#until one night she says that buir misses them

[varpusvaras]

I really need to go to sleep but I also really need to get this out of my mind

Force Ghost Fox, wandering around the Galaxy. His brothers cannot see him. There aren't left any people who could see him, anymore.

He visits Bail and Breha, too, and sits with them and wishes that he could reach out, that he could tell them that he is right there.

He watches their daughter as well. A cute, tiny little thing. He sits besides her cot at nights and hums at her, even though he knows she cannot hear him. He watches her sleep as he does so, and he wishes that she was his, too.

One night, she awakens, and her little face scrunches up like she's going to cry. Fox shushes her, out of instinct, no matter how little it will be of help-

She stops, and looks up, and Fox swears that she is looking straight at him.

No, no, she cannot be. He is just imagining it.

Then she smiles, and reaches towards Fox.

[pascalpanic]

He is My Home (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Din’s going to have a nasty scar from the wound on his side, just like the ones you have, the ones you’re insecure about.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: light mentions of blood and injuries. mentions of birth. scars (none are explicitly from SH) are mentioned.

A/N: Fluffy Din can I get a hell yeah?? @binarydanvvers sent me this request and it’s absolutely precious so I’m really happy I got to write it. I hope y’all will love it too!!

Din Djarin’s body is defined by his scars, even if few or no other living beings have seen them.

The very first scar on Din’s body came from his birth. Vha Djarin’s baby came out happy and healthy, but an apprentice midwife with an unsteady hand nicked the child’s skin with her blade as she severed the umbilical cord. That’s where the small white line above his belly button comes from.

The other scars include various missions, combat as a young adult, some nearly mortal wounds. There’s a scar across the bridge of his nose from some mission where he was fighting for your little green son’s life. There’s a long line along his forearm from a slice due to an opponent’s blade, on the underside, where the beskar didn’t protect him.

Everything about Din is beautiful to you. Even his name is so beautiful to say- Din Djarin. It sounds like poetry in his mother tongue’s accent. You’ve married him, become his riduur. You see his face daily, the face he was so scared to show you.

Din had feared you’d find him ugly. That you’d think him unlovable, that his nose was too big and eyes too deep-set, his entire body and even his soul too scarred. It wasn’t until after your wedding, when you removed his helmet and cried in joy, that his fears were cast away. You pressed your forehead to his and cupped his face and genuinely told him that you couldn’t imagine a more beautiful man, a more handsome and wonderful Mandalorian behind that beskar.

That night was spent exploring each other’s bodies now that you had total and complete access to Din’s body. It wasn’t entirely sexual, though much of it was; you just felt his abs and his arms and his warm skin beneath yours, and he did the same to you.

Your life has been perfect for the past few months as Din’s riduur. You get to see his face every day, kiss the scar on the bridge of his beautiful nose. You have the privilege of rolling over in bed and seeing his sleeping face, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. You get to see his little green son squeal in excitement when he gets to see his daddy’s face, the way the three small green fingers of each hand grab at one stubbly cheek.

Din is equally as happy. Being with you allows him to be a human again; it allows him to be Din, not Mando. Your warm arms around him in the middle of the night stall the nightmares of the siege of his hometown and the kills he committed and the way the pile of Mando helmets looked in the corner of the covert.

Of course, practicality dictates Din still must work. As a bounty hunter’s riduur, your options are really either to be a bounty hunter too, or a stay at home buir to your little green son. As you have next to no fighting skills, you stuck with the role that introduced you to your husband in the first place: interplanetary nanny to your bug-eyed baby boy.

You enjoyed the pretend domesticity, but you also appreciated the charm of the fact that home is literally where you make it with the Razor Crest: on any planet, moon, or space station. Your home travels with you, your home is wherever the Crest is tonight.

Even before you found the Crest, Din has been your home. He’s your place and your person, ever since the first time someone threatened you and Din shot them dead where they stood and you stared for a second in utter terror they’d jerk back to life before running into his arms and burying your head in the skin between his helmet and his cape. And that’s when you realized that Din’s arms were your safe place, the one place nothing can hurt you. Not when Din is protecting you.

Tonight more than ever, you miss Din’s arms. He took a honeymoon phase of one or two bounties a month after your riduurok, to spend time with you and the child and your newly formed, legally Mandalorian family. Your aliit, your clan. All good things must come to an end, though, and Din was back into his hunting. It’s been a week without him. Your beskar ring feels cold on your finger tonight as you trace your hand over the etched mudhorn in the wedding band.

Your green baby is cuddled to your chest, snoozing happily with his mama. You press a kiss to his head, thinking about Din. The child’s father. The little creature radiates warmth and relaxation and hypnotically urges you to fall asleep alongside him. Rest, mama. And you do.

-

The next morning, you startle awake at the sound of beskar clanging against the metal of the ship. “Riduur?” You call out, sitting up excitedly.

“Hi,” he says weakly, and the tone sets panic into your body. You jump out of the bed to find Din kneeling next to the carbonite, a freshly sealed and still sublimating creature trapped in it.

Din clutches his side and you sink to your knees frantically. His orange gloves are covered with blood as one reaches to you. “Din,” you panic, unsure what to do for a moment. “I’m going to go get the medkit. You start undressing now, beskar off, clothes off,” you order him and get to your feet. You pull out a cot and pop it open. “Lay here and wait for me.”

You fly into a tizzy around the ship, grabbing the various things you need. Bacta, needles, bandages, the official medkit. Good. You return to his side, where he lies in his boxers and helmet. “Baby,” you coo gently and remove the helmet. “Just me, remember?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, dazed eyes looking up at you. His dark hair is drenched in his sweat, and there’s a trickle of blood from his lip.

You fly into action. “Bacta’s going in first, love. Going to jab it in, get ready.” He softly nods and makes a whimper as you stab the needle in, pushing down the plunger and emptying the syringe into his body.

He’s numb now. You wipe the wound and grab the cauterizer. “You might feel this, Din. It’s gonna be quick, I promise.” He doesn’t even respond, eyes shut. You use it and he twitches, his face cringing in pain.

“I know, I know. Doing so good, almost- there we go,” you sigh as the wound is finished cauterizing. “You did wonderfully, my warrior. Providing for us no matter the cost,” you tell him and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

You press a large gauze patch and bandage over his wound, to ensure it stays clean. “Okay, okay baby. You can sleep now. Did so good for me, my strong man,” you mumble, cupping his face.

“You did all the work,” he mutters, a soft smile on his face. The medication wipes him out into a deep sleep.

-

Bacta isn’t a miracle drug. It can’t save you from certain death, can’t reverse the growth of diseases that have already infiltrated. The miracle, really, behind Bacta, is how quickly it works. It heals wounds that would take weeks in days, and days in hours.

When Din wakes later, the cauterized wound has shrunken exponentially. He’s still got lots of bruises and nicks, but he’s better. There’s a familiar hum, the soft roar of hyperspace surrounding the Crest.

He sits up with minimal pain and looks around. There’s a soft light coming from the bunk, where you and the baby sleep. The light is for the child. He’s scared of too much dark; you’d learned that especially in the days where the hull would be coated in blackness in order for you and Din to kiss and touch and love. Your face is peaceful as you sleep, and Din looks at you with all of the love in his heart.

He stands, albeit slowly, and walks to the bunk with a jerking and awkward stance. He just wants you, your softness and warmth. It’s common that he’ll sneak into bed with you after a mission or piloting the ship, or simply because you took a nap and he just needed some sweetness in his day. You instinctually nuzzle into him, attracted to his warmth. The child follows suit, nestling between the two of you. His two favorite people in all of the galaxy, his buirs.

The three of you are at peace, in your home: with each other. You roll over as you notice the warm presence and a small smile graces your slowly waking face. “Mm, riduur. You were supposed to be on the cot,” you chuckle softly and press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Bacta fixed me up enough.”

“You’re gonna have a nasty scar,” you chuckle softly.

“I’ve got plenty of those already. What’s one more?” He asks, nudging your face with his nose.

It’s unbearably soft and warm. “Scars seem to be our problem,” you nod in agreement.

He pulls away and looks at you, in the soft blue glow of the baby’s nightlight. “Cyare, scars aren’t a problem. They’re reminders, of everything we’ve been through and will prevail through in the future.” He kisses your collarbone softly, setting your child aside.

You frown. “Doesn’t mean I like them. They’re gross.”

Din’s frown matches yours. It’s a warm night in the Crest, leaving you sleeping in just a breastband and a pair of shorts. He can see the scars littering your abdomen, the ones you’re so insecure about. “Tell me about them.”

“Din,” you pout.

“We are one when together, we are one when parted,” he mumbles, scooting down to press a kiss to one scar. Your wedding vows, the ones you took and meant with all of your soul. “Your pain is mine, my love. Tell me about this one,” he says, a featherlight fingertip tracing the line.

You sigh, making your abdomen inflate and deflate deeply beneath him. “I was 11 cycles old when I got that one. My appendix ruptured, they had to remove it.”

He nods and kisses along the scar, big brown eyes looking up at you. “I see. And this one?” He asks.

You chuckle softly. “This is from when I was stupid enough to sleep in just a breastband and shorts, like this, and I rolled over on green bean and his claw stabbed me.”

Din recalls. He chuckles happily at the memory and presses a kiss to the scar, his fingers still tracing the last one. There’s one on your knuckles. He takes your hand and traces it, looking at you. Silently asking.

“Lothcat bite. They’re not as cute and docile as they look,” you nod as Din’s lips ghost over your fingers.

You think about the places you got those childhood scars. All at home. The newer one? From your newer home. Yes, your old home may have scarred you, most certainly physically and maybe mentally or emotionally, but they left their mark on you. Your eyes water as you look down at Din. “Your turn,” you tell him and push him down into the mattress of the bunk.

There’s been one you’ve always meant to ask him about. You straddle his hips and sit between his groin and his navel. “What is this one?” You ask of a little mark above his navel. It’s a stark white, contrasting his skin.

“My birth. A midwife nicked me while severing the umbilical cord. I’ve heard that my mother was ready to take the surgical tools herself and go after her,” he chuckles.

You smile softly. There’s a scar on his cheek and your fingertips slowly draw the outline of it. He nods. “As a teen, obviously. Before the helmets went on. Close call with a spear,” he admits, a soft smile on his face. “Those are the only fun ones. The rest are from bounties,” he admits.

You chuckle softly. “Fun ones?” You tease.

“Interesting, I suppose,” he admits, taking your fingertips from his scar to rest them on his lips, kissing them then just holding your hand. “Do you see, my love?” He asks.

You simply nod, eyes watering again. Din reaches up and wraps you in his arms, lowering you to lie chest to chest on top of him. “You are so beautiful, my love. My riduur,” he mumbles to you. You sigh contentedly and kiss the scar on the bridge of his nose.

“Easy for you to say. You’re a bounty hunter. These all suit you. Besides the fact that you’re already covered head to toe in beskar, it would just work.”

He frowns. “Cyar’ika. Neither I nor anyone else cares about your scars. They’re part of you; how could I?”

You whimper and bury your head in his neck, allowing yourself to cry. “It’s been a hard day, Din. Please let me have this.”

“I will not. I absolutely refuse to let you think like that,” he tells you and cradles your head. “You can cry all you’d like, riduur, but it won’t change the fact that I find the scars absolutely beautiful. They’re so perfectly you. They’ve made you who you are, the woman I love so dearly. How could they be ugly when they’re made of you?”

His words make you cry harder, and you sob into his bare skin. He strokes your back, allowing you to cry it out. He mumbles sweet words in your ear; just letting it happen.

When you’re finished, you lift your head with a sniffle. “I love you so much, Din. You make me feel like I have a home with you.”

He kisses your forehead softly. “This is your home, my love. Right hear, in my arms, wrapped up with me.”

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl

[where-dreamers-go]

I’d love a platonic Boba Fett x Mandalorian! reader where reader worked with the clones as a kid, so she got really good at telling them apart by the tiniest details! So when he meets her on a hunt or something she recognizes him immediately and they catch up over a meal. Then they maybe finish the hunt together or just just talk about fights they’ve been in? Thank you dear!!

“Reunion” Boba Fett x Mandalorian!Reader

(A/N: Requested by the awesome @the-and-sign-anon.

Here’s some platonic Boba Fett fanfiction for yah! I feel like this has taken me a year to do, but it hasn’t, obviously. I just want it to be cool. I hope you like it! This is my first time writing for Boba Fett.

Aliit - family

Beskar’gam - armor

Buir - father

Vod - brother

Warnings: Canon violence (blasters). Death (no details).

Word Count: 1,445 words)

Late afternoon on an Outer Rim planet was not out of the norm for you. The system’s small sun casted long shadows behind the roughly structured buildings. A coolness crept into the air as evening grew near.

Perched atop of a well used cantina, you awaited a clearing near your intended location across the main square. You preferred less attention where you were going. The less people at small tucked-away building’s entrance the better.

It should not be much longer, you thought.

Earlier in the day, you had staked out the surroundings and where exactly you were to get the object. The bounty of the hunt. Was the objected named by the one who hired you? No, they had only told you who had it and where. Then added that it was valuable and quite decorative.

Helpful, you mused sarcastically.

Standing up, you decided that you would make it the right time to grab what you needed. The shortcut route would be best. Not the fastest way per se, but more your style. Rooftops were fine walkways in their own right. You were more interested in keeping the high ground. Only being in the area for less than twenty-four hours was a semi-followed rule of yours. Plus there were sightings of other bounty hunters.

It was prime opportunity to get the object of the bounty and leave. No more further delays.

Armor glinting in the sunlight, you kept your shadow hidden within the growing darkness cast by buildings and their antennae.

Three buildings and clothesline away from the unguarded door, you paused.

A bounty hunter.

You knew of course that there were others hired to grab the same object, however the one that caught you eye did not tickle your fancy nor did you care for their style. Too flashy with his large weaponry and inflated attitude. He was strutting a little too close to the door of your objective. Not to forget he was causing more trouble than needed. Pushing citizens around physically and verbally was unnecessary.

Can easily get passed him while he’s occupied. You thought, boot pointed in the direction of a small balcony below. Just—

Green paint grabbed your full attention. A very specific colored Beskar’gam in the next structure over. The sight of the colors and their arrangement lead you into a pursuit. The Mandalorian was steadily leaving a building. Closer. A small dent on his helmet.

You smiled, your thoughts on the bounty pushed aside.

Time to say ‘hello’, you thought as you leaped down into the dusty path.

A blaster was already lowering from its aim as you rose to your full height, meaning he recognized you.

The Mandalorian’s stance was slightly relaxed yet bent and ready to move. There were a few moments of long silence. Two Mandalorians watching one another.

“Are you just gonna stand there quietly?” A modulated male voice spoke from the green helmet. An accent in his voice pulled the air from your lungs. The familiarity striking and comforting.

“I wanted to give dramatic effect.” You said as you lifted one of your blaster pistols.

“Not sure your knees will approve.”

“Probably not.”

The grin you held disappeared as someone rounded the corner. A tall weapon in their hand. The bounty hunter you had spotted before. Not a well known one, you had not heard much of him. Only disliked any time you crossed paths, however briefly.

“Two Mandalorians? What…are you two after the bounty?” He laughed. “Why don’t you go shine your armor.” With loud steps, he walked closer. “Something you’re good at, right?”

That one’s unreasonable, you thought.

“If you’re after the bounty, why stop and chat?” You asked.

“What are you gonna do about it?” They clicked their tongue. “I’m going to get it anyway. Can’t have dusty troopers in my light.” A gloved finger edged to the trigger of his weapon as he continued forward. “Rona Olien. I’m that good.”

You and Boba turned your helmets to face one another. A silent conversation and decision transpired.

click

You charged forward in a crouch as the first round of blaster fire came from the bounty hunter’s modified weapon. The blasts stopped as the bounty hunter, Olien, staggered back as a blasterbolt hit them in the shoulder. Boba’s doing. Using the blunt end of your blaster pistol, you hit the side of the man’s head. The bounty hunter landed on the ground in a heap, groaning.

Walking up beside you, Boba kicked the large weapon out from Olien’s grip.

“If you’re going to shoot a Mandalorian, next time have better aim,” said Boba.

The two of you started walking away from the man. That was until a laser fire hit the wall of a building beside you.

In a flash of color, Boba had angled in a twist and had fired his blaster.

thump

“They were quite rude,” you said as Boba turned back to you.

“No honor.” Your brother lowered his weapon and walked with you to the destination.

It did not take long for the both of you to enter the building and find what you were after. A little digging and Boba had it in his grasp.

“A vase?” You tilted your helmet-protected head.

“An expensive vase.” Boba clarified. Rotating the piece, he examined it.

“Is it more or less than the job?”

“A bit more. Not by much.”

“Is it enough for you?”

His green and silver helmet turned in your direction. “It’s enough that we can split the difference for the job. And don’t tell me you don’t need it.”

You raised your hands in mock defense.

“Come on,” Boba turned on his heel. “They can wait one more day for their vase.”

His words surprised you. Yet you knew deep down that family meant a great deal more to him than a job.

You and your brother walked to a decent hotel and rented a room for the night; after grabbing some food of course. Neither of you wanted to part ways immediately. Besides, communicating via two separate ships was not an ideal way of spending time with family you had not seen in years.

Once in the quiet and privacy of the room, you relaxed. The food, vase, and weapons were put aside.

“It’s good to see you, vod.” You walked up to one another and inclined your helmets together.

“I’ve missed you.” Boba took a step back. “There’s a dent in your shoulder piece.”

“I know,” you groaned. “Too bad it wasn’t on my helmet then we’d match.”

“Hardly.”

You shook your head, smiling. There were more scuff marks on his armor than you remembered. Then again, so did yours. You had not seen one another in more than two years. Taking different opportunities tended to do that.

Living in an Empire was much different than whatever it really was when you were younger. You and Boba practically grew up together on Kamino. A rainy world where all you two saw was the insides of the cloning facility. The three of you, your shared father included, stayed there together. Jango Fett, your buir, had found you on a battle-worn world and brought you into the aliit, family, where Boba was your constant companion. A vod who was your only aliit after the battle on Geonosis.

Lives could always change so suddenly. Ones who lived together and depended on one another could find themselves on opposite ends of the galaxy.

Comfortable where you were, you started removing your armor and setting it down in your preferred arrangement. It was strange to have your helmet off while in the presence of another, however your vod was a major exception. The was a freedom to it all, the familiarity and the opportunity to just be yourself with on you trusted.

“That guy from earlier…,” you started as you yanked off your boots. “Have you seen him before?”

“Once or twice. He’s sloppy.”

“And had an ego the size of a rancor’s butt.”

He chuckled at your comment.

“Tomorrow,” you sat back in your seat, “I think you should give them the vase. Just in case they think of shortening you credits because I’m with you.”

“Changing subjects fast….They wouldn’t dare.”

“Just in case. Plus the whole bounty hunter image…”

He scoffed. “You’re my aliit.” Sighing, he nodded. “Fine.”

“Now that’s settled.” You grabbed the food and brought it closer. “Let’s eat.”

And eat, you did. Lounging about, the two of you talked and joked about the past. Catching up was half the fun. Making new memories was even better.

“I really have missed you, Boba.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

~~~

Best wishes and happy reading.)

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coffee

~~~~~

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Star Wars Tags: @darkenwolfy @sweetheartliz07 

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[crispyjenkins]

fic with ahsoka as Obi-Wans Padawan? Maybe some angsty jangobi? (Used to be together but broke up and now they pine from afar™️)

(i’m devastated that i don’t get to write ahsoka much, especially as obi’s padawan, so that an anon would come into my inbox.... and request jangobi on top of it..... seriously, though, thank you! can’t say i wasn’t inspired by @autumnchild22’s Kenobi Tano AU, but this doesn’t share almost anything with their take of events (ノ*´◡`) i’m flattered y’all thought i could do something of theirs justice lmao

i have written entirely too much backstory for this one, i think my brainstorming ended up longer than the actual fic so like. rip. 

support artists and writers by reblogging, message me for more info if this confuses you!)

  It surprises everyone except Obi-Wan that not only does Jango join the clones on the front lines, but he does so as the ARC troopers’ medic. That the son of the Mand’alor murdered by the Jedi would allow his kid to be apprenticed by a lifetime Council member is already hard enough for the galaxy at large to swallow; believing that the man who had at once been the most feared bounty hunter in the Outer Rim wouldn’t even ask for a command position? Impossible.

  Obi-Wan knows better. Just as Obi-Wan had picked up Soresu because he could not protect his master on Naboo, Jango had learned to put people back together because he could not save his buir on Korda 6. 

  Besides, Obi-Wan thinks Mace is a wonderful match for little Boba, even though he’s joining the Jedi older than even Anakin had been. Knowing Mace was among the Jedi to liberate the spice freighter Jango had been sold to, and that he had continued to check in on Jango for years after he got his armor back, Obi-Wan actually finds it rather silly that others on the Council had thought Jango would trust Boba to anyone else. 

  Which does leave Obi-Wan in quite the predicament, when less than a year after Anakin's knighting, Mace sends him a new padawan in the middle of a campaign. 

  Ahsoka smiles with all canines, and calls Anakin Skyguy, and has to be tricked into wearing more armor because, according to Cody, she is "not to take the General's lack of self-preservation as the status quo, nor as the basis for field safety." Which, rude, Obi-Wan wears plenty of armor when the situation calls for it; he simply doesn't find many situations where plasteel has kept his men or the Jedi from dying horribly.

  Letting Ahsoka gallivant around a battlefield in a tube-top without even a cloak, however, is out of the question, and Obi-Wan thinks Waxer does a brilliant job in sizing down the armor to fit their collective padawan over the next few months. Force, had Anakin really been younger than she when he first started taking him on missions?

  "Master?"

  Obi-Wan blinks, and smiles down at Ahsoka standing next to him, his apprentice looking quite dashing in the orange paint of the 212th. "Sorry, my dear, what were you saying?"

  She shrugs, eyeing him suspiciously. "'Was just asking if we would be working with the ARC troopers on Kiros; Captain Fordo said he would show me how to use a blaster rifle next time they were on the Negotiator."

  The Kaminoans intended for a few ARC troopers to be sent with each battalion, but it had quickly become clear that Jango had not trained them that way. Instead, he had raised and created a strike team so efficient, it would have been a waste to separate them; Obi-Wan knows Jango had hand-picked them from cadets, had searched for a spark in them that the Kaminoans hadn't already snuffed out completely. Jango had been like that once, too.

  "I would be surprised if we didn't," Obi-Wan decides on, turning back to observe the 212th loading into the Negotiator, and he would be, because the ARCs are often deployed with Obi-Wan’s men, have been since the Battle of Kamino. "But I have not heard anything from Master Shaak Ti, nor Captain Fordo as of yet."

