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sullustangin · 2 years ago

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Fluffy February Day 14: Heartbeat (Free Space)

Fandom: SWTOR

Pairing: Theron Shan/Smuggler (on pause at the moment for reasons that will become obvious)

Time: Carbonite Years

Rating: T, mostly for one Trant f-bomb at the end

Words: ~1880 (Ok, I let the feels get to me on this one)

The air conditioning ducts were a tighter fit than anticipated. ...that was true of a lot of things, these days.

Theron gagged on some dust that had escaped the filters of his respirator, but he kept pushing forward.

Trant’s voice came in. “Left at the next junction. That should put you within range of the terminal. From there, you can slice in. Are you sure --?”

“The intel was good,” Theron insisted through grit teeth. He was not going to get stuck in here, and his slice was going to be successful. It had to be.

A nascent resistance depended upon it, and Trant didn’t even know it.

Sure, Trant was fully cognizant of the fact that he was leading Theron through the long-neglected ventilation system of some ancient Zakuul office building. He was well-aware that Theron had received intel that there was a data package left behind on the network. Yes, it would help the Republic black ops against Zakuul…given the fact that Marcus Trant and Theron Shan were the only members of that operational corps, the data wasn’t travelling far.

But Trant didn’t know about Lana Beniko and her Great Idea. Theron had an agenda beyond the one Trant knew about.

“You should be right under it. There a vent nearby you can fit your droid through?”

“Yeah.” Theron reached back to pull out his magnetic screwdriver set and went to work at wiggling the slats of the vent open just wide enough.

That done, Theron deployed a remote droid, one specially modified by him. He could control it with his implants, and its sensors were so fine that it could replicate his own slice work – if he could think clearly enough. The high-quality holo cam he mounted on it (at ridiculous prices, given the Zakuulan crushing of the economy) made it possible for him to port the image to his ocular implants; it was like being right there in front of the terminal himself.

Given the fact that this terminal was on an antenna platform that was several hundred feet in the air in the Spire, it was highly recommended that Theron not attempt to be there in person.

(Though he probably would have tried it, if he was… yikes, ten years younger)

(And…if he was physically in better condition…)

Theron pushed those intrusive thoughts away as he activated the high-quality cam on the droid to help it scurry its way up to the terminal. Once the droid was able to activate its anchors, carefully, Theron was finally able to move in the ventilation shaft without worrying about dropping the droid off the top of the building and probably killing someone on the street.

With a grunt and few moments of strain, he managed to get all of his limbs straightened out. Using his glove grips and his toe picks, Theron managed to get a hold on the ceiling of the shaft he was in and slide along his back toward the last air exchange he’d mapped. He … he needed space.

As he pushed himself into the larger space of the exchange, he let himself go limp in exhaustion. Roughly he tugged at the zipper of his tac suit pulling it down. He wasn’t as bad as he was that one time he sliced an Imperial destroyer, but he was hot and sweaty –

“Hey, Theron, your vitals –”

“I know, I.. I had to maneuver.” Theron cringed at the sound of his voice, making excuses.

…It was Theron’s first external mission since Ziost.

He’d gone up two tac suit sizes in the intervening years.

Some of it was the alcohol. A significant part was the fact he’d given up the fitness regiment he’d had since he was a youngling.

And some of it was grief.

What was the point, after the Republic knuckled under to Zakuul?

Rather than get Zakuul’s boot off the Republic’s throat, Saresh focused on the Sith Empire, which was suffocating just like they were.

But she had willing counterparts to play that game over on the Imperial side, so the war between the Sith Empire and the Republic had continued, even as Zakuul ruled over both.

(There was another source for the grief, something deeper than he wanted to acknowledge. He batted it away. Not now.)

Theron was disgusted. With Saresh. With the Republic that let her get away with it. With himself for giving up and just going through the motions, hoping to make it to 36 years, 10 months and 8 days so he could collect his pension and –

Do what?

Nothing good. Nothing meaningful. That was the story of the last two years.

And then came Lana and her Great Idea.

Her demand for a man on Coruscant mentally and physically capable for the mission.

And with it… news. The first good news since… he didn’t know when.

And now he was going to test that news, because he didn’t have faith in anything now.

No matter how good it seemed, Theron suspected it wasn’t true.

It was too good. For him. For what he’d become. He didn’t deserve that sort of… luck. That… whatever it had been, what could be again. That second chance.

Trant had been all too willing to join him on this misguided crusade. He was restless too.

Theron knew Trant would help him resist Zakuul. They’d screw up things, thwart transports, inconvenience their conquerors. But that was going to be a war of two against an entire Empire. It would never be enough.

Theron wanted something more.

And so he let the little droid do its work, slicing into the Zakuul network, bypassing the defenses that would have infected it with a virus that would have resulted in a complete bricking. (Theron knew what to watch for now.) Theron leaned his head back into the dust, letting it stick to his neck and hair, damp with sweat. He closed his eyes. Then he let his implants trigger the deep dive into the remote droid’s system. The last part would be tricky – the data cache had been stashed in a tight space to ensure it would remain until the proper recipient found it.

Theron believed he was the man it was left for.

Just as the data spike carefully drew the packet just so, clear off the Zakuul network, it seemed to spring to life –

“Theron, you did it. I got – stars, the data. It’s… it’s the Spire. It’s a map, it’s the public transport it’s – oh god, it’s everything.”

Thank you, tiny omnitool.

Theron exhaled deeply. Mission success, for the first time in so goddamn long.

But there was one more thing.

Theron directed the slice toward one particular physical address. He’d demanded it from Lana for tonight.

Because he had to know.

“Theron, you read me?”

“Yeah.”

“You ok?”

“Yeah.”

“… you stuck?”

“No!” Theron said, a little too loudly. “Gotta do something. Going silent.”

Then he killed the comm between him in Trant. He even took his own comms implant offline. Now he was all about the dive, all about the place he was going in his mind…

Two levels of encryption. Easy, now. He’d practiced for weeks before coming here.

Security.

Storage.

Med data, storage unit.

Theron sent a little signal scurrying down the line, wanting a view –

He got it. Security holo cam, aimed right at –

Too still. Too quiet. The lights could lie. Nobody would know until it was too late.

Theron felt his own pulse quicken, he could practically see the blood pressure numbers rising as the slice through continued, layer after layer until –

Cardiopulmonary.

Monitoring.

Theron opened his eyes, sightless in the darkness of the carbonite chamber.

Theron yanked his respirator off, as if that would make it harder to hear him.

He called out for her, once.

“Eva?”

He waited.

And then.

A beat. Two parts. Slow.

But that was an unmistakeable human heartbeat, sluggish and slow though it was.

Theron counted to five again, in his head.

There was again.

“Eva.” Theron wanted to laugh – she was alive.

He wanted to sob. She was here and had been here for over two years.

He did both, and he couldn’t help the words that spilled out of him. She couldn’t hear him – he knew that (no, he didn’t. Maybe she could).

“I—I’m here. I’m finally… I’m so sorry --!” His pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes sockets, trying to hold himself together. His knees bent, the soles of his boots on the ventilation shaft floor. He tried to take a deep breath. “Everything’s fallen apart since you’ve been gone. We’re… we’re gonna put it back together again. Fix it all. And –”

Theron could feel vibrations on his wrist. It was probably Trant probably trying to get through to him over his personal comm, desperately, because his vitals were all over the place.

“—and we’re going to get you out of there. I – I still got your ship, Eva,” Theron shakily reassured her. “You – you got everyone out of Wild Space. They’re fine, I swear to the gods, and I’ll find them for you.” Theron tried to swallow, his mouth and throat dry, lips now covered in a fine layer of grime. “I’ll do anything for you. To get you back. I don’t deserve you, but everything seems so dark without you…”

A single thought crystalized in Theron’s head. He’d always known it in his head, he supposed. But now he knew it in every part of his body.

“I… have so much I want to say to you. But we’re gonna get you out, and I want you to be wide awake for this, all right?” Theron hoarsely chuckled at himself as he dragged his tac gloves across his eyes, trying to rid himself of the tears and the dirt before he had to face Trant again. “I’ve … I’ve got to go. But… if you can hear me -- I didn’t forget you. Not for a damn second.”

He wished he had, so many times.

He never could.

Now he was pleased to confess –

Theron listened once, heard the slow beat again, and then put his tac gear pieces that he’d shed back on.

Then he reopened comms with Trant. “Situation resolved. I’m fine.”

There was silence and static.

And then: “hOly FUCK Shan I swear on the Emperor’s black bones that I thought you ended up like some poor goddamn cat that got stuck in my aunt’s walls when I was a kid –”

Theron could not stop the laughter as Trant went off. “Are you hearing this?” he asked Eva.

Another heartbeat. Theron sighed and lay back in the filth as he let Trant vent for a few more minutes.

@fluffyfebruary @ayresis @ermingarden @starlightcleric @bluephoenix1347

#fluffy february #swtor #theron shan #marcus trant #theron shan x smuggler #carbonite years #oc: eva corolastor

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jasmines-library · 3 years ago

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Not All Is Lost - Chapter Two

GN!Reader (No Y/N currently used)

Summary: After arriving on Bogano, you and Cal make your way to The Vault. Along the way you make a small friend and unlock the secrets of the Jedi.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Slight PTSD, mentions of Greez's cooking.

Word count: 3.1K

Previous • Story Masterlist

The ground was uneven beneath your feet as you made your way towards the temple. The climate on Bogano was temperate and the light breeze sent your hair flowing in many different directions. The air was damp and there was an almost constant rustling coming from the wildlife that seemed ever intriguing. Cal led the way, he seemed eager to reach the vault. His ease and agility told you that he was familiar with terrain like this. It didn’t surprise you though, the terrain on Bracca was far from safe. It confused you when he came to a stop after rounding a corner. You raised your eyebrows and he explained, asking if it was okay for him to meditate.You shook your head and agreed it would be a good idea. Cal took up his position on the floor as you opted to lean against a rock. Closing your eyes you began to centre yourself in the force, only to have it obstructed when you began to sense Cal’s distress. You understood even more now what he meant about losing control. Snapping your eyes open, you kneeled next to him and took hold of his shoulders to bring him out of his meditation. When Cal opened his eyes, his focus seemed to not be on you, rather a curious red and white droid. It beeped, intrigued.

“Hey, BD-1,” You said as you examined the droid’s number. He was a small droid with long legs and a rectangular head and body. His paint job was roughened up like it had been gone over with a large piece of sandpaper from constant adventure. The droid beeped again, nudging the redhead who was kneeling in front of you.

“Yeah, I’m okay. We’re just..We’re looking for someone,”

He beeped again and you chuckled slightly, “No, not you,” Cal told him, “We’re searching for a Jedi, I think,”

The little droid jumped up and down excitedly before he scurried away, Ignoring your hollering about the Jedi, too excited to listen before slicing into a control panel. Metal flooring appeared, closing the gap between the two grassy cliffs. It was clear that he knew his way around the planet and it made you wonder how long he had been here. Perhaps, you thought he was here with the Jedi. You both followed the small droid, scaling walls and jumping over obstacles. The ground was divided up into essentially elevated platforms that intertwined with each other. There seemed to be something hidden in every corner. Bogano had a lot to offer which made you wonder why no one else had found it yet. It was obvious that It had once been inhabited, for a while at least, the large vault in front of you and the ancient carvings in the rocks told you that much, but where had everyone gone and why hadn’t the empire found it yet?. With all of the power they had, surely it would be easy to find a place like this. It was clear someone had gone through great measures to hide Bogano and it caused a great pit to settle at the bottom of your stomach. The mystery dawned on your mind as you continued to trek. Soon you came across a clearer view of the vault. Cal pursed his lips.

“That's the Vault Cere told us about,” He said to you and the small droid who was hopping excitedly around your feet, “Whoever we’re supposed to find must be in there,”

BD-1, now perched on top of a rock, projected a holomap into the ground below you, revealing that he had been tracking your footsteps.

“You made a map, Little Buddy?” You asked. He once again beeped excitedly before highlighting the vault, Clearly hoping to help visualise the route the pair of you had to take. You began to follow his map, coming to a dead end when it led you to a large gorge. It was too far to jump, even if you used the force to help you, which would have been pointless, given your current connection with it.

“Any ideas?”

The little droid chirped and alerted you to the wire suspended over the gap. Cal grabbed onto BD’s legs as he slid across. Once he was safely on the other side, BD balanced on the top of the wire to bring you across too. You followed the pair into a small, derelict hangar. As you drew nearer you began to sense the presence of another being.

“Cal, be careful in there I-” you were cut off by BD’s shrill scream as he was thrown off of a Bog Rat.

“Hold on BD-1!”

You swung down into the room after Cal, pulling your saber into your hands. Before you had the chance to ignite it, he had already sliced through the creatures. Cal was quick. Maybe even too quick.

“BD?” You called out to the droid as Cal studied the room. No, studied wasn’t the right word. He analysed the room. Looking for anything that could potentially be dangerous, noting the best route in case you needed to get out quickly.

