marierg

[marierg]

@acatalystrising MA DUUUUUUUUUUDE!!!!!

I finally finished this and HoOoOoOLY!

We thirst, we hunger, we CRAVE murderous tin can BF Boba! It's so friggin hot when he takes care of business and yet he's gentle with the reader. So well worth the savoring!!!!!

I love how this is a mature relationship, like the thoughtfulness and care. He takes care of the animals, he notices the little things, the clear communication. WE LOVE US A MAN OF DETAILS!!!

Favorite snippet:

“Is my little princess struggling for her words?” Boba made a tisking noise, his other hand hooking your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his hidden one. “Poor thing.”

Kriffing hell.

The man knew what he was doing to you. There was no doubt. You swallowed hard, all too aware of his closeness, heat coiling between your legs. Your current position reminded you of the last time you were in his lap, held in his clutches, desperate and wanting. You remembered his promises all too well - and you also knew he was a man of his word.

(Me in a puddle on the floor) Excuse me... I'll have what she's having!!!

Sooooo worth the wait, I'm sorry for the delayed response but I hope this makes up for it! can't wait for the next part!

At long last, I am returning with chapter seven of Moth to a Flame! I always wanted to dive back into this story, and I’m happy to say I am already writing chapter eight as we speak! It’s gonna be a good one hehehe. This is still one of my favorite series I’ve written, and I want to finish it as strong as it began. It’s a chunkier chapter, partially to make up for my absence, I hope you all enjoy!

TW: healing from injuries, cannon typical violence, minor character death, mentions of trauma (alluded PTSD), fluff, teasing, foreplay, dom Boba, sub reader.

Also, here’s the link to the masterlist in case you want to re-read the previous chapters to catch up!

Moth to a Flame Chapter Seven

For once, you awoke from a dreamless slumber.

No nightmares jarring you awake with a pounding heart. No bloodied images burning the back of your mind. You felt nearly at peace emerging from sleep…but upon opening your eyes, you yet again found yourself in a strange room.

Except this time, the bed was incredibly soft.

It was much plusher than your own, a luxury you never had afforded. Despite your immediate instinct to panic, your surroundings were strangely welcoming. Peaceful, even. It felt like a dream. A night and day difference from the sterilized durasteel walls of the Imperial shuttle you’d been trapped in.

Clay, earthen walls greeted you instead, framed by shimmering silken curtains that caught in the desert breeze, curling through the air with a delicate grace that drastically contrasted the harshness of Tatooine. Warm notes of sandalwood and amber filled the air, reminding you of Boba’s scent. The suns hung midway in the sky, the blistering afternoon heat appearing to set them even further aflame.

Tatooine. You were back.

Relief blossomed in your chest, and you relaxed, uncurling your fists and taking a deep breath. Your body was stiff, sore from your ordeal, but you’d honestly expected so much worse. A part of you had assumed that you would die in that shuttle by Sterling’s hand. Fate however, clearly had different plans.

Somehow, Boba had found you, and had brought you back home.

Home…

“Let’s go home.”

You remembered what he’d said before he’d carried you away from the ghosts of your past. He must have taken you to the palace. The architecture spoke of wealth and prestige, something you rarely saw in the Outer Rim. Oddly, you felt no fear at the prospect, but it did leave you with a question.

What would your future look like now?

Your gaze wandered the expansive room, lingering on a large bacta tank near the center, before sweeping to the other side of the bed…finding Boba Fett sitting in a chair across from you, fast asleep.

He was still donned in his armor, and his helmet sat at his feet - allowing you to make a most profound realization.

The Daimyo of Tatooine looked absolutely breathtaking when he finally rested.

The hard planes of his face were somehow softer, lips in less of a frown, brows not so heavily furled. His scars were the same, not that such a thing could ever bother you - considering that you found them striking - but there was a softness to him that you hadn’t seen when he was awake. Granted, you couldn’t call it peaceful. You saw the tension in his jaw, the way his eyelids were pressed shut, in the subconscious twitch of his lip. You wagered he’d wake at the softest sound, the life of a hunter never forgotten.

You wanted to help him find peace, if such a thing were even possible. That was, if he still wanted you.

Would he try to push you away after what happened? You remembered the hesitation that flooded his gaze once the ferocity left, leaving a fearful pause in its wake. He’d been afraid…afraid you’d fear him. That you’d no longer love him.

But did he actually know you loved him?

Did he know that when he killed to defend you, he was bringing your abuser to justice? Did he realize exactly how much that meant to you? He’d protected you, defended your honor, and ensured you’d never be touched by that vile man again. In a way, Boba had freed you from the last connections to your past, allowing you to finally forge a new future.

You had to tell him.

You shifted, turning to your side with a grimace so you were facing him, the covers rustling over you as you did so. Surely that would be enough…

Boba’s eyes snapped open, immediately finding yours.

Relief blossomed in his amber gaze, followed by a warmth that made your heart sing. There was undeniable love there - you saw it. Felt it in the way he looked at you. Devotion too, something that was entirely foreign to you. It made the warmth in your chest rise to a near blaze, the desire to voice your thoughts all the more urgent. When he spoke your name, it was a mere whisper, near reverent.

“Mesh’la,” his voice was lacking the usual roughness, instead it was soft, hesitant, as if he was awaiting your reaction. “You’re safe…”

“Boba,” you tried to speak, wincing when a sharp pain jabbed down your throat. Confusion flooded your chest, and you frowned, trying your best to push through it, determination driving every syllable. “I…”

“Careful, little one,” he swiftly stood, moving to your side, the hesitation seemingly gone. His dark brows lowered, concentration and concern flickering in his gaze. “The bacta is still healing your wounds. Should recover soon.”

In any other situation, seeing him looming over you, donned in full armor, while you were lying in bed, would have been a major turn on. It still was, you noted, not ignorant of the heat that crept up your neck and to your cheeks. But your injuries…exactly how badly wounded were you?

You lifted a tentative hand to your neck, feeling the bandages wrapped over your skin. They were fresh, keeping the bacta flush with your skin, letting it do its healing work. Oh, that was right…you’d yet again been subjected to those hellish Imperial devices…you closed your eyes, swallowing hard. Images of the sterile, soulless rooms and pale walls sent a shudder down your spine, but you shook your head, reminding yourself that you weren’t there. That you’d never be there again.

“Easy there,” a thumb brushed your cheek, and you opened your eyes, finding Boba’s gaze on you, a concerned but caring softness waiting. You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his fingers grounding you to this new reality. “They won’t hurt you ever again. I promise.”

You nodded, a sigh rushing from your lips when his thumb caressed your jaw. The simple gesture nearly moved you to tears - the same hands that spilled blood and ended lives now cradled you with more gentleness than you’d ever known.

“My brave, sweet girl.” He watched you with unbridled admiration, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, eyes never looking away. You leaned into him, a hand hooking to his chest plate, wanting to feel him close.

“This alright?” His words rumbled through you as much as you heard them, and you nodded, clinging to him tighter. He chuckled when you shifted as much as your pain would allow, your head resting in his lap. He raised a knee to prop you up against, and you relaxed against his solid frame.

“I…” you swallowed, taking a deep breath. He fell silent, waiting, giving you all the space you needed to speak. It was refreshing, to have someone be patient. To give you all the time in the world. “I need…to tell you something.”

The briefest hint of a shadow passed through his gaze, so fast you might not have seen it, had you not been paying attention. But you always did, just as much as he.

Was he afraid you’d reject him?

Despite whatever fears were running through his mind, he simply nodded, remaining silent, still waiting. Perhaps he felt it was best this way, to allow you the space and freedom to let him down easy. But that was exactly the opposite of the truth.

“You’ve…been more than I’ve ever known. Protected me. Saved me. You’re,” you softly cleared your throat, and he lifted a glass of water to your hands. You gratefully drank, handing it back to him once you’d finished. “Everything I’ve ever dreamed for, but never thought I’d find. I…love you, Boba. I’ve been afraid. Afraid you wouldn’t feel the same, but…I’m not afraid anymore.”

Boba’s entire expression shifted from one of worry and masked apprehension to shock, then elation. His brows lifted, plush lips parting ever so slightly. Maker, he looked divine. You’d never wanted to kiss him more than now, in this moment.

“You…really mean that?” There it was, the rough gravel in his tone, soothing your nerves and sending warmth to your very bones.

“I do,” you smiled up at him, hoping he felt your sincerity in every word. “I mean it with all my heart.”

“Oh, sweet girl, that’s good,” his voice grew even huskier as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his warm breath washing over your skin. “Because I love you too. Don’t ever wanna let you go.”

“I’m yours, Boba,” your blinked back tears, happy ones, for once, craving his presence, his closeness. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Ad’ika, I’m forever yours,” he pressed another kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, making his way closer to your lips. “Thought I’d lost you.”

“I knew you’d find me,” you gasped when he pressed a kiss to your pulse point. “I always believed…”

“Of course I’d find you, babygirl,” he kissed your jawline, resuming his journey to your lips. “Always will.”

When he kissed you, it was slow, reverent, all encompassing. You leaned into the kiss, breath snagged from your chest as he took control, cradling your head in his hands. He deepened the kiss, and it became more hungry, nearly desperate, as if he was showing you all of what he wanted to say. His fingers loosely gripped your hair, careful to mind your injuries, leaning even closer to gently hold you against him.

When you both finally parted, you were a panting mess, heart pounding, eyes wide. Damn, you’d missed him.

He went to shift away, and you whimpered, too desperate for his closeness to be ashamed. He chuckled, looking down at you with a smirk and a raised brow.

“Boba, I need-“

“Rest.” His tone grew firm, still layered with fondness, the twinkle in his eyes never dimming. “You need rest. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

You couldn’t help but love the subtle dominance in his words and actions, the comforting yet solid way he guided you. The promise of the future, a future you’d never known was possible. It was new, so different from what you’d known, but kriff, you loved it. So, you simply nodded, trying your best to save your voice.

“Good girl,” his rumbled praise sent heat spiraling to your core, and you swallowed, gripping him tighter.

Good girl.

Kriffing Maker above, that was hot. And here he was telling you to rest? A furious blush crept to your cheeks, and you knew he saw. Could tell by the gleam in his eyes that clearly showed he did indeed notice, and absolutely was cataloging that information for the future.

“Can you…” you took a breath, finding yourself wishing you could will your body to heal by sheer determination alone. “Can you lay with me? I want…”

“I’ll hold you, little one,” he chuckled, giving you another kiss. “Gotta take this armor off, okay?”

You nodded, and he helped you shift back so your head was resting on the pillow again. You watched as he removed every piece of beskar, mesmerized as the man emerged from the shield that protected him from the world. It was an intimate experience, knowing that he felt safe enough with you to do so, a treasure you’d never take for granted.

When he settled under the covers beside you, the bed depressing from his weight, you snuggled closer, unashamed of seeking out his presence. You were rewarded by another warm chuckle, so very close to you, as his strong arms wrapped around your body, holding you close to his broad chest.

“I love you, ad’ika,” his voice was soft behind you, his fingers gently caressing you, lulling you to sleep. “Always.”

“I love you too,” you snuggled closer against him, and his arms held you just a bit tighter, as much as your injuries would allow. “So, so much.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling so warm, so safe, it nearly brought you to tears.

You were finally, at long last, home.

-

“You sure that thing isn’t gonna bite your fingers off?”

You glanced up from the nexu cub splayed in your lap at Fennec, who leaned against your kitchen counter. What was it with these bounty hunters lounging against your furniture? Not that you truthfully were complaining.

“She’s trained, don’t worry.” You shot at smirk at the assassin, gesturing at the ball of fur and teeth currently trying to steal your new necklace. “Didn’t take you for a cat hater, Fen.”

“I don’t hate cats.” She smirked, leaning against the wall with a sigh. “I hate getting bitten. Or scratched. Not my thing.”

You were about to issue a reply when a new voice interjected from behind Fennec.

“Discussing preferences, hmm? Stars help me if you two have already descended to ‘girl talk’.”

Boba’s familiar rasp made your heart leap, and you couldn’t wipe the dumb smile from your face when he stepped around Fennec, helmet tucked at his side. His eyes found yours, a playful gleam twinkling there, and you dipped your head in a blush.

“Well now that you’re back, I’ll leave the ‘babysitting’ to you.” Fennec headed toward the door, shooting a smile back at you. “Don’t get captured again, you still owe me a drink. And you’d better visit that rancor, he misses you like crazy.”

You laughed as she exited, gaze shifting back to Boba in all his armored glory. Damn, he looked so good in his beskar. You’d never get enough of it. The sheer power he exuded alone was enough to make your head spin.

“Glad you’re still in one piece, princess,” he allowed a smile to curve his lips, before turning his gaze to sweep your living room. “Though I would prefer for everyone to be at the palace.”

Oh, you knew what he was implying. Boba had been so focused on your recovery as of late, that ensuring you were rested and healing was his priority. His protectiveness simply made your heart melt.

“Don’t worry, Fennec’s been the best body guard. I will, I just have to get them ready for the trip,” you scratched the nexu’s chin, grinning when she purred and leaned into your touch. “Not to worry. I’ll have everything packed and-“

Boba chuckled with a distinctly dark cadence, stepping forward until he was towering over your seated figure.

“Don’t play coy with me, little one, you’re not moving anything.” He met your gaze with a gentle, yet firm, smile. “You need your rest. I’ll oversee the transportation myself.”

Healing, it turned out, took an agonizingly long time when all you wanted to do was to feel Boba’s hands on you.

It was nearly shameful, you thought, how often your mind locked on every lingering glance, every touch, every word spoken softly in the dark. It was enough to drive someone mad.

“Of course, my daimyo,” you made a dramatic show of a bow, as much as you could in your seated position, grateful you’d healed enough for the motion. You even dared to shoot him a wink. “I won’t move a muscle.”

“Don’t be a brat,” a sharp smile curved the corner of his lip, something altogether dangerous darkening his gaze. “Be a good girl and you’ll be rewarded.”

There it was again.

Ever since he learned how much those two words affected you, he’d slip them into conversation when applicable, which just happened to be frequent enough to keep you in a constant state of desperation.

But judging by the sharpness of his expression, those amber eyes locked on you like a Vratixan blood eagle’s, there’d be no loophole in his orders. At the end of the day, he was the daimyo. The master hunter. And while you trusted him with your very breath, you never could forget who he was. Who he always would be. The deadliest and most powerful man, the stars at his fingertips - soft only for you.

And you were happily in his clutches.

“I…yes, sir,” you were nearly breathless when you finally spoke, dipping your head into the nexu’s fur in an attempt to mask your burning cheeks. “I’ll rest. I’m finally starting to feel more like myself again.”

“So my princess does have manners.” Boba knelt before you, a gloved hand reaching forward and lifting your chin to meet his probing gaze, grip gentle yet firm. “Good. Let’s get you back home. I’ll handle everything here.”

Home.

You were still getting used to that word. Because in truth, the home Boba spoke of wasn’t simply a new place you lived, but a person in which you felt at peace.

Boba had, in so many ways, proven your doubts and fears wrong time after time. He made a choice that none before him ever could.

He chose to stay.

-

“It’s only been a week, and you’re already bouncing off the walls.” Fennec lounged on one of Boba’s chairs, feet kicked up. She honestly looked a tad ridiculous, but you kept that thought to yourself…for now. “I don’t know how he managed to keep you bedridden for five days.”

You thought back to all of the tender moments, the concerned glances, the sweet words and care Boba had extended to you, and smiled.

It was both strange and sweet, really, to have someone of his strength and reputation doting over you. But you didn’t mind, the attention wasn’t unwelcome, merely something you were learning to accept. And ever since you both had admitted your feelings, there had certainly been a shift between you.

You thought he’d flirted and shown interest plenty before, but now?

There was a certain softness, yet protectiveness, dare you say possessiveness, in his words and deeds that simply made you swoon.

He held you every night, and caressed you every morning when you awoke.

“I gave him a run for his money, don’t worry.” You smirked and ran your fingers through your hair, noting with a smirk that it finally had regained its healthy sheen. “But he was insistent, as always. You know how he is.”

“Don’t I.” Fennec smirked and shot you a wink. You couldn’t help but smile. “Someone’s been getting her beauty sleep.”

You gazed at your reflection on the mirror, and smoothed a wrinkle on the flattering dress, a gift he’d bought you that had caught your eye. Black with curling dark green vines, it would match his armor perfectly. You did a quick spin, and couldn’t help but smile.

You looked stronger now. Healthier, more glow to your cheeks and life in your eyes. The bacta patches were gone, and even though there were fresh scars overlapping with your previous ones, the wounds were finally healed. You felt pretty in the dress, and despite the fact that your profession rarely called for them, it was a welcome change.

Boba had ensured your animals were given the upmost care, tended to by his best. You couldn’t wait to see them again, but for now, as you were just getting back on your feet, you allowed a moment to breathe.

“Something like that,” you turned to face her, finally feeling ready. Your rest had paid off, but you didn’t want to sit around any longer.

“I take it you want to see him?” Fennec stood, slinging her rifle over her shoulder.

“I would,” you smirked at her, inwardly relived you both got along so well. “I assume he’s working?”

“He’s holding court,” Fennec turned to usher you out, glancing back at you with a grin. “Don’t worry, your visit would make his day.”

-

The throne room was so crowded you nearly second guessed entering, panic locking your steps, but Fennec would hear none of it, confidently walking forward like she owned the place.

You both slipped through the back entrance to avoid the majority of the throng, and for safety measures of course, silent as Boba’s voice carried through the cavernous space.

You didn’t see him yet, only the stone back of the throne, but you could observe the bounty hunter standing before him. The man was thin and sheepish looking. Young. Even from your distance, you could tell he was angrily trying to make an appeal to the daimyo.

But that wasn’t what caught your attention.

Growing up, you’d heard horrific stories of Jabba’s palace. Tales of cruelty and debauchery that far surpassed any reason. Every local knew these stories, were warned that entering that throne room meant death. And sometimes…a fate far worse. Anxiety corded its way up your throat as you felt eyes falling upon you, and you folded your arms in front of your chest, immediately regretting your choice of clothing.

Fennec seemed to pay this no mind, gesturing for you to follow.

You did so, a slight tremor in your step, as you both slid to the far wall. Despite your residual fear, you reminded yourself that Jabba did not hold power now - Boba did. And you knew your lover would protect you, no matter what. You also were with Fennec, and fully capable of defending yourself. You would be alright. You took a deep breath and walked with confidence, head held high, gaze sweeping the room.

As you both made your way to the back, where you’d be out of the crowd’s sight, the man spoke, thin voice rattling against the stone walls.

“Who gave you the right, oh ‘mighty’ daimyo, to tell us what to do?” The bounty hunter was enraged, face flushed, hand dripping to his blaster. “You’re out of your prime, old man. Plenty of us could take you down. What gives you the right to rule over us?”

The room fell so deathly silent, one could hear a pin drop, tension hovering in the air. Your gaze was finally pulled to Boba, as if gravity itself demanded your rapt attention.

You swore to the stars your knees all but gave out on the spot. Cheeks furiously burning, you leaned your weight against the wall, eyes glued to the green armored man who held his court like a king.

You’d never seen such power on display.

Boba Fett sat upon the carved throne with a regal countenance and equally a relaxed confidence - sprawled like the very world was his footstool. His relaxed posture didn’t fool you, though, you knew he was too tactful. Too calculating. And right now, his T-visored helm was focused on the lesser hunter before him, the angle harsh and predatory, torchlight flaring on the beskar like shattered glass.

Your gaze dropped to his spread thighs, and altogether improper thoughts flooded your mind. You blinked, biting your bottom lip, heat settling between your legs as he shifted, muscles rippling underneath beskar and cloth, fingers tapping a steady cadence on the throne’s armrest.

Kriffing hells, that had no right being so hot.

Movement next to you broke your concentration, and you frowned as Fennec lifted her rifle’s scope to her eye.

“We should be able to hunt who we want. Sell spice if we please.” The hunter was still going, clearly unaware that he was spelling his doom. “And I-“

“Take it, then.” Boba’s voice rolled like the thunder before a devastating storm. His helm tilted to the left, and he raised a gloved hand, gesturing at the throne. “Think you’re worthy? See where it gets you.”

The man finally fell silent, fidgeting in place, hand dangerously close to his blaster. But he didn’t attack. You swore you saw the hunter’s face turn several shades paler when Boba unholstered one of his own blasters…laying it on the seat beside him.

The younger man still did nothing but gape, clearly expecting a trap, unsure of what to do.

“Admit your bluff. Walk away.” Boba still hadn’t moved, a nearly amused tone lilting in his voice. “And I’ll let you off with a warning.”

You knew that tone. The predator toying with his prey, giving him one final chance. It was hot. It wasn’t fair. But you weren’t so mindlessly turned on to not drop your hand to your own weapon, just in case.

The movement happened so fast you didn’t have the time to blink.

One second the man was lunging for the throne, blaster pointed at Boba…the next, he was dead before he struck the ground, a hole charred between his eyes.

Smoke curled from the barrel of Boba’s second blaster, wafting about him as he leaned back against the throne.

“Anyone else?”

Heads shook, feet shuffled away, and murmurs of shock rippled through the crowd. Not a single soul dared to raise another challenge. You watched him, unable to stop the smile from creeping to your face, as a pride for your daimyo filled your chest.

The dualities of Boba Fett were a myriad.

His helmet flicked toward you, and you felt as if your breath was caught in your throat. You were captured in his gaze, the weight of it nearly pinning you to the wall from the intensity you knew was burning in the eyes hidden behind the beskar.

“Good. As long as I am daimyo, spice has no place here.” He jerked his helmet toward the exit, gesturing at the crowd. “You’re all dismissed.”

The crowd quickly dispersed, needing no further bidding. They exited with whispers and silence, and soon, you and Fennec were the only two who remained.

“Fennec. Ensure everyone leaves the gates.” Boba hadn’t moved, still seated on the throne in all his glory. “I’ll not be disturbed.”

“Got it, boss.” Fennec needed no further bidding, shooting you a wink before lurking off into the darkness.

Silence fell so heavy, the tension so thick, you could’ve cut it with a vibroblade.

Boba was still watching you, helmet tilted slightly to the side, fingers ever so patiently tapping his thigh. You swallowed, transfixed under his gaze, nearly holding your breath with anticipation.

“Come here, little one.” His voiced rumbled through you, sending shivers down your spine. “No more hiding in the shadows.”

Your body moved to obey before your mind could fully catch up, heart hammering in your chest as you crossed the sandy floor, approaching your king. You stopped before the throne, toes bumping against the steps, regarding him with unbridled awe - dryly swallowing when he shifted his thighs further apart.

“I’ll not be kept waiting, mesh’la.” Boba patted his thigh, a teasing tone rolling through his voice. “Be a good girl.”

Kriff. You wanted nothing more than to be just that here, in this moment. You ascended the steps, gaze locked on his, furiously flushing when his hand rested against your hips, guiding you onto his lap.

“Isn’t that better, princess?” His voice was impossibly husky in your ear, rasping through the vocoder of the helmet he still donned. “Sure look like one in this dress.”

If you weren’t blushing enough before, you surely were now, pressed flush against him, dress riding far too high to be appropriate, his praise ringing in your ears.

