#Tatooine architecture

[sw5w]

...and Scavengers

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:31:06

[ranahan]

Off topic, but look at those beams:

Are they wood?! No trees that big grow on Tatooine. Are they imported as a luxury item? Making them perhaps a Nal Hutta architectural style brought to Tatooine by the Hutts?

imagine if jabba were actually this size in the film lolol like han being bullied by something this small. mini jabba would run tatooine with a tiny, tiny iron fist

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Epilogue

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set immediately following Chapter 13: The Jedi.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, angst, bittersweet-ness, so much love and fluff, SMUT - Din take this helmet off, thigh riding, oral sex (m receiving), P in V sex, reader on top, Din's dirty mouth, all the praise, cursing in Mando'a (I had to let these two go out with a bang, they would have rioted otherwise)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Read on AO3

Your return to Nevarro was bittersweet in a way you hadn’t fully expected.

You hadn’t anticipated the swell of emotion you would feel at the sight of the coal-black sands and the rugged white architecture, a pang in your heart that reminded you of the relief of coming home. You hadn’t planned for the immediate ache of Grogu’s absence, always there but particularly poignant when you realized that you hadn’t thought you would be coming back here without him. You hadn’t thought to steel yourself against the rush of affection that washed over you as you said your goodbyes to Fennec and Boba, wishing for all the galaxy that they could stay even while you knew that they had their own priorities to look after back on Tatooine. The sensation had almost choked you when the former pulled you into an unexpected embrace, cradling the back of your head in her gloved palm in a way that reminded you painfully of your mother.

“Keep working on that right hook,” she murmured into your shoulder, arms tight as durasteel around you as you clung to her lean frame. “I expect you to give me a run for my money on the sparring mat the next time I see you.”

You hadn’t expected Greef Karga himself to greet you on the tarmac as you disembarked from the Firespray. The way his handsome, weathered face had gone from cheery to confused to mournful as he swept his gaze across Din, then Cara, then you in search of little green child and not finding one, the way he had immediately opened his mouth to ask only to be interrupted by a wave of Din’s hand.

“My quest is completed. He’s with his own kind.”

You imagined there might have been a time when those words would have been said with triumph or satisfaction, but instead they sounded flat and hollow as they crackled through the bounty hunter’s helmet.

Victory and loss. Comradery and loneliness. Homecoming and homesickness. You wondered how long this dichotomy would linger, how long it would be before you could experience one emotion without also being overwhelmed by its opposite. Would anything ever feel quite right again, now that Grogu was gone?

---

After dropping off her belongings at her apartment, Cara Dune took you both out to lunch at Ninda’s, the same cantina she had introduced you to before your departure for Tython. Din had protested, insisting that the two of you ought to be heading for the port office, but thankfully, the marshal had refused to take no for an answer. Now, bellies full of savory meat pies and mugs of ale, you could feel an air of anticipation settle over the table as Cara leaned back in her chair and asked the question that had lingered in the back of your mind since departing Gideon’s cruiser.

“So. What’s next?”

You glanced at Din, catching his gaze only briefly through his visor before he replied, “We’ll be moving on. There’s nothing left for me here now that my covert is gone, and we’re still out of a ship. I need to find work.”

“Plenty of work to be done here,” Cara retorted. “City’s growing every day. I could always use a deputy, and I’m sure we could find a spot for your girl somewhere. Not nearly enough people with your skills around here yet,” she continued, flashing you a smile. “You could be one of the first. Open your own shop. Karga would approve your business license in a heartbeat.”

You huffed a soft laugh. She was right, of course. You could do it if you wanted – start your own business. Perhaps you could repair broken hardware, design custom mods, restore vintage ships. You could probably even build them from scratch if you found a good parts supplier. It would be a good life, a stable life. Shipbuilding was a lucrative business, and you could be your own boss, something that had felt like a pipe dream during your years of servitude on Chardaan.

But one look at Din had you shaking your head and slipping your hand under the table to rest on his thigh, giving him a comforting squeeze. Your bounty hunter wasn’t ready for that kind of life just yet. You could feel it in the tightness of his muscles beneath your hand, could see it in the way he crossed his arms over his chest at the suggestion.

Someday, you thought that might be something he wanted, but for now, you could feel the itch to return to his nomadic life among the stars burning under his skin as if it were your own.

“That’s generous of you. But we can’t stay,” you said after a beat. “It’s not time for us to settle just yet.”

Cara accepted your response with moderate grace, ensuring that you each had her personal comm link code should you change your minds. She also informed you that Karga had offered to put you up in a temporary apartment for as long as you wished while you decided your next destination.

“It’s nothing special,” she quipped, passing Din a sleek, black keycard. “Just something he used to rent out to clients back in the day, when they wanted to do business in person. But it should have everything you need until you’re ready to move on.”

A swell of fondness rose up in your chest, making it difficult to swallow as you fought the urge to launch yourself across the table and wrap the other woman in a fierce hug.  Meanwhile, the Mandalorian appeared reluctant to accept. Slipping the keycard into his belt, he rasped, “You can tell Karga I’ll be paying him back.”

The marshal laughed, loud and brash. “He’d shoot you for even suggesting it.”

“It’s too much. I won’t be indebted to him like that.”

“Indebted?” Cara looked almost offended at the suggestion, dark eyes flashing sharply. “You know better than anybody what it means to take care of your own, right? Let Karga do the same.”

This response seemed to take Din aback; you watched his helmet cock to the side in confusion as he processed her words, as if it were the first time he had considered that others might be willing to show up for him whether there was something in it for them or not.

You wondered then if he knew how much he meant to people, if he knew how strongly others were drawn to him without any effort on his part. You wondered if he knew how his sense of honor, his generosity, his steadfastness all made him a natural leader. He was the type of person who inspired loyalty, whether he actively sought it or not. Such a thing was a rare gift.

Almost absently, your eyes dropped to his utility belt where the inactive hilt of the Darksaber hung limply against his armored thigh. Should he wish it, he could take up Bo-Katan’s mission – reunite his people. He would be a tremendous Mand’alor, and that sword would give him more legitimacy than if he had been born to it.

“Fine,” he replied, pulling you out of your musings. “Just this once. We won’t linger long anyway.”

Cara shrugged. “Like I said – it’s yours for as long as you want. Just promise you’ll stop in and say goodbye when the time comes, okay?”

---

The apartment was in the market district, a little one-bedroom unit on the fourth floor of a white-washed building edged in royal blue trim.

The first floor was taken up with a tidy little caf shop that you looked forward to patronizing, and both sides of the cozy cobblestone street were lined with market stalls shaded by colorful linen awnings, all varying shades of red, orange, and gold. In spite of the charming surroundings, the marshal’s assessment of the unit itself had been accurate – it wasn’t nearly as lavish as the inn you had stayed in the last time you were on Nevarro. However, after spending weeks in deep space, the full kitchen, running water refresher, and large bed felt downright luxurious even if it was a bit barebones.

“I wonder how many places like this Karga has across the city,” you mused, pacing the length of the living space. The place had been sparsely furnished in nondescript shades of gray – a charcoal sofa, a light gray leather armchair, a two-person dining table in an ashen wood with a shining steel surface. Not unwelcoming but decidedly devoid of personality.

Din cocked his helmet in thought, following close on your heels. “A few, I’m sure. He likes to be prepared.”

You hummed thoughtfully. You could see that; Karga struck you as the type of man who was accustomed to holding all the cards.

Setting aside thoughts of the magistrate for the moment, you turned to face your companion, taking in the Mandalorian in your first moment of true solitude in weeks. Even through the bulk of his armor and the impassivity of his helmet, you could sense his weariness. It draped across his broad shoulders like a cloak, his emotions nearly tangible to you after so many months in his company. How had you ever thought this man stoic?

Closing the narrow distance between you, you rested your palms against the cool, unyielding surface of his breastplate and gazed up into his visor. “How are you, ner kar’ta?” you asked earnestly.

Your question hung in the still, silent air for a moment before the bounty hunter slipped his hands casually around your waist and pulled you to him. “Hmm. I like it when you speak Mando’a,” he rasped, fingers kneading the curve of your hips through the coarse fabric of your boilersuit.

You grinned, leaning gently into his touch. “Yeah? I’ve been practicing my accent.”

“It’s really coming along,” Din replied with a nod. You could hear the smile in his voice, could picture the softness in his dark eyes as he gazed at you, and you felt a gentle flush rise in your cheeks.

“I’d love to learn more, if you’re willing. All the phrases I know at this point are just…expressions of affection.” You hit him with a pointed look, eyebrow arched, and he huffed a laugh.

“I’d be happy to teach you.”

“I look forward to our first lesson.” Drawing your lower lip between your teeth, you shuffled another inch closer and threaded your fingers into the folds of his cape. “Now. If you’re done dodging the question…”

Broad, heavy palms drifted lower then, pressing warmly, firmly into the muscles of your ass, and you struggled to keep your eyelids from drooping under the heat of his hands. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The arch of your eyebrow deepened, and you drew back slightly, as much as you could manage in the cage of his arms. “Din,” you said shortly.  

Silence stretched between you for a breath, the two of you simply staring at one another, tacitly waiting for the other to capitulate and change the subject. But you would not allow him to best you in this. Eventually, it was him that offered a soft, tentative confession.

“I’m…restless,” he admitted, breaking your gaze to stare down at his boots. “I don’t like the idea of just…sitting around. I’d rather keep moving.”

You nodded in understanding. “I get that. Trust me, I’m not very good at doing nothing, either. But let’s just…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. “Let’s just try. For a few days. Please.”

The Mandalorian glanced back up at you at that, and you could see your own face – the bags under your eyes, the chaotic strands of hair clinging to your forehead, the weary shine of your eyes – reflected back at you in his visor. Your clothes were rumpled, your scarf stained with sweat. You looked, if possible, even more exhausted than you felt.

“We’ve been running at lightspeed for weeks,” you continued. “I’m completely spent. And I would bet if you held still for more than a couple of seconds, you’d feel it, too.”

The shoulders beneath your hands stiffened at your words. “That’s the life I live,” he replied gruffly.

“That’s the life you’ve chosen to live,” you corrected immediately. “But right now, maybe for the first time, there’s no Guild Agent beating down your door, there’s no quarry to chase, there’s no covert to provide for.” Offering him a gentle smile, you slipped one hand up to cradle his beskar cheek. “You don’t have to be…the Mandalorian right now. Right now, you get to just be Din Djarin. And Din Djarin is a human man. Who needs food. And water. And sleep. Just like the rest of us.”