It was faint, but you heard it. A small, pained beep from behind the fan in the centre of the room. You placed your saber back in its place on your belt and raised your hand to slow the fan with the force. BD let out a slow sound as you made your way to him. One of his legs had been damaged, the metal bent at an awkward angle.

You knelt down in front of him “That was pretty brave, huh? You okay?”

He beeped sadly as he began to limp away. Cal was there to stop him, once again quick with his reflexes.

“Wait– I can help you with that, will you let me?”

He jumped straight into Cal’s arms. Bemused and somewhat charmed by the droid, Cal carried him over to the workbench at the back of the room and began working on his leg.

“The scomp link is busted,” He said as he picked up one of the various tools on the bench, “but this should help you get moving for now,” Sparks flew as the metal was soldered and bent back into place, Cal worked quickly and efficiently.

“D’you learn that on Bracca?” You asked inquisitively.

Cal hummed, “I worked as a scrapper after the purge. It was a dangerous job but it had its perks,” he finished working on BD’s leg, “Okay. Try that.”

He chirped excitedly and Cal smiled. It was the first time you’d seen him smile since before the war. With BD’s help you made your way out of the abode. You’d also discovered he carried healing stims with him after Cal sliced through a live wire with his saber. Very useful. Through his various tones you had also discovered that he didn’t remember how he ended up on Bogano. It was odd, you thought. You’d never known a forgetful droid. As you came across a long passage, which should have been impassable, you noticed that the walls were ridged. As you paused, the voice of your former master rang clear through your mind.

‘With persistence and the force as your ally, no path is impossible,’

You closed your eyes and took a running leap at the wall of the cave. Cal called out your name as your feet landed solidly against the wall. Using the force to guide you, you hopped between the walls. Cal and BD, who was now perched on comfortably on his shoulder, followed close behind. For the first time in a while you felt slightly more connected to the force. Your lips turned upwards.

“How’d you know that would work?”

You shrugged. “Just remembering old tricks,”

The three of you pressed on, with the force helping you traverse the walls, the path seemingly became much easier. Soon you were at the foot of the vault. Like its exterior, the door was ageless, overgrown and covered in deep shades of mossy green.

“So this is it, huh?” Cal said, bubbling with excitement.

You hummed in response, hesitantly reaching out to unlock the door. You paused as your fingers brushed the cold surface and turned to Cal.

“Go ahead,”

You closed your eyes and centred yourself as you traced over the carvings on the door. You took a breath and projected the force into the door. Nothing. You frowned but then you remembered Cere’s words. ‘It requires two people who are strong in the force to pass its tests’

“We have to do it together,” you said. Cal stepped forward, placing his hand next to yours. You both repeated your earlier actions. It slid open revealing a dark hallway. Without a second thought, you squeezed yourself through the gap and descended downwards. On the other side of the hallway, you were greeted with a massive room. A trickle of water ran across the floor. Around the room were massive, circular arches, each seemingly doors with reminiscent designs to the ones on the entrance doorway. BD scampered off of your partner’s shoulder and, as if he suddenly remembered something, froze and looked up.

“You alright BD?”

The droid didn’t give his usual response. Instead he sent out a hologram of an elderly man, dressed in the distinct robes of a Jedi.

“Cere’s Jedi,” you muttered as the hologram began to speak.

“Well done, whoever you are. You have passed the test I have left behind. You have worked together to gain access to the vault and this recording; one of the many encrypted logs stored in this droid. I am Master Endo Cordova. I may not know your names, but I know your purposes. The fate of the Jedi Order lies in your hands. This… place, this…vault is a sacred temple. Built by a vanished civilisation known as the Zeffo,”

Cere had told you stories about the Zeffo. Something told you that she was much closer to Cordova than she had admitted to you.

“Meditating here, I was granted a premonition through the force,” the hologram continued, “A vision of doom. I have placed inside this vault a Jedi holocron, containing a list of the names and locations of young Force-sensitives throughout the galaxy,”

So that was that odd feeling. A holocron. One that would not only change your fate, but the entire galaxy.

“Ahead of you you will find the inner chamber of the vault, but also another test. I can only trust this holocron to people who have followed my path and understand. Seek out the hidden tombs of the Three Sages and learn to perceive the mysteries of the force as the Zeffo once did. In this droid you will find everything you need to succeed on this journey. Go to the Zeffo homeworld. There you will both find peace in the eye of the storm. Good luck, Jedi. And may the Force be with you.”

The hologram shut off and you looked down fresh-eyed at BD-1.

“I guess you were the someone we were supposed to meet,”

This time BD beeps in agreement.

“You know, I've been alone for a while now…” Cal started. You could feel the pain in his voice, “Without any purpose... Just hiding. It’s no way to live. Not for a Jedi..for a droid… Maybe Cere was right. Maybe we’re done hiding,”

You blinked away the tears that were forming in your eyes. It hurt to hear that. It hurt because you knew exactly how he felt. You knew the fear…the guilt that swallows you from the inside out…the pain…

“We’re not alone, Cal.” You whisper, taking his hand in yours, “Not anymore,”

***

Cal pulled out his comlink and called Cere when you were back outside of the vault. He told her you had found what she wanted them to find and she agreed. As you slid down the hill that led to the vault, a huge, frog-like monster emerged from the swampy puddle at the end of it. The Oggdo Bogdo – one of Bogano’s apex predators.

“Kriff!” you yelled, grabbing your saber. It lashed out at the pair of you, but after a short struggle, you stuck it down with your saber. You were slowly becoming more confident, more powerful and more in control with your connection to the force. You could sense that Cal felt the same way, however it was clear he had further to go than you. While you had the option of practising small tricks on The Mantis, he had no choice but to keep his connection concealed. Scratched up, BD offered you both a stim, which you gladly accepted before making your way back to the ship where your friends were eagerly waiting for your return. You weren’t far from the ship when BD-1’s attention shifted to a mural on a cliff wall. You both watched curiously as he projected a second message from Cordova.

“My friends, it appears the Zeffo had some interest in.. Dathomir. It’s strange, for such a peaceful culture to have a fascination with a place so…dark.

The hologram shut off and the three of you continued on, now slightly shaken. Cal had never been to Dathomir, but he had heard many stories of the people who lived there. The Nightsisters, who were all powerful magic wielders, and the Nightbrothers, two of whom many masters had cut down. He wondered if you had ever been there, if not as a padawan, then with Cere and Greez. How long had you been with them? He looked you up and down as you made the remaining steps to The Mantis where Cere was waiting for you.

“You passed the test!” her face was lit up with a smile.

“So, you knew about BD-1?” Cal asked, returning her gesture.

“Come aboard, we’ll talk inside,”

She led the three of you inside, the hatch hissed closed behind you. Greez strutted in to meet you.

“Oh! BD, this is Greez. Hey Greez.” you said to the droid who jumped off of your shoulder to the sofa. He practically shrieked as he gestured frantically with all four arms.

“What is that!?”

BD-1 beeped defiantly. Unsatisfied, Greez chased after the droid trying to shoo him off.

“Get off my sofa! Get…get off my sofa! Get out of there! Get out!”

“Greez!” you scolded your captain, “This is BD-1. He’s with us,”

“I don’t care who he’s with! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get oil stains off of potalli-weave fabric?!”

You crossed your arms. Typical Greez., “No,”

“Exactly! I hope you found something better out there than this droid!”

“Lighten up, Greez,”

“Relax, they did. Tell us,” Cere said

You took a seat on the edge of the prised sofa as Cal took his place on the steps.

“The Vault was built by an ancient civilisation called the Zeffo . A Jedi named Endo Cordova hid something inside of it,”

You saw Cere’s face light up at the name, “What did he hide inside?”

“A holocron from the Archives. It contains a list of Force-sensitive children.”

“The next generation of Jedi. I knew it! Ah, Cordova, you old fool.”

“You knew him?” you asked.

“Yes,” she said excitedly, “A long time ago. I was his apprentice,” you smiled triumphantly. You knew she was closer to him than she let on “Cordova was a loner. That little droid and I

are probably the only ones that know about Bogano,”

Greez spoke up, “Hold on, wait a minute, wait a minute. A holo – what?”

“A holocron. It stores information but only accessible to Jedi. Hang on, I think I have one around here.” Cere fumbled around in one of the many cabinets and pulled out a holocron.

She placed it in your hands. It was almost weightless and it felt almost natural in your hands.

“Use the force,”

You closed your eyes and concentrated. The holocron floated before you and began to break itself apart, then it reconstructed itself from a cube to a sort of octagon with odd corners floating around it. A hologram of a bearded Jedi Knight projected itself from the holocron. Cal and Greez watched in awe.

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen…”

You screwed your eyes shut and turned off the recording, the box returning to its normal shape in the palms of your hands.

“With that list of Force-sensitives, we could rebuild the Jedi Order and defeat the Empire,”

“Okay, no problem. Let’s get it.” Greez shrugged and made his way to the cockpit, doing a double take when Cere told him otherwise.

“It’s not that simple. the holocron is hidden deep inside the Vault and to get it we have to follow Cordova’s path.He mentioned something about the planet Dathomir and a Zeffo homeworld,” You told him

“Alright, well, where are we going? I’m just asking ‘cause I was thinking of maybe making some food.”

You rolled your eyes. Greez’s cooking was far from pleasant. Cal was lucky he hadn’t yet had the displeasure.

“Look, before we do anything,” Cal said, “I need to know something,”

He turned to Cere and then you.

“How come you’re no longer a Jedi? Why is your force connection going haywire?”

Cere paused and became visibly distant before she spoke, “We had an experience that...changed our perspective. So, I cut myself off from the force and they have struggled to reestablish their connection ever since,”

“But you still want to rebuild the Order?”

“ We believe that rebuilding the Order is the best chance we have against the Empire. What do you believe?” you said as you squeezed Cere’s hand. You knew it was a sensitive subject for her, much like it was for you.

Cal thought for a moment, “I believe I can’t keep hiding from the Empire, so I don’t really have a choice.”

“Cal, as long as you’re alive you will always have a choice. Are you with us?”

He turns to BD-1 who remained by his side. He nodded enthusiastically and let out a flurry of happy beeps.

“We’re in.”

“Dathomir or Zeffo?” Greez asked, gesturing to the holotable, “Your choice,”

You both stood and made your way over to the holomap that was now projecting three planets. The bright red tones of Dathomir contrasted against the greens of Zeffo and Bogano. BD took his place on the edge of the table, his small feet gripping the edge as he kept himself upright. After a small discussion between you and Cal he selected Zeffo. Greez let out an audible sigh of relief and you watched his worry resolve. The mantis rose up from the atmosphere and a few moments later you were surrounded by the deep blues of hyperspace.

Next • Story Masterlist •Main Masterlist

#ooooh #its gonna get juicy soon #cal kestis #star wars x reader #fallen order #fallen order x reader #Cere Junda #greez dritus #bogano #zeffo #dathomir #bd 1 #star wars #angst

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aureutr · 3 years ago

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My Mando, My Mando, and Me 3

Parts: 1 | 2

The one where Luke finds a not-quite-completed clone of Din in an Imperial facility

He sat as patiently as he could. That was all he had been in the week since he had opened his eyes on the man who was but was not his husband. Patient. He felt that he was not typically an overly-patient man, but he could not say for sure. He had no “typically,” according to the doctors.

They mostly spoke in that strange language he did not know when they were around him, but lapsed into Mando’a often enough that he got bits and pieces. Something about modified processes from a place called “Kamino” being used on him. He had apparently skipped adolescence entirely, and what that meant for his lifespan they could not say.

{The Fett clones that still live are elderly,} one doctor said on the topic. There was not enough context given for him to understand the statement.

He was, they said, “surprisingly normal for what he [was].” He could speak a language (if not the one they seemed to prefer) and he grasped a set of concepts and basic skills that humans had to be taught in early childhood. He had noticed sizable relief from those around him when he could use the refresher on his own, and could do things like brush his teeth.

And he had a basic grasp of Mandalorian culture, apparently. What he knew of being Mandalorian seemed as simple as breathing to him, and it did not feel as though there were gaps. But yet, when pressed, there were things he could not articulate.

Luke, who visited most days once he had promised not to suddenly kiss him again, had interrupted some sort of download process. He should know this other language, and he should have a deeply-instilled loyalty to some Empire he did not know. The Mand’alor and his Alo’riduur had brought back a lot of information from the facility, but not everything. The most important parts of it were not spoken of around him.

He tried not to let that bother him. It felt unfair, all of this directly concerned him. What would become of him. He should get a say, certainly. But he knew from his false experience granted him by the incomplete download that life was not fair.

{You’ve started to feel different,} Luke said, his words translated through a golden humanoid droid he had brought with him. {In the Force, I mean. I think it’s because you’ve begun to have your own experiences.}

He could not help the way his mouth twisted in displeasure. He was not sure how to feel that his-but-not-his husband was a Jedi, of all things. An ancient enemy. Or, perhaps in those gaps he could not feel there was more history. Maybe it was commonplace for the Mand’alor to marry Jedi. He certainly would not know.