“I…thank you, Boba,” you dared to lean forward, pressing a kiss to his visor. “I missed you.”

The way the man audibly growled at your gesture made your knees go weak. He caressed your back with effortless gentleness, even as he held you tight.

“Didn’t want to scare you. But,” he shook his head, a sigh crackling through the vocoder. “Can’t afford another coup attempt.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Trust me. Scared is not how that makes me feel.”

Boba stilled beneath you, and your eyes immediately widened.

Shit, karking dammit.

You hadn’t meant to say the last part aloud.

“And how does it make you feel, ad’ika?” His hand roved from your back to your side, then settling at your hip. “You can tell me.”

“I…” you dipped your head toward his armored chest, cheeks furiously burning. “I mean…”

“Is my little princess struggling for her words?” Boba made a tisking noise, his other hand hooking your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his hidden one. “Poor thing.”

Kriffing hell.

The man knew what he was doing to you. There was no doubt. You swallowed hard, all too aware of his closeness, heat coiling between your legs. Your current position reminded you of the last time you were in his lap, held in his clutches, desperate and wanting. You remembered his promises all too well - and you also knew he was a man of his word.

“Gods, Boba,” you knew your face was redder than the blood red accents of his armor, and given his hold on you, you only flushed further. “I…need you. Please. I’ve been good. I’ve been healing, I-“

“Easy there, little one,” Boba’s voice was surprisingly reassuring as his thumb caressed his cheek. “I’ll give you want you want. But first, I need to know.”

Know what? You frowned ever so slightly, but remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Boba lifted a hand to his helmet and swiftly removed it, revealing the absolutely dark and hungry amber gaze you knew it was masking all along. You felt nearly boneless, even though he hadn’t done anything…yet.

“Are you ready to take this step with me? No shame if you need more time.” Boba’s face locked on you in complete seriousness, gauging your reaction. “There’s no wrong answer. Want to ensure you’re safe.”

Oh, if your heart could melt any further than it already had for him, it would. Tears risked welling in your eyes so you blinked them away, leaning into his embrace.

“Boba, you make me feel safe. I’ve never loved anyone the way I do you.” You let his gaze, lips hovering oh so close to his, as he watched you with rapt attention and a masterfully restrained hunger. “I want this. With you. You alone.”

“I’m not like those boys who couldn’t handle you, mesh’la,” his hand cupped your face, fingers gently caressing your cheek. “My love is a hunger.”

Oh, you knew. You knew exactly what you signed up for. You couldn’t help but grin.

“Then I’ll be consumed.” You bravely met his gaze, quirking a smile. “I can’t think of a better fate.”

Something altogether wild flashed in his eyes, both a warning sign and a lighthouse beacon all at once. His teeth flashed in the dark like fangs, gaze gentle but commanding as a smile curved his plush lips.

“So be it.”

You whimpered, unable to stop yourself from crashing your lips against his. You were so overcome with love, adoration, and lust all at once - demanding for you to take the initiative.

Boba let you, returning your kiss with a sly grin. He allowed you to lead. For a moment. But then you felt his gloved hand wrap around your throat, just firmly enough to hold you in place. He tilted your chin up and took over - not rough. Not violent.

Just final.

Like a king reclaiming his rightful throne. The king you always knew he was.

Your Boba.

Taglist:

@dotyoureyez @pickleprickle @maybege @die-herzlos-engel @mxkyrie @ceapa-mica @bobathirstaccount @deewithani @justarandomfamdomblog @tortor-mcgee @marierg @buzzing-honeybee @ya-boi-v @anthrogothic @yes-i-do-the-arts

[marierg]

Ms. Prickle.... My fellow thirsty Obi (and Boba) Girlie....

THIS WAS AMAZING!!!! (Thot's below)

Oh the forced proximity for warmth turned snuggles turned pure SMUT! You have crawled into my depraved little mind and placed this lovely scenario on paper (so to speak) and I adore you for it!

it's difficult to pick a favorite passage HOWEVER!

The pale blue light blurred the lines around his eyes and seemed to lighten whatever weight he carried. You wanted so badly to trace every line and get lost in those haunted blue eyes, hoping that they’d seen much love and laughter in the before times. 

So you did. You gently cupped his cheek, thumb feathering those lines at his temple. He closed his eyes and deeply exhaled as if he’d been holding that breath for his entire life. When Ben’s eyes opened again there was something else there: a sliver of joy.  

“You are an unexpected problem, darling,” he murmured. 

MAKING ME FEEL FEELINGS?! How dare you.... Do it again!!! Because yes we need to love on this poor depressed man a fook a smile back on his face! but the TENDERNESS!!!!

I look forward to the next chapter and I salute you

True Librarian: Part 2

In part one, Obi-Wan and our Rogue Librarian Reader took shelter in a cold, draft barn with only one blanket between them. This chapter is mostly smut with a little about why Obi-Wan is looking for a library. So, some plot if you squint.

Pairing: Post Order 66 Obi-Wan x reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: unprotected p in v, smutty smut smut

Part One

This was going to happen no matter what.

“I don’t know your name.”

The two of you had quickly huddled together under a thin blanket and behind a few hay bales that formed a barrier against the chill breeze that seeped through the walls. Spooning would have been more efficient to keep warm but after last night, it seemed safer to face one another, hands clasped, rather than laying back to front, grinding against one another and groping over clothing. However, the chill was unrelenting and your bodies again drifted as close as possible. Knees touching. Hips dangerously pressed together. His face was only inches away, and for the first time his blue eyes could be seen clearly. Bright as a jeweled moon and deep as a summer sky. Lines feathered around them and you chose to believe they were carved from a previous life of good friends and laughter and not from whatever had brought him here. 

He was already hardening and your panties were already soaked with slick. You’d lived anonymously for these last years and until him had barely been touched since that fateful day fleeing the library. You were so desperate for connection and although you were going to fuck him regardless, the part that of you that kept trying to hope needed to know the slightest bit of his identity. His thumb brushed your lips. 

“My name is Ben.”

With that single word, floodgates opened and you were on each other in a carnal need to feel. Ben grasped your thigh and pulled your leg to hook over his. Your hand slipped under his tunic, scraping the taut muscles of his back. All the while your mouths clashed in sloppy kisses that couldn’t quite find each other. His hand clumsily unfastened your pants and pulled them down to mid-thigh, fingers digging in. You pulled the tunic up to his shoulders with the intent of taking it off, but at that moment a gust of icy wind breeched the rickety barn walls and the hay bale shelter, violently cold against bare skin. You pulled the shirt back down to shield him.

—-

From the moment he’d lay down next to her in the straw, Obi-Wan knew this was going to happen no matter what and did not fight it. Even the icy wind stabbing at his bare back was not going to stop it. This shared need had taken on a life of its own. 

She bit his lip at a particularly sharp gust as her body tensed against it. Obi-Wan’s fingers dug harder into her bare ass, pulling her closer against his erection. The hand that had been grasping his bare back went to the waistband of his pants, roughly unfastening them and shoving them down just enough to free his cock. He let out a whimper when she took him in hand, thumb circling the head, smearing pre-cum. 

Abruptly, she pushed him away and herself up, bending over a hay bale. A single glance over her shoulder, eyes desperately pleading. Obi-Wan pushed his weeping cock between her thighs moving back and forth against her slit, barely hearing her breathy moans at the touch. He leaned forward and rested his weight on top of her, pinning each of her wrists. He went motionless, muscles tensely coiled and not due to the cold. There was a beast held back. Not one malevolent. A beast that had gone to sleep against its own will had been stirred and needed. Needed connection and release and all of the other things it had been denied by the Empire.

The beast needed to savage you. The way she pushed her bare ass against him said she wanted to be savaged. 

“Do whatever you want, Ben.”

—

Fingers dug into your hips when he shoved in all at once, stilling at the sound of your yelp. Ben caressed your hips while you adjusted to being so full of him. When you looked over your shoulder and nodded, he pulled nearly all the way out and slammed forward. 

“Don’t hold back,” you panted. “I can— I want to take it.”

Ben practically growled and began relentlessly hammering at your hole. You gasped with each rough thrust, hands scraped by the hay 

Abruptly, he released your hips and fell forward, holding you down with his full weight for a moment before taking you back to the ground, still fucking you from behind. One hand clawed at your breast, the other at your bud. His thrusts became frantic. He bit your nape as he came with a feral moan, continuing to roughly caress your clit against his hand until the orgasm ripped from your throat.

Breath heaving, he withdrew and fell on his back, pulling his pants up. You did the same. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah. I needed that,” you replied. “You ok?”

“Yes. Wide awake, though.”

“Same.” You gazed at him entirely too long as he absently pushed his hair away from his face. Your eyes travelled down to the tuft of chest hair that peeked from his tunic, wondering what it would feel like to clutch it in your fingers. 

“How about you tell me what you’re looking for, Ben. Maybe I can help."

*

They’d retreated to the hayloft where it was less drafty and slightly warmer. 

Obi-Wan listened intently as she irresponsibly spoke of her past as a librarian and efforts to preserve anything that could be found. He couldn’t help but notice that her eyes brightened with fervent hope. Or how one lock of hair kept falling into her eyes and she absently tucked it behind her ear only for it to happen again. Or how her eyes met his then quickly scampered away. Or how they were laying nearly pressed together, facing one another. 

He most certainly couldn’t help but notice that his cock was twitching again at her close warmth. 

“So, what are you after, Ben?” Her fingers traced circles on his shoulder. 

“My nephew’s uncle has contracted a rare, often fatal, illness. This planet was the closest with libraries. I hope to find a remedy. The boy needs him.”

“Your nephew’s uncle? Wouldn’t that make this man your brother?” 

You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you! Those words so often echoed in his dreams. 

“He. . . I—“ Obi-Wan let out a deep sigh, reluctant to say the truth. “Yes.”

“Weird way of putting it.” 

Her hand went to her jaw and mouth as she considered. It was charming, the way her brow slightly furrowed in thought. Obi-Wan internally chucked. So that’s how I look when I do that. No wonder Maul was so obsessed with me.  

“I lo—“ He looked askance, fiddling with the straw, trying not to want what he wanted with her. “I love him. And I must try to find anything.”

After a long silence, she nodded. 

*

“Ok. I’ll help you help the kid’s dad or whatever you wanna call him.” Your hand stilled on his shoulder. 

Could he be trusted? Did it even matter? What was the point of keeping the head librarian’s mission if all that knowledge and beauty stayed on data sticks in your pack if there were no means for people to check them out or at least browse? 

Take what you have and run. The head librarian’s words were frequently in your dreams along with It’s Story Time and you’re late. The younglings are waiting for you. 

The younglings. Hopefully one day some of them will be able to access the books and images of art and history you’d collected. Or no one would. Hope was worth the risk. 

“But I need you to help me, too. I’m looking for any bits of any books that might have survived the Empire’s purge to preserve them. Can you do that, Ben? And be quiet about it?”

“I rarely interact with anyone,” he said. “So, it won’t be a problem.”

Thunder cracked, close then away then close again. Lighting flashed between the barn’s slats, illuminating his face. The pale blue light blurred the lines around his eyes and seemed to lighten whatever weight he carried. You wanted so badly to trace every line and get lost in those haunted blue eyes, hoping that they’d seen much love and laughter in the before times. 

So you did. You gently cupped his cheek, thumb feathering those lines at his temple. He closed his eyes and deeply exhaled as if he’d been holding that breath for his entire life. When Ben’s eyes opened again there was something else there: a sliver of joy.  

“You are an unexpected problem, darling,” he murmured. 

“Sounds like neither of us will sleep tonight. Soooooo . . .” your fingers traced his jawline. “Wanna go again?”

Ben pushed your back to the ground, deftly pulling your pants down to your ankles and freeing his cock. 

“So that’s a yes?” you chuckled. 

Ben shoved your knees apart and looked down, eyes glued to the sight of his cock slowly entering you. When he finally bottomed out, his calloused hands skated along your abdomen, pushing your shirt up to expose your breasts. Despite the chill, you shrugged out of it and tossed it aside. You keened, hips writhing against his. His thumbs circled your nipples, which were hard as diamonds. 

He settled on top of you and held his face against your cheek, breathing in deeply as you did the same. The scent of him. . . clean earth and fresh rain. . . even the rough weave of his tunic against your bare skin. All of it—all of him—was everything that felt comforting and safe.

“That’s a yes, darling,” he said through the softest kiss at your temple. “That’s a yes.”

You turned your head to meet his lips and finally found them. Not like earlier when both were feral and desperate. A real kiss, tentative and shy. 

“Slow this time?”

———

“Slow this time.”

Obi-Wan wished his robe was warm and dry instead of cold damp while it was while laid out to dry. He would have wrapped her in it, letting the deep hood fall over to shield her. Letting the robe absorb her soft touch so it might let him remember it once in a great while.  

He slowly pulled out until the head of his cock was barely inside her and just as slowly pushed back, stilling for a moment then pushing back in to her again. Her hands drifted under his shirt exploring his back, fingers tracing each scar; she made a different sound with each one. A whimper. A little gasp. A sweet whine. Again. And again.

She reminded him of the verses he’d read and enjoyed so much that he’d memorized them and the feeling they’d invoked his heart. So much that he worked his arms under her and pulled her up, settling on his knees and she straddled him.

She felt like poetry. She was poetry. And he needed to be closer to her. Needed to feel more of her. 

—-

Ben pulled his shirt off and tossed it away. 

You held him closer, moving achingly slow because each touch would be the last. With every one, you savored the brush of his chest hair on your breasts, the sound of his quiet moans in your ear. The scars on his back. . . you wanted to know the story of each one. The story of him. 

His head fell back, eyes closed. You caught him and brought him back to meet your lips, intent on kissing him again. But the moment lips touched, you paused; he was speaking so quietly, rhythmically.

Ben was absently reciting a poem. One you knew well. 

You met the stanza and whispered with him, lips to lips.

The two of you moved together, slow and hard and deep, mouths so close and soundlessly reciting the last stanza together. Coming so soft together, clutching one another through that shared orgasm and afterward until the chill bristled your skin. Even then, you held each other tight for a few more minutes before separating. It was quick work to get dressed and burrow in to the straw, spooning for warmth.

It’s only a few days. Enjoy it, you thought. Don’t start wanting something impossible.

“Find the library tomorrow?” he murmured. 

“Yes.” You drew his hand to your lips and tenderly kissed his knuckles. “We’ll find it tomorrow.”

-----

@marierg @agirlunderarock @sinisterexaggerator @benwitcher @vigilante24ish @kenobiquinn @sadkenobi

[marierg]

NOT SORRY! 😎

OK!!!!!! I have finished the first draft of chapter two of True Librarian!!!! Pure smut but it's relevant to the plot because of their need to build trust and stuff.

Nah.

IT'S JUST FUCKING SAD OBI-WAN IN A BARN.

Now I just have to edit, which is such a hardship. I have to think about all the ways to fuck Sad Obi-Wan in a barn. Pray for me in my time of need.

[marierg]

So many thoughts many many thoughts.... But below the cut! 😎

It would definitely start off hasty, like just enough clothes loosen to get the job done. It's desperate and animalistic and you can feel it in the grip of his hand. So much time in isolation, so many with nothing to comfort him and suddenly there's you. All he can think is that if he doesn't grab this chance there won't be another, but at the same time he knows that there shouldn't be because it would put you in danger.

The sweet music love your desperate cries of pleasure wrap around his mind like a warm blanket on a cold winter day. The way that your body grips on to him even when your fingers can't because he has you press down into that hay. At first he thinks he needs all the control, then after your first quaking orgasm suddenly he realizes that this shouldn't be fast and hard.

Because it could well be the last time...

So instead he does what he should have done so many times before. Pulling your body up from the hay, gently wrapping his arms around you like the man he once was and the one he wants to be again. And then slowly he'll start to move in unison with you desperately trying to match time because this time he wants to come with you.

And you know he would whisper sweet nothing in your ear. Not filthy talk, soft praise complimenting every single one of your features. He would worship having you in his arms because for one singular moment in time after so long he's finally not alone. And you're so warm and so soft and he would treat you like an answer to prayer because you are.

Hope that helped 😉

@the-rain-on-kamino any thoughts on this 😁(hehehe...)

OK!!!!!! I have finished the first draft of chapter two of True Librarian!!!! Pure smut but it's relevant to the plot because of their need to build trust and stuff.

Nah.

IT'S JUST FUCKING SAD OBI-WAN IN A BARN.

Now I just have to edit, which is such a hardship. I have to think about all the ways to fuck Sad Obi-Wan in a barn. Pray for me in my time of need.

[marierg]

Caro!

I have been completely remiss I put this in my save folder and I completely forgot to reblog it! I love watching how your art has evolved over time and I look forward to the next one. But especially the nose and the hair I think are excellent! But also look at the helmet detailings! And how you get the perfect curve and shading on the Kamino platforms 😁

You've done it again my dear!

Sunshine on Kamino

The Mashal Commander lightens up even the dreariest place...

[marierg]

Happy Pride month! Take care of yourselves and stay safe

[marierg]

OMG YAAASSS!!!! REBLOGGING FOR MY POST HOMEWORK READ!!! SO FRIGGIN EXCITED 😆

At long last, I am returning with chapter seven of Moth to a Flame! I always wanted to dive back into this story, and I’m happy to say I am already writing chapter eight as we speak! It’s gonna be a good one hehehe. This is still one of my favorite series I’ve written, and I want to finish it as strong as it began. It’s a chunkier chapter, partially to make up for my absence, I hope you all enjoy!

TW: healing from injuries, cannon typical violence, minor character death, mentions of trauma (alluded PTSD), fluff, teasing, foreplay, dom Boba, sub reader.

Also, here’s the link to the masterlist in case you want to re-read the previous chapters to catch up!

Moth to a Flame Chapter Seven

For once, you awoke from a dreamless slumber.

No nightmares jarring you awake with a pounding heart. No bloodied images burning the back of your mind. You felt nearly at peace emerging from sleep…but upon opening your eyes, you yet again found yourself in a strange room.

Except this time, the bed was incredibly soft.

It was much plusher than your own, a luxury you never had afforded. Despite your immediate instinct to panic, your surroundings were strangely welcoming. Peaceful, even. It felt like a dream. A night and day difference from the sterilized durasteel walls of the Imperial shuttle you’d been trapped in.

Clay, earthen walls greeted you instead, framed by shimmering silken curtains that caught in the desert breeze, curling through the air with a delicate grace that drastically contrasted the harshness of Tatooine. Warm notes of sandalwood and amber filled the air, reminding you of Boba’s scent. The suns hung midway in the sky, the blistering afternoon heat appearing to set them even further aflame.

Tatooine. You were back.

Relief blossomed in your chest, and you relaxed, uncurling your fists and taking a deep breath. Your body was stiff, sore from your ordeal, but you’d honestly expected so much worse. A part of you had assumed that you would die in that shuttle by Sterling’s hand. Fate however, clearly had different plans.

Somehow, Boba had found you, and had brought you back home.

Home…

“Let’s go home.”

You remembered what he’d said before he’d carried you away from the ghosts of your past. He must have taken you to the palace. The architecture spoke of wealth and prestige, something you rarely saw in the Outer Rim. Oddly, you felt no fear at the prospect, but it did leave you with a question.

What would your future look like now?

Your gaze wandered the expansive room, lingering on a large bacta tank near the center, before sweeping to the other side of the bed…finding Boba Fett sitting in a chair across from you, fast asleep.

He was still donned in his armor, and his helmet sat at his feet - allowing you to make a most profound realization.

The Daimyo of Tatooine looked absolutely breathtaking when he finally rested.

The hard planes of his face were somehow softer, lips in less of a frown, brows not so heavily furled. His scars were the same, not that such a thing could ever bother you - considering that you found them striking - but there was a softness to him that you hadn’t seen when he was awake. Granted, you couldn’t call it peaceful. You saw the tension in his jaw, the way his eyelids were pressed shut, in the subconscious twitch of his lip. You wagered he’d wake at the softest sound, the life of a hunter never forgotten.

You wanted to help him find peace, if such a thing were even possible. That was, if he still wanted you.

Would he try to push you away after what happened? You remembered the hesitation that flooded his gaze once the ferocity left, leaving a fearful pause in its wake. He’d been afraid…afraid you’d fear him. That you’d no longer love him.

But did he actually know you loved him?

Did he know that when he killed to defend you, he was bringing your abuser to justice? Did he realize exactly how much that meant to you? He’d protected you, defended your honor, and ensured you’d never be touched by that vile man again. In a way, Boba had freed you from the last connections to your past, allowing you to finally forge a new future.

You had to tell him.

You shifted, turning to your side with a grimace so you were facing him, the covers rustling over you as you did so. Surely that would be enough…

Boba’s eyes snapped open, immediately finding yours.

Relief blossomed in his amber gaze, followed by a warmth that made your heart sing. There was undeniable love there - you saw it. Felt it in the way he looked at you. Devotion too, something that was entirely foreign to you. It made the warmth in your chest rise to a near blaze, the desire to voice your thoughts all the more urgent. When he spoke your name, it was a mere whisper, near reverent.

“Mesh’la,” his voice was lacking the usual roughness, instead it was soft, hesitant, as if he was awaiting your reaction. “You’re safe…”

“Boba,” you tried to speak, wincing when a sharp pain jabbed down your throat. Confusion flooded your chest, and you frowned, trying your best to push through it, determination driving every syllable. “I…”

“Careful, little one,” he swiftly stood, moving to your side, the hesitation seemingly gone. His dark brows lowered, concentration and concern flickering in his gaze. “The bacta is still healing your wounds. Should recover soon.”

In any other situation, seeing him looming over you, donned in full armor, while you were lying in bed, would have been a major turn on. It still was, you noted, not ignorant of the heat that crept up your neck and to your cheeks. But your injuries…exactly how badly wounded were you?

You lifted a tentative hand to your neck, feeling the bandages wrapped over your skin. They were fresh, keeping the bacta flush with your skin, letting it do its healing work. Oh, that was right…you’d yet again been subjected to those hellish Imperial devices…you closed your eyes, swallowing hard. Images of the sterile, soulless rooms and pale walls sent a shudder down your spine, but you shook your head, reminding yourself that you weren’t there. That you’d never be there again.

“Easy there,” a thumb brushed your cheek, and you opened your eyes, finding Boba’s gaze on you, a concerned but caring softness waiting. You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his fingers grounding you to this new reality. “They won’t hurt you ever again. I promise.”

You nodded, a sigh rushing from your lips when his thumb caressed your jaw. The simple gesture nearly moved you to tears - the same hands that spilled blood and ended lives now cradled you with more gentleness than you’d ever known.

“My brave, sweet girl.” He watched you with unbridled admiration, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, eyes never looking away. You leaned into him, a hand hooking to his chest plate, wanting to feel him close.

“This alright?” His words rumbled through you as much as you heard them, and you nodded, clinging to him tighter. He chuckled when you shifted as much as your pain would allow, your head resting in his lap. He raised a knee to prop you up against, and you relaxed against his solid frame.

“I…” you swallowed, taking a deep breath. He fell silent, waiting, giving you all the space you needed to speak. It was refreshing, to have someone be patient. To give you all the time in the world. “I need…to tell you something.”