  Ahsoka scrunches up her face into a pout, an amusing show of her age that she usually does not allow. "We'll probably get halfway through the mission and they'll just show up."

  Obi-Wan chuckles. “Hm, yes, probably,” he agrees, starting to make his way down to the hangar to join his men with Ahsoka trotting along behind, “but perhaps I can convince Captain Fordo not to surprise us too badly this time.”

-

  When the ARC troopers finally storm the Kadavo Processing Facility with Anakin and the Jedi on their heels, the warden Agruss is already dead.

  The sudden swell of Jedi presence is nearly blinding after a month of helplessness, but Obi-Wan can't tap out, not yet. Rex, satisfied and vindictive and relieved, sways dangerously and automatically reaches out to Obi-Wan to steady himself. 

  That Rex trusts him enough to not even think about rank before asking for help warms Obi-Wan in ways he doesn't yet have the words for — he wraps Rex's arm around his shoulders and takes half his weight happily.

  "Thank you," Obi-Wan finds himself murmuring as he helps Rex towards the doors, and only smiles at the captain's bemused expression. 

  "Whatever for, General?" he asks, even as he looks back over their shoulders across the room, to Agruss impaled to his chair with the electrostaff still sparking. Then he returns Obi-Wan’s smile, shaking his head. "That's not very Jedi-like of you, sir."

  "I'm afraid I haven't felt much a Jedi since Kiros, my dear." Which is perhaps too honest to allow himself before he's had a proper meal and a full night's rest, but if there is anyone who will understand, it is the man that lived it with him. "We could wait up here for Anakin to find us, but it will likely be a while before they can spare him to start looking; do you think you can keep your feet long enough for us to reach the ground floor?"

  Rex snorts and gives a vague wave of his free hand towards the elevators. "Well, I'm certainly not going to wait up here like some damsel, sir, and General Skywalker would kill me if I let you wander around on your own."

  "Well!" Obi-Wan laughs, for the first time in weeks, and hitches Rex up to get a better grip on his waist. "In that case, we really should not keep him waiting."

  They somehow time it perfectly for what the 187th and the 501st to have just finished rounding up the slavers in the courtyard when he and Rex hobble out of a side door of the warden's tower. Lieutenant Law oversees the Togrutas' move to Mace’s flagship Solace, and Obi-Wan easily picks him and Boba out from the crowd, standing at the base of the loading ramp and speaking with the Kiros colony's governor. Anakin is nowhere to be seen, but Obi-Wan doesn't get the chance to keep looking before Kix spots them from his place by the medical frigate; a shout passes over the nearby clones like a wave, until Kix and an ARC trooper break away to (gently) manhandle both him and Rex to the frigate. 

  The 187th's medic, Oro, is already on board seeing to the Togrutas too injured to wait for triage on the Solace, snapping a distracted salute that Obi-Wan quickly waves off as he helps heft Rex onto a hoverbed. He fully intends to duck back out and check in with Mace, though things seem well in hand without him, but the ARC with Kix takes off his helmet and glares, until Obi-Wan meekly shuffles to the next hoverbed over.

  He could never refuse Jango, after all. 

  "You repainted your armor," he says conversationally, as Jango pulls a scanner from the bandoleer around his chest and has Obi-Wan roll up his right sleeve. 

  "'Lost the last set to a sarlacc before our deployment to Kiros," Jango snorts, Concord Dawn accent stronger than any of his clones. "Though it looks like your mission had its fair share of excitement." Running the scanner over the electrical burns on Obi-Wan’s arm, Jango raises an eyebrow at the dried blood on the shoulder of his tunics; Obi-Wan honestly doesn't remember if it's his or not.

  And he can only smile at Jango, because even with a decade and a war between them, the corner of Jango's mouth still twitches when he's stressed. "Well, it certainly wasn't boring, my dear," Obi-Wan says, opening the neck of his tunic enough for Jango to stick him with a hypospray that hopefully won't make him too high. "And I can't say I'm looking forward to what is surely going to be a long dip in the bacta tank."

  He gets a laugh for that, and can't think of the last time they had done more than make eye contact from opposite sides of a ship. Perhaps it had been Kamino, when Taun We had first sent for the Jedi to meet the army created for them. 

  Obi-Wan had rather thought Jango dead until then, when he had disappeared from the galaxy abruptly as if he had never lived in it at all. For a time, Obi-Wan believed he had just gotten cold feet, that finally meeting Anakin made it all a little too personal too quickly, but then even Mace could not get a hold of him and no one had seen a Mandalorian bounty hunter in months.

  Their... conversation, Jango's stilted explanations of his absence and of how little he actually knew about the purpose for the clones he helped create, left far too much unsaid, but then Obi-Wan had been sent to Geonosis and, well. It's been nearly two years now, and Obi-Wan isn't sure if he's even seen Jango without his helmet since then. 

  His eyes flick over Obi-Wan’s face, the left side of his lips twitching as if knowing exactly what Obi-Wan is thinking — and he might not put it past him. 

  "Where are Anakin and Ahsoka?" Obi-Wan hears himself ask, when the silence grows heavy with those unsaid words. And he really would like to check in with his padawan, he can't imagine her last month has been a picnic either.

  Jango sticks him with another stim before answering, "Mace sent Skywalker to make sure no slave is missed, and no slaver isn't arrested. As for your new foundling..." That little smile comes back, as Jango nods out the back of the frigate to where someone is cutting a line through the clones guarding their new prisoners. 

  "Oh dear," Obi-Wan mumbles, barely having time to brace himself before Ahsoka is launching herself at him, and all he can think is how relieved he is to see her out of her slave disguise. Jango steps cleanly out of the way to let Ahsoka smother herself in Obi-Wan’s chest, though it doesn’t stop him from starting to prep bacta patches to tide him over until they can get to the Negotiator’s medbay.

  “Hello, little one,” Obi-Wan murmurs, carefully loosening the tight net of his shields for the first time since Zygerria and letting Ahsoka’s presence flood his mind. 

  “It’s good to see you, Master ‘Nobi,” she says into his tunics, and her voice does not waver at all.

  He manages a chuckle, though it does not hold nearly as well as Ahsoka’s, as he feels himself finally relax. Anakin, of course, senses the both of them immediately and prods at their minds, but neither Obi-Wan nor his padawan acknowledge him. “I take it the Queen is dead?”

  Ahsoka sighs and pulls back enough to nod. “Count Dooku was there, Skyguy barely got us all out.”

  “That was a week ago,” Jango adds, not looking up from the datapad he’s logging Obi-Wan’s injuries into. “Even with the Queen giving us the location of the Processing Facility, we had to wait for the 187th to catch up.”

  Running his palm from the top of her head down her hind lek, Ahsoka melts back against him with a Togruta churr he rarely has the pleasure of hearing from her. “Hm, and I imagine Boba was thrilled to work with the ARC troopers.”

  Jango snorts, because they both know Boba is thirteen and his rebellious stage where he wants nothing to do with his father for fear of losing his independence. “Originally, the 104th was the closest battalion, but were held up in their own campaign. ‘Honestly didn’t think we could keep Skywalker from rushing in anyways.”

  And Obi-Wan has to wince at that, because no matter what he does, he can’t seem to find a way to teach Anakin about attachment in words he understands; truthfully, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have had him knighted until he had at least attempted to master that part of his mind, but, well, the War had different opinions.

  “I’m actually just surprised he didn’t try to fight Dooku,” Ahsoka admits, finally releasing Obi-Wan only to hop up on the hoverbed next to him. Jango immediately pulls Obi-Wan’s bare arm back to himself to start slapping the bacta patches over the worst of his burns. “Master Windu had a talk with him, though, I think it was good for him.”

  “I’d like to see that!” Jango barks, only half sarcastically: he knows better than most, the sorts of things Mace Windu can talk someone out of, and if it worked for one ex-slave, why shouldn’t it work on another?

  Ah, perhaps that shared history should not have slipped Obi-Wan’s mind, not here with thousands of freed slaves needing aid for injuries Jango is intimately familiar with.

  “And are you alright?” he asks before he can talk himself out of it, as Jango is cutting his sleeve further back. His brow ticks back up, clearly bewildered by what Obi-Wan could be referring to, but it’s Ahsoka that leans around Obi-Wan to sniff triumphantly up at Jango.

  “I told you he still likes you,” she says, and Jango’s hand freezes on Obi-Wan’s wrist.

  Obi-Wan sighs. “Ahsoka.”

  But instead of denying that he might have actually had such a conversation with Obi-Wan’s padawan, Jango coughs on a laugh. “So you did, edee. To be fair, I did not think that was the issue.”

  Ahsoka rolls her eyes, leaning back into Obi-Wan’s side as he automatically raises his arm to accommodate her. “He thinks he lost his chance, Master ‘Nobi,” she tells him. “Even Cody thinks he’s full of banthashit.”

  Where Obi-Wan feels a little shell-shocked by the turn in conversation, Jango simply keeps that tiny smile — even if it looks bittersweet and self-deprecating now. “Your foundling has spent the last week talking me in circles about this, I almost think she’s as stubborn as you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Obi-Wan returns, sarcasm an automatic, subconscious response. 

  “I wouldn’t need to talk you in circles if you two just talked to each other.”

  Shaking his head in bemusement, Obi-Wan gently fixes Ahsoka’s slika beads to lay properly around her montrals. “I’m afraid there’s quite a lot of history there, little one; most of which I’m sure Jango did not actually share with you.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “No, he refuses to tell me anything except that you met on a mission. And that he saved your ass from Jabba the Hutt.”

  Obi-Wan snaps his eyes to Jango, who looks absolutely anywhere but at him. “Is that how you remember it going, my dear?”

  “Could we do this later?”

  “Because if I recall correctly, and I do, this is not the first time you’ve lost your armor to a sarlacc.”

  Jango looks to the ceiling for patience. 

-

Mando'a: buir — “parent”, gender neutral  Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. edee — “teeth”, “jaws”, used here as an affectionate name for Ahsoka. because she teeth.

[dindyke]

Three Ways A Clan Is Torn Apart : 1301 words, din djarin/luke skywalker, canon compliant, major character death

The attack on Luke Skywalker's Jedi Academy by the newly formed Kylo Ren diverges at three points, three ways in which Din Djarin and Grogu lose and are reunited with the final member of their Clan of Three.

I.

Midnight finds the Mand'alor still in conference, with no clear end in sight. His advisors argue amongst themselves, and Din shifts in his seat, waiting for them to finish. His throat is coated with an acid he cannot seem to swallow down, and he can’t focus on the blabber.

When Grogu pushes the heavy doors open, guards flat on their asses behind his small body, the chatter is forgotten completely. Grogu speaks to them all through the Force.

Buir, we must leave. There is a disturbance on Yavin IV. I cannot sense the Children, he says.

He hears the end of a protest from Bo Katan and leaves the room in a hurry, hoping they will come to understand that if his family is in jeopardy, he must go. That is his Way.

“Your father? Can you sense him?” Din asks as they quickly make their way to their ship.

Faint. He is faint, is all Grogu says in return.

The trip to Yavin IV is silent, spare for their breathing. When they land, amongst the rubble and the smell of death, it suffocates them. Grogu places his small hands on every cold body, pushing energy through the Force until he sways and can no longer stand.

They didn’t find Luke. However, his X-Wing was missing, and neither his robes nor his corpse were anywhere to be found. Hope. That was their hope.

The two of them put out the fires and cleaned the dead as they waited for Leia and the families to arrive. To bury them here would be presumptuous. Many of the students had parents, siblings, who had come to visit frequently as Din had with Grogu in the earliest years.

When nothing was left to busy his hands with, Din sat at the edge of the smoldering temple, weeping into his knees. He couldn’t bear to think of what may have happened should Grogu not have traveled with him to Mandalore.

His exchange with Leia was brief, conveying what he’d seen, what he hadn’t. Her son was missing from the bodies as well… they could understand what this meant. She told him she’d felt it when he turned. She looked more devoid of joy than he had ever seen her.

As he and Grogu sped away to find her brother, he knew she gave a politician’s performance to the arriving families of the victims. Stoic and just warm enough to be inspiring, she could handle this in a way he never could, for his covert nor his citizens.

Tracking down a Jedi Master had been hard enough when Luke was a cocky young man, only barely caring to stay under the radar. A Jedi Master who didn’t want to be found would be even harder.

However, if Luke wanted to go missing, he had married the wrong man. Din was the Mand’alor, but he was a Bounty Hunter first, and he would never forget.

Determination in his heart, he set off, his son at his side, to regain their lost Clan Member.

“We’ll bring you home, cyar’ika.”

II.

Din Djarin wakes to an empty bed, the sheets cold although the air outside is scorching. He smells smoke. He dons his armor as quickly as he may have 30 years ago and rushes from his hut, finding Luke nowhere.

Children are screaming.

He runs through the stone and brick plaza, and when he sees the first body, he chokes on his breath. She’s already dead, a perfectly cauterized slice torn through her abdomen. She was one of their youngest.

He flings open each house, screaming for Luke and losing his hope with every child he sees slaughtered in their beds.

When he feels Grogu call to him through the Force, he nearly collapses. He’s at the temple. Din can’t run fast enough. More of the padawans lay motionless in the road, and he hopes to the Gods that someone better than him will protect them in the next world, as he has failed in this one.

The temple is aflame when he reaches it, two meek figures boldly lit in the dark night. Grogu, posed with his saber, and… and Ben.

It was Ben. Ben did this.

If he cares that Din is there, he doesn’t show it. He makes a move to approach Grogu (the kid must have got him good, he’s got a limp), but Din is there first.

He may no longer be Mand’alor, but Din has always been a fighter, a protector. And he’d damn himself a million times over before he lets a Sith touch his son.

As he had all his life, Din Djarin fights valiantly, with every tool in his arsenal and his family at the forefront of his mind.

When Luke wakes up, disoriented and bruised beneath the ruins of Ben’s hut, he finds everything he worked for gone. His students, his school, his legacy, and his order. In front of the ashes of the Jedi temple, lie his son and his husband. Even if he could have healed them from the brink of death, it was far too late.

III.

There were several points between Bo Katan finally mercy-challenging Din for the title of Mand’alor and the six years he had now spent with Luke in his self-inflicted exile where Din really believed he could change his husband’s mind.

He understands this shame. He’d failed to protect their students too. Some of those padawans had come from Mandalore. And they’d lost most of them. The few who survived were left in the hands of the Republic, now, or with their families.

Luke had called Leia and left immediately, with Din and Grogu hot on his trail. He hadn’t wanted them to come with him. He was undeserving, he was dangerous, he’d said. He had lost himself in his trauma and nearly destroyed one member of his family, what would stop him from destroying them? He’d holed himself away within a mountain, bringing down the cave opening to keep them out.

Din and Grogu sat outside, calling to him every once and a while. Grogu occasionally shifted a rock, but he didn’t open it. They both knew Luke needed to do that on his own. After a few days of punishing himself in the stale darkness, he came back out.

That first week on Ahch-To was hard. Luke didn’t talk much. He mostly paced, up and down the winding dirt pathways of the first Jedi temple. He talked to himself, cursed at the skies, and cried against the Seeing Stone.

By the second week, Luke allowed himself to sleep at his husband’s side. It was fitful and sparse, but it was familiar.

Din respected Luke’s wishes of anonymity. He sent brief messages to the others, keeping his location hidden but assuring them that he would bring Luke home soon.

A year passed, and those messages grew few and far between. By the third, they had stopped completely.

As he had learned from Luke and the ways of the Jedi how to embrace possibility, peace, the Force around all things, he had hoped that Luke learned some things from the Mandalorians too. How to get back up, even after you’ve been kicked. After you’ve failed. How to maintain your honor and your beliefs in spite of intense pain and loss.

Six years later, maybe that was a foolish thought. Luke was more than capable of pulling himself out of his pain, Din knew this. He’d seen him recover time and time again from his traumas and tribulations.

But six years later, Din finally understands that it was not a problem of ability, but a problem of will.

The only one punishing Luke was himself, and until he decides he no longer deserves to be guilty, no one was going to change his mind.

[morganas-pendragons]

Light | Wrecker

This is #1 of at least half a dozen or more fics I am gifting my Twitter kids for Christmas! I wanted to give back this year, and so I decided to write some things for characters I haven’t really tried anything for yet. Regardless of that, I hope you enjoy! 

I played around with the clones ages for this considering we don’t know how old The Bad Batch is - like with Rex physically looking like he’s in his twenties but not actually being so. 

This reader is a mom to the clones and uses she/her pronouns - exactly like the type in my headcanons - and she happens to have a favorite... 

***

This was supposed to be a no strings attached type of job. The Kaminoans had recruited you, a simple human, to be a caretaker - of sorts - for the hundreds of babies that occupied their nurseries within the cloning facilities. 

  “There’s no point in forming attachments, Miss. Soon enough they’ll be handed a gun and told to go play war.” 

Yeah. Well. You intend to give these children as much love as you are physically able, and that all starts with the first gaze you set upon one of the clones in the back of the nursery with the mutation. 

He’s among 3 others who are specifically mutated for purposes you are not privy to know as a civilian. That doesn't matter. You pass through lines of cradles and approach the four in the back, peering over the side to gaze into the wide and vulnerable eyes of the largest baby. 

  “Hello, sweet boy.” You murmur, grinning as he coos happily at your voice and lifts his arms upward for you to sweep him upward and into your warm embrace. “You’re stunning. I bet you’re going to be such a big, strong boy!” 

The baby’s response - despite only being old enough to hold himself upright in your lap - is only to clap joyfully and pound his tiny hands against your legs. 

Big, strong boy. You’re gonna change the world. I just know it. 

Wrecker, Age Four 

His brothers named him Wrecker. It’s fitting, given how much larger he became then the other clones, but you’re too attached to the boy to leave Tipoca City at the time that the Kaminoans have asked you to.

  “Buir!” You’ve been moved to the rooms in which they house the clones who are toddlers, and the first thing you see upon waking from your nap is a child sprinting as fast as he’s able to launch himself into your lap. “You’re awake!” 

You beam and press a kiss to his forehead. “Hi ad,” You whisper, peering over his shoulder as he wraps his arms around your neck and buries his face in your shoulder. “Something you need to tell me? I gotta go take care of your brothers.” 

  “They gave me a name today!” He says, and your eyes widen as you gaze at his three brothers who stand before you. 

  “Only because he nearly broke Viper’s nose!” 

You raise an eyebrow and gently pry Wrecker away from your chest. He’s definitely larger then the other clones despite how young he is, but he’d never use his size and strength for violence. Never. Your son is soft, innocent. He’s good. 

  “Wrecker, what’s-” Your gaze snaps back to the clone with the darker hair who then replies to your query with Hunter. It’s a fitting name. “Hunter, talking about?” 

That’s the same day you learn that the clones who will eventually make up the spec-ops team known as The Bad Batch are fiercely protective of each other. They must have learned it from the person who protected them. 

Little to the knowledge of most people, you took these four clones - the special ones, the ones who got the stares, the ones who got picked on and bullied by their brothers - under your wing. You saved them. 

And in turn they save each other. 

You are so proud to be Wrecker’s mother in that moment as he hastily recants a story of how he almost broke Viper’s nose simply because he was bullying Crosshair. 

  “Ad,” You ruffle his hair and beam with pride as you wind your arms around his body. “I am so proud of you.” 

When Wrecker climbs into bed that night, the words he never hears from his trainers and superiors rings in his mind as he burrows under the thin blanket the Kaminoans have given him and his vode. 

  “I am so proud of you.” 

As he falls into sleep, he dreams of his mother. A home, a family, and a mother standing in the kitchen unit - who gives him real food, real food he likes and he’s allowed to eat that tastes salty and sweet and sour and he’s so excited to have it - who treats her son as if he’s the whole world. The whole galaxy. 

Wrecker, Age 10 

The day he returns from a training mission with the rest of Clone Force 99 is the same day you have your first real battle with panic. According to what Crosshair and Tech tell you upon return, Wrecker was injured in a way that leaves him partially blind and with significant scarring. 

You’re terrified. He and the rest of the Batch have already had a difficult time integrating themselves in with their brothers to the point where they’ve taken to calling the non-mutated clones regs and now only associate with each other. You don’t particularly care much about that anymore. As long as they’re looking out for each other. 

When Wrecker is released from the medbay, you search the cloning facility for your son until you find him in the quietest room - the nursery - with his back against the wall and his chin resting on his knees. His face is scarred. His eye is cybernetic. 

Maker, you love him. 

  “Wrecker,” Hunter had warned you about approaching him - claiming he’d become hard of hearing with the explosion that had injured him - and had brought up a fantastic idea with Tech’s help that you were going to initiate as soon as he was ready. “Ad.”

Your son lifts his eyes to meet yours. 

  “Buir,” He replies softly, always so careful to not disturb the babies who lay in their cradles around him. “Did you need something?” 

You tilt your head and sit in front of him, parting your legs and resting your elbows against your knees. Wrecker watches you intently as you do so. He’s always been perceptive - not as much as Hunter, but enough - and with the lack of his sight, he’s having to rely more on his limited senses. 

  “Do you see this?” You take your fingers, press them all together, and rest them against the bottom of your chin before moving your hand forward. “This is sign language. It means thank you. It’ll be an easier way to talk to your vode when you can’t hear them so well. Is that something you’d be willing to learn?” 

He nodded and frowned. “I’m gonna miss blowing stuff up.” 

You reach outward, brush what remains of his hair away from his eyes, and repeat the sign for thank you and you’re welcome. He watches your hands mimic the movements before repeating them for you to see. Wrecker does them perfectly. 

  “Don’t worry.” You murmur. “You’re gonna get to blow stuff up again. I promise.” 

Your only response is his smile. It’s more than enough. 

Wrecker, Age 12  (Set during S7) 

'Сause you are loved You are loved more than you know I hereby pledge all of my days To prove it so

After a while, the Kaminoans have had their uses for you. Your services are no longer required and so you are sent back to the boring home world that you have barely stepped foot on since being sent to Kamino to be the caretaker to infant clones. 

Your experience with the formed Grand Army of the Republic is what gets you into the military, has you trained, and eventually what lands you on Anaxes. 

Though your heart is far too young to realize The unimaginable light you hold inside

  “Ma’am,” Cody’s voice rings out from behind you as you stand in the hangar bay, arms crossed over your chest with your eyes on the horizon as if waiting for the arrival of a ship. “I’ve cleaned your blasters. Just how you like them.” 

You turn to acknowledge the Marshal Commander and smile softly at him. While you spent much of your time with The Bad Batch on Kamino, the greater majority of the Commander Batch and the younger clones have considered you one of them for quite some time. 

  “Thank you Kote.” You murmur. He nods his acknowledgement and before he turns back to Kenobi, lays a hand on your shoulder and says something about the arrival of Clone Force 99 for a mission they’re assigned to do with Rex. “What?” 