{Different from the Mand’alor?}

Their conversations were awkward, never flowing quite right as they each had to wait for the droid to speak the other language back to them.

{From Din, yes. That’s how I found you, why I thought you were him.}

{Why you told me we were married.}

He could not help but smile when Luke went bright red.

{I’m sorry,} Luke said. {I thought — }

He held up a hand and shook his head. They had been over this and he understood it as well as he was going to. He did not want to rehash it.

Still, to know that some version of him had met and known and fallen in love with the blond man before him…he did not know exactly what love felt like, but he thought that perhaps he had an echo of it. Or maybe that was another thing implanted in his head. He did not know, he only knew that when Luke came to visit he was happier. Luke treated him more like a person than almost anyone else.

Luke took his hand and he started. Most tried not to touch him.

{Why are you sad?}

He heaved a sigh and Luke had the audacity to look mildly amused. It must be another thing Din did. Luke noticed so many small things that were, apparently, inherent to his genetic make up.

{I’m not sad,} he did not know what he was, but “sad” seemed the wrong word. Maybe the droid was mis-translating their conversation.

Luke squeezed his hand and let go, deciding not to press the issue.

{What do you know of the Children of the Watch?} he asked instead, changing the subject.

He shook his head. It was not a name familiar to him.

{You know that Din swore a creed, yes? That’s why he doesn’t show his face to anyone outside of his clan.}

He nodded at that. He was not entirely sure why the Mand’alor would include him in that group. Perhaps he was not enough of a person, in his eyes, to count. Or he only saw him as an extension of himself. The Mand’alor almost never came to visit, it was not as though he could ask him directly.

He was not sure if that bothered him or not. In some ways it was easier to pretend that he was his own, complete person when the original Djarin did not stand before him.

{Din isn’t sure where you fit into his vows. You’re not twins, exactly, and there are no rules in place for…} Luke grimaced, he disliked reminding him of his origin.

{For clones,} he finished. He wished Luke would get on with it, get to the point.

{Yeah. He would never force you to also sweat that creed, but he doesn’t know where that leaves him. He wanted me to ask you if you’d be willing to speak to him. And, if you’re up for it, to another person who knows more about The Way.}

He considered. {Why doesn’t the Mand’alor ask me himself?}

Now Luke looked annoyed. Not with him, he didn’t think. Was he mad at the Mand’alor?

{He doesn’t want to inadvertently use his title to pressure you. He thought you’d be more likely to be honest about your feelings with me.}

The Mand’alor had not been wrong, then. He huffed another sigh and Luke’s face took on another indulgent smile. He did have a latent feeling of loyalty to the kyr’bes, but when none of his feelings were “real,” how could he trust them?

Still, if they got an answer as to where he fit in the Mand’alor’s life, and therefore maybe in Luke’s, perhaps he could begin to make some decisions of his own.

If they intended to let him.

#star wars #dinluke #skydalorian #writing #my mando my mando and me #writing from the POV of a character with zero ways to refer to themself is hard

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jangofctts · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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charm-in-spades · 2 years ago

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IП MΣMӨЯY ӨF...

𝙰𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚘 | 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝 # 𝟷𝟸 | 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to return to the little La Noscea bunker he’d once called a home. Thoughts of his old mentor had made him look into his old haunts, and this had been one of them on the list. Three turns, maybe four (Had it been four already?) had passed regardless of complaint or desire and the building had long since found itself overgrown with jungle vine and creeping moss since his last visit.

La Noscea was still as wild as ever, but he breathed in the temperate air and the salty breeze that pushed through the palmettos in a sense of growing familiarity and found himself releasing a heavy sigh to it all. The cermet walls had withstood the test of time, and would continue to do so for many turns more he was sure, but you’d be hard-pressed to know anything was here at first if you didn’t know where to look.

The doors to the old building had rusted shut, and it took the prying of a crowbar and considerable strength to force them back open where they remained without closing. It was dark and foreboding, the lights unresponsive and the air contained within the walls stagnant and stale. Ambient sunlight filled the entry way, providing him enough illumination to make his way to the corner of the room without tripping over the bolted down power cords that lined the grated metal of the floors.

He found the facility generator and after refueling it with ceruleum he located from the stock room, it rattled to life with a mechanical whir and hum. By his mentor’s assessment, the tek utilized here had been ancient by comparison to the modern standards even back when they’d cobbled the place together yet it remained functional. Reliable, like so few things in his life had been.

Cobwebs and dust clung to every surface once the illumination modules flickered to life, and he began getting everything else turned on to see what could be salvaged and what could be repaired. He didn’t think he’d remain here as the memories of a man long gone still haunted him, but he could take what he wanted and restore it eventually.

He started first by checking all the power supplies and assessing the engine cores for the various terminals and the machines attached to them. Of the five, three were in working condition, and of those three, once diagnostics check had been completed, only one was fully operational and not riddled with error codes and issues. Of the two that would not turn on, he was certain he could salvage one by cannibalizing parts from the other.

Several reroutes later, and an overall reboot to the systems contained within, his surveillance relay faded into visibility upon one of the old magitek screens. It flickered and seemed to struggle to stay on but showed parts of Vylbrand, mostly centered around the Castrums and old patrol routes of the now deposed Imperial Army. There was next to no enemy movement around any of them, but it was nice to see what his old bits might still be keeping track of.

Several static filled squares upon the visible screens made him aware that a few of his bits were out of commission, though he could likely identify last known coordinates and triangulate an area of recovery for them. If he even bothered looking. There was a lot of old magitek that had died and become part of the island here in Vylbrand. He was compelled by habit at least, to go looking for them at some point if only because he preferred his things secure and private. He recalled what was left of the active units, and awaited their return.

While doing so, he went back into the storage room to remove crate after crate and box after box of old junk he’d hardly remembered he’d had in the first place. Ceruleum tanks and ammo cases full of wrapped wires and parts. A filing cabinet full of tomestones and schematics he’d recovered from a sunken Imperial vessel. Magitek bits and Allagan node parts. Tekked out armor, and droid chassis. All abandoned at one point or another, but reclaimed now that he was here.

The greater span of his morning and afternoon were spent clearing things out and separating them into piles of what would and wouldn’t work. Trash or treasure. There were troves of wealth to any mechanic here and it was clear that he had thrived in this place once upon a time. The sheer volume of parts and pieces were a testament to that fact.

It was as he was dragging a large case full of vehicle parts aside that a series of beeps lightly sounded the alarum of approaching visitors. He paused what he was doing, briefly setting his verdant gaze to the screens to look over the surveillance available to him. He expected to see an antelope crossing one of the main roads, or a marmot climbing up a tree. He saw neither, and with a squint he squared his broad shoulders to the sight available to him, and set the box he carried down with a grunt so that he could step out into the sun.

A set of field dressed Yellow Jackets trudged through the rainforest, breaking through the treeline just as Caelric stepped out of his jungle bunker to meet them. He stood at the door, using a towel to wipe the ceruleum and oil from his hands while they looked at him in apparent surprise that he awaited them so expectantly.

“You boys lost?” He asked, inked frame squaring as the small unit slowly eased towards him and stopped a few paces away. One of the bunch stepped forward, a corporal he recognized from the City that typically manned the lifts and reached for his belt. It was a move that Caelric clocked, wondering instantly if a weapon was to be drawn and he readied for the possibility as the weight of static slowly filled the air.

"Depends on if we’ve ended up at the right place. Caelric Spadille?” The corporal asks as he withdraws an envelope from his side satchel and offers it forward. At that, Caelric pauses and the coming storm seemed to fade.

“Used to be. I was clearing out.” Caelric informs after a moment, reaching forward to take the missive. “Corporal Blanmhas, right? What do we have here? Court summons? A cease and desist?” He asks, more rhetorical than anything as he ripped open the wax seal bearing the Limsan standard on it to see for himself.

“Neither. This be a letter from the Admiral, commending exemplary service and gratitude for one Lieutenant François Lareaux due to his commitment to La Noscea and its citizens. Granting land and property for all his efforts.” Of all the thing the clever Coyote could expect, this was one of the last. He felt a pang in his chest at the mention of his old mentor, and he let out a deep breath to steady himself.

“...Frank is dead.” He says after a moment, bluntly and pointedly so.

“That he is.” Blanmhas agrees solemnly. “But he named you his working heir within his last will and testament, thus all that belonged to him now goes to you. The Admiral owed the man a debt. Seems to me she’s paying it off by providing what he earned to you. You may report to her office for further detail if you so wish, but she has transportation awaiting you come the morn at the Moraby Drydocks.”

Caelric blinked, surprised by that new information. He’d been unaware that Frank had even had a will or that his connections had extended so far, but he knew the man was one of many secrets and he reflected on that a moment as he read the letter over.

𝔏𝔱. 𝔉𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔦𝔰 𝔏𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔵 𝔖𝔦𝔵𝔱𝔥 𝔏𝔢𝔳𝔶

𝓒𝓞𝓜𝓜𝓘𝓢𝓢𝓘𝓞𝓝 𝓞𝓕 𝓛𝓐𝓝𝓓 𝓐𝓝𝓓 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓟𝓔𝓡𝓣𝓨

ℑ𝔫 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔤𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔢𝔵𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔣𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔦𝔱𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔏𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔞 𝔏𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔞 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔰, 𝔩𝔢𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔄𝔡𝔪𝔦𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔩𝔴𝔢𝔟 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔶 𝔞𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔏𝔱. 𝔉𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔦𝔰 𝔏𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔢𝔲𝔵 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔠 𝔡𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔢𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔥 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔈𝔯𝔞. 𝔗𝔦𝔩 𝔖𝔢𝔞 𝔖𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔰 𝔄𝔩𝔩.

𝔖𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔢𝔡,

𝔄𝔡𝔪𝔦𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔴𝔶𝔟 𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔢𝔣𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔴𝔶𝔫

It was as the corporal had said. A distant plot of land for the late Francois and now, for him. Even in death, the man looked out for him. He cast a baleful look towards the sky and the serendipity of having come here in the first place, considering the inner workings of Fate and its potential hold on him.

He tucks the missive into his belt, looking back to the corporal. He extends a hand to the roegadyn, and they clasp strongly a brief moment. “Got it. Transpo in the A.M. I won’t miss the boat.” He rumbles assuredly.

With his mission complete, the corporal offered a sharp salute and turned to his comrades. “Our work is done, boys. Time to get a bloody drink.”

Caelric pursed his lips, looking at the unfinished project of scattered magitek and storage boxes. He had a lot to go through, and after shutting the doors to the stone building he turns to the Yellow Jackets that had made their way out to him.

“Wait up. I could use a drink too.”

#Miss the Boat #Prompt 12 #FFXIV Write 2022 #Stories

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maulusque · 4 years ago

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WHAT IF MAUL KIDNAPPED ANAKIN RIGHT OFF OF TATOOINE

(I started writing this and then it got out of hand and now it’s 3:30 in the morning, rest of it’s under the break so i don’t monopolize your dash)

So for whatever combination of reasons, Maul spits out the kool-aid and gets really disenchanted with Sidious a lot earlier than in canon. He starts wondering things like “why is he not telling me his master plan if i’m so important to it?” and “why do i get nothing more than vague promises of power sometime in the future, when i should be guaranteed a position as his second-in-command, after all I’ve done for this guy?” and “why does he treat me like i’m disposable, and then constantly tell me i’m crucial for his plans?”

and he starts thinking things like “hey wait a minute, none of that childhood torture made me better at anything sith-related, it just gave me crippling trauma that actually impairs my capacity for self-control and incredible violence” and (possibly due to his experiences at Orsis Academy) “oh whack looks like kids learn a lot better and faster when they’re, like, having fun? Whatever ‘fun’ is?”

and anyway by the time he gets to tatooine with orders to “find that stoner jedi and kick his ass”, Maul is pretty annoyed at his master. And when he senses not one, not two, but THREE powerful force-presences on Tatooine, one of which vastly eclipses any other force presence he’s ever felt, and belongs to a nine-year-old slave boy, Maul gets an idea. You know, (he thinks), his master sure would love to get his hands on a force-baby like that. Master Sidious sure would be evilly thrilled to have an extremely powerful nine-year-old delivered directly to his doorstep on coruscant, with the jedi having to do all the heavy lifting of training the kid. Master Sidious would probably want nothing more than to have this kid be taken in by the Jedi, so he can start grooming a new apprentice.

And Maul, full of spite and an as-yet-undiscovered need to adopt every force-sensitive in sight, decides to deprive Sidious of a potential apprentice. He follows Anakin to Naboo (in this universe, Anakin still wins the podrace, still wins his own freedom), and, after the fighting is over, sees a prime window of opportunity, and kidnaps Anakin right out from under the Jedi’s nose.