Din was quiet then, though you could swear you could hear the gears in his mind turning as he processed your words. You could sense the battle within him – who he had been before Grogu, before you at war with the man he had become in the time since. The old Din Djarin was a lone ranger, a rolling stone, a clan of one; rigid, impassive, uncompromising. His drive to keep moving, to keep working, to keep surviving had been as much a part of the core of him as his Creed.

Who was this new Din Djarin? You could feel the question even through the silence.

Taking pity on him, you gathered both of his hands in yours, pulling them from your body and instead pressing soft kisses to them, one for each ridge of knuckles hidden beneath thick leather. “Tell you what. Why don’t we get cleaned up, and then we can go downstairs and take a walk through the market? Replenish some of the supplies we lost, then go from there?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the bounty hunter nodded. “All right, cyare,” he agreed. Resignation colored his tone, and you felt your smile widen in triumph. “Go get the water started. I’ll join you in a minute.”

---

You hardly remembered stripping down to your skin as the shower heated up, could not recall leaving your dirty clothes crumpled in a pile in the corner of the ‘fresher as you climbed in and immediately dunked yourself under the stream of too-hot water. It was all done on autopilot, your body moving on inertia alone as your mind raced, echoing with Din’s words.

I’ll join you in a minute.

Join you.

In the ‘fresher? In the shower?

You had left the lights off just in case, though admittedly you weren’t certain it would do much to prevent you from seeing his face should he decide to climb in under the spray with you. There was a small window paned with thick, warped glass cut into the far wall, and late afternoon Nevarran sunlight filtered through it, leaving the room dim but hardly dark. Plenty to see by with hardly a squint.

As you scrambled into the stall, you draped your scarf around the shower door handle as a backup. Another just in case.

Lost in thought, you went through the motions of your routine. Unwinding your braid, soaking the long strands until they weighed heavily on your shoulders, fumbling for the anonymous bottle of generic shampoo that had come stocked with the unit. You kept your eyes on the wall of the stall in front of you, your back to the shower door, and you tried not to let your hands tremble.

It had been so long since Din had touched you, so long since he had bent you over the rickety bunk on Boba’s ship and sent you rocketing through the stars. So much had happened since then, and in the intervening time, there had been days where this side of you had felt so far away, so out of reach it felt almost alien. But no longer. Your skin prickled under the steaming spray, seemingly impervious to the heat of the water now that another heat had reawakened in your belly. It simmered there, a creature stretching and preening after a long slumber, a thing that only Din had ever managed to draw out of you.

You had never wanted anyone the way you wanted him, and that want burned so brightly you could feel the space between your thighs begin to throb at the mere suggestion that it might be satisfied.

Distantly, you heard the hiss of the ‘fresher door sliding open followed by the rhythmic thud of heavy boots. You swallowed thickly as the door slid shut again, as soft clinks joined the sound of rustling fabric. It was like…metal on tile.

Like beskar being peeled off of a flight suit and stacked neatly on the floor.

You pressed your palms to the cool wall of the shower stall, holding yourself steady as you felt your knees begin to tremble with nerves you could not control. You hadn’t even been this anxious the first time you had fucked him – on the contrary, that experience had left you soaring with confidence. What could possibly have you in such a state this time, you wondered?

A brief rush of cool air swept into the shower stall behind you, dissipating the thick cloak of steam that surrounded you and blooming goosebumps across your shoulder blades.

You said nothing, the only sound you made the deep, centering breath you drew as a pair of broad, tanned hands appeared over the swell of your hips. Before you could shiver away the sudden chill of the open stall, the door closed again, and a strong, masculine body pressed tight to your back. His heat bled into you instantly, and you could not stifle the moan that dripped from your mouth as you leaned back into his embrace.

“Shab. I’ve missed you, mesh’la,” Din murmured, voice low and coarse as he pressed his face into the bend of your neck. Against your damp skin, you felt a pair of pillowy lips caress you. You felt scratchy, uneven stubble – longer than the last time you had seen it – drag against your pulse point. You felt the tip of a prominent, aquiline nose tuck into the space behind your ear and breathe you in.

The Mandalorian had, once again, taken his helmet off. On instinct, your eyes fell closed.

“Din,” you gasped weakly, hand flying up to thread your fingers into his hair, holding him to you. Maker, he felt good against you, his skin hot and smooth, his kisses along your neck wet and sucking. The sensation had your knees softening beneath you, and you were grateful for your grip on the wall and his clutch on your hips keeping you on your feet.

“S’all right. You can open your eyes. Ni liser nu haaranovor teh gar tug'yc.” Hands drifting to your stomach, your ribcage, your breasts, Din pulled you deeper into his embrace. You could feel the thick, warm hardness of him pressed against the small of your back, the heavy weight of his balls soft against your ass. “I won’t hide from you anymore. I refuse.”

A whimper worked its way out of your throat at his words. “Y-You’re sure? I won’t l-look, I swear,” you panted, grinding the globes of your ass cheeks instinctually against his cock like a Loth-cat in heat.

The bounty hunter groaned, his fingers digging sharply into your flesh to keep you still, and the sound vibrated through your body like the roll of thunder. “I know you wouldn’t. My sweet girl. I’m sure.” Using his grip on you to spin you around, you quickly found yourself backed up against the shower wall. Still, your eyes remained squeezed tightly shut as he continued, “It can be…permissible show one’s face. Within the bonds of the riduurok.”

Riduurok. You knew that word. It meant –

Your eyes snapped open, and instantly, your field of vision was filled with nothing but him. Broad, tanned, freckled shoulders. Dark brown curls clinging to his forehead. Deep brown eyes, round and earnest and tender, brimming with love, burning with desire. Your beautiful bounty hunter, somehow even more breathtaking than you remembered.

“Marriage,” you translated breathlessly. “Riduurok is…marriage.”

Din nodded once. “Yes.”

A wave of emotion rose up in your throat, and you struggled to swallow. “We aren’t married.”

“No,” he conceded. “But my intentions have not changed. Have yours?”

You were shaking your head before he had even finished his question. “Of course not.” Your voice sounded tremulous, a bit frantic to your own ears. “I just… I couldn’t stand it if you regretted this. I don’t want you to look back at this tomorrow and not be able to put your helmet back on fast enough.”

A flash of guilt sparked in his dark eyes then, and his proud shoulders fell slightly as he dropped his gaze to the floor. You knew he was remembering that morning on Gideon’s cruiser, the disappointment on your face as he explained that taking his helmet off the day before had been an exception.

“I can’t bear to be the thing that drives you to break your Creed, over and over again.” Bringing your hands up to his face, you cradled his cheeks in your palms, savoring the feel of his beard against your skin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “So I need you to be certain. Is this what you want, ner kar’ta? To be like this…with me?”

Din cupped your face in return, the two of holding each other in mirrored poses under the steaming water. “With you and only you,” he promised. “Forever, cyare.”

And then his lips descended on yours, and you swallowed a moan as he gathered you into his arms and bore you back against the shower wall.

---

You got yourselves clean in fits and spurts, between long stretches of deep, wet kisses, fervent gropes, and tantalizing caresses. Din toyed with your breasts while you rinsed your hair, kneading them firmly, trapping your nipples between his fingers, teasing and plucking and tugging until they ached and you couldn’t stifle the needy whines in your throat. When it was his turn to wash himself, you pressed yourself along his back, reaching around his body to stroke his cock with one hand and cradle his balls with the other. You dodged rivulets of soap that streamed down his back as you pressed kisses to his spine, and he shivered beneath your touch. Hot and heavy in your hands, the tip of him leaked and dripped over your skin only for the slickness to immediately wash away under the rush of the showerhead.  

The moment the last of the soap bubbles had disappeared down the drain, the Mandalorian turned off the shower and threw open the stall door.

“Bed,” he growled. The sound reached deep inside you, tugging on your nerve endings and sending a rush of fresh wetness to the apex of your thighs. “Now.”

You paid no heed to the water you trailed behind you as you burst through the ‘fresher door and staggered into the single bedroom. Din was hot on your heels, crowding up behind you as you went so that by the time you reached the foot of the large bed, he needed less than a second to reach around you, snag ahold of the downy-white blankets that dressed it, and fling them onto the floor.

With a breathless laugh, you spun around, the backs of your calves hitting the mattress as you collapsed onto the bed. You reached for him the second your back hit the sheets, fingers scrabbling urgently over his smooth, wet skin, but there was no need; he went to you willingly, clambering atop you with little encouragement. The weight of him was grounding, the give of his belly and the corded strength of his limbs keeping you anchored to the moment.

“Cyar’ika.” The tender, lilting word vibrated against your skin, tripped down your nerves as his teeth dragged along your collarbone. Goosebumps broke out along your skin, and you arched into his touch, hands in his dripping curls tugging him down, down, down to the swell of your breasts. His stubble teased your skin there, making you squirm, pulling a little giggle from your throat, but the giggle quickly morphed into a moan as his lips locked around one of your nipples.  

“Din!” you panted. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling a groan from him, which he smothered against the pillow of your flesh. You could feel your clit swell and throb in time with the coaxing swipes of his tongue, your nipple now impossibly hard and pebbled in a way that had you squirming beneath him, begging for pressure, for friction, anything to soothe the ache that pulsed between your thighs. “Please. Need you.”

As always, it seemed that the Mandalorian knew your body better than you did. In an instant, he had slotted his knee between your legs, adjusting his weight so that he could press himself right up against the place where you needed him most.

“M’right here, sweet girl. Not going anywhere.”

Your hips moved without your direction, grinding into the delicious pressure the moment it arrived. Maker, the heft and the hardness of his thigh felt incredible against your swollen cunt, and though you had to work for it, it was giving you everything you needed as Din’s soft, sucking kisses traveled across your chest, to the hollow of your throat, to the vulnerable patch of skin beneath your ear where your pulse raced.

“Shab,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, panting into your open mouth. “Can feel how bad you want it. You’re soaking me, mesh’la.”

You bit back a whimper, eyelids fluttering as you nodded. “You feel so good,” you assured him. “Always want you, always.”

Sealing his lips over yours, you felt your core tremble at the heat of his tongue, the plushness of his mouth, the force of his kiss. Against your hip, his cock pulsed and leaked, leaving hot, slick trails of precum across your skin, and you swore saliva pooled under your tongue at the sensation. You wanted to taste him, to feel the warmth and the weight of him in your mouth. You wanted to hear him groan and curse as the thick, broad head of him breached your throat, as your nose pressed into his dark curls. You wanted him to need – just as badly as you needed – and you wanted to be the one to make it happen.

Pressing your palms into his chest, wrenching your mouth away from his, you breathed, “Roll over. On your back.”

To your surprise, he obeyed in an instant, and for the first time, you felt a surge of gratefulness for the size of the bed. Such a move would never have been possible in the narrow bunk on the Razor Crest or in the dusty bounty cell on Boba’s Firespray. Scrambling over him, you nudged his legs further apart and kneeled on the mattress between them.