The briefest hint of a shadow passed through his gaze, so fast you might not have seen it, had you not been paying attention. But you always did, just as much as he.

Was he afraid you’d reject him?

Despite whatever fears were running through his mind, he simply nodded, remaining silent, still waiting. Perhaps he felt it was best this way, to allow you the space and freedom to let him down easy. But that was exactly the opposite of the truth.

“You’ve…been more than I’ve ever known. Protected me. Saved me. You’re,” you softly cleared your throat, and he lifted a glass of water to your hands. You gratefully drank, handing it back to him once you’d finished. “Everything I’ve ever dreamed for, but never thought I’d find. I…love you, Boba. I’ve been afraid. Afraid you wouldn’t feel the same, but…I’m not afraid anymore.”

Boba’s entire expression shifted from one of worry and masked apprehension to shock, then elation. His brows lifted, plush lips parting ever so slightly. Maker, he looked divine. You’d never wanted to kiss him more than now, in this moment.

“You…really mean that?” There it was, the rough gravel in his tone, soothing your nerves and sending warmth to your very bones.

“I do,” you smiled up at him, hoping he felt your sincerity in every word. “I mean it with all my heart.”

“Oh, sweet girl, that’s good,” his voice grew even huskier as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his warm breath washing over your skin. “Because I love you too. Don’t ever wanna let you go.”

“I’m yours, Boba,” your blinked back tears, happy ones, for once, craving his presence, his closeness. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Ad’ika, I’m forever yours,” he pressed another kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, making his way closer to your lips. “Thought I’d lost you.”

“I knew you’d find me,” you gasped when he pressed a kiss to your pulse point. “I always believed…”

“Of course I’d find you, babygirl,” he kissed your jawline, resuming his journey to your lips. “Always will.”

When he kissed you, it was slow, reverent, all encompassing. You leaned into the kiss, breath snagged from your chest as he took control, cradling your head in his hands. He deepened the kiss, and it became more hungry, nearly desperate, as if he was showing you all of what he wanted to say. His fingers loosely gripped your hair, careful to mind your injuries, leaning even closer to gently hold you against him.

When you both finally parted, you were a panting mess, heart pounding, eyes wide. Damn, you’d missed him.

He went to shift away, and you whimpered, too desperate for his closeness to be ashamed. He chuckled, looking down at you with a smirk and a raised brow.

“Boba, I need-“

“Rest.” His tone grew firm, still layered with fondness, the twinkle in his eyes never dimming. “You need rest. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

You couldn’t help but love the subtle dominance in his words and actions, the comforting yet solid way he guided you. The promise of the future, a future you’d never known was possible. It was new, so different from what you’d known, but kriff, you loved it. So, you simply nodded, trying your best to save your voice.

“Good girl,” his rumbled praise sent heat spiraling to your core, and you swallowed, gripping him tighter.

Good girl.

Kriffing Maker above, that was hot. And here he was telling you to rest? A furious blush crept to your cheeks, and you knew he saw. Could tell by the gleam in his eyes that clearly showed he did indeed notice, and absolutely was cataloging that information for the future.

“Can you…” you took a breath, finding yourself wishing you could will your body to heal by sheer determination alone. “Can you lay with me? I want…”

“I’ll hold you, little one,” he chuckled, giving you another kiss. “Gotta take this armor off, okay?”

You nodded, and he helped you shift back so your head was resting on the pillow again. You watched as he removed every piece of beskar, mesmerized as the man emerged from the shield that protected him from the world. It was an intimate experience, knowing that he felt safe enough with you to do so, a treasure you’d never take for granted.

When he settled under the covers beside you, the bed depressing from his weight, you snuggled closer, unashamed of seeking out his presence. You were rewarded by another warm chuckle, so very close to you, as his strong arms wrapped around your body, holding you close to his broad chest.

“I love you, ad’ika,” his voice was soft behind you, his fingers gently caressing you, lulling you to sleep. “Always.”

“I love you too,” you snuggled closer against him, and his arms held you just a bit tighter, as much as your injuries would allow. “So, so much.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling so warm, so safe, it nearly brought you to tears.

You were finally, at long last, home.

-

“You sure that thing isn’t gonna bite your fingers off?”

You glanced up from the nexu cub splayed in your lap at Fennec, who leaned against your kitchen counter. What was it with these bounty hunters lounging against your furniture? Not that you truthfully were complaining.

“She’s trained, don’t worry.” You shot at smirk at the assassin, gesturing at the ball of fur and teeth currently trying to steal your new necklace. “Didn’t take you for a cat hater, Fen.”

“I don’t hate cats.” She smirked, leaning against the wall with a sigh. “I hate getting bitten. Or scratched. Not my thing.”

You were about to issue a reply when a new voice interjected from behind Fennec.

“Discussing preferences, hmm? Stars help me if you two have already descended to ‘girl talk’.”

Boba’s familiar rasp made your heart leap, and you couldn’t wipe the dumb smile from your face when he stepped around Fennec, helmet tucked at his side. His eyes found yours, a playful gleam twinkling there, and you dipped your head in a blush.

“Well now that you’re back, I’ll leave the ‘babysitting’ to you.” Fennec headed toward the door, shooting a smile back at you. “Don’t get captured again, you still owe me a drink. And you’d better visit that rancor, he misses you like crazy.”

You laughed as she exited, gaze shifting back to Boba in all his armored glory. Damn, he looked so good in his beskar. You’d never get enough of it. The sheer power he exuded alone was enough to make your head spin.

“Glad you’re still in one piece, princess,” he allowed a smile to curve his lips, before turning his gaze to sweep your living room. “Though I would prefer for everyone to be at the palace.”

Oh, you knew what he was implying. Boba had been so focused on your recovery as of late, that ensuring you were rested and healing was his priority. His protectiveness simply made your heart melt.

“Don’t worry, Fennec’s been the best body guard. I will, I just have to get them ready for the trip,” you scratched the nexu’s chin, grinning when she purred and leaned into your touch. “Not to worry. I’ll have everything packed and-“

Boba chuckled with a distinctly dark cadence, stepping forward until he was towering over your seated figure.

“Don’t play coy with me, little one, you’re not moving anything.” He met your gaze with a gentle, yet firm, smile. “You need your rest. I’ll oversee the transportation myself.”

Healing, it turned out, took an agonizingly long time when all you wanted to do was to feel Boba’s hands on you.

It was nearly shameful, you thought, how often your mind locked on every lingering glance, every touch, every word spoken softly in the dark. It was enough to drive someone mad.

“Of course, my daimyo,” you made a dramatic show of a bow, as much as you could in your seated position, grateful you’d healed enough for the motion. You even dared to shoot him a wink. “I won’t move a muscle.”

“Don’t be a brat,” a sharp smile curved the corner of his lip, something altogether dangerous darkening his gaze. “Be a good girl and you’ll be rewarded.”

There it was again.

Ever since he learned how much those two words affected you, he’d slip them into conversation when applicable, which just happened to be frequent enough to keep you in a constant state of desperation.

But judging by the sharpness of his expression, those amber eyes locked on you like a Vratixan blood eagle’s, there’d be no loophole in his orders. At the end of the day, he was the daimyo. The master hunter. And while you trusted him with your very breath, you never could forget who he was. Who he always would be. The deadliest and most powerful man, the stars at his fingertips - soft only for you.

And you were happily in his clutches.

“I…yes, sir,” you were nearly breathless when you finally spoke, dipping your head into the nexu’s fur in an attempt to mask your burning cheeks. “I’ll rest. I’m finally starting to feel more like myself again.”

“So my princess does have manners.” Boba knelt before you, a gloved hand reaching forward and lifting your chin to meet his probing gaze, grip gentle yet firm. “Good. Let’s get you back home. I’ll handle everything here.”

Home.

You were still getting used to that word. Because in truth, the home Boba spoke of wasn’t simply a new place you lived, but a person in which you felt at peace.

Boba had, in so many ways, proven your doubts and fears wrong time after time. He made a choice that none before him ever could.

He chose to stay.

-

“It’s only been a week, and you’re already bouncing off the walls.” Fennec lounged on one of Boba’s chairs, feet kicked up. She honestly looked a tad ridiculous, but you kept that thought to yourself…for now. “I don’t know how he managed to keep you bedridden for five days.”

You thought back to all of the tender moments, the concerned glances, the sweet words and care Boba had extended to you, and smiled.

It was both strange and sweet, really, to have someone of his strength and reputation doting over you. But you didn’t mind, the attention wasn’t unwelcome, merely something you were learning to accept. And ever since you both had admitted your feelings, there had certainly been a shift between you.

You thought he’d flirted and shown interest plenty before, but now?

There was a certain softness, yet protectiveness, dare you say possessiveness, in his words and deeds that simply made you swoon.

He held you every night, and caressed you every morning when you awoke.

“I gave him a run for his money, don’t worry.” You smirked and ran your fingers through your hair, noting with a smirk that it finally had regained its healthy sheen. “But he was insistent, as always. You know how he is.”

“Don’t I.” Fennec smirked and shot you a wink. You couldn’t help but smile. “Someone’s been getting her beauty sleep.”

You gazed at your reflection on the mirror, and smoothed a wrinkle on the flattering dress, a gift he’d bought you that had caught your eye. Black with curling dark green vines, it would match his armor perfectly. You did a quick spin, and couldn’t help but smile.

You looked stronger now. Healthier, more glow to your cheeks and life in your eyes. The bacta patches were gone, and even though there were fresh scars overlapping with your previous ones, the wounds were finally healed. You felt pretty in the dress, and despite the fact that your profession rarely called for them, it was a welcome change.

Boba had ensured your animals were given the upmost care, tended to by his best. You couldn’t wait to see them again, but for now, as you were just getting back on your feet, you allowed a moment to breathe.

“Something like that,” you turned to face her, finally feeling ready. Your rest had paid off, but you didn’t want to sit around any longer.

“I take it you want to see him?” Fennec stood, slinging her rifle over her shoulder.

“I would,” you smirked at her, inwardly relived you both got along so well. “I assume he’s working?”

“He’s holding court,” Fennec turned to usher you out, glancing back at you with a grin. “Don’t worry, your visit would make his day.”

-

The throne room was so crowded you nearly second guessed entering, panic locking your steps, but Fennec would hear none of it, confidently walking forward like she owned the place.

You both slipped through the back entrance to avoid the majority of the throng, and for safety measures of course, silent as Boba’s voice carried through the cavernous space.

You didn’t see him yet, only the stone back of the throne, but you could observe the bounty hunter standing before him. The man was thin and sheepish looking. Young. Even from your distance, you could tell he was angrily trying to make an appeal to the daimyo.

But that wasn’t what caught your attention.

Growing up, you’d heard horrific stories of Jabba’s palace. Tales of cruelty and debauchery that far surpassed any reason. Every local knew these stories, were warned that entering that throne room meant death. And sometimes…a fate far worse. Anxiety corded its way up your throat as you felt eyes falling upon you, and you folded your arms in front of your chest, immediately regretting your choice of clothing.

Fennec seemed to pay this no mind, gesturing for you to follow.

You did so, a slight tremor in your step, as you both slid to the far wall. Despite your residual fear, you reminded yourself that Jabba did not hold power now - Boba did. And you knew your lover would protect you, no matter what. You also were with Fennec, and fully capable of defending yourself. You would be alright. You took a deep breath and walked with confidence, head held high, gaze sweeping the room.

As you both made your way to the back, where you’d be out of the crowd’s sight, the man spoke, thin voice rattling against the stone walls.

“Who gave you the right, oh ‘mighty’ daimyo, to tell us what to do?” The bounty hunter was enraged, face flushed, hand dripping to his blaster. “You’re out of your prime, old man. Plenty of us could take you down. What gives you the right to rule over us?”

The room fell so deathly silent, one could hear a pin drop, tension hovering in the air. Your gaze was finally pulled to Boba, as if gravity itself demanded your rapt attention.

You swore to the stars your knees all but gave out on the spot. Cheeks furiously burning, you leaned your weight against the wall, eyes glued to the green armored man who held his court like a king.

You’d never seen such power on display.

Boba Fett sat upon the carved throne with a regal countenance and equally a relaxed confidence - sprawled like the very world was his footstool. His relaxed posture didn’t fool you, though, you knew he was too tactful. Too calculating. And right now, his T-visored helm was focused on the lesser hunter before him, the angle harsh and predatory, torchlight flaring on the beskar like shattered glass.

Your gaze dropped to his spread thighs, and altogether improper thoughts flooded your mind. You blinked, biting your bottom lip, heat settling between your legs as he shifted, muscles rippling underneath beskar and cloth, fingers tapping a steady cadence on the throne’s armrest.

Kriffing hells, that had no right being so hot.

Movement next to you broke your concentration, and you frowned as Fennec lifted her rifle’s scope to her eye.

“We should be able to hunt who we want. Sell spice if we please.” The hunter was still going, clearly unaware that he was spelling his doom. “And I-“

“Take it, then.” Boba’s voice rolled like the thunder before a devastating storm. His helm tilted to the left, and he raised a gloved hand, gesturing at the throne. “Think you’re worthy? See where it gets you.”

The man finally fell silent, fidgeting in place, hand dangerously close to his blaster. But he didn’t attack. You swore you saw the hunter’s face turn several shades paler when Boba unholstered one of his own blasters…laying it on the seat beside him.

The younger man still did nothing but gape, clearly expecting a trap, unsure of what to do.

“Admit your bluff. Walk away.” Boba still hadn’t moved, a nearly amused tone lilting in his voice. “And I’ll let you off with a warning.”

You knew that tone. The predator toying with his prey, giving him one final chance. It was hot. It wasn’t fair. But you weren’t so mindlessly turned on to not drop your hand to your own weapon, just in case.

The movement happened so fast you didn’t have the time to blink.

One second the man was lunging for the throne, blaster pointed at Boba…the next, he was dead before he struck the ground, a hole charred between his eyes.

Smoke curled from the barrel of Boba’s second blaster, wafting about him as he leaned back against the throne.

“Anyone else?”

Heads shook, feet shuffled away, and murmurs of shock rippled through the crowd. Not a single soul dared to raise another challenge. You watched him, unable to stop the smile from creeping to your face, as a pride for your daimyo filled your chest.

The dualities of Boba Fett were a myriad.

His helmet flicked toward you, and you felt as if your breath was caught in your throat. You were captured in his gaze, the weight of it nearly pinning you to the wall from the intensity you knew was burning in the eyes hidden behind the beskar.

“Good. As long as I am daimyo, spice has no place here.” He jerked his helmet toward the exit, gesturing at the crowd. “You’re all dismissed.”

The crowd quickly dispersed, needing no further bidding. They exited with whispers and silence, and soon, you and Fennec were the only two who remained.

“Fennec. Ensure everyone leaves the gates.” Boba hadn’t moved, still seated on the throne in all his glory. “I’ll not be disturbed.”

“Got it, boss.” Fennec needed no further bidding, shooting you a wink before lurking off into the darkness.

Silence fell so heavy, the tension so thick, you could’ve cut it with a vibroblade.

Boba was still watching you, helmet tilted slightly to the side, fingers ever so patiently tapping his thigh. You swallowed, transfixed under his gaze, nearly holding your breath with anticipation.

“Come here, little one.” His voiced rumbled through you, sending shivers down your spine. “No more hiding in the shadows.”

Your body moved to obey before your mind could fully catch up, heart hammering in your chest as you crossed the sandy floor, approaching your king. You stopped before the throne, toes bumping against the steps, regarding him with unbridled awe - dryly swallowing when he shifted his thighs further apart.

“I’ll not be kept waiting, mesh’la.” Boba patted his thigh, a teasing tone rolling through his voice. “Be a good girl.”

Kriff. You wanted nothing more than to be just that here, in this moment. You ascended the steps, gaze locked on his, furiously flushing when his hand rested against your hips, guiding you onto his lap.

“Isn’t that better, princess?” His voice was impossibly husky in your ear, rasping through the vocoder of the helmet he still donned. “Sure look like one in this dress.”

If you weren’t blushing enough before, you surely were now, pressed flush against him, dress riding far too high to be appropriate, his praise ringing in your ears.

“I…thank you, Boba,” you dared to lean forward, pressing a kiss to his visor. “I missed you.”

The way the man audibly growled at your gesture made your knees go weak. He caressed your back with effortless gentleness, even as he held you tight.

“Didn’t want to scare you. But,” he shook his head, a sigh crackling through the vocoder. “Can’t afford another coup attempt.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Trust me. Scared is not how that makes me feel.”

Boba stilled beneath you, and your eyes immediately widened.

Shit, karking dammit.

You hadn’t meant to say the last part aloud.

“And how does it make you feel, ad’ika?” His hand roved from your back to your side, then settling at your hip. “You can tell me.”

“I…” you dipped your head toward his armored chest, cheeks furiously burning. “I mean…”

“Is my little princess struggling for her words?” Boba made a tisking noise, his other hand hooking your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his hidden one. “Poor thing.”

Kriffing hell.

The man knew what he was doing to you. There was no doubt. You swallowed hard, all too aware of his closeness, heat coiling between your legs. Your current position reminded you of the last time you were in his lap, held in his clutches, desperate and wanting. You remembered his promises all too well - and you also knew he was a man of his word.

“Gods, Boba,” you knew your face was redder than the blood red accents of his armor, and given his hold on you, you only flushed further. “I…need you. Please. I’ve been good. I’ve been healing, I-“

“Easy there, little one,” Boba’s voice was surprisingly reassuring as his thumb caressed his cheek. “I’ll give you want you want. But first, I need to know.”

Know what? You frowned ever so slightly, but remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Boba lifted a hand to his helmet and swiftly removed it, revealing the absolutely dark and hungry amber gaze you knew it was masking all along. You felt nearly boneless, even though he hadn’t done anything…yet.

“Are you ready to take this step with me? No shame if you need more time.” Boba’s face locked on you in complete seriousness, gauging your reaction. “There’s no wrong answer. Want to ensure you’re safe.”

Oh, if your heart could melt any further than it already had for him, it would. Tears risked welling in your eyes so you blinked them away, leaning into his embrace.

“Boba, you make me feel safe. I’ve never loved anyone the way I do you.” You let his gaze, lips hovering oh so close to his, as he watched you with rapt attention and a masterfully restrained hunger. “I want this. With you. You alone.”

“I’m not like those boys who couldn’t handle you, mesh’la,” his hand cupped your face, fingers gently caressing your cheek. “My love is a hunger.”

Oh, you knew. You knew exactly what you signed up for. You couldn’t help but grin.

“Then I’ll be consumed.” You bravely met his gaze, quirking a smile. “I can’t think of a better fate.”

Something altogether wild flashed in his eyes, both a warning sign and a lighthouse beacon all at once. His teeth flashed in the dark like fangs, gaze gentle but commanding as a smile curved his plush lips.

“So be it.”

You whimpered, unable to stop yourself from crashing your lips against his. You were so overcome with love, adoration, and lust all at once - demanding for you to take the initiative.

Boba let you, returning your kiss with a sly grin. He allowed you to lead. For a moment. But then you felt his gloved hand wrap around your throat, just firmly enough to hold you in place. He tilted your chin up and took over - not rough. Not violent.

Just final.

Like a king reclaiming his rightful throne. The king you always knew he was.

Your Boba.

Taglist:

@dotyoureyez @pickleprickle @maybege @die-herzlos-engel @mxkyrie @ceapa-mica @bobathirstaccount @deewithani @justarandomfamdomblog @tortor-mcgee @marierg @buzzing-honeybee @ya-boi-v @anthrogothic @yes-i-do-the-arts

[marierg]

How did I miss this?!? Reblogging for later as soon as I have 5 minutes I am reading this with relish!!!

Lips Like Sugar

Boba Fett's Sweetest Tea Season 3 Episode 3!

Our man works too hard and badly needs this little getaway with our Tea Shop Owner and FINALLY makes a decision about where to go first. For all of his hardened warrior-ness, Boba Fett really kinda is a drama queen (just like most SW men). LET'S GOOOO!!!

Pairing: Boba Fett x Tea Shop Owner!Reader

Word Count: 500

previous chapter series master list

“It’s been a year since our fallen Jedi crisis, Fennec. And a prosperous one,” the Daimyo rumbled. “Surely, it won’t fall apart if we’re away for one week.”

You’d woken early this morning and surprised him with breakfast in bed: his favorite tea and a sugar twisty that you’d waved around his face and chest, dusting sugar all over him. It’s a sin to let sugar go to waste, you’d said, kissing sugar from his lips. How could we possible atone?

Said atonement had put him in a rare good mood and he was determined to hold on to it. Fennec’s fussing about business while walking to the hangar was not helpful in that regard.  

“As long as things have been going as smoothly as they’ve been, it shouldn’t be a problem, Boss. All I’m saying it keep the line open. Just in case.”

“Of course. I’m not a beginner.” He turned and met her eyes. Cautious trust lived there. “Thank you, Fennec.”

Fennec held his eye as her hand went to her abdomen and the mechanicals that kept her alive. 

“Our deal.”

Yes, Fennec. Our deal.”

*

By the time Boba had boarded Slave 1 you’d triple checked the scantly packed bags and made sure the little gift was safely tucked away. You’d also bought a packable foam mattress to put on the floor of the tiny sleep area. Stars! You couldn’t wait to awkwardly meet one another, knees knocking against the angles of the barely living space on his ship. 

There would be time for that though. There was a whole week!

You sat in the cockpit, leaning forward and eager to see stretching blue streaks of light. Boba had put on his helmet and looked out to the stars. Your gaze went to the t-shaped visor and the stars reflected in it. You reached out, fingers tracing along the lines of the helmet, wishing to touch his true face. 

“We don’t have to go to Cloud City, Boba. I’m happy to go anywhere.” You ran your hand along the edge of the helmet and took it off, setting it on your lap. “What would you like to show me?”

Boba stared at the console for a long while, jaw clenched, before his head snapped over to meet your eyes. Soft and sweet, but he knew they were razor sharp beneath. You’d fearlessly come to his aid in dire circumstances twice now. Yet he’d continued to keep a distance, shield you from who he had been and the things that he’d done. As always, Jango Fett’s words echoed and Boba turned them over in his mind.

A bounty hunter is free of attachments. Say no more than necessary. This code keeps us alive, his father had said. I’m training you to be better than me.

Better.

Perhaps it was time to be true to you. To trust that you would want to stay. 

“I’d like to show you where I was born, cyar'ika.” He brought your palm to his lips. “Kamino.”

-----

This episode's title is courtesy of Echo and the Bunnymen:

@marierg @dystopicjumpsuit @thegreatwicked @agirlunderarock @daimyosprincess @bl00000g @firstofficerwiggles @kimiheartblade @bobafetts-princess @acatalystrising

[marierg]

@daimyosprincess @pickleprickle @bobathirstaccount @maybege @acatalystrising .... Summoning the Boba girlies (gn)

I haven't posted here in years.

[marierg]

Delta and 99 combine?!? Heck yeah! But Delta needs to introduce the 99s to uuje cake 🍰

The Baby Batch: Wall Patrol feat. Baby Delta Squad

@the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @ladykatakuri @marierg @thecoffeelorian @salubriousbean @bring-backup-99 @99tech99 @clonethirstingisreal @sunshinesdaydream @jane8675 @eclec-tech @noblelightfighter @nika6q @snowlotr @heidnspeak @ilovethebabybatch

[marierg]

Excitedly reblogging to finish later! But also HANDS OFF OUR LIBRAIRIES YOU TYRANTS!!!