(In this universe, Obi-Wan does not cut Darth Maul in half and dump him down the garbage chute- Maul, unwilling to do his master’s bidding any longer, doesn’t go full out against Qui-Gon, doesn’t kill him, and Obi-Wan doesn’t get that grief-and-rage filled boost that helped him dismember Maul last time. The fight ends, the Jedi are convinced that Maul is dead, and Naboo is freed).

Once Maul has the kid, since he’s a pragmatic guy, he also returns to Tatooine and takes the kid’s mom. Maul doesn’t know how to cook, do laundry, tie shoes, or any of that shit. He doesn’t want to have to PARENT the kid, he just wants to train him.

Maul has zero money, and also zero subtlety, so he stomps into Watto’s shop, grabs him by the neck, and says “The boy's mother is coming with me. You will disable her slave chip and let her leave unharmed, or I will squeeze your head off.” Watto complies. For Anakin, this is his first real impression of Maul- storming the junk shop and threatening his former master for the freedom of Anakin’s mother.

Maul is determined to do a better job training Anakin than Sidious did training Maul. Because FUCK Sidious. Maul can be a WAY better Sith than Sidious ever allowed him to be. And since Maul is slowly realizing how... unhelpful... the way he was raised was, he’s determined to figure out how to do it better.

So he reads. He reads training manuals, child psychology books, teaching books, studies on motivation and performance, anything he can get his nerdy little hands on. He learns that frightened children don’t perform well. He learns about “trauma”, and how “trauma” makes it hard to control your emotions sometimes. Well, you can’t have THAT in your ultimate sith apprentice. Okay, so no scaring Anakin and no traumatizing him. Maul quickly realizes that literally everything he does frightens Anakin or his mom, and frightening Anakin’s mom also frightens Anakin (cut him some slack, he’s literally never been in a positive relationship, Maul has no model for any behavior other than “evil abuser” and “subservient slave”).

Maul is not an idiot. He knows he’s not doing it right. He’s reluctant to start teaching Anakin ANYTHING until he knows he won’t accidentally damage his precious spite-apprentice. So he mostly ignores the kid while he reads and learns.

He also observes. Specifically, he observes Shmi Skywalker. Somehow, she seems to be able to interact with Anakin without scaring him. She can even tell him what to do without scaring him. She can teach and correct him without scaring him. And she never physically hurts him at all. Maul is kind of blown away- he didn’t even know it was possible to interact with people like that? HOW does she DO it???

So Maul watches and learns. He practices. Shmi helps, guides him, tells him when he messes up and tells him how to do it better. Maul gets a lot better at restraining his murderous urges. Turns out, if you immediately kill everyone who annoys you, it’s hard to ask them for advice after. The other person Maul gets pointers from is C3PO, the protocol droid the kid dragged along. Maul understands 3PO better than he understands Shmi and Anakin. 3PO is a droid. Maul was raised by a droid. Maul knows how to talk with 3PO, whereas talking with Shmi or Anakin feels like wandering around in a fog full of landmines.

So anyway, Maul and 3PO become unlikely friends, and, as Maul, determined to out-parent Sidious in every conceivable way, learns more and more social skills, emotional intelligence, and interpersonal skills, he truly comprehends how fucked up his own childhood was. There’s rage. There’s grief. There’s murderous desire for vengeance. But there’s also Anakin. Who would be scared if Maul smashed the ship or killed random people to vent his anger. Anakin, who needs something called a “positive role model”, who needs to be taught how to use the Force, and who needs the adults around him to have their shit together. There’s also Shmi, who makes him soup and hot chocolate when he’s feeling bad, and tells him off for breaking things, and who helps him get better at being a real person, and who doesn’t seem to want anything from him other than a general expectation of not hurting her or her son. So Maul deals. He grows. He heals, slowly. There’s setbacks, and gains. And somewhere in there, he starts teaching Anakin how to use the Force.

The problem is, Maul learned to access the Force first through fear and anger. Turns out, it’s really hard to teach someone fundamentals of force usage via fear and anger without first having to traumatize them. So right away, Maul hits a barrier. He doesn’t have any clue how to teach Anakin a different way though. He needs help.

But also, FUCK the jedi. NO WAY is Maul asking the Jedi for help, he hates the Jedi. Maul is still a Sith, he’s just a new, better kind of Sith, the kind that trains apprentices who are gonna kick WAY MORE ASS and be HEALTHY WELL-ADJUSTED PEOPLE while doing it (let him dream, ok?). So Maul starts hauling Shmi and Anakin around the galaxy, seeking out any non-Jedi Force-users they can, to learn Force techniques that the Sith didn’t teach Maul.

They spend time with the Guardians on Jedha, with those weird duck-people from that one episode with Jar-Jar’s girlfriend, with some wacky monks on a tiny island in the ass-end of nowhere, and even some time with a long-lost sith cult in a box system in the middle of the Unknown Regions. Maul learns. Anakin learns. Maul uses what he learns from the other force-users, combines it with what he knows, and teaches Anakin even more. The Jedi and the Sith are really the only two groups who really use the force for Big Impressive Things, like telekinesis and lightning and whatnot, so while the other force groups would have a lot to teach them both, they wouldn’t really be able to teach Anakin how to levitate something. And you can’t be the kick-assiest, bestest Sith Apprentice Ever if you can’t levitate shit. So Maul takes takes all these new techniques, like “being calm and chill when you meditate instead of super pissed off” and “using the Force while not being filled with incredible rage” and “mindfulness techniques” and “who knew you could do cool stuff like floating rocks without having to exhaust yourself by hating everything in existence, including yourself” and applies them to the skills and methods he already has. He and Anakin have to do a lot of fumbling and exploring and mistake-making, but they figure it out. And Anakin learns. And he kicks ass.

When Anakin is 11, Maul hauls him off to Ach-To to dig a crystal out of the roots of an ancient tree. He tells Anakin to hold it and meditate, to let his emotions rise around him, to feed them, to pull them through the crystal, let it resonate, let it take on the shape of his strongest feelings. After all, that is how Maul was trained to bleed his crystals. Maul’s pain and fear and anger yielded him red crystals.

Anakin comes out with yellow. Determination, fierce protectiveness, drive, hunger for justice, righteous fury. That is Anakin’s lightsaber.

Anakin grows up, planet-hopping with his Mom and Uncle Maul in a beat-up freighter with under-the-hood enhancements out the ass (Maul ditched the Scimitar right after Tatooine so his master couldn’t instantly track him down, and Maul and Anakin are both huge mechanics nerds and bond over things like “but what if you put ANOTHER PLASMA CORE IN THE ENGINE”, so this ship is, uh, certainly some sort of thing). Anakin grows up learning a hundred different Force traditions- just about every major Force tradition in the Galaxy (except for Jedi), and more than a few obscure ones. He grows up, tinkering with his droid, learning Juyo from Maul and how to sew a button from his mom. He grows up, beholden to two destinies only: “Help me take down Sidious, because he’s an asshole and a shitty Sith Lord” and “do whatever the fuck you want, because you are a Sith and no one gets to tell you what to do” (”except me.” Shmi interrupts. “Sith Lords still have a bedtime.” “Sith Lords still have a bedtime,” Maul amends, having no desire to repeat what happened when he encouraged a ten-year-old Anakin to ignore all the rules on purpose).

And what Anakin wants to do is what he’s always wanted to do- go back to Tatooine and free the slaves. Maul thinks that a big project like that would be an excellent learning opportunity for Anakin. He also wants Anakin to succeed, so he sits him down and talks logistics. How do you free the slaves without hundreds of slave owners detonating their chips when they hear what is happening? How do you keep them free once you do that? How do you get them jobs, clothes, food, houses? What about the ones who want to leave Tatooine? What about the ones who want to stay? And what about the economic upheaval that will happen when you deprive a whole planet of its cheapest source of labor? When Anakin is fourteen, they start planning.

When Anakin is eighteen, they make their move. Anakin, coordinating with Shmi, who returned to Tatooine three years earlier to organize things on the ground (living with a woman named Beru Whitesun, who is a gateway to the Freedom Path network), activates several massive orbital EMP devices, frying every electrical device on the planet, including slave chips. (The EMPs came from a pirate friend of his mom’s, who seems to do whatever she wants as long as she makes him hot chocolate). All over the planet, lights go out, slave chips fry, and radios go silent. And Shmi’s agents get to work. Ordinary citizens all over tatooine grab their rifles and head out. They meet up with others in their settlement, and the teams sweep the area, following a plan devised by Skywalker and Whitesun. They systematically visit every house in every settlement, city, spaceport, and town that is known to house slaves, and tell the slaves to grab their families and most treasured possessions and follow them.

(Tatooine is a sparsely populated planet- you can count the major settlements on two hands. If it weren’t, this would never have worked.)

Not many slaveowners put up much of a resistance- fifty angry masked people pointing guns in your face tend to make you compliant. The only slaveowner who puts up more than a token resistance is Jabba the Hutt. His resistance, however, lasts about thirty seconds, before Anakin cuts off his head.

Maul meets Anakin at Jabba’s palace, where he’s rounding up the last of Jabba’s cronies.

“No trouble?” Maul asks.

“Nope,” Anakin replies. “You?”

“None.” Maul said. Turns out, it’s like, super easy to take down an entire criminal organization when you can turn up to a meeting of the Hutt family heads, kill them all, and waltz out past all their security forces without breaking a sweat. (Seriously, it’s kind of hilarious how Maul is literally just that good).

“The slaves here are freed?”

“Yep,” says Anakin. Then frowns. “Hold on...” He senses a presence. Big, hulking, simple, and starving. He can sense that, whatever it is, it hasn’t seen the sunlight or been able to move freely in years.

So anyway, that’s how Anakin turns up at Mos Espa at first sunrise, riding on the back of Jabba the Hutt’s pet rancor. “Who’s a good girl,” Anakin says, scratching behind her ear nubs. “You are!” And she is a good girl. Padme (”I just think it sounds like a nice name, you know?”) is very good at dispersing angry slaveowners who look like they might start rioting.

The slaves freed overnight have been gathered together at pre-designated safe zones-mostly warehouses or large buildings that Shmi has been buying up over the years for exactly this purpose.

(The slaves living in remote settlements, at moisture farms and homesteads, didn’t get a visit from the freedom teams. However, Shmi had a plan for them too. She has made overtures to the Tusken tribes. Once she managed to negotiate her way into speaking to one of the leaders without getting killed, she sold them a story, a dream. A revolution. Free the slaves. Transform Tatooine. She doesn’t promise the Tuskens to expel humans from the planet entirely. She promises them equal rights under the law (she also promises the existence of laws in the first place). She promises them the right to raise Banthas, the right to traverse their ancestral lands and the return of sacred sites taken from them, the right to trade, the right to control who passes over their lands. She promises them the right to water and shade. And, she promises them half the seats on the ruling council she plans to set up. And so, on the night the EMPs blow, Tusken raiders visit every homestead on Tatooine (again, there’s only a few hundred, a thousand at most), and kidnap the slaves. Perhaps not the most reassuring experience for enslaved peoples who have been taught their entire lives to fear the Tuskens, and not without reason, but, nevertheless, it is freedom).

As the new day dawns- Tatooine’s first dawn as a free planet- Anakin, Maul, and Shmi know that the easy part is over. Now, they have to house tens of thousands of people currently cooped up in warehouses with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They have to establish and keep iron-tight control over the planet and its settlements, and quash any violent reprisals before they gain momentum. They also have to completely rebuild an economy completely upended by the overnight emancipation.

However, Shmi’s not the only one who’s been busy for the past few years. While Shmi was on Tatooine, planning a revolution, Anakin and Maul were traversing the galaxy, gathering resources, using the Patented Maul Method (TM)- breaking into the headquarters of powerful organizations and threatening to kill everybody in charge unless they did what they said.

As the second sun rises, ships begin arriving in Tatooine’s orbit. Pop-up housing is dropped onto the outskirts of Tattooine’s settlements, the kind that mining companies use to set up new bases on mineral-rich asteroids. The accommodations are small and sparse, but each family has a kitchen, bathroom, beds, and private space. Huge generators are hooked up to cool the new housing. Anakin knows that the already-existing slave quarters, made of stone with no windows and mostly underground- are already built to keep the occupants cool, but he refuses to make the former slave population live in slave quarters. Some of the freed people are moved into Jabba’s old palace, some into buildings abandoned by rich business owners who fled the planet when they saw what was happening. Food, water, medicine, clothes, books, toys, tools, and shoes are deposited. (the Republic’s equivalent of the FBI had been utterly baffled when Galaxy’s three biggest criminal organizations started moving cargo that looked less like a drug trade and more like a disaster relief mission).

Anakin walks among the newly freed slaves, reassuring them- yes, you are free. Yes, you will be fed and housed and clothed as long as you need it. Yes, we will try to find your child/husband/wife/mother who was sold years ago. Yes, you can go home, you can do whatever you want.

He also asks for volunteers. And he gets them. Hardly anyone would say no to the chance to work with the Skywalker, who once was a slave like them, but freed himself and returned, who freed the slaves in one night of glory, and appeared at sunrise riding a rancor.