Lower lip trapped coquettishly between your teeth, you braced your hands on his thick thighs and leaned over him. Long, damp strands of your hair cascaded over your shoulders, the ends dancing over his stomach in a way that had the muscles there jumping. You paid them no heed, instead nuzzling the tip of your nose and the round of your cheek against the underside of his hard, flushed cock.

“Hold my hair back, ner kar’ta?” you asked softly as you dragged your tongue across his glistening head.

Din threw his head back with a grunt, broad hands sinking instantly into your hair. He fisted the locks back from your face, holding them close to the root, tugging at your scalp, and you whined at the bolt of white-hot lightning that licked down your spine at the gesture. You didn’t have it in you to tease him any more after that; pulling a deep breath in through your nose, you drew him into your mouth and began to suck.

“Haar’chak!”

The curse echoed through the empty apartment as you smothered your answering grin against his dense, dark curls. You loved him like this – impossibly hard, flushed and hot, heavy and pulsing and tasting of fresh, clean skin and slick, salty man. You loved the way his hips hitched upward, seeking more of your warmth, more of your wet, and you loved the way he stopped himself from pushing you too far, even if he clearly wanted to. You loved the grip of his hands on the back of your head, the way they grounded you to the moment. You even loved the ache in your jaw as you worked yourself over him, knowing you’d suffer much worse to hear him make those low, breathless little groans and know that you were the cause.

It was a privilege getting to watch a man like him fall apart at the seams. To be the one responsible? Just the thought had your racing heartbeat traveling from your chest to your cunt.

It didn’t take long for the fall to begin – didn’t take more than a handful of minutes to have the Mandalorian trembling beneath you, the muscles in his thighs clenching under your hands, his fingers tightening painfully around your hair as he attempted to anchor himself in the maelstrom. A premature thrill of victory coursed through you at the feeling, and you swallowed sloppily around the thickness of him once more before letting him spring from your mouth.

“Taste so good, Din,” you whimpered, dragging your tongue against his leaking tip to drink down another glistening pearl of precum.

A deep, rumbling sound gritted its way out from between his clenched teeth, and you glanced up to watch the tendons in his neck strain as he tried in vain to collect himself. “Can’t say stuff like that,” he panted. “This’ll be over before it even starts.”

You felt a wicked smirk curl your lips and lapped at him again, a teasing little kitten lick that had his hips flexing desperately in search of more. “I’m sure you’d make it up to me.”

With a shake of his head and a weak smile, the bounty hunter released his hold on your hair, letting it tumble back down around your shoulders. “Not happening, cyar’ika. Now get up here before I sit you on my cock myself.”

Stars. A rush of heat flooded your body at his words, an answering wetness dampening your inner thighs, and you scrambled gracelessly from your crouch between his knees. As it had been from the moment you met, you were at his mercy, though now you reveled in it, for you knew he was just as weak to you as you were to him.

His hands came up to cup your hips as you knelt over him, fingers digging deep enough to bruise as you dragged your dripping slit against the thick ridge of his cock – soaking him, making him moan, catching the plush tip of his head against your swollen, throbbing clit. But just as you had worked him up to desperation, you had done the same to yourself, and you found you could not bear to tease yourself for long. Reaching down between your legs, you wrapped your fingers around the base of him, gave him a couple firm strokes, and notched the tip of him against your entrance.

His name was a pitiful whine on the back of a sob as you sank down onto him, felt him stretch you, fill  you, somehow feeling deeper and thicker than ever before. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized this was the first time you had taken him without his fingers to prepare you first, and you could feel the difference – it felt as if he was splitting you open, carving you in two, hollowing out a place for himself deep inside your body, and your muscles trembled and quivered at the harsh demand. It stung, but Maker, did you hunger for it.

“Thaaaaat’s it,” Din growled, watching you with heavy-lidded, blown-pupil eyes. “Look at you. You’re so beautiful like this.”

“Fuck, it’s – it’s – Din. So much.” The pathway between your brain and your mouth seemed to have deteriorated, every word coming out quavering and half-slurred, but your lack of coherence only seemed to spur him on.

“S’okay, cyare. You can do it.” He nodded slowly, encouragingly, using his grip on you to coax a roll of your hips. “Puhoi bal pakod. Slow. Nice and steady.”

The shift of him inside you, the way he dragged against your walls had your jaw dropping open and your eyes falling shut. You needed more immediately. Before you could fully wrap you mind around what was happening, you found yourself rocking against him again, again, again – back and forth, up and down, rocking him deeper, faster into you, dragging your hard little clit against his pubic bone, digging your nails into his chest for support, moaning and gasping as you went.

Through your blurred vision and frayed awareness, you could sense the Mandalorian practically melting beneath you – head dropping back limply, sinking deeper into the now-damp mattress, hands ghosting lightly over your hips to your waist to your breasts to your ass to your thighs, all the while murmuring faint encouragements under his breath as you rode.

So good for me, keep going, mesh’la, take what you need from me, that’s it, just take it, it’s yours, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop…

“Din!” You could feel it building at the base of your spine, could feel your muscles starting to coil in your abdomen. Gods, every time you came down on him, he pounded that soft, elusive spot inside you, making you shake, making you drip. Sweat glistening on your skin, you felt yourself become almost slippery under his hands, the exertion mixing with the dampness of the shower and leaving you shining in the late afternoon sun. Your hips and thighs burned, unused to the strain, but you couldn’t slow, couldn’t stop, couldn’t think of giving in now. You were so close – he was going to make you –

As though reading your mind, the bounty hunter rasped through gritted teeth, “You’re right there, aren’t you? Go on.” He nodded, eyes locked on yours, dark hair clinging to his forehead with his own sweat. “S’okay, I’ve got you, m’right here. Let it happen.”

It occurred to you then that he was watching you fall apart, that his gaze was making note of every facial expression, every bead of sweat, every clenched muscle that rippled across your body, as you were sure he had done so many times before. But just now, right here, was the first time you were getting to watch him. No helmet, no pitch-dark room, no blindfold – nothing stood in the way of you getting to watch the man you loved hold on to the ragged edges of his sanity while you took him for all he was worth. Even in the midst of your hunger and your need, your heart stuttered at the intimacy of it.

You could see each other – really and truly. Fuck, you loved him –

“Yes!” you gasped, seizing up around him. “Yes, yes, fuck, Din, I’m – ”

And then you were gone – flung over the edge of the precipice with a shout, bearing down on his cock as you trembled and throbbed and leaked more of your wetness all over his lap. It smeared under you, slicking the hair at the base of his shaft, gathering in the little creases at the joints of his legs.

Distantly, you could hear a long stream of curses in Mando’a spilling into the air. “Shabshabshabshab. That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it. Feel so good coming all over me like that, such a good girl.”

Every word sent a little spasm through you, delicate aftershocks tripping down your raw, ruined nerves and making you shiver. They left you feeling weak – muscles slack and bones wobbly in the aftermath of your pleasure. You wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed beside him in a spineless heap, but no. You refused to abandon him now, not when he was still so impossibly hard inside you, not when he was still smothering low-register grunts as he tried desperately not to flip you onto your back and take what he needed from you.

Instead, you gently slumped forward onto his chest, pressing your tits against his skin and threading your fingers into his hair. “Your turn, ner kar’ta,” you murmured breathlessly against the underside of his jaw. You sucked on the skin there briefly, tasting the salt of him on your tongue. “I’m all yours. Let me feel you cum.”

Your permission was all he needed. In the span of a heartbeat, Din shifted beneath you, bringing his feet up to press firmly into the surface of the mattress, dropping his hands to the globes of your ass, and using his newfound leverage to thrust up into you with a force you hadn’t prepared for. You let out a sharp, surprised yelp, and you could have sworn the bounty hunter laughed in response.

It didn’t take much after that – a few deep, quick, powerful thrusts from below, his big hands steadying you above him as you buried your face in his neck, and then his hips were stuttering, his cock was pulsing, and a bloom of warmth spilled deep inside you. Your name was on his lips as he came – your real name, one he rarely called you but that sounded so sweet on his lips you almost wished he would use it more often.

You felt the curve of his mouth on your brow as he came back down, the scruff of his beard and the bristles of his mustache catching in your hair as he pressed a weak kiss to your skin, and when you looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, you treasured the rare sight of his crooked, fucked-out smile. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to how beautiful your Mandalorian was, but you hoped that perhaps now, with his newfound resolution, you might actually have the opportunity to find out.

---

It was well after dark that first night before the two of you managed to make it down to the market for dinner. Only a small handful of vendors remained open, so you made do with a modest selection of fresh fruit and the last loaf of bread from a baker’s stall down the block. You ate your meager meal naked in bed, the sheets beneath you still cool and damp from your post-shower romp. Despite the lack of glamor, it was easily the most hedonistic moment of your life, and you felt certain you would remember it fondly even when you were old and gray.

The following week you spent in Karga’s loaned apartment was bittersweet. On the one hand, you and Din had never been closer, and your relationship flourished now that you finally had a moment to focus on one another without other competing priorities. You spent long hours lounging on the couch in the living room or curled up in bed together, talking and napping and touching as you pleased. You told him about your childhood on Chardaan, about your parents, about the bad deal that landed your grandfather in the debt of Orron Halcard’s father. You told him about the morning after your eighteenth birthday, the day Orron came to your home to call in the last of that debt. And you told him how you worked for seven years to pay it off, and when you went to him after the final day of your servitude, instead of signing the documents that would have released you from your indenture, Orron destroyed all record of your years of service and instead fitted you with a cortical tracker to keep you from running away.

In return, Din told you what little he remembered of his childhood on Aq Vetina. He told you of his years in the Fighting Corps on Concordia, of his time traveling with another Mandalorian – a man he referred to only as his “mentor,” for whom he served as an apprentice. He told you of finding the Nevarran covert, of the decades he had spent building up his reputation in the Outer Rim as a fierce, efficient bounty hunter, all the while nurturing the growth and prosperity of his hidden community with contributions from his earnings. And he confessed how lonely he had been, all those years making his way through the galaxy alone – that he had not even known he was lonely until Grogu came along.

And therein laid the “bitter” part. The absence of Grogu was like a physical thing – big and tender and painful and always present, no matter how much good food you discovered in town or how many different surfaces Din fucked you on around the apartment. You found yourself sinking hours into ruminating about him, wondering whether he and the Jedi had gotten to their destination safely, whether he was being properly cared for, whether he was happy. You wondered whether this Jedi had picked up on his love of frogs, whether he knew how much the boy liked to be held and carried and rocked to sleep. You wondered whether the Jedi laughed and played with him, whether he sang him songs or told him stories. When you found yourself in one of these moods, you had to reassure yourself that he would, he did, he was; otherwise you surely would have demanded that Din find where that strange man had taken your little boy and made him book transport there immediately.