True Librarian: Part 1

The Empire seeks to destroy everything beautiful. One of their first targets are the libraries. Determined to preserve the volumes, you download what you can and run to continue that mission undercover. And because this is a Star Wars fic, you run into Ben Kenobi, who is on a mission of his own.

Pairing: Post-Order 66 Obi-Wan x f!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: dry humping, fascism

-----------

A galactic empire. 

You’d read the histories in school and knew that empire was only good for the few at the top. The rest? Gobbled up, set against one another. Everything curious or creative and hopeful snuffed out. So as soon as that melted old man on the podium declared the new order, you began walking through the stacks in your section of the library - the children’s section - as calmly as possible, downloading books onto a data pad. Once that was full, you went to retrieve another, but the head librarian approached with a stern reminder that it was story hour and you were about to be late.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said quietly. “Most of us will be doing the same. Keep to this section and be careful.”

“Most of us? Some wouldn’t try to preser—“

“Those people,” she huffed, “are not true librarians.” 

*

The little group of younglings sat on the colorful carpet in the story corner, rapt at your reading of a cheerful adventure where everyone learned something. There was a moment when they all gasped as the main character wavered and almost made the evil choice and breathed out with relief when they did the right thing and clapped when everyone lived happily ever after.

“Little ones, go get your juice and cookies.” You waved at the small curated shelf behind you. “Then bring back a book you want to read!”

You relaxed, pleased that they liked the story and were so excited to read on their own. This was your favorite part: a gaggle of younglings asking how to say this word, reading a new sentence, connecting a picture to the story’s action. 

Rowan ran back with a book he practically shoved into your face, yelling THIS ONE I WANT TO READ THIS ONE

It featured an illustration of a Jedi from the stories everyone read as younglings: magic warriors who would appear in a desperate time of need. There were no news or public record of them visiting this peaceful planet at the edge of the inner rim that had miraculously remained untouched during the war. Even as the Chancel— Emperor - declared them traitors, no one paid them any mind. They were practically mythical characters in children’s stories anyway. 

“This looks exciting!” You smiled as the boy plopped on the floor, holding the book on his lap. “Let’s look at the cover and wonder what might happen.”

A pinched face man you’d never seen before stalked over and snatched the book from the boy’s hand. 

“Inappropriate,” he said crisply, dismissing the boy’s incoming tears.

The pinched face man went child to child, boney fingers yanking books from little hands and barely glancing at them before declaring the material was inappropriate and would be removed from the library. 

Desperate to keep the children from crying at the loss, you pulled out the flimsi pad that lived in your pocket; the one where you kept notes for story hour. 

“It’s ok, little ones,” you said, kneeling on the story corner carpet, spreading out a few sheets of flimsi. “We can write a story together!”

Boney fingers yanked the flimsi from your hands. 

“Inappropriate,” he hissed. Then stalked off into the stacks. “Obscene.”

You still knelt on the story corner carpet, stunned and only brought back by the younglings’ wailing at something they loved being taken away. The head librarian lurked in the shadows of the last stacks in the children’s section. 

Protect the books. Take what you have and run, she mouthed silently, eyes darting toward where the pinched face man had gone. and may the Force be with you.

*

Several years later

The library ruin on this remote world was particularly bad. Some walls melted rather than broken. The dirt so scorched that it may never see life again. Much of what was left had been scavenged years ago. Still, you carefully sifted through the ash, hopeful that some bookchip had survived. It didn’t matter if it was intact; you’d learned much in these last five years and might be able to extract something. These days if you were lucky, there might be a few paragraphs or the miracle of a full picture.

There wasn’t much time, though. You’d already been poking around the site for two days. Even on barren planets like this with so few people, it was risky to linger. 

However, you had the usual cover story in case anyone happened by: you were a historian tasked with documenting the horrors the Jedi committed against the Republic. Of course it was important to examine the library ruins. There may be Jedi propaganda and younglings might be exposed to it. 

The lie became less plausible every day as there were fewer libraries to sack and fewer books to save. Meanwhile, your data pads were running out of space. 

Shaking the ash through the sieve, a bookchip emerged. This one had a nick on one side near the corner. Ever so slowly you brought it through the ashes until it saw light. The chip would have to be examined and cleaned, but maybe something inside had survived. 

“Hey, beautiful,” you said, gently blowing away the ashes. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

A while later, sitting on the floor of The Dewey, your tiny ramshackle ship, you carefully removed the dirt and ash that had settled into the chip’s crevices. It was safer to do this part on the ground; space could be unexpectedly bumpy and this was delicate work. This one’s innards were packed in good with debris and would take some time to clean out; more time than felt safe even though this world was so sparse. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to keep The Dewey fueled and flying. Between each library raid, it was necessary to take a job or two to stay afloat while saving for the next search. Knowing how remote and barren this planet was, the last stop had gone on longer than most to save up for just enough fuel to get here and back. Things would be slim for a few weeks while saving again. It would work out, though. Always did.

*

“That’s my ship!!!!” 

The planning had been done right. Fuel: there was enough to land. Landing conditions: weather reports projected a calm overcast day. Landing area: a few klicks away from the town in a clearing where nomads had formed a transient camp. It was perfect. 

Until the weather unexpectedly shifted and you had to navigate through a hurricane. Which ate too much fuel to get to the camp, so you had no choice other than to land in town, hitting hard. After paying the docking fee, you went into town searching for work and, if you were lucky, somewhere to sleep. 

After a week behind the bar of a cantina, there was enough to buy fuel to move the ship from the dock to the transient camp. However, the manager refused to release Dewey and was already contracting with a buyer, citing insufficient funds. 

“I paid the docking fee!”

“Yeah, doll. But storage is extra,” the dock master drawled. 

Storage fee. After the scary entry and rough landing, you hadn’t even thought of it. Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid

“Week without storage fees, ship gets sold. Busy dock. Not a lot of space. Bring the credits today, keep the ship. Can ya get ‘em? The credits?” 

“No,” you looked down, disappointed in yourself. “I can’t.”

*

The new cover story was hobby detectorist. 

There had been a detectorist club that met at your old library to share their finds. They were a sweet bunch content to wander around parks and clearings and beaches with their metal detectors, looking for forgotten trinkets and such. Surely no one would pay much mind to a hobbyist poking around with a metal detector, stowing scraps in a bag. 

The only problem was that, without a ship, your range was limited to short-range public passenger transports and even that could be difficult to swing considering how expensive things had become. You’d saved for months just for this one trip to a nearby world. It seemed that the Empire didn’t want anyone going anywhere and wanted keep everyone struggling to survive. 

This dingy transport was beyond cramped. For a while after take-off, you stood in the aisle holding on to the overhead rail, praying no one messed with your backpack or the collapsable metal detector strapped to it. Someone’s armpit was too close to your face. After the first stop, a scant few seats opened up; aisle riders scrambled like rats to claim them. You managed to snag nearest one which was next to a slumped, ragged person covered in a faded brown hooded robe.

“This seat taken?”

The person’s head snapped around, a sliver of face exposed by the shifting hood: beard, a lock of lank hair hanging one side of his forehead, unbroken nose, and part of one haunted blue eye that gave you a cursory yet assessing glance. 

The man waved his hand at the empty seat. He immediately went back to gazing out the window. You got a glimpse of his reflection but saw nothing but the hood backlit by the overhead lights and hints of a wraith within it. It was hard not to look away; he looked like the antagonist of so many of the books you’d read to younglings at story hour. Where were they? Were they still allowed to read?

“Is there a problem?” He asked softly. Elegant deep core world accent which did not match his appearance.

“No. I’m sorry. I just—“ you searched for a reasonable excuse for staring. “I’d hoped to be lucky enough to snag a window seat.” 

Shockingly he stood, stepped into the aisle and waved his hand toward the now vacant window seat, holding his ground as other passengers threw elbows and fists into his torso trying to get to the seat you’d just vacated. You slid in to the window seat and clutched the backpack tight as a binky as he sat in the aisle seat, visibly tense. 

“Thank you.”

There was no response. With each stop on the line, passengers disembarked and boarded, yet the crowd didn’t thin out much. The few surrounding conversations were peppered with talk of finding steady work among the few available jobs. It all made your mission feel decadent. After a few more stops, it was your turn.

“This is me,” you said. “That was nice of you.”

Again, no response other than a silent nod. 

*

Outside the terminal, the town held the light rain that foretold an incoming monsoon, which posed a problem: there weren’t enough credits saved to get a room, so you’d counted on spending the nights in a hideyhole somewhere. You’d gotten fairly decent at finding such places these last years and accustomed to powering through the aching joints the morning after. Rain steadily came down harder as you stalked alleys and collapsed buildings, finding nothing that would provide sturdy cover. 

From the street end of another alley, you spied what might be a deep alcove. Wasn’t perfect, but it would provide some cover. It was coming down in sheets now as you dashed toward it, jaw clenching at the effort to avoid slipping on the slick ground.

The alcove was better than expected: there was enough room to stretch our your legs with some inches to spare and it was just deep enough that you’d stay protected from the rain unless it blew in sideways. Best of all, there was no armpit in your face. After a day on that cramped transport, this was nigh luxurious. 

Of course someone had to poke their head in and ruin the bliss. Seeing you, the person - a man’s voice - shouted sorry to disturb you! and turned to dash away, presumably to find some other shelter. 

Then he promptly slipped and fell on his back, hitting hard. 

Even through the rain, you could see his deeply resigned sigh. The odd thing was that he stayed there getting pummeled by the rain with thunder getting closer, robe splayed open against the pavement. A robe similar to. . .

Oh for fuck’s sake

“It’s not safe out there!” You shouted. “Come inside!” 

He didn’t move. Whoever this man was, he was either a drama queen or had a death wish. But, he’d shown a small kindness on the transport and that meant something. Even after these years of the Empire, little things like that gave you hope. So against all sense of self-preservation, you went out and grabbed his hand, trying to drag him to the alcove’s safety. 

That seemed to wake his senses. He heaved himself up, still holding your hand, and trudged to the alcove, falling heavily against the wall. You settled against the other wall, close eye on what you could see of him which wasn’t much: beneath the sopping robe was a dripping beard and hair plastered his face. Even so, it was unmistakably the man from the transport.Your stomach curdled at the coincidence. Had he been following? If so, you couldn’t very well throw him out now without arousing suspicion. And it was freezing; following or not, sharing body heat might be necessary. 

This alcove was not meant for two people stretching their legs out. Leaning against opposite walls, trying to find some way to co-exist with the slightest bit of comfort led to a bit of feet and knees getting tangled and muttered on both sides. As the night went on, the rain had grew colder and both of you were shivering. Self-preservation kicked in. 

“We’re being stupid. It’s safer to huddle together,” you said through chattering teeth. “I’m coming over there.”

Compressed joints burning, you turned around, shifting to sit between his legs, back to his chest. He didn’t fight. Just let it happen.

“I don’t want to die here,” you choked, realizing that death was a real possibility tonight. 

His head fell forward, beard brushing your cheek.

“Neither do I,” he sighed. “Neither do I.”

*

There was little sleep. 

As feared, the rain blew in sideways, chilling the alcove even more. The two of you huddled together; if it was impossible to stay dry, at least you could warm each other a bit. During the night, the violence of the rain and distant thunder made you shake and whimper like you’d done as a child hiding under the dining room table during storms. Instinctively, you shrunk fetal. The hooded man wrapped his sopping robe around and held you tight. 

Then the storm abruptly stopped and you both dozed off. In the lightest dream, your hands traveled along his thighs. Just a dream, though.  

The sounds of the town starting it’s day echoed down the alley, snapping both awake. Your head had lolled over his shoulder, forehead pressed into his neck. His hand cradled your cheek. Stars, it had been so long since you’d been touched—not even so much as a handshake—that the contact sent a shiver down your chest and further. 

You frantically untangled from one another and began the process of checking supplies and, in his case, wringing out a soaked robe. 

“Do you need help with that?”

No he shook his head, wringing water out of a sleeve. Sighing when the other sleeve, which had just been wrung out, fell into a puddle. Maker, this man seemed so defeated. Ignoring his rejection, you yanked the sleeve from the puddle and twisted, then did the same with the hood. 

“It’s too big for one person. You take that end,” you nodded to the hem, “and I’ll start here. We’ll meet in the middle.”

Silently, the water was twisted from the robe until you stood shoulder to shoulder sending that shiver down again. If only you’d paid more attention; who knew when - or if - such contact would happen again. Shoulders and arms touching for a moment, even through the damp clothes, was a treasure. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “This was kind.”

You lingered longer than appropriate against his shoulder, not wanting to break a connection to. . . to anyone. Having no idea how to respond. 

“I do what I can.” You shrugged into the backpack, made sure the metal detector was still there and walked off, intending to keep an eye out for being followed. He disappeared almost immediately.

*

Obi-Wan couldn’t stop thinking about that woman. 

It wasn’t her kindness in pulling him into the scant shelter or helping with the robe, which had always been difficult and smelly after being caught in the rain. After that business on Kamino, he’d flown off in a drenched robe and his ship had smelled like a wet tooka for days.

The problem was she showed up twice in the same day. After landing, he’d looked over his shoulder for hours in case someone might be following. Also scanning ahead because the enemy may not be at one’s back. She was never in sight. 

Then the violent rain had started and she’d already been in the shelter he’d spied. After he’d slipped and fallen, he only meant to rest on the ground for a few minutes or all night. Obi-Wan hadn’t anticipated the woman yanking on his arm so hard to drag him to safety. He certainly hadn’t anticipated holding her while she curled up and cried at the sound of thunder and the pummeling rain. 

Even though he had cut himself off from The Force, his awareness and attention to detail remained in tact. They told him she wasn’t a threat. She was like him: just another person trying to survive. Alone.  

Just in case, he’d still have to keep an eye on her while going about his mission. 

Obi-Wan dismissed the lingering feeling of her head against his neck and her hand against his while wringing out that robe. Time was limited and he needed the information for the boy’s sake.

*

The ruins had been pretty well picked clean of anything that could be sold or useful, which was nearly everything. Even the roof and walls had been hauled away, leaving nothing other than ash, the foundations, and the few support beams that had held the place together. You swept the metal detector in slow arcs anyway, occasionally finding a small metal scrap that quickly found its way to your bag. Everything would be useful or sellable. Maybe there’d be enough to buy a meal today. 

Then. 

Him.

He was more robe than man, slowly walking through the ruins, head down, stopping to examine something in the ash. This could be a problem. You considered the options and went for the reckless one. He’d likely already spied you here and there weren’t enough credits to properly run.

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’d ask the same thing.” He didn’t look up, running his fingers through a pile of finely crumbled rubble. 

“I’m looking for interesting things. It’s a hobby!” you snapped, waving the metal detector in a wide arc. “What are you up to here?”

“Looking for a book. This is the nearest library.” He looked around the shattered metal and stone. “Rather, it used to be a library.”

Too easy a story. Like yours. Nowhere to run. Reckless. Tired. You stormed toward him.

“Are you following me?”

“I’d ask the same thing,” he repeated, casually standing up. Yet there was no doubt his body had gone tense. Ready.

“Never seen you before yesterday on the transport,” you tutted. 

“A second meeting could be simple coincidence,” he trailed off, eyeing you with suspicion, pulling his robe close. “A third looks like a trap.”

“Well, we were cheek to cheek last night and there was no trapping. It would have been an easy opportunity,” you pointed out. Hopefully it sounded more confident than you were. “Let’s just go about our business and hope there isn’t a fourth.”

With the barest nod, he squatted and went back to examining the ground. You continued with the metal detector. Each keeping an eye on one another. As the sun fell further, the hope that anything worthwhile would be found sank with it. At least you had a decent haul of little scrap bits to sell or trade. The only panic was a few stormtroopers on patrol who hadn’t bothered to look toward the ruins. The hooded man disappeared at the sound of their marching boots. 

*

Obi-Wan did his best to disappear behind a crumbling column at the edge of the library ruin. Having cut himself off from the Force, it was a struggle to keep one eye on this dangerously curious woman and the other on their surroundings. Every footfall sent panic through is veins. I cannot be found. . . the boy . . . what is she doing . . . three times. . . now I have to follow her.

Skulking. He was out of practice. Had been even during the war due to Anakin’s inability to be subtle. That idiot. Obi-Wan shoved aside the feeling of clashing lightsabers that always charred the edge of his dreams. 

She was heading back to the alcove. A lure or simple stupidity. He squatted behind a few collapsed shelves, hood pulled deep, hoping that the pebble he’d disturbed hadn’t been heard. 

“If you’re an Imp can you just take me in? I’m tired.” She stood slumped, head dropping so far down, arms out, wrists together waiting to be cuffed.“It probably doesn’t matter anyway. Just take me in. I don’t know if I can anymore."

A violent wave of resigned dread knocked him down, shoulder hitting the ground hard. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the sky that was veiled by mist and smoke. Just few minutes. That’s all. A few minutes to gather himself back to the mission. 

Rain. Of course there was more rain; just a gentle fall for now. He closed his eyes for a moment then pushed himself up. Despair hit him, not enough to knock him back down. Enough for him to notice it was from her. Still on her feet but wavering as if gravity tried to bring her down and she fought against it. Barely. 

Obi-Wan stood and took a few tentative steps forward. Her knees buckled. He ran, arms out intent to catch her and did catch her as they both slipped and fell to the ground. The rain came down harder, pummeling his body. After these last years on Tatooine, the violent water was a welcome reprieve. Again, he wondered if he’d done right by bringing the boy to that wretched planet. 

The thought was interrupted by the woman’s foot in his face as she tried to stand.

She stood to make her way to the alcove and slipped. Then slipped again. Heavy as the rain became, she kept getting up, slipping, then getting up. It took longer each time until she stopped and lay face down on the ground. Not injured. Just laying there, defeated.

He rose and dashed ahead, grabbing her at the waist and dragged her to the questionable safety of the alcove. 

“I’m not an Imp. I won’t hurt you.” She’d balled herself up, head to her knees and it was unclear if she had even heard. “What is it?” 

“What’s what?” she sobbed. 

“What you can’t do anymore.”

“Hope.”

*

The storm had subsided in the night, leaving you damp rather than soaked and, surprisingly, mildly rested despite having slept upright in the fetal position. He squatted at a fallen slab nearby, pouring water into a readi-meal. 

“It’s not hot and not much,” he called. “It’s something, though.” 

Everything cracked and ached as you ambled out of the alcove and went toward the lure of a scant meal. He held it out, yet you hesitated. There could be anything in there. There was also the risk of eye contact and acknowledging that what had. . . happened. . . last night.

“I’m not an Imp.” he said again, taking the shallow bowl back and taking a bite himself before handing it back as if proving it wasn’t tainted. “I owe you, so let’s eat and be on our ways.”

The hood was finally down, draped over his shoulders. Oh, stars. His hair and beard were still damp enough that they weren’t any particular color. Age was a mystery as well; maybe in his forties but it seemed regular people aged faster these days. Like everyone under the Empire, he looked tired and battered. The only point of light was the blue eyes. Still, he looked beautifully worn like someone in a faded old heroic painting.

It was all too coincidental. But, he’d had every opportunity to . . . whatever Imps and other brigands do . . . and didn’t. There was a sense of brightness from within him; dim, but there. The last remnants of warm hope in your soul said he’s trustworthy

He’s good

“What were you looking for anyway?” you said cautiously, not daring to make eye contact, unsure if it was from embarrassment or the fear of dangerously wanting it again. “I was looking for old books.”

He sighed, looking up to the clear blue sky, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It appears we share a goal.” 

You stepped forward, tentatively touching his shoulder. The libraries in cities and towns had been pointedly targeted and their destruction very public. The smaller libraries were less likely to have been completely demolished.

“There’s another one on this world. Small. Rural. Maybe there’s something for both of us.”

*

This is a terrible idea

They’d found a rickety farmer’s cart going in the right direction. The fee? Work. Pick through the cart’s contents examining for pests and signs of rot. It’ll save time on my end, the farmer had said. And the barn needs cleaning if yins want a dry roof and a meal tonight. 

Obi-Wan was running out of time, but couldn’t go much longer with this exhaustion and couldn’t afford to lose this unexpected companion. She knew the location of this other library and if he was going to find a remedy for Owen’s rare illness, he’d have to trust her.

In the farmer’s barn, they made quick work of it and, as promised, the farmer brought two bowls of fresh stew and a blanket. I only got the one to spare, he said before leaving. But, warm breakfast in the morning. 

“We can’t make a fire in here.” Her fingers ran along the blanket. Chilly wind whispered between the precarious barn. “We’ll have to— we should—“

The memory of her face buried in his neck the previous night lingered, as did the feeling of her being possessed by bad dreams and squirming between his legs. Shamefully, Obi-Wan began to harden when her hips accidentally pushed against his cock. His head had fallen against the brick and the storm stole the moan that escaped. And the next. And the next. 

He’d tried to gently shift her into a position that did not bring them in such close contact while also sustaining their combined warmth. But then she’d awoken and looked up with such searching eyes. Such deep desperation for touch, connection. The same as his. Her gaze flicked down to where his hand rested at her hip, granting permission.

Obi-Wan slid his hand along her inner thigh, settling at her apex and began stroking over her rain-soaked pants. She ground her ass against his rock hard cock and held his hand against her. Cries stolen by the storm as they’d come together.

Obi-Wan could not afford for it to happen again.

But it was cold and there was one thin blanket. And she was looking at him like that again. 

“Yes. Yes, we should.”

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

Love me some Sad Ben Kenobi! I'm planning this as either a two-parter, maybe a trilogy. I've been working on this for a while and was hesitant to post it because of the fascism aspect. But fuck it. We gotta find joy. And fucking any Obi-Wan is pure joy.

I'm planning this as either a two-parter, maybe a trilogy. And I promise there will be some proper fucking in the next installment.

I hope you like it and thank you for reading!

@marierg @thegreatwicked @baba-fett @sinisterexaggerator @bobafetts-princess @agirlunderarock @hideflen @bl00000g @kenobiquinn @kenobiapologist @allthingskenobi @dystopicjumpsuit @starlady66

[marierg]

CLONES IN SUITS | CAPTAIN REX POV: The Clone Wars were finally over — the Republic had won, Palpatine was gone, and Coruscant was basking in revelry. Clones, at last, were granted citizenship. On a secluded balcony of the Senate Building, Rex lifted you off your feet, spinning you as his laugh — real, unguarded — echoed against the night sky. When he set you down, he pulled you against his chest, breathing you in like the first breath of a new world.

"Finally, my brothers are free," he whispered against your lips, his voice cracking. "Cyar'ika...I'm free."

Version without shadows:

Inspired by "Go the Distance" from Hercules💙

The captain is finally done <3 Next on the list for the clones in suits series is Bad Batch Echo! xoxo Might be a little slow since Celebration is approaching but he will come! 😊

For a look at which clones I've made so far, check out this link!