Anakin sends out messengers, all across the planet. “Tatooine is a free world,” they say. “All slaves are hereby freed, by order of the He who Walks in the Sky. Any slaveowners who, by their own free will, turn over their detonators will not be harmed. Any who resist, will be.” Not many resist.

At the end of that first day, as the suns are setting, once the freed peoples of Tatooine are fed, and given water, and sheltered, Maul comes to Anakin.

“I am proud of you.” He says. “You have come into your power, you have mastered yourself, and so have mastered the Force. You have the freedom and the power to do anything you choose. You are no longer my apprentice. Lord Skywalker, you are a true Sith Master.” Anakin pulls him into a hug. He maybe cries a little bit. Maul maybe cries a little bit. Maul maybe also feels mildly annoyed that Anakin is a full head taller than him now.

(Sidious would be truly, utterly offended at Maul’s criteria for Sith-Lord-ness. “THAT’S NOT SITH” he would have said. “THAT’S BARELY EVEN DARK SIDE ADJACENT, YOU ARE DILUTING OUR THOUSAND YEAR HERITAGE-” but Maul wouldn’t care about Sidious’ stupid opinions, anyway).

And Anakin and Shmi get to work. They employ the newly freed people of Tatooine, constructing permanent houses, tearing down slave markets, building critical infrastructure. Anakin pays them more than a living wage, thanks to the extremely deep pockets of Crimson Dawn. He brings in doctors and teachers, and guarantees healthcare and education for all who want it (whenever one of Crimson Dawn’s higher-ups says “wait, why are we dumping massive amounts of money into this one random-ass planet?” Darth Maul just casually sidles up behind them with his lightsaber until they remember that he can literally just show up anywhere, at anytime, and kill them unless they do what he says. If Maul’s busy, he sends 3PO instead- 3PO’s been outfitted with about ten times as much weaponry as is legal, and can be very convincing when he wants to be).

While Anakin works on infrastructure and supporting the freed peoples of Tatooine, and unfucking the economic trainwreck they caused, Shmi and Beru work on the government. They write down a few, very basic rules-Tatooine is to be ruled by a council of people, half of whom will come from the Tusken tribes, all of which shall be selected by fair and free election. All citizens of Tatooine shall have the right to vote in these elections, and the right to vote shall be guaranteed to all- except for those who have ever owned or sold a sentient being. (it was a huge debate in the Lars-Whitesun-Skywalker household, this matter of restricting voting rights. In the end, it was decided that slaveowners, and ONLY slaveowners, were to be the sole exception for universal suffrage). Every citizen of Tatooine is guaranteed access to food, medicine, and water, and has the right to have their grievances addressed by the council.

Shmi works quickly to gather her council- she knows she has to do it fast, to prove to the Tuskens that she is as good as her word. The first elections are chaotic, and perhaps not completely non-violent, but in the end, there is a council of twenty representatives, with Shmi Skywalker representing Mos Espa.

The Council proceeds to have raging- and occasionally violent- debates about the structure of their future government. What rights to guarantee citizens. Should they have a court system? What about a financial system? How are they to guarantee water, food, and medicine to everyone? What even are taxes?

The Rebuilding of Tatooine is long, and hard, and contentious. There are arguments and rage and fighting- the repatriation of traditional Tusken lands is especially fraught. But Shmi promised, and so she makes it happen (Anakin and Padme may have helped too). Maul, for his part, keeps training Anakin, and keeps managing the criminal underworld with a careful balance of death threats and actual death, but mostly stays out of the way of Anakin’s Senior Project.

Soon, Anakin is able to re-purpose the pop-up housing, since most people have moved into traditional Tatooine-built homes, suited to the environment. The newly restructured economy is tentatively taking its first steps, and Tatooine’s baby government is becoming less and less dependent on intergalactic criminal funding (partially thanks to Anakin confiscating the entirety of Jabba’s personal fortune). He spends a lot of time in Council meetings, trying not to scream at people while also trying to stop Padme from eating them. The Council debates what is next for Tatooine, and eventually, they vote to petition the Republic for membership. Tatooinians, as a people, including the Tuskens, are fiercely independant, but, as Shmi points out, joining the Republic would guarantee them to certain things like humanitarian aid, a voice in decisions affecting interplanetary trade routes and taxation, legal legitimacy and the right to call on the Republic for aid should their sovereignty ever be threatened. Most importantly, slavery is illegal on all Republic planets, which means that if any slave-owning organizations ever pushed in on Tatooine, there would be another (much better funded) organization to call on to help quash it.

The Republic requires that a petitioning planet’s head of state visit the Senate on Coruscant to ask the Senate for entry into the Republic. The Council, grumbling, re-jiggers their constitution to allow for a “chief councilor”, and promptly elect Anakin to the position (”Fuck me,”) Anakin says. Maul laughs at him, then sobers and tells him to be careful on Coruscant (”My former master lives there.” he says. “Mind your shields, and do not let him know your true nature. You are not yet ready to take him on, and you have your planet and your people to think of.” “Yes, Uncle Maul.” Anakin says. “I will be careful.”).

Anakin shows up in the Galactic Senate, sandy robes, uncombed hair, and half smirk on his face. “I am Anakin Skywalker, free person of Tatooine,” he says. He presents the case for Tatooine’s admittance to the Republic in a booming, confident voice, drawing on his inner strength- his righteous anger and determination to ensure his people’s future- to keep his voice from wavering.

There are grumbles. Muttering. No Senator wants to be the one to blatantly say “no”- it’s a sort of miracle story, Tatooine, the little planet that rose up and threw of the shackles of slavery and now wants to join the Republic- the exact sort of mythos that the Republic itself is built on. It’s bad PR to vote against that little planet. But at the same time, Tatooine is a sandy, useless dustball that’ll need fiscal support from the Senate, with nothing to offer in terms of economic value. Many Senators are debating with themselves, not whether or not to say “no”, but how to vote “no” without losing ten points in approval ratings.

Until the Senator from Naboo, a diminutive woman who somehow reminds Anakin of his rancor, stands up. She gives an impassioned, off-the-cuff speech, reminding the Senate of how her own planet had thrown off the shackles of oppression not ten years ago, how the Republic was founded by planets like Tatooine, and how, most importantly, they had no legal basis to deny them entry, and if the Senate voted no, Naboo’s lawyers would litigate the issue six ways from taungsday- which, due to a clause in the Senate’s constitution that forbade them from passing legislation while the issue of a planet’s admittance to the Republic was on the floor, would effectively paralyze the Senate until the courts made a ruling. And, as Padme made sure to emphasize, if the court’s decision was not favorable, she would appeal. She could feasibly stop the Senate from doing anything for years, if necessary.

Tatooine is admitted to the Republic.

“Two Senators,” Anakin demands. “In order for my people to be fairly represented, my planet requires two Senators.” When complaints are made, Jar-Jar Binks threatens to explain the complicated dynamics of a planet attempting to grapple with a colonial past. He doesn’t have to. Tatooine gets its two Senators.

Anakin meets with Senator Amidala in her office, to thank her.

“Of course,” she said. “I remember a little boy who helped free my planet- how could I not help you when you needed it?”

“Uhh, thanks, yeah, that’s, really nice of you. Like your hair. Which is nice. In an objective sort of way,” Anakin says, because there is no universe in which Anakin is not a complete idiot in front of Padme. “I named my rancor after you,” he blurts.

Before Anakin is scheduled to leave Coruscant, the Jedi send a knight to scope out the new planetary leader. Obi-Wan Kenobi shows up at Anakin’s hotel room, and goes “Oh. It’s.... you.”

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin grins. He only knew him for about two days when he was nine, but he still greets him like an old friend, like a brother. They fall into easy, teasing conversation. “I thought you were dead, I confess, after you disappeared from Naboo,” Obi-Wan admits. “I am truly sorry that I was unable to fulfill Qui-Gon’s promise to train you as a Jedi Knight.”

“That’s ok,” Anakin waves his hand dismissively. “I got trained as a Sith instead.” Then he freezes. Oops. He was not supposed to say that. Maul would be so disappointed in him.

“Beg pardon?” Obi-Wan says.

“I, uhh, got trained, as a, uh, sift...er? Instead? A sand sifter? I sift sand for a living?”

“You said Sith.”

“No I didn’t, I definitely said sift.”

“No, you said Sith.”

“I definitely did not.”

Anakin changes the subject, and Obi-Wan lets it drop. He’ll tell the Council, of course, but he honestly cannot fathom the concept of this kid being a Sith. He senses nothing Dark about him- well, at least no more dark than is present in any sentient. Besides, it’s not like there are any Sith Lords around anymore, ever since he killed Maul (luckily, Obi-Wan doesn’t see the picture in Anakin’s wallet, a candid shot 3PO took in the cockpit of their family’s ship. Fifteen-year-old Anakin, at the controls, hyperbrake still on with his hands on the hyperdrive lever, Maul, standing behind him, hands gripping Anakin’s seat and face distorted half-way through a panic-induced rant about flight safety, and Shmi, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, laughter on her face and knitting needles in her hands).

Anakin contacts his mother, tells her the good news. The Council, moving with alacrity, elects Tatooine’s first Senators. And four days later, one year after the Dawn of Freedom, Senator Shmi Skywalker and Senator Ooutrigh (a Tusken warrior) of Tatooine arrive on Coruscant and address the Senate for the first time.

Of course, while Anakin has been growing up, planning for Tatooine’s future, and annoying the shit out of Maul, Palpatine’s own plans have continued apace. Barely four months after Tatooine is admitted to the Republic, Obi-Wan finds himself in an arena on Geonosis. The battle goes much differently this time, partially due to the fact that Anakin has retrofitted the cargo bay of his family’s ship to house Padme (the rancor, not the Senator), and descends onto the Arena sands just as Yoda and the Clone Troops arrive, and deposits both Padme’s (the rancor, and the Senator) into the melee.

“Hi, Obi-Wan!” Anakin calls, whipping out his lightsaber to deflect the hail of blaster bolts (Maul would disapprove, but Maul isn’t here, he’s ten clicks away, chasing down the Jedi dropout Sidious replaced him with).

“Anakin, what the FUCK” Obi-Wan says, staring at Chief Councilor Anakin Skywalker of Tatooine, riding a rancor and swinging an honest-to-Force yellow lightsaber.

“Master Yoda, what the FUCK” Anakin says, later, after the battle is over, when he finally gets Yoda to answer his questions about the clone troopers. “You found out about an entire-ass army of slave child soldiers commissioned AND PAID FOR by one of your own council members, and your reaction is ‘oh thank goodness, now we have an army?’ What the FUCK is WRONG with you?!” Yoda tries to explain to Councilor Skywalker that the situation was dire, they’d had no choice, but Councilor Skywalker just keeps repeating “AN ARMY OF SLAVE CHILD SOLDIERS” at him. “No choice, we had,” Yoda says yet again.

“BULLSHIT, you had no choice!” Anakin yells. “You could have chosen to not use the entire army of slave child soldiers that you legally own!”

“Let Kenobi and the others die, you would have? Hmm?”

“PROBABLY, YEAH!” Anakin hollers (”Thanks,” mutters Obi-Wan). “Sometimes the choices you have all really suck, but you still have to make them! You can’t just pretend you didn’t have any options, you HAD OPTIONS, and you chose the one that involved using a SLAVE ARMY OF CHILD SOLDIERS.” He gestures behind him to the battlefield, where clone troopers and medics are moving amongst the bodies, white and red stark against the sand, tallying their dead brothers.

Yoda shakes his head. “emotional, you are, young Skywalker.” he said. “Cloud your judgement, your feelings do.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking emotional!” Anakin practically screams. “I have personal beef with slavery, so excuse me if I feel emotions about it. Your problem is that you’re able to use an ARMY OF SLAVE CHILD SOLDIERS and not feel bad about it! Your lack of emotions is clouding YOUR judgement!” He stomps off. Yoda shakes his head. Skywalker is young, and too close to the issue of slavery to really have perspective on it. He does not understand. It was a great loss to the Jedi Order when the Council rejected him, all those years ago- if he had been trained as a Jedi, he would have learned to put aside his emotions about slavery, and he would have understood why it was necessary now. If Anakin could have heard what Yoda was thinking, he would have turned right back around, picked Yoda up, and punted him like a limmie ball.

Anakin and Maul return to Tatooine. Maul offers to assassinate the entire Jedi Council, but Anakin says no. He’s still fuming about his conversation with Yoda. He knows he gets emotional. He knows that Yoda isn’t entirely wrong- he knows he lets his emotions cloud his judgement sometimes. It’s something he’s worked hard on, over the years, him and Maul. How to take a step back from the emotions howling in your head, and how to view the situation without them getting in the way. And what kinds of situations you should let your emotions guide you. Anakin thinks he’s damn well entitled to strong emotions about slavery.

