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dameronology · 4 years

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asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: ‘the trouble is the way you stick, to any part of me that remains in tact/but if i pull the plug, it isn’t only me i’m holding back’ - asystole, hayley williams (a.k.a ‘the one where you’re the bane of obi-wan’s life, even as a force ghost’)

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, angst, and me not having a single fucking clue how force ghosts work

this was originally based on a random idea i had and also encouragement from kara/@hellotherekenobi who requested a prompt that i completely forgot to include but...we move. also, i would highly highly recommend listening to the above song just because it’s a real tear jerker and i lOVE it

enjoy

- jazz

Loss, for Obi-Wan, was not a stranger. It was an old acquaintance, constantly lingering beside him -- not quite there, but not gone either. He could always feel its presence, a constant and painful reminder of everyone he’d lost. He could probably count them all one hand but that didn’t make it any better. Loss was loss, whether it were two people or ten. Even if his grief had stopped and started with the passing of his master all those years ago, it was still something he felt in its wholeness and in its entirety. Because that’s all Obi-Wan could do: feel. It was everything or nothing. Zero percent or one hundred.

And with you, he wished it were nothing. He wished that your sudden absence from his life was something he didn’t have to feel in every fibre of his being. It was hard enough to acknowledge and even more painful to comprehend. You were the one person he’d always just assumed would be there forever. How foolish it now seemed, he was very much aware. Everybody died -- Qui-Gon Jinn was a testament to that; as was Satine Kryze and quite literally every other person in the galaxy who’d had the pleasure of being reminded of their mortality. It was just that this was...it was you. You weren’t immortal by any means but maker, you had acted like it. The way you went about life with an air of recklessness and discontent for the rules, making even the hardest of missions into an adventure. His life had been a thousand times better since you’d come running - nay, stumbling - into it. You’d blown his entire world to bits and pieced it back together with tiny, intricate bits of yours. Filled it with chaos and laughter and a light he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth.

Perhaps most importantly, you’d looked after one another. He would stay by your side 24/7 to make sure you kept your head screwed on your shoulders, and you would pester him to drink water and remember to eat. He would remind you when you had important missions and meetings, and in return, you’d proof-read his paper work. He remembered the first time he’d fallen asleep beside you, to wake up with a blanket wrapped around him and his boots pulled off. It was so clear in his head because it was the first time someone had ever done anything for him without asking. It became something you did often, and though he never said it, it was something he kept so close to his heart.

Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool. He knew you weren’t going to be around forever - he just didn’t realise that not forever was going to be a whole lot sooner that he’d anticipated. He used to make jokes about how your recklessness would one day lead to your demise. The idea of it made him feel sick now. He’d been right the entire time. He didn��t want it to be real.

None of it felt real. The whole conversation he’d had with Mace Windu about you not making it felt like a distant nightmare, something he’d tried so hard to wake up from, only to find that he was wide awake the entire fucking time. Night terrors were bad, but reality was arguably worse.

It didn’t feel right at first, to see your chambers still filled with your stuff and your lightsaber still resting on your nightstand. Obi had been the one to put it there when you’d been taken to the infirmary, thinking you would have asked for it when you woke up - but you didn’t. It went hand-in-hand with the robes he’d hung up on your door and the get well soon, moron card he’d brought you.

Then, they emptied your room. Took your clothes and your books and every other worldly possession you had. Your name was removed from the door to your quarters and added to the list of Jedi who had died in combat on the stone in the Temple gardens. Aside from that, any sign that you had ever walked the halls or burst into council meetings at the last minute was gone. You lived on only in his memories, your lopsided smile ingrained into his mind and contagious laugh echoing constantly in his brain.

Throwing himself into work was the only option for Obi-Wan. He already took on a thousand things at once, but without you to help bare the weight, it became a million. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to think -- about you, or how fucking fragile everything was, or about all the ways he could have saved you. You’d slipped through his fingers, even when he’d be holding on so tightly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just...life.

A few weeks passed, and Obi-Wan continued to push himself. Everybody noticed it -- how suddenly busy he was, how quiet he’d become, how tired he looks. Blue eyes had grown exhausted with grief and regret, strawberry blonde hair becoming longer and unrulier than was characteristic for him. When you’d died, you’d taken a tiny piece of him with you. An important part. Maybe that part had been you.

It was on a cold Tuesday evening that he heard the four words. Sat out on the balcony of his quarters, watching Coruscant and life pass by in a blur ahead of him, a tangle of traffic and noise and a million sounds that he couldn’t quite decipher. The sky was a navy blue, cast with the tiny little glints and dots of distant planets. All worlds that you’d once promised to explore

‘You look like shit.’

He thought he’d imagined it at first. In fact, it wouldn’t have been the first time in the last few weeks that the sound of your voice in his head had felt clear enough to be real. Imagining things - hallucinations and echoes of the long gone - was simply part of the grieving process. A process he’d gone through countless times before.

The sudden appearance of you in the corner of his eye jolted him like an electric shock. Perhaps not that far off of the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. Or a light freighter. Or...all of those things at once.

You were ethereal. When he’d last seen you, you’d been...tired. Now, you were smiling and radiating some sort of energy that could only be described as quintessentially you. There was not a chance in hell that a grief-induced hallucination could be so life-like, so crystal clear. Plus, why would he have imagined you like this, slightly transparent and with a blue glow surrounding you? A fitting colour for your final form, he figured.

‘Shocked to see me?’ Your drawl continued. ‘Because if you think you’re shocked, let me tell you. One second I was napping and the next I was a fucking Force ghost. Could you imagine?’

Obi-Wan smiled softly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘I can float through walls, though.’ You grinned. ‘How cool is that?’

‘It’s...that’s very cool.’ He replied. ‘I don’t suppose you can hug Force ghosts?’

Obi-Wan reached his palm out towards you - slowly but surely, as though he were scared you were going to fade away all over again if he touched you. You mimicked his actions, faded blue fingertips just moments away from his. When they finally touched, they didn’t. You felt nothing. He felt a rush of cold, as though somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over him.

He didn’t fully understand the concept of Force ghosts. Studied them, sure. Understood them? Not quite. There weren’t enough Jedi texts in the galaxy to fully capture the complexity of what made somebody come back. Often, they were linked to acts of heroism, or stemming from action taken when the person was still alive. That didn’t seem like you though. You weren’t the sort of person to try to fiddle with jinxes and hijinkery that would allow you to come back once you were dead - at least not purposefully. There was certainly every chance you did it accidentally.

‘Guess not.’ You murmured. ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

The icy feeling only grew closer as you took a seat beside him. It was funny, because he thought that if he’d had the chance to reunite with you, that it would have been more emotional than this. Something filled with more feeling and grandeur. Instead, you’d just appeared, and acted as though you’d never been gone in the first place. Obi-Wan preferred it that way.

‘I’ve missed you.’ He continued to stare blankly ahead.

When you died, there were a thousand things he’d come up with that he’d wished he’d said. They ranged from comments about the weather to grand declarations of...how much you meant to him. All things he would never dare say to your face, and that’s probably why he came up with them. Because he would never get the chance to say them. And now, here you were, right beside him, and he had a second opportunity to get that closure -- but the words didn’t quite come. They stayed on the tip of his tongue, there, but not quite there. Even if this wasn’t quite the version of you that he imagined himself telling them to, it was still undeniably you.

‘I should hope so.’ You tried to nudge him with your elbow, but it was just another icy jab. ‘I would say that I missed you too, but I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘What happened between then and now?’ Obi asked. ‘Between that and this?’

‘Okay, first of all - you can say my death. Coming up with a thousand other words for it won’t undo it.’ You said. ‘And...I don’t know. I just remember blaster fire, then some darkness, and then I was here.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well it didn’t tickle.’ You replied ‘It was quick, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured.

‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.’ You observed. ‘I can go away if you want. I’m not sure how this whole thing works but if you want me to leave, I can go and scare Dex-’

‘- that’s the last thing I want.’ He cut you off. ‘I just..I’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to acknowledge that you’re truly gone and it’s a little hard to do that when you’re quite literally a ghost.’

‘I’m not really gone though, am I?’ You said. ‘I’m still here. Not as I’d like to be, but I’m here.’

‘So as long as you’re around to irritate me and make snide comments, you’re here.’ He smiled. ‘Whether that’s in the flesh or...in the blue.’

‘I’m sorry it happened.’ You gently sighed. ‘Not sorry that I died for the greater good but sorry it was so..sudden.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach across, to take your hand in his or run it down your arm - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with another rush of cold in place of what used to be warm flesh. ‘It was still undeniably your most half-witted decision to date but you saved a lot of people, so I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Oh, how kind.’ You snorted. ‘I bet you’ve secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, Kenobi.’

‘I miss it already.’

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, still on the balcony. The air was cold -- as evidenced by his violent shivers -- and the sky had changed from navy, to a turquoise-tainted pink. The city below was moderately quiet, signalling that it was still pretty early. The only sounds were coming from traffic in the distance and the occasional whoosh of a passing jet in the sky above. He stayed like that for a moment, azure eyes clouded with some kind of apprehension as he watched the clouds slowly pass, not a care in the world for the fact it was fucking freezing.

Last night had been real, even if there was no sign of your presence. Actually, that wasn’t quite true -- the robes he’d discarded before your appearance had been thrown over him like a blanket. They did little to protect him from the cold air, but it was a confirmation that you had been there. He wasn’t sure when you’d left - or how - but he was the only one on the balcony.

There were a lot of questions floating about in his head. Why were you only turning up now after weeks? Why had you materialised by him? Why were you here at all? You were finally free, free to do literally whatever you wanted, and you’d wound up by his side. There were millions and millions of places in the galaxy and somehow, his balcony was the one where you’d wanted to be.

After showering and shaving, Obi-Wan found himself heading towards the classroom of the best Jedi he knew: Yoda. If anyone was going to know anything about Force ghosts, it was him. He’d have to make sure not to let slip exactly what he was talking about - your relationship with him was far more attached than the code allowed, after all - in a more general sense, he must have had something to offer. It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught in Jedi training. If anything, it was the opposite. The lesson was don’t become attached enough to someone so that they haunt you! - and it was one at which he’d failed quite miserably.

‘Master Kenobi.’ Yoda sat in the middle of the classroom, meditating. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. ‘Of assistance, may I be?’

‘Good morning.’ Obi-Wan greeted him with a bow. ‘I have some questions, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly taking a seat beside him. ‘What do you know about Force ghosts?’

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

‘Say you had a dear friend, and they died.’ He began. ‘Then they came back a little while as a Force ghost.’

‘Come back, they don’t.’ Yoda opened one eye, glancing over at him. ‘Never gone, they were. The Force takes time to manifest.’

‘So...the ghost version of them is still them?’

‘Very much so.’ He said. ‘Why, there are many reasons. Many Jedi study for a long time to materialise as ghosts after passing.’

‘What if they didn’t?’

‘Then unfinished business, they have.’ He replied. ‘When a Jedi dies, their Force connections do too. If they are left unbroken, exist as a ghost they will.’

Well, that explained it.

‘Right.’ He murmured. ‘Last question, I promise - how long does that connection usually last?’

‘Months to years, it may be.’ He explained. ‘On their unfinished business, the connection depends.’

‘That makes sense.’ Obi-Wan nodded. ‘Thank you, Master Yoda.’

The little green creature simply nodded in response, turning his attention back to his meditation. He didn’t ask questions -- what was the point? He’d been around hundreds of years, and dealt with hundreds of similar things in that time. Truth be told, he didn’t have all the answers. He was just good at acting like it.

Obi-Wan pondered on the conversation for the rest of the day.

There were a lot of things that could have constituted your unfinished business. The list was endless, especially given how suddenly you’d passed. Nobody knew you better than Obi-Wan, but even he struggled to decipher it. You weren’t the sort of person who would hang around for no good reason. It had to be something important -- something so pressing that you quite literally couldn’t pass away in its entirety without dealing with it. Part of him was worried that he didn’t know at all; you were always sneaking about, always doing something that you shouldn’t have been. That left a long list of possibilities.

But Yoda had directly mentioned Force connections, right? Maybe he’d meant it in a general way, but Obi would have been a complete dumb-ass to think that the Jedi didn’t know what was going on. If the situation didn’t tell him, his seeming ability to know everything about everyone certainly would have. You were the only person he could have possibly been talking about.

It was something he knew he had to bring up, and so he made the mental promise to himself. The best time would have been that night, when he saw you again. If he saw you again. He trusted you to return. You knew better now than to disappear forever without saying goodbye.

And he’d been right. That evening, after he’d exchanged goodbyes with Anakin, Obi-Wan found himself wandering out to the balcony. Sure enough, you were leant against the railings, back turned to him as you peered down at the city below. The air was cold again -- maybe because it was Winter, but also maybe because of you -- and the harsh winds blew back your hair. He wanted to reach out and feel it, to feel you, but he couldn’t. A man whose love language was physical touch was sure to suffer when the person he wanted most was a fucking entity.

‘You’re late.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Don’t your meetings normally end at six?’

‘Anakin wanted to talk about something.’ He replied. ‘So is this your life now? Waiting for me to come home?’

You snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been at the diner all day moving stuff around to confuse Dex.’

‘That’s mean.’

‘And what would you do if you were a Force ghost?’

Wait for you. Follow you.

‘Explore.’ He lied, leaning against the balcony beside you. ‘I spoke to Yoda today about...this.’

‘Mmm?’

‘He said that people who usually come back either purposefully prepared for it when they were still alive.’

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

‘Because I sometimes struggled to turn on my lightsaber. You think I’m skilled enough to do this shit on purpose, Kenobi?’

‘You’re…’ brilliantly intelligent, easily the smartest person I know, ‘...clever. Don’t put yourself down.’

‘Just cut to the point.’

‘Right.’ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. ‘He said that, or that they had unfinished business. Force connections still strong enough to keep them here.’

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

‘Our Force connection.’ You said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You do know what we have one, right?’

‘I...I figured we were always just...close.’

‘No, you dipshit.’ You shook your head with a laugh. ‘They can develop between best friends. It’s a little rare, but we’re both so strong with the Force that it just happens naturally.’

‘That makes sense.’ he turned to look out at the city. ‘I didn’t really have a best friend before you.’

You looked over at him, a smile playing on your lips. ‘Yeah, me neither.’

Obi-Wan quickly fell into a routine, post-you. Not post-you completely, because he still saw you every evening, but that had helped push him towards the transition. He adjusted to only seeing you after work - not in the mornings or during the day or every waking second like it used to be. Nothing was how it used to be. Not even close. You were no longer beside him during meets or climbing into bed next to him when you had nightmares. There were no more missions with you or late nights filled with paperwork and laughter.

That was the problem.

You were here, but you weren’t really. The ghost he saw every night had your eyes and your laugh and your personality, but it wasn’t really you. Obi-Wan couldn’t touch you; he couldn’t feel you in the same way he used to. It was like having a conversation with a figment of his imagination -- conversations of false hope and plans that would never come to fruition. Because you could banter and you could laugh and you act like things weren’t completely fucking different, but they were. You were a ghost. A ghost of yourself, a ghost of the past, a ghost of what used to be.

It had helped the pain at first. Eased the dread of knowing that you weren’t ever going to be back, not properly. Obi-Wan had appreciated that. It made grieving a lot easier when you were technically still there to tease and jester him through the process. Knowing that his friendship was the reason you couldn’t fully let go of existing had both made it better and worse. Better, because it meant you cared for him as deeply as he did for you. Worse, because it was so open-ended. At what point would you be satisfied enough to finally let go? Would he get to say goodbye, or would you just be here forever?

That was the problem, Obi-Wan had come to find.

He was hopelessly in love with you - though that much was obvious - and he couldn’t deal with only having some of you. He wanted all of you, or he wanted none of you. Only being able to talk to a blue apparition of you just wasn’t enough. It was just a constant reminder that the person he loved most in the universe was gone, and that he’d never fully have you. He was kicking himself for that one. What if he’d said something to you when you were still alive? Declared his love for when he could still physically reach out to you?

That was the thought plaguing his mind every night. With you beside him, a cold aura radiating towards him as you sat with your legs hugged to your chest. It had been a few weeks since your first appearance, and your nights together ranged from deep conversations to comfortable silence. The latter was always worse, because Obi-Wan constantly found himself teetering on the edge of saying something. It was hard, because despite everything, he found you to be more enchanting and peaceful than ever. More entrancing.

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked.

‘Sure thing.’ You peered over at him. ‘You look worried. Is it serious?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Depends how you take it, I suppose.’

‘Try me.’

‘There are…’ he faltered again. ‘There are some things I regret not telling you when you were still here.’

‘I am here.’ You reminded him.

‘No, I know that.’ He found himself unable to look at you. ‘I mean when you were here here.’

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

‘Remember when you used to come to my bedroom at 2AM because you’d had a bad dream?’ He asked. ‘Or when you’d throw yourself into my arms after we’d been separated on long missions?’

‘Yeah.’

He absent-mindedly reached a hand out towards you; it went straight through you, a rush of cold shooting down his arm. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

‘You can still talk to me.’ You urged. ‘You can still be with me-’

‘- not in the way I want.’ Not in the way I need.

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

‘You don’t need me to explain it.’ He finally looked at you, blue eyes shrouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher.

‘Obi-Wan, what do you think has been keeping me here?’ You asked.

You knew. Of course you fucking knew. Try as he might to be mysterious and suave, but you could read him like a book -- and it was a shock to you that he hadn’t seen your feelings either. They were clear as day to both of you, and yet it had been easier to ignore them for the sake of your friendship, and for the sake of the code. You both always figured that you could deal with them at a later date, because that’s when you’d had a later.

‘Just say it.’ You murmured. ‘Say that you love me too and I’ll go-’

‘- I don’t want you to go.’ He cut you off. ‘Because then you’re gone forever.’

‘And then you can move on.’ You smiled. Neither of you knew that ghosts could cry until now.

This was the closest he would ever get to having you now. He could have just sucked it up and dealt with it, and kept you by his side in your ominous form - but would that have been fair on you? To keep you around, just because he was so full of regret over things unsaid and so full of fear over grieving? None of this was fair, on him or on you.

‘I can’t say it.’ Obi-Wan murmured. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s okay.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

Neither of you said anything else - maybe you didn’t want to, or maybe you were scared to. The fact you’d finally acknowledged the bantha in the room after years, finally admitting that love had been the driving force behind what made your friendship so good, for so long. The irony was that when you’d died, he’d wanted nothing more than for you to come back in some form. Now, he realised that it was holding him back from moving on -- and he couldn’t do that until he’d let you go. But he couldn’t do that either.

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his words had been a confession. Albeit a thinly veiled one, but a confession nonetheless. It had confirmed to you the only thing you’d wanted to know before you’d passed: that he loved you back. That was all you needed. It was all you’d ever needed.

Eventually, the Jedi beside you grew sleepy. That’s how it usually went every night -- you’d talk, he’d fall asleep beside you, and you’d cover him with a blanket and slip out to wherever it was that Force ghosts went at night. He never asked, for fear of it ruining the mystery. Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only person you saw, but it was a nice thought, and one he didn’t want to taint. At least you took more mercy on him than you did with Dex, who slowly thought he was going insane at all the random objects suddenly being moved around.

When you heard him gently snoring, you stood up. Obi-Wan looked peaceful, as though he’d finally gotten something of his chest - even though he hadn’t realised he’d done it. He hadn’t realised that it had been enough.

You leant down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For the first time since you’d appeared, you could finally feel his skin against yours - no cold jolts, no body parts suddenly disappearing through the other. Just your lips against his; warm and...human.

‘Good night, Obi-Wan.’ You ran a hand through his hair, before standing up and stepping back. ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

He felt it. He was asleep, but he felt your lips on his and your hand in his hair, and he’d secretly smiled to himself, not entirely realising what was going on. He’d thought it was a dream, or that he was simply imagining that you could finally touch him as though you were a human, and no longer a cold, blue ghost.

Because you weren’t. You were no longer a ghost.

Obi-Wan didn’t realise till he rose the next morning, a blanket tossed over him and the feeling of your lips still lingering on his, even hours later. He even dared to smile for a moment, before the knowledge of what he’d done hit him. He’d given you what you wanted - an unintentional confession of love. The thing you needed to finally cut off your Force connection. The only thing still tethering you to this world.

You were gone, but at least he’d finally gotten what he wanted. You. Even if it was only for a few moments.

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crab-instruments · 3 years

Text

Dust in the Wind Part 8 (tbb)

Master <Part 7 Part 9>

Pairing: Hunter x Secret Jedi! Reader (GN)

Rating and warning: General audience, panic/stress (minimal)

Words: 1.5k

a/n: haha well we don't have time to unpack all that finale, so here's an update of this instead. Fresh off the press and yeeted to tumblr. I'm thinking the next update will have some cool stuff. I hope.