Taglist: @gonky-kong @nevadastarrsworld @gun-roswell @returnofthepineapple @riinoaheartilly @mamuzzy @freesia-writes @amorfista @cloneloverrrrr @wolffegirlsunite @askwenjing @moonlightwarriorqueen @sunshinesdaydream @advisorsnips @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent @corona-one @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @flyiingsly @insertmeaningfulusername @jgvfhl @n0vqni @naganna418 @techs-goggles9902 @starrylothcat @and-loth-cat @lamaenthel @doctordoombignaturals @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @stardusthuntress @n0vqni @fakegingerrights @stormyblue90 @greatshieldmaiden14 @echo-lover @yukikun336 @queenblueoffire @bad4amficideas @fussyrogue @tararose @tararosebloodthorn @atomicbug

[marierg]

Eeeeeeee!!!!! Oh My patience has been rewarded and this was such a treat after finals!!!! Thoughts below

Ok firstly can we just appreciate the way that Danica is such a sweetie to the kids. My golden hearted Blue queen of the Deeps, you deserve to go to the Beach with the little umbrella drinks for taking care of Master Grumpy Windy. And Mace, my guy, Just admit it! Jedi don't have attachments my eye, Depa is my daughter...

Ok but you had my blood pressure going when the troopers showed up! And I had that horrible feeling that, oh god no he's gonna have to off our boys. BUT NO! YOU PULL THIS OUT!

“I forgive you, sergeant.” 

The sergeant immediately went still, loosening his grip enough for Danica to wriggle away. 

Mace looked directly at each man. “I forgive all of you.”

One by one, helmets came off and faces Mace knew so well stared, eyes welling. It was only a few moments before the helmets went back on. 

“It’s not them, sir,” one of them commed to someone, somewhere. “Just a couple spiceheads looking for a hit.”

The men stood aside, clearing a path for Mace and Danica to walk away. 

“Get off world, General,” one said. “And stay hidden.”

WOMAN ARE YOU TRYING TO BREAK MY HEART AND GLUE IT BACK TOGETHER ALL AT ONCE?! Cause you did, Congrats!

Can't wait for the next bit, and for the love of god Windy KISS THE WOMAN!

Shattered Sunrise: Chapter Five

Chapter Summary: Mace Windu's inability to stop doing good in The Deeps finally draws the inevitable Imperial attention and he is confronted with what his brethren had faced: too many clone troopers against one Jedi.

Pairing: Mace Windu x OC Danica Morrow

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, reference to people getting disappeared, general fascism

A/N: I appreciate everyone who's been interested in my little AU where Mace Windu survived the fall. He is the best Jedi and I just wrote the story I wanted to read. Thanks for being here with me.

series masterlist

---------

“Most of these are Skywalkers and Kenobis. Worthless. I’ll take the Togruta girl, the blue Twi’lek, and these clones.” Danica tossed the rest of the trading cards across the counter toward the kid who’d brought them in. Then tossed a few credits. “For your effort.”

He slumped, muttering fine, but didn’t move other than lifting his head and trying to widen his eyes as much as possible in an attempt to look as pathetic as possible. She knew the desperate hunch of the shoulders and eyes, having done them herself. This kid hadn’t mastered it yet. He was new to this life with Fyyghn’s band of orphan thieves. 

“Do it like this.” Danica did her best to recreate the pose and facial expression she’d done so many times as a child. “You’ve gotta go a few levels up for this to work. These days probably further up than I had to.” 

The scrawny boy nodded, eyes trained hard on her. He may be new, but he knew what was here. Danica went behind the counter to the new box she kept for kids and retrieved what he wanted: a cookie. 

If that lowlife Fyyghn wouldn’t let her give toys to the younglings under his “care”, she’d give them cookies. Nothing could shatter the joy of a cookie. 

“Don’t come here too often, kid,” she warned. “Otherwise, he’ll take the cookies, too.”

The boy devoured the cookie, brushing crumbs from his mouth and licking them from his fingers.

Once the shop was empty, she looked at the clone’s trading card and traced the scar crossing the silver eye. Was he alive? What was he like? Which Jedi had been his general? Did that Jedi escape?

Danica went to the box where she kept her meager treasures. A flower she’d swiped from the Botanical Gardens that had darkened and dried. A holo of a sunrise. Mace Windu’s trading card along with the Skywalker and Kenobi he’d once smacked out of her hand. She added the silver-eyed clone. 

Windy had spoken fondly of his clone brothers-at-arms and the duty he’d felt toward them. I’d always fought for democracy, he’d said. I also fought for the clones and hoped that they could be part of it. 

She always kept the clone cards.

*

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNALS OF MACE WINDU

I did not expect it to be so difficult to leave The Deeps.

My goal is reaching a level close enough to the surface yet far enough down to find a small ship that can’t be traced. As a Jedi, it would have been a simple requisition with reimbursement to the owner. In this new reality, I will be stealing it. If I can even continue to forage food and water to keep me alive another day. Over these last weeks, my stomach has ceased rumbling with hunger and settled into an ever-present, gnawing ache. 

However, I have my eye on an abandoned speeder in an alley between a snack monger and a gambling establishment. Not a ship, but looks promising enough to get closer to the surface.

Sometimes I want to go back to Danica’s sanctuary and her salty soups.

I may never be able to leave here.                                                                                                                                                                                                  *                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   “What happened to your assistant?”

It was a market day and Danica was doing an easy repair on a blaster pistol while its owner hovered. This was one of the times she missed Windy: he was adept at discouraging small talk from customers. She ignored this one. Work was about done anyway. 

“You and that bantha dung gave me a problem, ya know.”

Danica looked up to see the Iktotchi who’d stupidly tried to mug her and Mace a while ago. Their horn had been cracked after that altercation with Mace. Now it was broken off, leaving a jagged stub. 

“That problem isn’t my problem.”

“You gave me a problem, too.” They gestured to the ruined horn. “It’ll take a long time for this to grow back and will have to be filed down. Inconvenient.” 

“No charge for the repair.” She handed over the repaired weapon. “I was in danger and acted. Nothing personal. You would have done the same.”

 “Yeah. But I wouldn’t have left my attacker alive.” The Iktochi examined the work, nodded, and turned to leave. “Nothing personal.”

In short order, Danica began packing up, scanning what could be left behind that would allow her to run faster that would also be the least financial loss. Most wasn’t worth saving; there was always scrap to be had. Always desperate people peddling. She stored her tools in the pack and walked away. 

Sith’s hells, Windy. I never needed anyone until you showed up. Now look what you’ve done.

Of course, the horned thug followed, uttering very descriptive threats the entire time. She darted through cracks in The Deeps’ main walls between twists and turns through the haphazard neighborhoods that had been carved out. Yet the it continued to trail. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuck

Danica knew the deepest of The Deeps better than herself and might be able to go to lower levels and lose them down there, but to do so would be giving up secrets that might harm everyone. She would have to drop the pack and go up. 

Stars, my thighs and arms are going to burn tomorrow. 

The walls were close enough there were enough pipes to serve as handholds that she was able to scramble up to the next level. The Iktochi followed but was not as nimble or as knowledgeable about The Deeps and slipped off an oil slicked pipe, landing on the level behind with a crack and sharp cry. Probably the other horn breaking in the fall. 

Emerging from another narrow, hopefully unnoticed passage one level up, Danica scanned the street for a possible escape. There. A beat-up speeder bike in a tight alley. It wouldn’t last long but would do for running up a few levels. She stayed put, casing the thoroughfare, waiting for the safest moment to begin skulking toward the target. 

Just as she began skulking, the Iktochi grabbed her hair, pulling her to the ground. Her responses to the assault were rote, having done them so many times as a kid in Fyyghn’s pathetic gang of children. Knuckles to the eyes. Knuckles to the eyes again. Take the opportunity to bring a fist or knee to the gut. Get away. 

Before her second knuckle blow hit, her attacker was yanked and thrown far behind, hitting walls along the way until finally landing hard with a crack. Dim, oily yellow light glowed beyond the smooth dome of her rescuer’s head. 

“I had that under control,” she hissed as she swatted Mace’s helping hand away. 

“So did I.” 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“True. However,” Mace looked toward the wayward speeder. “That’s my ride you were about to steal.”

“Keep it.” Wearily, she stood. It had been a long, heavy day and having to run as if she were a youngling pickpocket again would be taking an early toll. She longed for the tinkering space behind her shop. Surely on the way home she would find scraps that could be fashioned into toys. These days she scattered them behind her while walking these forgotten veins of Coruscant. Most of the time these days she squatted next to a spicehead who had GAR and Jedi cards and made the trade. A bit of joy for a bit of hope. 

“Dani, I’ll—”

“Do what? See me home safely?” she scoffed. “What happened to putting me in danger and all of that?”

“You’re right. It’s not safe,” he sighed deeply. “I’ll take my leave.”

She nodded and turned away, then threw a look over her shoulder.

“I know you’re just going to lurk and behind me anyway, Windy.”

“I will not.”

“Sure, you won’t,” she smiled. “Come in through the back.”

*

“Too salty?”

Danica had handed him a plate of thick noodles tossed with shredded meat of dubious origin. Despite his deep hunger, he was careful not to devour it lest he make himself sick. It wasn’t salty; just bland. That didn’t matter though because it was hot and filling and eaten in the company of someone he liked. 

“No,” he muffled between bites. “It’s exactly what I need.”

After dinner, they fell into that old routine: Mace scrolling through news and the socials on his datapad while Danica leaned against his arm, reading one of her dramatic stories with a happy ending. Nothing he read was uplifting; the feeds were telling a story that seemed unlikely to have a happy ending. If it did, that ending would be far off in the future, most likely when he was as dead as the khyber crystal in the useless, cobbled lightsaber he still carried. Perhaps he should read one of her stories sometime.

“It’s getting late,” he said when they both started dozing off. 

“Yeah. I’ll get your pillow.”

She shuffled to the bed, retrieved the pillow and stool still, clutching it against her. Her loneliness and tenuous hope mingled with his, filling the little apartment. 

“I don’t like missing you,” she said lowly. 

The words lingered in the air, wanting to be caught by someone; either her taking them back or Mace accepting them. Before they evaporated, Danica seemed to come back to herself, dropping the pillow back on the bed and slid into it, settling on her side facing the wall.

“Just sleep over here. It’s better than the sofa. Besides, your creaking bones will keep me awake all night and we both have work tomorrow and all the days after.”

He took her meaning and agreed: this could be no more than one night’s rest. Any longer would be increasingly dangerous for both of them. The bed was only slightly wider than the cot downstairs which he’d slept on for months. There was barely room for both of them, but he went and lay down anyway. Instinctively, he shifted his arm so she could wriggle under it, laying her head on his shoulder. 

“I do not creak. And if I do, perhaps the arm and leg you built for me are faulty,” he said, attempting to bring some levity to this situation. “If I’d paid for them, I’d demand my credits back.”

“Sorry, Windy,” she laughed, palm flat on his chest, pushing up just enough to be face to face. “No refunds.”

For a short time, everything felt right. 

*

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNALS OF MACE WINDU

The familiar peace of Miss Morrow’s home was a relief. Upon arriving, she wrinkled her nose and pointed toward the sorely needed ‘fresher. These weeks of transience have taken a toll: I don’t quite recognize the man looking back from the mirror, face having gone gaunt and dull. I remain myself behind that face: purposeful and determined to carry on the Jedi mission. 

I left her sanctuary early this morning. Rather than spiriting away like last time, I waited until she was awake. No words were exchanged. Just mutual nods of understanding.  

Now I’ve resumed working toward my goal: making my way up top and getting off of Coruscant. Against my nature, I’ve resisted intervening several street crimes while reaching for that goal. However, moving up levels eludes me. There are so many winding, spiraling, switchback paths beyond the thoroughfares and once I’ve found a way up, I wind up in a place I’d been a few days before. 

Before I left her the first time, I repeatedly asked Miss Morrow for a map of the Deeps and she’d shrugged, saying the lay of the place changed so frequently there was no reason for maps. She'd said The changes aren’t dramatic. But there’s always something getting destroyed and that creates new paths. There’s no point in mapping when it can all change in a day. You just have to pay attention, Windy.

I desperately need to leave The Deeps. But every time I try, I wind up where I started. 

•

“Calm down,” Danica sighed, annoyed at this man badgering her about repairs on a regulation GAR DC-15A rifle. “It’ll be done in a few minutes.” 

It was a market day. Without Windy’s assistance, she’d downgraded to the smaller stall she’d worked for years prior where she had to choose between repairs or sales. Repairs were best since she had no patience for customer service. It was a wonder that Windy had handled sales so well with his demeanor and face. 

It wasn’t necessarily easier with him. It just felt better. Natural. Connected. Something she’d only had when trapped with the orphaned younglings in Fyyghn’s gang, but without expectations of profit and threats of starvation.

Once the repair was done, the customer huffed and made a show of examining the workmanship as if he knew anything about it before throwing credits on the counter. Danica took comfort in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to sell it or use it for long. The market had been flooded with those GAR blasters since the start of the war; there were so many and so cheaply made that they were usually discarded in short order. Also, they often exploded when fired, even the newer ones— when there were newer ones to be had. 

How many clones had been injured or killed because of that? she wondered while packing up. Although the war had been background static while going on, Danica thought of it often these days. Rather than her usual happy ending stories before bed, she’d taken to reading old news items about the war, saving them on her datapad to be remembered. 

Since Mace left, she’d been feeling guilty about having not thought about the lost lives and destroyed communities for three years. Mostly struggling to understand why these loyal men had so suddenly turned against the Jedi or why the Jedi were being hunted at all. It was so hard to stop scrolling. Other people’s pasts kept her awake some nights.

The past is a weight. One that seems too heavy to lift, Mace had said one of those nights when she’d been drowning in her feelings. But, carrying weight can make us stronger. We remember it - should remember it - but move forward.

At some point it would have to be too much, she wept into her hands. We’d break.

Maybe. Hopefully not. Mace took her up in his arms, her head heavy against his chest. But not today, Dani. Not today.

*

There were so few people out and about today that Danica took the opportunity to try for her favorite snack stall which was usually mobbed. Maybe she wouldn’t have to wait a million days to get some chips. 

There was no crowd. There wasn’t anyone. The stall’s security door was down. What the kriff was going on?

Danica turned to go home then froze.

Boots. Staticky voices. Troopers. Troopers who might be looking for Windy. Most likely looking for Windy.

Sith’s hells! I told him not to be a hero! I told him the risk!

She was already walking along the thoroughfare. It would draw attention to stray from that path or hurry up. Best to keep going. Head down. No. Head up. Confidently. Like this was just a normal walk home. A passage leading toward her shop’s level was just ahead. It would be ok. 

“Miss,” a gravelly voice came from behind, staticky through the helmet. Another white-armored trooper stepped in front of her, blaster held loosely. This one announced that they were going to ask some questions. Their voices were the same. Mace hadn’t said anything about their voices sounding the same. It was disorienting.

“We’re looking for this man.” The trooper held out a holo of Mace. Nothing dramatic like his trading card. Just him serenely looking forward like in an identification file. “He’s a dangerous traitor. A Jedi.”

“A Jedi? Jedi may as well be a fairy tale down here,” she laughed, praying they didn’t know it was fake. “Never seen him.”

Helmets conferred with one another. Finally one nodded. 

“What’s your destination.” Another trooper had come up from the side. 

“That snack stall. Felt like chips.” She waved a hand toward the shuttered place. “They’re closed though, so now I’m going home.”

“Where is that.”

Now Danica started panicking and struggled to sound calm and normal in her response. What should she even say? What if they followed her? There was nowhere to go that could be passed off as a home.

“It’s . . .umm. . . down a couple levels.. . over my shop."

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Sorry. I’m— I’m just nervous,” she wavered, gesturing the casually held blasters gazing at the ground. “I mean. . . you’re all—“

“Here to keep the citizens safe,” one of them interrupted. Helmets glanced among one another. One nodded and turned back to her. “With a Jedi around, no one is safe. We’ll walk you home.”

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuccccckkkkkk

“Ok. Yeah. Thank you.”

Danica took a few steps but was stopped by two of the troopers grabbing her arms, roughly yanking her forward. Instinct honed during her pick pocketing childhood kicked in and she went limp. It didn’t matter; one of them easily picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

“We know you’ve been harboring him.” 

Tears ran down her forehead into her hair. The light cords woven into her braids glinted on the white armor, the floor, the dark windows where people were most likely peeking and beginning to rethink how to live now that the Empire had become real in The Deeps.

She didn’t bother beating her fists at the armor or struggling in any way. It didn’t matter. None of than the scrappiness learned in childhood would help against three war-hardened clone troopers, so she remained limp and tried to keep the terror at bay. Tried not to wonder what would happen next. Tried to hope that Mace would stay away and find a way off Coruscant to continue his mission. That was the hardest part: trying to hope he wouldn’t save her. 

Suddenly, the sound of a body smashing against armor, the sight of metal ground rushing up to meet her, the staticky grunts and attempts to shout as the three clone troopers were flung into the wall or shoved away. Danica immediately scrambled up, meeting Mace’s liquid brown eyes for the shortest moment then together they ran. 

“This way.” She grabbed his hand, dashing toward a crevice just beyond a hastily abandoned grill cart; her second favorite snack place. “There’s a path.”

More troopers appeared, blocking the path and hustling them into a dead end street off the thoroughfare. Mace stumbled, but would not fall to his knees. Instead, he propelled forward, crashing into the nearest trooper and pushing up with his droid hand to land on his feet. He spun around, prepared to fight.

They kept coming, filling the dead end alley with white armor and identical voices.

Mace now faced what his Jedi brethren had faced: Jedi and padawans against too many clone troopers. The useless lightsaber he’d cobbled together from Danica’s scraps and the grey khyber crystal hung at this hip; carried these last months as a bit of comfort and a reminder that somehow, young Skywalker would undo the evil that had swallowed the galaxy. 

Time slowed. He sensed Danica screaming curses and kicking at the two troopers who were attempting to drag her away. Remembered the Jedi and Clone trading cards she kept in her pocket. 

Would you tell me about your daughter? she’d asked so long ago, gazing at the trading card kept in his pocket: Depa. He could not fail her. 

All of it a reminder to hope. Mace Windu had always held hope deep in his heart, almost as deeply as the Force. Hope, he’d once said to the boy, is a spark. One that, when tended, can always light the way. 

“You’re coming in, Jedi scum. The sympathizer, too.”

“I don’t think so.” 

Mace Windu stood confidently, lightsaber in hand, feeling so much at home. Instinctively inviting the blade to aid him as he’d done since building the first one. The lightsaber didn’t ignite. Of course it didn’t. He’d felt too much at home with it and forgotten the kyber crystal was dead. 

In slow motion, he saw Danica struggling in the troopers’ grip and had a vision of what the Empire would do to her: torture to the point of madness then death. In the same vision he saw himself leaping to save her only to be cut down by the men blocking the alley. 

No. 

He was Jedi Master Mace Fucking Windu and he would not allow that vision to come to pass, would not be defeated in this grimy dead end. He would not break. Not today. 

A shatterpoint erupted centered on the trooper at her left; one simple and truthful. The armor had grey paint, but Mace could see bits of yellow peeking through scrapes as well as the rank insignia which had been mostly scratched out. 

“I forgive you, sergeant.” 

The sergeant immediately went still, loosening his grip enough for Danica to wriggle away. 

Mace looked directly at each man. “I forgive all of you.”

One by one, helmets came off and faces Mace knew so well stared, eyes welling. It was only a few moments before the helmets went back on. 

“It’s not them, sir,” one of them commed to someone, somewhere. “Just a couple spiceheads looking for a hit.”

The men stood aside, clearing a path for Mace and Danica to walk away. 

“Get off world, General,” one said. “And stay hidden.”

*

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNALS OF MACE WINDU

Our stolen little ship is on autopilot and Danica has finally dozed off in the cockpit. She refused the cot in the scant living area, saying I don’t want to miss something awesome because I’m sleeping.

I turned this lightsaber in my hands for hours. 

For a moment in the dead end, it felt as if it had the slightest vibration. It was held in my droid arm, so it must have been a power surge. I asked Danica to look at it and she said it was perfect and proceeded to berate me for doubting her skills. Then she snapped Do you wanna complain about my salty soup now, too? We laughed and it was the best I’ve felt since before the war. 

But I know I felt something from the lightsaber. Vibration isn’t the right word. More like it desired to see light and live and fight. Most likely, it came from my own desire to defend democr—. No. Democracy is paused for now. The Order is paused. Hope endures. 

I needed to save her. 

I was unable to let go of that slightest vibration and wouldn’t let go of this dead khyber crystal and the home I’d constructed for it. My lightsaber had never had a switch; it had an invitation to join the fight. That’s why Vaapad works: the form is personal. Vaapad was a deal with the Force: it would aid me and would stop me if I skated too close to the Dark Side. That’s why Depa and I will be the only masters of the form. 

With a fool’s impossible hope, I invited the lightsaber to join me. It answered, purple blade extending as if to say good to see you again, old friend.

A khyber crystal resurrected. A miracle.

When I’d fallen into the Coruscant Deeps, seemingly infinite shatterpoints had cracked around me— so many it was hard to see past everything that could break me. I’d followed the single clear point that led to Danica, who has led here. The shatterpoints have decreased in number over these last months and the last finally blinked out. All is clear.

*

“Miss Morrow, I intend to carry on the Jedi mission in whatever way I can.” He reached out and took her hand. “It will be dangerous and I-- we might be caught."

“Ok,” she shrugged. “Where do we go first?”

The starlight mingled with her red eyes which were wide with hope and possibilities. The fairy lights woven through her braids threw sparkles all over the cockpit. Letting her come was a terrible idea; she could get killed or worse. But, he knew enough about his Chiss companion that if he tried to drop her off someplace peaceful, she would find a way to sneak back onto the ship. However, there may no longer be any safe place with Darth Sidious having taken control of everything and the Empire trying to stamp out all that was good. Danica would be safer with him. 

“Far from the core worlds,” he finally said. “There’s always someone somewhere who needs our help. The only question is what do you want to see?”

Danica looked beyond the stars, thoughtful. 

“Someplace with a river.” She looked over at him with a mischievous smile. “And real wind, Windy.”

“Very well, Dani. Setting a course for someplace with a river.” Mace’s hands danced across the control panel. “Pull that lever.”

Danica Morrow pulled the lever and the stars stretched blue. Wizard, she whispered.

The galaxy’s immediate future was uncertain, yet Jedi Master Mace Windu held faith that somehow Master Skywalker would make it right. Until then, he would do the only thing he knew how to do: bring a bit of peace to those who need it. This new way of fulfilling the Jedi mission could be renewing and, with Danica, may feel like the adventures he’d had as a padawan. Everything was exiting back then. Maybe this could be both. Regardless, he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

Mace Windu would not break. Not today. Not ever.

----------

A/N: I know there isn't much of an audience for Mace Windu and probably three people will read it and not like/reblog but that's ok. Danica Morrow is my first OC and writing for Mace is challenging. I think Shattered Sunrise may be the best thing I've ever written. To anyone reading, thank you for joining me. I have to leave this series with my two favorite gifs of him:

And yes, they fucked.