As it was, you knew you could never ask such a thing of Din. He kept his feelings about the entire ordeal rather close to his chest, but he had shared enough for you to know that he was struggling, as well – perhaps even more than you. So you knew you could not tempt him. You didn’t know if he would have the strength to refuse you.

As one week on Nevarro became two, the both of you began to grow restless. Though neither of you broached the topic, you knew the time of your departure was imminent, as Din had slowly started to use portions of his reward money from Gideon to restock his arsenal of armaments, first aid supplies, and deep space-friendly foodstuffs. You chose to take your cue from him and spent a sunny afternoon replacing the small wardrobe you had lost in the Razor Crest’s destruction, as well as putting together a rudimentary toolkit, which you could take with you to job sites should the opportunity arise. By the end of the second week, it was clear that both of you were as prepared as you could be to venture out beyond the safe haven of Nevarran space once again.

It was late when you finally worked up the courage to ask the question, the two of you lounging in bed in nothing but your skin, the holoprojector running old episodes of Knights of the Old Republic softly in the background. Turning onto your side, you took in the sight of your Mandalorian in his most vulnerable state – bare and open-faced, eyes half-lidded and sleepy as he watched the holovid with lazy interest. Loathe to disrupt his peace, it took you a moment to swallow and say, “When we were on the Firespray…you mentioned wanting to try to find the remainder of your covert. To look for your armorer.”

Din glanced over at you, a single brow arching as he took in your anxious expression. “Yes. Is that still something you’re interested in?”

“Of course,” you were quick to assure him. “Your covert is your family, Din. If you want to look for them, I’ll help however I can.”

“And…what I said about wanting the seek the naur’alor’s blessing. For us.” He paused then, and you saw the moment he pieced it together – the reason you seemed so uncomfortable mentioning what he had said on the Firespray all those weeks ago. His brows drew up, concern coloring his dark gaze. “Is…that something you still want?”

You nodded. “I want to be your wife someday. Your riduur. And if getting her blessing means we could make that happen, when we’re ready, then yes, that’s something I want.”

The bounty hunter seemed to consider that for a moment, the deep wrinkles between his prominent brows growing even more pronounced as he thought. After a beat, he rolled over onto his side, his posture matching yours as he propped his head up on his fist. “The naur’alor is my Tribe’s spiritual leader,” he explained. “She is the keeper of our culture, the custodian of the Creed. Her word is law. Her blessing would give us…legitimacy. And it would grant you privileges as Mando’ad – protections that I can’t give you all on my own.”

Breaking his gaze, your eyes flicked to the wrinkled sheets between you. You could not bear to look at him as you gave voice to your next question – the fear that had swirled in the back of your mind since Din had first proposed this idea.

“And what if… What if she says no? What if she rejects me?”

A broad, tanned, calloused hand appeared under your chin, tucking his fingers under your jaw and urging you to look up at him once more. “To reject you would be to reject me,” he said earnestly. “Where you go, I go. We are bonded, cyare, in all but name.”

“But if she does. I can’t ask you to give up your culture – your people – for me, Din. I won’t do that to you.”

“You aren’t,” he insisted, caressing your jaw soothingly with the pad of his thumb. “She will understand. You and I are…unprecedented. But the naur’alor is wise. She is good. I can’t believe she would turn us away.”

The pure, unyielding faith in his voice made your heart clench in your chest. You wished you could trust the way he did, but if your time with Boba, Koska, and Bo-Katan had taught you anything at all, it was that there were clearly multiple interpretations of the tenants of the Creed. There was more than one approach to walking the Way, and it seemed that your bounty hunter had been raised among only the strictest of zealots.

The nagging feeling at the back of your mind that this armorer might be a more formidable challenge than Din expected simply would not leave you alone. You could only hope he was prepared for the possibility.

“Whatever she says, I want you to know that I’m with you,” you promised, laying your hand across the back of his, cupping him to you. “For as long as you want me, I’m all yours.”

He grinned then, a wry thing that curled the corners of his soft, plush lips. “I’ll always want you, gotabor’ika,” he murmured. “Darasuum. Forever.”

Emotion swelling in your chest, urging you forward, you kissed that grin with all the tenderness and love that threatened to spill from you at his devoted confession. In return, he cradled you like you were something precious, traced the seams of your lips with his tongue like you were something to be savored. You were flushed and thoroughly breathless by the time you managed to pull away.

“Okay then,” you breathed, tracing the tip of your nose along his to press your foreheads together. “Let’s go find your covert.”

---

Mando'a Translations:

ner kar'ta - my heart cyare - beloved shab - fuck mesh'la - beautiful Ni liser nu haaranovor teh gar tug'yc - roughly translated "I will not hide from you anymore" riduurok - a Mandalorian marriage agreement cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart haar'chak - damn it Puhoi bal pakod - literally translated "slow and easy" naur'alor - smith, craftsman, specifically a metalsmith that works with beskar. It's a title that's called out in the Kyr'tsad Mando'ad, a manifesto of the Death Watch and is later recognized in the book The Bounty Hunter's Code by Boba Fett. Given the Children of the Watch's connection to Death Watch, this felt like an appropriate formal title for the Armorer riduur - spouse, gender neutral term gotabor'ika - "little engineer" darasuum - forever

Notes:

For those of you who have been with me throughout this story, thank you. It means more to me than words can say. It's been a year and a half-long labor of love, and I'm so proud to have finished it. I plan to come back to these two in the future - maybe a string of connected oneshots - but until then, ret'urcye mhi.

[starpains]

"Wrong" by Depeche Mode is literally Anakin Skywalker’s entire life in song form

This idea’s been sitting with me for a while now, and every time I revisit the song, it just hits harder. I don’t see myself ever writing a full “songfic,” but this connection wouldn’t let me go. I need to put it into words or combust. So I’m writing it out.

Depeche Mode’s Wrong is a brutal song—sharp-edged, spiraling, defiant—but the more I listen to it, the more it sounds like a mirror to Anakin Skywalker’s life. Not just thematically, but literally line by line. It traces the shape of his story with this eerie precision, like it was composed with him in mind.

It’s not just the events. It’s the emotional architecture. The bitterness, the failure, the misplaced trust, the ache of being told to be something you’re not. That desperation of trying to do the right thing and somehow getting it wrong—again and again and again.

So here’s a breakdown of how the lyrics unfold across Anakin’s life—from the boy on Tatooine to the man beneath the mask. Not a reinterpretation of the song. Just an overlap so specific it feels cosmic.

BORN WRONG 1. I was born with the wrong sign 2. In the wrong house 3. With the wrong ascendancy Anakin is born into slavery on a planet the Republic pretends doesn’t exist. His mother is a slave. He has no father. He doesn’t have a surname. He doesn’t even have a legal identity in the galaxy’s records. Implanted with a slave chip and owned by Watto, he grows up scavenging parts and risking his life in podraces. Everything about his childhood screams displacement. Vulnerability. Unbelonging.

“Born with the wrong sign”—he’s a child of prophecy, but his arrival brings anxiety, not celebration. Qui-Gon believes he’s the Chosen One. But the Council only sees danger. Darkness. A future clouded. From the moment he sets foot in the Temple, there’s resistance to his training. Yoda says, “The boy’s future is clouded.” The Force is strong in him—but unpredictable.

“In the wrong house”—Tatooine isn’t just lawless. It’s ignored. He’s outside the Republic’s reach. The Jedi would never have found him if not for a crash landing. His Force sensitivity is extraordinary, but it exists in the margins of a society that doesn’t care. He builds droids and podracers in a dusty workshop surrounded by scraps. His world is one of survival, not destiny.

“With the wrong ascendancy”—he has none. The Republic has no record of him. The Jedi don’t know how to place him. He doesn’t descend from a known family or tradition. And even once accepted into the Order, he never fully escapes that outsider status. He’s a nine-year-old slave turned initiate with no peer, no precedent, no place to belong. He’s too old. Too passionate. Too different. And he knows it.

Even within the Jedi, his origins mark him. He is treated like a risk, not a promise. The Council debates him as a problem, not a person. Anakin is made to feel that simply existing is already a deviation from the order of things.

This verse doesn’t just reflect where he’s born. It’s the foundation of his fracture. From the first breath, Anakin Skywalker is told he is wrong.

WRONG PATH, WRONG PLACE 4. I took the wrong road 5. That led to 6. The wrong tendencies The Jedi path offers freedom but demands detachment. From the start, Anakin struggles with this. He loves fiercely. He fears loss. He acts out of instinct and heart. The Council sees these as threats. His tendencies—loyalty, passion, empathy—are labeled dangers. Even Obi-Wan, who loves him, warns he’s too emotional. The road was paved with good intentions, but it leads him to be alienated within his own Order.

7. I was in the wrong place 8. At the wrong time 9. For the wrong reason 10. And the wrong rhyme 11. On the wrong day 12. Of the wrong week 13. I used the wrong method 14. With the wrong technique These eight lines all collapse around a single event: the Tusken Raider massacre.

Anakin dreams of his mother’s suffering. He rushes to Tatooine, too late to save her—she dies in his arms. Overcome with grief and rage, he slaughters the entire village. Not just the men, but the women and children too. It’s a moment of unrestrained violence that changes him. And everything about it is wrong. The timing. The place. The reasoning. He acts from anguish, not clarity. He confesses it to Padmé, expecting her to turn away. She doesn’t. The moment is buried. But it festers.

“Wrong rhyme” refers to the logic he uses to justify what he’s done. His actions come from pain, but he wraps them in rhetoric that sounds like purpose. He tells Padmé, “They’re animals, and I slaughtered them like animals.” That isn’t a reason—it’s a rhythm of rage disguised as rationale. A distorted rhyme that masks his grief with violence.

“Wrong technique” speaks to how he acts: brutally, blindly, and without discrimination. He doesn’t seek justice. He doesn’t rescue anyone. He destroys. It's not just vengeance—it’s an unraveling. And there’s no control, no restraint. The way he wields his power is reactive, not intentional.

This event becomes a template.

When Anakin kills Count Dooku, the same structure repeats. The choice isn’t made in a moment of necessity but under pressure, spurred by Sidious’s whisper: “Do it.” Dooku is unarmed. The act is not justice—it’s execution. Wrong reason. Wrong method.

When he intervenes in the fight between Mace Windu and Sidious, it plays out again. Wrong place, wrong time. He doesn’t act out of allegiance to Sidious, but out of fear. Fear of Padmé’s death. He tries to stop one death and causes another. The technique is a betrayal. The result is irreversible.