Image credit in the notes

When your eyes opened, you laid there for a bit, taking in the events of yesterday and what some sleep had done to clear the mind. You must have slept well, not even remembering the dreams you had or stirring when others got up, as only Hunter and you were left in the bunks. This was based on assumption by reaching out using the Force, at least, as you hadn’t moved an inch yet.

Being with the Batch had made it easy to settle back into your ‘old life’ or maybe just who you really were, a force user. You were becoming more comfortable, but if you were being honest with yourself, that was a scary thought. It would make leaving so much harder.

You slowly started to move, careful to keep quiet, putting your feet on the cold metal floor. The ship buzzed and hummed through your feet, accentuating the dull pain in your muscles, but the pain had an odd nostalgic feel, something you would be used to after a mission.

Echo, Crosshair, and Wrecker were all out in the main cabin as you approached, all still sleepy, though the sniper was better at hiding it.

Echo handed you a cup and you presumed he said something along the lines of ‘mornin’ but your brain was still fuzzy, not used to the amount of sleep you got. You looked at the contents of the cup; caf that had a stale smell to it and enough water to have your reflection look back at you. Still, you drank it all in one go and then turned to back to the Clone who gave it to you. “Thank you, that was the worst caf I’ve ever had, and I’ve never been more grateful for it.”

Echo chuckled; a small smirk spread across his face. “I see you slept well. Surprised to see Sarg still in bed.” You cocked your head, not sure what he was getting at.

“He is usually up first, not able to sleep when people start waking up,” Wrecker filled in.

“It might have something to do with having more people sleeping comfortably,” Tech had walked from the cockpit. “He has said that when there’s more resting heartbeats around him, he is calmer. He was worried about Maxis so possibly having them closer helped him relax.” Tech had kept his voice even when speaking, but it still felt like there was a hint of something.

“What are you—”

“I came back here to let you know we will be landing soon, and someone should wake Hunter.” He turned around before you could address what you wanted.

Echo had grabbed another cup of caf and handed it out for you to take. “Maxis, would you mind? I have a few other things to do and you’re closer.” You squinted your eyes in skepticism at the Clone for a moment, before taking the cup and walking back to the bunks, making a mental note to corner those two and figure out what they were scheming.

Once you crossed the threshold of the room, you slowed down in front of where Hunter was laying. He had fallen asleep on his stomach, his arms under his pillow, and his face turned away from the wall. No bandana in his hair, you could see how thick his locks are, almost a little envious. Really, it suited him, and he knew it. You lowered yourself to the floor, taking a moment to just study his sleeping face. So calm and handsome, in this state you couldn’t see how much the war had taken its toll on him. It was something you could get used to—

“Mesh’la, staring is impolite.” You would never… ever… admit what his sleepy morning voice did to you in that moment. His voice startled you, sloshing some caf onto the floor. He hadn’t yet opened his eyes when he addressed you, but they stared straight through you now.

Say something! “Um… sorry, I didn’t mean… We just… We’re going to be landing soon.” Smooth, about as smooth as this caf.

Hunter chuckled, amused at the effect he had on you in that moment. Slowly he sat up, swinging his legs carefully over the side of the bunk. You had stood up and took a step back to give him space but were still more or less frozen.

“Is… one of those cups for me? Or do you just really enjoy the dirt caf…”

“Oh, right.” You held out the cup, certainly not loving every second he touched your hand. Holy kriff, you needed to get a grip on your life, or you were going to lose your mind. “Uhm, I’ll just…” you looked back to the doorway but then back at him. “Wait, mesh’la?”

A look of surprise took over Hunter’s face for a hot second before a smile took its place. He shook his head, and responded, “It’s Mando’a, I’ll have to teach you some day.” He stood up and walked past you to the main cabin, obviously still avoiding giving a real answer.

“But that doesn’t… what does it mean?” Hunter had already weaved his way through the ship, leaving you wondering. Maybe I’ll ask Tech about the best way to learn a new language.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Under the ship, you checked and cleaned the landing gear. It had seen better days and probably hadn’t even been washed since the Republic. You worked meticulously, finally able to show more of what you could do now that you didn’t have the possibility of needing a quick escape. The soreness that swam through your muscles sang loudly while you focused, it was clear you needed a break.

Two shadows, one much larger than the other, closed in on the area. Omega didn’t need to crouch all that much as she approached, Wrecker waiting by the side of the ship. “Hey Maxis, you should take a break. Wrecker and I were about to go get our Mantell Mix. It’s a tradition, we get some after every mission.”

You stopped working for a moment. “I didn’t really… I wasn’t a part of the mission. But—”

“You protected the ship from four troopers, I’d say that’s enough to get some Mix.” Wrecker said, with a bit of pride.

“Ah yeah, I guess. Let me put this piece back on and we can go.”

Crawling out from the ship, you wiped the dirt of your pants. Something about Ord Mantell always stuck to you though, but that was a part of its charm. Or that’s what you say to convince yourself. You had explored the market a bit, to pick up supplies and replacements for maintenance, but never really experienced it.

As Omega led the way, you asked, “what exactly is Mantell Mix?”

“Only the best treat in the entire galaxy,” Omega looked back at you, very excited.

“Well, when you mostly have rations, anything would be a treat. Very low bar. I think I’m more concerned about the name, Mantell Mix. A mix of what? Grime and overpriced goods?”

“I think adventure and a hint of sweetness is more like it.”

You chuckled. “Always good at the positive spin, Omega. That’s a good quality.” She beamed.

Once the food was acquired, you could only eat so much of it before deciding that Omega had lied about the ‘hint of sweetness’. But you did your best to show gratitude in being included.

The three of you decided to wander around the open-air shops. You ended up looking at some unrefined gems on display. Not something you would usually stop to look at, but something about the display caught your attention. A crystal, somewhat clear but had a red hue, stuck out.

“See something you like?”

“What… is this?” You pointed to the crystal. “And where did you get it?”

“Ahh, I’m not sure. I travel and trade quite a bit, unfortunately, and don’t remember much about every piece. But if it is to your liking, you should have a closer look.” The owner had a creepy facial expression, you were unsure if they were trying to just sell the item or if they had other motives. But what other motives could they have?

You reached for the crystal but could only hold it for a second due to the extreme pain and pressure you felt from it. Another force echo. Luckily, you pushed yourself out of it quick, only getting a brief glimpse of the horrible feeling, but it stuck to you, sitting heavy on your shoulders. A reminder of the past.

It was a kyber crystal, a synthetic one specifically. This one had been used by a Sith or an apprentice of one, having such a dark and evil aura around the force echo. It made you sick and scared. Suddenly, it felt like all eyes were on you, walls closing in. Fear crept into your mind.

“I’m s-sorry, I have to-… to go.” You swiftly made your way back to the Marauder, leaving Omega and Wrecker behind. The corner you hid in after your fight with the troopers felt like the perfect fit for you at that moment. You curled up in a ball as tightly as you could and hummed to yourself.

It took a while, but everyone made their way back and Hunter was discussing about their next mission that would take place in a few rotations.

Part 9

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Notes:

Mando'a: I assume if you're reading this, you know, but here's a link anyway.

Synthetic Lightsaber/Kyber crystal: One of my favorite things I learned about lightsabers is that the Sith used synthetic crystals and synthetic crystals are normally red, leading to the Sith having mostly red lightsabers. I don't know if that's still considered canon anymore, but for me it is. Image credit

Tag List: @rintheemolion @xxspqcebunsxx @salamidraws @lokigirlszendaya

If you want to be added to the tag list, just ask in the most convenient way for you or by faxing me a picture of a crab

#tbb x reader #tbb x you #the bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #hunter x you #dust in the wind #crab fics

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amiedala · 3 years

Text

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 22: I'll Come Back for You RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!) WARNINGS: violence, sex, the usual, as always tell me if you need anything else tagged!! SUMMARY: “No,” you cry again, but this time you go limp. You’re crying now, for real. The planet is crushing you. Or maybe the air. Or maybe it’s just your own broken heart, suffocating itself against your ribs.

“Nova,” Din whispers again, “Cyar'ika, you have to hide. You have to stay out of reach of Gideon, which means you have to stay out of reach of me. Hey. Hey. Listen to me.” You try to find your center of gravity, but you can’t. You tumble to the ground, tears hurtling down your cheeks. Din follows you, clinging to you all the way down. “You just need to stay away long enough for me to defeat Gideon, kill him, and get the Darksaber back to Bo-Katan. Once he’s dead, once this is over, I’ll come back for you. Do you understand me?” AUTHOR’S NOTE: i am just truly so sorry for this. i would say the usual "happy Something More Saturday!!!!!!!!!" but i broke my own heart with this one. angst lovers, this one is for you, fluff lovers (me included) i promise it's just getting worse before it gets SO much better, and that i have a very sold (and fast) plan to fix it. more notes at the end. i love you :(

In and out, the lightsabers pulse. It doesn’t just flicker and hum with the glow of a kyber crystal, Ahsoka’s blades themselves run in radiating beams of light. It might just be the atmosphere on Corvus, the way that the fog messes with the brightness, but they look infinitely more real than you remembered the one back on Coruscant looking. When you held that one in your hand, it felt like a weapon. Hers feel like a lifeforce, equally as strong and as radiant as the other.

Ahsoka’s demeanor is just as ebullient, even though it’s clear she’s just as determined as she is kind. She’s tall in stature, purposeful with the way she walks. She seems to know the planet inside and out, although you’re not quite sure if that comes from lived experience or Force intuition. Every step she takes is intentional. You’ve tried to muster up the courage to ask her questions, to understand how the Force works through her, but every time you do, something else makes it sink back down into obscurity.

All three of you are in awe of her. Din’s quiet is usually just as purposeful, but here, you can tell it’s because he’s trusting, and that he knows she’s the one to default to. His visor tracks her footprints against the dirt of Corvus. The baby is currently in your arms, ears perked up every time Ahsoka speaks or moves in a certain way. You’re just openly staring. You know you’re probably being rude, or at the very least making her uncomfortable, but you can’t help yourself. This is the closest you’ve ever been to a Jedi before, and you can feel the energy radiating off of her. It’s like the baby’s, only fine-tuned and amplified. That sort of mind-meld connection you have with him, all of that radio frequency is sharing one, unified thought—I love her.

The three of you follow her, deep into the foggy forest, and you can feel Din’s eyes lock onto you when you’re stepping over the roots, watching Ahsoka’s footfalls. He holds up a gloved hand to help you over the large and mossy ones, but other than that, you just track her movements, a strange, bound triumvirate. When you finally reach the hill that feels like her temporary home, you sit yourself down on a low rock, cracking all the ache out of your neck, heart hammering, trying to figure out what comes next.

It doesn’t. Not for a long while, at least. Din starts to fill the silence once, then twice, then three times, but Ahsoka just looks serene and quiet, gaze intense enough to stop anything, and his voice falters off somewhere inside the modulator. Her eyes are locked on the baby’s, all that blue counteracting his giant ones. You see the way his facial expressions move, how his nose twitches, and it’s like you’re remembering a fragment of a memory. They seem to be communicating in another language, or some frequency you can’t quite seem to tap into. The way that you and the baby have been talking, somehow, you know it’s different. This is a practiced act, something wizened and older than you are.

You exchange looks with Din every once in a while, just trying to stay quiet and not interrupt whatever Ahsoka and the baby are doing, but everything in you is a complete live wire. You can feel his gaze on you, just as sparking, just as bright. Everything feels huge and colossal in a way it didn’t before, like you can feel all these moments in time through the blips of your visions starting to lace themselves together into something tangible. Even in the fog, even with the residual sounds of the town you know is nearby, you can feel how loudly the energy is pulsing. Something in you tells you Din feels it, too, even without his own tether to the Force.

Ahsoka is serene. She’s tall and athletic, lean muscles that bulge whenever she flexes. Her lips are always pursed together, and her skin is somehow even more orange and beautiful in the foggy, low light. She’s clearly been from one end of the galaxy to the next, seen wars you’ve only heard about. Her sabers are slightly different shapes. You notice them whenever they catch reflection through the trees.

For hours, it feels like, you’ve been sat here. You slowly slide off the mossy rock you’re perched on, trying to stretch your legs out, shake the stiffness off them. Your new pants are getting dirty, which is a shame considering the hassle you and Din went through to get them, but you happily spread out on the ground, relieving the aching pressure as quietly as you can. He sits, finally, after realizing this whole interaction might take some time. He tries again to talk to her, and when Ahsoka just tilts her head to gaze deeper into the baby’s eyes, he gives up.

You can feel the sigh through the modulator from here. It’s become less about sound, now, and just the recognition that he’s sighing. Even though it’s long and heavy, you know how much of a relief it must be for the three of you to finally be here, to meet a Jedi who can train the baby. It’s the thing he’s been tasked to do for as long as you’ve known him, and after so many close calls with Gideon and the residual death that follows him around, you can feel the pressure radiating in waves off Din’s back. Before, the three of you were outnumbered and outgunned. But now, with Ahsoka? Now, you’ve got a fighting chance. One that might give you the opportunity to strike fast instead of running, dodging, and hiding.

Din pokes at your leg. You look up at him, squinting, smile filling up your whole face. Slowly, he slides down to the forest floor beside you, and you rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, just long enough to be intentional, and he leans into your touch. You don’t want to be loud, don’t want to do anything to startle Din or the baby or Ahsoka, but then Din’s pinky cinches yours at the knuckle, and you sigh happily. Even with the noises echoing from the town in unrest, even with your heart still racing from all the scrapes with Gideon and his henchmen on the last few planets, there’s something warm and bright here in this little nook in the woods. The light is low in the sky before you hear anything from Ahsoka and the baby, and you curl your knees into your chest, trying to quiet the grumble of your stomach.

“How long has it been?” you murmur, quiet enough that you thought Din would be lucky to catch it, even sitting up right against you, but then Ahsoka is the one to answer.

“Long enough,” she says, and you feel the rush of blood to your cheeks. “We had a lot to talk about.”

“Talk?” Din asks, silently making his way to his feet. “What did you—speak about?”

“Everything,” Ahsoka answers, voice still smooth and even. “He’s been looking for me for a long time.”

You glance back and forth between her and the baby. “D—did he know you before?”

She tilts her orange head at you, and you feel your breath catch in your chest. “No,” Ahsoka confirms, “but he’s been looking for a Jedi for some time now. Grogu seems to have found a family instead.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“Grogu?” Din repeats, head tilted, stepping forward. “Is that—?”

“His name,” Ahsoka answers, nodding. The baby—Grogu—coos from where he’s sitting, his big green ears perked up and attentive. He doesn’t really grin, just coos happily at you, but you see his small mouth break into a smile. You can feel his energy, how calm he is, how at peace he must be now that all three of you have your true names, your family unit together and truly whole. You quietly kneel down in front of where he’s sitting, and he grabs a hand at your necklace, swinging out against your squat and catching the low light. You let him thumb over the Rebel insignia, spending a few extra seconds pressing the pad of his finger into the star you carved on the back.

“Is that—” Ahsoka steps forward, and you turn your head to try and face her. She’s tall, determined, and when she squats right down beside you, she’s considerably larger, too. You stammer, realizing how close she is, how she’s a Jedi in front of you, someone who can feel the world in the same way that you can. It’s deafening, the rush of it. “It is. Are you a Rebel?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “I was,” you tell her, truthfully, “most of my life.”

She looks at you with pain in her eyes. It cuts through, sharper and brighter than the rest of her. It’s an odd look against her easy warmth, something deeper and striking than you’ve seen on her so far, but you can feel it. She is, too, even if she isn’t fully part of the Alliance. You have shared grief, and hers goes deeper than yours can even name.

Slowly, she stands back up from where she’s beside you, intense eyes locked back on Din. “You saved him,” she asks, but it doesn’t sound much like a question.

He nods. “Once upon a time,” Din confirms. “Truthfully, though, the kid—and Nova—save me more than I do them.”

Ahsoka turns, looking back at you. Quietly, you push off the ground. You’re clumsy, and there’s an ache in the middle of your thighs from where you and Din fucked on the floor last night, but when you’re finally standing, you nod against Ahsoka’s unasked question.

“I’m Force sensitive,” you whisper. You haven’t really ever said that out loud before, how heavy and residual the fact feels under your tongue. You nervously tuck a fistful of loos hair behind your ear, eyes oscillating between Din and Ahsoka. “I—is that a problem?”

Neither of them answer. You feel stupid. You know it’s a problem, that with the energy radiating through both you and the baby, you’re both vulnerable and very easy targets for a whole lot of evil. You know it lives, seeping and hungry, an insidious itch under your skin. You know how much danger the three of you have been in lately, how it plagues Din, how it keeps him restless.

“It’s going to make you accessible,” Ahsoka says slowly, her eyes flickering over to Din, just for a second, but long enough for you to gauge the meaningful look she gives him. “I could tell that Gideon—and the remnants of the Empire as a whole—want Grogu. They’re after him, and mainly him, so that they can experiment on him and take samples of his blood and cells. He understands that.”

You swallow noisily. In the distance, you can hear the fighting echoing from the neighboring city get louder, and, unconsciously, you take a step closer to Din.

“You,” Ahsoka continues, tilter her head in your direction, “are every bit as much of a target now that Gideon knows you can use the Force. You’re a bigger specimen, larger, complex. I don’t know what he wants with either of you,” she continues, crossing her muscled, slender arms over her chest, “but it can’t be good.”

“We—” you start, choking over your own words, “we know we’re in danger, I know I’m dangerous, because I’m…loud and untrained, and—”

“You aren’t dangerous,” Ahsoka interrupts, striding forward so that she’s closer to you. Maker, she towers over you, strong and lean. “You’re untrained, yes, and you’re very valuable to whatever Gideon’s plan is, but you aren’t a liability.”

The way she says liability, the way it fits in her mouth, immediately makes you look at Din. She’s angry, you understand, she’s angry because she thinks Din has told you you’re a reckless, loose cannon, and that you’re too close to every cliff edge that you’ve pulled the three of you back from, and you shake your head furiously, trying to assure her that isn’t the case.

“She’s strong,” Din says quietly. His voice, modulated and even, sounds distant. Unfamiliar. “Stronger than most.”

Ahsoka tilts her head at Din. “I can see that, just by looking at her. By being in her presence. But I think, somewhere along the way, somewhere between when you found both her and Grogu, and realized what danger they’d be in running from Gideon, you’ve forgotten her strength.”

You swallow again. Noisily. You can feel Din fuming, feel how hot and heavy he is, and you want to step in between the middle of the two of them, mitigate the conversation, try to diffuse any collateral damage. The baby coos next to you, and you lunge forward between the man you love and the Jedi you’ve just met, heart hammering. “This is helping no one—”

“You think I want to shelter her from every threat in this galaxy?” he snarls, and you blink at Din as he moves angrily towards you. “That I want to keep her in the middle of all of this? I don’t. I’d kill Gideon today if I thought it meant Nova and the kid—Grogu—wouldn’t be in danger. I would let her shoot every single bastard in his fleet to their deaths if it meant the two of them could live safely. I’d—I’d leave them on the safest planet of the galaxy and hide myself away for the rest of my life it meant that they could be free from this. I’m doing the best I can, and you have no right—”

“Stop,” you plead, facing towards Din completely, desperately throwing your hands up against the silver, armored chestplates, trying to stop him from advancing on Ahsoka. You can feel her hands against the hilts of her white lightsabers, and the absolute last thing in the world you want is to get a matching scar on the other side of your belly. “I mean it, stop. Fighting over this—over me—isn’t going to stop the problem at hand. You,” you whip around, pointing a raised, shaking finger at Ahsoka, “you’re a Jedi. You—you have the Force, you can teach the baby. Grogu. You can train him, and then he can show me.”

She starts to speak, but you twirl back to face Din. The careful braid you knotted up this morning has become frayed and undone, chunks of hair hanging in your face, brushing against your cheeks in the foggy, green haze. You try to find his eyes under the helmet. “You ever talk about leaving us somewhere ever again, I’ll shake the idea out of your beautiful, thick head myself. There’s no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me. I protect you, you protect me. That’s how this works, remember?”

Slowly, jerkily, he nods.

“Good,” you say, sounding a hell of a lot more confident than you feel, trying to stop your voice from wavering. “Teach him,” you repeat, looking at Ahsoka. All that darkness and flame that lit up her eyes a few minutes ago is gone. There’s a hardened edge there, but it’s not made out of steel. She doesn’t look angry. She looks exhausted, sad. You can see it in her posture as she drops your gaze, stepping closer to Grogu.