The less then graceful landing of the ship known as the Havoc Marauder signals their arrival. You don’t dare move. It’s been too long since you’ve seen them, seen him, and you want to value the moment while you can. 

I'll give you everything I have I'll teach you everything I know

They had never really known the lengths you went to in order to protect them - to protect him - and give him the life, the childhood, you felt he deserved. The Bad Batch had still had it rough, but your gentle nature upon meeting them had impacted them significantly. 

  “The Calvary has arrived!” 

The first thing you see is the personalized armor. You are not the slightest bit surprised they threw in all their effort into ensuring their armor - out of the entire army - was the most notorious. Not to mention that as someone who watched them all grow up, you can see each of their personalities within the way they’ve painted it. 

Then you see him. It’s unmistakeable that it’s Wrecker considering how much taller and broader he is then the rest of The Bad Batch, but it’s not him that notices your presence first. 

It’s Tech. Ever the perceptive, constantly absorbing as much information as able, constantly recording everything, who sees you standing in the hangar and nudges his brother in the midst of speaking to Rex and Cody to point you out. 

  “Mom?” Cody asks skeptically, followed by a gasped “Buir? That’s the buir I never got to meet?!” 

Kix is laughing hysterically at the way Jesse guffaws upon realizing that you are the infamous mother to the clones, but only these four and specifically Wrecker, but the way your heart swells when Wrecker notices you standing there far outweighs the reactions of all the other vode around you. 

Instead of a greeting, Wrecker does one thing. He sees you, beams like the sun lives deep within him, and very promptly tosses you upward to sit on his shoulders. He looms over all his brothers. That doesn’t stop him. 

Oh... oh, that boy has not and will never change. 

With every heart beat I have left

I will defend your every breath

Bonus: 

  “I get to blow it up? The whole stinking thing?” Wrecker asks, to which he then looks to you with wide eyes. “You made a promise!” 

You smirk and pat Anakin’s shoulder as you pass him. “Oh, I know I did.” You reply. “Anakin is keeping up on my promise for me.” When Wrecker begins to take the detonator, you turn to the Jedi and meet his gaze. I’ve been promising him this since he was old enough to know how to blow things up.” You coax him into fully handing over the detonator to your son. “Go on. Make his year.” 

Admiral Trench’s cruiser explodes in a cloud of sparks behind The Havoc Marauder. 

[writer1]

A regretful Wolf and his Beauty

Chapter Six

Beast!Rex x Fem!reader.

Summary: As punishment for his actions, young prince Rex was cursed to become a monster by a witch. The only thing that saved him from his fate was an enchantress, who gave him a condition. He has to find true love in order to redeem himself and he only has until the last petal of the enchanted rose falls. Rex's family helps you by guiding your way into his heart. Rex's fate now lies in your hands.

A/N: Hey, this is a collaborative fic between myself and @ahsokatano-thetogruta. 

Warnings: Hurt, hatred of self.

Rex sees everyone around him shuffle as best they can towards him a bit more, but not too close as to make him feel uncomfortable. A small dessert fork hop over towards him. "Rex! I'm glad you're okay." The little fork smiles with relief that his Vod'ika is okay. It takes Rex a second to know who this is, but then he sees patterns along the handle. "Bly?" The small fork nods.

"Yeah, I'm glad you're okay Rex. We were all so worried as soon as you ran away from us." Rex feels guilty that he had run away from everyone, but he was also so scared and hated that everyone transformed because of him.

"I'm sorry this happened. To all of you. I should've just controlled my actions more, then…" Rex's ears press back against his head harshly, trying to avoid eye contact from everyone as much as he possibly can. "Then this wouldn't have happened to you all."

Everyone disagrees, shaking their heads as much as they can, seeming as they are now objects. "It's okay, Rex. This was never your fault." Bly hops over to Rex and leans against him, giving him as much of a hug as he can. Rex feels slightly better with a hug and his ears perk up slightly. His tail starts to wag from the happy feeling. Rex grabs his tail, feeling embarrassed that it's wagging in front of everyone.

“It’s okay Rex, you don’t have to be embarrassed.” Rex nods, hugging his fifteen year old brother with one hand carefully. He acts so much older than he is sometimes. “Everyone's right young one, this isn’t your fault.” Rex looks up to see another suit of armor, this one has a helmet that looks like a Kel Dor’s, Rex realizes that it’s Knight Plo. He’s followed by four little tea cups, one with a scratch through its eye. “Uncle Plo.” Rex whispers, the thirty-five year old Knight walks up to him.

He pets his head, not like he’s a dog but like he’s trying to comfort him. “It’s going to be okay, we’ll all figure this out. Together.” the little teacup with the scratch through his eye hops up. “Yeah Rex, we’ll all figure it out together, like Buir said.” Rex nods, recognizing the little teacup to be Wolffe.

“Thanks Wolffe, what happened to your eye?” Rex asks, and Wolffe flinches a little at the memory. “The witch threw a glass at me, it cut my eye, I can’t see out of it now.” Rex carefully picks Wolffe up, taking a closer look at his eye.

“WHAT!!!” Kix comes flying over to them, getting in between the two, he takes a close look at Wolffe's eye while Rex, Plo, and Wolffe’s brothers watch. Kix sighs. “I can’t fix it, even if we were human. You’re blind in that eye now, Vod’ika.” Rex whines, feeling bad for his Vod’ika. He pulls the teacup up to his face, nuzzling him.

“Thanks Rex, it’s okay. It’s just one eye.” Rex pulls him away, resisting the urge to lick him to comfort the kid, he has no idea why the urge came up and he’d rather not. “I hate that she hurt you, she already transformed us but she had to take your eye too.” A deep growl emanates from Rex’s chest, startling  everyone, including himself. "Sorry…" 

"It's alright, we have all changed so we are all bound to be different in some way." 99 shuffles over, the bad batch follows close behind him. 99 wishes that the young prince could see his smile, but being an old-looking broom means that he doesn't have a face. Rex nods, he understands that everyone has changed, but he feels bad because some of them don't have faces anymore and most of them don't even have anything that resembles that they were once people. 

Ahsoka strokes the fur on Rex's finger, still hugging it. "Yeah, you're just a giant puppy now!" Her little face is too adorable and Rex just chuckles at her. "I guess I am, little Soka." Her smile beams brightly as she nuzzles Rex. 

"I love how soft it is." She adds, making some of the others make little aw sounds at the young Togruta, because of how adorable she is. 

Rex smiles shyly "It is?" Ahsoka giggles a little, nodding her head. "Yup!" A moment later, Rex's stomach growls loudly, making the little music box jump. He feels embarrassed and his cheeks heat up. 99 chuckles at Rex. “Looks like you're going to have to get the boy some food, Cody. We’ll all talk more tomorrow, it's starting to get late anyway.” Cody nods at the broom as best he can, shuffling over to Rex.

“Yeah, we’re going to bed once we get him something to eat, does anyone want to come to the kitchen with us?” Obi Wan, Kix, Jesse, Anakin, Bly, Fives, Ahsoka and Echo walk up to them. “Kiara and Padme offered to put  Stutter to bed for us. He's tired, but Ahsoka isn’t yet, or so she says.” Fives explains, but Cody shakes his head. 

“You four should be going to bed too, it's late. You too Anakin.” Obi Wan nods, agreeing with Cody. Fives and Echo have pleading looks on their faces, so does Bly, Anakin would too if he could, but Cody stands firm. “Can they… can they please come Cody. I need you guys around me, even if it isn’t everyone.” Rex pleads, making Cody sigh. He can’t say no with how much his Rex’ika is hurting right now. 

Cody turns to Obi Wan, who nods in permission for Anakin to come. “Fine, you can all come, but as soon as Rex is done, everyone is going to bed. Understood!?” they all nod, including Rex, and start heading to the kitchen while everyone who can move head to their rooms, the ones who can’t are camping out in the ballroom for the night. 

Rex and the little group make it to the kitchen, Rex is once again walking behind the others. “Rex! Cody! Somebody!” they both turn to see a talking Oven mitt with eyes and a mouth. Rex knows only one cousin that would be turned into an oven mitt. “Gregor?” Rex asks, but the Oven mitt looks at them, more precisely at Rex, with wide eyes.

“What the kriff is that monster!” Rex whimpers, dashing through the kitchen and out of the door, Cody feels absolute anger at his cousin. They just got Rex to feel better about himself, and Gregor might have completely destroyed it. 

Obi Wan strokes Cody’s desktop, trying to calm him down, even though Obi Wan is just as angry. “Why the kriff did you say that to Rex, Gregor?!” Gregor raises an eyebrow at them. “What are you talking about? That's not Rex, Rex isn’t a beast! Wait, Cody?!”

Cody feels confusion fill him, then the realization occurs to him. He couldn't see who, but someone leaves the kitchen and the door shuts behind them, but his attention turns back to the situation at hand “Gregor? Where were you when everything happened?” The oven mitt floats over to the desk, not believing what his cousin has become.

 “I came to the kitchen shortly after you invited Miss Ventress in because we got a shipment of supplies for waffles and strawberries. I wanted to surprise Rex. Not long after we brought the supplies in, I felt pain as I started to change. Then this happened.” Cody sighs, Gregor wasn’t in the room when the curse happened so he had no way to know that Rex was a werewolf, and no one checked the kitchen, they forgot about it at the time.

“Ventress was a witch, Gregor. She spilled a drink on Rex on purpose, Rex had a stressful and just plain bad day, so he snapped at her. She cursed us to be objects but Rex… His curse was much worse.” Gregor can’t believe it, they invited Ventress in out of the goodness of their hearts, how could she do this! Then Gregor’s heart sinks when he realizes what Cody means.

“You mean… That was Rex!!!” Everyone nods sadly, Gregor can’t believe that he said that. “I… I didn’t… I’m so sorry.” Gregor tears up, thinking about how what he said must have affected Rex.

“It's okay, Gregor. You didn’t know that it was Rex.” Gregor nods, he has to fix this. 

xxx

Rex bursts through the kitchen door running away from everyone as fast as he could, but he doesn’t run all the way away this time, he runs down the hall a little ways. Tears run down his face as he still thinks about what Gregor said, this was the first time someone in his family actually called him a monster, and it made his heart ache. Rex sits against the wall, tail wrapped around his legs with tears streaming down his face and into his fur.

He sits like this for a few moments before he hears the kitchen door swing open. He flinches with fear, but then he sees Ahsoka. Seeing her big brother cry makes her feel sad. She hops over to him and presses herself against his leg. Rex puts his face in his knees as the memory of Gregor calling him a monster clouds his thoughts. "Don't cry, Ori'Vod. It's okay, he probably didn't know that it was you." She hears Rex sobbing into his knees.

Ahsoka doesn't know what to do, but then she walks in front of Rex and turns round the little key in the back of the box. Once it stops turning, it goes the other way and starts to play a relaxing song. Rex's sobs soon turn into sniffles and hiccups as he looks up a little bit to see Ahsoka twirling around on the spot and dancing to the tune. Ahsoka's older appearance makes the dance much more elegant and beautiful, allowing Rex's mind to relax and take his mind off of what happened earlier, so he sits contently watching his little sister dance.

Rex wipes the tears away as they start to dry and he smiles. His tail wrapped around his legs wags gently, letting Ahsoka know that she is cheering up her Ori'Vod. She smiles and giggles a little, but the song and dance soon comes to the end as the key has stopped moving. Rex smiles at her. "Thank you, Soka. I feel better now." Rex pats her head gently with one finger. 

Ahsoka giggles again and then hugs his finger. "I'm glad, Ori'Vod." A moment later, the kitchen door swings open again, but this time it's Gregor who steps out and floats over to the two of them.

Rex whimpers, looking down at the ground. His ears press tightly against his head and his tail stops wagging, tears filling his eyes again. Gregor's heart breaks, he can't believe that he called his cousin a monster.

"Can you go back into the kitchen, Ahsoka. I need to talk to Rex alone." Ahsoka looks at Gregor nervously, she doesn't want to leave Rex with him after what he said last time. 

"Come along Ahsoka, leave these two to talk." Obi Wan walks out of the kitchen, gently picking up the little music box. He carries her into the kitchen, allowing Cody to explain to her what had happened.

Rex stays sitting, looking down at his feet. He doesn't want to see the look of disgust that Gregor must have. 

Gregor feels his heart break when he sees the tears in Rex's eyes, The oven mitt floats over to his cousin, landing beside him. "I… Rex, I am so sorry." Rex doesn't look up, and Gregor feels his heart break even more.

"Rex? Can you please look at me?" Rex obliges reluctantly, looking up at his cousin. He has tears in his eyes, and Gregor can see the damp fur under Rex's eyes. He knew that he had messed up. Badly.

"Rex, I'm so sorry. You aren't a monster." Rex just shakes his head. "No. You're right, I am a monster now." Gregor's heart shatters, he absolutely hates hearing Rex talk about himself like that. And knowing he caused this hurts even more.

"Rex, no! I was wrong! You aren't a monster. I shouldn't have said what I said earlier, I regret it so much." Rex doesn't say anything, but his eyes just fall to the ground again. "I…I understand if you hate me now and don't forgive me for what I called you." Gregor floats a little bit down to the ground and the guilt really sinks in for making his cousin, the Prince, feel this way.

Rex looks up a little to see Gregor turning around and slowly floating back towards the kitchen. Seeing the sad oven mitt made Rex's heart feel so somber, that Gregor thinks that he hates him now. Before he could float away any further, Rex gently cups his hands in front of Gregor and carefully pulls him into his fluffy chest. "I don't hate you, Gregor. You didn't know that it was me, but it just hurt me to be called a monster." A wave of regret washes over Gregor again.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know what I was thinking." Rex holds his cousin closer into him, being careful not to hurt him. 

"It's alright, I know now that you didn't mean it towards me so we can put this behind us, yeah?" Gregor pulls away and looks up to see Rex smiling kindly at him. "Yeah." Gregor nods, he's happy that Rex could forgive him. Rex's stomach growls loudly, making the heat rise to his face. Gregor chuckles.

"That reminds me, the reason I came into the kitchen before was because I had a surprise for you, Rex." Rex's ears perk up, he smiles and his tail starts wagging. Rex groans, grabbing his tail. "That's really starting to get annoying." Gregor chuckles. Rex turns back to him, his look of annoyance turning to a smile.

"What's the surprise, Vod?" Gregor smiles at Rex. "Well I left the ballroom because we got a shipment in for Waffles and strawberries." Rex's whole body perks up, and his tail starts wagging faster. But Rex doesn't notice this time. 

"Can you maybe make me some, Gregor? Please…?" Gregor smiles, outright laughing. "Of course, I can't let my baby cousin go hungry, now can I?"

"I'm not a baby." Rex grumbles, ears pressing back in anger. Gregor laughs at him happily, this is a normal conversation for them. "You will always be a baby to me!" 

"You're only two years older than me!" Rex tells him angrily, but he secretly likes the normalcy of this conversation. "Well come on, let's get you some food." Rex nods, following the floating oven mitt back into the kitchen. Everyone turns to see Rex, they are all happy to see a smile on his face.

"Is everything good now?" Cody asks, shuffling over and pressing himself into Rex. "Yes, it's all good." He says, smiling towards Gregor who collects the ingredients for the waffles and strawberries, including some flour, eggs, butter, milk, baking powder and some sugar because he knows that Rex has a big sweet tooth. 

He sets all of the ingredients down on the counter and then turns around to Rex. "Would you like to watch me make the waffles, Rex?" 

"Yes please, that would be great to see how they are made." Being a prince meant that Rex didn't go in the kitchen a lot when the chefs were cooking because he would be sat down and ready for the food to be served. 

"Great, would you mind grabbing a bowl for me please? It's a bit heavy for me to carry." Rex obliges and gets a large mixing bowl off of the shelf while Gregor grabs a spoon from the utensil pot. Rex places the bowl on the counter, stepping back to watch as Gregor puts all of the ingredients into the bowl and picks up the spoon, mixing everything together into a smooth batter. Rex is very intrigued, it all looks complicated but also very fun.

Gregor grabs a waffle mould placing it next to the bowl and then collects a ladle to make it easier to transfer the batter into the mould. He puts a ladle of mixture into each mould to make sure that they are equal in size. After the mould is full, Gregor heads over to an oven and places the waffles on a shelf. He grabs a sand timer for 15 minutes that'll let him know when they will be ready.

xxx

After the 15 minutes are up, Gregor grabs the waffles out of the oven. He takes them out, pulling the finished products out of the mould. "Can you grab a plate for me, Rex?" The boy nods, walking over and grabbing a plate out, he carries it over to Gregor. Rex is using the counter for support, practicing on two legs. He struggles a bit, but he manages. 

Cody stays close by to catch him, just in case. So does Anakin and Obi Wan, Fives, Ahsoka and Echo are all watching along the side. Rex sets the plate beside Gregor, sitting down tiredly. "Great job, Rex'ika!" Cody tells him, making Rex smile. "Yeah, great job, Rex." Anakin walks over, patting Rex's shoulder. Rex smiles at his friend, thankful that both him and his big brother are proud of him.

Everyone who can give Rex a little applause, embarrassing him. Everyone who can't, which is Cody, Bly and Gregor, give him lots of encouragement. They tell him how good he did.

"Okay, enough embarrassing Rex. Are the waffles ready, Gregor?" The oven mitt looks up. "Oh, yeah, I just have to put the syrup on top of the strawberries and waffle." Gregor grabs the syrup, putting a good amount on the large stack. He made more since he figured that Rex is bigger, it makes sense that he'd eat more. 

Rex sits down as he licks his lips, seeing one of his favorite meals. Gregor pushes it towards him, letting him eat it. Rex grabs a fork and a knife, fumbling to use them with his larger hands.

"It's fine, Rex. You can just eat off the plate." Rex looks down at Cody, ears drooping in embarrassment. He does not want to eat like an animal, at all. "It's fine little one, no one will judge you. We promise." Obi Wan tells him. "Yeah, Rex, it's okay, Ori'Vod." Fives tells him, trying to comfort his older brother.

Everyone nods in agreement. "Fives is right, we're your family. We aren't going to judge." Rex sighs, nodding at Anakin, he puts the knife and fork down. He leans in and starts taking bites out of the pile of waffles, using nothing but his mouth. 

The others say nothing about it, they just talk amongst themselves. Bly, Gregor and Anakin strike up a conversation about what happened. While Echo and Fives have a nice conversation with Rex as he eats, keeping his mind off of how he's eating. They talk about everything from some prank the twins had pulled last week to a new book Rex had read. It was nice, it felt almost normal.

"How's the waffles, Rex?" Rex turns to Gregor, swallowing the bite that was in his mouth. "They are delicious Gregor, I absolutely love them." Gregor laughs. "I'm glad that you like them, I'll be sure to make you more in the morning." Rex nods quickly. "Yes please!" No one notices the way Kix is keeping an eye on Rex as he eats.

Rex finishes eating, but he realizes that he isn't full. He blinks in confusion, wondering why he wouldn't be full after so many waffles and strawberries. "I'm... I'm not full." He feels so nervous, he doesn't want to seem like he is being greedy after eating a lot already. His stomach growls ever so slightly and everyone just feels bad for him. 

Kix thinks that he might know why Rex isn't full yet. "You might still be hungry because you are now physically like a wolf, so you can still eat some foods that you used to eat, but it won't be as nutritional as eating lots of meat. Which is the base of a wolf's diet." 

Rex understands, but he feels bad that Gregor made all of those waffles but they didn't fill him up. "Sorry, Gregor. I loved them, but I feel like you've wasted your time making them for me and I'm not full." Gregor looks at Rex and shakes his head the best he can "No, it's alright Rex. I enjoyed making them for you and I'm glad you enjoyed eating them too. Would you like some meat now?" Rex feels weird about his mouth watering more than it was. It's almost as if his wolf-like instincts have kicked in. He feels shy but Gregor smiles and heads into the kitchen. 

Sometime later, the sweet aroma of meat trails over to Rex as Gregor exits the kitchen carrying a plate of beef. "Here you go. I cooked it for you as well, the way you usually like it." Rex nods as he dives straight into it, feeling his hunger slowly go away as he finishes the plate of meat.

Rex smiles "Thank you, I'm glad you aren't mad at me that the waffles weren't enough." Gregor's expression turns into confusion. "I'm not mad at you in the slightest, Rex. You didn't know that you wouldn't be filled up with only these waffles, so it's not your fault." He smiles promisingly at Rex. "In the morning, I'll make you some more waffles and strawberries, along with some meat?" 

"Yes please, that would be great thank you." Gregor nods. Smiling at Rex, who smiles back, Rex feels so lucky to have such a kind family. A moment later, Rex lets out a big yawn. 

Cody chuckles "C'mon, Rex'ika. You must be exhausted. And I think we all are too." He looks around and sees everyone nod in agreement. "Let's get you to bed, Little one." Obi Wan places a hand on Rex's back. Rex stands up when Cody shuffles closer to him, so he steadies himself with Cody's help. 

He tries to walk but he’s still wobbly, Rex does notice that he’s not as wobbly as before. Rex gets on all fours, he’s too tired to try to walk on two legs anyway. Cody carries Fives, Echo, Ahsoka and Bly. 

Ahsoka has fallen asleep already, the three year old being exhausted. Fives and Echo are almost falling asleep to, leaning against each other, Bly is the only one out of them still fully awake. They walk up the stairs, Anakin and Rex are walking slow and sluggish. Rex stops when they get to his room, whimpering, he really doesn’t want to go in and see his destroyed clothes, another reminder of what happened. “It’s fine Rex’ika, we aren’t going to force you. You can sleep in my room.” Cody offers, and Rex sighs in relief.

“Thanks, Bubby.” Cody would have smiled if he could, They arrive at his room. Anakin followed because he wanted to tell Rex goodnight. “Would you all like to sleep together, tonight?” Cody asks, he's pretty sure that none of them want to sleep alone after what happened today. They all nod, especially Rex, everyone shuffles in to see Padmé, Kiara and Stutter already there sleeping, they wake up as soon as everyone walks in.

“Prince Cody, we’re so sorry. We must have fallen asleep with Stutter.” Both girls go to leave but Cody stops them. “It's okay, everyone’s having a sleepover here, would the two of you like to join?” They both nod.” I’m going to go and ask my parents.” Padmé tells them, flying off.

“Would you like to go and ask your parents Kiara?” The little feather duster tears up. “ I… I can’t find them. They went to grab something from town, but never came back.” “Well, don’t worry. We’ll find them, like I said you can stay here tonight.” She nods, wiping some tears out of her eyes, she flies over and presses against the desk. “Thank you, Prince Cody.” Cody does his best to nod.”you're welcome, but just call me Cody, okay?”