The Tusken massacre is where it begins. Every major turn afterward—Dooku, Windu, Mustafar—is a variation on that same flawed pattern: pain mistaken for purpose, violence masquerading as control.

SOMETHING WRONG INSIDE 15. There’s something wrong with me chemically 16. Something wrong with me inherently 17. The wrong mix 18. In the wrong genes This is the core of Anakin's internal conflict. He isn’t just different—he’s impossible. Born without a father, potentially created by the Force itself, he carries a midichlorian count that outpaces every known Jedi, even Yoda. He is a miracle to some, a mistake to others. Qui-Gon sees him as the Chosen One, the one who will bring balance. But the Jedi Council looks at him and sees something unstable.

They sense something coiled beneath the surface—potential, yes, but also volatility. He is supposed to embody the light, but darkness pulses inside him from the beginning. And he feels it. He doesn’t understand it, but he knows it’s there. That unshakable sense that something inside him isn’t aligned with what he’s supposed to be.

When the Council doubts him, when Obi-Wan warns him, when Palpatine flatters him, it all reinforces the same thing: there’s something wrong with me.

“Chemically” becomes more than metaphor when the Jedi analyze his blood. “Inherently” reflects the gnawing feeling that he was born with a flaw in his soul. “The wrong mix” is both literal and symbolic—power with no peace, love twisted with fear. “In the wrong genes” is the deepest echo of all: if he was created by the Force, why does he feel like a ticking bomb?

This section isn’t just a reflection of how others see him—it’s what Anakin comes to believe about himself. That no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, something inside him is wrong.

THE WRONG MASTER 19. I reached the wrong ends 20. By the wrong means 21. It was the wrong plan 22. In the wrong hands 23. With the wrong theory 24. The wrong man

Everything Anakin does in this arc is meant to stop a death that hasn’t happened yet. He sees Padmé die in a vision, and he decides he will do anything to prevent it. That’s the end he’s chasing. But that goal leads him away from compassion and toward control. He reaches for something good—love—but he tries to seize it through domination.

“Wrong ends” because he stops being a Jedi. Stops being a protector. Starts being a destroyer.

“Wrong means” because he pledges himself to a Sith lord, betrays the Jedi, chokes his pregnant wife, and turns his blade on Obi-Wan Kenobi—his mentor, his friend, his brother. The man who raised him, trained him, loved him. Obi-Wan doesn’t just fight Anakin on Mustafar—he begs him to stop. “You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you.” And Anakin still tries to kill him. He’s not just crossing a moral line—he’s crossing every line he once swore to uphold. The Count Dooku execution was only the beginning. By the time he’s standing on that lava bank, he’s not acting out of confusion anymore—he’s acting out of conviction. The means are wrong because they cost him everything that mattered, and he knows it.

“Wrong plan” because the solution he’s given is never real. It’s manipulation. Palpatine never teaches him how to stop death—because the knowledge doesn’t exist.

“Wrong hands” is literal. He gives himself over to Darth Sidious, who has orchestrated the war, lied to every side, and plans to rule by fear. But they’re also his hands. The ones igniting the saber. Signing the orders. Choking the people he once swore to protect. Anakin isn’t just being led—he’s the one doing it. The wrong hands are his own, and that’s what damns him.

“Wrong theory” because the foundational belief is flawed: that power can protect people from fate, that control can replace trust. This is Sith ideology at its core—the seductive promise that strength can rewrite destiny, that fear can preserve love. It's a theory built on illusion, and Anakin builds his choices on that illusion until it collapses around him. Sith logic is always the wrong theory: it isolates, corrupts, and devours.

“Wrong man” because Palpatine is the inverse of what a Jedi Master should be. Where Obi-Wan guided with discipline and love, Sidious guides with flattery and fear. And Anakin follows him willingly. But he himself is also the wrong man. The one who was supposed to bring balance, and instead brought annihilation. The one who was meant to save, and instead became the instrument of ruin. He’s the wrong man because he chose to be—over and over again, when it mattered most.

THE FALL 25. The wrong eyes 26. On the wrong prize 27. The wrong questions 28. With the wrong replies “Wrong eyes” because this is the moment Anakin becomes unrecognizable. His eyes turn gold on Mustafar, after he executes the Separatist leaders—Sith eyes. Not metaphor. Not implication. Literal, visible evidence of the Dark Side corrupting his body. The same eyes Sidious wears. They’re iconic, horrifying, final. A visual cue the transformation is complete. No ambiguity left—only allegiance. They burn with borrowed hatred. They reflect nothing of who he was.

These aren’t Anakin’s eyes anymore. They don’t plead. They don’t soften. When Obi-Wan pleads with him to come back, he glares. When Padmé reaches for him, he scowls. And when he sees his own reflection, he doesn't flinch. The wrong eyes aren’t about what he sees—they’re about what others now see in him. The boy who once wanted to free slaves now looks like a weapon forged in hell. The wrong eyes aren't looking at others—they're looking out from him.

“Wrong prize” because it’s no longer just about saving Padmé—it’s about owning her future. Dictating it. Controlling it. He says, “I can overthrow the Chancellor. I can end this war. I can save you.” Not “we.” “I.” The prize is no longer her life. It’s her submission.

“Wrong questions” because he stops asking the questions that made him who he was—How do I help? How do I save? How do I do what's right?—and starts asking How do I gain power? How do I stop death? How do I control the future? These are the questions that open the door to Sidious. They aren’t questions of hope or principle. They’re questions of desperation, rooted in fear, and every one of them invites an answer that tightens the leash around his neck. Sidious is ready with replies—every one of them calculated to replace doubt with obedience, fear with fury, love with possession.

“Wrong replies” because every word from Sidious is a trap. “Only through me can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi.” “The Jedi are traitors.” Anakin asks out of fear and gets answers steeped in manipulation. And he believes them—until the truth hits too late.

This verse is where the Sith transformation completes. Not in armor, but in mind. In vision. In motive. His fall isn’t about fury anymore. It’s about control. And everything he’s seeing, wanting, asking, believing—it’s all wrong.

VADER TAKES OVER 29. I was marching to the wrong drum 30. With the wrong scum 31. Pissing out the wrong energy 32. Using all the wrong lines

“Wrong drum” because he’s no longer in sync with the Jedi, the Force, or even himself. He marches with the 501st into the Temple, a sacred place now defiled under his command. The rhythm of his life becomes one of destruction. It’s the Imperial cadence. The hollow, mechanical beat of conquest.

“Wrong scum” because these are not the Jedi, not peacekeepers. Now he moves beside Tarkin, clone officers, and bureaucrats who serve tyranny. He leads killers, not comrades. He becomes their symbol, their weapon, their justification.

“Wrong energy” because what once poured from him in bursts of fiery hope is now cold and venomous. Every act of power is driven by loss and hatred. His anger doesn’t smolder—it rots. His presence drains hope instead of kindling it.

“Wrong lines” because he no longer speaks from belief. He echoes Sidious. “The Jedi are traitors.” “He is of no use to us.” The words are commands, not truths. He speaks like a man who’s erased his own voice. The lines are wrong because they belong to someone else—and because they kill something in him every time he repeats them.

33. And the wrong signs 34. With the wrong intensity Everything about him screams terror now. The red saber—a weapon of aggression, not defense. The black armor—designed to intimidate, to erase identity. The choking grip—used not just in combat, but as punctuation in conversation. Every gesture is meant to dominate. Every breath—amplified and mechanical—is a reminder of what’s been lost.

Wrong signs because his presence no longer comforts the weak—it silences them. Wrong intensity because his passion no longer protects—it destroys. There’s no Anakin left in the way he moves, speaks, or fights. There’s only Vader. And Vader is a storm that never clears.

THE HOLLOW SELF 35. I was on the wrong page 36. Of the wrong book 37. With the wrong rendition 38. Of the wrong look

“Wrong page” because the narrative he’s following isn’t the one he was destined for. He’s not the Chosen One in this story—he’s the villain. The savior becomes the enforcer. He was meant to turn the tide of darkness, but instead he deepens it.

“Wrong book” because the prophecy was misread, misunderstood, mishandled. The Jedi never truly grasp what balance means, and Anakin, left unguided, ends up following the Sith’s version of the tale. A darker book. One where fear is power and love is possession.

“Wrong rendition” because Vader is a twisted cover of the man Anakin once was. Every instinct he had—to protect, to love, to serve—is still there, but it’s been distorted. Rewritten. The melody is familiar, but the lyrics are cruel.

“Wrong look” because he wears armor that doesn’t reflect who he is—it conceals the ruin underneath. The mask, the mechanical breathing, the towering silhouette—they project power, but only to hide devastation. What’s inside isn’t a man reborn. It’s a charred body with no legs, no arms, no flesh untouched by fire. A scorched shell held together by pain and metal. The myth stands tall, but the truth is collapsed inside it. He’s not just hidden—he’s erased. What remains of Anakin is entombed in a machine made to inspire fear, not healing. He was meant to be the Force’s vessel, the living embodiment of balance and hope. Instead, he’s become a grotesque inversion of that promise—a cage of his own making, forged in flame. The look is wrong because it mocks everything he was supposed to be.

39. With the wrong moon 40. Every wrong night 41. With the wrong tune playing

“Wrong moon” because he chooses Mustafar—the site of his greatest loss—as his base. It’s not a symbol of triumph. It’s a grave. A planet scorched by lava, where Padmé died and Anakin was broken. He builds his fortress there not as a monument to power, but as a prison carved into his own past. Every inch of it burns with what he lost.

“Every wrong night” because there is no peace. Not in the Force, not in his dreams, not in the armor. The comics show him haunted—restless in bacta, chased by visions, rebuilding droids and hallucinations that fall apart in his hands. He reaches through the Force, trying to change what’s already done. Failing. Every night is a reminder. Every night is penance.

“Wrong tune playing” because the music of his life isn’t the fanfare of an empire—it’s the low, endless hum of grief. He doesn’t hear triumph. He hears Padmé’s last words. Obi-Wan’s devastation. The silence that followed his screams on the lava bank. The tune is made of loss. It plays every time he breathes.

THE FINAL NOTE 42. Till it sounded right, yeah 43. Wrong 44. Wrong 45. Too long

“Till it sounded right, yeah” because for the first time in years, something does. Not commands. Not prophecy. Not Sidious’s lies. But Luke’s voice, calling him “Father.” Anakin hears it—and believes it. That there’s something left of him to save. Something that isn’t Vader. And in that moment, it resonates. Not with power. With love.

“Wrong” because every moment before that one was a distortion. Every decision made in fear, in anger, in hunger for control. He had the wrong guides. The wrong truths. The wrong self. But now? Now he’s being offered a different choice.