Din goes in to stop her, but you shake your head, and he lets his gloved hand drop listlessly down at the side. You’re not sure what she’s doing, and you’re even more confused that it seems like Grogu and Ahsoka have their own frequency, one that you can only catch distant warbles and static off of. Frustrated, you blow hair out of your face, stepping back to observe. Finally, she kneels down to the ground, picks up a pebble. Wordlessly, she shows it to Din, then to you, then to the baby. His big bug eyes are wide, unflinching. You know that he understands what she wants him to do before Ahsoka even says the words. He stares at it, tiny nose scrunching up against the task of trying to move the rock with his mind. For a few tries, it’s impossible, no luck. He’s distracted. Grogu keeps glancing back and forth over the three of you, to get permission that he doesn’t seem to have on his own.

“He doesn’t understand,” Din protests once.

“He does,” you and Ahsoka say in unison. Her tone is heavy. Yours is excited, like you can feel the way your heart is trying to keep in time with the words. And it’s true. The baby doesn’t follow commands well, especially when he’s decided he doesn’t want to, but this is different. You can feel the energy rushing through him, but he keeps breaking concentration to stare up at Din, and the pebble falls quietly against the mossy rock he’s sitting on, tumbling down to the earthen forest floor.

“Why isn’t he doing it?” Din asks, and you can hear how poorly masked the concern in his voice comes out.

“He wants your permission,” Ahsoka answers. Any of the fire that was in her voice earlier is completely gone now, like a flood just went through. She’s still intent, and she still has an edge to her, but it’s colored something more like determination than anger. “He needs it.”

“You can do it, baby,” you whisper, leaning down so that your necklace will swing out from under your covered collarbone again, something to fortify him, keep him balanced.

Your cheeks burn with the realization that Ahsoka was talking about Din’s permission, not yours, but your action seems to relax the baby’s little heart, his expression melting into something slightly softer.

“You can do it,” Din echoes, kneeling down in front of the three of you, a strange triangle made on Corvus’s forest floor. Grogu coos, trying to meet his dad’s eyes under the helmet. “Go on. You’ve got it. Take your time.”

You’re not sure how much time you have, really, because the noises of whatever’s going on in town keep increasing, and with how quickly those men appeared out of the thin, foggy air earlier, you’re on edge knowing that anything else could emerge with little to no warning. Nervously, you scan the treeline as Din continues to coax and encourage the baby, picking up the rock off the ground. You lean up against the tree immediately behind the three of them. Its bark is thick and coarse, and the branches hanging off every side are pointed and sharp, the leaves all budding and a dangerous shade of green. It’s exhausting, keeping an eye out on the potential enemies in the distance and trying not to miss what’s happening with Din and Ahsoka and the baby, if he could move the rock farther than a few inches.

Sleep is still encroaching the borders of your eyes, even though you were out for hours last night. The massiveness of the day is heavy and loud, and right now, it’s demanding all of your attention. You let your back brush up against the cold, course tree, cracking your neck free of all the ache again. When Grogu catches your eye again, you smile at him, nodding encouragingly. He still is having difficulty focusing on the pebble, so you step as far away s you can. You close your eyes, let everything drip down your spine and run out of you. You’re trying to just be, to not let anything heavy and dangerous slip in through the cracks, and it’s harder here. You wonder if it’s because there’s another, powerful Force-sensitive being around, or if it’s just sheer exhaustion doing you in, but one thing’s for certain, and it’s that it’s hard to pull yourself into a space where your mind is weightless. Eventually, though, you can feel it pull out of your head, and that wave of knowledge, serenity, and energy comes and crashes over you. In your head, you’re able to tell the baby to do it, gentle and coaxing, just like he was with you when you floated his ball for the first time. When he looks at you again, you feel something change. Before you even open your eyes, you can feel his gaze shift to Din’s, and your lashes flutter open to reveal Din giving the baby an encouraging nod.

The rock is airborne. It isn’t flickering, and it isn’t even really moving, but it’s enough for all three of you, who gasp and clap, breaking Grogu’s concentration. You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to wrangle everything back in, to restrain yourself so that he can keep moving forward, keep the pebble skyward.

He does. It’s shakily, and somewhat uncontrolled, but you watch as Grogu moves, letting the pebble levitate, then letting it come back and forth between him and Ahsoka. In a few tries, he’s got the rhythm of it, moving intentionally and slowly, letting the rock float through the air as unencumbered and free as his little metal ball does. You try to make yourself stay quiet, but you can’t help it. You clap excitedly as Din falls to his knees to get close to the baby, show him how proud of him his father is. You beam, watching the two of them, everything else rolling off your shoulders. This is the closest you’ve come to feeling free from the evil that lurks in the galaxy’s corners in months. Since you told Din you love him. Since he proposed. Since you’ve been aware just how much Moff Gideon wants to get his scary, manipulative hands on you or the baby to harness your power, leave you breathless, take everything for himself. It’s like there’s a bead of light in the place of where your heart is. It’s momentary, it’s fleeting, but it’s there, really there, at least for a second. Something to fixate on, to haul all three of you out of the darkness. Something to shine in the same way you do.

Ahsoka steps forward, and you catch her eye as she tilt sher head towards Din and the kid. You smile at her, completely, fully. She smiles back, just as easy. You still see that glint in her eye, that exhaustion, the way she stares at the three of you like she’s interrupting, like she’s something knife-shaped cutting through. You nod at her, just once, and you can tell she knows what you mean. There’s no hard feelings. She’s wise, and she’s seen probably three times as much of this fight as you have, and she’s still here, on the periphery, kind and unafraid to cut down things that are making the darkness bigger.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For helping us.”

Ahsoka studies you. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You want to thank her again, but everything your mouth starts tumbling out is stammering and silly. “I—what do you mean?”

“You’re an ex-Rebel engaged to a Mandalorian,” she murmurs, and you blink, trying to figure out how she put that together before you remember that she and the baby had a conversation through the Force earlier, and the little gossip probably told her everything. You smile, tucking your loose hair behind your ear. “You don’t seem like the bounty hunting type.”

You kick a bit of mossy earth with the toe of your boot. “I’m not,” you admit quietly. “I don’t like killing.”

Ahsoka steps closer to you. You gulp, looking up at her. You thought Din was intimidating, that his stature was enough to make anyone not confident enough to look him in the visor run screaming. But as calm as Ahsoka is, how warm her heart beats, she’s just as fierce. A protector. A defender. A fighter. “Is that why you dropped out of the Alliance?”

You nod, slowly. “Sort of. My parents died on a mission, and I never really came back from that. I—I grew up on Yavin,” you continue, fingers absentmindedly finding your necklace. “On base. And it never felt like home after that. By the time they died, we were so close to winning, anyways, and once the Death Star blew, I left. I wanted to help people,” you say, your voice barely catching in the wind, “and I’m an excellent pilot, but I never liked shooting anyone down. Still don’t. I left, met some dangerous people, fell in their path, and barely made it out.” You swallow noisily, realizing how much you’re sharing. “I’m sorry, I’m babbling—”

“No,” Ahsoka encourages, tilting her head at you. Din and the baby are still practicing over with the rock, and he’s gleeful, showing off to his dad. “I’m curious. Please continue.”

“I was just a runner for a while,” you say, leaning back against the bark of the tree. “I moved food and drink and resources in the Outer Rim from one place to another. Before long, though, I started picking up people in bad situations, ones like I was in myself. I didn’t charge them anything, just shuttled them to nearby planets to help keep them safe from whatever they were running from.” You watch as Grogu lifts the rock in the air again, smiling faintly at him in the distance. You feel a lifetime away from the disbelief and betrayal on Din’s face when he saw you doing the same thing, your heart swelling with how he’s watching your kid in all his strange, magical, little, green glory. “I crashed my ship on Nevarro, which is where D—Mando picked me up. He told me he was just going to get me off the planet, that he’d drop me somewhere safer, but then I just ended up sticking around. Then we fell in love instead.” You mouth shapes a smile around the word love. “I know we’re in danger,” you say, urgent and quiet. “I know that we’re both liabilities. And I know we won’t be out of trouble for a long while, at least until we can get the Darksaber back from Gideon at the very least. But I’m not running,” you say, lifting your chin, resolved, into the air. “I’m not running. And I don’t know what kind of time you have, or what you can teach the baby and I,” you continue quietly, looking straight into Ahsoka’s eyes, “but I do know this is the closest I’ve felt to something that feels like winning in a long time.”

She’s quiet. It’s like she’s peering into your soul, spending time dissecting your every bone, every current your blood runs through. It takes everything in you not to waver, not to falter under her gaze, but you hold it. Finally, Ahsoka faces you head on, and she smiles. “You’ve still got something a lot of people in this galaxy don’t, Nova,” she says.

You blink. “What’s that?”

Ahsoka looks at Din and the baby, then back at you. Her gaze over you is still intense, but you can tell it’s because she likes you, because she sees a fierce spirit to you that nothing ever got close to stomping out. She lifts her chin to match yours. “Hope.”

You want to thank her, want to do anything to signify how that fortification alone feels huge enough to make everything in you swell and sing, but you don’t have a chance. An arrow shoots out of nowhere, and Ahsoka’s orange hand lunges forward, lightning quick, to knock you in the middle of your chest right below your collarbone, moving you away from the impact. You fall to the ground, scraping the heel of your hand against the rough bark of the tree root, skittering back out of immediate danger.

As if it were nothing, Din’s got both hands on his blaster and Ahsoka’s unsheathed both of her white blades, and you grab for the baby as they go running in the direction that a cacophony of blasts are heading from, and you duck and cover. It’s not your best move, but it’s the smartest one, at least until you can see where the fight is and be strategic about it. You don’t have the Crest, and you don’t have control, or lightsabers, or a whole artillery strapped to bulletproof armor, but you have your head. You pull your cloak up and around your face, covering the tops of your exposed shoulders and the gathering of hair, and you grab the baby and tuck him under the cloth. It’s not perfect, by any means, but with the atmosphere of Corvus being emerald and foggy, your faded green hood is enough camouflage to sneak closer and closer to the battle. You can’t see Din, and all you have to find Ahsoka is the hum of the blade and the screams of the attackers in the dark and you duck down as low as you can, pulling Grogu off your chest so you can look at him.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” you hiss, over the noise, “do you understand me? I’m just going back there to get my blaster.” You gesture back to where you were leaning against the tree, the weapon that’s supposed to be strapped against your thigh laying on top of the mossy earth. “I will be right back,” you whisper, holding his face between both of your palms, “I promise, Grogu, okay?”

He nods. You nod back. You’re not stealthy, and you’re not particularly fast, but there’s something about this planet, something about all this green and the baby’s energy and the way Ahsoka holds command that makes you feel invincible. You don’t sprint. You don’t try to run, either, because you don’t know how covered you are by the fog that’s drifting closer and closer to you. You don’t have an armada. You don’t have clear access to the ship. But you’re better this way, on the fly, focused by adrenaline instead of your anxiety of what’ll happen next get into your head. You lunge against the mossy ground for your blaster, and when you pick it up, you start running back to where you’ve hidden the baby, stronger with a weapon in your fist. Someone, tall and clad in dark clothes emerges from the fog, and even from a distance, you know that they don’t match either of the people who are defending you and Grogu right now, so you stop to steady your grip against a rock, and you take aim.

The person roars when your bullet ricochets off the boulder they’re kneeling in front of, glaring wildly, trying to find you. You see the baby’s big eyes widen and close back down when he spots you, and you nod the best you can lodged behind a safe hiding place. The person starts roving forward, and you roll your eyes when you see it’s a man stomping around, trying to find where you’ve hidden.

“You’re a shit shot!” he yells, and you can feel the hum of Ahsoka’s sabers. She’s close, you can sense it, and you close your eyes, clicking the safety off the blaster as you stand up enough to take aim again. He’s looking the opposite way, so you spring up, bending your knees slightly, locking your arms and your grip into place. When he turns around again, he’s against the barrel of your blaster, and he gasps as you push the could maw of it against his temple.

“Don’t think I would be now,” you say, in a voice so much more level than how you’re feeling. “Wanna test your theory?”

He shakes his head, you raise an eyebrow. Maker, it’s like he’s actually scared of you. You, Novalise. You, overemotional hopeless romantic that can’t make a shot to save her life. You, Her Highness Rebel Rouser Pilotess of the Outer Rim. At that and that alone, you steal a small smile when he closes his eyes.

“Why are you here?” You ask, tilting your head at him. “You’re trying to hurt us, take my son. Why?”

“The magistrate,” he says, lifting both hands sky-high. “She wants the Jedi. The orange woman. With the lightsabers.”

“I know whom she is,” you interrupt, shooting the baby a warning glance to stay where he is, camouflaged against the green, mossy rock. “Why does she want the Jedi?”

He shrugs, and you press the barrel of your gun a little closer into his scalp. He raises his hands even higher, so you let the pressure go, still staring down the gun to act like you’ll drop him at any second, even though you have literally no desire to shoot someone ever again. You step back, not much, but enough to plant your foot in a better spot, and you let him look down the blaster to coax him to answer. “Don’t know. We want her out of here. The magistrate. Their whole group is awful, holding the city of Calodan captive. Figure getting the Jedi out of here might placate her long enough for bargain for our city back.”

“You look pretty capable,” you counter, looking at the gun he’s dropped on the ground, gesturing to the arrows parked in the middle of the trees surrounding you. “Why wouldn’t you just attack them? Form a mutiny?”

He doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, and you sigh, dropping your grip just a little. It’s too much, though, stupid. The second you aren’t staring him down with the gaping mouth of your blaster anymore, he lunges for you, knocking you and your weapon to the ground. It doesn’t hurt, since the terrain is all grass, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of you, and he’s taken your blaster and kicked it off somewhere you can’t see, making a beeline for the baby.

“Help!” you scream, picking yourself off the ground, running, winded, back to where he’s heading for. You could kick yourself, but you’d probably trip over your own foot, so you keep going. He’s taller than you, and he clearly has more practice at running than you do, so you’re barely gaining speed when he picks up Grogu. He shrieks with being suddenly airborne, and you thunder your feet across the ground as fast as you can. You keep yelling loudly for Din and Ahsoka, because now you’re totally weaponless, and that piece of cowardly shit has your kid, and then you stop short, remembering you may not have a weapon, but you have something.

You clear your mind. Everything rushes backwards out of you. It’s still hard to make everything quiet in the midst of so much danger and noise, but you’re better at it now. Raising both hands, you focus, eyes snapping back open. You move, just slightly, and the man stops midair. He’s still trying to get the baby away, and he’s much stronger than you are, but then Grogu makes eye contact with you, determined and strong, and you nod, somehow knowing exactly what he’s about to do.

The baby bites down on the man’s arm. Hard. A real chomp, one he usually reserves for frogs and the food that’s supposed to be for you and Din. The man howls as he drops to the forest floor, and you lunge for Grogu as his abductor is stopped in his tracks. You give him a good stomp on his left foot, grabbing your blaster off the floor. He looks up at you with wide eyes, and you see how scared he is, so you decide to have a little mercy. “Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you,” you say, firmly, “and focus all your energy on taking back what’s yours instead.” He nods. You flick your finger back to stun and shoot him. It catches him in the belly, so he won’t be out for long, but it’s enough time to swaddle you and Grogu back up in your cloak, make your way through the edges of the fog that’s a lot quieter than it was s minute ago.

Your eyes aren’t the best on a good day, so you’re squinting and making shapes out of nothing. When you collide into Din, he has to clap a gloved hand over your mouth to stifle your shriek. The second he knows you aren’t going to be a red flag in the middle of the darkness, his hands moves off your lips and caresses against your cheek instead. You sag, letting him keep you upwards.

“That was some good fighting, cyar’ika,” he mumbles, and you feel your heart doing cartwheels in your chest.

“I learned form the best,” you manage, trying to wink but accidentally closing both of your eyes. “What’s the plan?”

Quietly, Din pulls the three of you behind another mossy stone. From this vantage point, you can see the mass of soldiers the two of them have taken down. Up on the parapet, there’s a shrouded figure with a thin, sharp metal spear. Your eyes narrow, knowing exactly who’s up there—the magistrate and her evil eye making sure that there’s bloodshed outside the city walls.

“Ahsoka’s clearing the last of them now,” Din whispers, and even modulated and quiet, his voice still sends shivers through you. “You’re going to sneak through the gate of the city with her and the kid.”

You blink at him, doing a double take. “Me?”

Din stares at you through the visor, tilting his head. “You proved yourself, Novalise. I trust you to be quick and quiet enough to sneak through undetected.”

You nod, butterflies soaring to life in the middle of your stomach.

“Besides,” Din adds, clicking the safety off his blaster, the noise muted against the rough fabric of his glove, “there will be three of you. And you all have powers.”

You smile at him. “The Force.”

“Looks like powers,” Din shrugs. Out of nowhere, Ahsoka appears behind you, equally as stealthy and silent as Din is. You smile at her. “Get ready.”

“Wait,” she says, cutting one orange hand through midair. “She’s going to shoot at you.”

Din nods. “The armor can take it.”

Ahsoka looks him up and down, disdainful. “She has a beskar spear.”

Din, who was about to emerge from a crouched position to stand straight up, a shiny force to be reckoned with through all the fog, sinks back down. “What?” The word is low and dangerous in his mouth.

“Listen,” Ahsoka says, urgently. “It’s yours. I have no use for it. You help me defeat her, you get the spear and I’ll…” her gaze lands on you and the baby as she trails off. “I’ll find someone to train both of them.”

“But I thought you—?” you start, but then arrows and blasts are being hurdled through the air again, and Ahsoka pulls you and the baby around to the side, where a cover of trees mixed with the nightfall and the ominous grey still hanging in the air will keep the three of you sheltered enough to make it through the gate undetected. You place your hand over your heart, looking at Din, who nods at you just for a second before he comes out of hiding, guns ablaze, in full Mandalorian mode. As promised, you, Ahsoka, and Grogu are able to make it through the gate without anyone catching sight. The city is small, desolate. It’s quiet, eerily so, and you think that if it weren’t caught between captivity and war, it would be beautiful. All the green from outside has evaporated in here, the streets looking shoddy and destroyed. You follow against the wood of the buildings, keeping only a few paces behind Ahsoka. Her grip on her lightsabers is light but intentional, ready to strike at any minute. The three of you sneak through the majority of the city undetected. When you’ve reached the border of what is clearly the magistrate’s headquarters, she signals for you and the baby to standby. You nod, ducking back against the buildings as she fights her way through the guards. Slowly, silently, she beckons for you to follow her, and you do as quietly as possible, trying not to take stock of the dead bodies on the ground.

It is beautiful in here, just as you predicted. You stay close behind Ahsoka, eyes darting up and around to watch for anyone who might try to hurt you. It’s dark but the greenery is lush and alive, and you run the tips of your fingers over the petals of flowers before you sit in the cloak under a big, sprawling tree, letting the baby out from under your cloak so he can see, too. Eventually, your gaze drifts over to Ahsoka. She’s regal, tall, shoulders set and back. Down the middle of this part of the city is a long slab of granite, dark and glassy. It cuts through a reflecting pool, and your heart lurches as you realize where you are.

In the visions, any that you’ve had that go farther than Ahsoka shrouded here with her sabers, this is where you’re trying desperately to get to Din, to see your panicked face in the beskar. Worriedly, you try to stand, knees wobbling, and when he steps through the doorway, your heart seizes in equal parts relief and terror. Ahsoka stares at him, and you want to start running towards him, shield him with your own body, but you’re frozen in place. Before you can start to shake the fear loose, another figure spears behind Din, pointing the tip of a beskar spear against the unsheathed part of his neck, right where his helmet meets his armor. It’s the only place that’s really left uncovered, just a sliver of skin at the nape of his neck, right before his head meets his spine, but if you know it’s there, it can be fatal. Your stomach is heaving, stormy and dangerous. You want to run to him. You want Ahsoka to use her lightsabers to cut the magistrate down. You want to know enough about the Force to use it, to get the magistrate away from the man you love, but as much as you denied it earlier, you are a loose cannon. You’re good at moving things. You don’t have much practice in saving them.

Ahsoka shoots one glance your way, but you know what it means, even in the dark. Stay put. You shrink back in the shadows the tree gives off, pulling the baby quietly up against your chest. No one knows you’re here except for her, so as long as you don’t give it away, you’ll have the high ground. You watch, heart in shreds, as the magistrate pushes Din forward.

“You have a choice,” she says, voice so smooth, so full of ice, “between the Mandalorian and the freeing of the city. You want Calodan back? I kill him. You want him alive? You leave this planet forever.”

Ahsoka’s eyes narrow. “An ultimatum? Weeks of you trying to kill me, to have your captives hunt me down in exchange for their lives, and all you have for me is an ultimatum?”

“It’s a choice, Jedi,” the magistrate spits. You move forward, enough that you can pull your blaster out of the holster. You aren’t stealthy, but the noise of it is quiet enough to be hidden by their conversation and the proximity to your vantage point. “A compromise.”