Kiara nods before flying over to Fives, who hugs her comfortingly. Rex grabs some extra pillows out of the cupboard, carrying them over and throwing them onto the floor.  He lays down. “You guys can have the bed.” Rex suggests, but Kix shakes his head. “No, you are sleeping in the bed, you'll hurt your back otherwise.” Rex sighs, nodding. He lays down in the bed before Stutter, Bly, Fives, Kiara, Echo, and Jesse jump in, cuddling into Rex’s fur.  Fives makes sure that he extinguishes his candles this time.

It brings Rex a lot of comfort, they all get comfortable, Obi Wan carries Ahsoka over while Anakin gathers up the blankets that Rex had, he bunches them up. Sitting against the bed near Rex’s face. Rex lays on his side while Stutter and Bly lay against his arm, Fives, Echo and Kiara lay against his stomach while Jesse lays on his shoulder. 

Ahsoka sits on the desk beside him while Padme sleeps on Anakin’s shoulder once she returns. Kix sighs, but joins in next to his twin. They all fall asleep, while Obi Wan and Cody leave them be, it warms Cody’s heart that everyone would cuddle with Rex. He’s also thankful that Rex isn’t one to move in his sleep.

Obi Wan and Cody walk down the corridor to a different room to spend some alone time together. They've all had a busy and tiring day, so they are ready for some well needed rest. They find an empty spare room and share a look at each other before they go in. There's a bed, a wardrobe and a desk with a chair, so Obi Wan grabs the chair and sets it by the wall. He sits down in it and Cody shuffles closer in front of him. "How are you feeling, Cyare?" Obi Wan places his hand on Cody's table top.

"I'm alright, just tired is all Sweetheart. Today has been rough." Cody feels sad, playing the events from today over and over in his head. Obi Wan senses Cody's struggling emotionally, so he runs his finger over his scar that's in the form of a scratch on the table top. 

Cody sighs, falling into a more relaxed state as Obi Wan continues to stroke his scar. "Would you like to talk about what's bothering you?" Cody wants to cry, feeling stupid about what is upsetting him, but maybe telling someone, especially his lover Obi Wan, will help him get it off of his mind. "I just...I find it so difficult now to get around to places. Now I can't walk anymore. I feel vulnerable and..." Cody begins to sob, unable to cry any tears.

"Oh Cody, it's going to be alright. We'll get through this together." Obi Wan continues to rub Cody's scar. "It's really difficult to feel anything physically, but I still feel things inside, like sensations. It's just strange. I don't feel like myself anymore." Obi Wan’s heart breaks, hearing what Cody is saying. He understands exactly what he means, Obi Wan feels the same way. He leans down, pressing his face against the top of Cody.

“Umm, what are you doing Sweetheart?” Cody asks, confused. Obi Wan pulls away, feeling embarrassed. “I… I was trying to kiss you, Cyare'' Obi Wan whispers, Cody can hear the embarrassment in his voice, but there's also sadness. Cody presses against Obi Wan’s leg. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I don’t mind, can you maybe kiss me again, please?” Obi Wan looks down at Cody, nodding. He leans down, pressing his face against Cody again. It’s the only way he can kiss Cody, he has no mouth. Cody finds the gesture comforting, even if it's not like the kisses they had shared before, it’s still better than nothing. Any kiss from his Obi Wan is amazing.

“I’m sorry, I can’t kiss you back Sweetheart.” Obi Wan strokes Cody’s scar, trying to comfort his boyfriend. “It’s fine, Cody.” The desk feels so bad, he can’t do anything for Obi Wan. He can’t even kriffing hug him! 

“Do you still want to be with me, because you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I’d understand.” Obi Wan’s heart breaks. “No!! Why would I ever leave you?” Cody starts to shake a little. “Because I can’t do anything for you, I’m unable to do anything couples do. I can’t even hug you let alone kiss you.” Cody would be crying if he could, but all that comes out are sniffles and a few sobs, he’s trying to hold them back. Obi Wan stands up out of his chair, kneeling down and wrapping his arms around Cody the best we can.

“You aren’t the only one who’s changed in this relationship, Cody. I can’t kiss you either, I know it’s hard. I… I’m scared too, darling. I am so scared, I don’t even know what’s underneath my armor, is it just emptiness. Would I disappear if it was taken apart, would it even come apart or is this all me. Is there some disgusting mix of organs and metal in there?” Obi Wan shudders slightly at the thought, but Cody is there with him so he feels safe. 

Cody presses into Obi Wan the best he can, trying to deepen the hug. "I still love you, Sweetheart. Nothing will ever change that, not even this. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, Obi Wan. I...I really and truly do, Sweetheart. I'm just glad you don't mind me looking like this." Cody can't gesture at his new form, but Obi Wan presses his helmet onto the edge of Cody's table top. 

"Of course I don't mind you looking like this now. I've changed too, so you aren't alone in this, I'll be right here with you. Always." Obi Wan traces Cody's scar again, making Cody sigh with contemptment. "Mm, that still feels nice."

Obi Wan chuckles. "I'm glad that you still love it." Cody nods as much as he can, but he just enjoys the moment. "Very much."

Briefly, Obi Wan's yawn travels around the room as his vision goes a little bit bleary. He tries to hide it, but he doesn't want to stop giving Cody love and affection. "You can get some sleep if you'd like, Sweetheart." Hearing Cody's voice makes Obi Wan jump a little as he fights to stay awake. "Yeah, that might be best." 

He leans on Cody for support as he stands up and sits back down into the chair. Cody shuffles himself closed to Obi Wan again. Obi Wan yawns again as he tries to figure out what position would be best to sleep now he's sat up. He usually lies in bed with Cody when he sleeps, so it's different not laying down like he's used to. But then he has an idea. "Cody?" He places his hand on Cody's table top. "Yes, Sweetheart?"

"Could… could I rest on you while I sleep, please?" Obi Wan asks shyly, making Cody confused as to why he has to ask. "Of course you can, Sweetheart. There's no need to ask."

"Thank you, Cyare." Obi Wan smiles as he leans down gently as to not make a loud clattering noise of his armour, he folds his arms and rests his head on them. He looks to see Cody's scar, so he traces it with a single finger again. "You're welcome, Sweetheart. I love you."

"I love you too, Cyare. I'll always love you, now and forever." And with that, Obi Wan struggles to stay awake much longer, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

xxx

Rex wakes up with a startled gasp, tears threatening to fall, he almost sits up before remembering that his cousin’s, brother’s and friends are on him. He looks around, sighing in relief when he finds everyone still asleep. They are all in the same positions as before, Stutter and Bly by his arm, Fives, Echo and Kiara near his stomach, Ahsoka on the desk and both Jesse and Kix on his shoulder.

Rex feels something on his shoulder move before Jesse and Kix hop down in front of his face, Kix is sporting a worried expression. “Are you okay, Rex?” Kix asks, and Rex can’t hold back the tears. “No.” He whimpers, his nightmare had been about the curse, except nobody else transformed. They were all disgusted by him, his whole family hated him. Even his Bubby. Jesse jumps into action, moving up to Rex’s forehead and wrapping his arms around him the best he could. Kix presses himself against where Rex’s cheek is.

“Hey, it’s okay Rex. we’re here, do you want to talk about it?” Rex shakes his head no, and the twins look at eachother. “Do you want us to get Cody?” Kix asks this time, but Rex shakes his head again. “No, I don’t want to be any more of a burden than I already am.” The twins look at eachother again. “You aren’t a burden Rex, we love you.” 

“I love you too, but that doesn’t make me any less of a burden, I’m going back to sleep now.” Rex closes his eyes, but Jesse and Kix already know that they need to tell Cody about this tomorrow.

taglist: @captainrexisboo @ellie1366 @pinkiemme @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @lightning-wolffe

[tessiete]

(2) In a world where Anakin doesn’t exist and Qui-Gon is alive and is being an amazing grandpa to Korkie and super supportive dad to both Obi-Wan and Satine… I am 100% sold!! This is such an incredible AU!! I can’t get enough of it! With that being said, do you mind writing more stories set in this world/universe? If you don’t mind, then for the Spotify ask I‘d choose #7 with Qui-Gon, Korkie, Obi-Wan and Satine. However, the ficlet can be based on whatever song you like the most on your playlist

Hello! To my dear @anakin-skywalker-is-my-hero - alright, so I know we talked privately because I wanted to make sure this would be something you liked, and you very graciously let me include Anakin...

But then...

The song you picked was um...”Mommy, What If?” Which is a children’s lullaby, because I like to relive my childhood as often as possible, okay? Yes. Essentially the Canadian version of Sesame Street (Sharon, Lois & Bram), was my #7 Spotify wrapped.

Anyway, that meant that I actually ended up writing a lot more about Korkie & Anakin than anyone else.

Mind blown, they’re only like 3 years apart. Anakin is only 5 years older than Ahsoka. WHAT IS GOING ON OVER THERE!?

So, while in this AU is does very much end up still being Obi-Wan & Anakin, platonic soulmates, right now they’re just too far apart in terms of maturity to make that a thing.

All this to excuse myself, but I do really hope you like this fic! <3333

NO SINGLE EFFORT

Kiorkicek Kryze has learned a secret. 

And it’s one he doesn’t think that anyone else around him knows. Not Master Windu, who always looks at him with a frown, but slips sweets into his hands when others aren’t looking. Not Knight Vos, who once let Korkie try out his lightsaber in exchange for his word that he’d not tell Master Kenobi how the glass panel of his datapadd got shattered. And definitely not Padawan Briss, who claimed to have sneaked into the Forbidden Archives one night, and met a ghost that granted wishes to those brave enough to look for him.

There are no Forbidden Archives, and there are no ghosts - he’d asked Master Kenobi - so he’s convinced that Padawan Briss must not know much of anything, let alone his secret.

Masters Jinn and Kenobi don't know it either, he's certain, for they're much too old, and much too serious to even imagine the wonderful thing Korkie has found.

There is a boy who lives in the wall.

Korkie hadn’t known it at first. He’d thought himself quite alone in his room, as he lay awake in his little bed. The light of Coruscant’s city streets were too far below the Temple to be seen, the cacophony of life too distant to be heard, and Korkie’s thoughts far too quick to be quieted by sleep, so to pass the time, he’d tapped out a pattern upon the wall.

After that, he’d knocked again, enjoying the sound. The soft percussive beats fell like rain from his fingertips. He knocked louder, like thunder, striking the wall with the flat of his hand. Then with his littlest finger he knocked as gently as he could, just to see how small a noise could be. 

And then, the wall knocked back.

Startled, Korkie cautiously tried again - three sharp raps. And three sharp raps came back. He traded knocks with the wall for hours, until he fell asleep, and then the next night, he knocked again. And so did the wall. Soon, a sort of language developed between Korkie and the echo in the wall. Two small knocks were made in greeting, and two small knocks replied. Sometimes he knocked out the fractured rhythms of Mandalorian marches he recalled, sometimes the taps were secret codes for the echo to decipher. Sometimes they meant nothing at all but comfort. And sometimes, the wall would send its own patterns back.

Then, one day, after a month of such late night encounters, Anakin Skywalker looks at him from over morning meal with his head tilted to the side, his short braid brushing over his shoulder, and says, “Oh, you’re the boy in the wall.”

Korkie feels silly then, for he’d begun to think of the little knocking ghost as his own, something part of himself, held safe between the walls and revealed only to him, at night, in the dark, and alone. But everyone knows about Padawan Skywalker. He is Master Jinn’s padawan. He is bright, and loud, and strange. He is the Chosen One. There is nothing secret about Anakin.

Even Master Obi-Wan seems unsettled by Anakin, and watches him out of the corner of his eye. 

But Anakin is afraid of nothing. He gives Korkie an appraising look, staring in a way that Korkie’s mother had taught him was rude, and reaches to take a second helping of yuka seed pudding without asking first. Korkie doesn’t know what to say.

“I’d kind of thought it was only my imagination,” says Anakin, instead.

“I thought you were in mine,” says Korkie.

Anakin talks with his mouth full when he replies, “Well, anyway, I guess it’s better that you’re real. I’d rather a friend who can go places with me.”

So Korkie does. Anakin Skywalker is a whole head taller than him, and comes from a planet with a desert you can live in. He speaks six different languages, and knows about a million ways to slice a droid, but he also is new to the Temple, and doesn’t mind when Korkie needs extra help in finding his way. And in return, Korkie helps him with the other things - the things that Anakin can’t do so well. He helps with his Basic, and remembering when to bow, and in what order. He helps with ID chits, and chain codes, and how to navigate the holonet. He lets Anakin have his commlink when he breaks his own, and doesn’t protest when it’s returned with cinder smudges and scorch marks.

And at night, when everyone is asleep, when Korkie knows that Anakin thinks most of home, he knocks on the wall between them to remind him he is not alone.

And Anakin knocks back.

“What is it that you’re saying to me?” he asks, when next they meet. Master Jinn is always over for tea, and Master Obi-Wan makes frequent calls for counsel, so they are in company more often than not, and more often than not, they choose to be these days.

“Oh, nothing,” says Korkie, prodding at his holocam until a staticky, and uncertain solar system is thrown into the sky. It flickers out of existence just as quickly as it came, and Korkie sighs. “Just old songs my belli used to sing to me.”

“Let me have that,” says Anakin. He grabs the holocam from Korkie’s fingers, and turns it over and over in his hands. “Who’s your belli?” he asks.

“From Mandalore,” Korkie explains. “My buir. Who I came from.”

“Oh!” exclaims Anakin. “Your mom!”

Then he goes very silent for a moment, his brow furrows, biting at his lip and concentrating very hard on the cam in his hand. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about your mom.”

“Oh,” says Korkie. “Why not?”

Anakin shrugs. “Master Jinn says we’re supposed to let go of the past. And my - my mom said we don’t look back.”

Korkie thinks about this, while Anakin pries open the belly of his unit, prodding at the silicon innards. 

“Master Obi-Wan has never said that.”

“Well, does he talk about your belli?”

“No,” concedes Korkie. “She only makes him sad.”

“Like I said,” he says, restoring the metal plate, locking it in place, and handing the device back. “Try it now.”

Korkie thumbs the switch, and the two boys are caught in the orbit of a million worlds, and a billion tiny stars. They rotate through the air, casting glittering light over their faces, and the burnished glow of their hair.

“Perhaps they don’t say anything only because they have no mothers of their own, and they don’t know what it is to miss them.”

“The Jedi don’t have moms or dads,” insists Anakin, scowling at the stars.

“Well, we do,” says Korkie.

Anakin has nothing to say to that, and so emboldened, Korkie presses his suit.

“Maybe, perhaps, we can do both?” he suggests. “Maybe we can talk about them to each other, and not to our masters, and that can be our secret, and that way no one has to be sad.”

For a moment, Anakin says nothing. He sits as still upon his knees as Korkie has ever seen him, his eyes tracking one bright object then the next. Finally, after an eternity, he nods slowly, as if unconvinced, but unable to resist.

“Okay,” he says. “Our secret.”

And Korkie grins in delight.

That night, their mouths pressed to the wall, and then their ears in turn, they speak to each other about their homes.

“Shall I go first, or you?” asks Korkie, his voice low and eager.

“Me,” replies Anakin. “I’m the oldest.”

“Alright. What is your mother’s favourite colour?” He turns his ear to the wall as soon as he has finished, not wanting to miss a word of Anakin’s response. He presses close until the cartilage pinches, and his temple beats out his pulse against the flat.

“Blue,” he says. “Like the skies. Like my eyes. What about your mom?”

“Blue, too!” he says, and in his excitement, he nearly forgets himself. “And my eyes are blue like yours.”

“Of course,” comes the voice. “We are brothers, after all.”

They sit in silence for a moment after that, because it is difficult to speak through the wall. It is hard to be precise, and harder still to think of good questions. None of them really show anything about what it is they miss most.

“Did your mom ever sing to you at night?”

“Yes,” says Korkie. “Did yours?”

“Yeah. And during the day. Everyone sings on Tatooine. To tell the time.”

“Sing me one,” says Korkie, “For late at night.” And he falls asleep to Anakin’s voice humming softly from behind the wall. 

In the Archives, Korkie asks him about the song.

“It’s about the market at the Pika Oasis,” Anakin says. “Old women go to sell their fruits, but sometimes, everyone is too poor to buy anything.”

“Could you buy anything?” Korkie asks.

“No. We were always too poor to buy,” says Anakin. He almost says something else, but changes his mind, and says instead, “I know another one you’d like.”

“Okay!” Korkie agrees.

Anakin checks his shoulder to make sure they’re completely alone, and leans low over his holotext. Korkie leans closer to hear. In a sweet, lilting voice, Anakin sings words that Korkie has known since birth.

“Buir, buir!” he goes. “Te ik'aad pir'ekulor, te ik'aad pir'ekulor par gar, a te kar cuyir dar teh te kebii'tra, bal Ni dar'taylir tion'jor. O meg, o meg, kelir Ni vaabir?”

“That’s Mando’a!” Korkie shouts. His eyes are wide, and his surprise so great that it awakens some holobooks on a distant shelf. They flicker blue, before steadying again, and going back to sleep as Korkie wrestles his emotions back into a respectable form. “How do you know Mando’a?”

“My mom,” says Anakin, smiling like a felinx. “She learned from the traders, and then she taught me.”

“Sing it again,” Korkie demands.

So he does, and when he’s finished, Korkie frowns and tugs on his own short braid.

“It’s almost right,” he says. “But you sound funny.”

Anakin bristles. “That’s exactly how I learned it.”

“No, no,” says Korkie. “It’s just the tune. It should be more like this.”

And that night, Korkie sings Anakin to sleep as he recalls the strange reciting tones of his belli’s gentle voice.

This goes on until one day, Master Jinn tells Anakin - who informs Korkie in turn, who then tells his master who, of course, already knows - that they have been assigned a mission. They are being sent to a nearby Core world in order to mark the first anniversary of a long-awaited conurbation of planets.

Anakin is thrilled. 

Master Qui-Gon is calm as ever as he lays his hand along Obi-Wan’s forearm, and presses a palm to his cheek.

“We’ll return soon,” he says. “And under far less duress than the last time we ventured forth.”

Obi-Wan smiles, but it is a grim little thing, and Master Jinn’s words do nothing to chase the tremulous shadows from his eyes. 

“It’s only a few days,” agrees Anakin. “And we’re going to attend a banquet!”

He grins at Korkie, who feels similarly uneasy. He sidles closer to the thick folds of his master’s cloak, and reaches up to find buried between them his father’s hand. His palm slides easily into Obi-Wan’s and they take comfort in how they cleave to each other.

“Be careful,” says Master Obi-Wan.

“Always, my padawan,” replies Master Jinn.

They leave without a backward glance, and Korkie eats alone with his master that night.

It is only later, after the sun has set, and he’s tucked tightly beneath the soft blankets of his bed, that Korkie reaches out to knock against his wall, and is surprised when no one knocks back.

He knocks again, but still, he is alone, and in the silence of his lonely room, he begins to cry.

He knocks, and weeps into the down of his pillow, and weeps, and knocks again.

And then, someone knocks back.

But the sound comes from his door, and is followed by the hiss of pneumatics, and the warm spill of light from the hallway beyond.

“Kiorkicek?” calls his master, with the light at his back. “What’s wrong?”

He cannot say, and only cries louder, calling out for his master, and relief from the dark. The Jedi doesn’t hesitate. He sweeps into the room, the edges of his robes gilded with bronze, and leans over to pull Korkie into the cradle of his arms. He clings to his father, his legs kicking free of the blanket to wrap about his waist, and his arms thrown about Obi-Wan’s neck. 

But though he reaches for Obi-Wan like he reached for his mother, it doesn’t feel the same. His father holds him, but doesn’t rock him in his arms. He rubs circles on his back, but does not press a kiss to his brow, or stroke his hair. He whispers in his ear, but he does not speak his tongue. He is nothing like his mother.

Until he starts to sing.

It is not a song of Mandalore, or of desert markets in the Outer Rim. It is neither happy, nor sad, but something balanced in between, like dawn. He sings of night. He sings of light. And he sings of them, together, promising himself to Korkie until time beyond knowing. 

Gradually, his breathing calms, and his cheeks dry, and he goes willing, and boneless back beneath the covers as Obi-Wan tucks them both into the narrow confines of Korkie’s bed.

“Is that a song from your belli?” murmurs Korkie, held close to Obi-Wan’s chest.

“No,” Obi-Wan whispers, so quietly that only the stirring of golden hair may mark it. “It is a song from the Jedi,” he says. “It is a song from Master Jinn.”

And together, they fall asleep.

[harrylee94]

The Tournament - Chapter 5

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: "You are not fit to wear your armour. You are not fit to bear your clan name. You are not fit to be called Mandalorian."

Notes: I was not expecting this to happen! I have no idea what's going on!

Chapter 4

——————————————————————

“I’ll be watching you, Djarin” - Din

It was the day before the Trials were set to begin. Contenders from across the kingdom had been arriving since the day after the announcement had been made, and now Din was sure that half of the Lords and Chiefs under his soon-to-be reign were either camping at his doorstep or even housed within his walls, maybe more. Tonight though, it was time for the welcome feast, a chance for him to show his appreciation for the support they were offering, and to pretend that he didn’t notice how they were all trying to make a grab for power.

As Prince of Mandalore, he had been the first to arrive, taking his place at the high table just to the right of the Witch King’s seat and watching as the nobles filtered in, their names and titles announced by the master of ceremonies, each pausing at the door as they did so before walking before him, offering a bow or curtsy -- depending on whether they were wearing skirts or not -- and heading over to their assigned seat.

It was a long and tedious process, but Din made sure to pay attention; these were to be his subjects, it wouldn’t do to make them think he didn’t care about them.

“It is an honour to meet you, my Prince,” another Chief, Veranaar of Clan Ruusuk Din remembered, said as they bowed to him. “My daughter, Veryn, shall be competing for the honour of being your Protector in the coming days.” He waved to the young woman at his side, who bowed as well, the pieces of armour she wore emblazoned with the symbol of their clan.

“I wish you the best of luck, Veryn of Clan Ruusuk,” Din said diplomatically, nodding at them as they continued on towards their seats.

There were a number of contestants in the room, most of them third or fourth born and wearing at least the pauldrons of their armour, but there were also some first or second born ade who were sending looks his way. Looks he was sure were meant to be provocative and alluring, but they felt slimy on his skin and made him want to shiver.

Being married to someone who only wanted to use you for the power he held wasn’t as bad as the idea of someone he didn’t trust following him around every second of the day, but it still made him sick to the stomach.

“Lord Shir’aat Suum’anar of House Suum’anar, and Ser Jaonar Suum’anar,” the master of ceremonies called, and two of the most pompous Mando’ade stepped into view.