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@psychyourit @marierg @thegreatwicked @lamaenthel @ladysaturnsdust @adragonsfriend

[marierg]

This makes me smile 😁! I'm so glad you're enjoying it hun, but you may want to pray for them.... In the words of Dorothy

Biscuits and Beskar: Ch. 10

Pairing: Boba Fett x OC Kaylee Manu

Rated: Mature (Violence, etc.)

Warnings: cannon typical violence, language, old wounds/ past trauma, Death and mentions there of, plotting, evil baddies doing evil baddie things!!!

A/N: Firstly and foremost I take no credit for the actual dialogue from the show, that's all to the wonderful writers. I did my best to blend and convey the scenes on paper though and to work the different pieces together. This is a pivitol moment in the show and I wanted to give it an edge. More character naming was involved in this chapter, Esox Lucius is the name I gave the Pike Syndicate boss (scientific name for the great northern Pike). Also I wanted to really give just a little more time to our friend the Rancor trainer. I hope that you all enjoy this part.

Special Author's note: An Especially LARGE thank you goes out to my co-workers who upon hearing me cursing from the breakroom during lunch instantaneously start yelling at me to finish WHATEVER I am working on (supportively "don't squirrel, just do it."). (They think it's homework...) Bless their little souls for putting up with my especially grumpy butt!

Words: 4589ish (Decided to break it up again so as not too long)

Gif by @dreamswithghosts

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“The Sanctuary is no more.”

Bane's mouth retracted in a sickening smile, sharp teeth gleming under the brim of his hat. “And Fwip?”

“No longer an obstacle.” The second foot soldier replied apathetically. Holding out his hand like a child the little pond scum tilted his head. “The bonus we were promissed?”

The Duros chuckled darkly in the back of his throat, “Ah, that's right.”

Before either could twitch Bane drew down on them. A shot to the chest knocked the first one down. The second took two to the head, body droping with a hollow thud. Tipping the brim of his hat back to inspect his work Bane still felt a displeasure at the thought of the other target escaping. Deligation always had its detractions and if you wanted something done right, well...

The wet gurgling of the other messenger boy's labored attempt at breathing drew his attention back. With an annoyed sigh slipping his lips Bane came to stand over the dying creature. “Nothing personal. The Syndicate doesn't like loose ends.”

The sound of the bolts echoed down the alleyway.

“My poor little 'kita cat.” Hand pressed to the glass your eyes closed in anger. The girl had burned her lungs and fried her neural circuit connections, she was still hanging in the ebb and flow between life and death. Krrsantan let out a low rumble, head dipped perhaps in regret or sadness. Wookies were a hard bunch to read sometimes.

He had been invaluable, helping you and 8-D8 to place the girl in the tank. She looked so helpless floating in the blue mixture, so small. The fearsome furball had stayed with you even after dismissing him to stand the first watch. For a creature so lethal Krrsantan was kind, gentle even. As you sat listening to the bubbling filtrate, the fear in your gut had galvanized to fury.

“Grrrrr?” Krrsantan tilted his head inquisitively at your far off look. Humans were odd he found. These ones were fierce true, but the matriarch who led them was their strength. Alliances through marriage weren't uncommon on Kashyyyk, he could see why Fett favored you. Still as with all mothers your weakness was your children. If you should lose them, would you break?

“They made quite the mess of my girl, didn't they?” Turning away from the patchwork of injuries on the girl to meet those dark and alien ones you could see he was assessing. Worried perhaps, the big fella had tension in his gruff face. Patting his hand you huffed a weary breath, you were scared too. These blood thirsty bastards wouldn't stop till all of you were dead, that was certain. With a gentle pat on the tank you rose, murmuring to the sleeping girl. “Don't worry little one, mama won't let them hurt you again.”

“Bastards are close,” Skad had to pause, catching his breath as the two hunters approached. He'd had to pick the trail up. Took a bit, but eventually Skad'd found their speeder abandoned. He hated waiting, but he was also too exhausted to fight them alone. So he had heeded the Daimyo's order and stayed put.

For his part the Daimyo had only tilted his helmet, a displeased grumble passing through the vocoder. The other one, Djarin, seemed to scry something in the sand.

Din found the trail easily, the scanners in his helm tracing a path down the road. Turning to the young man he could see anger and perhaps too much bravado. It would get the boy killed. “You did good, we'll take it from here.”

“Not a chance mate,” Skad cocked his head at the silver clad Mando, “They hurt me and mine, I'm sorting it.”

Two helmets turned to the boy then to each other, a silent conversation passing between them. They walked on and past, assuming he would follow. Who were they to tell him no?

Winding down the dark streets the three began to notice the change in the air. Boba the first to shift position, taking point. “It's quiet.”

Din hummed in agreement, moving closer to the Mod. If trouble should arise he and Fett were better protected, a shield wall for the more vulnerable among them. Gesturing forward his tone dropped, “Dead Quiet...”

Two crumpled bodies lay in the alley, their quarry had come across a greater adversary. Whomprats were already making a feast of the corpses. Boba crouched to examine one, swiping away the vermin. “Can't have been dead long, rigor hasn't set in yet. You ever heard of something like this?”

“Once,” Din saw Fett's helmet tilt, waiting for him to continue. “A hunter I knew on Nevarro took a job for the Pikes. Word got back to the Guild, he had failed to fulfill his contract.”

“Too clean for a Pike rifle.” Skad scanned over the bodies, well what was left of them. “This was close range, but not friendly their holsters are open.”

Boba grumbled, “We have a third party involved.”

The wind howled outside the adobe walls of the Syndicate's stronghold. The hovel in question had more sublevels than it did anything above ground, basic and sturdy. Esox Lucius had been exiled to this dusty little planet after offending his superiors at the Crimson Sun gathering many years ago. Sentenced to the very planet Jabba the Hutt had ruled until Solo had inadvertently caused his death. The irony of being sent here because of his failure to bid adequately on the frozen smuggler was not lost on Esox.

Shaiz had been prattling on since the report of the successful strike on the Twi'leks club. How the spineless worm had come to power was beyond him. Taking his usual patient tone Esox tried to calm the Mayor once more, “There will be time to deal with the impacts later.”

“Impacts! Sixty of my citizens are dead, one of our major business in ashes.” Mok Shaiz hunched forward on his seat. “I have to respond. I have to respond in some way at the very least I should..”

Esox heard the entry portal hiss, looking ahead and catching sight of his contractor. He was punctual and asked few questions, an endearing quality. “You've returned so quickly, was your venture successful?”

“You won't have to worry about Freetown,” Bane reported crisply.

“Did you convince the Marshal to remain neutral?” The Ithorian nervously asked.

Bane's smile was as sinister as it was sickening, “Yes.”

“Good, I want this over as soon as possible.” Shaiz sighed heavily. Some of what weighed on him was guilt, but mostly it was fear. Tattoine was a fierce mistress. She had her favorites and her guardians. One of whom they had assuredly roused with this bloodshed tonight. Fretting again he turned to the head of the Syndicate. “Does Fett have any other resources to call upon? He used to live among a Tuskin Raider tribe in the Dessert.”

“They no longer exist.” Esox swirled his drink with a look of mild annoyance as the Mayor sought reassurance. By the end of this he may kill the slug himself for all the trouble he brought. Turning Esox's tone was finite. “We destroyed them ourselves.”

This peaked Bane's interests, “Does Fett know that?”

“He has no idea. He believes they were killed by Nikto speed bikers,” Esox took a delicate sip of the imported brandy. It was the small luxuries that made this situation all the more tolerable. Humming at his own cleverness he continued, “There was evidence left behind to encourage such a conclusion. He delt his revenge on them, in his mind the matter is resolved.”

“I didn't realize the Syndicate was so ruthlessness.” Everyone could hear the sinister glee in Bane's voice.

“Pragmatic,” Esox stroked one of his whiskers, “They attempted to charge us protection. We have to protect our margins.”

The Duros' eyes crinkled, “Indeed you do.”

“So when will this all be over?”

“That all depends,” The two turned to the sniveling slug, Bane offering his opinion, “on how much your two stomachs can bear.”

“No more explosives. I didn't sign off on bombing Garsa's Sanctuary.” Shaiz's winced again. “I agreed to surgical strikes not open warfare.”

“Apologies, but it would appear that line has now been crossed.” The Pike would have rolled his eyes if he were less disciplined. That was the difference though between him and the Ithorian, emotions didn't rule his hand, only profit.

“And the Manu woman,” Shaiz rambled on nervously, “when will she be delt with?”

“Why do you want her gone so badly?” Bane watched as the coward fidgeted.

“She is a hazard, you would not understand.” Mok Shaiz was as disturbed by the small half breed as he was the Bounty Hunter, the fact that the two were aligned was further bothersome. “I am still the Mayor of Mos Espa and I will not see it destroyed. By our forces or theirs.”

“The Fett Gotra was last seen taking refuge in the ruins of the Sanctuary. If they remain then it may take extreme measures to remove them.” Turning to Bane he tilted his head, “I'm certain that our friend can handle such a delicate situation with discretion.”

“As for the woman,” Bane smirked, “I have an idea of how to draw Fett out.”

Petain paced his cell, dark and cool. Something had happened, the sounds of movement had increased to a frenzy. His cell opened startling the Twi'lek enough to jump. For a moment he relaxed seeing the soup peddler walk in along with the Wookie, until his eyes adjusted enough to really see your face. The coldness rolling off your aura could have frozen the room. Still there was never harm in civility, “Good evening Ms. Manu. I apologize for receiving you in this state, I would have tidied up had I...”

“Would you have?” Cool tone of restrained rage filtered through your lips. Raising an eyebrow you folded your hands before you. “Waste of energy just so your boss can make more of a mess, don't you think? But you're good at that, cleaning up messes.”

“I take it that the Pikes have sent a message to the Daimyo. Perhaps I could act as an envoy on your behalf...”

A cruel cold laugh fell, bouncing off the walls. Krrsantan glanced down at you with an uneasy expression. Patting his large hand you sighed, “It's alright big fella. I got this one.”

“Ms. Manu,” Petain swallowed nervously. Why he should be more afraid of this small female than the gladiator would puzzle any outsider. But Petain knew well how sharp your claws were. “I can be quite helpful, just ask Madame Fwip.”

The knife flew of it's own accord, you had no conscious thought of it. The slemo had ducked fairly quick and moved further away from you into the cell. Watching as it vibrated in the adobe wall you walked forward to grasp the handle.

“My dear friend... can no longer speak on anyone's behalf.” Yanking the cooking instrument free and re sheathing it, your tone turned venomous with every syllable. Pulling a small glass orb from your pocket, your fingers twisted it to catch the light. “If it were up to me I'd send your head on pig pole to wherever that bastard slug has crawled to.”

“I doubt that would have the effect you desire.” Petain began to sweat seeing the all too familiar incendiary device. You were not an unreasonable human, he had often heard of your good will and humor from others. Maybe you would take pity on him? Then again as his eyes tracked the orb in your hand, Petain suspected that you were not in a merciful mood. “How can I be of assistance, without losing my head preferably?”

“How indeed?” Raising your hand you let him get a good look at the small marble, pretending to flick it. The majordomo's tails pulled to twist behind his head as he took two steps even further back.

“Please,” Petain whimpered as you muttered about making him swallow the fire bomb perhaps. “I didn't know! The Mayor would never have harmed Madame Fwip, this was not of his doing!”

“Like he would never harm children, never sell them to slavers. Never murder and maim beings who could not pay enough to line his coffers. You and your boss deserve to die for every life you've ruined with your petty ambition.” You didn't yell, you face remaining stoic as your tone cut with every crime listed. Taking the few steps to stand toe to toe with the weasel, you glared. Death would be an easy sentence for him, not near justice enough. “But perhaps you can be useful. Tell me where the Pikes are.”

“I'll tell you whatever you want, whatever information you need just please,” Dropping to his knees Petain groveled at your feet. “Please don't kill me, please.”

“Stop it,” Growling as you pulled your foot away, still tempted to burn this piece of drek. “If your information proves useful then perhaps I'll let you live with your cowardice.”

Petain told you everything, the location of the Pike drop off house in town that he ran messages to and who the current boss in charge was. Hells he confessed to somethings he wasn't even sure you had suspected including whom had sent the asps. But he did hold one last card, one last needed bit of leverage just in case. At the lessening chill in your eyes he finally dared to lower his hands.

You thought of all the innocent people killed tonight, silenced by greed. You could give in to the dark thoughts of ending this sniveling coward, to lay upon him the full weight of your pain. The thought of Garsa's sweet face turning in disappointment was what stayed your hand. The twinkling laugh of your dear friend telling you that it was not something she would wish, that it would not bring her or the others back. So as you continued to glare, the fire orb was placed back in its small container. “Don't make me regret my choice tonight.”

With that Krrsantan gave an angry roar, following as you turned and left. The rage in your wake gave him pause and so he hung back as you both exited into the Throne Room. The former gladiator was still not entirely ready to rectify what he had just witnessed. So he sought counsel with the only other being in the fortress. If the older human could tame a Rancor, hopefully he could wrangle you.

“You're sure of this?” Boba whispered within the helmet. The redscale of your image on the helmet display looked weary, though no less beautiful. As you sighed and confirmed that it was as good as a crying man could be relied upon to provide Boba couldn't help the tug at his lips. “I'll have Djarin look into it me'suum'ika. May also have Krrsantan bring him down for more questioning.”

“I hope it helps.” Your voice cracked with worry, “Boba...”

“I know,” there was so much said in those few words. That he wished none of this upon you, how he wanted this over quickly, but most of all how much he cared for you. “I want you to go to my rooms, there's a case under the bed.”

Your brow furrowed over the screen, “Something you need me to bring you?”

“No mesh'la, something for you. Pick whichever of the blasters you think you can handle and keep it on you till I return.” Hearing the nasally grumble Boba became stern. “None of that. If I can't be there to keep you safe the best I can do is arm you.”

“Boba I don't need...”

“Your knives are very sharp, but they're no match for this fight.” His tone was final, commanding in a way that saw you silenced from further argument. “Do you know how to use one?”

“I've never had much use for them.”

“I hope that you never do Kayl'ika,” On a deep sigh, Boba allowed you to be privy to his thoughts. “I think that before the suns set tomorrow you may yet have need of them.”

“Boba, be safe. Bring everyone home.”

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” Boba smiled as the words passed his lips. Even if you did not understand, he needed to tell you. He knew that their chances were slim. In truth he never thought he would make it this far, it was only a matter of time.

“You tell me what that means when this is over.” The weight of his words were evident in his tone, even if you didn't understand them. It felt like goodbye, something that you refused to accept. “Because you will come back to me Boba Fett or else.”

“Such cheek, threatening the Daimyo,” He chuckled at his own joke even as you glared. Something he would never grow used too, having someone care and fret over him. If his Kaylee so ordered his safe return though, then it was an order he'd gladly follow. “Don't worry that pretty head, I'll be back before you know it.”

You continued to talk for a little longer, only enough to report updates before he had to let you go. The pit that formed in your stomach as his voice faded from the transmittion felt like a black hole. So you returned to your place of comfort in the kitchen and began to bake. Taking out all your emotions on kneading and beating bread dough into submission as your mind wandered back to the Sanctuary.

Could you have stopped it, no.

Could you have protected Garsa better, again no.

As you placed the tray into the oven, still the anger churned. As you tidied the pressure finally peaked. A burnt spot in the corner of a pot that simply wouldn't come loose. Then as you leaned into it your knuckle caught against the edge of the cooking device, causing a split. The soap seeping in to sting the cut while you tried to finish, but it just kept getting messier and messier until finally you screamed. Holding the offending cookware like a club you flung it to the ground, grabbing it again to hammer it into the floor over and over as you cried your rage.

Till a gloved hand caught your wrist.

“I do not think Lord Fett would appreciate you hurting yourself or damaging the Palace,” Vol carefully removed the battered cookware from your hand before assisting you to a stand, observing carefully. Your eyes were damp and your breathing was shattered, from fear or pain it made no difference.

Vol had been raised by a single mother with ten kids in the house, it took a strong woman to manage such a a feat. You reminded him of her, a quiet resolve that he had witnessed in his tenure. But everyone had a limit and the gut punch you'd taken over the girl would have been enough to ground the toughest fighter. Letting out a heavy sigh, he released you with caution. “It won't help Nikita.”

Finally catching your breath you looked around to the damage that had been done. The chinks in the floor, pans and dishes scattered and thrown across the space. Hells even poor little Ratty was shaking in the corner, scared bleeps to accompany his down turned antenna. Leaning with your back to the sink you began to murmur over and over, “I'm sorry...I'm sorry...”

The rancor trainer handed you a towel to dry your eyes and reached for the spotchka. You accepted the generous serving, sipping slowly as your nerves settled. Vol had seen much in his time and one thing was certain, no being escaped death. He had always known that his number would come up, but he had lived his life. Seeing the girl in that tank though had hit him too. She was a good kid, a little mischievous but a good heart. Life cared little for such things though. A being could be loved or hated, death would come for them eventually. Offering a stoic, silent toast the old trainer nodded. “You should get some rest, you'll need it. I think both of us know what comes next.”

“Which is why there's no time for that, we need to lock down the Palace. If the worst is to come then this is the only place to fall back to,” Now fueled by the need for action you rolled up the sleeves of your flight suit. Boba and Fennec were counting on you, the kids were counting on you. Pain was not a luxury that you could afford right now, neither was fear. “Can you have 8D-8 meet us in the throne room.”

“I answer to Lord Fett,” Vol raised an amused eyebrow, “but today I'll make an exception.”

“Thank you Vol. And can you also bring up all the droids from the basement, we'll need help.” You continued to give orders, trying to sound confident. Walking over and crouching down you cooed at Ratty to come back out, “I'm so sorry little friend, I wish I could promise that's the last time you'll see my temper.”

The small droid gave a scared series of beeps as you gentled a hand over the little antenae. Poor thing none of them deserved this. So you picked him up and carried him to the counter and started dusting him off. You weren't sure if your next words were for the droid or yourself, “Don't worry, Boba will sort this all out... he has too.”

Kaska sat far up on the cliff face away from his tribe. The winds had howled through the dunes all day, crying as a calf for its mother. Then had come the smell. The wind always carried the news, smells of spices and food from festivals, fuel when speeders crashed, always carried far on the dry winds. Tonight it had carried the smell of death. He heard more than saw the young Chief coming to join him.

“There's trouble in the town.”

Kaska didn't look up from his carving, simply giving a nod.

“The outsiders will kill eachother, then they will come for our territories again. Always the same...”

The Chief looked down at the wise old man. How often he'd offered words of caution, of alternate paths. He watched as Kaska's hands put down the knife, raising a polishing cloth to smooth the figure.

“Do you not feel anything for your friend, for the children she...”

Kaska rose abruptly, sharp snarling exhalation flooding the respiratory circuit. His hands flew, “I know what the horn speaks of!”

The chief didn't flinch or back away, simply doing as the wiseman had so often done for him. “Then make you choice. Do we stand and fight or do we let the outlanders destroy our allies?”

Kaska's shoulders dropped in resignation. As he stared at the bantha horn figure his choice was made. The swirling of the serpent as it enveloped the figure of a Massif. But what could not be discerned was who would be victorious, the Massif or the serpent that it had by the throat?

“We are at war,” Boba grumbled as his little tribe stood in the ruins of the once glorious night club.

Fennec gave a slight nod, “It was inevitable.”

“Even if we win there might not be anything left of this city.” It had been a long night and an even longer morning after sending Djarin to try to find their mysterious third killer. And as the younger hunter came into the ruins Boba could already tell that there was nothing more to be learned from that venture. However there was news that he had been remiss in disclosing.“Djarin, were you able to hire any foot soldiers.”

“I think so,” The Mando replied easily, “Cobb Vanth is raising a garrison for us.”

Fennec raised an eyebrow at this, the answer seeming far too simple, “What price did you negotiate?”

“Free.”

“Free?” Boba scoffed.

“He's been holding off the spice trade singlehandedly.” Din gestured with a tilt of his hand, “I told him we could shut it down.”

“That's not free.” Fennec was already doing the calculations, the cost benefit analysis of the deal that had been struck. “That's most of Jabba the Hutt's old business.”

Din could see that he'd ruffled the assassins' feathers, but he had given his word to Vanth. Keeping an eye on Fett, his tone remained firm. “That's what the town wants.”

Pursing his lips, Boba nodded, “I agree to their terms.”

“There's a lot of credits to be made from that orange powder,” There was a twinge of annoyance in Fennec's reply. If it was good enough for the Hutt why couldn't they dabble in the trade? If they controlled it then what was the harm? Those thoughts evaporated though with the steely look from the Daimyo.

“In the long run it's better for us as well.” Boba could see that Shand wasn't pleased, but she would follow his lead. Spice was lucrative yes, but at what cost? No, there were enough problems once this Pike business was finished and it would only invite more drug wars to break out. With a tone of command he addressed the assassin as much as the rest of the room. “Mos Espa can become a prosperous city under our protection. We can build it's industry, trades, and agriculture. But not while the citizens slowly wither from neglect. The spice is killing our people just as surely as a drought and it has no place here. Let Mashal Vanth and the people of Mos Pelgo...”

“Freetown,” Din interjected, “That is it's name now.”

Raising an eyebrow Boba continued, “Let the people of Freetown know that they have my word.”

“You can tell Cobb Vanth that when he arrives here with the reinforcements.” Though he knew it was not conveyed by his voice, there was a grin on Din's face. It was an honorable thing that Fett was doing, the right thing. And it was far past time that something was done right in Mos Espa.

“You are confident he will come?” Striding to the broken window Boba assessed the ground before the broken club. The fire had burned so hot that there was glass streaking through the sand. Deceptively beautiful.

“I am.”

“If he does not then we are doomed.” Rumbling low the older hunter grimaced. “Our skill is no match for the Syndicate numbers.”

Skad leaned against the bar, jaw clenched. Drash was gazing at the scorch marks on the floor, the ghosts of people they had known. Fennec was already strategizing trying to figure how best to spread or concentrate their meager forces for maximal effect. Their position was an untenable one, Boba could hear the clock ticking. “We must buy time until they arrive. We'll lock down at the Palace.”

“That's a bad idea.”

Boba turned to Skad, not sure what shocked him more the boy's words or the guts it took to be honest enough to utter them. “Is that so?”

“It is,” His tone was clipped and cool.

The older hunter raised a brow in bemusement, “And where do you propose that we wait for reinforcements then?”

Skad pointed his finger to the ground for emphasis, “Here.”

“Here, in these ruins?” Boba watched the boy nod solemnly, if not with foolish sentimentalism. He scoffed at the suggestion, “Nonsense, the Palace offers greater protection-”

“If you want to abandon Mos Espa and hide in your fortress go ahead.” Drash knew she had struck a nerve with the old man by the look in his eye. She had come to know that he was in fact a good leader, that he did care. She was banking on that for this little bluff to work. By all rights the hunter was correct, but this meant more than strategy. To leave now, though prudent, would reflect poorly. They needed the town on their side, to care about this fight.

Too many times kicked to the curb, too many blows for them to raise their heads. But if the people could trust that they wouldn't be betrayed again, then that was worth more than water. Squaring up she held the Daimyo's stare, not backing an inch. “We're staying. The people who live here need our protection.”