“No,” Ahsoka counters levelly, stepping forward with her lightsabers. The hilts are still unsheathed, and you watch carefully for the flick of her thumbs to bring them to life. “A compromise would mean me leaving you alive. I can dangle death, too. You just have to fight me for it first.”

You feel your eyes bulge open in the dark, impressed. She steps forward again, unflinching. She doesn’t even look scared to face the woman that’s holding your fiancé’s life in her hands, and normally, that would both you, but right now? Right now, you’re just marveling. Ahsoka’s a badass.

“Fight me for it, then,” the magistrate seethes, and Ahsoka raises an eyebrow, igniting both blades. You gasp at how they hum and pulse, the white blade both dangerous and serene. When she lunges, the other woman takes the spear off of Din’s pressure point. If you were faster, this is where you would have lunged, but he rolls, sweeping a leg underneath the magistrate’s feet. She avoids them midair, but when he kicks at her coming down, she stumbles. You thumb the safety off, still hiding in the shadows until they need you. For people who just met today, it’s clear that Din and Ahsoka know each other’s rhythms, how they move. It’s like watching a dangerously choreographed dance, all three partners wicked and fast. The other woman is clearly skilled, almost on the level of th both of them, because she’s able to both defend and attack in the same swing. Wordlessly, she swipes through the air. She catches Ahsoka’s skin with the beskar blade, and Ahsoka hisses and kicks just as dangerously, swiping the blade of her own saber over the blood to cauterize it and then swings with it as she yells. You’re in awe of her. Between her blades and Din’s armor, you’re completely mesmerized. There’s not a chance in hell that you would be a match for any of them, so you just watch with the baby safe behind your body. For minutes, it seems, the three of them fight, sharp and quiet. You watch Ahsoka swing the sabers through the air. When the magistrate tries to kick the one out of her left hand, she tosses it overhead to Din, who, amazingly, catches it and swings back in the same momentum she gave him. For a minute, it looks like they have the magistrate cornered, but when she falls to the ground, you’re right in her line of vision.

You panic. You don’t know what to do. Your heart is caught in your chest, and you know she sees you. Din and Ahsoka are so preoccupied with keeping her down that they don’t notice the magistrate’s hungry, dark gaze on you, and you’re frozen. When she gets to her feet again, it’s like she has a whole new wind. She strikes Din down viciously, and you can hear the beskar tearing into his flesh, over a just-healed cut on his leg. He roars as he drops, and you silently make the baby agree to stay hidden. You sprint towards him, throwing all caution and stealth to the wind, just trying desperately to make it there in time to get him off the ground. You scream at the magistrate, a slew of curses in every language you know, sliding across the smooth tile of the ground. Over her head, Ahsoka throws you one of her sabers, still ignited, and somehow, despite all odds, you catch it. It flickers in your hand and you stare down at Din, trying to steel yourself for what you have to do again.

“Now,” he pants through the helmet, “do it, Nova, do it—”

You do. You press the lightsaber down on his cut, just for a second, and he cries out with the cautery, going limp on the floor. You don’t have any time to make sure he’s more okay than that, though, because the magistrate is charging straight after you. Before you can turn, you feel her hurl the spear, the beskar whittling through clean air as it soars towards you, and you catch your terrified expression against Din’s armor before you lift your hand, bracing for the fatality of the impact, knowing that at the very least, you saved the man you love and the kid you share.

But the spear doesn’t come. It doesn’t pierce you straight through. After a minute, you open your eyes, looking around. You, Ahsoka, and the baby all have your hands up in unison, freezing the spear midair. Relieved, you exhale, breath shaky, letting the spear clatter against the pavement. The magistrate makes a desperate attempt to reach for it, but you’re quicker. For once, you’re quicker, and you lunge for the spear, and when you’re back on your feet, exhausted and bloody, you have Ahsoka’s lightsaber in one hand and the beskar spear in the other. She doesn’t move. She looks up at you with filth and anger, and you press the point of the spear to her open neck. She doesn’t recoil.

“Nova,” Ahsoka whispers, over the pulsating thumb of her saber. “It’s not worth it.”

“It is if she’s going to terrorize people again,” you hiss, raising the saber up with conviction. “I could make it quick. Fast. Better than she deserves.”

“You could,” Ahsoka levels. You don’t dare take your eyes off the magistrate, her evil gaze. “Or you could walk away and let me do it.”

“She deserves it,” you spit again, but already, your conviction is fading. You feel the spear being tugged out of your hands, and you whirl around with your arm raised, ready to strike someone down, but it’s just Din, and you sag. You can feel the magistrate ready to lunge, and you aren’t in the place to defend yourself, so you just look up at Din, terrified, making your peace with death for the second time in the matter of a minute. But before you can die, before anything, he’s stabbed the spear unto the shoulder of the magistrate’s right hand, and she drops, writhing against the ground, screaming bloody murder.

“She deserves to fall from grace,” Din grunts, “with no iron fist to cling to or come back with.”

Silently, Ahsoka reaches down to cauterize it. You look away, sheathing her lightsaber and tossing it back. Wordlessly, exhausted, you stumble over to Grogu and shoulder him against your chest. The four of you make your way over the magistrate, who’s knocked out on the ground, and go through the gates. A small gathering of citizens are there to greet you, terrified and just as tired as you feel.

“She won’t be in charge anymore,” Ahsoka says softly, voice firm. “I’ll stick around for long enough to make sure of that, and then you can restore Calodan to its former glory without any oppressive regime.”

“Thank you,” one woman manages, and you can see the tear sin your eyes. Ahsoka smiles, nods, beckons you to follow her. Slowly, you tread back to the Crest, everything in your bones weak and sleepy. You want to fall asleep in the shower. You want to fall asleep with your head on Din’s lap. You’d fall asleep on the ladder if it meant you could spend ten hours without being awake anymore. When the gangplank gets lowered, you don’t have the energy to even make it up the few steps to your bed on the floor. You just drop right there, holding onto the baby.

“Are you coming?” Din asks Ahsoka, and you look up to find her gaze, calm and kind, on you.

“No,” she says, decidedly, eyes still on you and Grogu. “I can’t train them. They both have emotional attachments to you, and to each other. I’m not going to be the one to stop that.”

Din starts at her, but you raise a tired hand. “Are there any Jedi left who will train us?”

Ahsoka’s gaze is so full of intention you don’t have the energy to decode. “Yes,” she answers, finally. Go to the planet Tython. It’s strong in the Force. Call out to other Jedi, and anyone who hears it will come for you.”

“Thank you,” you say. You’re so tired, you could fall asleep on the spot. You want to thank her for everything, but you can barely keep your eyes open, and hope your two words convey enough gratitude for Ahsoka to feel it radiating.

Ahsoka steps closer to Din. “Gideon is coming,” she whispers, lowly. “I know he gave you an ultimatum. I know he’s going to try and take them, btu I also know he’s ruthless enough to discard one of them to keep you distracted and to cut you down.”

If you were more awake, you’d be concerned, but you listen to Din’s intentional, determined voice, and something about his tone makes you think that he’s telling Ahsoka the same promise he’s always made you—he’ll protect you, Gideon won’t touch you, that nothing evil and Imperial can cut through him. She nods, kneeling to brush a light hand over your messy hand and boop the baby’s tiny nose, and then you’re being carried up the ladder. Eventually, you feel the ship take off, and Din comes back to sit against your wall with you, bacta patches in one hand and his helmet in the other.

You mewl at him, reaching to touch his beautiful face, to tangle your fingers hungrily through his messy hair. He lets you get as close as you want, and after you pull off his pants, with the intention of dragging the both of you to lay in the shower together, he pushes one of the bacta patches into your hand. Wincing, you see how deep and nasty the cut was, and how messily you cauterized it. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice uneven, and he waves a hand at you, just wanting you to fix the patch over the whole thing to try and let the bacta work its magic. You do, and you slump against Din’s chest, half-naked and exhausted. Eventually, you feel him move out from under you, arms strong and secure around your waist, and you let Din carry you up and into the fresher. You’re on the floor while he turns on the hot water, and the second that you can touch the warmth of it you stand up, letting the pressure rinse over your face, your aching muscles, stripping away as much pain and exhaustion as it possibly can.

When Din comes in behind you, you just turn around to look at him. His own eyes are tired, his beautiful hair getting wetter as you pull him into the stream, dragging the pads of your fingers over his shoulders. He sighs against your touch, pressing his own hands into the small of your back, trying to release the pressure. You’re not sure when he gets hard, when you feel him inside you, but it’s desperate and needy, and he’s leaving an artillery of kisses down your neck. His mouth sucks on and off you, marking your skin. Din’s hands, large and tan, grip either side of your hips to hoist you up, to rock every inch deep inside you. Before tonight, sex always felt like a gratitude, a reprieve. Even the hot and heavy times in the last few weeks have felt more like a thank you, like it’s something both of you want and give each other. Tonight, with the way Din’s burying himself in you, it feels like it’s the last time. The gravity of it, the sharpness, it all feels too heavy.

“My sweet thing,” he moans into your mouth, ricocheting off the walls and up into your ear. “I need you, n—need you to—my sweet thing. He hasn’t called you that in months, not since before Dagobah, and you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You’re not sure why you’re even crying, but with how desperate he is, with how he’s groveling, begging you to let him fuck you, it makes everything in you feel like it’s going over a cliff.

“You have me,” you murmur, punctuated by his thrusts, but it sounds like a reminder and not like an encouragement. When he’s ready, he looks at you through the water and steam, and you nod, afraid to speak in case your voice comes out hollow and fucked. Din thrusts down as he fucks into you one last time, gasping with the intensity of his orgasm, and when he lets you down he takes the showerhead and rinses between your legs, dragging the soap that smells like him over your skin.

You’re both so exhausted that you don’t even bother redressing when you get out of the shower. You just stumble, a two-headed animal, to the nest of blankets and pillows on the floor, and when Din brings you close against your chest, there’s something still so raw and hungry inside both of you. You can feel it, the despair, the dread, the sucking feeling of something being wrong in the air. But you’re too exhausted to talk about it.

“I’m here,” you repeat into the darkness, heart hammering in your ears.

“I know,” Din allows, but he sounds so faraway, so distant. If you weren’t this tired, you would cry, you would beg him to tell you what’s wrong, what he’s hiding from you, but all you can do is push your nose in the crook of his neck to fall asleep, hoping all that darkness will have been turned over by the time you both wake up.

It feels like minutes when you do, but you know it’s been over a day. You feel the Crest hurtle out of hyperspace, and you drag yourself to the fresher to rinse your sleep-filled mouth out with water. By the time you redress and make your way up the steps, you’ve already landed. It’s just about dawn, as far as you can tell, and your eyes are still full of exhaustion from the day before. You sit down next to the baby, and when he reaches for your necklace, in your stupor, you unhook it from your neck and give it to him to hold on to until you make your way out onto Tython’s surface. Din’s suiting up, grabbing everything and sticking it back into place, and you let your hair loose, swinging around your face as you crack your neck to relieve the pressure. You’re still half asleep as you follow Din down the ladder. His helmet isn’t on yet, and you reach up for a sleepy kiss. He returns it, mouth full of desperation and urgency and everything he was made out of last night.

In retrospect, that right there should have been the first sign. Maybe not the first indication that something was seriously wrong, but the way he touched you, the way he drank your face in, the way he fucked you in the shower. Like it was the last time. You follow Din down the gangplank, the same way you’d follow him down the aisle, or follow him into battle. Determined, protected, lovingly. But when your boots make contact with the ground, you realize that you aren’t on Tython. It should have been obvious. And if you hadn’t exerted every ounce of energy in your body the day before, protecting yourself and your family from someone trying to eviscerate you, you would have known exactly where you were.

Your eyes widen around the familiar greenery of Dantooine. You’re on the other side of the planet than you were the last time you were here, where Din killed Merle and ignored everything in him to kiss you anyways. Your heart is hammering as you look around, eyes darting back and forth from Din and the Crest, where the baby is hovering in his cradle. The tears come before the knowledge of what’s happening does.

“Wait,” you manage, your voice shattered. “W—what are we doing on Dantooine?”

You’re right on the forest’s edge. You can see the city through the foliage, just a few klicks away. You look wildly back at Din, trying to scry the look on his face past his helmet. Your heart is a staccato in your chest, everything in you screaming that this is wrong, that you’re misinterpreting the situation, that this is a dream/

“Nova,” Din starts, and you shake your head at him, violently. “Novalise, listen to me.” When he grabs for your face, you sob, loud and unashamed. “Gideon is going to keep coming.”

“I—know,” you say, thrashing against his grip. “I know that, Din, I know—did you see what I did back there on Corvus? I can help! I can s—stop him, I can protect us—”

“No,” he says gently, “no, Nova, you can’t. Because if you’re with me, you’re the one he’s going to kill. He’s not going to capture you. He’s not going to keep you alive for long enough to fight back. He’s going to use you to break me, to get the kid.”

“No,” you cry again, but this time you go limp. You’re crying now, for real. The planet is crushing you. Or maybe the air. Or maybe it’s just your own broken heart, suffocating itself against your ribs.

“Nova,” Din whispers again, “Nova, you have to hide. You have to stay out of reach of Gideon, which means you have to stay out of reach of me. Hey. Hey. Listen to me.” You try to find your center of gravity, but you can’t. You tumble to the ground, tears hurtling down your cheeks. Din follows you, clinging to you all the way down. “You just need to stay away long enough for me to defeat Gideon, kill him, and get the Darksaber back to Bo-Katan. Once he’s dead, once this is over, I’ll come back for you. Do you understand me?”

You’re not coherent. You want to scream, you want to barter, you want to plead. You want to do so much, but all you’re capable of is sitting there and crying, breaths long and dragging, the air barely getting in your lungs. “Please don’t leave me,” you sob, finally, and Din deflates too.

“Nova, I’m supposed to protect you,” he says quietly. “This is for your own good. It’s selfish of me to keep you close when I’m the one putting you in danger. You—” he stops, sighing. The baby is crying now, too. Your heart keeps breaking in your chest. Every time you realize what’s happening, it shatters again and again. “I’m going to kill Gideon. I’m going to protect you.” You’re still a mess on the ground. Din drags something over to you, and you realize it’s your bag, stuffed with food and bacta and credits. You just cry, trying to scream, but it’s like all the noise has drained out of you. “I’ll come back for you,” Din repeats, and then he’s gone. The ship is boarded and in the air before you can move, and you finally, finally scream, but it’s drowned out by the thrusters. You sob, loud and horrible, like a wounded animal, as the dust settles around you. You reach for your necklace only to realize it’s still in the baby’s fist. Every shred of proof of the people you loved is gone, off in the stardust somewhere while you’re stuck here, grounded and drowning, heart broken in your chest, crying out for all four members of your family lost out there in the crush of space.

as always, reply here or send me a message to be added to the taglist!!!

I AM SO SORRY AGAIN!!!!!!!!!! i love you all and i'm so grateful to have you here with me. i am literally breaking my own heart writing this, but now i can finally tell you all that THIS is the foreshadowed brokenhearted moment that we have been building to. yes i have already written both their reunion scene and makeup scene. the pain will not last longer than absolutely necessary!!!!!

CHAPTER 23 SHOULD BE UP NEXT SATURDAY, MAY 29TH AT 7:30PM EST!! i am unfortunately having another big slew of health issues, and after my doctors' appointment next week, i will at best have invasive testing ahead of me and at worst need surgery. i will not know until Wednesday, so please just be patient with me as i figure out when i can write!!! as always, i'll update you on tiktok (padmeamydala) and here as i get news!!!

thank you all so much again, not only for understanding my erratic, hectic posting these last few weeks, but for being here and caring about me and my health and wellbeing just as much as you care about Something More! graduation went so well, thank you all so much for all your well wishes!!! i promise we will be back to our regularly scheduled programming SOON!!!

xoxo, amelie

#something more #something more update #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x oc #din djarin xyou #din djarin x original character #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x original female character #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x fem!reader #mando x oc #mando x original character #dinova

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

Step Into The Daylight - Part 11

Summary: Cal Kestis offers some more insight into who your mysterious son is.

A/N: Thank you guys for being so, so patient and still being excited for me to update. I feel like my Din muse has returned and I hope you enjoy! Taglists are open, and as always feedback is welcome! xx

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: spoilers for up to s2, e5

SERIES MASTERLIST

MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

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"Oh," your heart fell as you looked down at the little one sitting on the floor and cooing happily. He looked between the between you and Din before turning his gaze back to Cal, and the figures behind "is there...do you know anything about him? I don't know how...I'm still learning how to properly wield the force and I can't..."

"Yes," he said as he gently held out his hand to the little. You felt Din tense slightly at your side and gently put your hand on top of his, giving him a gentle squeeze, "come here, little one."

The child slowly clambered up, grabbing one of Cal's fingers and letting the Jedi pick him up. He cooed quietly as a wave of emotions splashed over Cal's face. You wondered if this was hard for him, if it reminded him of the mysterious Master Yoda, if it reminded him of the days before he, like so many others, lost everything.

"We'll go," you offered quietly as you motioned for Din and the others to follow you, along with Jeele. Din stiffened at first but didn't question your judgment and then followed after you.

You settled back down in the kitchen, the six of silent as you let a long huff of air.

“Where are my manners,” you shifted next to Din and studied each of the new figures in turn. There was another woman, older in appearance with warm, dark skin and a kind face, a younger woman covered in tattoo-like markings and white blonde hair, as well as a smaller figure that you recognized as a Latero. You offered them your name before turning to your Mandalorian, “this is Mando and I believe you’ve met Jeele already.”

“Cere Junda,” the older woman stuck out her hand and gave you and a firm handshake, “this is Merrin and Greeze. We work with Cal; you just be the mysterious Jedi.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever qualify to have that title,” you admitted, “not since the order is all but gone. But...you are. I can feel it - the force is strong with you.”

“It once was,” she confessed as a tight smile crossed her features, “but I no longer use it. Much as happened since the fall of the Order, and much of it I’d like to forget. The pull to the dark is too strong sometimes...I’m sure you must have felt it.”

You tensed as her words washed over and Din’s gaze shifted to you. You swallowed thickly as you realized that she was right; what you’d felt, especially in the crystal cave was strong, that call to chaos and violence, the pull to the dark. But you were strong enough to resist it then and you hoped to continue to be, “y-yes...I’ve felt it before.”

“It will get easier over time,” she promised, almost as if she could hear you fears and worries, but then again, you supposed she probably could, “Merrin is a Night Sister. You probably feel the energy from her too.”

“A Night Sister,” you said as the younger woman offered you a small smile, “from Dathomir? You use Magick, don’t you?”

“I do,” she agreed, “you are well versed in your histories aren’t you?”

“I had a lot of time when I was studying by myself, I tried to learn a little about a lot, but I would not consider myself an expert by any means. Your people have been through much.”

“As have yours,” she reached across the table and gave your hand a gentle squeeze, “we’re survivors, we make due with what we have, and stick together.”

“Together is the only way we survive,” you agreed before you turned your attention to the last of Cal’s crew, “it’s nice to meet you too. Greeze?”

“At your service,” he sounded entirely neutral as he looked over the two of you, eyes lingering on the Mandalorian, “don’t see many of you anymore. What are you doing with a little Jedi? I thought Jedi were the enemies of the Mandalore?”

“It’s a long story,” you begin, thinking about the day you’d met your mysterious Mandalorian, sure that it was going to be the last day of your life. Little did you know that it would be the beginning of your entirely knew life, one will with more adventure, and love, than ever before. You turned to Din and offered him a small smile, sure that he was giving you the same one in return, “but to make it short, I had a bounty on my head, and he ended up saving me both from my injuries and capture, and the rest is history really.”

“Oh jeeze, another love story,” Greeze sighed jokingly as your cheeks turned warm, causing you to pointedly keep your gaze away from Din, although both of you now knew that’s exactly what it was, but so much more than that, “what is it with Jedi and forming attachments, I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

“It wasn’t,” Cere said sharply, “which is one of the many reasons the Jedi Order fell. I never quite did understand that part, I do...but it never made sense.”

“Good thing I’m not a Jedi then,” you said softly as the whole table laughed, “because I would have been doomed a long time ago.”

Din’s hand was on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze as he watched you closely, a rush of emotions coursing through his blood.

“Listen, Cal told us about your crystal. Which means it’s time construct your own lightsaber,” Cere explained as you sat up with excitement. You’d been through hell and back to get that crystal and you were going to build that saber no matter what, “we have materials for the hilt back on our ship, we’ll get it all out for you. When you’re ready, come find us and then you can build.”

“Thank you,” your breath caught in your throat as you stared at table and let out a long breath.

“It’s a big step, and a right of passage,” Cere acknowledged, “take your time and find us once you’re sure.”