The older of the men held himself like he was one of the highest ranking in the room, though Din noted that he was very careful to keep himself from overstepping. He wore no armour from what Din could see, but his tunic was beautifully embroidered in such a way to make it look like mail. His son, on the other hand, proudly wore his pauldrons, leather replacing what would usually have been a breast plate, a sun hammered into the surface, and vambraces tied to his forearms. He looked around the room like he belonged here, and gave off an air of vanity that did not bode well.

Together, they made Din feel both underdressed -- though the embroidery on his tunics still felt like too much, and his armour had been made by the best smith and leatherworker in the kingdom --and angry. Clothes like that would have cost a fortune, and the money could have been put to better use paying for the upkeep of the roads and for the welfare of their people, but instead they used it to show off just how grand they were.

He bit the inside of his cheek as they approached and bowed.

“My Prince,” Lord Suum’anar said with a flourish as he rose. “It’s such an honour to be welcomed to this celebration.”

“How could I not welcome one of my closest allies?” Geographically speaking. “Plus your son has been here for many months now.”

“Indeed he has,” Lord Suum’anar agreed. “Jaonar intends to compete for the position of Protector in the Trials.”

Position, not honour, Din noted.

“I wish you luck, Ser Jaonar,” he said with a false smile, and building suspicion when the knight went to say something but his father stopped him with a nudge of his elbow. He pretended he didn’t notice as they walked away with another quick bow to allow the next person -- who he'd missed the name of -- to approach.

It continued on like this for a while, listening to names, greeting people with false smiles and wishing he was somewhere else, perhaps having a drink with Cara, or finding an excuse to talk to Vanth, perhaps to ask about the shovel handle he’d set on his buir’s pyre, but then a name was called that he couldn’t ignore.

“Lady Bo-Katan Kryze of House Kryze!” the master of ceremonies called, and a woman in a blue tunic and trousers entered, chain mail resting over the top of the fabric, and dyed leather pauldrons were strapped to her shoulders. Her chest plate was painted with the owl of her clan in white, and her helm, peeking out from beneath her arm, had been crafted to a similar visage. It was the definition of overkill, but she moved like she'd been born in it.

Conversation around the room came to a halt as he rose from his seat, the guests Din had been speaking to quickly scuttling out of the way before she came to a stop before him.

The silence dragged on for several tense seconds, neither one of them moving. You could hear the wind whistling through the windows from how quiet it was.

House Kryze and House Djarin had been rivals for many years, the throne having once belonged to the Kryze family not even a hundred years ago, before the Djarins won it from them. Though the tension between their Houses had dissipated somewhat, it still remained.

The Lady Kryze bowed her head in a nod. “Prince Djarin.”

“Lady Kryze,” he replied.

The silence returned, and Din could feel his magic buzzing in anticipation.

She stepped closer to the table until they were less than a meter apart, and Din had to signal to keep Saruk and his guards from acting. A smirk appeared in the corner of her lips as she leaned over the table; perhaps she was impressed, but Din would likely never find out.

“I’ll be watching you, Djarin,” she said.

“Likewise,” he replied, keeping a careful eye on her as she stepped away and moved around the table to sit not three seats away from him. She took the goblet before her and held herself tall as she drank, and slowly the conversations started up again. Din set himself back down in his seat, and waved for the master of ceremonies to continue announcing the guests.

Despite the tension, he couldn't help but be a little relieved of Kryze's presence. In a room full of falsehoods, she was one of the few who didn't hide her intentions.

The rest of the introductions were difficult to concentrate on, especially with Kryze so close at hand, but soon enough all his guests had been seated and the food was being produced from the kitchens.

Roasted boar and fish were placed on a table in the centre of the hall, as were whole legs of lamb, pheasants, and even a swan. Dishes of vegetables and specially prepared fruits were offered by the servers as the carvers sliced the meats into servings, baskets of bread and cheese were offered, jugs of mead, ale and wine passed around, and, of course, a large cauldron of Tiingilar was carried in.

The smells that filled the room were enough to make even a full stomach rumble, but first Din had to make a speech.

Once again he rose from his seat, the action alone drawing everyone’s attention, and he put on his smile.

“My Lords, Ladies, and Verde,” he began, looking around the room. “I welcome you to my halls to share this celebration. Tomorrow the Trials for the honour of becoming the next Protector begin, but tonight we feast and make merry!” He raised his goblet high. “Oya!”

“Oya!” his guests cheered, their own drinking vessels rising.

As Din brought his own goblet to his lips, his magic suddenly fell silent, and it drew him up short. Ever since he could remember it had been there, humming at him in the background, curled around him at night, and in the past few weeks it had been the loudest it had ever been. The sudden silence unbalanced him, and he swayed a little in place. He was vaguely aware that Saruk had gripped their sword from where they stood at his side, but he was otherwise occupied by the sudden gap inside him. What was happening? Where had it gone? Why did he suddenly feel so cold? Had it abandoned him? Was he unworthy?

Before his thoughts could spiral any further, his magic surged back like a tidal wave, filling his limbs with warmth and washing his fear away, replacing it only with danger, danger, there .

His goblet fell as he released it without a thought, fingers curling instead around the sword at his belt. His magic continued to scream at him, and he spun in place, drawing the sword with it in one smooth moment. There was the sound of metal hitting metal, and Din was aware of something clattering to the table, and then the paved floor behind him, but he had eyes only on the young woman who still had her arm outstretched, eyes wide.

“Guards!” Saruk cried, and they swarmed the would-be assassin, grabbing her by the arms and shoulders and removing any other visible weapons before dragging her around the tables to stand before him as she struggled. It was as she was stood there that he was able to put a name to her face; Veryn of Clan Ruusuk. His eyes searched the tables until they came to rest upon her father, Veranaar, who looked pale and shocked. Perhaps she had worked alone then.

“Veryn of Clan Ruusuk,” he said, voice echoing in the now silent hall. “Would you care to explain why you have made an attempt on my life?”

She remained stubbornly silent as she glared up at him, struggling in the guards’ arms as they continued to pat her down to remove any additional weaponry she might have hidden away.

He waited for a few seconds more before nodding. “Very well. You are not fit to wear your armour." Straps were cut and leather and metal hit the floor. "You are not fit to bear your clan name." Her father gasped. "You are not fit to be called Mandalorian. You are dar'manda, and for your crime of treason, you are to be executed at dawn."

Veranaar choked on a sob. "Veryn, why?"

She turned to him with a sneer. "You've become weak, father," she said. "We were once a proud family, but now we are forced to bend low for the welfare of those lesser than us." She spat on the floor. "I will not bow to a King who allows this to continue."

"Take her away," Saruk ordered, "and escort Chief Ruusuk and the rest of his clan out of the keep." That they would be watched was left unspoken, but heard by all.

As Veryn was taken away, one of the guards who had come to stand behind him stooped to retrieve the weapon she'd thrown, and offered it to him. It was a wicked looking blade, though well balanced as all throwing knives were, the edges serrated and the blade itself holding the oily gleam of some sort of poison. He set it down carefully and waited for Clan Ruusuk to leave before waving at the minstrels who had been waiting in a corner and sheathing his sword.

Music began and he sat back in his seat with a sigh. He hadn't even been crowned yet and already there was a threat on his life. He looked over at Saruk, who gave him a nod of approval, their hand now resting threateningly on their sword, and then at Lady Kryze, who, much to his surprise, gave him a similar nod.

He sighed as talk resumed, and he was sure that the news of the attempt on his life would spread to the edges of the camp outside the walls before the day was out. Had it not been for his magic, he was sure it would have been a successful one.

Shoving that thought away, Din tried to focus on eating, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stomach much.

He'd just sentenced someone to death, and he was the one who would have to swing the sword. But even worse than that, now he knew what people thought of him, how could he trust any of the contenders for Protector?

——————————————————————

Mando'a Translations:

Ade -- children

Mando’ade -- children of Mandalore

Buir -- parent

Tiingilar -- a hearty and traditional Mandalorian stew made with a multicoloured blend of meat, various vegetables, and a potent mix of spices

Verde -- warriors or soldiers

Oya -- cheers - lit. ‘let’s hunt’, but can also mean ‘stay alive’ or ‘go you’

Dar'manda -- not Mandalorian, soulless, has lost a right to their heritage

Chapter 6

[iwriteforthetincanman]

Mandoctober Day 16: Tatooine

ALT TITLE: Stardust, The Force and one big beautiful mess

A/N: at first I wanted to continue the sandcrawler scavenger reader I did (which I will do eventually with or without Mandoctober to guide me) but I went through some personal stuff so I more or less wanted to base this around family and where your roots are from rather than Tatooine itself, which in its essence is that one scene with Luke skywalker standing outside his home with the twin suns and later on down the line, his final resting place along with his twin sister Leia. 

Someone dear to me passed away almost ten years ago now. The anniversary is the day Season two comes out. Which is essentially why I’m so committed to this fandom now. But I also wanted to write something just to get the remaining grief out of my system. 

Mum, this one is for you.

Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum Buir.

Poe Dameron x reader, Nameless!Mother (or Mother Figure) x Din Djarin

(FOR CLARIFICATION DIN DJARIN IS THE READER’S FATHER IN THIS ONE)

also somehow I wrote 5K in two hours none stop...am I Alexander Hamilton? 

It had been so long since I had been home. It hurt to think of the place where I came from. Hatred had leaked into my very belief system, my culture...even my family. 

I felt like they hated me for leaving... but I was scared that they’d never miss me. That I had only been a ghost in their lives. There for 18 years and then poof! I was gone. 

My father, Din Djarin, the Mandalorian saved my mother from slavery when she was quite young. Around my age to be precise. He had no idea at the time because she had been living with an Ugnaught named Kuill. That’s why my middle name is Kuill. I owe that fateful Ugnaught my existence for freeing my own mother from slavery when she was barely even a woman. 

She had nowhere else to go...and instead of keeping her grounded and sheltered away from the rest of the world. He let her live. 

Growing up you hear stories of people dying all around you, neighbours, friends and yes, even pets. It hurts so much you can’t even comprehend it. You become numb and barren to the pains of the world.

It feels like you don’t care anymore.

It got to a point where I was making things up in my head out of anger. How I would’ve handled things differently, what I wanted to do with my life, where I wanted to go.

But my father had only one strict rule.

Once we set down roots...we can never leave.

I never questioned it after the first time he told me why. 

My mother...on the day I decided to leave, knew that something was wrong.

Lately I had been restless, agitated and easy to anger. 

At first she thought I had fallen pregnant. Something that had made us both laugh at the time. It was a hollow memory to me now. I had no idea if she was dead or alive. 

It hurt. The unknown. Death, life. It didn’t matter. 

What mattered was the fight to live. To help others thrive.

You were raised to be everything the First Order was against. 

So of course you wanted to join the resistance at the first chance you got.

---

“NO.”

“But-”

“No means no! Do you have any idea what your mother and I went through to bring you this life, so you could live in the peace that the universe scarcely gives? Do you have any idea how lucky you are?!”

“That’s exactly why I have to go! Don’t you understand that! I love living here. But some people aren’t as lucky. You know that more than anyone in this village buir. Mum knows it too.”

It went deadly quiet for a moment. 

“I did not bring you this life...risked everything with my culture, my creed, just so you could selfishly throw it away...I don’t want you to die like my parents did Ad’ika.”

I didn’t say it then but...that was another reason you needed to go. To make your ancestors and those Mandalorians who came before your father proud. 

It was the one time Din Djarin had let his guard down.

You crept away into the night, leaving only a kiss on your little (in size) brother’s brow and a note next to your mother’s tools.

It was the best way you could’ve said goodbye. 

“I am one with the force and the force is with me...This is the way.” 

---

Two whole weeks later I found yourself on a planet that was the polar opposite of what I was used to. So much technology that I didn’t know the names of, ships, speeders, weapons and people. 

It was strange how seeing so many people made you euphoric at the time. I was only a rookie, and I had never left home before. Of course I was nervous. 

There was so much to learn! Keeping up with the resistance is what scared you, what if they threw you out? You had trained under your mother’s mechanical know how just to get here but what if-

“Djarin! Y/N!”

“HERE!” You hadn’t realised how loud you had been until all the people turned to look at you funny. Whispers and giggles followed. Maker, this was embarrassing. 

“Good to know you’re here. I’m Poe Dameron by the way. Noticed you weren’t paying attention. You nervous?” Making eye contact with the most gorgeous man you had ever seen was the last thing you had expected. He was a hot shot pilot apparently. You heard a girl giggle behind your head as she winked at him. Oh, give me a break. 

“...A little.”

“Okay well don’t be. You recruited for a reason and according to where you’ve been registered you’re the best mechanic we’ve seen in a long while. Which is why you’ve been assigned to my X-Wing.” 

Jealousy dripped in ugly green buckets. You were quite fond of the colour, with it being the colour of your little brother’s skin. But...it hurt nonetheless. 

“Yes sir.” You whimpered pathetically.

You were doing this for them. Not for some pilot you had only just met. Well...him too. 

---

Crashing into General Leia Organa with heaps of your paperwork was not how you planned your first day ending.

“Kriffing Bantha fodder! Why don’t you watch where you’re-Oh my god you’re Princess Leia.” 

To say you had been absolutely obsessed with her when you were younger was an understatement. 

She reminded you of your mother in so many ways it hurt to look at her.

Which is why you were so confused when she touched your cheek only to find yourself crying at just the sight of her. 

---

“So...you left on bad terms with not only your father, but your family in general. Even if your mother never found out?”

“I’m worried that it’ll put a strain on my parents relationship with each other more than anything...I can’t contact them or write. It’s too risky.”

“Your father taught you well.” 

“Wait...you know who my father is?”

“Many people have heard of the Mandalorian that killed Moff Gideon with the dark saber. Some have speculated that it was a myth...now I can see that it wasn’t since you are living proof of what Mandalorians can create.”

“My mother was never a Mandalorian. She was a Mechanic through and through...she just happened to be thrown into motherhood twice along the way.” you joked bitterly.

Your parents had told you the tales of Moff Gideon. It was a fairytale that had been shrouded in mystery. Something you weren’t expecting to hear from the two people you admired the most. 

“I love my family. That’s all Mandalorians care about. Their clan and their people as a whole. I’ve neglected that part of myself for far too long. We had to hide to be safe. It made me angry. I told my dad I was going to leave the night before I did. He said no...I went anyway. It doesn’t matter what he thinks...not right now. I have to put what matters to me in this universe first.”

“Hmm...you sound a lot like a young jedi knight i used to know.” 

“Are you talking about Master Luke Skywalker?” You were getting excited now. 

“No...one of his students he took for a very brief period. You see the child was the same species as Master Yoda but he was already fifty years old. A relationship where a padawan is already older than their teacher? That...now that is strange.” Leia giggled to herself. 

Everytime you glanced at her all you could see were fragments of your own mother. You understood why everyone here adored her. Why she was in command whilst others who thought they deserved it, weren’t.

She was a mother through and through. Whether to her own child or not, you knew she didn’t realise this one fact alone. 

“You remind me of my buir. She has many similar features...not the same just, similar.” 

“I’m honoured you think of me that way Djarin. But I believe that there is an anxious pilot waiting for you in the hangar.” 

“Kriff! Thank you for the Caff General. It's a lot different to what I’m used to but it’s a welcome change.” Getting this out in one breath you bowed somewhat awkwardly before running out of the canteen. 

---

“Y’know you’re strange right?”

“Kriff!” Banging your head on the bottom of Poe’s X-Wing was not how you wanted this to pan out. 

“You’re annoying, did you know that?”

Watching his face was like observing a painting, depending on your interpretation and the angle the motions you saw were just-

“Mesh’la.”

“What...is that some weird curse word or somethin’?” 

“Uh! No, I mean, yes! I mean...maybe.” scratching the back of your neck, you attempted to soothe the bump that was forming there. That was going to be a little ray of sunshine to wake up to tomorrow morning. 

“Hey, let me take a look at that.” Turning around somewhat hesitantly. You let Poe take a look at your ‘wound’. 

“Yikes, looks like a lot of blood.” 

“What!” 

“I’m kidding. It was a joke to get you less stressed out...obviously it didn’t work.”

“Sorry...I’m just anxious, I guess.” 

“Wanna talk about it? My X-wing is in great shape right now by the way, my old mech checked her out before you shipped in. He was a great guy but...he was one of a handful we lost.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Hey it’s okay. Death is a part of life, unfortunately I learnt that at a tender young age.”

“What happened? ...if you don’t  mind me asking that is.” 

“...My mother, she was a pilot just like me. She fought for what she believed in and yet, she died anyway. It hurts but...I fight because of what my parents did.”

“No way! Me too! My parents took a back seat compared to what the resistance did back in the day but my Dad was a total badass and my mum...well, my mum was a slave.” 

The look of shock you saw on Poe’s face was something you mistook for awkwardness. 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped Captain Dameron.” 

“Nah, you did the complete opposite actually...we’re gonna spend a lot of time together for god knows how long so it’s good that we get the emotional baggage out of the way first.”

The smile he gave you made your knees turn to jelly. 

You didn’t know then how taken Poe already was with you, He thought you were cute, but he underestimated how much of a badass you really were. The knowledge of your parents though...he tucked that away for safe keeping right next to the ring that sat against his heart. 

Little did he know then how much emotional baggage you really had...

---

-3 YEARS LATER-

“DJARIN WE NEED YOU IN MEDICAL STAT!” 

“DON’T YELL AT ME LIKE I’M ONE OF YOUR NURSES MCLAGGEN! I CAN HANDLE IT!”

“I KNOW THAT, THAT’S WHY WE NEED YOU!”

Although you admired your crew mates sometimes you wanted to rip off their kriffin’ heads. 

Everyone was stressed lately. All three of the golden trio had vanished, out of sight, out of mind. And to make matters worse, Leia was just as worried as you were. 

“Commander Djarin!”

“Poe!” Running to your best friend in the whole freaking universe, you wrapped him in the biggest hug you could muster. You had been so worried about him. 

“I missed you! I was so worried...I didn’t know what to think…” Shame and guilt crept into your very being as Poe stood before you, he was carrying a very solemn aura. Something bad had just happened. You could feel it all around you now. People were sobbing in the courtyard. 

Everyone was upset...but that could only mean-

“No...No, don’t you dare tell me she’s gone.”

“Y/N I’m sorry.” Poe was a mess, just like you.

He held you in his arms as you screamed in agony until nightfall. 

---

“I’m never gonna be good enough for this. Not like she was.” 

Hearing Poe go through the worst thing he had ever faced once again broke your heart tenfold. More than yours was breaking already. 

“Poe Dameron, you listen to me and listen well okay?” 

Every part of his being was hyper focused on you as you said these next words, it’s like you were commanding them into his brain. 

“Leia loved you. She may have never said it out loud but she said it in the ways any mother would. She was the mother of the resistance sure but she had a real soft spot for you after everything with...Ben.”

Comparing Poe to Kylo Ren was a painful business but everything about grief was painful, it made you focus on the good and the bad. 

“Family is more than blood. That’s what my father’s creed taught me. I will never forget it as long as I live. When this is all over and he’s not going to put a knife through my chest just for leaving I’ll introduce you. Hell, I’d drag you back to my home planet right now if i could...you would love it.” 

“I’m sure I would...Mesh’la.”

“...What did you just call me?”

“I got that right didn’t I? It’s not an insult, it’s a compliment? I thought it meant beautiful I was just guessing off interpretation I didn’t read any mmph-”

You had cut him off by slamming your lips onto his. Sure, it was inappropriate to make out in front of both your mother figure’s corpse but...you knew by now that many times she had told you to tell him how you truly felt when it came to war?

It was now or never. 

She had that with Han Solo and in the blink of an eye he had left. 

But Poe? Poe had been your constant throughout all of this, he loved you in ways you could only imagine and you loved him. Even if the kiss ended up not meaning anything...you knew you would never regret it as long as you live. 

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum Poe Dameron.”

“WHA- what, um, ahem, does uh, that mean?” You had flustered him, you felt pride in your very soul for doing that. 

But Damn if his tousled hair didn’t like so fine? Maybe it was the fact you had just clawed your fingers through it like the world was ending...but in a way it kind of was. 

“I will keep you in my heart forever...that’s the Mandalorian way of saying I love you Poe Dameron.” 

“Oh...MANDO’A!” 

You leapt back at this, not the reaction you were hoping for. But it was so ardently Poe you couldn’t help the grin on your face. 

“What about it?”

“That’s your culture! Your language! That’s why you told me your father is such a bad-...ass”

“There a reason you’re just saying ‘ass’ to yourself, General?”

“Oh bantha fodder...I’m gonna have to ask for your father’s blessing to marry you by talking to a Mandalorian?” 

An audible gasp snapped him out of his stupor.

“You...you were gonna propose?”

“Of course.”

The painting had returned. The painting you kept in your heart and sang to every day. The one you comforted when he had nightmares, no matter how close to your body he was, you knew by that point your friendship was long gone. 

You had never put a label on it...but in a way, you had always been each other’s ‘one’.

And now...He was asking you to be his riduur?

“Leia convinced me. She said if I didn’t buckle up and saw what was right in front of me throughout this whole war. I would've killed myself over my love for you.” Confirming that he was in fact, in love with you, was a breath of fresh air. 

Even if the jungle you had been camped out in for months on end had changed your temperament you couldn’t help the tears welling up in not just your eyes but Poe’s as well. 

“Y/N Kuill Djarin. I love you so damn much it hurts to leave you every time I ran to that hangar. I knew everytime I left it could’ve been the last time and it scared me. Because who was I going to be if I never found my forever girl? My mom told me that much before she passed…” 

Shara Bey’s ring. The fact that he had carried the ring of his deceased mother around for years on end just to be close to her made your heart simultaneously sing and cry. 

Not only because the ring was now yours to keep. 

But so was the man who gave it to you. 

That night, before the final battle, your hearts beat as one.

---

You had won.

Everyone had celebrated, you both drank so much that when you woke up in bed together the next day, despite the crippling twin headaches, all the two of you could do was laugh. 

“I mean...if we think about logically it was only a matter of time before one of us pounced on the other?” You offered into the awkward harmony you had both fallen into. 

“Yeah but I just really wanna know...I didn’t hurt you right?” 

You had never told him, but Poe knew just by the way you had gotten up to get some water, despite the fact he was ready for round two almost instantly due to how the sheets bunched and fell from your figure, that you were a virgin. 

But just from the simple process of illumination of what little you had told him of your life before the Resistance or BP he liked to call it (before Poe), you preferred BB (before Beeps), he knew you had never been in a relationship. Not properly anyway. 

Not with him. 

In a way the thought of being your first filled him with joy...but every time he had imagined it he had expected to be a gentleman, rose petals, lilies, gods, any flowers he could’ve found in that blasted rainforest would’ve been perfect! 

