend just because I couldn’t get a keyboard that was half as good as the one the phone came with. And all of the nice features. And the amazing UI…. Anyone that has ever used Sense wouldn’t be able to go back. And now, some wizard made a custom rom based on Android 4.4.2 and Sense 6 for you to install on your phone. So people with and HTC One M7 can still benefit from the new version of Sense that HTC doesn’t officially support for the device. Simply Magical. Please note: There are a lot of custom ROM’s out there I didn’t mention here. Just do a quick Google search if you feel like the short list I provided wasn’t enough for you. ================================== Basic apps Google doesn’t want you to know about Okay. This is where the magic happens. Did you know that Google doesn’t allow a lot of really, really useful stuff onto its main marketplace, the Google Play Store? No? Well, sit down and listen, because you are going to have your mind blown. Here’s a list of my most commonly used grey market apps for you to install: AdAway As the name suggests, this App is an ad blocker. But not just for your browser, but your entire fucking phone. Ever get tired of ads in your free games? Let’s take Cut the Rope as an example. One minute of game, three minutes of adverts. Well, that’s all in the past now, as AdAway blocks most ad networks via the hosts file on your device (See, I told you that rooting is useful). AdBlock Edge Well, let’s be honest. AdAway doesn’t catch everything, and neither does AdBlock. But together, the two cover for each other, and since I have had both of these puppies installed on my phone, I haven’t seen a single ad anywhere. Not in the browser, not in my notification feed, not anywhere. Just do yourself a favor and do this. As an added benefit, you’ll save bandwidth on your phone. Any Play Store replacement Yeah. For one reason or another, Google isn’t keen on letting you know that there are other ways for you to install apps on your device if you don’t like the hive-mind all that much. And the best thing? It’s pretty easy too! Here’s a short list of app stores you should take a gander at as an alternative: F-Droid: A basic, but developer-driven play store alternative that has some experimental apps that for one reason or another didn’t get onto Google Play. Do check it out. Amazon App Store: Yep, Amazon has its own app store, complete with both paid and free apps and games. SlideMe: A nice, community driven app store based on exploration AppsLib: A play store alternative mostly based for Tablet apps that couldn’t pass Google certification. Hidden gems galore. BlackMart: YO HO HIBBITY HE BEING A PIRATE IS ALL THERE TO BE DO WHAT YOU WANT CUZ A PIRATE IS FREE YOU ARE A PIRATE!! This one offers you paid apps for free. Yep. No strings attached. Personally, I would prefer you guys to pay for your apps as the $1 they cost isn’t really a major setback. But if you want to run a 100% info-free device, you have no other option. MarketEnabler: Not as much a replacement as it is a way to get out of region-locked downloads. BootManager This app is another one that requires Root to run. What does it do? It completely kills the auto-start triggers some apps have. You know how Skype is impossible to actually close because it always re-opens on pretty much every occasion it can? Well, nevermore to that. AppOps starter AppOps is a developer tool in Android that Google leaked by accident and has covered up since the leak. What does it do? It pretty much disables individual permissions every app you have installed has, iOS style. Because they “patched it out”, you need this to actually open the menu. But now, Angry Birds will never have to know where you sit on the toilet playing it, I guess. GravityBox Remember the hardware-level tweaks and OS tweaks I talked about on the custom ROM section? With this app, you can get that on stock, or hell, any ROM there is. No-frills CPU control Well, it’s exactly as it says on the tin. Control your CPU speed without any hassle. Titanium Backup Best backup tool there is. Just do yourself a favor and get this. UnbelovedHosts Removes ads, access to malware domains and other host-file tweaks you will love. Of course, there are many more, but I want to keep this short and sweet for the newbs. Remember, search engines are your friends if you want to have more stuff. ================================== XPosed Installer Oh boy. This one is pretty grand. It’s the single-most amazing benefit of root. The story behind this is that a guy wizard on the XDA forums found a way to make ROM-level changes on your phone without having to boot into recovery and manually patch your ROM. Yeah. Because of this, xPosed installer is the single-most useful tool for device customization and hardware-level tweaks. It’s basically a toolset for toolsets. Basically, this is a framework to install tweaks on your phone. Just as easy to use as any app store, but with 100% useful things. XPosed installer is also needed to install XPrivacy (duh), so you better just grab this from the get-go. All you do to install a module is pick it, download it and reboot your phone. Bam. If tweaking an OS could get any easier than this we would all be exalted into godhood. ================================== XPrivacy Well. In the chapters passed, we have touched briefly upon security. Now comes the mother of all privacy apps on the system. XPrivacy