“I will,” you promised. The three of them stood up and started to head back to their own ship, with Jeele giving you a small nod and following them. It must have been a comfort to her as well to have other people who had experienced the same things around. They knew all the same heartbreak and loss.

Once when they were gone and silence fell over the two of you again, you let out a long sigh, just as Din did the same.

"You don't think-"

"No," you promised, "I don't think Cal is going to do anything. We can trust him, I can sense it."

"Do you think we'll get answers...something? Maybe he can help train him," he started babbling as you reached up and put your hand on the cowl at his neck giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze, "I don't know if...I’m not...”

"I know," you replied softly as you understood exactly what he was trying to say, "you know what we have to do. Whatever happens, we'll get through it. We're a family, Din and nothing is going to change that. You don't have to do this alone...I will be here with you every step of the way."

He remained silent for a few moments, and you could hear a few heavy, long exhales come through the vocoder of his helmet. You remained silent but put your head on his shoulder, watching as he put a hand on your thigh. You put your hand on top of his and he silently laced your fingers together.

In all honesty, you weren't prepared for what might be coming. You'd been waiting and looking for more information about the mysterious small child, your son, but now that you might be getting some answers it all felt...gut wrenching. You wanted to know more about him and how to help him for his sake as much as yours and Din's. But at the end of it all, his was Din's son, and yours. Parting with him... it would be...almost impossible, but if it was what needed to happen, then you would do it. You were sure it wouldn't be forever, something in your heart told you that at the end of the day, your family would always be together.

The silence was tense at first, stiff as you both tried to come to terms with things that might soon be happening. But it soon shifted into something much more bearable and comfortable. One of the many things that you loved about your ever blossoming relationship with the Mandalorian was how the two of you could easily read each other. You rested your head on his shoulder as his hand was firmly on your thigh.

"Din?"

"Yes, Mesh'la?" his voice was tired, bells, he was tired and exhausted but he kept going; because of you and your son.

"We're going to be okay," you promised him again, feeling the need to reassure both of you again, "just like I had to leave the two of you for a while, this might be the same. But look, we're back together. The force...it works how its supposed and I know we're going to be together always. I saw it..."

"A Mandalorian and a Jedi," he huffed lightly, "they would never have seen it coming."

"Times change as do all things," you agreed, "but we are neither. I'm just me and you're just you. Aliit."

"Aliit," he agreed. You could see him leaning ever so slightly towards the door as you laughed lightly, "do you think..."

"Let's go and check," you stood up and offered him your hand, which he took without hesitation. The two of you slowly padded down the hallway, remaining silent as you walked back into the hull.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't the sight that met your eyes. On the floor, almost as unchanged as when you'd first, were Cal and your son, intently staring at each other. Din looked between the two of them before turning to you.

"They're communicating," you whispered softly, "they can understand each other's thoughts...its a skill you learn and improve over time...I'm afraid I'm not quite there yet."

"Thoughts," Din repeated as you nodded slowly. Almost as if on cue, Cal broke his gaze with the little one and turned to you.

"He wants me to tell you something," Cal as you approached the duo and sat down on the floor next to them with Din following suit. The little one turned me looked at both of excitedly, "his name. His name is Grogu."

“Grogu,” the name, gentle and soft, completely unexpected and yet perfectly fitting, caught in your throat. The tears that welled up in your eyes were immediate as you looked at the same green creature on the floor. After all this time, you finally knew his name. Grogu. He turned to, a little smile on his face as his ears perked up in excitement, “hi, my love.”

“Grogu,” Din repeated and the little one’s response was enough to make your heart melt. He cooed happily, nothing but happy little noises as he clambered to his feet and headed straight for Din. He stopped in front of his legs, holding his little arms up as he waiting for Din to pick him up. He hesitated for just a moment and you were positive you heard a small sniffle from under the helmet as DIn gently scooped him up in his arms before holding him tightly to his chest. It was silent for a moment as the two embraced each other before pulling apart as Din pressed the his helmet tenderly against his forehead, “Grogu.”

“Cal,” you reached over and back the child, no, Grogu’s back and gently rubbed it in a sign of reassurance, “can you tell us anything more about him?”

“I was able to get some more out of him,” he confessed, “but there’s a lot of...holes, dark spots, in his memory. Parts of his memory are almost blank; he spent a lot of time in hiding, in fear...he was alone and scared for a long time. He hid his powers, lost touch with them for years in order to survive. His ability to adapt and blend in led to his survival.”

“But he’s used them recently,” you raised an eyebrow as Grogu made a small sound.

“He feels safe,” Cal explained as Grogu appeared to nod, “he feels protected when he’s with both of you.”

“H-he does?” Din’s voice cracked as Grogu held onto one of his gloved fingers, “I’ve always wondered...”

“Yes,” Cal promised with a gentle smile of his own, “he’s formed a strong attachment to you, both of you. He thinks of you as parents.”

“We think of him as ours,” Din’s free arm found its way around your waist as you nodded, trying to take in and adsorb everything. That mean he understand you both, he knew just how much you loved him and how much you both cared.

“Where was he before? Before he was found?” Cal’s face fell slightly at your question, an almost upset expression crossing his features, “Cal?”

“At the Jedi Temple on Coruscant,” he explained. Where your brother hand been. Where Cal had been. Before they lost everything, “he had several teachers over the years, but during the purge he was smuggled out and put into hiding. He was lucky...like me. We survived unlike so many of our brothers and sisters.”

“You both went through so much, Cal, but you survived, that’s the important part,” your voice was gentle as the ginger haired man closed his eyes and let out a long breath. You had no doubt that the memories still plagued him often; survivor’s guilt. You all had in one form or another, “but who saved him? Why just him? Not that I don’t love him, but what’s so special about him?”

“I don’t know,” Cal shook his head in defeat as he looked at Grogu with a sad little half smile, “he doesn’t remember...or he’s blocked it out.”

“Another piece we still need to figure out,” while you felt slightly defeated, you were happy in turn. You knew a little bit more about him and his origins, and if nothing else, you had a name and you knew that he loved you both as much as you loved him.

“The most important question is - what does the Empire want with him?” Din kept his voice down, although the frustration was evident as he held Grogu close to his chest. All the excitement of what had been going on had slowly worn him down and he was started to loose the fight against slumber, “there was a scientist, he was trying to do something to him, but I took him back before they could do anything further.”

“The Empire doesn’t exist anymore,” you reminded Din as the men sighed deeply in unison; if it wasn’t for the severity of the situation, you would have laughed.

“The Empire still exists, it always has,” Cal offered as Din nodded, “under different names in different forms. Evil is always out there, and there’s been...stirrings about.”

“Of what?!”

“A new order,” Cal confessed quietly as you grimaced. None of that sounded good in the slightest, “but that’s just among many other things going on.”

“I...we’ve been tasked to bring him back to his people,” Din said as a look of realization crossed his features, “whether’s that his native people or the Jedi we don’t know.”

“There’s not many Jedi left,” Cal stated the obvious as you nodded, “especially not fulled trained Jedi like Jeele or Cere.”

“What about you, Cal?” you asked, knowing that Din was reluctant to do so. It would be hard on you both, but you knew what you had to do, “can you train him?”

“No,” he shook his head as you and exchanged a look of surprise with your Mandalorian, “his attachment to the two of you...it’s very strong. Emotional bonds by Jedi are forbidden for a reason-”

“Surely you can’t believe that.”

“We’ve all seen what an emotional attachment can lead to...it can lead to great things, but horrible, terrible ones as well,” he closed his eyes as his shoulders slumped forward, “Darth Vader was once a Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker. He was one of the most powerful Jedi of all time and yet we all know what happened with Darth Vader.”

You breath hitched in your throat as you thought back to all the horrors and atrocities that had plagued not just your childhood, but Din’s as well, and those of countless others, “what do we do then? How do we...”

“I don’t know,” he let his words linger in the air as he slowly leaned over and gently stroked Grogu’s soft ears. The little one was curled up in Din’s arms, the tiniest snores emanating from his mouth, “but I can’t take...I don’t want to set him down the wrong path.”

“Where do we go from here?” your question hung in the air as you exchanged a worried looked with Din. Part of your heart was elated that this meant you wouldn’t have to part ways with him just yet, but confused hung over in clouds as well. Despite all this time and effort, you were still no closer to figuring how the overarching mystery of it all, “if you won’t train him...”

“There is another place...Tython,” he perked up suddenly, “there’s a Jedi Temple there...it’s been long abandoned but has always had a strong connection, but if you take him there and he reaches out through the force, another Jedi somewhere might hear him and come.”

“If...”

“Like I said, there’s not many Jedi left,” he grimaced, “but someone might hear him. But it’s up to him, if he chooses to reach out. It’s his decision to make.”

“We’ll do it,” Din said quietly as he looked at his son sleeping in his arms, “if it could possibly help. Whatever it takes.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “we’re in this together.”

“I’m sure he’ll make the right decision,” Cal slowly rose to his feet, pausing as he studied the three of you. It reminded him of his own little found family, of Cere, or Merrin, or Greeze, and how no matter what, they were his family, “I think he’s already made his decision.”

"What do you mean?" you stood up and followed Cal as he walked towards the ramp to rejoin his own crew. Putting a hand on his arm, you gently stopped him, "what decision has he made?"

"You'll see," he promised quietly, casting a look back at the Mandalorian who was whispering gently to the small bundle, "I'm sorry I can't provide more answers, but I know you'll get them. But you - when you're ready, come and find us to build your saber. After that, I'm afraid our ways will have to part."

"Thank you, Cal Kestis," before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him and embraced him as though your life depended on it. He stiffened for a moment before responding in kind, "you've already given us so much."

He gave you a solemn nod, looking back at your Mandalorian before you, watching as your face softened, "may the force be with you."

"May the force be with you," you replied, closing the ramp back after he disappeared into the snow to keep the chill at bay.

You were silent for a moment, head practically spinning with everything going on, but one thing you for sure was that you loved your little family more than anything.

"Mesh'la?" Din tilted the helmet up at you, keeping your quiet gaze for a moment. You struggled to hold back tears as you slowly made your way over to your boys, "is everything okay?"

"I...umm...yes," not a position to even begin to try to explain your emotions, you held your hand and motioned for him to take it. Without hesitation, Din gently enveloped your hand with his and rose to his full height.

“I’m just...it’s a lot to take in. All of it.”

“Yes,” he commented gruffly, almost reminding you of the tone had adopted when you’d first met him. Your heart sank slightly at the thought and you hoped he wasn’t retreating into himself. Reaching up, you put your hand on the part of his neck that was covered in fabric and gave him a reassuring touch.

“Let’s go and rest,” you whispered, feeling the gravitas start to weigh on you. Between everything that had happened in the last few days you were physically and mentally exhausted. The siren call of slumber was getting greater and greater with every passing second. Din seemed unsure for a moment but you weren’t going to let him pull away. You knew he was worried, maybe even terrified of what was to come, just as you were, but you wanted him to know that he was definitely not alone, “Din. I’ve got you, I promise. We’re a family, don’t forget that...please don’t shut us out.”

“I won’t,” it was a soft promise as he reached up and touched your cheek with his free hand, the other still holding tightly onto the little one. Keening into his touch, you exhaled slowly as he wiped away the single tray tear that had rolled down your cheek, “I won’t...”

“Come on,” you took his hand pulled him towards the small space that was deemed as your deemed, “the bed is small but we can make it work.”

And so he acquiesced, feeling calm and contented, almost as if he was glad to let someone else be in charge for once, glad to let be the follower instead of the leader.

Once you were inside the small room, which made him look even more massive and broad, you reached for Grogu, taking care not to wake him up as you set in your bed, bundling him in blankets to keep him warm. He made a small sound, but quickly snuggled deeper into the blankets as your heart melted.

Turning your attention back to Din, you reached for his arm, slowly, waiting for him to stop you if he so chose.

But he didn’t. He made a small sound in the back of his throat as you worked to tenderly take off each piece of armor, starting with his boots. Setting each piece down gently, you didn’t stop until you were at his pauldrons, when you hesitated slightly. He was almost bare now, left in only his underclothes as he watched you work. Your breathing had become slow and methodical as you worked and you noticed that his had done the same

Something palpable had shifted; you weren’t quite able to put your finger on it, but you could both sense it. Once the armor was stripped from his shoulders, you let your hands linger on them, offering him a reassuring squeeze before moving to pull away to switch off the lights so he could remove the helmet if he chose to. But before you could move, his hands went to your wrists and held your hands on his shoulders.

“Din...” his name was soft but caught in your throat as you gazed into his visor.

“I want...” he trailed off, a shaky exhale leaving the vocoder as you tried to pick his words carefully, “we’re family.”

“Yes,” you agreed with a gentle smile, “we are.”

“Y-you’re staying...right?”

“Always, Din,” you promised quickly, “always. We were meant to find each other, to be together. I love you more than anything.”

“I love you,” his heart settled a little bit as he spoke the words aloud, reaffirming himself that this was real, “and I want you to be my wife - my riduur.”

“Din...I...” you nodded, your words not needing to be spoken as you both understood loud and clear what you were saying. His hands were firm but gentle on yours as he slowly moved them closer and closer to his cowl and the metal exterior of his ever present helmet, “you don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he rasped as you tried to keep your lips from trembling, “but I want to. You have never once asked, attempted to look, judged, or made a big deal out of it. If there is anyone in the galaxy that deserves this it’s you. The one I want to spend the rest of my days with. We found each other as hunter and prey, and look where we are now.”

“So different and yet utterly the same.”

“The first time you left,” he swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to collect himself, “I didn’t know what I was doing. I’d never felt such a loss, such an emptiness before. I had to find you. But the second time...it was still hard, but it hurt less. I knew you’d be back, and we would be together again...”

“I felt the same way,” you confessed breathlessly, positive that your heart was about to burst out of your chest at his words, “it was the worst time of my life. Even once I’d accepted that you were gone, I still held onto hope that would we would be together again.”

“And now? I can’t imagine a day without you,” you sighed contentedly as you leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his beskar, “I will follow you to the ends of the galaxy, Mesh’la. You...you and Grogu are everything. You mean more to me than you will ever know.”

“Are you sure about this?” it was a mere whisper off your lips as it hung in the air for a few moments as Din weighed the gravitas of the moment. He inhaled deeply before nodding once.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in life than this,” his words were enough to make you melt on the spot as he slowly brought your hands to the side of his helmet. He didn’t remove his own, his large, warm hands covered your own as he slowly, painstakingly slowly, began to push it up. He halted for just one moment before whispered, “together.”

“Together,” you agreed as the helmet started to come up, higher and higher, inch by blissful inch. Out of habit, or instinct, or whatever you wanted to call it, you squeezed your eyes shut, not daring to sneak a peek. Once it was completely lifted from his head and he released your hands to set the helmet along with the rest of his armor.

“Open your eyes, Mesh’la,” and gods did you almost choke as a strangled sound caught in your throat. His voice was warm and honeyed, that same baritone you’d heard before, but something was different about this. He reached up and touched your cheek, stroking it gently, “it’s okay...”

“Din,” it so damn soft that weren’t even sure that you’d said anything. And then slowly, little but little, you opened your eyes, blinking away the bleariness before finding him. And then you did it was like your heart stopped then and there as your world fell apartment and came back together all at once.

Din. Din Djarin. Your love. Your soon to be riduur was starting at you with the softest expression you’d ever seen.

He was a mixture of emotions, nervous, relieved, excited, overwhelmed, scared, happy.

But then, as you reached up and found his face, studying him astutely, he realized what it was more than anything else.

Loved.

He was loved. So loved. And it radiated into every fiber of his being, golden like the sweetest daylight.

“Hi,” you choked out as your tears welled up in your ears. He was so lovely, even lovelier than your vision made him out to be. Reaching up, you put your hands on either side of his face as you traced over his features, committing each little bit to memory.

His lips, soft and plush, pulled in a little smile, completed with several days worth of stubble and a mustache that might have look silly on anyone else. His eyes, sweet and dark, crinkled slightly as his smile grew and a dimple of revealed. Those eyes that had seen such beauty and horror, so many things, and yet they still watched you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

As you carded a hand through his dark curls, he made a sound of content as you scratched at his scalp. His was utterly beautiful, and while a small part of you wished you’d gotten to see this side of him earlier, you knew this was moment was perfect.

“Hi,” he repeated as he waited for you to say something...anything else. Judging by your reaction, how still and soft you remained, he knew this was playing out just as it was meant to.

“That vision had nothing on you,” you beamed at him, warming every part of him as he visibly relaxed, “you are...everything, Din. No matter what you think. “

“May I kiss you?” it was a timid, shy little question as you eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and breathing him in. He smelled as delicious as he always did, warm and musky, a comforting smell that both ensnared you and grounded in the same moment.

“You don’t have to ask,” his hands found your waist as he pulled you close and crashed his lips onto yours. It was proper this, for the first, and hopefully many more to come. His lips chased yours in a gentle manner, although there was a sense of urgency behind his kisses.

Din pulled you against his body as you smiled against his lips, heart warming as you responded in kind. It wasn’t perfect by any means, a somewhat awkward, messy tangle of tongue and teeth as the two of you started to learn each other, in an entirely new way. But you wouldn’t have changed it any way at all. It was utterly perfect, and you knew then, just as you had before, that you were so in love with him.

The force might have worked in mysterious ways, but this was destined to be. You knew that wherever the two of you where, whatever happened, your souls would always find their way back to each other.

“I love you,” you grinned at him when you broke apart for a breath of air, foreheads pressed against each other.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you raised your eyebrows at his words, attempting to figure out what he meant. You knew it was Mando’a, all of your time spent studying his culture had taught you that much, but it didn’t help with the translation. He laughed lightly at the confused expression, causing your mouth to form a small o.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s similar to I love you,” he promised, “it more or less means I hold you in my heart forever. More or less I love you.”

“I love it,” you replied with a small grin, “and you. Will you teach me?”

“Teach you what?” he asked you took his hand and started pulling him towards the bed where the little one still slept soundly, completely unawares that two worlds were changing right next to him.

“Mando’a,” you pulled back to the blankets and pointed at the bed, motioning for him to crawl under them. He was tired, his head spinning, and he was eager to take you up on that offer, “I’d like to learn, to be able to speak it with you...and one day, o-our son.”

“Cassian,” he remember as you nodded, feeling a flush of warmth enter your face at the sheer thought. You switched the light off and padded back over to him, watching as he scooted over to make room for you, leaving Grogu nestled in between the two of you, “are you warm enough?”

“Yes,” you made yourself comfortable, snuggling into the pillows and blankets as his arm found its around your waist, his longer legs tangled with yours, “perfect. I wouldn’t change this for anything.”

“Me neither,” he agreed as he felt his eyes start to get heavy with sleep. This moment was everything; the three of you together as one little family. Which, he now knew, was exactly what you always had been, even when neither of you knew it, “rest now, Mesh’la.”

“You too Din,” you grabbed his hand with yours and laced your fingers together, “promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“That isn’t a dream? This is all real.”

“It’s not a dream,” he reassured you, “this is all very real. And tomorrow we’ll still all be here.”

“Good,” you brought his hand to your lips as you kissed his knuckles, “good. I love you, Din.”

“I love you too, Mesh’la. Now and always.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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maulusque · 4 years

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WHAT IF MAUL KIDNAPPED ANAKIN RIGHT OFF OF TATOOINE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No trouble?” Maul asks.

“Nope,” Anakin replies. “You?”

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

“The slaves here are freed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tatooine is admitted to the Republic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beg pardon?” Obi-Wan says.

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

“You said Sith.”

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

“No, you said Sith.”

“I definitely did not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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kenobiapologist · 4 years

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Star Wars Novel Rankings

In celebration of the end of this year, I made a tier list of all of the Star Wars novels I’ve read since I joined this fandom in 2017 (which you can use to rank these books too). And I named all the tiers in a dorky but appropriate fashion. I would love to hear your thoughts on my rankings, as well as how you’d rank the books yourself! I’ve had a blast reading Star Wars novels from both Disney’s canon and the Legends extended universe over these past 3 years. Here’s to many more years of reading stories from the galaxy far far away!

I put longer (but not more coherent) thoughts below the cut.

The Chosen One: Bringing Balance to the Force and My Depressed Soul

1. The first spot of top tier had to go to Matthew Stover’s Revenge of the Sith novelization for obvious reasons. You simply cannot beat it. It’s a masterpiece. I literally had to put the book down to scream when I read the prose associated with the opening battle over Coruscant. It gave a whole new meaning to the triumphant music and the synchronous twirling of Obi-Wan and Anakin’s starfighters as they weave through blaster-fire in the battle over Coruscant. The rest of the book is the same way. You can’t put it down. I have wAyyYyYy too many feelings about this book oh my god.