“Wrong” again, because there were so many points where he could have turned back—so many people who tried to reach him—and he didn’t listen. Obi-Wan. Padmé. Even himself. It wasn’t just one wrong moment. It was a lifetime of them.

“Too long” because the price of that delay is irreversible. Padmé is gone. The Jedi are gone. The galaxy is scarred. And he’s dying. He doesn’t get to come back. He doesn’t get to rebuild. And in waiting this long, he didn’t just lose his own future—he stole it from Obi-Wan, too. Obi-Wan who loved him. Who walked away from Mustafar believing Anakin was lost. Who spent years in exile on Tatooine, watching over Luke from afar, tormented by guilt, buried in grief. That’s what “too long” means. Not just for Anakin—but for the brother he betrayed. And yet, even after all that, he gets this. One act. One truth. One right sound.

He saves Luke. He saves his son. And in doing that, he does something else—he makes the future possible.

Not too late for Luke. Not too late for the future.

This song doesn’t just fit anakin—it echoes him.

The way this track spirals through regret, fury, confusion, identity—it hits every part of Anakin’s story with uncanny precision. Not just in theme, but in rhythm. In language. In emotional cadence.

And coming at this as both a Depeche Mode fan and a Star Wars fan? That overlap feels electric.

It’s not just that Wrong captures the mood. It captures the architecture of his downfall. Every verse cracks open another layer of who Anakin was, what he feared, how far he fell, and what it cost him to make one thing right in the end.

There’s something kind of stunning about seeing two pieces of art—written in entirely different worlds—line up like this. As if they were always meant to find each other. And when they do, they don’t overwrite each other—they amplify.

This post isn’t meant to redefine Wrong, or imply that it was written with Anakin in mind. The original song stands on its own—brilliant, biting, and defiant—and this interpretation is purely my own. It’s not about overlap or authorial intent. It’s about applying one piece of art to another and letting that resonance unfold.

And in choosing to follow it through to the end, I’m consciously treating the original trilogy as the close of Anakin’s story—his fall, his redemption, his legacy. I know the sequels extend the narrative, but for me, the curtain falls with his final act aboard the Death Star.

And when it falls, it sounds like this song.

[acatalystrising]

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

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

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

Moth to a Flame Chapter Seven

For once, you awoke from a dreamless slumber.

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

Except this time, the bed was incredibly soft.

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

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

Tatooine. You were back.

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

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

Home…

“Let’s go home.”

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

What would your future look like now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But did he actually know you loved him?

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

You had to tell him.

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

Boba’s eyes snapped open, immediately finding yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he afraid you’d reject him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boba, I need-“

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

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

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

Good girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were finally, at long last, home.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There it was again.

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

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

And you were happily in his clutches.

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

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

Home.

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

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

He chose to stay.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

But that wasn’t what caught your attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d never seen such power on display.

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

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

Kriffing hells, that had no right being so hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anyone else?”

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

The dualities of Boba Fett were a myriad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boba stilled beneath you, and your eyes immediately widened.

Shit, karking dammit.

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

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

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

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

Kriffing hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So be it.”

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

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

Just final.

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

Your Boba.

Taglist:

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

[ekrochford]

Return of Maul x Femreader (part 1/?)

[More shameless self-insert fanfiction. Enjoy.]

Red skin. The hard bone of cranial horns. The flash of his eyes, flame-yellow and spitting with heat. The snarling strength of his hands on your body, and the scrape of his claws over the thinnest, most sensitive patches of your skin.

Lying on your back, you open your eyes and sigh. There’s nothing but the dingy canvas underside of the solar-flect tent you’re sleeping in, alone. The suns can’t be up yet; it’s not hot enough, not even close. But the light pressing through the solar-flect—framing the outlines of the puzzle-piece solar array sewn into the tent canvas—tells you that there isn’t much time left to enjoy a cool breath.

You kick the disheveled bedroll away from your legs and just lie there, enjoying the temporary chill in the bone-dry air. You could do with some cooling off. In the absence of a cold shower, a girl had to take what she could get.

And the man on your mind was not high on the list of available goods. You’re exasperated with yourself. Three weeks past, you thought you finally did something smart and put some distance between you and tangible danger to your life. But even good-sense fear hadn’t been enough to black out the memory of everything you experienced in the rooms upstairs of that cantina.

And downstairs… you groan at your own treacherous memory.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bedroll. They strike the thick mat that floors your tent; underneath, you feel your heels thump a dent in the endless Tatooine sand.

---

“That’s part of the structure, I’m telling you.”

“It’s fossilized organic material. Look, it’s obviously a different texture from the wall.”

“No—look—it’s part of the wall.”

“It is not!”

“It is!”

You listen to the bickering but don’t take your eyes off the chunk of white stone. A long time ago, you would have found it nearly indistinguishable from the ruins of the wall it’s tacked onto. Everything out here in the Dune Sea is blasted of moisture and color, desiccated and bleached. Even stone.

A long time ago, you were fresh and unlearned in the ways of the archeologist. But even with the intervening years of hands-on work, even though you see the minute differences in the materials, you really can’t tell whether the chunk of stone you’re looking at is architecture or unrelated calcification. The site has only been up and running for three weeks, and very little structure has been exposed yet—most of what you can see is the same circle of small dwellings that were already exposed when the transports pulled up on the scene.

The three of you scanned the stone, but were only able to confirm some remnant organic compounds. Possibly a dead life form that had burrowed against the wall, died, and been fossilized. Or, possibly an adhesive compound used by the builders of these ruins. You peer over the wall again, view the tiny mortar lines, the faded striations in the stone.

You hold out a hand. “Give me the pick.”

A gasp. It’s Nelon, the Chiss male arguing to preserve the rock chip. His light-sensitive eyes are tucked behind blackened UV goggles, but you can see the horror on his expression.

“It’s—”

“Give me the pick.”

Ralla, the Mirialan female with whom he was arguing, passes over the pick. The point of it was about as big as a curved metal toothpick. You lean in, aware of the others hovering over your shoulders. In your other hand you have a run-of-the-mill toothbrush. You scrape carefully at the rock in question with the bristles; their scratch is the only sound on the oven-dry air. You feel the two, practically in each of your ears, holding their breath.

You place the pick carefully against the side of the suspicious fragment and hold yours, too.

You pry at it, and the fragment instantly pops clean off.

Nelon makes a choked sound, but you and Ralla sigh in relief. Under the pale rock, it’s clear that the wall is uninterrupted by tell-tale scoring that may suggest it was a decorative piece, adhered intentionally by the original inhabitants.

Ralla takes a deep breath and covers the pale green skin of her face with her hands. “That was so stressful.”

You turn to look at her, completely lost for words. The three of you are under an insufficient canopy cover in the scorching, sand-grain wind of Tatooine’s most barren region. You’re sweaty and dusty, wearing the same clothes for days on end, mouths parched dry. There are roving Tuskan raiders—maybe far, maybe near—and a pretentious Hutt representative sitting ten meters away with his personal guard, observing you toil.

You smile, and a single chuckle spirals up and out. “Isn’t it great?”

---

A buzz of activity interrupts the dig. You look at your dirt-crusted chrono. It’s only a little past local noon. As a member of the team, you’re eager to drop what you’re doing and run to hear the news. As senior assistant, you opt to set a better example—instead of dropping everything, you instruct Nelon and Ralla to pack it up carefully and set the tools aside.

“It’s here! They had it!”

Your heart skips at the shout from across camp, but you resist the urge to run and see. If Professor found the part, he’ll be coming right here with it.

Sure enough, in a matter of minutes, Professor Taq Norr and a small crowd of the field team are headed your way. In his taloned hands, you see it: the new power coupler for the ground penetrating radar.

“Lucky they had one,” you comment as Professor draws near, ruffling his feathers against the relentless sand. His prominent beak doesn’t lend itself to expressions quite like a humanoid face, but you’ve spent enough time with him to recognize that he’s beaming with excitement.

“I knew they’d hike the price up if they realized how much we needed one.” Professor and the crowd gravitate to the GPR, draw back the heavy canvas cover. He gives you a sheepish look. “It’s not very honest, but I circled their entire crawler twice pretending not to see anything of interest.”

You laugh, delighted. “Professor! You can be sneaky!”

“Only because I couldn’t afford to pay two hundred credits for a five-credit part,” he admonishes. But his eyes are still crinkled in a smile. “Well, let’s see if this thing even works.”

“If you paid anything for it and didn’t plug it in to check beforehand, I’ll be much less impressed.”

Professor laughs as he and another student pull the panel of the GPR aside. You rethink the word ‘new’ when you get a good look at the coupler he’s found. Nothing from the Jawas is necessarily new, per se, and much of it has been battered around. But when the coupler is linked into its slot by the power cell, lights glow and an affirming ping earns a cheer from the crowd of dirty and exhausted archeology students.

It’s practically a sporting event, moving the GPR into place. The weary tedium of a stalled dig site is gone, replaced by chatter and energy that nearly has you jumping. The coupler was discovered to be damaged in transit when it was unpacked, so not even a single radar image has been taken. Three trips back to the Mos Eisley tech market turned up nothing. You’ve all been digging blind, carefully scraping the top layer away from the above-ground ruins.

You and Professor arrange the GPR antenna unit in the center of the ring of rock-dwelling structures.

“Start on the widest range with the lowest power, I think,” Professor says as the two of you secure the radar apparatus in the sand.

“Will do.”

The receiver console is set out under the shade of an open-sided canopy. When the area is clear and the GPR is activated, the familiar hum and rhythmic thump of the radar begins, and shortly after, images start scrawling across the holo-display.

At first, there’s another cheer. Success!

But then, as the details of the GPR become clearer, the entire group trails into a silence both awed and unsettled.

“It’s…” You trace the subterranean structure down the display with your eyes. “It’s partially underground. Mostly underground.” The GPR’s range is set wide, not deep, but it’s clear that the underground structure continues beyond the limits of the radar, down some five meters.

None of you had theorized this sort of underground infrastructure. There are confused looks exchanged, some muttering. Tuskans don’t dig, not this deep. Of course, they haven’t built with stone in centuries, either—when Professor’s chief theory was that these ruins were pre-nomadic Tuskan dwellings, possibly part of a large settlement, spirits had been high to uncover previously-unheard-of anthropological data.

But something feels off about the depth of those huts. You trace them with your eyes again. Cellars and basements follow a predictable stair/open space pattern. Sleeping nooks, storage areas, fire pits. In the limited power of the lowest radar setting, it’s still obvious that these structures go straight in an uninterrupted line down and down and down.

---

Professor sighs. “We have to inform the University.”

You sigh right back and rest your elbows on your knees. The two of you are in the tent that serves as the operations office; it’s the most secure with double the support beams and double the foundation pegs. All the precious data-disks are stored here in neat filing cabinets. There’s a portable holo-table in the center of the room, and the junior assistants are studying it now, comparing what the GPR revealed with other established dig sites throughout the Republic.