Huffing out a breath Boba had to resist a begrudging lift at the corner of his mouth. The girl had guts. He knew it was a poor idea, Fennec was already giving a subtle shake of her head. They would be completely surrounded, deep in enemy territory. The fight would be on the oppositions terms.

But the girl had a point. These were his people and they did need protection.

Boba wished that his father had lived just a little longer, passed just a little more of his wisdom on. Wishs are for children though, what Boba knew was this. The dawn was never certain, only that you should face it with courage. Any Mandalorian worth their steel accepted that. You rely on your wits and the Resol'nare. To protect and provide for your clan, to rally to their cry for aid, to raise and mentor the next generation of warriors. Seeing the fire of determination burning in Drash and Skad he couldn't be prouder to call them a part of his tribe. So with a grim certainty of their low odds Boba would face the onslaught with them.

“We'll stay.”

Tags: @the-rain-on-kamino @pickleprickle @daimyosprincess @kimiheartblade @cw80831 @acatalystrising

Translations:

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum- I will know your name forever (Mando'a for I love you)

[marierg]

Biscuits and Beskar: Ch. 10

Pairing: Boba Fett x OC Kaylee Manu

Rated: Mature (Violence, etc.)

Warnings: cannon typical violence, language, old wounds/ past trauma, Death and mentions there of, plotting, evil baddies doing evil baddie things!!!

A/N: Firstly and foremost I take no credit for the actual dialogue from the show, that's all to the wonderful writers. I did my best to blend and convey the scenes on paper though and to work the different pieces together. This is a pivitol moment in the show and I wanted to give it an edge. More character naming was involved in this chapter, Esox Lucius is the name I gave the Pike Syndicate boss (scientific name for the great northern Pike). Also I wanted to really give just a little more time to our friend the Rancor trainer. I hope that you all enjoy this part.

Special Author's note: An Especially LARGE thank you goes out to my co-workers who upon hearing me cursing from the breakroom during lunch instantaneously start yelling at me to finish WHATEVER I am working on (supportively "don't squirrel, just do it."). (They think it's homework...) Bless their little souls for putting up with my especially grumpy butt!

Words: 4589ish (Decided to break it up again so as not too long)

Gif by @dreamswithghosts

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“The Sanctuary is no more.”

Bane's mouth retracted in a sickening smile, sharp teeth gleming under the brim of his hat. “And Fwip?”

“No longer an obstacle.” The second foot soldier replied apathetically. Holding out his hand like a child the little pond scum tilted his head. “The bonus we were promissed?”

The Duros chuckled darkly in the back of his throat, “Ah, that's right.”

Before either could twitch Bane drew down on them. A shot to the chest knocked the first one down. The second took two to the head, body droping with a hollow thud. Tipping the brim of his hat back to inspect his work Bane still felt a displeasure at the thought of the other target escaping. Deligation always had its detractions and if you wanted something done right, well...

The wet gurgling of the other messenger boy's labored attempt at breathing drew his attention back. With an annoyed sigh slipping his lips Bane came to stand over the dying creature. “Nothing personal. The Syndicate doesn't like loose ends.”

The sound of the bolts echoed down the alleyway.

“My poor little 'kita cat.” Hand pressed to the glass your eyes closed in anger. The girl had burned her lungs and fried her neural circuit connections, she was still hanging in the ebb and flow between life and death. Krrsantan let out a low rumble, head dipped perhaps in regret or sadness. Wookies were a hard bunch to read sometimes.

He had been invaluable, helping you and 8-D8 to place the girl in the tank. She looked so helpless floating in the blue mixture, so small. The fearsome furball had stayed with you even after dismissing him to stand the first watch. For a creature so lethal Krrsantan was kind, gentle even. As you sat listening to the bubbling filtrate, the fear in your gut had galvanized to fury.

“Grrrrr?” Krrsantan tilted his head inquisitively at your far off look. Humans were odd he found. These ones were fierce true, but the matriarch who led them was their strength. Alliances through marriage weren't uncommon on Kashyyyk, he could see why Fett favored you. Still as with all mothers your weakness was your children. If you should lose them, would you break?

“They made quite the mess of my girl, didn't they?” Turning away from the patchwork of injuries on the girl to meet those dark and alien ones you could see he was assessing. Worried perhaps, the big fella had tension in his gruff face. Patting his hand you huffed a weary breath, you were scared too. These blood thirsty bastards wouldn't stop till all of you were dead, that was certain. With a gentle pat on the tank you rose, murmuring to the sleeping girl. “Don't worry little one, mama won't let them hurt you again.”

“Bastards are close,” Skad had to pause, catching his breath as the two hunters approached. He'd had to pick the trail up. Took a bit, but eventually Skad'd found their speeder abandoned. He hated waiting, but he was also too exhausted to fight them alone. So he had heeded the Daimyo's order and stayed put.

For his part the Daimyo had only tilted his helmet, a displeased grumble passing through the vocoder. The other one, Djarin, seemed to scry something in the sand.

Din found the trail easily, the scanners in his helm tracing a path down the road. Turning to the young man he could see anger and perhaps too much bravado. It would get the boy killed. “You did good, we'll take it from here.”

“Not a chance mate,” Skad cocked his head at the silver clad Mando, “They hurt me and mine, I'm sorting it.”

Two helmets turned to the boy then to each other, a silent conversation passing between them. They walked on and past, assuming he would follow. Who were they to tell him no?

Winding down the dark streets the three began to notice the change in the air. Boba the first to shift position, taking point. “It's quiet.”

Din hummed in agreement, moving closer to the Mod. If trouble should arise he and Fett were better protected, a shield wall for the more vulnerable among them. Gesturing forward his tone dropped, “Dead Quiet...”

Two crumpled bodies lay in the alley, their quarry had come across a greater adversary. Whomprats were already making a feast of the corpses. Boba crouched to examine one, swiping away the vermin. “Can't have been dead long, rigor hasn't set in yet. You ever heard of something like this?”

“Once,” Din saw Fett's helmet tilt, waiting for him to continue. “A hunter I knew on Nevarro took a job for the Pikes. Word got back to the Guild, he had failed to fulfill his contract.”

“Too clean for a Pike rifle.” Skad scanned over the bodies, well what was left of them. “This was close range, but not friendly their holsters are open.”

Boba grumbled, “We have a third party involved.”

The wind howled outside the adobe walls of the Syndicate's stronghold. The hovel in question had more sublevels than it did anything above ground, basic and sturdy. Esox Lucius had been exiled to this dusty little planet after offending his superiors at the Crimson Sun gathering many years ago. Sentenced to the very planet Jabba the Hutt had ruled until Solo had inadvertently caused his death. The irony of being sent here because of his failure to bid adequately on the frozen smuggler was not lost on Esox.

Shaiz had been prattling on since the report of the successful strike on the Twi'leks club. How the spineless worm had come to power was beyond him. Taking his usual patient tone Esox tried to calm the Mayor once more, “There will be time to deal with the impacts later.”

“Impacts! Sixty of my citizens are dead, one of our major business in ashes.” Mok Shaiz hunched forward on his seat. “I have to respond. I have to respond in some way at the very least I should..”

Esox heard the entry portal hiss, looking ahead and catching sight of his contractor. He was punctual and asked few questions, an endearing quality. “You've returned so quickly, was your venture successful?”

“You won't have to worry about Freetown,” Bane reported crisply.

“Did you convince the Marshal to remain neutral?” The Ithorian nervously asked.

Bane's smile was as sinister as it was sickening, “Yes.”

“Good, I want this over as soon as possible.” Shaiz sighed heavily. Some of what weighed on him was guilt, but mostly it was fear. Tattoine was a fierce mistress. She had her favorites and her guardians. One of whom they had assuredly roused with this bloodshed tonight. Fretting again he turned to the head of the Syndicate. “Does Fett have any other resources to call upon? He used to live among a Tuskin Raider tribe in the Dessert.”

“They no longer exist.” Esox swirled his drink with a look of mild annoyance as the Mayor sought reassurance. By the end of this he may kill the slug himself for all the trouble he brought. Turning Esox's tone was finite. “We destroyed them ourselves.”

This peaked Bane's interests, “Does Fett know that?”

“He has no idea. He believes they were killed by Nikto speed bikers,” Esox took a delicate sip of the imported brandy. It was the small luxuries that made this situation all the more tolerable. Humming at his own cleverness he continued, “There was evidence left behind to encourage such a conclusion. He delt his revenge on them, in his mind the matter is resolved.”

“I didn't realize the Syndicate was so ruthlessness.” Everyone could hear the sinister glee in Bane's voice.

“Pragmatic,” Esox stroked one of his whiskers, “They attempted to charge us protection. We have to protect our margins.”

The Duros' eyes crinkled, “Indeed you do.”

“So when will this all be over?”

“That all depends,” The two turned to the sniveling slug, Bane offering his opinion, “on how much your two stomachs can bear.”

“No more explosives. I didn't sign off on bombing Garsa's Sanctuary.” Shaiz's winced again. “I agreed to surgical strikes not open warfare.”

“Apologies, but it would appear that line has now been crossed.” The Pike would have rolled his eyes if he were less disciplined. That was the difference though between him and the Ithorian, emotions didn't rule his hand, only profit.

“And the Manu woman,” Shaiz rambled on nervously, “when will she be delt with?”

“Why do you want her gone so badly?” Bane watched as the coward fidgeted.

“She is a hazard, you would not understand.” Mok Shaiz was as disturbed by the small half breed as he was the Bounty Hunter, the fact that the two were aligned was further bothersome. “I am still the Mayor of Mos Espa and I will not see it destroyed. By our forces or theirs.”

“The Fett Gotra was last seen taking refuge in the ruins of the Sanctuary. If they remain then it may take extreme measures to remove them.” Turning to Bane he tilted his head, “I'm certain that our friend can handle such a delicate situation with discretion.”

“As for the woman,” Bane smirked, “I have an idea of how to draw Fett out.”

Petain paced his cell, dark and cool. Something had happened, the sounds of movement had increased to a frenzy. His cell opened startling the Twi'lek enough to jump. For a moment he relaxed seeing the soup peddler walk in along with the Wookie, until his eyes adjusted enough to really see your face. The coldness rolling off your aura could have frozen the room. Still there was never harm in civility, “Good evening Ms. Manu. I apologize for receiving you in this state, I would have tidied up had I...”

“Would you have?” Cool tone of restrained rage filtered through your lips. Raising an eyebrow you folded your hands before you. “Waste of energy just so your boss can make more of a mess, don't you think? But you're good at that, cleaning up messes.”

“I take it that the Pikes have sent a message to the Daimyo. Perhaps I could act as an envoy on your behalf...”

A cruel cold laugh fell, bouncing off the walls. Krrsantan glanced down at you with an uneasy expression. Patting his large hand you sighed, “It's alright big fella. I got this one.”

“Ms. Manu,” Petain swallowed nervously. Why he should be more afraid of this small female than the gladiator would puzzle any outsider. But Petain knew well how sharp your claws were. “I can be quite helpful, just ask Madame Fwip.”

The knife flew of it's own accord, you had no conscious thought of it. The slemo had ducked fairly quick and moved further away from you into the cell. Watching as it vibrated in the adobe wall you walked forward to grasp the handle.

“My dear friend... can no longer speak on anyone's behalf.” Yanking the cooking instrument free and re sheathing it, your tone turned venomous with every syllable. Pulling a small glass orb from your pocket, your fingers twisted it to catch the light. “If it were up to me I'd send your head on pig pole to wherever that bastard slug has crawled to.”

“I doubt that would have the effect you desire.” Petain began to sweat seeing the all too familiar incendiary device. You were not an unreasonable human, he had often heard of your good will and humor from others. Maybe you would take pity on him? Then again as his eyes tracked the orb in your hand, Petain suspected that you were not in a merciful mood. “How can I be of assistance, without losing my head preferably?”

“How indeed?” Raising your hand you let him get a good look at the small marble, pretending to flick it. The majordomo's tails pulled to twist behind his head as he took two steps even further back.

“Please,” Petain whimpered as you muttered about making him swallow the fire bomb perhaps. “I didn't know! The Mayor would never have harmed Madame Fwip, this was not of his doing!”

“Like he would never harm children, never sell them to slavers. Never murder and maim beings who could not pay enough to line his coffers. You and your boss deserve to die for every life you've ruined with your petty ambition.” You didn't yell, you face remaining stoic as your tone cut with every crime listed. Taking the few steps to stand toe to toe with the weasel, you glared. Death would be an easy sentence for him, not near justice enough. “But perhaps you can be useful. Tell me where the Pikes are.”

“I'll tell you whatever you want, whatever information you need just please,” Dropping to his knees Petain groveled at your feet. “Please don't kill me, please.”

“Stop it,” Growling as you pulled your foot away, still tempted to burn this piece of drek. “If your information proves useful then perhaps I'll let you live with your cowardice.”

Petain told you everything, the location of the Pike drop off house in town that he ran messages to and who the current boss in charge was. Hells he confessed to somethings he wasn't even sure you had suspected including whom had sent the asps. But he did hold one last card, one last needed bit of leverage just in case. At the lessening chill in your eyes he finally dared to lower his hands.

You thought of all the innocent people killed tonight, silenced by greed. You could give in to the dark thoughts of ending this sniveling coward, to lay upon him the full weight of your pain. The thought of Garsa's sweet face turning in disappointment was what stayed your hand. The twinkling laugh of your dear friend telling you that it was not something she would wish, that it would not bring her or the others back. So as you continued to glare, the fire orb was placed back in its small container. “Don't make me regret my choice tonight.”

With that Krrsantan gave an angry roar, following as you turned and left. The rage in your wake gave him pause and so he hung back as you both exited into the Throne Room. The former gladiator was still not entirely ready to rectify what he had just witnessed. So he sought counsel with the only other being in the fortress. If the older human could tame a Rancor, hopefully he could wrangle you.

“You're sure of this?” Boba whispered within the helmet. The redscale of your image on the helmet display looked weary, though no less beautiful. As you sighed and confirmed that it was as good as a crying man could be relied upon to provide Boba couldn't help the tug at his lips. “I'll have Djarin look into it me'suum'ika. May also have Krrsantan bring him down for more questioning.”

“I hope it helps.” Your voice cracked with worry, “Boba...”

“I know,” there was so much said in those few words. That he wished none of this upon you, how he wanted this over quickly, but most of all how much he cared for you. “I want you to go to my rooms, there's a case under the bed.”

Your brow furrowed over the screen, “Something you need me to bring you?”

“No mesh'la, something for you. Pick whichever of the blasters you think you can handle and keep it on you till I return.” Hearing the nasally grumble Boba became stern. “None of that. If I can't be there to keep you safe the best I can do is arm you.”

“Boba I don't need...”

“Your knives are very sharp, but they're no match for this fight.” His tone was final, commanding in a way that saw you silenced from further argument. “Do you know how to use one?”

“I've never had much use for them.”

“I hope that you never do Kayl'ika,” On a deep sigh, Boba allowed you to be privy to his thoughts. “I think that before the suns set tomorrow you may yet have need of them.”

“Boba, be safe. Bring everyone home.”

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” Boba smiled as the words passed his lips. Even if you did not understand, he needed to tell you. He knew that their chances were slim. In truth he never thought he would make it this far, it was only a matter of time.

“You tell me what that means when this is over.” The weight of his words were evident in his tone, even if you didn't understand them. It felt like goodbye, something that you refused to accept. “Because you will come back to me Boba Fett or else.”

“Such cheek, threatening the Daimyo,” He chuckled at his own joke even as you glared. Something he would never grow used too, having someone care and fret over him. If his Kaylee so ordered his safe return though, then it was an order he'd gladly follow. “Don't worry that pretty head, I'll be back before you know it.”

You continued to talk for a little longer, only enough to report updates before he had to let you go. The pit that formed in your stomach as his voice faded from the transmittion felt like a black hole. So you returned to your place of comfort in the kitchen and began to bake. Taking out all your emotions on kneading and beating bread dough into submission as your mind wandered back to the Sanctuary.

Could you have stopped it, no.

Could you have protected Garsa better, again no.

As you placed the tray into the oven, still the anger churned. As you tidied the pressure finally peaked. A burnt spot in the corner of a pot that simply wouldn't come loose. Then as you leaned into it your knuckle caught against the edge of the cooking device, causing a split. The soap seeping in to sting the cut while you tried to finish, but it just kept getting messier and messier until finally you screamed. Holding the offending cookware like a club you flung it to the ground, grabbing it again to hammer it into the floor over and over as you cried your rage.

Till a gloved hand caught your wrist.

“I do not think Lord Fett would appreciate you hurting yourself or damaging the Palace,” Vol carefully removed the battered cookware from your hand before assisting you to a stand, observing carefully. Your eyes were damp and your breathing was shattered, from fear or pain it made no difference.

Vol had been raised by a single mother with ten kids in the house, it took a strong woman to manage such a a feat. You reminded him of her, a quiet resolve that he had witnessed in his tenure. But everyone had a limit and the gut punch you'd taken over the girl would have been enough to ground the toughest fighter. Letting out a heavy sigh, he released you with caution. “It won't help Nikita.”

Finally catching your breath you looked around to the damage that had been done. The chinks in the floor, pans and dishes scattered and thrown across the space. Hells even poor little Ratty was shaking in the corner, scared bleeps to accompany his down turned antenna. Leaning with your back to the sink you began to murmur over and over, “I'm sorry...I'm sorry...”

The rancor trainer handed you a towel to dry your eyes and reached for the spotchka. You accepted the generous serving, sipping slowly as your nerves settled. Vol had seen much in his time and one thing was certain, no being escaped death. He had always known that his number would come up, but he had lived his life. Seeing the girl in that tank though had hit him too. She was a good kid, a little mischievous but a good heart. Life cared little for such things though. A being could be loved or hated, death would come for them eventually. Offering a stoic, silent toast the old trainer nodded. “You should get some rest, you'll need it. I think both of us know what comes next.”

“Which is why there's no time for that, we need to lock down the Palace. If the worst is to come then this is the only place to fall back to,” Now fueled by the need for action you rolled up the sleeves of your flight suit. Boba and Fennec were counting on you, the kids were counting on you. Pain was not a luxury that you could afford right now, neither was fear. “Can you have 8D-8 meet us in the throne room.”

“I answer to Lord Fett,” Vol raised an amused eyebrow, “but today I'll make an exception.”

“Thank you Vol. And can you also bring up all the droids from the basement, we'll need help.” You continued to give orders, trying to sound confident. Walking over and crouching down you cooed at Ratty to come back out, “I'm so sorry little friend, I wish I could promise that's the last time you'll see my temper.”

The small droid gave a scared series of beeps as you gentled a hand over the little antenae. Poor thing none of them deserved this. So you picked him up and carried him to the counter and started dusting him off. You weren't sure if your next words were for the droid or yourself, “Don't worry, Boba will sort this all out... he has too.”

Kaska sat far up on the cliff face away from his tribe. The winds had howled through the dunes all day, crying as a calf for its mother. Then had come the smell. The wind always carried the news, smells of spices and food from festivals, fuel when speeders crashed, always carried far on the dry winds. Tonight it had carried the smell of death. He heard more than saw the young Chief coming to join him.

“There's trouble in the town.”

Kaska didn't look up from his carving, simply giving a nod.

“The outsiders will kill eachother, then they will come for our territories again. Always the same...”

The Chief looked down at the wise old man. How often he'd offered words of caution, of alternate paths. He watched as Kaska's hands put down the knife, raising a polishing cloth to smooth the figure.

“Do you not feel anything for your friend, for the children she...”

Kaska rose abruptly, sharp snarling exhalation flooding the respiratory circuit. His hands flew, “I know what the horn speaks of!”

The chief didn't flinch or back away, simply doing as the wiseman had so often done for him. “Then make you choice. Do we stand and fight or do we let the outlanders destroy our allies?”

Kaska's shoulders dropped in resignation. As he stared at the bantha horn figure his choice was made. The swirling of the serpent as it enveloped the figure of a Massif. But what could not be discerned was who would be victorious, the Massif or the serpent that it had by the throat?

“We are at war,” Boba grumbled as his little tribe stood in the ruins of the once glorious night club.

Fennec gave a slight nod, “It was inevitable.”

“Even if we win there might not be anything left of this city.” It had been a long night and an even longer morning after sending Djarin to try to find their mysterious third killer. And as the younger hunter came into the ruins Boba could already tell that there was nothing more to be learned from that venture. However there was news that he had been remiss in disclosing.“Djarin, were you able to hire any foot soldiers.”

“I think so,” The Mando replied easily, “Cobb Vanth is raising a garrison for us.”

Fennec raised an eyebrow at this, the answer seeming far too simple, “What price did you negotiate?”

“Free.”

“Free?” Boba scoffed.

“He's been holding off the spice trade singlehandedly.” Din gestured with a tilt of his hand, “I told him we could shut it down.”

“That's not free.” Fennec was already doing the calculations, the cost benefit analysis of the deal that had been struck. “That's most of Jabba the Hutt's old business.”

Din could see that he'd ruffled the assassins' feathers, but he had given his word to Vanth. Keeping an eye on Fett, his tone remained firm. “That's what the town wants.”

Pursing his lips, Boba nodded, “I agree to their terms.”

“There's a lot of credits to be made from that orange powder,” There was a twinge of annoyance in Fennec's reply. If it was good enough for the Hutt why couldn't they dabble in the trade? If they controlled it then what was the harm? Those thoughts evaporated though with the steely look from the Daimyo.

“In the long run it's better for us as well.” Boba could see that Shand wasn't pleased, but she would follow his lead. Spice was lucrative yes, but at what cost? No, there were enough problems once this Pike business was finished and it would only invite more drug wars to break out. With a tone of command he addressed the assassin as much as the rest of the room. “Mos Espa can become a prosperous city under our protection. We can build it's industry, trades, and agriculture. But not while the citizens slowly wither from neglect. The spice is killing our people just as surely as a drought and it has no place here. Let Mashal Vanth and the people of Mos Pelgo...”

“Freetown,” Din interjected, “That is it's name now.”

Raising an eyebrow Boba continued, “Let the people of Freetown know that they have my word.”

“You can tell Cobb Vanth that when he arrives here with the reinforcements.” Though he knew it was not conveyed by his voice, there was a grin on Din's face. It was an honorable thing that Fett was doing, the right thing. And it was far past time that something was done right in Mos Espa.

“You are confident he will come?” Striding to the broken window Boba assessed the ground before the broken club. The fire had burned so hot that there was glass streaking through the sand. Deceptively beautiful.

“I am.”

“If he does not then we are doomed.” Rumbling low the older hunter grimaced. “Our skill is no match for the Syndicate numbers.”

Skad leaned against the bar, jaw clenched. Drash was gazing at the scorch marks on the floor, the ghosts of people they had known. Fennec was already strategizing trying to figure how best to spread or concentrate their meager forces for maximal effect. Their position was an untenable one, Boba could hear the clock ticking. “We must buy time until they arrive. We'll lock down at the Palace.”

“That's a bad idea.”

Boba turned to Skad, not sure what shocked him more the boy's words or the guts it took to be honest enough to utter them. “Is that so?”

“It is,” His tone was clipped and cool.

The older hunter raised a brow in bemusement, “And where do you propose that we wait for reinforcements then?”