2. Thrawn was a surprising book for me. For being centered on an admiral of the Empire’s navy, it had so much heart in it! I loved reading from Eli Vanto’s perspective too. god dammit I love that freaking Wild Space hillbilly dweeb with all my heart. I think his experiences getting to know Thrawn and learning from him guides the reader to feel much the same way as Eli by the end. Thrawn is a trusted friend, not the enemy you expect him to be. I could have done without Arihnda Pryce but she’s supposed to be unlikeable so I won’t blame Timothy Zahn this time.

3. The Clone Wars Gambit duology is basically Karen Miller writing fanfic and I’m HERE FOR IT. As is tradition with Karen Miller’s Star Wars novels, the emotions are dialed up the eleven. Our favorite dumbass Jedi team is back at it again with a mission to save the galaxy and this time they end up going undercover as two lumberjacks from the boonies. Anakin holds an energy shield back from collapsing with his bare hands like a total badass. Obi-Wan is in love with another woman despite it always ending in tragedy, while also bickering like a married couple with Anakin every ten seconds. get a fucking room, you two. These two books inspired one of my fics so they’re near and dear to my heart.

Jedi Master: These Books Have A Seat On The Council Too

4. Wild Space was appropriately named, I’ll tell you that. It’s a wild ride from start to finish. *slaps the front cover* this book can fit so much of Obi-Wan’s suffering in it! @forcearama has elaborated on the many reasons why this book is a gem in Snark Wars blog posts (linked here). It’s also the beginning of the best team-up since Anakin and Obi-Wan...Bail and Obi-Wan! These two bastards get under each other’s skin but it makes for the perfect character development. This book is the reason I screech with delight whenever Bail Organa appears on screen, or is mentioned in conversation. Bail gets a mysterious tip about trouble on a planet, and Obi-Wan decides to go with him to investigate. Cue Sith-induced suffering. It’s cool to see a normal person experiencing the weirdness of Force sensitives and how the world has this extra level of sensory information in it. Plotwise this one isn’t the best, but I think the interactions between characters really shine in this novel. Karen Miller’s writing is like a cup of hot chocolate to me. Indulgent character insight, full of sweet moments, has a bunch of extra marshmallowy dialogue, you’re reading it to have a good time but not to be satisfied with plot. You get me?

5. Do I even have to explain myself here? Kenobi by John Jackson Miller is both an interesting western-style tale set on Tatooine, and a beautiful character study of a man stricken with grief he keeps suppressed. How does one continue on when their whole family was murdered and their whole culture burnt to ash? I wanted to give Obi-Wan a hug the entire time I read this. The characterization was spot-on, from the way he wrangled animals to the way he severed a man’s arm off in a bar with his lightsaber. And when he meets a woman named Annileen Calwell, or Annie for short, Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to call her by her nickname ever and if that doesn’t just break your damn heart fucking fuck.

6. Ahsoka was the first Disney canon book I ever read and it kickstarted my love for E.K. Johnston. The writing is simplistic, but that makes it easy to jump into. Overall, it’s a quick and enjoyable read. By far the best parts are the flashbacks that mull over memories Ahsoka has of the time before Order 66. That shit hits you right in the heart, man. And the part where Ahsoka equates Obi-Wan and Anakin to her adoptive family ohhhhhhh god the tears they flow like a river. There are scenes that allude to Ahsoka becoming the vital part of the Rebellion we know her to be from Rebels, balanced with her current struggles to survive and find herself. Despite having cast away her identity as a Jedi and having any remaining bits of her culture destroyed by Palpatine, Ahsoka shows us all how bright a hero can shine in the darkest of times. AND SHE WAS WRITTEN AS QUEER! finally some good fucking food.

7. Oh shit, another E.K. Johnston book? Don’t be surprised. She’s a prequel fan and so am I, hence why Queen’s Shadow is so high on the list. E.K. Johnston pays homage to our favorite queen and badass senator Padme Amidala. There’s politics, there’s solidarity between female characters, and Bail Organa is in it so you KNOW I simply must give it a high rating. All jokes aside, I thought the story added lots of little details to the world of Star Wars without it being all stereotypical sci-fi nerdy language. You know how people want to describe something beyond our technological capabilities so they throw a bunch of nonsense together like “pre-praxis crystal bio-anode circuitry”? I’m looking at you, Karen Miller, I love you but please. There is none of that in this book. It makes sense, it adds color and culture and life to the worlds of Star Wars. Most of all, it devotes time and love to developing Padme outside of her place in canon as Anakin’s wife, Queen of Naboo, and Senator. She is all of these things, but she’s human too. I do agree that the pacing is slow, but it’s something meant to be savored, I think. E.K. Johnston really shines when she’s writing dialogue because she gets these characters. That’s something to appreciate, because not all canon books agree with the way we’ve perceived the characters as an audience.

8. Rogue Planet chewed me up, spit me out, and declared me an even bigger stan for The Team. People who say Qui-Gon would have been a better master for Anakin can ~get out~ because I could read about these two hooligans getting neck deep in space shenanigans all damn day. Anakin is like twelve, which is a time in his training that we don’t get a lot of in canon. Personally, I think it was equal parts heartwarming and funny to read about their adventures. There is some angst sprinkled in there because hey, we’re reading about Anakin here, let’s not forget the emotional trainwreck that is Anakin Skywalker. The duo is sent to a planet that makes super fast ships that are ?sentient? or at least biologically active. They bond with the pilot, which makes Anakin perfect for this mission. There’s a scene where these little floof things attach all over tiny Anakin because he’s so strong in the Force and it’s god damn adorable how dare he?? I’d probably rate this one even higher if I read it again, but it’s been awhile. Characterization is spot on and reminiscent of Matthew Stover’s writing in how it highlights the strong bond between Obi-Wan and Anakin, how they’re fated to know each other. I’m a sucker for soulmates, what can I say?

9. Lost Stars reads like a movie. Not a script, but just the perfect amount of detail that you can imagine the scenes but the pacing is still quick, the dialogue smooth and natural. I couldn’t help wishing this was a film because the story was so all-encompassing. The highs and lows of the emotions of both protagonists, their relationship developing, the differences in culture. Folks, this book has it all! It’s a totally different perspective on the events of the original trilogy, seen from the side of Imperial cadets training to become pilots. Eventually, one splits off and joins the Rebellion while the other perseveres in the Empire. It’s like star-crossed lovers, but covers so much more ground than that. And the characters are fully developed. These original characters knocked my socks off, and that’s hard to do since I’m usually an Obi-Wan stan through and through. For anyone uncertain of reading Star Wars novels, this book is a great place to start. Action-packed, emotion-filled, and stands on its own despite weaving perfectly into the established universe. What more could you want?

10. Back at it again with the prequel shit, amiright? Queen’s Peril is E.K. Johnston’s most recent Padme-centric novel and it does not disappoint fans that wanted a taste of the Queen’s side of the story. Set during the events of The Phantom Menace, we get a “behind the curtain” look at how all of the handmaidens came to be more than their title suggests. There’s teenage girls getting stuff done! It makes more sense why Padme was elected ruler of her home-world, and you come to appreciate that a royal leader is not alone; there’s actually a whole team at her side to help her overcome everything from the drudgery of daily governing to Trade Federation blockades that threaten to starve her people. I think if you enjoyed Queen’s Shadow, you’ll enjoy this book a lot. For those that are unfamiliar with Johnston’s work, I wouldn’t recommend this one first because it does cover events you’ve already seen in movies and therefore is a less suspenseful companion to them. On the other hand, because it does tie in with TPM, it doesn’t suffer from the pacing issues of Queen’s Shadow to the same degree. I read this all in one sitting, so it’s definitely fun, but wasn’t compelling enough in its character development to elevate the book past some of the others I’ve listed already.

11. Thrawn: Treason was a refreshing return to the Grand Admiral we all know and love after the second installment in this series slowed things down a bit. Although it wasn’t as character-driven as the first book (which I love with all of my heart), there were still many moments that had me cackling at the disparity between Thrawn’s immense intellect and the other Imperials’ sheer stupidity, and that’s what we’re here for in a book about the Empire, right? There’s a lot of pressure on Thrawn, as his TIE Defender project has been pitted against Director Krennic’s Project Stardust. Who will get the funds? We just don’t know?? Tarkin sits in between the two and as usual, manipulates everything to his advantage. Palpatine questions Thrawn’s allegiance to the Empire after some of the choices he has made, leaving him in even more of a pickle. Thrawn is sent on a wild goose chase task that should definitely end in failure (on purpose because Imperials all want to watch each other burn as much as they want to watch the Rebellion burn), but you know Thrawn will find a way. My main squeeze Eli Vanto makes his return after being absent from book 2. Missed you, my sweet sweet country boy. He doesn’t have a leading role in this novel, but every scene he’s in makes the story better. Thrawn says “perhaps” way too often for my taste, but if you can ignore that, this book is a solid read. Equal parts action and deductive reasoning, as any Thrawn book should be.

12. Most of Dark Disciple had me thinking this was going to be a top tier book, and damn do I wish we could have gotten this animated. We follow Quinlan Vos and Asajj Ventress on a mission to assassinate Count Dooku. Why the Jedi thought this was a good idea, I don’t know. But I’m here for it all the same. 3/4 of the adventure were intriguing, but the ending didn’t do it for me. I won’t spoil things for anyone who hasn’t read this yet, but after all of the character development, to have it squandered so quickly just left me disappointed? I got really attached to everyone in this novel, and I’m sure you will to. I’ve read this and listened to it as an audiobook, and actually I think it’s more memorable as an audiobook. Would recommend, except for Mace Windu’s voice being exceptionally southern for no reason. Weird. I think this novel captures all of the great things about The Clone Wars show; time to really get to know each character and their motivations, action and adventure with the darkness of impending doom tinting everything, and lightsaber fights! Plus, Obi-Wan and Anakin make appearances in this book and it just adds that extra bit of spice. Worth the read, even if you know they aren’t going to get Dooku in the end (which I am still mad about, screw that guy).

Jedi Knight: Passed the Trials but There’s Room for Improvement

13. Few books in the Star Wars universe are centered around characters with no use of the Force, but in Most Wanted, we see a young Han Solo and Qi’ra struggling to survive on Corellia and it provides a humorous but compelling backstory to both characters in the Disney canon. Han is his usual lucky goofball self, and Qi’ra is smart and cunning. You can see how they grew into the versions of themselves in Solo. While the book stays on the lighter side of things (typical of stories written for a younger audience), there are still moments of depth on droid rights, viewing the Force as a religion, and what life is like in a crime syndicate. Addressing these heavier topics without it killing the pace of the story is hard to do, but Rae Carson pulls it off flawlessly. I went into this book with no expectations and was pleasantly surprised by how much fun I had. Han and Qi’ra start off as competitors, but eventually have to learn to work together to survive as more and more people start hunting them down. They’re honestly so cute together, I loved their dynamic. It makes Solo a better movie, and although I liked it on its own, characters like Qi’ra needed a little more time to get to know, which you can get here!

14. Thrawn Alliances was not what I expected at all, and it took me a lot longer to get through. Hell, it has Thrawn, Anakin/Vader, and Padme in it! What’s not to love? Apparently, a lot. The different timepoints and perspectives in this were more jarring than anything else. Although the interactions between Thrawn and Anakin/Vader were enjoyable, it was not enough to elevate this book into the Jedi Master tier. Things felt dry, the characters didn’t grip me like in the first Thrawn, and it all felt like a ploy to introduce Batuu into canon before the launch of Galaxy’s Edge.

15. Leia: Princess of Alderaan was a dive into young Leia’s life before we see her in A New Hope even though this was marketed as a journey to The Last Jedi book, which I disagree with. We really haven’t seen any content about Leia in this time period before, and although I can’t say I was looking for this, I did enjoy it. The book was a little long, but there was adventure and the seeds are planted for Leia to be a bigger part of the Rebellion. The romance wasn’t too memorable, but Holdo wasn’t pointless in this (a stark contrast to her brief appearance in TLJ just to sacrifice herself). There’s a hint about Leia being Force-sensitive but it’s not in-your-face. It’s a typical coming-of-age story but in the gffa. The best part about this is seeing Bail and Breha as parents. I’m forever in pain that we didn’t get to see more of this in movies because it’s so so sweet. Leia must choose what kind of person she is going to be--and what kind of princess she will become. It won’t be for everyone, but I liked it.

16. Master and Apprentice was a typical Star Wars novel, which means it’s full of original characters that are strange and outlandish to serve the plot, a new world full of beautiful landscapes, and Obi-Wan suffering. I want to make it clear that this book is 80% Qui-Gon, 10% Rael Averross, and 10% Obi-Wan. I was expecting it to be 50% Qui-Gon, 50% Obi-Wan, as the cover suggested. Although I was disappointed by that, the story overall was okay. Qui-Gon is kind of an asshole in this? When is he not, though. We really get to sink our teeth into the way he and Obi-Wan fundamentally disagree with each other, so much so that their teacher-student relationship is falling apart. Tragic! They go on one last mission before calling it quits. Qui-Gon is in over his head with prophecies, Obi-Wan just wants to follow the rules, and Rael Averross is Dooku’s previous apprentice that is living his best life as a regent until Pijal’s princess comes of age. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a solid book. I just don’t vibe with Qui-Gon and want to whack him upside the head every time he avoids confrontation with his own student. My protectiveness for Obi-Wan is showing again, isn’t it? Yikes.

17. James Luceno is one of the most analytical authors I’ve ever read anything from, but it seems to always work? Tarkin is all about...well, Moff Tarkin. He’s ruthless, intelligent, and just downright evil. His backstory was compelling and I found myself drawn into the story by the details, although it is dense and took awhile to finish. I’m not interested in him as a character, but despite that, I enjoyed this story. The plot wasn’t memorable enough for me to recall after 3 years, but it’s similar to how Thrawn rose through the ranks of the Navy, just in a different part of the Empire’s governing body. We don’t get many books completely focused on a villain (I don’t count Vader ones because we know who he was before and the whole damn saga is about him), but this one is good! Don’t be fooled by it only being in the Knight tier. I think people who read a lot of sci-fi will like this book a lot. This is like the opposite of Queen’s Shadow, basically. If you had gripes about that book, you might like this one instead.

18. Battlefront II: Inferno Squad was a worthwhile read for anyone who played Battlefront II. Iden Versio is a great protagonist in the game, and I think Christie Golden totally gets her character. She’s nuanced and relatable. The whole team is interesting and getting introduced to each member before the events of the game makes everything mean more. That’s the real goal of any prequel story, I think. Accomplished! The action scenes are on point, the plot served to highlight what makes Inferno Squad special, and you get a sense for the morally grey area anyone must function in as an operative for the Empire. Although not necessary for the greater canon, it’s a great adventure. Iden and her squad members infiltrate the remains of Saw Gerrara’s group (they’ve become a bit of extremist) and destroy them from the inside. It’s got the suspense of a spy thriller and all of the nerdy space opera elements you expect from Star Wars. Although it’s weird to jump into a story not knowing any of the characters, you’ll get attached to Inferno Squad fast. Well, except for Gideon Hask maybe. He’s kind of a dick.

19. If you’re craving some Dark Side action, Lords of the Sith will give you what you’re looking for. Sidious and Vader crash-land on Ryloth and have to work together to survive, and also defeat the Free Ryloth Movement led by Cham Syndulla. It’s all fucking connected, guys. I love when people weave together stories that fit into the canon timeline like this, bringing in side characters and allowing them to develop some depth. And a chance to sink into the mind of a Sith Lord is always fun, if you’re in the mood to read about destruction and anger. It’s cathartic sometimes. If you’re always wondering, why didn’t Vader just stab Palps when he had the chance, this book explains their dynamic more. It didn’t really change my opinion of any of the characters, which is why it’s not higher on the list.

20. Catalyst suffered from being in a really boring part of galactic history. Despite that, Galen Erso and Orson Krennic have a hilarious relationship that I would have loved to see on-screen. This book really develops Krennic to become more than just the whiny entitled evil man we saw in Rogue One. He’s ten times worse now! But I mean that in the best way, I laugh whenever he’s in a scene, that sassy man just brings me joy. James Luceno is at it again, making things as detailed and dry as possible. I read so many of his stories right at the beginning of my journey through Star Wars canon and it’s a wonder I didn’t quit. Some of them are dark as fuck. And also slow as hell. With this one, I think it all comes down to what you want out of a Star Wars novel. Some people will really enjoy the plot. I think seeing how Galen became a part of Project Stardust was interesting and every time something about the Death Star became more clear, I screeched because I knew what it would eventually become. This book may not hold your interest though, which is why I put it lower on this list.

21. Star Wars: Clone Wars was a decent retelling of the Clone Wars movie. I liked it because I liked the movie, but you have to be able to sit back and enjoy the ride, not thinking too much about the silly parts. For that reason, it’s pretty far down in the rankings. Ahsoka is young and liable to get on your nerves. I certainly wasn’t her biggest fan at this point in the series. The biggest problem is that Karen Traviss is very anti-Jedi. Some authors for Star Wars tend to do this? To me, it’s weird. I didn’t notice it too much because it was one of the first Star Wars books I read, but it contrasts starkly with the truth of the prequel trilogy and some of the other entries in the Clone Wars Novel timeline, like Karen Miller’s books. Needless to say, although this book wasn’t super memorable aside from the familiar plot, it kept me reading Star Wars books, and so it is at least an average book. Plus, any content with Anakin and the clones is worth it for me. I love them.

22. A New Hope was good, for Alan Dean Foster. I’m not a fan, I’ll be honest. But this novelization stands on it’s own. I’m going to have to do a re-read to really go in depth on why this isn’t farther up on the tier list, but the movie is always going to be better to me. If you want to re-live the great beginning of the Original Trilogy, it’s worth your time. I mean, the story is full of adventure and mystery and lovable characters. What’s not to love? I just feel like the movie really elevates the narrative with a great score and fun character design/costumes/sets.

Padawan: These Books Have Much to Learn

23. Attack of the Clones was more entertaining than The Phantom Menace because the characters are in funnier situations. Obi-Wan and Anakin chasing Zam Wesell through the levels of Coruscant? Hilarious, just like the movie. Anakin and Padme falling in love as they spend time together? Holy fuck it’s so much better than the movie. Please read it for that alone. Outside of that, the writing style didn’t really impress me. And my experience with it wasn’t super memorable. There was potential to really make the inner dialogue of these characters impactful, to really develop the story of Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padme beyond what we could get from the movie scenes alone. I didn’t think it went above and beyond there. Not a bad story at all, but you don’t get to look at Hayden Christensen, Natalie Portman, or Ewan McGregor the whole time either, so therefore I must rank it lower. So many beautiful people in that movie, holy shit. You can understand my, dilemma, yes?

24. I enjoyed parts of The Phantom Menace book, like deleted scenes with Anakin living on Tatooine before Qui-Gon and Padme meet him. The additional depth is lovely, but I think a story like Queen’s Peril adds more to TPM than this book does. The story overall is still fun. I love this movie so much, it’s hard for me to be critical. I did put a lot of post-it flags in my copy, so it does develop the characters and get you thinking beyond your expectations from the movie. What more could you ask for from a movie novelization? I’d say not much, if I hadn’t read Revenge of the Sith and had my fucking mind blown. In comparison to that, this one is just okay.

25. The Last Jedi novelization wasn’t bad, necessarily. It tried its best to bring this story up to par with some of the interesting novels that don’t have movie counterparts. But still, the plot suffers because of how this movie was made. It’s very focused on Rey and Kylo, and Finn’s little adventure with Rose seems pointless in the grand scheme of things. I’d rather read this again versus watching the film, but that’s all I’ll say on this because I’m trying to keep my opinions on this movie to myself to avoid digging up old arguments. Jason Fry did well, and of the two Sequel Trilogy books I’ve read, I would recommend this one over Ep. 7.

26. The Force Awakens falls short and I think it’s because of Alan Dean Foster’s writing style on this one? It didn’t really expand on anything from the movie, while taking away the beautiful music and visuals. This novel is the antithesis of Revenge of the Sith’s novelization, and for that reason I ranked it fairly low. I wouldn’t read this one unless you really really love the Sequel Trilogy.

27. To be fair, I read the new Thrawn book before I went back and read this one. Even so, Heir to the Empire didn’t impress me at all. Thrawn didn’t seem like a thrilling villain with lots of depth like he did in Timothy Zahn’s reimagined Thrawn novel. We barely saw him. A lot of time was spent on the Original Triology’s trio, which waasn’t bad. I thought Luke, Leia, and Han were all written fairly well. The latter part of the story was redeemed by the interactions between Mara Jade and Luke, for sure. Enemies to lovers, anyone?? Without Thrawn, this book would have been an entertaining story, but for all of the praise it has received from long-time Star Wars fans, I was expecting to be blown away and I wasn’t. Maybe I have to continue the triology to figure out what all of the fuss is about, but after this one, I’m not super motivated to read more. Change my mind?