You look up at Professor, pained. “They might yank funding on the whole site.”

“No, no, I don’t think it’s that bad,” Professor replies too quickly. He clears his throat and absently preens his talons through his wing feathers. Every one of the crew has sand in every single nook and cranny; it’s become a fact of life. “Tatooine wasn’t high on the priority list, but even a major change in projected labor isn’t necessarily enough to cut us off altogether.”

You cross your arms, frowning. “Normally, no. But you know Illiana was pulling all her contacts on the committee trying to get our funding diverted to her Mon Cala temple. We’ll need to start campaigning for renewal right now if we want another season paid for.”

Professor tilted his head, great crest feathers bobbing as he thought. He was still preening his talons absently through his feathers; he caught himself and coughed awkwardly. You shrugged, unoffended. Preening himself in public, for feathered folk, seemed to be equivalent to unfeathered or unfurred species scratching in crude places, but you simply aren’t socialized to be bothered by it.

“She’s going to try and steal our allotment,” you insist. “Mota Jor is happy to do whatever Illiana wants, just because he’s her uncle.”

Professor winces. “Family ties are hard to beat.”

You exhale, thinking. This could be a spectacular opportunity. It could turn out to be the size of the Mon Cala complex, reveal a trove of data. Centuries of history, maybe. But if it is the size of the Mon Cala complex, that means not only will you have to petition for a renewal at the end of the approved season… you’ll have to convince the committee to increase your funding.

The Mon Cala site, being at the bottom of the ocean, is an extravagantly expensive project that the Galactic Histories department loves to put at the forefront. It’s great press on a friendly world, with the pro-Republic Mon Calamari in enthusiastic support.

At least when you ask for an increase, you don’t have to include scuba gear for digging in the Dune Sea.

“We may need someone to go there and make our case.” Professor points out.

Your frown deepens. “Not me.”

He shrugs his avian shoulders. “All right, but I’m surprised you would trust someone else to do it.”

“Not just someone else. I’d trust you to do it.”

“Me? I can’t leave. I’m head of the site—I have to stay here.”

You shake your head. “That’s months away, anyway. Half a standard year.”

“Correct, you are. It will suffice to submit an update to our progress to Belmona, and she can make sure the records are all in order back on Coruscant. I need to make sure she doesn’t send a new GPR unit, also… she’s been waiting for word about the coupler…”

You sit there, thinking. He’s right that the Lina Soh University must be updated to this change of events. No question about that. But you think you’re right, too. Competing sites want your funding, and no one wanted a dig site under the Hutts supervision; a Hutt representative in a University field operation is nearly beyond the pale for the council members sitting in a clean office on the Core world of Coruscant. They just don’t get how things work out here in the Outer Rim, and the idea of having to devote even more resources and labor to a compromised site will be easy for certain parties to use in their own schemes.

“I’ll send them a message immediately,” Professor announces, slapping his hands on his knees and leveraging himself to his feet. Rishii are rather tall, and usually their winged arms seem to take up an impossible amount of space. Accustomed to the interior of classrooms, delicate artifacts, and small office tents, Professor has gotten very good at keeping each and every feather out of the way.

You stand up, too. It’s dark outside and you’re running on fumes. You start to excuse yourself, but Professor stops you.

“Say… have you thought more about your dissertation?”

You feel like the sand beneath the tent has begun to crumble. “Uh…”

Professor takes a breath, and gestures with his wing for you to do so, too. “Just a question. Have you thought about it?”

As little as you could manage. “Some.” At least if this site gets scrapped by the University, you won’t have the supervising hours to complete your requisite experience. It’ll probably be another couple years, minimum, until another opportunity comes knocking.

Professor backs off; he knows that this black spot looming on the horizon is a sensitive topic. “Go get some sleep. But seriously, give it some thought. It’s time you decided how the rest of your career is going to proceed once there’s a ‘Doctor’ at the front of your name.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

You back out of the tent, into the dark desert night, and stand there like a dimwit under the billion Outer Rim stars. Doctor. Uneasily, you head for your tent.

On the way, you steal a glance at the fancy brand-new solar-flect tent erected for the Hutt rep. Jabba doesn’t hire many humans in administrative positions, but this lackey is. He’s middle-aged and watchful, tall but weasely, too sharp of eye. It was a condition of the cartel allowing this dig site in what is—galactically speaking—their turf. The representative is here to observe that no items ‘of significant cultural significance’ are removed from the planet.

That’s a thin lie. Everyone here knows that he’s keeping an eye out for treasure, not that anyone’s expecting to find what the Hutts would consider valuable. The babysitter’s presence here grates all the same.

Anxious on one hand and aggravated on the other, you arrive at your tent to find that the night still isn’t over.

“Zhalar?” The Zyggerian is easy to spot, even in the starlight. His huge vulpine ears make his tall silhouette one-of-a-kind. You halt a few steps back. You don’t like finding men waiting at your bed unexpectedly—at least, not co-workers. And maybe just not Zhalar; you know he’s condemned his people’s ways, become an outcast among them. But Zyggerians are notorious as vicious slavers and worse… and in the wild places of the galaxy, there aren’t many things lower than slavers. You certainly never turn your back on one when you’re exploring alone.

Zhalar’s ears twitch; he’s noticed. He rolls his eyes. “I need to speak with you.”

You nod. “Ok.”

He exhales. “From all the way over there? I doubt you want Ralla hearing this.”

You approach, stuffing your doubts out of sight. Ralla is certainly more of a pain in the ass than Zhalar has ever been. “What’s up?”

Zhalar looks at the tents pitched next to yours. He drops his voice to a slip of a whisper. “Look, I don’t get in people’s business.”

You nod. “Ok.” He really doesn’t. Zhalar barely even talks to anyone.

“When we met up with you in Mos Eisley, I smelled a male on you.”

Heat sears up your cheeks in a second. Zhalar waves a hand. “Like I said, I don’t care. Not my business. My nose and ears are dozens of times sharper than yours. If I got involved in everything I heard or smelled, I’d never see the end of it.”

Shocked, you just nod. “Um… ok.”

“The only reason I’m bringing this up is because I went with Professor to the Jawa crawler today, and while we were driving back, I caught his scent near the camp. Whoever he is, he’s nearby.”

Out of nowhere, the memory of clawed hands digging into your hips seizes you. A rush of terror and a fierce craving zip through your nerves. Zhalar sees the surprise on your face and reads your alarm. “So… Is he going to be a problem? Should we tell Professor?”

“No.” The word flits out long, long before you’ve decided to say it, and now you’re asking yourself what you think you’re doing. “No, net yet. I don’t think he’ll be a problem.”

Zhalar watches your face, then shrugs. You see him relax, obviously unwilling to make a scene about your personal life. You can only imagine what he thinks of some man following you out into the desert. “Well… we might not have to worry about it much longer one way or another.”

You wince; everyone already knows Professor’s dilemma with the bureaucrats back on Coruscant. Zhalar turns to go, and you catch his arm. He looks back, wary.

“Thank you. For telling me.”

He gives you a small, sharp-toothed smile. “No problem. Just don’t be stupid; he smells like trouble.”

You don’t know the half of it, you think as you watch Zhalar stride through the half-dark, out of sight.

The first of Tatooine’s moons is ballooning up from the horizon, and the world turns silver. You stand there outside your tent, thinking about the GPR, thinking about the Hutt interloper across camp, thinking about the dissertation you have to write and present—and on what? But most of all, you’re thinking about a red nova of energy on the other side of a door, much too close, much too strong.

Hesitant, you look out over the sand. You summon up that little spark of Force you carry, and you throw it out like a line into the ocean.

From out in the desert, a crimson heartbeat drums back. An answering call. 

---

Like what you read?

[toomanyteefs]

Final product!

Surprisingly the buildings on Concord Dawn appear to be a combo of Tatooine domed sandstone, concrete sci-fi brutalism, and Greco-Roman architecture from what I can tell. On a side note I hate drawing buildings and I think that's pretty obvious.

[toshithemochi]

[STAR WARS OC INTRODUCTION!!]

Tatooine, a sandy planet, home of Jabba Hut and many thieves. Somewhere on this distant planet lies a big village, filled with people and many different types of aliens..

In this village lies a child whom the townsfolk only refer to as their handyman, know for her unique fascination for droids and all kinds of mechanic structures. However none of them know that this child's life is about to change..

Today is a calm yet busy day, like any other. Our dear mechanicaly inclined child sits in her home with her mother, fixing the droid of their neighbour while her own droid(similar to BB8) is rolling around, bringing her the equipment she needs when suddenly, she hears someone calling her name from afar.

Distant sound of running and yelling

???: LILY!! LILYY!!! LEE!!! LEE!!

Footsteps getting louder when suddenly a young Twi'lek boy bursts through the front door, jolting Lily out of her focus and making the droid short-circuit.

Tanal(Lily's mother, a togrutan): Zo'rath!! What have I told you about bursting through the door!!

Lily: damn you Zo'rath!! This is the 3rd droid you made me short-circuit!! Speak what you want before I'll throw something at you! glaring at Zo'rath while speaking, Chowder, her droid is read to shock Zo'rath.

Zo'rath: Woah woah woah!! He chuckles while swallowing a bit too loud. Before you decide to end me, you need to hear this!! Republican ships just landed near out village!! And there are three jedi!

Lily: Jedi? Is my sister with them? Eyes sparkle and grins with excitement but her mother's reaction catches her eye.

Tanal: tenses up but only for a few seconds. What is the Republic doing here? We haven't seen any Imperial's around for months now

Zo'rath: Dunno, me and Numa saw them land and no, sadly your sis ain't with them he shrugs before turning to Lily with excitement. Wanna go check them out?

Lily: Sure, let's go! stands up and rushes after Zo'rath.

Tanal: Stay safe!! sighs kids these days..

And so our dear half-togrutan and twi'lek rush through the bustling streets of their village, hearing whispers and murmurs of excitement yet curiousity about the Republican ships.

Numa: Oiii!! Over here!! waving with her hand from a rooftop

Zo'rath and Lily: Numa!! both kids grin as they climb up and sit beside Numa.

Lily: What have you seen so far? Sitting with legs crossed while scanning the surroundings.

Numa: I saw the three Jedi! One of them is a young Togrutan! I believe her name is Ahsoka Tano! eating some mantel mix The other two were human like you! One of them a younger, handsome man with dark brown hair! The clones referred to him as General Skywalker!

Zo'rath: I heard of him!! He is so badass! His master is none other than Obi-wan Kenobi!- there they are!! pointing eagerly at two men

As Lily looks over she cannot help but feel and odd pull towards one of those men, as if some hidden energy connected them, then suddenly both men stop and turn their gaze to the rooftop on which our three troublemakers are.