Skad pointed his finger to the ground for emphasis, “Here.”

“Here, in these ruins?” Boba watched the boy nod solemnly, if not with foolish sentimentalism. He scoffed at the suggestion, “Nonsense, the Palace offers greater protection-”

“If you want to abandon Mos Espa and hide in your fortress go ahead.” Drash knew she had struck a nerve with the old man by the look in his eye. She had come to know that he was in fact a good leader, that he did care. She was banking on that for this little bluff to work. By all rights the hunter was correct, but this meant more than strategy. To leave now, though prudent, would reflect poorly. They needed the town on their side, to care about this fight.

Too many times kicked to the curb, too many blows for them to raise their heads. But if the people could trust that they wouldn't be betrayed again, then that was worth more than water. Squaring up she held the Daimyo's stare, not backing an inch. “We're staying. The people who live here need our protection.”

Huffing out a breath Boba had to resist a begrudging lift at the corner of his mouth. The girl had guts. He knew it was a poor idea, Fennec was already giving a subtle shake of her head. They would be completely surrounded, deep in enemy territory. The fight would be on the oppositions terms.

But the girl had a point. These were his people and they did need protection.

Boba wished that his father had lived just a little longer, passed just a little more of his wisdom on. Wishs are for children though, what Boba knew was this. The dawn was never certain, only that you should face it with courage. Any Mandalorian worth their steel accepted that. You rely on your wits and the Resol'nare. To protect and provide for your clan, to rally to their cry for aid, to raise and mentor the next generation of warriors. Seeing the fire of determination burning in Drash and Skad he couldn't be prouder to call them a part of his tribe. So with a grim certainty of their low odds Boba would face the onslaught with them.

“We'll stay.”

Tags: @the-rain-on-kamino @pickleprickle @daimyosprincess @kimiheartblade @cw80831 @acatalystrising

Translations:

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum- I will know your name forever (Mando'a for I love you)

[marierg]

NEW CHAPTER!!!! (I have to get through my test on Tuesday but after that I am sinking my teeth into this)

Shattered Sunrise: Chapter Five

Chapter Summary: Mace Windu's inability to stop doing good in The Deeps finally draws the inevitable Imperial attention and he is confronted with what his brethren had faced: too many clone troopers against one Jedi.

Pairing: Mace Windu x OC Danica Morrow

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, reference to people getting disappeared, general fascism

A/N: I appreciate everyone who's been interested in my little AU where Mace Windu survived the fall. He is the best Jedi and I just wrote the story I wanted to read. Thanks for being here with me.

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“Most of these are Skywalkers and Kenobis. Worthless. I’ll take the Togruta girl, the blue Twi’lek, and these clones.” Danica tossed the rest of the trading cards across the counter toward the kid who’d brought them in. Then tossed a few credits. “For your effort.”

He slumped, muttering fine, but didn’t move other than lifting his head and trying to widen his eyes as much as possible in an attempt to look as pathetic as possible. She knew the desperate hunch of the shoulders and eyes, having done them herself. This kid hadn’t mastered it yet. He was new to this life with Fyyghn’s band of orphan thieves. 

“Do it like this.” Danica did her best to recreate the pose and facial expression she’d done so many times as a child. “You’ve gotta go a few levels up for this to work. These days probably further up than I had to.” 

The scrawny boy nodded, eyes trained hard on her. He may be new, but he knew what was here. Danica went behind the counter to the new box she kept for kids and retrieved what he wanted: a cookie. 

If that lowlife Fyyghn wouldn’t let her give toys to the younglings under his “care”, she’d give them cookies. Nothing could shatter the joy of a cookie. 

“Don’t come here too often, kid,” she warned. “Otherwise, he’ll take the cookies, too.”

The boy devoured the cookie, brushing crumbs from his mouth and licking them from his fingers.

Once the shop was empty, she looked at the clone’s trading card and traced the scar crossing the silver eye. Was he alive? What was he like? Which Jedi had been his general? Did that Jedi escape?

Danica went to the box where she kept her meager treasures. A flower she’d swiped from the Botanical Gardens that had darkened and dried. A holo of a sunrise. Mace Windu’s trading card along with the Skywalker and Kenobi he’d once smacked out of her hand. She added the silver-eyed clone. 

Windy had spoken fondly of his clone brothers-at-arms and the duty he’d felt toward them. I’d always fought for democracy, he’d said. I also fought for the clones and hoped that they could be part of it. 

She always kept the clone cards.

*

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNALS OF MACE WINDU

I did not expect it to be so difficult to leave The Deeps.

My goal is reaching a level close enough to the surface yet far enough down to find a small ship that can’t be traced. As a Jedi, it would have been a simple requisition with reimbursement to the owner. In this new reality, I will be stealing it. If I can even continue to forage food and water to keep me alive another day. Over these last weeks, my stomach has ceased rumbling with hunger and settled into an ever-present, gnawing ache. 

However, I have my eye on an abandoned speeder in an alley between a snack monger and a gambling establishment. Not a ship, but looks promising enough to get closer to the surface.

Sometimes I want to go back to Danica’s sanctuary and her salty soups.

I may never be able to leave here.                                                                                                                                                                                                  *                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   “What happened to your assistant?”

It was a market day and Danica was doing an easy repair on a blaster pistol while its owner hovered. This was one of the times she missed Windy: he was adept at discouraging small talk from customers. She ignored this one. Work was about done anyway. 

“You and that bantha dung gave me a problem, ya know.”

Danica looked up to see the Iktotchi who’d stupidly tried to mug her and Mace a while ago. Their horn had been cracked after that altercation with Mace. Now it was broken off, leaving a jagged stub. 

“That problem isn’t my problem.”

“You gave me a problem, too.” They gestured to the ruined horn. “It’ll take a long time for this to grow back and will have to be filed down. Inconvenient.” 

“No charge for the repair.” She handed over the repaired weapon. “I was in danger and acted. Nothing personal. You would have done the same.”

 “Yeah. But I wouldn’t have left my attacker alive.” The Iktochi examined the work, nodded, and turned to leave. “Nothing personal.”

In short order, Danica began packing up, scanning what could be left behind that would allow her to run faster that would also be the least financial loss. Most wasn’t worth saving; there was always scrap to be had. Always desperate people peddling. She stored her tools in the pack and walked away. 

Sith’s hells, Windy. I never needed anyone until you showed up. Now look what you’ve done.

Of course, the horned thug followed, uttering very descriptive threats the entire time. She darted through cracks in The Deeps’ main walls between twists and turns through the haphazard neighborhoods that had been carved out. Yet the it continued to trail. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuck

Danica knew the deepest of The Deeps better than herself and might be able to go to lower levels and lose them down there, but to do so would be giving up secrets that might harm everyone. She would have to drop the pack and go up. 

Stars, my thighs and arms are going to burn tomorrow. 

The walls were close enough there were enough pipes to serve as handholds that she was able to scramble up to the next level. The Iktochi followed but was not as nimble or as knowledgeable about The Deeps and slipped off an oil slicked pipe, landing on the level behind with a crack and sharp cry. Probably the other horn breaking in the fall. 

Emerging from another narrow, hopefully unnoticed passage one level up, Danica scanned the street for a possible escape. There. A beat-up speeder bike in a tight alley. It wouldn’t last long but would do for running up a few levels. She stayed put, casing the thoroughfare, waiting for the safest moment to begin skulking toward the target. 

Just as she began skulking, the Iktochi grabbed her hair, pulling her to the ground. Her responses to the assault were rote, having done them so many times as a kid in Fyyghn’s pathetic gang of children. Knuckles to the eyes. Knuckles to the eyes again. Take the opportunity to bring a fist or knee to the gut. Get away. 

Before her second knuckle blow hit, her attacker was yanked and thrown far behind, hitting walls along the way until finally landing hard with a crack. Dim, oily yellow light glowed beyond the smooth dome of her rescuer’s head. 

“I had that under control,” she hissed as she swatted Mace’s helping hand away. 

“So did I.” 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“True. However,” Mace looked toward the wayward speeder. “That’s my ride you were about to steal.”

“Keep it.” Wearily, she stood. It had been a long, heavy day and having to run as if she were a youngling pickpocket again would be taking an early toll. She longed for the tinkering space behind her shop. Surely on the way home she would find scraps that could be fashioned into toys. These days she scattered them behind her while walking these forgotten veins of Coruscant. Most of the time these days she squatted next to a spicehead who had GAR and Jedi cards and made the trade. A bit of joy for a bit of hope. 

“Dani, I’ll—”

“Do what? See me home safely?” she scoffed. “What happened to putting me in danger and all of that?”

“You’re right. It’s not safe,” he sighed deeply. “I’ll take my leave.”

She nodded and turned away, then threw a look over her shoulder.

“I know you’re just going to lurk and behind me anyway, Windy.”

“I will not.”

“Sure, you won’t,” she smiled. “Come in through the back.”

*

“Too salty?”

Danica had handed him a plate of thick noodles tossed with shredded meat of dubious origin. Despite his deep hunger, he was careful not to devour it lest he make himself sick. It wasn’t salty; just bland. That didn’t matter though because it was hot and filling and eaten in the company of someone he liked. 

“No,” he muffled between bites. “It’s exactly what I need.”

After dinner, they fell into that old routine: Mace scrolling through news and the socials on his datapad while Danica leaned against his arm, reading one of her dramatic stories with a happy ending. Nothing he read was uplifting; the feeds were telling a story that seemed unlikely to have a happy ending. If it did, that ending would be far off in the future, most likely when he was as dead as the khyber crystal in the useless, cobbled lightsaber he still carried. Perhaps he should read one of her stories sometime.

“It’s getting late,” he said when they both started dozing off. 

“Yeah. I’ll get your pillow.”

She shuffled to the bed, retrieved the pillow and stool still, clutching it against her. Her loneliness and tenuous hope mingled with his, filling the little apartment. 

“I don’t like missing you,” she said lowly. 

The words lingered in the air, wanting to be caught by someone; either her taking them back or Mace accepting them. Before they evaporated, Danica seemed to come back to herself, dropping the pillow back on the bed and slid into it, settling on her side facing the wall.

“Just sleep over here. It’s better than the sofa. Besides, your creaking bones will keep me awake all night and we both have work tomorrow and all the days after.”

He took her meaning and agreed: this could be no more than one night’s rest. Any longer would be increasingly dangerous for both of them. The bed was only slightly wider than the cot downstairs which he’d slept on for months. There was barely room for both of them, but he went and lay down anyway. Instinctively, he shifted his arm so she could wriggle under it, laying her head on his shoulder. 

“I do not creak. And if I do, perhaps the arm and leg you built for me are faulty,” he said, attempting to bring some levity to this situation. “If I’d paid for them, I’d demand my credits back.”

“Sorry, Windy,” she laughed, palm flat on his chest, pushing up just enough to be face to face. “No refunds.”

For a short time, everything felt right. 

*

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNALS OF MACE WINDU

The familiar peace of Miss Morrow’s home was a relief. Upon arriving, she wrinkled her nose and pointed toward the sorely needed ‘fresher. These weeks of transience have taken a toll: I don’t quite recognize the man looking back from the mirror, face having gone gaunt and dull. I remain myself behind that face: purposeful and determined to carry on the Jedi mission. 

I left her sanctuary early this morning. Rather than spiriting away like last time, I waited until she was awake. No words were exchanged. Just mutual nods of understanding.  

Now I’ve resumed working toward my goal: making my way up top and getting off of Coruscant. Against my nature, I’ve resisted intervening several street crimes while reaching for that goal. However, moving up levels eludes me. There are so many winding, spiraling, switchback paths beyond the thoroughfares and once I’ve found a way up, I wind up in a place I’d been a few days before. 

Before I left her the first time, I repeatedly asked Miss Morrow for a map of the Deeps and she’d shrugged, saying the lay of the place changed so frequently there was no reason for maps. She'd said The changes aren’t dramatic. But there’s always something getting destroyed and that creates new paths. There’s no point in mapping when it can all change in a day. You just have to pay attention, Windy.

I desperately need to leave The Deeps. But every time I try, I wind up where I started. 

•

“Calm down,” Danica sighed, annoyed at this man badgering her about repairs on a regulation GAR DC-15A rifle. “It’ll be done in a few minutes.” 

It was a market day. Without Windy’s assistance, she’d downgraded to the smaller stall she’d worked for years prior where she had to choose between repairs or sales. Repairs were best since she had no patience for customer service. It was a wonder that Windy had handled sales so well with his demeanor and face. 

It wasn’t necessarily easier with him. It just felt better. Natural. Connected. Something she’d only had when trapped with the orphaned younglings in Fyyghn’s gang, but without expectations of profit and threats of starvation.

Once the repair was done, the customer huffed and made a show of examining the workmanship as if he knew anything about it before throwing credits on the counter. Danica took comfort in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to sell it or use it for long. The market had been flooded with those GAR blasters since the start of the war; there were so many and so cheaply made that they were usually discarded in short order. Also, they often exploded when fired, even the newer ones— when there were newer ones to be had. 

How many clones had been injured or killed because of that? she wondered while packing up. Although the war had been background static while going on, Danica thought of it often these days. Rather than her usual happy ending stories before bed, she’d taken to reading old news items about the war, saving them on her datapad to be remembered. 

Since Mace left, she’d been feeling guilty about having not thought about the lost lives and destroyed communities for three years. Mostly struggling to understand why these loyal men had so suddenly turned against the Jedi or why the Jedi were being hunted at all. It was so hard to stop scrolling. Other people’s pasts kept her awake some nights.

The past is a weight. One that seems too heavy to lift, Mace had said one of those nights when she’d been drowning in her feelings. But, carrying weight can make us stronger. We remember it - should remember it - but move forward.

At some point it would have to be too much, she wept into her hands. We’d break.

Maybe. Hopefully not. Mace took her up in his arms, her head heavy against his chest. But not today, Dani. Not today.

*

There were so few people out and about today that Danica took the opportunity to try for her favorite snack stall which was usually mobbed. Maybe she wouldn’t have to wait a million days to get some chips. 

There was no crowd. There wasn’t anyone. The stall’s security door was down. What the kriff was going on?

Danica turned to go home then froze.

Boots. Staticky voices. Troopers. Troopers who might be looking for Windy. Most likely looking for Windy.

Sith’s hells! I told him not to be a hero! I told him the risk!

She was already walking along the thoroughfare. It would draw attention to stray from that path or hurry up. Best to keep going. Head down. No. Head up. Confidently. Like this was just a normal walk home. A passage leading toward her shop’s level was just ahead. It would be ok. 

“Miss,” a gravelly voice came from behind, staticky through the helmet. Another white-armored trooper stepped in front of her, blaster held loosely. This one announced that they were going to ask some questions. Their voices were the same. Mace hadn’t said anything about their voices sounding the same. It was disorienting.

“We’re looking for this man.” The trooper held out a holo of Mace. Nothing dramatic like his trading card. Just him serenely looking forward like in an identification file. “He’s a dangerous traitor. A Jedi.”

“A Jedi? Jedi may as well be a fairy tale down here,” she laughed, praying they didn’t know it was fake. “Never seen him.”

Helmets conferred with one another. Finally one nodded. 

“What’s your destination.” Another trooper had come up from the side. 

“That snack stall. Felt like chips.” She waved a hand toward the shuttered place. “They’re closed though, so now I’m going home.”

“Where is that.”

Now Danica started panicking and struggled to sound calm and normal in her response. What should she even say? What if they followed her? There was nowhere to go that could be passed off as a home.

“It’s . . .umm. . . down a couple levels.. . over my shop."

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Sorry. I’m— I’m just nervous,” she wavered, gesturing the casually held blasters gazing at the ground. “I mean. . . you’re all—“

“Here to keep the citizens safe,” one of them interrupted. Helmets glanced among one another. One nodded and turned back to her. “With a Jedi around, no one is safe. We’ll walk you home.”

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuccccckkkkkk

“Ok. Yeah. Thank you.”

Danica took a few steps but was stopped by two of the troopers grabbing her arms, roughly yanking her forward. Instinct honed during her pick pocketing childhood kicked in and she went limp. It didn’t matter; one of them easily picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

“We know you’ve been harboring him.” 

Tears ran down her forehead into her hair. The light cords woven into her braids glinted on the white armor, the floor, the dark windows where people were most likely peeking and beginning to rethink how to live now that the Empire had become real in The Deeps.

She didn’t bother beating her fists at the armor or struggling in any way. It didn’t matter. None of than the scrappiness learned in childhood would help against three war-hardened clone troopers, so she remained limp and tried to keep the terror at bay. Tried not to wonder what would happen next. Tried to hope that Mace would stay away and find a way off Coruscant to continue his mission. That was the hardest part: trying to hope he wouldn’t save her. 

Suddenly, the sound of a body smashing against armor, the sight of metal ground rushing up to meet her, the staticky grunts and attempts to shout as the three clone troopers were flung into the wall or shoved away. Danica immediately scrambled up, meeting Mace’s liquid brown eyes for the shortest moment then together they ran. 

“This way.” She grabbed his hand, dashing toward a crevice just beyond a hastily abandoned grill cart; her second favorite snack place. “There’s a path.”

More troopers appeared, blocking the path and hustling them into a dead end street off the thoroughfare. Mace stumbled, but would not fall to his knees. Instead, he propelled forward, crashing into the nearest trooper and pushing up with his droid hand to land on his feet. He spun around, prepared to fight.

They kept coming, filling the dead end alley with white armor and identical voices.

Mace now faced what his Jedi brethren had faced: Jedi and padawans against too many clone troopers. The useless lightsaber he’d cobbled together from Danica’s scraps and the grey khyber crystal hung at this hip; carried these last months as a bit of comfort and a reminder that somehow, young Skywalker would undo the evil that had swallowed the galaxy. 

Time slowed. He sensed Danica screaming curses and kicking at the two troopers who were attempting to drag her away. Remembered the Jedi and Clone trading cards she kept in her pocket. 

Would you tell me about your daughter? she’d asked so long ago, gazing at the trading card kept in his pocket: Depa. He could not fail her. 

All of it a reminder to hope. Mace Windu had always held hope deep in his heart, almost as deeply as the Force. Hope, he’d once said to the boy, is a spark. One that, when tended, can always light the way. 

“You’re coming in, Jedi scum. The sympathizer, too.”

“I don’t think so.” 

Mace Windu stood confidently, lightsaber in hand, feeling so much at home. Instinctively inviting the blade to aid him as he’d done since building the first one. The lightsaber didn’t ignite. Of course it didn’t. He’d felt too much at home with it and forgotten the kyber crystal was dead. 

In slow motion, he saw Danica struggling in the troopers’ grip and had a vision of what the Empire would do to her: torture to the point of madness then death. In the same vision he saw himself leaping to save her only to be cut down by the men blocking the alley. 

No. 

He was Jedi Master Mace Fucking Windu and he would not allow that vision to come to pass, would not be defeated in this grimy dead end. He would not break. Not today. 

A shatterpoint erupted centered on the trooper at her left; one simple and truthful. The armor had grey paint, but Mace could see bits of yellow peeking through scrapes as well as the rank insignia which had been mostly scratched out. 

“I forgive you, sergeant.” 

The sergeant immediately went still, loosening his grip enough for Danica to wriggle away. 

Mace looked directly at each man. “I forgive all of you.”

One by one, helmets came off and faces Mace knew so well stared, eyes welling. It was only a few moments before the helmets went back on. 

“It’s not them, sir,” one of them commed to someone, somewhere. “Just a couple spiceheads looking for a hit.”

The men stood aside, clearing a path for Mace and Danica to walk away. 

“Get off world, General,” one said. “And stay hidden.”

*

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNALS OF MACE WINDU

Our stolen little ship is on autopilot and Danica has finally dozed off in the cockpit. She refused the cot in the scant living area, saying I don’t want to miss something awesome because I’m sleeping.

I turned this lightsaber in my hands for hours. 

For a moment in the dead end, it felt as if it had the slightest vibration. It was held in my droid arm, so it must have been a power surge. I asked Danica to look at it and she said it was perfect and proceeded to berate me for doubting her skills. Then she snapped Do you wanna complain about my salty soup now, too? We laughed and it was the best I’ve felt since before the war. 

But I know I felt something from the lightsaber. Vibration isn’t the right word. More like it desired to see light and live and fight. Most likely, it came from my own desire to defend democr—. No. Democracy is paused for now. The Order is paused. Hope endures. 

I needed to save her. 

I was unable to let go of that slightest vibration and wouldn’t let go of this dead khyber crystal and the home I’d constructed for it. My lightsaber had never had a switch; it had an invitation to join the fight. That’s why Vaapad works: the form is personal. Vaapad was a deal with the Force: it would aid me and would stop me if I skated too close to the Dark Side. That’s why Depa and I will be the only masters of the form. 

With a fool’s impossible hope, I invited the lightsaber to join me. It answered, purple blade extending as if to say good to see you again, old friend.

A khyber crystal resurrected. A miracle.

When I’d fallen into the Coruscant Deeps, seemingly infinite shatterpoints had cracked around me— so many it was hard to see past everything that could break me. I’d followed the single clear point that led to Danica, who has led here. The shatterpoints have decreased in number over these last months and the last finally blinked out. All is clear.

*

“Miss Morrow, I intend to carry on the Jedi mission in whatever way I can.” He reached out and took her hand. “It will be dangerous and I-- we might be caught."

“Ok,” she shrugged. “Where do we go first?”

The starlight mingled with her red eyes which were wide with hope and possibilities. The fairy lights woven through her braids threw sparkles all over the cockpit. Letting her come was a terrible idea; she could get killed or worse. But, he knew enough about his Chiss companion that if he tried to drop her off someplace peaceful, she would find a way to sneak back onto the ship. However, there may no longer be any safe place with Darth Sidious having taken control of everything and the Empire trying to stamp out all that was good. Danica would be safer with him. 

“Far from the core worlds,” he finally said. “There’s always someone somewhere who needs our help. The only question is what do you want to see?”

Danica looked beyond the stars, thoughtful. 

“Someplace with a river.” She looked over at him with a mischievous smile. “And real wind, Windy.”

“Very well, Dani. Setting a course for someplace with a river.” Mace’s hands danced across the control panel. “Pull that lever.”

Danica Morrow pulled the lever and the stars stretched blue. Wizard, she whispered.

The galaxy’s immediate future was uncertain, yet Jedi Master Mace Windu held faith that somehow Master Skywalker would make it right. Until then, he would do the only thing he knew how to do: bring a bit of peace to those who need it. This new way of fulfilling the Jedi mission could be renewing and, with Danica, may feel like the adventures he’d had as a padawan. Everything was exiting back then. Maybe this could be both. Regardless, he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

Mace Windu would not break. Not today. Not ever.

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A/N: I know there isn't much of an audience for Mace Windu and probably three people will read it and not like/reblog but that's ok. Danica Morrow is my first OC and writing for Mace is challenging. I think Shattered Sunrise may be the best thing I've ever written. To anyone reading, thank you for joining me. I have to leave this series with my two favorite gifs of him:

And yes, they fucked.

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@psychyourit @marierg @thegreatwicked @lamaenthel @ladysaturnsdust @adragonsfriend

[marierg]

(me feeling conflicted... I know I'm not supposed to be in this chat but the tea is 🔥)