What he didn’t understand was how the drink had addled his brain so drastically that he had just pounced like a feral animal on his precious girl. He wanted to take your innocence on your wedding night (Your engagement hadn’t yet been announced to the Resistance as you both wanted to wait for the onslaught of weddings to die down before the wedding of the century was even announced so in a way, your relationship as fiance’s technically still didn't exist). 

And yet...you realised something during the haze and the blur of everything Poe and you last night. 

You had made a new home here, a life for yourself...and it was good. 

You had done exactly what your parents did and more.

So of course you were emotional. I mean, you two hadn’t even used protection!

Although...you didn’t share this with Poe the thought of a little version of you and him growing within you? It set your heart on fire. So when you kissed him with the passion of a thousand thunderstorms, you didn’t hesitate to return the favour of last night...and then some. 

---

Shuffling into the cantina had never felt so awkward in all of your three years here. You were 21 years of age now. People hooked up all the time and it’s not like you broadcasted your virginity to anyone here.

That was until the green bundle of joy himself practically flew into your arms. 

“Ad’ika?!” Your exclamation panicked Poe, his hand immediately going to your waist as he inspected the creature wrapped around your neck. BB8 whirled in Ad’ika’s wake, circling the figure of 8’s around the both of you. 

“What, they did?” Ad’ika looked up at you like you had grown three heads. Sure, he looked like a kid. But he was now roughly 90 years old. He was a fully grown child now. You still blushed like a little girl apparently as he continuously giggled into your neck.

“Not important right now buddy. Where are our buirs?” You muttered tearfully. Today had turned into a whole other kind of day. 

“C’MON GUYS HURRY UP I’VE NEVER SEEN A REAL LIFE MANDALORIAN BEFORE!!” Seeing friends of yours running past only to be met with the vision of your buirs brought you the relief that no bacta patch (or in this one specific case casual sex???) could ever give. 

Your mother was vision as always and Poe confirmed it.

“Y/N...I knew the day I first met you that you were beautiful but the fact that your mother looks almost exactly like you right now scares me.” 

“Poe, whatever you do don’t say anything inappropriate around my Da, he won’t appreciate it, at all.” 

Even though you were smiling like crazy, Poe knew you were being deadly serious. You didn’t want anything to ruin today. 

Besides, there was only one reason your buirs were wearing their armor once more. Your father was wearing all of his Mandalorian armor, scuffed and slightly dusty with age (he had clearly left in a hurry) but your mother was wearing her long forgotten robes. Once she was planning on giving to you one day. You realised she looks a lot like Rey right now. 

The dark saber she carried at her side confirmed it. 

But her eyes meeting yours from across the room as she spotted her daughter reunited with your son, caused both you and Poe to tear up once more as she grabbed her Riduur’s hand. 

“Excuse us.” Polite as always, she waited for no one as she made her way to you and only you as she almost tripped over poor Beeps in the process. 

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You both laughed a similar laugh that any one around would recognise. It was like Leia had come home but you all knew she was gone...she was never truly gone. She lived on through each and everything the resistance had touched. 

Including you...and Poe.

Din and your mother.

Ad’ika...and Luke Skywalker.

Your mother the day she killed Moff Gideon with a light saber that she did not know she had the untaught skills to possess.

It was like strings were tangling and wrapping and strangling…

Except it was beautiful.

“We missed you so much Ad’ika.”

Looking into the eyes of your buir, his scarred and worn face now riddled with crow’s feet from the happiness you had placed there. 

It was home. 

---

Drums beating. Heart pounding. Numerous friends and family to you and to Poe squabbling over what hairstyle you would wear. 

Today was the big day. Surprisingly you had announced it a week ago. 

After everything that had happened, when your father showed up, Poe asked right on the spot if he could marry you. Not caring that he had to prove himself in the trials of Mandalore. 

In his heart he had become one with your clan. He had become a son in your father’s eyes, another foundling that had just found his way here. 

“I know men aren’t technically allowed to be in the chamber, but I just had to meet my future daughter-in-law before the big day.” Your breath catching in your throat, your eyes met those of a man you recognised.

Although you had never met it’s like you had a scrapbook in your mind or all the stories, all the little details of what Poe’s Dad looked like. 

He was more handsome than you originally thought, but that was a given seeing as it was the exact same as when you met Poe himself. 

“Nervous?”

“Surprisingly...not at all.”

“Poe...wanted me to give you this.”

A glance of the ring gave you a flicker of a moment of self-doubt. He would never have his own Dad break things off...would he? 

“Don’t worry. It’s a family thing you know, for father’s to give away their daughter’s. I asked your mother but I had no idea that she was from the tribe of many mothers.” Giggling to yourself at that line, you realised where you had got your spirit from. 

Leia was here with her own family today, you could feel it in your bones.

“It’s sweet of you to ask at all when we have never even properly met.” 

“Ah, you’re wrong there, in a way we have. Poe told me so much about you I began to cry before the wedding even started. Good thing he told me at the bachelor party.” 

Raising an incredulous brow at him, you wondered a silent question. 

“It was just me and him for most of the night before drinks with his friends. Don’t worry, Poe’s not that kind of man.” Smiling to yourself, you knew he was right. You also knew this meant Poe had a terrible influence of friends. You loved them all. Of course Poe asked Finn to be his best man and you asked Rey to be your maid of honour.

They wanted everything to be perfect. 

Although a week made everyone go a bit stir crazy. Someone even came up with the rule that as long as we were all staying on this damn jungle planet. We might as well have a week in between each one to plan. 

You can’t remember how many bridezillas had attacked you over Poe Dameron in your dreams. 

In reality everyone was happy for you, in their minds, if they thought about it you were the perfect match for Poe in each and every way. 

Wait ‘til they found out how short the actual ceremony was. 

“Anyway, Shara, god's rest her soul, would’ve given you this if she were here, but I’m here to tell the tale so I’m giving it to you to wear on the chain she gave him when he was little.”

Feeling tears well up in sympathy for the father and son duo, you couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m getting married so I need to know. How did you ever learn to cope with the pain of losing someone that close to you?”

“Simple...I didn’t. Poe was angry for years. Not just at the world but at the system. It’s why he felt he had no choice but to become a spice runner. The system wouldn’t let him win and he was exhausted from the guilt and the grief. I couldn’t bring myself to reprimand him.” 

Remembering something your mother said to you long ago...you knew you had to tell your future father in law something that had been on the backburner for the last few days of preparation. 

“There’s one small detail in all of this that you should know Kes.”

“What’s that…”

“...I’m pregnant.”

“Goodness! How? Wait no, I know how what I meant was when?”

“About a month ago now?” It was before my parents' surprise visit and Poe dropped the bomb on everyone that he intended to marry me. 

“Let me guess, he asked for your Dad’s blessing?”

“Well...yeah.”

“Think of them as an early wedding present.”

“Thanks. Although at least this means I can get out of consummating the marriage.” Laughing nervously, Kes was about to say something else when the door creaked open once more. 

“...Wow.” 

“Hi Dad.” 

“Um..sorry but I’m guessing your Poe’s father Kes?” 

“Yeah, Heard a lot 'bout you and your daughter over the years.” 

Smiling to yourself, you let them chat as your Mother crept from behind your father’s ceremonial cape (It had a red inner lining and fur lining the top, don’t ask) She looked just as radiant as you did. 

“My daughter.” 

“Hi Mum.” 

“Did none of your friends fix up your hair?”

“We couldn’t decide on a style…”

Sadly you knew your time to prepare was drawing to a close, you needed to be as ready as you were when repairing the X-Wings.

“How about...I do your hair like my mother did for me?” 

Tearing up at the mention of your grandmother, god's rest her soul, you wished she were here to see this. 

“Please.” ---

Poe was nervous. No doubt. Finn was panicking and Rey wasn’t helping with all the screaming and waving around the chairs and tables she was doing by abusing the force just to get things done quickly. 

Today...was a mess.

But it was the best kind of mess. 

Jokingly, Finn had put a bow tie made for large Loth Cat’s around Beep’s neck. Poe had agreed that he had never looked so dapper. What they didn’t expect was your Dad’s distaste for droids and his dry humor. 

Poe knew why though, so he didn’t get angry or throw a fit like the first time you met BB8 and was scared to shit. 

It was strange that you had never met a proper droid before that day. 

And wow, now he was marrying you. Time flew, so quickly. 

To break the ice Poe had asked Din the story behind Ad’ika. In a quick attempt to get to his daughter before the ceremony took place, people filing in as he talked and avidly listening, he told the story of how he had come across the beauty that was/is your mother, how he met Ad’ika, how he had saved his life. Why Poe had discovered the secret tattoo of a mudhorn on your back. One that you had received from your Auntie Cara Dune you added fondly. 

Who he would be meeting for the first time today. 

The jungle had never looked so beautiful. You had both decided that the wedding would take place around dusk on the last night of summer, when it was not too humid and yet hot enough that the ceremonial wear had to be adapted to the heat. 

Din had graciously warned Poe about Mandolorian traditional wedding dresses and how your mother had worked night and day to make your dress perfect. Poe quickly learned that your mother was a jack of all trades. 

This was his family now. Forever and always. 

A crescendo began as the miscellaneous Mandalorians dotted around the room beat the traditional drums to a high and demanding tune, light glinting off their multi-coloured helms dancing in the setting sunlight. With the Fur pressing against Poe’s throat he had jokingly said he looked like a king. 

When Din answered back saying since he was a clan leader he technically was choked on his own spit. 

Her fiance, the love of his life, had been a princess in disguise this whole freaking time. 

It stuck in the back of his mind as the music grew too demanding, but as gasps filled the room he couldn’t help looking up. 

Your mother was walking you down the aisle, your dresses looking not so similar yet similar enough that anyone and everyone knew you were one and the same, yet different. 

But you, Gods above, you. 

You looked like a princess. 

Beskar cladded your upper arms, two feathers decorated your hair, matching braids flowing down your neck as your squeezed your mother’s arm in excitement upon spotting your future Riduur. 

You had both made it out alive. And happy. 

Not everyone had been so lucky, but you were doing this for them. To keep their memory alive. 

And as Poe attempted to make love to you that night and you jokingly told him that traditionally you can’t touch the bride for another week if she has already fallen pregnant.

Let’s just say he got a matching bruise on his head from the first time you met.

Yeah, it was a mess.

But you were both finally home.

[anileahvictoria]

A Star Wars Story (post #3)

More of my OC’s story!

That night Taya took Bhay aside and sat him on her knee in one of the Zota's chairs and tried to boop his nose, but the voice box covered it.

"Huh, guess I can't boop my baby's Bhay's boop button anymore." Taya laughed. 

Bhay took off his mask and revealed a huge grin, "Now you can, mama!" he signed.

And she did.

"You know what this means, Bhay baby."

"I won't get lost in crowds cause you can hear me now?"

"Ha, that too. But it also means we get to go home!"

Bhay's big silver eyes turned instantly sad, "Go home? All the way back to Mandalore?"

Taya frowned in concern, "Well, yes. Aren't you excited? You can talk to all your friends now."

"But buir, Osha is my friend!"

"She's one of them, yes, but what about the others back at school? They've probably missed you so much!"

Tears started to fill Bhay's eyes, "Mama, I don't have any friends at school. I made up Tye and Tyson! I was so sad I thought if I pretended to have friends, then one day I would. And mama, it worked! Osha is the jatnese be te jatnese! She's my ori'vod! Don't you always say 'Aliit ori'shya tal'din'?"

Taya smiled and ran her fingers through Bhay's thick white hair, "Family is more than blood, adi'ka, but our people on Mandalore are dying. They need us. See the paint on your voice box?"

Bhay picked up the mask and took a moment to really take it all in. It was made out of some sort of white metal that Mr. Zota said would mold and grow with his face shape as he grew if he wore it often enough. The painting was more straightforward than most of his mom's work, mainly intricate black designs instead of his mom's usual elaborate gold-themed work.

Bhay sniffled and wiped a tear off his cheek, "It's nice, not too much. I like it."

Taya smiled, "You have no idea how hard it was not to go all out, but I didn't want to distract from your handsome face. Do you notice anything special about the color?"

"It's black. You usually make stuff gold." Bhay observed.

"That's right. Do you remember why I make stuff gold?"

Bhay scrunched up his little face, trying to remember. Back on Mandalore, different colors meant different things.

"Gold is vengeance!" he finally signed triumphantly.

"That's right. The Empire destroyed our home, Bhay, and it will try to destroy our culture too. I won't rest until I have avenged our people and the Empire pays for what it's done. That is why I make my mark in gold and why we must return home."

Bhay frowned, thinking, "I will have revenge too, buir, just like you and papa." he said bravely.

"No, my adi'ka," Peregrine said, joining them, "I wear silver. Unlike your mother, I do not seek revenge. Vengeance is a dark and cold rode that consumes all those who walk it. It hurts not only those who seek it but everyone around them. That is why your colors will be black."

"Justice, Bhay. You will fight to free our people, to bring prosperity back to our planet, and you will fight to live to see the judgment day of the Empire." Taya said firmly.

"But you will do it righteously and fairly as a keeper of the peace."

Bhay's eyes lit up, "Like a Jedi?"

Peregrine smiled and nodded. "Yes, Bhay Skyzlu," he pulled something from his cloak and unwrapped it to reveal a silver lightsaber. "Like a Jedi Knight." 

Bhay's mouth fell open, "You're a Jedi, buir?!"

Peregrine chuckled, "I tried to be for many years. But it was never the will of the Force. This saber was my master's, and now it is yours. A day will come when weapons like this are no longer confined to secrecy. And when that day dawns, I hope you will use this saber to bring justice, peace, and prosperity to all those who see its light." He handed the saber to Bhay, "Will you do that for me, my adi'ka?"

"I will."

[crispyjenkins]

Chosen-One!Obi-Wan x Jango where Jaster finds Obi-Wan after he’s lost(somehow lmfao,, idk maybe connecting ships like a connecting flight?) on his was to bandomeer and adopted by a haat’mando’ade advisor of Jasters?

(this would have been out on monday except i rewrote it twice T◡T this is by far the best version i already have a few haat mando’ade Obis so i gave this one a twist (ゝω·) thank you for the prompt, anon! i started planning this one as soon as it came in, i’m so happy to finally be able to get to it (ノ*´◡`) i hope you like it!  i am now inordinately attached to the idea of a wookiee raising obi, and wanted to do so much more with chalmun but it did not work out by rewrite three. someday, friend (๑o﹏o๑)

  When Obi-Wan meets the Mand’alor on Bandomeer, wearing his failures like funeral garb, Jaster calls him Haar Gaanla. The Chosen.

  Obi-Wan never makes it to the Agricorp outpost, he doesn’t even make it out of the spaceport; the moment he steps off the transport from the Temple, the Force all but takes over his feet, humming in happiness as it leads Obi-Wan further and further into the port, until it pulls him to a stop in front of a Nova Courier starship.

  A Mandalorian without a helmet turns around from stocking his cargo hold, and knows from one look that there’s something not quite right about Obi-Wan, that the way the opalescent Force ripples around him is not the way it surrounds others. 

  “Haar Gaanla,” the man says, as the Force whispers Mand’alor, as Obi-Wan says,

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Jaster lets him sleep in his bunk the whole way to Concord Dawn.

-

  When Obi-Wan meets the Journeyman Protector Chalmun, the Wookiee stepping out of his terracotta dugout home on a farmstead that looks like it’s drowning in blooming behot, he calls Obi-Wan Haar Gaanla. The Chosen.

  Obi-Wan smiles around his missing tooth, and calls him buir.

-

  The prophecy of The Chosen One is not specific to the Jedi, Chalmun has heard it all over the galaxy from as many peoples as he has bowcasters — which is to say, a lot. Mandalore has had their own prophecy from as far back as the Taung, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know what that means for him, somehow raised a Jedi first, but Mando’ad now.

  His first night as Chalmun’s foundling, he tells Obi-Wan the story of the Wookiee warrior that carried her people into the trees and showed them the sky, before giving them her bones to build the first treehouse. Her name, Otwiyaddirm, came to mean freedom, choice, and has a variation in all Wookiee tongues. 

  Chalmun tells him more stories like that while he teaches him how to farm and how to grow, how to care for the behot leaves that are their main income, but also the root vegetables planted at the bushes’ base. Master Tyvokka spoke Shyriiwook when Obi-Wan was in the Temple, but Obi-Wan’s crèchemaster was one of his apprentices, and she taught their whole clan Xaczik instead, partly just to piss her old master off.

  Obi-Wan knows the Force likes to mess with him, lead him to believe one thing before spinning him 540º to another answer entirely, so he knows there is very little in his life that the Force does not have a hand in; that Chalmun speaks Xaczik rather than the far more common Shyriiwook? Well, it’s not as if Obi-Wan is surprised.

  Before Jaster, Obi-Wan had only interacted with one Force user that was not a Jedi, a Zebraki woman that had come to study the architecture of the Coruscant Temple. Obi-Wan had snuck out of bed and was on the run from Master Oraruu when the Zabrak had found him and crouched in front of him — she called him Uifri with a sort of fond awe, and walked him back to the crèche with an impossibly gentle hand in his. Knight Kolar told him later that the closest word in Basic is Chosen.

  Master Plo had called him ‘a lantern in the Force’ when he first brought Obi-Wan to the temple, and the description stuck far into his initiate days. Quinlan would tease him about it, saying he ran a few degrees hotter than other humans, because to Quinlan, he was warmth more than light.

  So Obi-Wan isn’t unused to epithets and comparisons and whispered names in languages he doesn't speak, but he doesn’t know what to do with himself when his new buir starts to affectionately call him Otwiyaddirm, just as often as he calls him cub.

  It certainly confuses Jaster’s foundling the first few times the Mand’alor checks in on Obi-Wan and brings Jango along, who despite being a few years older than Obi-Wan and Haat Mando’ad to boot, can’t pronounce Obi-Wan’s Xaczik name and instead just calls him Nau’ika. Little Light. 

  Even after Jango learns Obi-Wan has a name in Basic, the nickname stays, because though his midichlorian count is lower than even Jaster’s, Jango can still see his light in the Force. Mando’a doesn’t have a word for the sorts of open-flame lanterns Master Plo had referred to, but Jaster says he thinks Nau’ika suits them just fine. 

-

  “Can you feel it?”

  Jango looks up from the stone wash basin outside by the greenhouse, where Jaster had assigned the two of them to wash tubers for thirdmeal, but he finds Obi-Wan resolutely focussed on the blue tuber he’s scrubbing. He’s rolled the sleeves of his red linen shirt up past his elbows, arms toned from working the farmstead, and Jango has half a mind to be amused by Montross’ insistence that Journeyman Protectors and their clans simply can’t compete with Supercommandos — Montross has obviously never seen the size of the sacks of behot leaves Obi-Wan and Chalmun regularly sling from the barn to their speeder.

  “Feel what?” Jango asks, while Obi-Wan works at a particularly stubborn spot of dirt with his reed scrubber. 

  Obi-Wan doesn’t answer immediately, but his expression is relaxed and thoughtful, so Jango doesn’t press, just waits quietly at his side. He had grown in leaps and bounds under Chalmun’s careful rearing, strong and smart and kind, and he looks almost nothing like the tiny Jedi imp that Jango had met six years before. 

  His hair is redder now, baked under Concord Dawn’s blue sun until it’s almost copper in the summers. Farmer-tanned skin is spattered with freckles and blemishes where he had been pale as a wampa in a snowdrift when Chalmun had first taken him in; Arla had been like that, too, and something in Jango aches.

  “Me.”

  Jango blinks, quickly returning to his own scrubbing when he realises he had been staring. “You? Oh, you mean the light thing?” Obi-Wan nods once. “Of course I can, everyone above Force-null can.”

  His relaxed expression tightens, lips pressed thin as the water in the basin moves preternaturally. “Everyone keeps saying that,” he says softly, “even the other Sensies here think I’m special.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Obi-Wan shrugs, pushing his hair out of his face with the back of his wrist; it still leaves water running down his forehead, and Jango’s brain short circuits, just a little. “I don’t know. The Jedi certainly didn’t think so.”

  “And we’re supposed to care what those shabuire think?” Jango scoffs. “They must be even better at sticking their heads in the ground than I thought, if even the children couldn’t feel you.”

  “Wouldn’t they have wanted me if they did?”

  Ah, well, perhaps Jango should have expected this.

  He can count the number of times Obi-Wan has talked about his time in the Temple on one hand, despite Jaster checking in on him every few months for the last six years. He’s said that his destiny was not with the Jedi in this iteration of the universe, that he knows the Force had not led him astray, and Jango knows he’s genuinely happy here with Chalmun and the Mando’ade, but he also understands that line of thought.

  “Would you go back to them if they asked?”

  Obi-Wan finally looks at him, wide-eyed. “What? Of course not.”

  “Then does it matter knowing what they thought back then, when you don’t care what they think now?” Jango takes the tuber from Obi-Wan’s hand and drops it in the drying basket with the rest, before pulling the stone stopper from the bottom of the basin to drain the water into a pipe that would take it to the reprocessing tank to be reused in watering the fields. “I’m Haat’ad, Nau’ika: I know droidshit about the Force and Force users, and even less about this prophecy nonsense our buire seem to think is important.” He hefts the basket onto his hip and waits for Obi-Wan to hang the scrubbers over the side of the basin to lead them back to the dugout house; he kicks open the door and holds it with his foot for Obi-Wan to duck past him. “I just know you don’t feel like anything else in the galaxy, that people will always want to take advantage of that power, and that you are far safer all the way out here than in the Core.”

  Their conversation falls off as they remove their shoes to join Jaster and Chalmun in the kitchen, and though Obi-Wan doesn’t bring it up again that night –or any time after– Jango knows he thinks about it still.

-

  When Jango’s starcruiser drops out of the sky over Concord Dawn, crashing into the behot fields and cutting a furrow of flying dirt and flowers right across the farmstead, Obi-Wan is already calling on the Force, oily-black and opalescent and warm, to drag Jango from the wreckage. Obi-Wan wraps it heavy around the both of them, as he kneels in bloody, screaming mud with Jango’s head on his shoulder, as he holds his hand heavy, warm, oil-slick against Jango’s throat until his dead pulse jumps underneath his palm. 

-

Mand’alor —  “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. Haar Gaanla — “The Chosen”, fan creation for a Mandalorian Chosen One myth behot — an herb with a citrus taste and mildly stimulating properties, most often infused into shig, a Mandalorian beverage used similarly to caf buir/e — “parent/s”, gender neutral  Haat Mando’ad/e — lit. “true children of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians (slang shortened to Haat'ad/e)  Nau’ika — “Little light”, nickname for this specific Obi, which becomes new Mando’a slang for open-flame lanterns shabuir/e — an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity  Uifri — “Chosen”, Zabraki (found with this translator) Otwiyaddirm — name meaning “Choice”, “Freedom”, Xaczik (made by combining names with this generator; myth is my own)

*my understanding is that blue suns supporting planet life is impossible, but i raise you: rule of cool. and does concord dawn even have a blue sun in disney or legends canon? i dunno, but you can’t stop me*

[crimson-dxwn]

At Odds 7 (Kal Skirata x F!OC)

Summary: Mereel and Kal work to find Orla’s whereabouts. Visitors come to The Center. 