Short of declaring war on the entire Jedi Order, Anakin doesn’t know what to do about the Republic’s slave army. The Tatooine Council releases a public condemnation of it, explicitly calling it slavery and calling for the clones to be freed. The Council seriously debates joining the Separatists, until Padme (the Senator, not the Rancor) and Shmi look in-depth at the Separatist Council, which is buried deep in the pockets of corporate interests. Shmi files a lawsuit, under the Republic’s anti-slavery legislation, suing for the freedom of the clones. It’s a battle of miserable inches, and meanwhile, the war rages.

With Dooku gone, Sidious’s only means of controlling the Separatists is through Grievous and Ventress, both of whom are loose cannons whose loyalty (and competence) he seriously doubts. It’s frustrating for him, and not necessarily better for the Jedi and their army (of slave child soldiers). Sidious needs to keep the war in careful balance, neither side gaining too much ground, to draw it out and grind the Jedi down and manipulate their public image until he can heap all the blame on them. Without Dooku to pass down his orders, he has no way of keeping a firm check on the Separatist Council, and the Seps are in serious danger of completely overrunning the Republic. The droid army is fifty times as many as the clones, and the Separatists have the Trade Federation, the Banking Clans, and all of the major military tech corporations on their side. Honestly, it’s a testament to the Jedi and the Clone Army that they haven’t lost the war in the first month.

Speaking of that first month, Anakin doesn’t spend long on uninvolved in the war. Scant weeks after Geonosis, the Separatist Army threatens to roll right over Tatooine on their way to gaining control of the Outer Rim Hyperlanes. Tatooine has no army, doesn’t even have a police force. It has no fleet, no orbital defenses, and the droid army headed their way has ten times more droids than there are guns on the planet. The Council faces a choice. Ask the Republic to send in the GAR to defend them- ask for an army of slaves to be sent to die on Tatooine, to stain the sand with enslaved blood so soon after Tatooine clawed her way to freedom, or do nothing, and almost certainly ensure the annihilation of Tatooine and her people. To die, or to live by the blood of slaves who died for you. It’s not a pretty choice.

In the end, the choice is taken away from them (and perhaps it’s a kindness, that they weren’t forced to choose, perhaps it’s the coward’s way out, but it is what it is). A GAR cruiser shows up in orbit, and the Council is hailed by a man identifying himself as Captain Rex, commanding officer of the 501st legion of the GAR.

“The Republic sent you here?” Anakin asks, incredulously.

“Well, not exactly.” Captain Rex hedges. “The 501st is due for leave on Kamino, but the hyperdrive was making funny noises, so we decided to stop off in the nearest Republic system to check it out.” Rex shrugs. “If a bunch of tinnies just so happen to show up, it’s not like we’ll just sit back and watch.”

“Why are you doing this?” Anakin asks the clone captain, once they’ve got him on planet and in the council room. He’s got a lump in his throat, and his eyes are stinging. The 501st has no Jedi on board, no natborn officers, and no orders to go to Tatooine. Rex and the 501st showed up here of their own free will. Because they wanted to. To defend Tatooine.

“Geonosis.” Rex says. “On Geonosis, you saved the lives of over two hundred of us. Including me. We couldn’t stand by and let your planet fall to the Separatists, Councilor Skywalker.”

After the battle, during the cleanup, when Tatooinians are passing through the rows of injured, giving out water- giving out life- Rex tells Anakin the other reason.

“We all know about Tatooine, sir.” He says, quietly. “A bunch of slaves who stood up and said “no,” and took their freedom.” He shrugs. “Stories like that, it gives us hope. For the future.” He fixes Anakin with a stare. “If we let that hope die, we die too. Tatooine cannot fall.”

That is the first time Anakin and Rex fight together. Somehow, when the 501st leaves Tatooine, Anakin goes with them- officially, as a consultant/observer, appointed at the request of Senator Skywalker to observe the GAR and monitor the health and wellbeing of the troopers. Unofficially, Anakin and Rex become a lethal team, making the 501st one of the most effective legions in the Galaxy. Anakin isn’t dumb. He knows he’s being a massive hypocrite, running around with an army of slave child soldiers. Rex, however, insists that it’s different.

“First of all, we asked you to come with us.” he says. “Second of all, it’s not like you staying behind would have made any difference in our situation. And besides, scrapping clankers isn’t the only reason I asked you to come with us.” Anakin raises an eyebrow.

And Rex introduces Anakin to his older brother, Cody, commander of the 212th (Anakin is happy to see Obi-Wan again, but appalled to meet Obi-Wan’s fourteen-year-old togruta padawan, because why would you put a CHILD in a warzone, in a COMMAND POSITION). And Cody brings Anakin in on The Plan. The clones will not remain slaves forever, and they will not wait for some elusive promise of gratitude after the war is over. They will take their freedom, and they will defend their own, and they’re asking Anakin, who freed the slaves of Tatooine, to help them do it.

“So basically, you want me on as a consultant.”

“Basically, yeah.” Cody says. “And also as a guy with a lightsaber who can leap fifty feet into the air and dodge blaster bolts. Those are always handy to have around.”

So Anakin and Rex and Cody, and Cody’s small circle of commanders, lay their plans. And in the meantime, there’s a war to fight. Shmi’s still on Tatooine, but Maul comes with Anakin and the 501st. He and Rex get along like a house on fire, but you wouldn’t know it from watching them- they do nothing but argue and needle each other. Rex sarcastically calls Maul “Commander Maul” because it pisses him off so much, and it catches on with the whole legion. Maul constantly mutters about murdering and/or poisoning Rex.

But after Ventress almost chokes Rex to death, and breaks into his mind to make him do her bidding, Maul doesn’t leave Rex alone for a week, and clutches his hand tightly in the medbay. Rex doesn’t mention it, so neither does Anakin.

Padme, on the other hand, makes no secret of how much she loves Rex (the Rancor, not the Senator, though she likes him too). Padme seems to have concluded that Rex is some sort of long-lost hatchling, and can be seen chasing Rex down the hangar bay, trying to corral him into the nest she’s constructed in the corner reserved for her. Rex gets used to surprise cuddles from a massive predator.

The Jedi Council are at their wit’s end with Skywalker, but their hands are full and honestly, he’s a benefit to the war effort, so they assign Obi-Wan to “supervise” the legion, and leave them to it. Obi-Wan and Anakin strike up a deep friendship, unfettered by the baggage that comes with being master and padawan. Obi-Wan finds himself having serious questions about the Jedi’s role in the war, since Anakin is not at all shy about challenging him on the whole “slave army of child soldiers” thing. Obi-Wan is also, quite frankly, too busy to effectively teach a padawan, and by this point, he knows that Anakin’s had some sort of Force training. He’s fought beside him enough to be confident in his skills, and often sends Ahsoka on extended missions with the 501st, and explicitly begs Anakin to help him fill in the gaps in her training. Anakin obliges enthusiastically.

Of course, Maul helps train her too. Obi-Wan shows up on the Resolute one day to pick her up, and asks how her training’s going.

“Great!” She says. “Skyguy’s weird uncle is teaching me jar’kai-”

“Anakin has an uncle?” Obi-Wan asks, surprised. “Who knows jar’kai?”

And so Obi-Wan and Maul meet once again. And Obi-Wan is just absolutely pole-axed.

“Darth Maul?” He splutters. “Is your uncle?”

“Not biologically,” Anakin shrugs. “He practically raised me, along with my mom. He taught me everything I know about lightsabers and the Force.”

“...”

“...you did say Sith, Anakin, you bastard, sand-sifting MY ASS-”

“Oh, it’s you.” Maul says. “I won’t kill you, but only because Anakin likes you.” Obi-Wan throws up his hands.

Somehow, Obi-Wan and Maul come to an understanding. Somehow, Obi-Wan doesn’t turn him over to the council.

At one point, a giant of a zabrak, easily eight feet tall, with skin a poisonous yellow, shows up, claiming that Maul is his brother, and that he’s here to bring him home to Dathomir. Maul takes one look at Savage and goes “Fuck that”. “I will train you in the ways of the Force,” he says. “I can show you power like you’ve never wielded before.” he says. “You shall be a great and feared Sith Lord,” he says. “Have some hot chocolate, you look cold,” he says. “Put on a sweater.” Savage, slightly bemused, comes to terms with the fact that he’s just been adopted.

It’s Maul who figures it out, of course. How could he not? He was raised by Sidious. He knows how devious he is, how his plans have layers upon layers, backups upon backups, contingencies stacked from here to the Outer Rim. Once Sidious moves, you can be sure that any reasonable outcome will be in his favor, because he has completely engineered the situation before you were even aware it existed.

The Sith caused the war and are playing both sides. The Sith caused the clones to be commissioned (these things are trivially easy to figure out, if you’re paying attention). The Sith want the Jedi dead.

“Contingencies,” Maul mutters. “It’s always a trap, and there’s always contingencies.”

When he finds the chip in Rex’s head, he shakes with rage and refuses to talk to anyone, fearing, for the first time in years, that he will lose control and hurt someone he loves. It is Rex who talks him down, who manages to get close to him, who embraces him and lets him cry on his shoulder, then scream and rage and punch the walls. When Maul is able to explain, Rex has to choke back his own terrified, horrified sobs. He holds them back, and calmly looks at Maul and says “What are you going to do about it?”

The surgery, they discover, is simple enough. An astromech can do it in two minutes (C2PO can do it in seventy seconds, and Artoo can’t stand it). When Anakin is told, he goes quiet for a minute, and when he looks back up, it is not Anakin, Rex’s friend, Maul’s kid, who is sitting at the table in the briefing room. It is He Who Walks in the Sky, Huttslayer, Breaker of Chains, who looks back at them. Anakin Skywalker has always wanted nothing more than to free all the slaves. And Anakin Skywalker’s destiny has always been to do what he wanted.

They tell Cody. They modify their plans. They quietly contact medics throughout the GAR, and Artoo quietly sends the details to every military astromech he trusts. When the army is safe from Sidious’ control, Anakin, Rex, and Maul conspire to lure him off of Coruscant. Maul takes over Mandalore, exiling the duchess and announcing a New Sith Empire. Sidious shows up, declaring that Maul has become a rival, disowning his former apprentice and attacking him, with intent to kill. Savage loses an arm. Maul almost loses his life. But as he lies on the ground at Sidious’s feet, arms trembling with the effort of holding the parry keeping Sidious’ saber from his throat, he hears “We’ve got the face shot! Go, go go!” in his earpiece. Gunfire, real slugthrowers, difficult to block with a saber, erupts around him. C3PO and his arsenal, along with Fives, Jesse, and Echo, the 501st’s best ARC troopers, open fire on Sidious. The Sith is forced to back away, raising a hand to stop the bullets in midair. Maul leaps to his feet, and Anakin joins him, lightsaber drawn.

The fight is quick, but brutal. Maul’s hands threaten to tremble with terror, facing down the horror of his childhood, the monster whose treatment of him is woven fundamentally into his psyche, whose shadow has haunted Maul all his life, and still invades his dreams. But he reaches out to his family, to Rex, beside him, steady, full of faith in him, to Anakin, a blazing sun of love and anger, a shield of raw power, and to Shmi, all the way in her Senate offices on Coruscant, cool and calm and soothing like a desert spring as ever-present as the stars. His hands do not tremble. He raises his lightsaber against his master, beside the blade of his son. Together, they beat the Sith Lord back. Anakin binds the Sith’s blade, knees him in the ribs, and while Sidious is thus occupied, Maul cuts his head off.

“You were a terrible parent,” he pants, and spits on the corpse. Then, he collapses, and Rex is there to catch him, and Maul clings to him and shakes, and cries. Anakin reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, and Rex pulls him in with a look, and together, they surround Maul, a bulwark against the rest of the world, a safe circle for him to fall apart for a little bit. At some point, one of them unstraps the small camera that Maul had been wearing on his chest. Ahsoka has, at that point, already sent the footage to every major news office on Coruscant.

That evening, plastered all over the galactic news, is a video of the Chancellor himself, showing up on a neutral world and attacking its sovereign leader, wielding red lightsabers of all things. And it’s obviously the Chancellor; there’s a clear shot of his face when he knocks Mandalore’s ruler to the ground and the camera gets a good view right up into his hood.

It’s a massive scandal. One tabloid shows the footage with a little counter in the corner, counting up every treaty and galactic law that Palpatine violates onscreen. The only thing that saves Palpatine from impeachment and arrest is the fact that he’s already dead. Inquiries are launched, investigators are sanctioned, documents and hard drives and testimony are subpoena’ed. Padme (the Senator, not the Rancor), spearheads the investigative committee, and within a month, they’ve uncovered decades worth of bribes, backroom deals, contracts with droid manufacturers, clear evidence of Palpatine authorizing Republic funds for weaponry that went straight to the Separatists, and even communication records between the Chancellor and the two military leaders of the Separatists. Grievous and Ventress go into hiding (the Tales of Grievous and Ventress, unlikely buddies forced on an intergalactic road trip on the run from the cops, is a story for a different absurdly long post at 3am). The Separatists break down in chaos, and the war grinds to a halt. In the middle of all the political hurricane, Cody enacts his plan, and the entire GAR simultaneously deserts, and fucks directly off to Tatooine. This ignites another scandal, with Senators calling for Tatooine’s expulsion from the Republic. Shmi stands in her Senate Pod, hands tucked into her roughspun sleeves, listening attentively while Senator Burtoni of Kamino accuses her of theft.