28. Cloak of Deception really shines when you’re following Palpatine’s perspective because you can feel the undercurrents of his master plan to destroy the Republic underneath his calm persona as a Senator. Other than that, it’s a forgettable plot. This is all about galactic politics and some terrorist group trying to blow up some government officials. Basically the most boring parts of the prequel trilogy. I listened to the audiobook of this at the beginning of this year and I already forget what it’s about. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan should have been able to bring some humor and energy to get you rooting for the good guys, but there was barely any of that. I was disappointed in all of the characters. Everything felt distant, removed from the heart of the characters. Some people in reviews have argued that the events of The Phantom Menace really pinned this novel in a corner because you already know what happens, but I disagree, because we know how Revenge of the Sith goes and The Clone Wars show is that much more tragic and heartbreakingly beautiful because of it. Prequels can be done right. This ain’t it, Luceno. Sorry.

29. Star Wars: The Old Republic, Fatal Alliance needs to go home and rethink it’s life. I’m a huge fan of the Old Republic and I’ve put like 200 hours of my life into playing that game, so I was hoping for some fun content in this part of the timeline. Sadly, this book captured the worst parts of the game, like the fact that there’s way too many factions at war with each other. Jedi, Sith, Empire, Republic, Mandalorians. They’re all here. They’re all ready to throw down. And I’m tired. As with many of the books in this lower tier, I felt there wasn’t enough description of the world or the people in the story. We’re in the gffa, be a little weird and wacky. Be big and bold! Make things terrifying, or beautiful, or both. But give my mind something to work with. The number of characters made the plot messier than it could have been, and it definitely isn’t worth the read. I can’t speak for all Old Republic books, but this one didn’t impress me.

A Sith Lord?! On My Bookshelf? It’s More Likely Than You’d Think

30. So underwhelming, you might as well just read the first half and then stop. Last Shot is absolutely terrible, except for Lando Calrissian’s characterization, which was spot-on. If the whole story had been from his perspective, I probably would have a much difference opinion on the novel as a whole. Sadly, this is not the case. Han was boring, he bottled up his emotions, and seemed drastically different from the badass he was in the original trilogy. There are different timepoints in this novel, and in all of them, Han is unrecognizable. Don’t nerf one of your main characters like that. Daniel Jose Older and I might just not get along. I thought his writing style didn’t fit Star Wars at all. It was like breaking the fourth wall, totally pulling me out of the story constantly. Also, there were little to no descriptions of body language, locations, or movement. It left me feeling disoriented the whole time I was reading. I thought one of the most interesting things would have been seeing Han, Leia, and baby Ben being a family at this point in time, but Han’s family was there as a prop, nothing more. There was a big bad item that was going to cause galactic destruction and our heroes had to go save the day. There was barely any tension and no one lost an arm so I’m pretty pissed off. Is it Star Wars if no one gets their appendage removed? I can’t tell you how much I disliked this book. Which is sad because I was hoping to enjoy it. I like Han. I like Lando. I like space adventures. I’m not that hard to please, or at least I don’t think so.

#Star Wars Novels #tier ranking #long post #i worked hard to put my thoughts into words for you guys #i read these books over a long period of time but I thought I'd encompass all of it in one post #sw lit #i've had so much fun becoming a part of this fandom #and I love the conversations about the books and the gffa in general #hopefully this will inspire some discussion!#i would love you guys to make tier rankings as well #they're always my favorite youtube videos to watch

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tiredassmage · 2 years

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swtor asks: 46, 39, 43, 22, 26

Woe, more swtor asks be upon us! I had to rotate some of these overnight, lol.

22. One feature not in-game that you'd love to see?

Cheating, I'm giving you two because I wrote a big paragraph about one and then there's also: I'd kill for a playable tech-based sword wielding-class. The fact that only my Force users can use the cool swords and whatnot, but at the expense of robbing them of lightsabers while there's npcs running around swinging vibroswords is a bit of a crime, tbh.

Anyway, it'd be fucking awesome and I'd actually give Tyr a second combat style for it because I think that'd be so hot for him. How much I'd actually play it instead of Operative is maybe a different story because I'm a little stealth princess, but hey, we're talking about options here, lol.

Anyway, on a slightly more... fleshed out note? This gets long quickly, let me put a cut here.

SO. Okay, this may exist and I’m just blind to it because I don’t generally do group or raid content of any kind [hamster peace sign meme here], but FFXIV has something called Party Finder which is sort of… if a group finder and a message board? It’s got sections for dungeons [standard 4 person party composition], trials [8 players], alliances [24 player encounters], etc. XIV players generally use this to build parties for current, on-level higher difficulty content such as extremes or savage raids rather than using the random matchmaker ie group finder equivalent that'd just pitch you into a queue, but it can also be used to form ‘premade’ groups to clear older content either synced [level/abilities adjusted back to release-era] or to overlevel the ever-loving shit out of some poor lvl 60 or 70 boss and just take their lunch money.

It’s a really nice system to even know what content is out there and has several filters/status settings for party conditions like syncing or priorities (are you looking for a learning party focused on clearing at all or doing several preferably quick, clean kills in succession for looting purposes, etc) and you can search by roles/jobs in need. In XIV, I’ve cleared most of the higher difficulty content I’ve seen via Party Finder groups; not all friends want to do the same content/same level of content at the same time, schedules don’t line up, etc., or guilds/free companies just be intimidating, lol. Never fear! Party Finder is here.

Something about the systemic nature of it makes it less intimidating in my brain, too, than like, random shouts on the fleet or whatever to fill groups. Probably the added context of party descriptions and objective labels. If you don't get what they put on the tin, then someone labeled their party finder incorrectly, but it's meant to give you an idea of what you're getting into before you commit and we do love to see that.

26. Weapon of choice?

I agonized over this one, lol. Picking just one was a tricky endeavor because I've fallen into the rabbit hole of personalizing sets down to weapons for different characters, so I have a handful of favorites I've nominated for mention.

I recently got the Frontiersman's Blaster Rifle for Len (I've been eyeing it for probably a month trying to figure out who/which outfit to put it on), Rhyst's most prominent is probably the Inscrutable Dualsaber with... I think a smoky amber color crystal? Oli has the EE-2 Blaster Pistol (I like the blue lights). Nikihlus has the Zakuulan Exile's Sniper Rifle, possibly with a red color crystal, I don't remember if I modded it at all, but the extra shing of the blade attachment when you draw it is everything to me. Annnd Barreth, one of my Consulars, got Vengeance's Unsealed Lightsaber that I have her wield a pair of with a green indestructible crystal.

39. Single saber, twin sabers, or dual sabers?

Hmmm… contextualized as in like, what combat style I prefer, I actually… really like Juggernaut more than Marauder?

Anyway, my OG Consular has a dualsaber and I’ll live and die by the fact that dualsabers kick ass. They’re so cool. Particularly when [maybe cheating] you can, like, detach them and now you have TWO laser swords? [I made his second combat style Sentinel to appease the brain goblins about this.] Adaptability. Cool rating. Really beautiful designs.

Also because Shadows and Assassins have stealth and I am, again, a pretty, pretty stealth princess. Bonus objectives for slaughtering rows and rows of enemies? Don’t know her.

43. Favorite operation?

I've yet to actually do operations because I'm a bit of a scaredy-cat. I know, doesn't translate when I've done 8 man extremes with glee in FFXIV, but I have definitely backed off raiding and gearing related grinds since being in college. They can be pretty involved and I just do not always have the spoons left over to get into performance like that.

I've enjoyed it in XIV though, so I'd be down for giving it a whirl sometime, maybe over the summer when I won't have classes. Work and class schedules kinda also limit my time, so it's a bit intimidating to commit to progression schedules within everything.

46. What do you think of the world events so far?

Oscillating between the interpretation of “what in-game events do you like” and “what do you think of the story,” but I think the latter is more fun and has more meat on the bone.

So! First of all, I am absolutely a story gremlin. I absolutely got into SWTOR primarily for the story and whatever it is or isn’t as a MMO is whatever it is or isn’t. That said, I don’t know why I didn’t expect it to grip me and sink into any little porous opening in my being that it could find, but I’ve been playing for over a year now and it has… done that. I think it’s safe to say that it’s taken over as my primary gaming choice by now, lol.

I have my least favorites among the class stories, for sure, but I’d agree with the consensus that, generally, they’re all good. They’re all good at something. Whatever I dislike about them is more-so down to personal tastes and preferences than jarring faults in the story.

And it’s definitely my favorite way to engage with Star Wars. I was never particularly in to Star Wars - I could enjoy it, I could leave it. I have bones to pick with its consistent dedication to binary and that’s a gripe I could agree with even inside of SWTOR. But I do love the way SWTOR engages with the universe - allows me to engage with the universe. Several of the class stories are not what I’d define as the general fare of Star Wars, or there’s ways to play them that inverse, twist, or otherwise do something cool with something that the movies might not have - that wasn’t the story the movies wanted to tell or what have you.

Trying to pin down the timeline hurts my brain. I hate math as a general rule and I dislike trying to riddle out certainties from conflicting or non-existent information when it comes to timelines, lol, but that’s not a uniquely SWTOR problem. xD

Ultimately, I started playing for the story - I’m still here because I’m invested in the story. I’m invested in my characters and the npcs and companions in a way I fell in love with in my first Bioware experiences in Dragon Age and Mass Effect. The dialogue options - particularly those that are voiced - add such. Chef’s kiss, y’know? It’s a whole different way to engage with a game and really be a part of it when I can reflect a character’s way of thinking inside of a game like that.

Star Wars as a whole has always been a sort of odd relationship for me in that I have plenty of bigger gripes with what it does or how it does overall, but the universe is full of such potential. I still love some of the potential, some of the pieces of it. I am eager to see what comes of the saboteur options that started with Jedi Under Siege - my main being an Imperial Agent that took the SIS route definitely factors into that, lol.

Something about how the story is set up and how it plays has just… really got me. To describe it kind of feels almost diminishing and it’s difficult, but, in short, I guess I’ve loved the way I can engage with it and the way I can return to it. The many, many possibilities packed into just the class stories alone is so much to explore and it’s so, so fun to get into a character’s headspace and really figure out how that affects everything they see and take forward with them into the expansion content. It’s changes and nuance I can reflect as well as expand upon in writing or headcanons or what have you and it’s just… been a whole lot of fun. Whatever does come of it, I think I’ve found another one of those pieces of media, the kind of ocs that’ll stick with me for years to come and that will always be some part of me and what brings me joy to remember.

Anyway: my favorite of the in-game events that I’ve done so far is Bounty Contracts Week. I have fun with the intro and it’s a nice simple daily rotation.

#answered #dot talk #swtor asks

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bedlamsbard · 4 years

Text

Part 14 of the other side AU concept! I know roughly when I want to pause and go back to section one to do revisions for AO3, but until then, concept writing, as I’m enjoying how low pressure this is at the moment. This section is for very important family feelings.

Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

About 6.5K below the break.

***

Ezra woke up sluggishly, aware immediately that he was on a starship and that he wasn’t in his usual bunk. He could hear someone else breathing in the same room, but that could have meant anything; since the Chimaera had crashed he had been sleeping in the same makeshift barracks as the remaining death troopers. He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to reach out into the Force and disappoint himself after what had undoubtedly been another dream of rescue. He had had a lot of those over the past six years.

Eventually he opened an eye, frowning up at the surface of the top bunk above him – not the ceiling of the Scylla wardroom the death troopers were all sleeping in. He turned his head slowly, wincing as the movement jarred pain up and down his neck.

Kanan said quietly, “How are you feeling?”

Ezra sat up so quickly he practically concussed himself on the top bunk. Groaning, he clapped a hand to his forehead, staring at Kanan as the other man unfolded himself from his meditation cushion and came over to him. “You’re real,” Ezra whispered.

He put his free hand out to grab Kanan’s arm. Kanan was solidly real beneath his fingers, muscle and flesh there beneath the fabric of his shirtsleeve. He didn’t look the way he usually did in Ezra’s dreams, either; most of the past six years didn’t show on his face, but his hair was cropped shorter than it had ever been except for that last day, his beard cut close against his jaw. That familiar scar still cut across his white eyes, taking a nick out of the top of his nose. The metal bracers on his forearms were unfamiliar, painted green with the claw symbol from his old pauldron in white on them.

Ezra hung onto him, trying and failing not to cry. “You’re real,” he said again, then managed to wake up enough to remember the events of the previous day and a half. “It was all real.”

He crumpled forward into Kanan’s arms with rather less dignity than he would have preferred, his tears quickly soaking through the shoulder of Kanan’s shirt. Kanan held him closely, a solid, reassuring bulwark in the Force; all Ezra wanted to do was bask in the warmth of that strength. He was real. He was real. And here – they were all here. He was on the Ghost.

“You were – gone,” he said irrationally, the words muffled by the fact he still had his face buried in Kanan’s shoulder. “You were dead.”

“I got better,” Kanan said gravely, with hint of his old humor. “It didn’t take.”

Ezra finally raised his head, wiping a hand over his tear-streaked face. “You were dead,” he said again. “You’ve been dead. I – I felt it. And I felt – I felt you come back. But how –” He thought about the World Between Worlds again, the way he had a thousand times over the years, trying to decide if it would have been as awful as Ahsoka had claimed it would be if he had just done it, grabbed Kanan the way he had her. He touched Kanan gingerly with his mind, wondering if he could sense the strange energy of that place on him, but all he could feel was Kanan.

“It’s a long story,” Kanan said. “And Hera had probably better tell most of it, since she can decide what’s too classified to talk about and I probably shouldn’t.”

Ezra frowned. “But it’s – you, isn’t it? From – from then.” He couldn’t say the words out loud, not when he still had nightmares about it. He thought he probably always would have those nightmares.

Kanan nodded. “Yes.”

“But – I felt – back on Lothal – the Loth-wolves –”

Kanan arched an eyebrow.

“It’s why we went to the temple, when the Empire was tearing it up – studying it,” Ezra tried to explain. “I saw – I felt – you, back then. If you weren’t dead –”

Kanan sighed. “Ezra, I don’t have an explanation for everything,” he said gently. “The Force works in ways that we can’t always understand – that we aren’t capable of understanding. And – I know this one pretty personally right now – the Force doesn’t understand space and time in the way that we do. Space and time don’t exist in the Force in the same way that we live it. More than one thing can be true at the same time. And death doesn’t mean the same thing in the Force that it does to us – not when we’re in this form, at least.”

Ezra flinched. “I don’t understand,” he said, always a safe thing to say with Kanan.

“I don’t either,” Kanan said. “The Jedi teach that we are the Force made flesh.” He lifted his hands, flexing long fingers bared by his fingerless gloves. “We occupy this flesh, but it isn’t what we are. We’re the Force, and the Force is more than one thing at once. It’s all things at all times. It’s one reason we can see possible futures and the past as it could have been, and the present as it might still be somewhere else.”

Ezra scrubbed a hand beneath his eyes again. “I don’t understand,” he repeated. “But – I’m really glad you’re here.”

Kanan grinned. “So am I.”

Ezra hugged him again, hard enough that his abused muscles protested, then sat back heavily on the bunk. “And I feel like I got tossed around by a krykna,” he groaned. “And then stepped on by an AT-AT.”

“For what it’s worth, you don’t look it,” Kanan said, and Ezra groaned again.

“I’ll wait on that until someone else can weigh in,” he said. “Are there clothes around here?” He looked around vaguely, trying to remember what had happened after they had arrived at the Ghost. He was clean, so he must have showered; he was also wearing a shirt and underwear that weren’t Imperial-issue, and he was sincerely hoping he had put them on himself. He blinked again, finally realizing that he was in Kanan’s cabin.

Kanan leaned over, picked something up, and passed him a pile of fabric. “That should fit,” he said. “There was some guessing involved, but we were all feeling optimistic.”

“You have no idea how glad I’ll be not to wear something that doesn’t have the Imperial seal or the words ‘property of the Galactic Empire’ on it somewhere,” Ezra said. He ran a hand over his hair, then pulled the strips of leather free and finger-combed it before he pulled it back again.

Kanan started to get up. Ezra grabbed at his arm and said, “Don’t –”

Don’t go, he almost said. Don’t leave me.

Kanan stopped. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said gently. “I thought you might want some privacy.”

Ezra shrugged vaguely. He had been living in a durasteel box for six years and then being watched every time he was outside that box, and he didn’t have a good grasp on the concept anymore. Either way, the idea of letting Kanan out of his sight for more than a few moments felt like torture just now.

He got dressed while Kanan sat on the meditation cushion, pulling on the boots they had gotten him – more or less identical to his old pair, which had died an ignominious death a few years ago on one of the planets Thrawn had dragged him down to. It felt unbelievably good not to have a single piece of Imperial-issue gear on him, not even the blaster he had brought with him from Chimaera Camp. It was there; he just didn’t want to put it on, not yet.

When he finished and turned back, it was to find Kanan offering his outstretched hand. Ezra froze, his eyes fixed on what lay across his master’s open palm.

“You don’t need a lightsaber to be a Jedi Knight,” Kanan said, “but it’s always nice to have one.”

Ezra reached for it, stopping with his fingers hovering just over the hilt. He could sense the kyber crystal there, attuned to him and eager to be back in his presence. Then he looked up at Kanan, startled. “Jedi Knight?”

“You’ve had your trials,” Kanan said. “Even if I wasn’t here for them.”

Ezra bit his lip, fighting back the urge to start crying again. He took the lightsaber from Kanan, weighing it in his palm before he turned it upright and ignited the blade. It hummed between them, green plasma illuminating the shadows on Kanan’s face. They lay calmly, with nothing odd or unnatural about them, except the reflection of the blade in his white eyes, like a ghost of his vanished vision.

Ezra deactivated the lightsaber. “I don’t know what to say,” he said, his voice a little shaky.

Kanan put a hand on his shoulder, smiling. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said.

Ezra put the lightsaber carefully onto his belt, then hugged Kanan again. When he pulled back, he said, “Hey, does this make you a Master?”

Kanan blinked. “I guess,” he said; the thought had clearly never crossed his mind. He slung an arm around Ezra’s shoulders and said warmly, “Come on, let’s get some food in you before we have to decide what to do about Thrawn and the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“Leave them to each other,” Ezra grumbled, but he didn’t mean it; he was more than half-afraid that Thrawn had somehow already talked himself into an alliance with the Vong. His impression was that the Vong didn’t believe in alliance, only domination, but it wasn’t as though he had all that much to base that on. The only time he had ever actually interacted with the Vong they had been trying to kill each other; he had seen enough of what they left behind to dislike the wreckage, though.

He leaned against Kanan’s shoulder, drawing strength from him. It almost felt as though no time had passed at all; they could have been back on Lothal or Garel or Atollon, the future still open and brimming with possibility. As nice as the illusion was, though, Ezra knew it was just that. For a Jedi, six years was nothing; a heartbeat; a breath; an eye blink. He and Kanan had walked back into what they had been without much more than a moment’s thought; the distance wasn’t there, but it didn’t meant that the time hadn’t passed.

He started to pull away, then glanced down, distracted, and said, “That’s not your lightsaber. I mean – that’s not your old lightsaber?”

Kanan released it to touch two fingers to the top of the hilt, then said, “That’s part of the long story that’s classified.”

Ezra felt his shoulders slump. “Because I’ve been with the Empire for six years.”

“No, because it’s top secret and involves another universe.”

Ezra blinked at him. “Um – wait, you mean Sabine was serious about that?”

Kanan arched an eyebrow, bemused. “Hera or I will give you the highlights later. Come on.”

Ezra followed him out into the hallway. It looked unchanged from how he remembered it last, just slightly battered, with the scent of fresh paint and hot metal heavy in the air. He said, “Is Sabine painting her armor again?”

“If you’d woken up a little earlier you’d have heard her banging away at the portable forge in the engine room,” Kanan said. “I think she’s personally offended about it.”

Ezra bit his lip. “Do you know anything else that can cut through beskar? A lightsaber can’t.”

“Not off the top of my head,” Kanan said thoughtfully, rubbing a thumb over the edge of his left vambrace.

Ezra glanced at it, wondering if his vambraces were beskar and if so, how he had managed that; he had gotten the impression from Sabine that it was the worst kind of sacrilege for anyone other than a Mandalorian to wear beskar armor.

He still felt tired, sleep alone not being enough to erase the previous day’s exertions or do anything except make his aches and bruises settle more firmly into his abused muscles. Ezra rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and winced as the motion pulled at his bad shoulder.

As he had half been expecting, everyone else was in the common room; Hera and Zeb looking at a hologram of the Yuuzhan Vong encampment and Sabine sitting on the floor surrounded by paint jars and pieces of armor, Chopper peering over her shoulder. They all looked up as the door slid open.