Warnings: 18+, GRAPHIC torture scene ft blood and vomit; sexy dream scene and f!masturbation, some distressing language in Mando’a

Words: 4200

As always, major thanks to @detroitbydark  for being my hype girl. ​

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

Keldabe, Northern Mandalore

19 BBY

Mereel watches his buir work. 

They’d snatched the hut’uun Corporal Hadley on his way back from his favorite girl’s room at the bathouse. She hadn’t seemed too sorry to be rid of him after they’d asked and paid handsomely. The whore wouldn’t have to work for a month at least. 

Their Keldabe safehouse was like the countless other hodgepodge durasteel and stone buildings in the solidly working-class neighborhood. The few mercs returning home from jobs didn’t bat an eyelash at fellow Mandalorians bringing a hooded guest into the basement in the early hours of the morning, which was well enough for them. 

Mereel has never seen his buir this angry. Well, maybe once, many years before when he and his brothers had been called into a room with Orun Wa. When Ordo grabbed Kal’s pistol and aimed it straight at the aiwha-bait’s head. And Kal Skirata in his sand gold Mando armor had taken them out of that place, but not before spewing a few choice words at the Kaminoans present. 

The faint sound of trickling on the dirt floor brings Mereel back to the present. 

“Did he piss himself?” Mereel asks, more amused than anything. Though now they’d be conducting this particular interrogation through the smell of the man’s urine. He sighs. Cracking a window was out of the question. 

Kal scoffs. “Haven't even touched him yet.”

“If you’re gonna invade a planet, at least have the guts to deal with the consequences.” 

The man remains silent, immobilized in a rickety old chair. Usually his buir left information extraction to the experts, namely Walon Vau, but this time he’d elected to do the job himself. Mereel almost felt bad for the man. Bad enough to get in the way of a Mandalorian and their partner, worse to get in the way of them and their child, biological or otherwise. 

Kal’buir has his knife out, the old one, his father’s - if Mereel was remembering the story correctly. He’d told it to them once and only once, well into his shots of tihaar. As boys, he and his brothers fought over which of them would be worthy of carrying it when he was gone. 

Pulling up the three-legged stool from the corner of the room, Kal gets in the man’s face. He had to be - at least in raw years lived - older than Mereel, but something in the way he cowered away from the merc’s gaze made him still a boy. He feels….jealous? His vode, the commandos too, had been in that very position more than once before they could shave. He vividly remembers his sargeant retching up his breakfast afterwards.

“Can’t break their face too much,” he says, “-can’t tell you what they know if you muddle them up too bad.”

“She’s alive….” he pants out between coughs “at least she was when she left.”

“Where?” Kal barks. The man doesn’t answer fast enough. The hilt of the three-sided knife cracks across his cheekbone, splitting the skin open like an overripe fruit. Blood starts to flow from the cut, mixing with the sweat droplets on his bare skin. It’s more symbolic than anything. An eye for an eye. 

The man grunts but stays silent. Kal’buir pauses, considering the light glancing off the unusual blade of his father’s knife. His beskar garotte is wrapped around one wrist. To anyone else it would look like a bracelet, and before the man can take another breath, he whips the length of beskar out and slings it around the man’s bloodied neck. 

“If you tell me where she is, we’ll dump you on some skughole.” The wire tightens, revealing the vasculature in Hadley’s neck. “If not…”

The man’s chin tilts back, lungs desperately seeking oxygen, and the way his mouth opens reminds Mereel of the fish they catch from the lake behind Kyrimorut. His eyes start rolling back and Kal lets up. Hadley sputters and wheezes, sucking in air while they wait for his answer.

The man spits defiantly, right on the front of Mereel’s armor. Kal shrugs at his son and tightens the garotte again, choking his airway off just enough without making him lose consciousness. Mereel picks Hadley’s uniform tunic off the ground and wipes his armor with it casually while he gasps, turning bright red. He doesn’t like to think he had a temper, but extracting information from this cocky shit is taking too long. 

Right then Mereel decides to take things into his own hands a bit. His beskar-covered foot steps carefully up onto the rickety chair, between the officer’s legs. Kal raises his eyebrows but says nothing, relaxing his arms so the man can breathe, though he keeps the garrote resting firmly against his skin. Livid red lines stripe across his neck. 

Mereel presses his boot down, just a touch, right where he knows it’ll hurt. In this moment he’s immensely grateful for the protection of his own beskar codpiece as he puts the pressure on.

“Tell us where the kriff you sent her or these,” he presses down harder, “are gonna be hanging off my pauldron.” Without the garrote, Hadley yells out raspily. 

Letting up slightly, Mereel turns to Kal. “You think they allow eunuchs in the Imperial army?” 

His buir’s stony expression doesn’t budge. “Not sure, son.” 

It’s Mereel’s turn to take his knife out, removing the blade from its sheath by his side. Tears are squeezing out of the corner of the corporal’s eyes; he looks like he’s about to toss his breakfast. Finally, their ministrations have the desired effect. 

“Stop,” he says weakly, “I’ll tell you...I’ll tell you.” 

The foot is removed and he promptly vomits off to the side, coughing violently. 

“Transfer order came in.” 

“Transfer to where?” 

“Rehab Center-“ more coughing. Kal’buir may have overdone it with the garrote. They need him to answer before his throat closes and saves them the trouble of using a blaster bolt. 

“I’m gonna need more than that.” Mereel brings his foot back up on the chair with a thunk and the man flinches. Now that he’s broken, the words practically spill out of his bloodied mouth. 

“-bloodwork came back...orders were to report any aberrations.” 

He and buir make eye contact. Driven by instinct, Mereel pushes a bit harder. 

“Tell us where she is and we’ll drop your sorry shebs at a med center.” 

Hadley finally breaks at the promise of relief.

“Brentaal,” he gasps out quickly. 

“Good,” says Kal. Calmly, evenly. But before the man can even sigh in relief, Kal’buir lines his blaster up at the base of the man’s skull and fires. He runs hot, Mereel had heard Walon Vau say once about his buir. It was his weakness. When he was young it had been hard to see that he had any weaknesses at all. Now to Mereel he seemed uncomfortably human, less of the warrior-god he’d seemed as a child, staring up at his sand-gold armor as he confronted Orun Wa, who seemed to the nulls as much a god as anything. 

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

Imperial Rehabilitation Center

Brentaal

18 BBY

Around twenty weeks she started to dream. Some were of her as a child, with her parents and happy memories. Some are of pain, blood, death. Too often she wakes with a heavy  ache between her thighs that is too insistent to be ignored. 

In tonight’s dream it’s Kal who’s moving inside her, as it is most of the time. He has her up against a wall and his cock is splitting her open, thrusting impossibly deep. A cry parts her lips each time his hips are flush with hers. She’s close, so close it hurts but she can’t get off, not even when his cum pulses into her. 

She wakes with a gasp, so close to orgasm it’s undeniable. Even with Taren in the room she bites her lip and snakes her hand over her bump, beneath her pajamas to her swollen clit. She runs her fingers down farther, over her plump labia that are coated in her wetness. A desperate exhale makes it past her lips that she muffles into her pillow. 

Her body craves release and her fingers stroke frantically; orgasm hits her like a speeder crash and Ori can’t help but whine softly into her pillow as she works herself through it. She clenches around nothing, feeling desperately empty but relieved at once. 

She lies there in the aftermath, waiting for the throb to abate, slowly drifting back to sleep until Taren’s whispered voice wakes her.

“Alverde?” osik. 

Sometimes they talk at night, like sisters sharing a room, or at sleepovers with friends, in hushed tones and turned towards the other wrapped in blankets up to their chins. In the privacy of their room they can speak in their mother tongue without fear of punishment. 

Taren starts this time. “Did your buire ever tell you about Demagol?”

“Of course,” she replies. Every Mandalorian child knows Demagol. Mothers and fathers used it to keep their children out of trouble, friends told it around campfires to scare their friends - it may be one of the truly ubiquitous Mando stories out there, though there are many iterations. 

She hears Taren swallow from across the room. 

“Does this ever remind you of…” she trails off. 

“Depends on which story you got told,” Ori replies, not wanting to engage with this particular iteration. She tries not to perseverate on the situation. Taren’s voice is thick and she hears her sniff through the darkness every so often. She’s been crying again. Orla feels for her, so young, missing her riduur and trapped in this place. She herself feels the same, more often than she wants to admit. 

“Tell me about him,” she whispers. 

“Who, demagol?” 

“No,” she replies, “Eryk”

Taren is silent, save for a few sniffles punctuating the gap. 

She prods. “What was he like? How did you meet?” The use of past tense had to hurt, and Ori doesn’t hear a sound from across the room. She wonders if this is the wrong approach to take to make Taren feel better. She’d found out so little detail about the man - his name and the fact that he’d died fighting with Taren before her capture. 

She waits a long time before Taren can answer. Grief hangs heavy in the small dormitory while she waits. Maybe this was the wrong way to go about trying to help. Maybe she’d made everything worse. Worries continue to swirl in her until she hears Taren shuffling from across the room. 

The chill of her blanket being lifted shocks her for a second, and Taren tucks herself into the narrow bed, snug up against Ori, face to face. Or at least as close as they can get with two not-insignificant bellies in the way. It feels good having someone so close after so long, platonically or otherwise. Since she’s been here, her mind has been occupied with settling in, trying to wrap her mind around the unreality of it all. How they are kept in cliques by system, but prohibited from using their native languages. Encouraged to inform on their sisters. Taren rests a hand on her arm. It’s about as close to a hug as they can get nowadays. Ori can practically hear her relax as she returns the gesture. She tries again.

“Tell me about him. I know it’s hard, but I think it might help a little.”

The other woman takes a steadying breath.

“We met when we were ten,” she starts, “He pushed me in the pond.” 

Ori snorts. 

“You know the one? Up by Enceri.” She knows it. Her ba’buir took her there every summer to fish, for the silvery little gi that swam in the murky water. The would bring home a cooler full for her ba’bu to make gihaal while she napped in her little cot in the stuffy little cottage in the mountains. 

“Yeah, I know it.” 

“We just kind of never left each other. I knew he was my person without having to look.”

Her voice gets calmer, sleepier as she talks. 

“People don’t understand how rare that is,” she mumbles. Ori hums in agreement. She stays awake as Taren’s breathing evens out as she continues to stroke her arm. Taren worries her. Under her spiky exterior is a girl who is barely keeping it all together under the stress. Ori knows the outlines of what happened, but Taren still can barely talk about Eryk in the past tense. And time keeps ticking away. Until Taren would inevitably leave her too. Closing her eyes, she listens to Taren’s soft breaths, trying to soothe herself into sleep. 

Tonight the baby has other plans. Every so often she gets a kick worthy of a world class meshgeroya player. Gradually what had started as little flutterings have since turned into elbow jabs and kicks that sometimes take her breath away. She wonders if the evening restlessness is a Skirata trait just as she’s rewarded with a swift blow to the ribs. Definitely from Kal’s side, she thinks. 

Kal. She was sure, so sure for so long that he would come for her. After all, he’d whisked commandos, civilians, and even Jedi out from under palp’s nose. Not for the first time since she’s been here, she wallows. Never out loud, though. Comparatively, she and Taren have it relatively good here; there isn’t much good in whining about the unfairness of it all. But the more remote the possibility of rescue becomes, the harder it is to keep the fear tucked in the back of her brain. It comes out the worst in the dark and silence, paralyzing her, sending ice through her limbs. 

------

Imperial Rehabilitation Center

Brentaal

18 BBY

Orla can’t help the guilt of being afforded special privileges. She has their system, and with Taren’s extra brainpower they can safely keep track of names and numbers. So far, it seems as though the staff hadn’t caught on, and had even become more comfortable with her in the room. By the second week they have twelve numbers scratched into the wall below Taren’s cot, covered by her blanket. Truly, she’s not sure if it’ll make any difference at all. They really have no plan or hope to get out of here besides their loved ones looking. After all these weeks she’s had to resign herself to the fact that she’d been abandoned, that no one was coming. The sense of abandonment, she supposes, is probably misplaced. One can’t really be abandoned if you don’t belong to anyone, if there’s no one to look. 

When the good doctor calls her up for tea the second time that week, she knows something big is happening. He stirs his cup - Alderaanian - carefully with a tiny spoon, which clinks jarringly in the silence she can’t be bothered to fill. Hers is a distressingly vile herbal blend. Decaffeinated of course, it turns the hot water a sickly green. Ori can’t even bother to try it.

Loesch finally deems his tea properly stirred and acknowledges her presence. He considers her for a few moments and she meets his murky eyes, refusing to break eye contact until he spills whatever news he’s holding over her head. 

“I have a surprise for you.” Not what she expected, that’s for sure. In this place, any kind of surprise is bad. He waits, a mild kind of smile on his face, one that doesn’t touch his eyes. He waits for her enamored response which she reluctantly gives. 

“What is it?” She asks excitedly, like a child waiting for the promise of a sweet. It sounds so disingenuous, so false that she flinches when he opens his mouth, expecting him to call her out. 

“You and your little Mando friend have visitors.” Now that is a surprise for sure. She has absolutely no clue who could be visiting. She didn’t even know they could have visitors in the first place. Half of her clings to the unfounded hope it’s a friendly face, here to bust them out, even though she knows it’s not possible. Ori tries to look excited, tries to wipe any sense of dread, fear and anxiety off her face before he can register her discomfort. He flashes his dazzling smile at her. 

Stairs are perilous these days, as her feet have all but disappeared. They walk side by side down to Ori and Taren’s room. Taren is still inside, fiddling with the edge of her blanket. 

“Now I want you two to stand just here,” he says, arranging them as he pleases, “and I want you both to be silent.” Taren shoots a look at her from across the room that she dares not return. 

They stand next to their neatly made cots, up against the far cement-block wall of the cell. Dr. Loesch disappears for a few moments to fetch their distinguished guests. 

The first thing she notices is the jai’galaar on her pauldron - the mark of Death Watch. Her heart sinks. There’s no good reason any of them should be here. Except the worst reason. She’s thin as a wire, with dark black hair and pale skin. Her right arm is slung over a classic Mandalorian helmet, upslanted visor gleaming proudly. The sight of an armored Mandalorian should be a comfort, but the woman exudes such a sense of menace that she can’t help but shrink back. Her eyes flick downwards, from Orla’s head to her toes, and back up appraisingly. Ori can’t keep her cheeks from heating up at the gesture. 

Dr. Loesch flashes her his datapad and the woman studies it for a moment. 

“A Beviin?” she snivels, “I thought such a respectable old Mando family would be above such things.” She turns back to Loesch. “I heard this one doesn’t have armor?”

“No,” he replies, checking his datapad to confirm. 

She hums in acknowledgment, still staring at her bump. Loesch steps in, never one to miss out on a snippet of conversation. 

“Orla, this is Calista Priest.” That explains the menace, then. Before her stands Dred Priest’s niece sporting Death Watch’s symbol. 

“The father?” she continues, too bothered to notice her introduction, turning to Dr. Loesch. 

“Mandalorian,” replies Loesch, still buried in his datapad. 

“No name?” She asks, finally turning to Ori directly. Priest is on the receiving end of the most wrathful look she can manage - all the venom she feels is plain on her face. 

“She won’t tell us.” 

Just like the first time it was asked of her, Ori doesn’t dignify that request with a reply. After all, Kal’s AWOL, and she isn’t about to put herself or her baby up for what interrogation would entail over his whereabouts. Somehow she knows that revealing his identity would put her in an even worse spot. Priest gives her a sympathetic look.

“I suppose you don’t know, do you?” she says as she steps nearer, gloved hand outstretched to touch her. Ori tries to step back, but the wall is right behind her and she can’t budge. She’s caged in, between the brick behind her and Priest’s gleaming plates. Calista places an overly-familiar hand on her belly while Ori stands stiffly between them, fists clenched at her sides, nails digging painfully into her palms. She stares down at the black glove, stark against her petal pink top. The fingers spread and press into her skin as she waits expectantly. 

She’s big now, big enough for someone else to feel the kicks from the outside and to her chagrin her traitorous baby decides to level a good hearty kick - no, elbow - right under Priest’s hand, as if they can sense her ire. Priest is pleased as a peach, a smile twisting her features.  

“She’s strong,” Priest remarks lightly. Ori stands there like an idiot, ineffectual hands clenched at her sides. In shock. 

She. She. Her heart snaps in two. 

Another armored figure enters the room from the doorway, this time one she recognizes. Gar kriffing Saxon. Looks like he’s gotten in bed with the Imps after getting burned by Maul. That whole clan was like insects underfoot, using chaos to their best advantage, not caring who got hurt in the process. The fall of the Republic was obviously treating him well - he and his pet are wearing gleaming custom beskar from helmet to toe. Priest keeps her attention on Orla, not satisfied with her answer. 

“Too drunk to make out the aliik of whatever merc bent you over behind the tapcaf?”

Ori’s mouth drops open. The absolute audacity of this woman was something to behold.

“She’ll do,” Priest declares, turning to Saxon.

Beside her, Taren is shaking with rage, Ori can see it out of the corner of her eye. It’s obvious she’s about to do something incredibly stupid, but before she can throw a look to shut her up, Taren spits. Right onto Gar Saxon’s *karta beskar*. 

*Kriff*, the silence is deafening. Even the ever-charismatic Dr. Loesch is staring in shock. Seconds stretch out as she watches the saliva run down the geometric crevices in Saxon’s beskar.

Taren’s eyes are wide as Saxon takes a menacing step forward, hulking over her. Ori knows what’s coming before he even raises a hand to strike her. To her surprise, it’s Dr. L who puts a hand on his arm to stop him. Saxon glares, hand still in the air. 

Loesch runs a hand through his slick dark hair and snaps at a tech, who gratefully scuttles past the doorway to fetch something to clean Saxon’s chest plate. Loesch’s eyes are cold, and so deeply and disturbingly empty that she has to look away. Taren - ever defiant - decides to double down. 

“No true Mandalorian would steal a child,” she bites out, lunging towards him. Saxon just looks amused, like a tooka playing with its food.  

“I don’t think there’s a question of who’s a more fit parent. Look at you.” Saxon takes her chin between his thumb and index finger, holding her in place. “A traitorous little vaar’ika who couldn’t even protect herself from a single squad of troopers.” Taren stays blessedly silent. 

“You’re lucky she wants a girl,” he quips, full of venom. The tech returns with a cloth and hands it to Saxon, who swipes at his beskar, ridding it of Taren’s saliva. 

He looks more bored by the second, a welcome change from the rage of the past few minutes. It’s obvious he’s only here to appease his pet. Ori stands forgotten, off to the side of the almost-skirmish. She watches Taren’s face drop in shock and knows she wears the same expression. Somehow it’s so easy to get used to the inevitability of their situation, to stay numb to the injustice. It’s the only way to stay sane. But too many bombshells have dropped in the past few minutes. 

Gar Saxon rounds back on Ori, beskar gleaming once again. 

“Consider it a duty to your Mand’alor.” 

“Fenn Shysa is the Mand’alor,” she replies evenly, meeting his icy gaze. She keeps his gaze for as long a possible, refusing to back down. Until his pet can’t keep herself from butting in. 

“You’ve been here too long, copikla,” Priest retorts. Orla barely feels the woman’s hand pass over her bump one last time. “Udesii. She’ll have a proper upbringing.” 

“Hut’uun.” She lunges lopsidedly, swinging for Priest’s unprotected head. She’ll pull hair, bash her head against the wall. Anything. All she can feel is rage. But Priest catches her arm easily, throwing it to the side. A mortified Dr. Loesch gestures for a tech outside the room. 

She’s screaming any profanity her frenzied brain can reach, arms held in a bruising grip by Taren, who’s valiantly trying to calm her down by whispering in her ear. She can’t take any more. Damn the consequences. She won’t go down without a fight. Priest and Saxon leave in a hurry, with fixed expressions of distaste, just as a tech arrives armed with a syringe. 

“Stay the kriff away from me,” Ori snarls.

He looks to Loesch, who nods, wearing an expression much like a supremely disappointed parent. Orla had just ruined his perfectly planned performance and was about to pay for it, that she knows from his face. She couldn’t just lie down and take it anymore. Not with the hope of rescue diminishing by the day and not with evidence of her fate right in front of her. 

Taren has loosened her grip, and with the departure of Saxon, reality is starts to trickle in. Her perfect prisoner act has finally broken, and most likely their plans for tracking down the stolen children. In the span of a minute she’d singlehandedly screwed them both over. The tech jabs her in the arm before she can squirm away. Whatever sedative they used is fast acting. She sags in Taren’s hold, muscles suddenly warm and lax. Her thoughts turn slow and fuzzy. Her mouth opens to protest, but she’s too sluggish to put up a fight - verbal or otherwise - as she’s laid on her cot. Blanket-like darkness presses over her and she can’t help but succumb to the weight of it. 

Taglist:

@fractiouskat @nelba @clonewarslover55 @leias-left-hair-bun @cherry-cokes-world

@passionofthesith @808tsuika @kesskirata @simping-for-fives

please let me know if I’ve forgotten you!!! I try and keep up my taglist but I suck at it

[intrepidmare]

MARE'S RECAPS ~ THE MANDALORIAN: CHAPTER 9 "THE MARSHALL"

Oh wow! It's been a while since I've done something like this. Last year, I caught up with season 1 about 2 days before the finale, so I didn't have the opportunity to write reviews/recaps. This season, though, I'm going to 😀 so here it is the first one! 

For the folks that haven't seen the premiere and don't want spoilers, scroll past this, fast and furious, because it's full of them. If you want to blacklist tags to avoid spoilers from me, I suggest that you add #mando spoilers, #the mandalorian season 2 spoilers, and #mare's mando recaps to the list.

I've seen the episode a few times (yeah, I'm that obsessed with the show) so some of my reactions are more visceral than others since I was too excited the few first times I watched it and I missed a lot of details (another reason to rewatch the episode more than once). This recap is loooooong, which is an indication of how amazing it was.

So this my final warning to those avoiding spoilers. Stop reading, right now. The rest of you… enjoy and let me know if you share some of my opinions. I'm always open to chat 😊

Chapter 9 ~ The Marshall

So it begins! It's so exciting!

I knew that Mando and baby Yoda walking in the street at night was going to be the opening scene. I started to think about it after watching the second trailer, and I'm glad that I was right.

It turns out that the red-eyed creatures were not jawas as I saw some people saying.