“If Tatooine does not return the stolen military assets, the Senate may sanction the use of force!” the Senator from Ryloth threatens.

“Pardon me,” Shmi says, “May I ask what army the Senate is planning sending to invade Tatooine? I was under the impression that the only Republic army was already there.” There’s a bit of an awkward silence.

In the middle of the shitstorm, before Shmi is arrested and Anakin declared an enemy of the state, Shmi’s lawsuit finally receives a ruling. And just like that, the clones are legally free. And the judge orders the Senate to pay reparations. Anakin cackles with glee when he hears.

Rex and Cody, with the full support of the people of Tatooine, begin the long, hard, work of resettling their brothers and building a life for the vod’e. Shmi files a lawsuit against the Zygerrian Empire. Savage receives a new arm, courtesy of Anakin, who may or may not have added a few extra utilities to it. Ahsoka is knighted, and controversially invites Anakin to be present at the ceremony, along with Obi-Wan. Maul admits, very quietly and where only Rex can hear, that he doesn’t actually want to poison him. “I know,” Rex says, smiling at him. Anakin, meanwhile, finally marries Padme, the love of his life (the Senator, not the Rancor).

And in Mos Eisly, there is a stone slab, pulled from a crumbled wall and stuck upright in the ground in the middle of the square. No one knows who put it there, but someone carved fifty-seven names into the stone. The fifty-seven names of the clone troopers who died defending Tatooine from the Separatist army, at the beginning of the war. The last slaves to spill their blood on the sands of Tatooine.

#maul adopts anakin #and invents a new kind of sith #which is almost nothing like the old kind of sith #just co-opts the name really #rex/maul #kinda? it wasn't on purpose it just happened #my writing #maulusque's writing #might slap this up on ao3 later #we'll see

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snackleggg · 4 years ago

Text

City of splintering hopes: Chapter 4 "Meda-Lean"

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Ao3

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When Danny came out the other side of the cave, back into the Far Frozen, he turned around to confirm yep the bird robot is still following me.

"So why exactly has keeping me safe been 'added as your top objective'?" Danny asked, using air quotes when referencing what the robot had said earlier.

"Because you are a Halfa" It replied. Danny actually paused at that.

He turned around and started making the trek back to the yeti civilisation in the Far Frozen, following the route that Frostbite had led him through.

"Okay but I wasn't born a Halfa. I'm not a citizen of that city or even related to those Halfas in anyway so why did you activate?" Danny asked.

He heard the crunching of snow behind him stop and he also came to a stop to look behind him at the robot. It had it's head tilted to the side again, seemingly a common gesture for it when it was thinking or maybe confused?

"It does not matter if you were not born a Halfa. What matters is you are one now and that was proven by the activation once you stepped into the Hall of the Ancients" It stated and Danny could tell by it's abrupt blink that he was making a face because he did not understand half the things that just- well not 'came out of it's mouth', it didn't have a mouth but that last sentence definitely had him confused beyond all belief.

"Wat" Danny said "Hall of the what now? Activation? What are you talking about?"

"The Hall of the Ancients is the name of the structure atop the capital." It explained "The automatic pairing system was activated by your presence as it sensed you had not been assigned a droid and therefore assigned me to you" the robot finished and Danny needed a second to take all that in.

Instead of facing everything that sentence implied Danny turned back around and continued walking. He soon heard the crunching of snow behind him signalling that the robot bird was following.

"So... it only turned on because it sensed I was a Halfa?" Danny asked after a brief silence.

"Correct. All Halfas are assigned droids to assist and protect them in their everyday lives, especially those who travel outside of the Hidden lands" It explained and Danny was trying to wrap his mind around it. More questions suddenly started popping up into his mind, thankfully he finally had someone who seemed to know what they were talking about.

For some reason Danny felt relieved. The automatic system that the original Halfas left behind had recognised him as a Halfa and that made him feel very validated.

"Why'd it choose you?" Danny asked after briefly mulling over the question. He had seen many of those statues in the alcoves in the walls and there had probably been more he hadn't seen deeper inside the building. So why was this specific droid chosen for him?

"Each droid has a unique personality of sorts, unique responses to certain situations and when you stepped into the building it scanned your core and automatically found the droid best suited to serve and protect you" It replied.

"So there are just a bunch of pre-made droids laying around waiting to be assigned?" Danny asked, he couldn't help the sadness that tainted his voice. Those droids would probably never be activated, Danny sure as hell wasn't letting Vlad get his grubby little hands on one. He shuddered at the very thought of Vlad knowing about the ruins.

"Incorrect" It informed him "Halfa children typically have droids created and assigned for them at the age of 10. All droids in the Hall of the Ancients had already been created and assigned to a Halfa at some point and were all once active. Including myself." the robot said, there was something in it's voice but Danny couldn't place his finger on it.

"Wait so.... how long have you been deactivated for?" He asked.

"It has been roughly 247 years since I was last active" It replied, that strange tone in it's voice again.

"And that was when...." He could piece together what that meant but the droid answered him anyway.

"When Pariah Dark was launching his attack on the Halfas" Danny suddenly recognised the emotion in it's voice. Grief. Sadness. Hesitancy.

Even if it was a robot Danny could only imagine what it was like. Then another thought hit him and he stopped again in his tracks on the path. But only for a moment before he continued. He could sense the robot's worried gaze but Danny wasn't going to bring up what had caused him to stop. He didn't even want to look back at the droid.

Danny couldn't bring himself to ask more questions, not yet. Maybe another time when his core wasn't clenching in sympathy for the droid.

They walked in silence, every once in a while Danny looked back at the robot bird to see it was seemingly surveying it's surroundings. Danny thought back to how he had scanned the landscape around him when he had come through here with Frostbite and he bit back a laugh at the similarity. It didn't take long before the droid snapped it's attention back to him whenever it noticed him glancing.

Finally they made it back to landscape and terrain Danny was familiar with and it wasn't long before Frostbite popped out and greeted him.

"Great One! You have returned!" Frostbite exclaimed and then he took notice of the new face following behind Danny but instead of any number of reactions Danny had expected Frostbite just glanced at it with something akin to nostalgia in his eyes before diverting his attention back to Danny.

"You're injured!" Frostbite shouted, finally taking noticed of his broken nose. The blood, having dried up ages ago, now looked a muddy brown and felt flaky against Danny's skin.

"Yeah, I had a bit of a crash" Danny said, straining the last word as he glanced at the robot bird that simply blinked back at him.

"Come, let's get you fixed up then before your travel home" Frostbite insisted, ushering him towards the yeti tribe to get his nose fixed up.

Half an hour later and lots of assuring Frostbite that "I'm fine" "No, I don't have a concussion" "Yes, I will make sure to be careful to avoid faceplanting into anything", Danny was finally given the okay to go home but before he left he had one last thing to ask Frostbite.

"Frosty, why aren't you phased by the sudden stone robot bird following me around?" Danny asked, gesturing to said droid who was still hunched over as it stood behind him. Danny had noticed that the robot bird, while not hunching to the point of meeting his eye level anymore, was still not standing to it's full height. He also noticed that no one in the Far Frozen tribe batted an eye at the stone being.

"Oh! Sorry Great One, you must be confused by our lack of reaction! It's just these stone creatures always accompanied past Halfas. If anything we had been surprised when first meeting you that you did not have one. I had a feeling that you may gain one by visiting the sight of their origin" Frostbite replied thoughtfully, a paw held to his chin as he briefly examined the droid.

Danny felt his eye twitch slightly "And you didn't think to inform me that when entering the remains of a Halfa civilisation that some ancient automatic system would decide to give me some bodyguard assistant?" Danny asked, his tone becoming more hysterical as the absurdness of the situation sunk in.

"I apologise Great One. It had only crossed my mind after you had already entered the cave" Frostbite at least had the decency to look sheepish.

Danny took a deep breath before letting it out and giving a slightly strained smile "it's... okay. At least you didn't mean to leave out that semi important fact" He said.

Finally, finally! Danny started his flight home after one last goodbye to Frostbite. He also quickly discovered that bird like stone beings could apparently fly. The droid flew above Danny, stone wings spread and the occasional flap of them even though he was pretty sure that wasn't necessary but he wasn't about to rain all over the robot bird's parade.

Halfway home he realised that he will definitely not be able to explain a giant stone robot following him around to his parents.

"Hey uh... can you turn invisible?" Danny directed to the robot flying above him. The droid looked down at him, blinking once, before replying "Yes, I can but it is energy consuming so only for short periods of time"

"Cool cool cool coolcoolcoolcool, cause when we get to the portal you're gonna have to turn invisible so my parents don't see you" Danny said, a scenario of what would happen to the droid if his parents saw it played in his mind and he quickly shook it from his head.

"Portal? Are we travelling to the living realm?" The robot bird asked and Danny remembered that this was a robot two centuries and a half out of it's time. He would need to keep as close an eye on it as it was keeping on him.

"Yeah. I kind of live there but my parents don't really know about the whole being a Halfa thing so if you stay out of their sight I would really appreciate it. My sister Jazz is fine though, she knows" Danny dreaded having to explain this to Jazz. 'Hey Jazz! I went to the ancient ruins of the original Halfas like we talked about yesterday! I accidently triggered some automatic pairing system that gave me a robot bodyguard for the foreseeable future!' Yeah, that was not going to be a fun conversation.

"I will be mindful" The droid replied before they fell back into a comfortable silence.

Soon the Fenton ghost portal came into view and they both landed on the floating rock it was positioned on.

"Okay remember, invisible. I'll tell you when you can drop the invisibility. Just stay quiet and try not to touch anything" Danny said, making sure he got across how serious this was to the droid.

The robot bird nodded before disappearing from sight instantly.

Danny turned around and did the same, turning himself invisible as he walked through. He mildly panicked when the thought that the droid wouldn't be able to follow him crossed his mind but the feeling of three claw like stone fingers on his shoulder quickly got rid of those doubts.

As expected, his parents were working in the lab, focused intensely on their newest invention which of course was a blaster of some kind. Danny rolled his eyes, another weapon he would have to dodge.

As Danny walked through the lab it was unnerving to him how quiet the droid was managing to be. No heavy footsteps like when they had been walking through the Far Frozen and the cave. No sound of camera like clicking from blinking. The only indication Danny had that it was there were the cool stone fingers on his shoulder.

They made it up the stairs with out a single noise and as soon as they got through the doors Danny immediately dropped his invisibility.

"You can drop it now" He said when the droid didn't immediately follow his example. After the robot became visible again Danny moved around it to close the door to the lab and he sighed in relief.

Despite the fact that he had left in the morning it was evening now as Danny had spent roughly 7 and a half hours on his little side quest. He let the transformation back to his human form go over him and breathed a little in relief.

He saw in the corner of his eye the droid jerk back a bit and he turned to see it blinking repeatedly at him with that same clicking noise before suddenly stopping.

"Your clothes are different than in your other form" It stated.

"Yeah, what of it?" Danny asked as the droid stared at him, still hunched over but Danny was pretty sure it would hit it's head on the ceiling if it stood at it's full height.

"I am an information retrieval droid. Though my objectives have been updated for your safety as top priority I still must gather as much information as possible on everything around me" It stated. Danny made a mental note never to let it onto the internet unsupervised.

"Oh well, like I said earlier I wasn't born a Halfa. I kind of half died? Or maybe I died fully but was half brought back to life? Either way I died, whether half or fully, and those clothes were just the ones I died in" Danny shrugged.

The droid looked at him for another second before seemingly accepting that answer and turning it's attention to their surroundings.

"Right, if you're going to be following me around you should know the layout of the house" Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. The droid nodded absentmindedly, Danny could see it's thin pupils moving around rapidly, trying to take in as much information about the surroundings as possible no doubt.

"Well this is the kitchen. We eat food in here but you don't have a mouth and are a robot so I don't think you'll find yourself in here too often. You already saw the lab, in the basement. Don't go down there unless I'm with you because my parents are down there like 70% of the time" Danny said as he gestured around and then to the door behind them.

Danny started moving into the living room and the droid followed him, he noted that the sound of it's heavy footsteps had returned.

"Living room, we'll pass through here alot to get to the front door so if my parents are ever in here you'll have to turn invisible and be quiet" Danny said, again making a sweeping motion with his arm to show the room. It was weird, he kind of felt like he was showing around a secret roommate.

They went up the stairs. Danny quickly explained that the droid should never ever follow him into the bathroom. An off handed comment to avoid his parents room and the stairs that led to the Ops center. He also pointed out Jazz's room before ending the tour with his own room.