Ezra froze, self-conscious. Looking at them, he could tell time had passed in a way that was less obvious with Kanan; all three of them carried the passage of years that Kanan lacked. In the previous night’s bad light, he hadn’t noticed it, but the harsh overhead lights picked out the scars dimpling the fur on Zeb’s left arm, the laugh-lines at the corners of Hera’s eyes, the sharpness of Sabine’s cheekbones. It dulled the fiery reds and oranges of her hair, pulled back for the moment as she worked; she already had flecks of paint on her chin and the front of her tank top.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly.

Hera got up as Zeb shut off the holotable and came over to hug him. She was a tall woman, and Ezra was relieved to find that he wasn’t taller than her now. She was also reassuringly sturdy as he returned the embrace, with a spray of small scars along the line of her left cheekbone and at the corner of her eye, as if the visor of her flight helmet had shattered and cut her.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him, stepping back but keeping one hand on his shoulder.

“Like I got stepped on by an AT-AT,” Ezra told her. His stomach rumbled and he flushed, but all she did was smile. “How long was I asleep?”

“It’s about dinner time anyway,” Kanan said from behind him.

Ezra stepped out of the doorway so that Kanan could move past him into the common room, pausing to kiss Hera briefly before he crossed to the galley beyond. He stepped around the tarp Sabine had spread out to protect the floor from her paints; Ezra resisted the urge to follow him just so that he wouldn’t be out of his sight for more than a few moments.

Hera released him and moved back so that Zeb could lift Ezra off his feet in an embrace that took the breath out of him. “Took you long enough,” he said after he had set Ezra back down and made an attempt to ruffle his hair, which didn’t work as well now as it had a decade earlier.

“It’s not my fault!” Ezra protested before he remembered that it absolutely was his fault. “Okay, I mean – what, did you want me to bring the Chimaera back? Because Thrawn did, and he thought I could do it, too.”

Zeb scowled, presumably confronted with whatever the Seventh Fleet’s return would have done to the war at any point in the past six years, and clapped Ezra on the back again, making him stagger.

Sabine got up, wiping her hands down the sides of her pants; they didn’t leave a mark, so the paint on her palms must already be dry. Ezra eyed her warily, then did a double-take and said, “Wait, did you already change your hair since last night?”

She shrugged, unrepentant. “I was doing my armor anyway, so I thought I might as well.” She punched him lightly in the shoulder and said, “Besides, you’re one to talk.”

“My hair’s fine!” Ezra yelped indignantly. Then he grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, bemused by the unexpected novelty of not having her armor dig into him. “And that’s my bad shoulder,” he added, releasing her.

Sabine looked startled. “Since when do you have a bad shoulder?”

“Since I got shot in it!”

“When did you get shot?” Kanan demanded from the door to the galley.

“Several times,” Ezra said; he vaguely remembered telling them about the time he’d been shot in the head – he’d managed to knock the blaster off-center, which was the reason he hadn’t had his brains blown out across the Chimaera’s starboard hangar deck. Aside from that particular occasion, most of his blaster wounds came from a combination of being shot by enemies and being shot by stormtroopers who didn’t particularly care if they hit him or what they were supposedly aiming at. He had found out the hard way that some stormtroopers actually could aim.

He rubbed a hand over the old injury and admitted, “This time was on the Chimaera six years ago, over Lothal. I wasn’t exactly at the top of the list to see a medical droid or a doctor afterwards.”

He looked away so that he didn’t have to see the distress or pity on their faces, though he could still feel it reverberate in the Force. Kanan broke the sudden silence in the room by saying, “Dinner’s ready.”

Ezra excused himself to go to the refresher, which still bore the obvious detritus of Sabine’s hair-dyeing endeavors. He stared down at the residue of dye swirling down the drain as he washed his hands, uncomfortably aware of how much it looked like blood. He’d washed blood off his hands before, quite literally; he knew that the dye remnants were lighter and brighter, more orange. It still made his spine crawl.

He forced himself to look up at the mirror instead, which didn’t make him feel any better. Being back on the Ghost made him expect to see the boy who had last been here six years ago, not the man with the lines at the corners of his eyes or the scars where a razor bug had nearly cut his throat. He had two days’ worth of stubble on his jaw, too, patchy on his scarred cheeks and chin. Ezra met his own eyes, then looked down at the sink again. Most of the dye had washed away by now, at least.

He dried his hands and went to join the others in the galley, struck suddenly by the savory scent of freshly cooked food. “That’s definitely not grayweave,” he announced, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

Kanan turned a bemused eye on him, his eyebrows quirking. “As the person who made it, no, it’s definitely not grayweave.”

“You’ve been eating grayweave?” Sabine demanded, appalled.

Grayweave was a single-cell-organism-based food that could be manufactured cheaply off any kind of organic matter; the Chimaera had had a dozen grayweave reactors onboard in case of emergencies. As far as Ezra was concerned, “food” was pushing the description, but it was better than starving. Marginally.

“Star destroyers only carry supplies for three years,” he explained, pushing off the door and coming over to sit down at the table. “They did some hunting and trading whenever we were near a planet that could support life, but that’s not that easy when you’re talking about forty thousand people. Or even twenty thousand.”

“Mmm,” Kanan said neutrally, setting the last bowl on the table and sliding into a seat next to Hera. “I’ve eaten grayweave. I think cannibalism’s preferable.”

Hera elbowed him and made a moue of disgust. “Let’s not talk about cannibalism at the table, shall we?” she said, half-standing to ladle fragrant red broth from the steaming pot at the center of the table into her bowl of noodles, then Kanan’s. She handed the ladle off to Sabine, sitting on her other side, and started adding toppings from the array of small plates that filled the remainder of the table as Kanan did the same.

Ezra would happily have eaten the noodles with or without the broth and toppings, but he waited until the ladle came around to him anyway, then added some of every topping. There was thinly sliced meat that cooked in the hot broth, several kinds of sprouts, pickled vegetables, some spiced dried seaweed, and something that he vaguely recognized as a kind of dried sea urchin that started to disintegrate as soon as it touched the liquid. Other bits of reconstituted vegetables floated in the broth, whose spicy, savory steam filled the air.

He took the cup of tea that Zeb poured for him, took a few sips, and tried not to sigh in sheer relief before he found a place for it on the crowded table. It had been a long time since he had tasted anything with actual flavor.

Even though he had eaten Kanan’s cooking before, he still wasn’t expecting how spicy the broth was. He managed to keep from coughing and had to drink the rest of his tea before going back to the broth and noodles, managing the eating sticks with more difficulty than the spoon with his deep bowl. The noodles cut the heat of the broth, as did some of the toppings; after a few minutes Ezra got back most of his facility with the eating sticks and settled down to the food. After the long day and night they had all had, all five of them ate in near silence except for occasional requests to pass the teapot or for some of the plates of toppings. Kanan got up once to get more noodles for those who wanted them, which was nearly everyone; they’d all had a long day.

Afterwards, once the dishes were cleared away for someone to scrub out later, they returned to the common room with cups of tea or fruit juice. Ezra took the juice because he found tea fine with meals like the one they had just had, but hadn’t had anything that even vaguely resembled a fruit or vegetable in years.

Hera leaned back into the curve of Kanan’s arm, holding her teacup between her hands, and said, “We need to decide what to do about the Imperials.”

“Leave them here and go home,” Sabine said promptly. When they all looked at her, she shrugged and said, “What? This is a little bigger than we’re really equipped to deal with – we’re out here to do reconnaissance, we’ve done it, let’s pass it back to New Republic Intelligence to figure out the rest of it.”

“We are New Republic Intelligence,” Hera reminded her. “And I can’t exactly tell General Cracken or the Provisional Council that we didn’t even bother to talk to Captain Pellaeon or ascertain that Yuuzhan Vong really do have hostile intent.”

“They felt pretty hostile to me,” Zeb grumbled, at the same time Ezra said, “Oh, trust me, they have hostile intent.”

Hera flicked a glance at Kanan, who said, “I don’t like what they do to the Force. And I’m not happy with the idea of leaving the Imperials here to deal with them, or going without knowing more.”

“Ezra?” Hera said, turning towards him. “You know both better than any of us.”

Ezra scratched at his hairline, trying not to be bemused at the novelty of being asked for his opinion. “What do you want Thrawn for anyway?”

“To try him for crimes against civilization in front of a New Republic tribunal,” Hera said promptly.

“Has that ever actually worked?” Sabine asked.

“Do you pay any attention to the news back on Lothal?” Zeb demanded.

Sabine shrugged. “Why do you think I asked? Can you name a single Imperial officer ranked higher than commander who’s actually gone to trial instead of being disappeared into one of the Republic’s black box prisons without a trial? Or just getting a slap on the wrist and then released back into the wild?”

Zeb opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again.

“Ezra?” Hera repeated.

He turned the cup of fruit juice in his hands, then admitted, “I’m a little worried that Thrawn will talk to the Vong into some kind of alliance. I don’t know if the Vong would go for one, but –” He shrugged helplessly. “He can be pretty persuasive. Not that persuasive,” he added in case anyone got the wrong idea about him, “but to people who don’t know him.”

He took a sip of the juice before he went on – he thought it was redberry, sweet but with a rich, almost bitter undertone to it. Redberry was uncommon on Lothal, so he had only had it a few times before. “For what it’s worth, I think he’d have another mutiny on his hands if he tried to sell it to the Imps, but if he’s just trying to get an advantage out of the Vong –” He shrugged again.

“I agree with Ezra,” Kanan said. “I think we’ll have to go to the Imps.” As Hera sighed, clearly resigned, he added, “Just think how much fun you’ll have telling Captain Pellaeon and all the rest of them about the Empire collapsing.”

Hera huffed out a laugh and sipped her tea. “There is that. We’ll comm them in the morning.”

Ezra nodded reluctantly. Part of him wanted to leave Pellaeon and the rest of them here – at least until someone else could sort it out, he supposed, since that was apparently an option – but that was the selfish part of him, not the Jedi part. He sat and drank the rest of his fruit juice in silence as the conversation turned to other things, letting himself relax into his awareness of them all around him, of Kanan’s steady presence in the Force. When there was a brief lull in the conversation, he said, “How is Kanan here?”

Hera flicked a glance at Kanan, who turned his head in response to her attention and said, “I thought I’d leave it to you, since I was more or less an accidental byproduct of your op.”

“What kind of op were you on?” Ezra demanded. “I know Kanan said it was classified, but –”

Sabine laughed. “Oh, it was weirder than that.”

Hera sighed and drained her cup before setting it down on the table. She leaned her head briefly against Kanan’s shoulder for a moment, then straightened up and said, “All right. I need to go back a little before the op and explain about Warlord Zsinj first –”

Afterwards, a little overwhelmed, Ezra went to go sit on the Ghost’s ramp and look at the jungle. No one onboard being stupid, it hadn’t been left down the way it might have been on Lothal or some other safe harbor, but as long as he was actually there he didn’t think it would be a problem. He wanted to enjoy the novelty of fresh air on his face and listen to the living sounds of the jungle – nowhere near quiet, just like the grasslands back home had never been truly quiet. He pulled his knees up to his chest and looked out at the darkened woods, hearing some kind of avian crying in the distance and the scurry of night-dwelling creatures as they moved from tree to tree. Somewhere about a kilometer off, a predator howled to the three moons above and was answered by a chorus of its kind, all of them singing for the sheer joy of it.

He sat there for more than an hour, drinking in the living Force of the planet around him and just thinking. There was a lot to think about, and as tired as he was he let most of it wash over him, acknowledging each thought and concern briefly before letting it flow away. Some of them he would come back to eventually; others had just needed that one instant of acknowledgment. It wasn’t meditation, but it wasn’t entirely not, either.

Zeb and Hera both came down to check on him, though neither spoke to him. Kanan didn’t, but Ezra could feel him in the ship up above and knew that Kanan could sense his presence just as well – better, probably. He was listening to the predators howling to each other, letting his mind roll out to touch them lightly, when he heard Sabine’s step behind him. She sat down beside him and didn’t say anything, her gaze fixed on the jungle.

Ezra listened to the predators a little longer, identifying each individual by sound and trying to match it to its presence in the Force. They weren’t like Loth-wolves; the individuals didn’t read as strongly to him, especially not from this distance. He thought that there were six of them, a family group.

Sabine waited for him to draw himself back into his own skin, flexing his fingers against his thighs – he had shifted into a more comfortable tailor’s seat at some point. Then she said, “You know, we weren’t a crew again until Kanan came back.”

Ezra glanced at her. She had her blasters holstered on her hips, but wasn’t wearing her armor, which was probably still drying after its recent paint job; its absence made her look uncomfortably vulnerable. “What do you mean?”

Sabine didn’t look at him, her attention still focused on the trees. “After Lothal – we were still friends, still family, but it was like we just…fell apart. Hera and Chopper and Zeb went off to the Rebel Alliance, I stayed on Lothal – Hera was with Starfighter Command, mostly, though I know she had a naval command at one point. Zeb’s got a commission in Special Forces. Rex and Kallus are still with the Alliance too, but it’s all different divisions. The Alliance – the New Republic now – isn’t anything like what it was six years ago.”

“Is it better?”

She snorted. “Now there’s a government, if you can call it that.”

Ezra didn’t know much about the government except that the Empire’s had been a disaster and Lothal’s was a joke, so he left that for someone else to explain to him in detail another time. Probably Zeb, who was a politics junkie even if he pretended he couldn’t care less, or at least he had been six years ago. That might have changed since. “Why did you stay on Lothal?” he asked instead. “Why didn’t you go to the Alliance with Hera and Zeb or back to Mandalore with your family?”

“Oh, I can’t go back to Mandalore.” Sabine’s tone was light, but Ezra could sense a shadow to the words.

He turned to look at her. “Why not?”

She looked down, picking at a place on her knee where the fabric had pilled under the constant friction of her armor. “Didn’t I tell you when I went to Yavin with the rest of you back then?”

Ezra shook his head. “I don’t think so. You just came with us. It didn’t seem polite to ask why.”

Sabine grimaced. “It has to do with the Darksaber.” She picked at her pants again, then sighed and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her calves. “If I stayed on Mandalore – or went back to Mandalorian space – I’d be a threat to Bo-Katan, because I carried the Darksaber and used it in combat.”

“But you gave it up.”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. As long as I’m alive, I’m a potential rival to her. There are a lot of people in Mandalorian space who’d prefer me to her – or, well, they’d prefer anyone to her, I’m just convenient because I actually have a claim to the Darksaber. And that was before everything else happened.”

Ezra frowned. “Everything else like – what?”

“Mandalore isn’t really something the Empire can leave alone for long,” Sabine said after a pause. “That’s why they had to have a loyalist Mandalorian viceroy, not a moff, not some outsider. The Saxons kept the clans at each other’s throats for years, not to mention all the weird little splinter cults that have been around for a thousand years – three thousand in some cases. Even when there was still a duke or duchess of Mandalore, back during the Republic, it was always very…tense. And that’s putting aside the fact that the last duchess was a radical. Mandalorian politics is – was – a lot of trying to keep quarrels from turning into blood feuds and blood feuds from turning into civil wars. But if the clans ever have an external enemy, then all of that gets put aside. It takes a lot to get the clans there; it doesn’t happen much more than once a millennium. Bo-Katan was starting to do that. So the Empire tried to wipe out the clans. And Mandalore.”

“Your family?” Ezra said cautiously.

“They’re fine,” Sabine said. “Krownest got hit, but not as bad as Mandalore itself, and it’s not as though my family has never had to rebuild before. All of Mandalorian space is a mess from what I’ve heard. I’d go back, but – that would be seen as a challenge, no matter what I meant by it. So I haven’t gone back.” She shrugged. “Tristan came and visited me on Lothal once.”

“Why did you stay on Lothal?”

She shrugged again. “I didn’t want to join the Alliance and Ryder needed the help. He’s governor again, by the way.”

Ezra nodded absently.

“I thought one of us should be on Lothal,” Sabine said eventually. “We expected some Imperial retaliation, but they were distracted by Mandalore, and then what happened on Scarif, then the Death Star and Yavin – they left Lothal alone, mostly.”

“That’s good,” Ezra said, feeling some of his unease unknot in his chest.

Sabine stretched her legs out again and leaned back, bracing her hands on the ramp. Somewhere in the jungle, a night-avian hooted and some tree-dwellers set up a chorus of croaking sounds.

“What I was trying to say,” Sabine said eventually, “is that this isn’t easy for us either. I know it probably feels like nothing changed or that we all went on without you exactly the same as we had been, but – everything changed. And we weren’t with each other anymore. I mean, Hera’s a general, and all she does – all she used to do – was order people around. Zeb was off with the Pathfinders and they’re the ones who do all the secret missions for the Alliance – the New Republic – you know, cutting throats and blowing stuff up and giving locals money so they can buy vibroknives and bombs to cut throats and blow stuff up. And I was on my own, mostly. And Kanan – Kanan just didn’t have any of the last six years, because he’s still – he’s exactly the same as he was back then, because he is the him he was back then. But none of us are. Even Chopper’s not.” She slanted a glance at him. “No one expects you to be, either.”

Ezra looked down at his lap, running his fingers along the shaft of his lightsaber hilt. He felt his kyber crystal warm to him, the faint hum in his mind turning into something close to a purr. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“So you’ve got time to figure it out now,” Sabine offered.

“Yeah, except for the extra-galactic aliens who want to kill us all,” Ezra said harshly.

She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t let Hera or Zeb hear you say ‘aliens’.”

He’d forgotten that it was considered a slur amongst a large portion of the galaxy. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Mmm.”

Ezra sighed. “What’s it been like? Being back with them, I mean.”

“Hard. Sometimes. Easy. Sometimes. Back at the beginning, none of us knew how to be around each other anymore, except Kanan, and we weren’t reacting the way he expected. It was a mess the first month, after we left Ryloth – Hera and Kanan had to take Jacen to stay with Cham Syndulla, and then they had the wedding, and we had to leave early because General Cracken didn’t want the Provisional Council to find out until after we’d actually gone –”

“Wait, what wedding?” Ezra said, sitting bolt upright. “Who got married?”

Sabine grinned, bemused. “Kanan didn’t tell you? He and Hera got married about three days after they got back.”

Ezra rubbed a hand over his face, not sure why he was surprised. It wasn’t as though Kanan and Hera’s relationship hadn’t been an open secret, but he hadn’t thought – well, Kanan getting killed had obviously changed things.

“I’m glad you’re all here,” he said instead of commenting on that. He glanced up as a shadow passed over the moons above, expecting a coralskipper or one of the Vong cruiser-analogs, and was relieved to find it was just a cloud.

He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as one of his knees popped and his bad shoulder twinged. He offered a hand to Sabine, who looked at it in bemusement and then let him pull her upright.

“Come on,” Ezra said. “Time to let the Imperials know they’re going to have company.”

He closed up the ramp behind him as they went back into the Ghost, then climbed up the ladder to the cockpit. Hera and Kanan were both there, along with Chopper and a hologram of the Vong encampment. They both looked up as Ezra and Sabine emerged from the hatch.

“What is it?” Kanan asked as Chopper shut the hologram off.

Ezra had never been able to figure out if Kanan had somehow been able to sense what a hologram was showing in the Force – certainly he couldn’t do it himself, and he had tried. He shoved the thought aside to ask about later and said, “I thought now might be a good time to call Chimaera Camp.”

Hera glanced at the chrono and arched her eyebrows. “I thought we were going to wait until morning.”

Ezra shrugged. “I thought I’d ruin Captain Pellaeon’s night.” As far as he was concerned, Pellaeon had it coming.

Kanan snorted softly. Hera flicked a glance at him, then sat back in her chair so that Ezra could approach the comm board.

He plugged in the bridge frequency for the Scylla and only had to wait a few moment before a comms officer answered. The transmission was audio-only, no visual; the increased data transfer of a hologram made it more likely for the Vong to pick up on.

“This is Bridger,” Ezra said. “Put me through to Captain Pellaeon.”

The officer snorted. “Do you have any idea what the hour is? The captain –”

“Will want to hear what I have to say,” Ezra said flatly. “Come on, it’s not that late. You and I know he’s not asleep.”

There was a pause, then the officer grunted agreement. There was a moment of static as he transferred the call, then Pellaeon’s crisp voice said, “Bridger, I assume this is important.”

Ezra felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He looked around at the cockpit, noting that Zeb had come into lean on the doorframe, his gaze fixed on Ezra. They were all here, back in the same place, and when they were together they could do anything. “Yeah,” he said to the comm. “It’s important.”

#cut scenes and concept writing #other side au tag #as always comments are appreciated #today in: bedlam tackles the 'what is up with mandalore and the darksaber' question from mando #I TOLD you I prefer working stuff out via fic than in meta

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