Baby Yoda was not happy with the little excursion to the fighting arena. Not walking on the streets nor inside watching the fight. I still laughed when he locked himself up in the pram, even if I've watched the trailer like a gazillion times by now and I knew he was going to do it.

And talking about the baby, he's getting more vocal I think. He's making a few new noises, whimpering more, which I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing. That he complains more means that he feels safe with his buir and isn't afraid of retaliation for it as he probably was with others in the past and the reason he didn't cry much in season 1. But it breaks my heart that he is stressed. And that child is anxious, I can tell you that much.

The fight with Gor Koresh's thugs was awesome! The gamorrean flying to squash Mando and failing had me cracking up. And omg! Din'd moves! Using his helmet as a weapon and throwing his vibroblade. And leaving Gor Koresh to be eaten! Man of his word, he didn't kill the guy.

On a side note, I would've never guessed it was John Leguizamo who gave voice to Koresh until I saw the credits. Of all the actors who could play the part, I never thought of him.

Umm, I'm curious about the time Mando has spent in Tatooine, which according to him it's been a lot and it makes sense since he knows so much about the Tuskens, their language and culture. I'm guessing he spent a while among them. He had to learn all that somehow. 

When I speculated that Mando was going back to Tatooine after watching the trailers, I said that I was going to riot if he didn't visit his favorite mechanic. Thankfully, I didn't need to worry. I loved Peli in episode 5 of season 1 and I loved her even more now remarking on Din's dislike of droids and trying to keep the baby for herself. Not to mention she complaining about not getting good help these days 🤣

And I ADORE the (improvised?) Birikad Din got for the baby. Of course, the baby is safer in the pram, right (guessing that's why he used it when he met Gor Koresh), but there's something sweet watching him carrying his son so close to him.

And I tell you, Mando has been spending credits lately in baby stuff. I mean, he got a new pram (which I initially thought it was the original that he had somehow retrieved from the garbage in Nevarro, but no, it's not the same, and neither it's the one that Kuiil made) and he also got the bag/birikad thing, which looks brand-new. I wonder what else he bought.

Watching the droids doing maintenance of the Razor Crest makes me think it's all for nothing, knowing that in a few episodes (it might be even in the next one) Mando is going to crash the ship. More than once perhaps.

😆 The baby still loves speed! I think riding on the speeder bike was the only moment that he truly enjoyed in this episode. Look at that happy face 

When they arrived at Mos Pelgo and Din went into the cantina, leaving the baby outside, I was like: Din! That's not responsible. How can you leave your son out in the inclement sun, alone! Then baby Yoda peeked in and I went: never mind. I take back what I said.

Oooh. Cobb Vanth! I love him! For a moment, I thought it could actually be Boba but it seemed illogical and that's what Mr. Feloni and Mr. Favreau wanted us to think. I was correct.

My gawd! Din's shock when Vanth took the helmet off. I just knew he would freak out the moment Cobb asked for drinks and I said to drink they need to remove their helmets and Mando is going to lose it when this guy does. And the standoff! Was so good! "Take it off or I will" is going to become a quite popular phrase in fics from now on, not in the same context, but yeah…

The krayt dragon… oh shit! Or rather Dank farrik! We can't see Mando's face or expression but I can imagine which one was when he saw the dragon eating the bantha the first time.

Oh my goodness. The baby hiding in the pot! Too adorable! 

I know every hardcore SW fan lost it watching Vanth modified speeder because is a callback to the Phantom Menace and Anakin but my first thought was: is he compensating for something? Sorry, I couldn't help it 

The dog-lizard creatures were kinda scary at first but then became adorable. Almost as much as baby Yoda getting out of hiding

Baby Yoda doesn't like dog-lizards things. He looked afraid to be eaten I think. Poor little guy.

And look at that! Din showing such growth! To think he was the one incensing others in negotiation 😆 this is a total callback to the jawas in Arvala-7. And I gotta tell you, Din freaking loves his flamethrower. He doesn't waste the opportunity to use it.

The krayt dragon eating the Tusken raider instead of the bantha was quite of a plot twist 😆

When they were planning the attack on the dragon, Cobb Vanth's face when Din told him that the bones and pebbles were to scale, and then when he had volunteered the villagers to help… priceless! 

I like the fact of banding together with others for a greater good, relying on others to accomplish something is going to continue being the theme of this season. It started last season but I think it's going to be stronger this time around along all of the episodes.

😳😲😳😲 this thing vomits acid?! What. The. FUCK?!!!

Cobb: I don't think it's dead

Mando: me neither

Me, at the same time as Din: yeah, nope it's not dead

Oh yeah! Teaming up with jetpacks!

When they showed the bantha with the remaining explosives my first thought was why didn't they use all those before?! That's why they didn't kill it!! Of course, it was just an excuse to grant Din a more grand win in the end, but you know, it's stupid not to use everything you have to kill the monster on the first try. Just saying

Wait, what? Din! What are you going to do? No! Taking care of the child is your responsibility, not Cobb Vanth's! I hate this plan of yours, Din Djarin!! Whichever it is!

Oh! Nice callback to the flaw on that jetpack. But makes me wonder, do all the rising Phoenixes have the same flaw? Cuz unless Din knows Boba in person and that it's his armor with that particular flaw, it means it's a common problem for all and I don't like it.

Get away, Din! Get away, Din!! FLY AWAY!! AAAAAAAHHHHHH! NOOOOOO! 

There he is! Damn, Mando! Don't scare me like that! Altho, it was a nice move.

Okay, but now I want someone to explain something to me. If the dragon's acid melted people at contact before, how the hell is Din so whole? I mean, sure for argument' sake let's say his beskar armor provides some protection, but he's not entirely covered in it. His cape and undersuit seem just fine, albeit sticky. Where's the logic in that?

The tuskens getting the pearl reminded me of the jawas and the mudhorn's egg, chanting zukka, zukka (or however egg is spelled in Jawa).

That's quite a piece of meat. The baby is going to be happy eating off it for days🤣

😮😮😳😳 BOBA FETT!!!!! Yesssssss!!

Okay, I've seen other people's thoughts and some think that Boba was after Cobb Vanth because he had the armor, but I don't know. If that was true then why he hadn't gone to Mos Pelgo and got it? It seems to me that it's more likely that Boba is following Din somehow because it's the second time in as many Mando's visits to the planet that they sort of cross paths. Could they know each other? Have some score to settle? It's possible. Din has spent much time on Tatooine -his words, not mine- so it wouldn't be so out of consideration that they actually know each other. That if Mando knows Boba is (fake?) Mando, I don't know. Probably not, but who knows?

Extra thoughts

I gotta say that Ludwig Göransson is killing it with the score music! Oh. My. God! So so so so good! I could tell from the trailers that it was going to be awesome this season but it astounded me in chapter 9. Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous! My favorite piece is when they're going to the dragon's cave to kill it. The orchestral sound of the already familiar music blew my mind!

[novembermurray]

Gentle Hands - Part II

Read on AO3

Rating: Teen (Some description of injury, death, and violence)

Pairing: Din x Omera

Summary: While working with Fennec Shand on a favor for Boba, she shares a sliver of her backstory with him. It sparks a memory of a similar tale he heard from anther woman... Maybe it really is a small galaxy after all.

(A continuation of my submission for Mandomera Week - previous part here!)

“I think that’s the last of them,” Fennec said, brushing blood and sand off her gloved hands and jumping down from the back of the pick-up speeder. Piled on the bed of the vehicle were the varied corpses of half a dozen slavers that— until a few hours ago— had been terrorizing the southern Dune Sea. 

Din looked around at the emptied camp around them, a handful of tents and scattered crates baking under the twin suns amid the endless sand, checking for any last body they might have overlooked. What Boba Fett wanted with the bodies of the criminals who defied his recently established rule, Din wasn’t sure and wasn’t inclined to ask. He’d come to Tatooine out of his early— and blissful— retirement as a favor to Fett, not to get involved. 

“On to the next location?” Din asked wearily. They’d already hit two, leaving two more to clear out before they met back up with Fett and Vanth at the Palace.

“In a moment,” Fennec replied. “First, come sit down over here.” 

She waved him over to a pile of crates where there was an open med kit strewn across a tattered blanket on the sand. Fennec started scavenging through it, ignoring the large wet red circle of sand right beside her knee. 

Din groaned and followed, plopping himself down on a crate beside Fennec.

“I saw your shoulder was bothering you still,” she said, gathering a few packages and a bottle of disinfectant. Her gaze flickered over towards his left shoulder where his flight suit was torn and a white bandage showed over the recently cauterized knife wound from the previous night.

“It’s fine,” Din said. 

“Sure. But Boba would feel bad if you lost an arm over this little favor. Let me have a look.”

Din’s incredulity must have shown in the tilt of his helmet or Fennec was telepathic because she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, really. I know a thing or two about first aid. Don’t live as long as I have in this business without it.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” Din said. 

“That’s the most personal detail you’ve ever shared with me,” Fennec said, somehow managing to make it sound mocking.

She sat on the other end of the crate and got to work pulling off the bandage without waiting for Din’s permission. He hissed at the relieved pressure and the heat of her gloves against the injury. He glanced over to see his skin beneath was an angry red around the cauterized line of the knife wound. 

“Yikes,” Fennec hissed. “That’s infected. I’ll probably have to cut it open and drain it.”

“Do what you need to do.”

“Predictably all the pain killers are gone from that pack,” she informed him.

“Had worse.”

“Figured. Hold still.”

Din pulled his own vibroblade out of his boot and handed it to her wordlessly. He tried not to grit his teeth too hard and gripped his knee with his right hand as he braced for the pain. Fennec was not a gentle nurse, that was for sure. But she was at least fast and efficient, slicing open the burned edges of the wound and diligently flushing it with antiseptic. Din was reminding himself how to breath and blinking back tears and spots of black from his eyes when Fennec ripped open the suture pack and started threading a hooked needle.

“Better not to burn it shut again in case the infection is deeper. I’ll bandage it up good and tight to keep the worst of the sand out till you’re back to the Palace.”

“I can do that,” He said, somewhat breathless. Fennec just smacked his hand out of the way. 

He turned so his HUD gave him a decent view of what she was doing on his arm. He’d long ago lost the nausea that came with seeing his own flesh pulled and pinched by needles and worse equipment. To his surprise Fennec was making neat and precise work of stitching the gash closed. 

“You’re pretty good at that.”

She made a huffing noise and pulled a rare wry smile. “My sister taught me. She’d be pretty exasperated to see what I’m putting those skills to use for now. She was trying to teach me to make baby clothing or something.” 

“I can’t imagine that,” Din said with a chuckle.

“‘Mera was that kind of person,” Fennec went on. “Always helping someone and always nagging  me.  She’d say ‘What are you gonna do when you’re too old and too slow, Fen?’ Know what I said? ‘I guess I’ll die.’” Fennec tied off the last stitch and snipped the thread. “But then I didn’t. Woke up with a stomach full of metal. Now…” She opened a sterile bandage pack and started wrapping Din’s arm. “I don’t know, maybe I do need a retirement plan after all. Seems to be working out well for  you .” 

“Certainly has its benefits.” Din said thinking of the cool Sorgan breezes, a nice bath to wash away the days of sweat and strong skillful hands rubbing tension from his shoulders. Something else was tickling at the back of his mind though, distracting him from his imaginings, a vague memory of a conversation… a name… a hint of a story…

“Oh yeah?” Fennec said, raising one eyebrow. “Want to help me win the bet I have with Boba? Tell me these  ‘benefits’ have a name, maybe a pretty face and a warm bed.”

Din sighed, more out of habit than actual exasperation. Every time he came to help Boba out Fennec would needle him about who he spent his off-time with. She didn’t say exactly what the bet was, but Din wasn’t gonna take away her amusement by giving her an easy answer.

“Alright.” Fennec stood up suddenly, grabbing her rifle from the sand. “Let’s get on with it before those corpses start to stink worse than they already do.”

“You know, you could try it out,” Din said, following her towards the speeder. 

“What?”

“Retirement. Come with me after this job, just for a week or two.” 

“You’re not serious,” Fennec said, looking back at him incredulously. 

“I am.”

Fennec turned around to stare him down straight on. “What? You’re gonna take me back to your love nest and introduce me to your lady friend?��� 

Din hesitated before answering simply, “yes.” He walked away before Fennec could recover her usual stoicism from the shock he left her in. 

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” She said, climbing into the speeder beside him. Din smiled under his helmet because he knew she was hooked. 

He set the Mudhorn down in the field just south of the village he had cleared for just this purpose. It was only large enough for his little star-hopper to land, close enough no one could make land-fall without alerting the village, but far enough away there would be time to prepare if anyone unfriendly used it. Fennec looked around the forest she could see out of the view port, then over at Din with an expression that said more succinctly than words: ‘Really? Here? Of all the places in the galaxy?’ Din suppressed his chuckles and headed down to get his bag from his bunk. 

His helmet’s audio sensors picked out the sound of running feet approaching before he saw the small figure darting through the trees down the path from the village. He picked up his pace ahead of Fennec down the boarding ramp and reached up to pull off his helmet. Behind him, Fennec’s steps faltered and halted. He thought he might have been able to hear her jaw dropping.

“Din-buir!” Winta squealed as she burst into the clearing at full tilt. 

“Win’ika” Din greeted her with a wide smile, stepping forward to scoop her up as her arms latched around his shoulders, heedless of the hard beskar pauldrons. She squeezed him just as hard as he squeezed her. “I missed you!” He said, running a hand over her dark hair. 

Winta pulled back and scrunched up her face with concentration. She tripped a little over the words of her reply in the unfamiliar language: “Ni briikase gar yaimpa.” (I’m glad you’re home.)

Din’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “Ori’jate, ad’ika. (Very good, little one.) Gar ru’cuyi hibira’la. You’ve been practicing.” He repeated the last phrase in basic for her. 

She grinned at him with pride, nodding. Then her eyes flickered over his shoulder and she leaned around in his arms to look at his guest. 

“Did you bring a friend?” She asked. 

“Not exactly,” Din replied, shifting her onto one of his hips for easier carrying, as she showed no intention of letting him go yet.

“Winta! What did I say about running ahead?” Omera’s voice called from the tree line. She jogged into the clearing looking slightly winded, but her anxious expression melted into joy seeing her daughter and husband.

“I knew it was buir’s ship,” Winta argued. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s…” Omera trailed off as her eyes too flickered from Din to the figure still standing frozen on the boarding ramp of the ship. Omera’s jaw fell lax and she took two slow, dazed steps forward. Fennec walked down the ramp at the same hesitant pace, her eyes locked on the other woman. 

“Fen?” Omera breathed her long lost sister’s nickname.

“Hey ‘Mera.” Fennec said, the clear lump in her throat ruining her usual casual demeanor. “I didn’t know—” 

Omera didn’t let Fennec finish, bounding across the space between them to envelope her sister in a tight embrace. Slowly and stiffly at first, Fennec’s arms came up to hold Omera back, then took a firm hold of the other woman’s rough spun dress and gripped her back just as tightly. 

“Come on,” Din whispered to Winta. “Let’s let your aunt catch up with your momma for a bit.” 

“Aunt? I have  another  aunt?” Winta asked. 

“I’ll tell you all about her,” Din offered, starting toward the path back to the house. Well, all the child appropriate parts at least, he amended silently. 

“She’s so cool looking,” Winta whispered against Din’s shoulder, unabashedly watching Fennec and her mother disappearing between the trees. “Is she more or less scary than Aunt Cara?”

Din chuckled and bounced Winta on his hip. He loved his daughter truely; she had her priorities straight. Winta didn’t question the existence of her new aunt, but skipped right ahead to the important questions.

“Like, who would win in a fight?”

[morganas-pendragons]

take us back | obi-wan

as soon as i got this ask, i couldn’t pass it up. i also woke up in a mood to write obi-wan because i actually wrote this exact prompt into a oneshot for my oc last night while listening to this song and yeah.. this happened. have fun! 

requested by: @kaminobiwan​ + connecting to his fake death in the rako hardeen arc 

the song used is the night we met by lord huron and the reader is the jedi!reader from the other obi fics i’ve written, so this is for a female reader :) screw canon 

tag: @dressed-up-heartbreak​ // @obiorbenkenobi​ // @anakinsahsoka​ 

obi-wan tag is open! if this angst sucks, blame (SPOILER) jesse for dying because i haven’t been able to angst well since tcw finale 

*** 

You only have one thought in your mind whenever you watch - in indescribably slow motion - the body fall from the rooftop in which Obi-Wan had chased the owner of the rogue bullet that had broken your quiet camaraderie with Anakin and Ahsoka. You’re almost naive and oblivious enough to miss the flash of auburn hair. 

I’m not fast enough, I’m not- 

  “Master!” Your grandpadawan cries your name from the shadows as you sharply turn the corner and come to an abrupt stop at the sight in front of you. Ahsoka Tano - your grandpadawan who is so close to your heart - has collapsed in the alleyway with Obi-Wan Kenobi cradled in her arms. He’s not moving. Not breathing. 

Your heart stops in your chest and you lose all ability to breathe. This isn’t the first time you’ve lost Obi-Wan Kenobi, oh no. Jabiim left a scar on both you and Anakin.

 “No, no.. you cannot leave. Not yet! Not yet! She-She needs you.” 

I am not the only traveler 

who has not repaid his debt 

This isn’t the first time you’ve felt helpless around him either. You’d long surrendered to the idea of loving him despite The Jedi Code years ago. That was why the wedding band hanging on the chain around your neck feels like it now carries the weight of the world. 

Your shoulders sag in defeat. 

i’ve been searching for a trail to follow again 

  “I need you.” 

You do need him, but you don’t have that luxury now. You lost him. He’s gone. 

Take me back to the night we met

***

You and Obi-Wan Kenobi met at the tender age of ten and twelve. Even though you’d grown up in the same créche as him and Aayla Secura, somehow The Force had kept the two of you apart until the most convenient moment where he’d been in the midst of fighting Bruck of all people, and you’d been the one who’d pulled him out of it. The calm to his storm. 

He had stuck close to you ever since. Your Force - the very essence of your soul that exuded light - was the thing that kept him grounded in the midst of all the suffering he’d endured since he was a child. Even after Siri and Xanatos and Naboo and all the death he faced.. Obi-Wan always came back to you.

And years later, you were always waiting. 

***

You weren’t waiting anymore. 

The funeral is as all Jedi funerals are. There is no mourning, no grieving, only expressionless masks of Jedi Masters and Knights as you and Anakin watch your husband and brother be put into the ground. You hate it. Despise it. Just the sight alone is enough to make her leave The Order and never look back.

But then Anakin would be alone, and Ahsoka would be helpless to look after him. You couldn’t do that.

He died and you weren’t there to save him.

Not to them.

His Padawan braid weighs heavily in your hand. One of the bands that had been attached to your own had been for kriffing force healing, for Makers sake, and you could’ve saved him from this had you just been faster. He’s dead. He’s dead, and you can’t mourn him because you have to focus on Anakin and Ahsoka, and Maker- Satine will not stop sobbing-

And then it hits you full force just as his body is lowered into the ground. Cody and the 212th are not aware that their father has just been buried. That their jettise is dead.

Your son will never forgive himself for it. Cody is just that type. Loyal to a fault, and guilty beyond comprehension when he feels as if he hasn’t performed his duty.

And his duty is always going to be to his jetti-buir.

 “Where are you going?” Anakin has the audacity to yell after the funeral is over, unaware of how closely he’s being watched, as his Former Master flees the room and moves towards the hangar where their speeder is waiting for you. “We need you here!”

A monster, born of repressed grief and rage over the circumstances in which you and Obi-Wan were in when he was lost to you again, flashes in your eyes and it’s enough to make Anakin wince and slowly back in the opposite direction.

 “i have a company of clones-“ You meanssons, and he knows that. “Who need my attention more then you do right now, Anakin. Go home.”

The Hero With No Fear has one fear in that moment as he watches his former Master walk away: It’s that he will lose you too.

***

“Why didn’t you save me? You were right there, we were together and happy and you were just.. useless.” 

I had all and then most of you 

Something that I never knew 

Your dreams are haunted by him. He’s everywhere. And the cruel thing is? He looks exactly the same as he has since you were both knighted. He looks like Obi-Wan - the very soul that yours was drawn to - and that stings because there’s nothing you want more in this world at the moment then the ability to just... hold him. Kiss him. Have him. 

Take me back to the night we met 

If you dwell on him any more then you already have, you will succumb to your desire to just slip away and be with him in the peace of eternity forever. The Cosmic Force sounds like bliss compared to the hell you endure every time you open your eyes and find yourself met with a cold bed and an even colder home. 

That doesn’t even begin to cover the broken force bond. Your skull thrums with the ache of the emptiness inside your mind - the spot where Obi-Wan used to occupy - and there comes a point where you’re in so much pain that you cannot move from your bed. 

He hovers over you while you sleep. Your dreams are not kind to you. They’re taunting. All the what-could’ve-beens that the two of you had not had the time to experience together. 

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you 

  “Take me back to the night we met.” You whisper. To who, no one knows, but you like to imagine that even in death, he’s waiting for you the way you spent so many years waiting for him. 

Your grief turns into an irrevocable numbness. You go for so long without social contact from anybody for fear they’ll unravel you. So long without feeling the love of your family in the Order that you start hallucinating him. He looks real, he feels real-

  “Kark you, Obi-Wan Kenobi! For dying and for leaving me alone and for not telling me you love me before you go!” You yell in the dead of night until your voice is hoarse and your fingers are clenched so tightly that they’ve begun going white, and part of you wonders if you stopped living and started existing when you watched his body fall from that rooftop. “Stop haunting me!” 

when the night was full of terror 

and your eyes were filled with tears 

You almost wish you hadn’t said it because as soon as you do, the apparition dissipates and you are alone. 

when you had not touched me yet 

The sound of your heart breaking in your hands is what lulls you to sleep. 

oh take me back to the night we met 

*** 

When you meet Rako Hardeen and he has Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eyes, you’re not sure if you want to kill him or kiss him. 

So while Anakin Skywalker goes supernova in his anger against his former Master for lying about his whereabouts and his mission for the Council, you bask in your silence by the cruiser that transported you and the clones to Naboo’s surface. You’re not sure what to say, if anything. You just want to look at him. 

It’s not until you’re safely ensconced in your quarters that you can act on touching him. 

  “Darling, I-” 

You hesitantly approach him, hand outstretched and eyes shining because you are so close to breaking - and then your fingers graze the skin of his collarbone and his knees buckle. 

  “You’re-” You swallow the knot in your throat as he winds his arm around your waist and presses your back to his front so he can bury your face in his hair. “You’re real.” 

You waited for him. 

  “I’m real.” He whispers in your ear. “And I’m never leaving you. Never again.” 

And he’d come back to you.