"Since you insist on being around me all the time you'll be spending alot of time in here" Danny said after he closed the door to his room.

The droid was looking around with great interest, examining the books he had on his shelf and all the different space themed things scattered around his room. Danny felt a little embarrassed and could feel his face heating up even though he knew the robot was most likely analysing everything so it could get a better understanding of the Halfa it had been paired with.

Then a thought hit Danny.

"This might be an awkward question to ask now but uh-" the droid turned to face him as he fumbled with something he should've asked from the start "Do you um, have a name I could call you?" Danny asked. He was getting a little tired referring to it as 'the droid' and 'the robot bird' in his head.

"Why yes, you may call me Meda-Lean" They said and Danny blinked.

"Medalean? Or wait- Meda Lean" Danny corrected himself and Meda-Lean nodded.

"Can I call ya Meds for short? Y'know like a nickname?" Danny asked.

"Yes, you may call me 'Meds'." Meds confirmed and the way their eyes seemed to half close gave the impression that if they had a mouth they would be smiling.

----

A stone statue stood tall in a ravaged battlefield. The land was empty and quiet until suddenly the statue moved. The grey stone fell apart revealing a ghost. A rumour that the worlds, both the living and the dead, had forgotten.

The tall figure stood and stretched out two large metallic wings from his back, being careful not to jostle the bow and bag of arrows also resting on his back. Despite not needing to breath he took in a deep breath before releasing it as a loud sigh that echoed throughout the long abandoned battlefield.

"I smell Halfa"

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First | Previous | Next

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I'll be tagging all content do to with this story with the tag City of splintering hopes so if guys want to you can follow the story easier. You can also use that tag for any questions or content you guys make of the story!

#danny phantom #city of splintering hopes #chapter 4 #danny fenton #Meda-Lean #dp frostbite #danny phantom fic #danny phantom au #my writing #dp fanfic #fanfic

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vagrantblvrd · 4 years ago

Note

Obi-Wan raises Luke instead of Owen and Beru, please.

Oooh, nice.

Because I am That Person I want to do the Satine lives AU (I haven’t finished Clone Wars yet, but one of my friends has Strong Opinions about similar AUs).

Obi-Wan doesn’t leave the Jedi Order to be with her,because Duty, and all that with the war, but perhaps once the war is over he can?

But then Anakin falls to the Dark Side and it’s decided to separate the twins. Leia goes to Bail and Breha, and Obi-Wan is supposed to take Luke to Tatooine to be raised by his aunt and uncle, but.

Obi-Wan’s in his ship leaving Coruscant after losing Anakin the way he did and it isn’t a conscious decision really, that has him putting in the coordinates for Mandlore, doesn’t even register until his droid is like ??? and he sees what he’s done, and has this moment of oh, I didn’t mean to do that, did I?

He means to fix it, input the coordinates for Tatooine, a weavin winding path in case he’s followed, but stops to think about it.

It makes sense to take Luke there, no one would think to look for him, but the thought of leaving Luke, one of the last pieces of Anakin left to him to be raised by people who wouldn’t understand him leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth.

Regret, guilt, for failing Anakin so completely, and it’s like. Anakin has ties to Tatooine that someone smart enough might look into, might find Luke, but Mandalore? That complicated mess is all Obi-Wan’s now.

And it’s selfish, he’s being selfish, not wanting to give Luke up, thinks about the Order and attachments, but look where it got them in the end, you know? (His foundations have been rocked, shattered beneath his feet but if he thinks on it there were cracks, fault-lines long before that.)

So.

He calculates s winding, weaving course to Mandalore and goes to Satine where they raise Luke as their foundling, right?

They keep the whole...Jedi thing on the down-low, because ancient enemies but Obi-Wan and Satine’s inner circle know, because how couldn’t they?

Obi-Wan may go by a different name these days, but it’s close enough to his real name it wouldn’t take much thought to connect the two. Also, his face???

And Luke okay. Obi-Wan teaches him to control his Jedi abilities and such from an early age, but he couches it in games and play and all Mr. Miyagi with his wax on, wax off schtick kid of deal to keep Luke from accidentally giving away the fact he’s strong in the Force and so on.)

Meanwhile there’s an effort to dial back the animosity towards the Jedi, which meets with mixed results, because people. Also, also, over the years Obi-Wan encourages Satine to mend the rift between her followers and those exiled to Concordia.

Also, with mixed results, but with the Empire’s numbers growing it seems like a mistake to allow Mandalore to be divided.

They reach some kind of understanding, not entirely reconciled, but better than things were before.

In another meanwhile, Luke is being raised as a Mandalorian, and like Obi-Wan earns a set of armor.

But then!

The Purge happens, and in the chaos Luke is separated from Obi-Wan and Satine, the other Mandalorians.

He has his armor and a ship and the lightsaber that belonged to his father Obi-Wan shoved into his hands before they were separated.

Has to hide from the Empire because one thing Obi-Wan made sure he knew from a young age is that he couldn’t all ow himself to be captured by them, that they’d be looking for him.

(And on some lonely nights after the Purge when his nightmares seem more real than usual, some part of him wonders if the Purge happened because Mandalore refused to join with the Empire, or if someone found out about him?)

Anyway.

Mandalorians and the reputation for being fierce fighters and skilled bounty hunters and Luke is truly alone for the first time in his life. Little money to his name and his ship can only get so far before it runs out of fuel, and he needs ammunition and food to eat, and it’s just.

He finds work s a bounty hunter, and the first few bounties are part of a learning process. Thank goodness for his armor or he’d have been dead dozen times over the first month.

Still.

He’s been raised as a Mandalorian his whole life, maybe saw himself as an outsider because his Force abilities and the secrets Obi-Wan kept even from him, but he’s been training as a warrior his whole life.

(Pacifists, yes, but the galaxy is a dangerous place and perhaps more so for someone like Luke, so.)

Between the regular weapons and hand-to-hand and whatnot and Obi-Wan’s instruction with his Force abilities and his father’s lightsaber he’s quite the dangerous individual.

He keeps running into this Corellian smuggler and his Wookie co-pilot, and sometimes he turns a blind eye to their antics if he’s tracking someone else. (In return Han’s willing to let information slip to Luke, for the price of a drink or a meal, and of course he’d never say no to an outright gift of credits, so.)

There’s a miscommunication on a job, once. Luke after a bail jumper and this other Mandalorian with a silver helmet who wants the pilot Luke’s bounty hired.

There’s a bit of a fight, nothing serious before it occurs to Luke that the aforementioned pilot looked a little too panicky at the sight of the other Mandalorian to be fully innocent. (Also, it’s Mos Eisley. Innocent people are exceedingly rare here.)

It’s the first time Luke’s worked with another Mandalorian on a bounty, and it’s actually kind of nice. (Although he suspects the other Mandalorian may have ties to The Tribe, but it’s the least of his problems at the moment and the man makes for good company.)

Anyway, anyway, at some point Luke runs into Ahsoka - and he knows her. Obi-Wan and his secrets and she’s safe, she can help him.

At first she’s reluctant, because look what happened to Anakin, what if she’s resposnsible for the same happening to Luke? But he finds a way to convince her - stubborn like Anakin, if not worse - and she takes up his training where Obi-Wan left off.

She’ll lave from time to time because Rebellion shenaigans, and sometimes Luke goes along to help.

And then word through Luke or Ahsoka’s contacts about Leia being taken prisoner and important plans and they’re so far out they might not make it in time.

“I know someone who might help?” Luke offers, because he and Han are hardly friends (they kind of are though), and the Falcon is one of the fastest ships out there even if she doesn’t look like it.

So, side trip to Tatooine and Han is just “Oh, come on, you too? What is with today?” because Greedo and Luke being a bounty hunter and Ahsoka is super unimpressed.

Once Luke explains what he needs, Han is like “NO,” but Luke convinces him and Han reluctantly agrees (but then Jabba and that whole mess and it’s kind of a disaster getting off Tatooine but they make it so everything’s fine.

Before they leave though, there’s this weird hermit they run into and emotional reunions because Obi-Wan and he thought Luke was dead and what has he been doing? Also it’s very nice to see you again, Ahsoka, you look well.

Luke going up to the cockpit to give them privacy for their part of the reunion and sharing information and all that.

And then rescuing Leia and Luke in his beskar getting between Obi-Wan and Vader even though both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are incredibly not happy about that, but some people there were just going to let the sith lord kill them, and Luke is just how about no???

(Satine would never forgive Obi-Wan something like that Luke’s sure, and according to Obi-Wan she’s back on Tatooine still, so.)

Leia gets rescued and the Rebellion’s down a few pilots and oh, hey, Luke’s kind of not bad at that whole deal?

Obi-Wan’s needed as a strategist - and honestly, no one wants him out of sight after the whole thing on the Death Star - and Ahsoka with her Rebellion Thing.

Han comes back to save Luke’s life and Luke destroys the Death Star and happy ending for now?

But Luke knows there’s something about Vader and Luke himself that has Obi-Wan and Ahsoka deeply worried. (When he thinks about it there are a few reasons why that might be, but he does his best not to dwell on it.)

Anyway.

The usual Star Wars shenanigans but with Mandalorian!Luke with his armor and whatnot.

Confrontations between Luke and Vader go a little differently because of Luke’s armor? But the hand thing still happens because parallels or some nonsense, idk.

(Anakin’s not the only one who has to remove their helmet on the second Death Star and so on.)

Leia has mixed feelings about the whole Boba Fett putting Han in carbonite because Luke’s used the same method on some of his bounties in the past. (The violent dangerous ones that posed a risk to him transporting them the guild, though, but it doesn’t matter to Leia at the time.)

After the destruction of the second Death Star there’s talk, idle, unsure about forming a school to teach the next generation of Jedi?

Because Force-sensitive kids and there must be a better way, a balance between the ole Jedi Order and a new one.

Until then, Luke is curious about the whole Jedi thing, goes looking for relics and whatnot. (Maybe does some bounty hunting every so often, because why not.)

Satine wants to go back to Mandalore, help her people if she can and Obi-Wan goes with her because not a lot of reason to stick around Tatooine otherwise.

And then!

This call for help through the Force and Luke following it to an Imperial light cruiser and Din being very, very confused at seeing a Mandalorian with a lightsaber?

Is it like Bo-Katan’s Darksaber? Will one of them have to change? So confused. (Also though, possible concussion from his fight with the Dark Trooper, but yes.)

“Are you a Jedi?” Din asks, feeling that it’s a valid question because Mandalorians and Jedis and ancient enemies????

And yet.

Luke is like, hey, it’s you! Because silver helmet and remember that time we got into a fight on Tatooine? But also, also, hello Aunt Bo-Katan and friends.

Mainly though, Grogu who is kind of losing his tiny little mind because Mandalorian? But also Jedi? But Mandalorian???

And then shenanigans in which Luke is like, huh, about the Darksaber and poor Din who wants nothing to do with it. His adopted mother who wants to help her people but afraid they won’t listen to her after what the Empire’s done them and is like.

Strangely convenient, but he’ll take it.

They stop by the closest New Republic planet or outpost to hand Gideon and whatever other Imperials are still on board over and then head to Mandalore.

Din is still so very confused, but it doesn’t seem like Luke plans to take Grogu away and he’ll take what he can get. (So sure Luke will take Grogu far away at some point, but tries not to think too hard about that.)

And then the whole working at calling Mandalorians home - Din is super unsure about being the new ruler of Mandalore, but once Bo-Katan and Satine have a chat about the fure of their world they’re like, “He’s perfect for the role.”

Just needs a little help, and with them and Obi-Wan and other trusted people to help him, something great could come of it.

Luke stays on Mandalore - his home more than anywhere else in the galaxy - and he and Obi-Wan train Grogu. Ahsoka too, when she visits.

Once Mandalore and its people are more settled there’s talk of joining the New Republic, right?

Leia as the New Republic’s representative, and Obi-Wan one of Din’s advisors, negotiators and it seems as though good things will happen there too.

But!

Also!

Luke who grew up on Mandalore helping introduce Din to it? Teach him about this world he’s never seen, but is important in its own way more than ever now.

And little Grogu and all that.

Keldabe kisses in a courtyard on a night when Luke’s meditating outside, Din restless after tucking Grogu in and happens across Luke.

Understands that Luke doesn’t follow the Creed the way Din does, but he was raised as a Mandalorian and Din’s seen him in his helmet more often than not and anyway.

Luke meditating in the moonlight and while Din was worried he might have interrupted, Luke opens his eyes and smiles, something about it drawing Din closer.

And it’s.

There’s been so much Pining, but this is Luke, and anyway, keldabe kisses, and Luke laughing at Din being so flustered by it, but Luke’s laughter is shaky, breathless and really, the man’s a hypocrite.

Still, the two of them stay like that for a little while longer.

#star wars nonsense #dinluke #anon #not!fic prompt #prompt fills #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #mandalorian!luke #but like with a ~twist #long post #Anonymous

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