is a toolbox, not unlike the ones you can find on XPosed, but this one focuses on, well, you guessed it: Privacy! Okay, right away, I want you to just go buy the pro version. The guy who made this has sunk half his personal time into making this, and the paid version basically runs itself, so just do it. It’s worth the money you cheap bastard. Well, what can you do with this awesome piece of software? Restrict App permissions, restrict hidden permissions, show how much data each application uses, sends and downloads behind your back, makes a debug log for you, forces secure connections when it can, flushes your cache for identifying data, FRAKKING FAKES YOUR DEVIDE ID, NUMBER, SERIAL, HARDWARE, SCREEN RESOLUTION, GPS COORDINATES, MAC ADDRESS, IMEI NUMBER, ANDROID ID, GSF ID, ADVERTISING ID, COUNTRY, OPERATOR, GSM CELL ID, SSID AND USER AGENT. AND IT RANDOMIZES IT ON REBOOT TOO! THIS PIECE OF SOFTWARE BASICALLY SINGLE-HANDEDLY CLOAKS YOU AND YOUR PRIVACY IN A NUKEABLE WAY Another added benefit of having the paid version is the community filters. We are all too lazy to manually poke around with permissions on the 100+ apps that are on our phones, so with a simple click of a button, you can cut the balls off of all of your apps at once. No hassle, no sweat, no nothing. Just get this. You have no excuse not to. The software basically runs itself after you set it up (pretty simple to do, too). ================================== Rooting 101 Okay, now, after you have digested all of the nice options that are open to you, you want to root your phone. “But Pleb!! How do I do that??” You ask? Well, it’s actually pretty simple nowadays. Back when I rooted my first device (A HTC Legend, notorious for its Fascist-tier boot loading protection), I had to work around with custom SD cards, command line hacks and shady software. But nowadays, you can pretty much hook your phone to your computer, press a couple of buttons and bam. Done. Here are some ways to easily root your phone: CyanogenMod Installer: https://www.cyanogenmod.org This one is probably the simplest. Go to CyanogenMods homepage, download the tool and follow instructions. Within ten minutes, you should have a nicely rooted phone. Since this is literally the easiest thing in the world to do, I won’t describe how it’s done. It’s literally a 1-2-3-4-done thing. Kingo Root: https://www.kingoapp.com/ This is the second easiest option you have. It’s another plug-and-play with simple directions that are impossible to mess up. Just follow the steps and you are done. This doesn’t have a 100% success rate, but if it fails, nothing happens. So you won’t mess up your phone this way. If you have a HTC or a Samsung phone, this is the tool to use as it also bypasses the protection these phones might have installed. FramaRoot: https://forum.xda-developers.com/apps/framaroot/root-framaroot-one-click-apk-to-root-t2130276 Okay. I lied. This is probably the easiest way to root since it doesn’t even need a computer to do so. Just download the .APK, run it and bam. Rooted. This app runs a couple of exploits to force Super User and Root access on your device, and because of that, it can pretty much tell you if you are wasting your time right away. Just look up the thread on the XDA forum I linked to read about how to use this app. Finally, if you are unsure about how this works in practice, you can just search “Android Root tutorial” on YouTube and see it in action. It’s literally never been easier to root your phone than it is nowadays. As an extra bonus, you can look up showcases of Android roms on there too, in case you want to see them in action before committing. Speaking about…. ================================== Installing your custom ROM This is a little fiddlier than just rooting your current ROM, but it’s still a fairly easy thing to do. Here’s a short tutorial on how to do it in end-2014. This might be updated once a better way is developed, but you can just Google it if you feel like not bothering me. WHAT YOU NEED: • A rooted phone • A computer • A Mini-USB cable • Internet connection After you have downloaded your ROM of choice, you need to also download the Google APK files in case you want to have Google maps, play store and all the other things. Different tiers of the APK files can be found here: https://www.sharedapk.com/google-play-services-3-0-25/ Turn your phone off and boot it into recovery mode. This differs from device to device, so a quick search for “recovery mode [device name]” should do. Now, open this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHULkfePcTg and follow the instructions to install TWRP Recovery and follow the steps to install the custom ROM. The good thing about TWRP is that it has a touch screen interface that makes recovery much easier than with stock. Bam! Now you are done. Easy, wasn’t it? ================================== Afterword So, this 101 EZ-guide is now over. Personally, I find it important to share this, even if it’s just adding to the redundancy of the resources online. Well, I hope that you have found this a little helpful, and if you want me to edit something in here, add more stuff or maybe fix a mistake, please send message to paranoidsbible.tumblr.com Anyhow, have a good one and enjoy your freshly-rooted phone!

#android #google #smartphone #cellphone #root #rooting #jailbreak #jail break

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