Lily: Kriff! Duck! hides behind the roof of the building and her two twi'lek friends do the same.

Numa: Do you think they saw us? whispering.

Zo'rath: I hope not..I'm more concerned yet intrigued about why Lily looks a bit alike with General Kenobi! whispering.

Lily: what!? I do not look like that jedi at all! whispering, slightly offended.

Obi-Wan: I'm not exactly a professional architecture but I don't think that that is a safe place for you children. standing behind them on the ground, his gaze is looking up at them from down bellow.

Anakin: smirks and chuckles a bit. How did you three even get up there?

Ahsoka: They probably have ways to do so, creative but dangerous.

The three kids look at eachother nervously do to their hiding spot being found, one by one they climb down and stand infront of the three jedis with their heads hanging low.

Obi-Wan: Do your parents know about your whereabouts?

The three kids nod while still keeping their head low.

Ahsoka: examines them more precisely and smiles when she sees Lily's work gloves. You seem to be a mechanic, is that true?

Lily: y-Yes ma'am nods and looks up a bit. I-I make droids and fix them for others..

Anakin: At such a young age? Impressive smiles and nods approvingly

However after a while Lily notices how Obi-Wan has been mostly quiet during the questioning which slowly turned into more of a conversation between your friends and the 2 other Jedi. You glance at him only to see him observing you, his eyes seem focused on your features while in a way you can feel his mind racing with thoughts, that same energy you felt before returns and you know he feels it too by the slight raise of his brows.

Obi-Wan: you are force-sensitive?

Lily: Well..y-yes..my sister is a Jedi too and she usually mentors me about..the Force.

This newfound information silences the 3 Jedi, especially Obi-Wan who slowly starts to realize..that a hook-up he secretively shared years back..might've given him something he wasn't aware of all these years ago..a child.

[Part 1 out of ???]

[And yes, I might've used the Obi-Wan fanfic as a way to test the waters about this one. I'm an Obi-Wan stan! Shush!]

[the-starry-seas]

decided to do a post rounding up my SWTOR characters with Lore™

Angharad: She and her twin brother were raised by Mandalorians who settled in Republic space to raise their children. The kids' dream was to become part of Havoc Squad, something her brother achieved a year earlier than her, due to her taking a year for specialist training. He was killed in action a month before she was due to transfer. The following defection hit her hard, as she knew her brother never would have gone along with it, and because it felt like losing her dream. She repainted her armour gold and grey, which in the Mandalorian code, means a search for vengeance and mourning a lost love. Jorgan painted his to match, and in the course of completing their mission, converted to being Mandalorian himself.

I'Nurhraza: One of the first known Tusken Jedi, she was discovered shortly before her first birthday. Her parents refused to let her go without examining the Jedi life for themselves, which was allowed once the Jedi learned the extensive history of settlers' trickery and violence on Tatooine. Her parents were satisfied that the Jedi Order was a safe place for their child, and left her in their care, along with a set of decorated robes and instructions on how to find them again, if she ever wished to leave the Order. She grew up without the cultural custom of hiding her face, and thus walks around without Tusken wrappings, though she does wear the skirt and bracers her parents gifted her. She revisited Tatooine before committing to becoming a Knight, to ensure her choice of the Order was an informed one. Her saber hilt is decorated with patterns inspired by those she saw in the architecture of her family's home, and as of recent promotion, she wears a Master's robe over her outfit.

Jayd Voresh: Her mother was a dancing slave for an Alderaanian lord, who impregnated her and then sold her to prevent his bastard from being discovered. Jayd was born with her mother's anger, and when she showed signs of the Force, her mother saw a chance for revenge. She sent her daughter to the Sith and disappeared so as not to distract her from her training. Jayd proved to have immense raw power. Despite the opinions of those who knew her background, she quickly rose through the ranks. Upon graduating her training, and as a jab at her in her opinion, she was gifted a slave of her own. Vette was nothing more than an amusing pastime at first, but Jayd came to care for her and eventually consider her an equal.

R'Esahmab: When he was ten years old, his father was kidnapped by offworld slavers. R'Esahmab spent the next decade of his life training to be as lethal as possible. He then took to the stars, searching for his father and the deaths of those who took him. It took years, but he finally accomplished it with the help of Republic allies he met in the course of his adventures. He and his father returned to Tatooine, where they reunited with their clan, but R'Esahmab was no longer content to stay in one place. The siren call of space travel remained in his heart, and his father continued to often join him in his travels.

Vinir: A lifelong mercenary, he didn't expect any real fight from a contract to assassinate a Mandalorian warlord. Turned out that Mandos don't go down that easy - and that they have a deep instinct to adopt people who are good in a fight. His former target saved his life after an ambush, then offered him a home. At first Vinir only said yes to bide his time until he could escape offworld. Once he realised how genuine the offer was, he decided that he was okay with having somewhere to belong to. He painted his armour and took off to enter the Great Hunt, to prove his worth to his new family. They always did know how to pick overachievers. He still prefers droids to humans, and has half a dozen little ones scurrying around his ship, but he'll accept one (1) clan of Mandos in his personal space, when he's home.

Zytho'nor'eneti: In a time before he remembers, Onore ended up in the hands of a slave trader. He always had a talent for sneaking, and was constantly earning the ire of his master for getting into places he wasn't supposed to be and hearing things he wasn't supposed to know. While his master was scolding him for his latest misdeed, he was overheard by a human male, who decided to train Onore to be a proper spy. The Keeper saw plenty of skill in the young Chiss, and fought against Imperial anti-alien sentiment in order to get Onore every opportunity he needed. Onore repaid him well, with a flawless service record and ruthless dedication - which was often questioned as belonging to one man, rather than the Empire as a whole. It was no surprise to anyone when the pair of them disappeared one day to continue their work on their own terms.

[aesthetics-workshop]

AVALON - "Hermes Station" Trading Outpost

"Welcome to Avalon, the new frontier!

Hermes Station is a trading outpost set up by the Interplanetary Trading Conglomerate and the last stop before the vast dune valleys of the Pluton Desert. It's teeming with exhausted spaceship pilots, local settlers and wandering traders, each looking for their next bargain."

This is my second larger structure-based model I‘ve completed in 2023. From the ideas' inception to completed photography, I worked for about four weeks on it.

It’s set in the fictional world of "Avalon", more of a loose background created by me for this and any future builds rather than a fully planned out universe. My main inspiration was the "Edena" cycle by Jean Giraud "Moebius", other inspirations include: Real world oriental architecture, Star Wars' Tatooine, classic Lego Town, and other bits and pieces that I enjoy.

Play features include: Removable domes on both towers, removable second story on the tall tower, a back wall that can swing open, and a full interior.

[alln64games]

Star Wars Episode 1: Racer

NA release: 18th May 1999

EU release: 4th June 1999

JP release: 21st July 1999

Developer: LucasArts

Publisher: LucasArts

N64 Magazine Score: 88%

Star Wars: Episode 1 was a massive success, despite being viewed as a poor film. The podracing scene was well liked, with some great designs and amazing sounds. Really, LucasArts could have just rushed something cheap and easy – just copy another future racer, use various Star Wars locations we’ve already seen – and made a ton of money with a podracing video game, but they actually went to a ton of effort with it, and it shows in the final product.

For this playthrough, I played the remastered version for modern consoles. It’s the same game, it just runs smoother.

The developers of Episode 1: Racer clearly analysed every aspect of the film sequence to work out some mechanics that would suit the game, which also has the bonus effect of helping the game feel unique. You need to charge up your boost by holding forward, then press the boost button, which lasts until you let go of the accelerator, hit something or your engine overheats and bursts into flames. As you take damage, your steering will be affected (due to one engine going slower), so you’ll need to repair, which slows down your podracer, although you can time this just after a boost or during a jump, so planning when to repair is important. I do think it might be faster in some instances to crash and respawn than to repair severely damaged engines, though.

The handling is incredibly smooth in the game, navigating small sections feels amazing, especially with the sense of speed the game provides. Crashes felt like my own mistakes and every slight tilt of the analogue stick is important. With the exception of Tatooine, each planet in the game is brand new, but each one captures the feel of the Star Wars universe extremely well. Each planet has multiple tracks that share portions, but the unique sections feel distinct enough that it works really well.

There is one track in particular that is extremely difficult – Abyss. This features a long, narrow section with turns and if you miss, you end up on a lower part of the track. If this happens, you’ve lost as that route is so much slower. I never managed it as Anakin, but choosing another racer (there’s a lot in the game) and slowing down a bit and I was able to sort it. The game is also nice an friendly in that you pick individual races to do, rather than having to do a tournament in one go.

My biggest issue with Episode 1: Racer are the vehicle upgrades, as the system doesn’t feel fully complete. You can but new parts from Watto or damaged parts from the junkyard. As you race, these get more damaged, but a pit droid will fix one part. You can have a total of four pit droids, so if you buy more than four types of parts, they’ll get damaged and your stats will decrease. Which means you can’t really improve in more than four categories.

Repairs (and damage) also only happen in races you haven’t come first in. On top of that, you can only earn money once per race, so if you want to buy the best parts once you’ve finished the game, you need to plan ahead by buying junk parts, racing to fix them and selling them as you go through the game – it’s a strange system.

But it’s only a minor issue, and upgrading in four areas (I did turning, acceleration, speed and cooling) is more than enough, so once you realise that, it doesn’t hamper the experience. Episode 1: Racer is an immense amount of fun and it’s a shame that Star Wars games have never been able to capture the feel of this in future podracing games (Racer Revenge) and minigames (Star Wars Kinect).

Fave

The rounded architecture in the cities, the dusty colours, the seedy bars and alien wide boys in the cut scenes put all similar games to shame in terms of creating a spine-tingling atmosphere, and the pod craft really do look the business – although you probably wouldn’t want to strap yourself into one.

- Martin Kitts, N64 Magazine #30

Remake or remaster?

The remaster makes the game run a lot nicer and in higher resolution, but it would be nice to have options to resolve the issues with parts. Still, this game deserved a proper sequel – take the same gameplay, add some new nicely designed tracks and don’t try to mess it up too much.

Official ways to get the game.

The remaster is available on Switch, PS4/5 and Xbox One/Series. The original PC version is available on GoG and Steam, however this can crash a lot on modern operating systems and does not support widescreen, higher resolutions or modern controllers.

[sw5w]

Back Alleys of Mos Espa

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:55:02

[s10127470]

The Realms of the Magic Kingdom!

As many of you know, next year will mark the 70th anniversary of The Disney Parks.

And so in honor of that, I've decided that for one of my upcoming fanfics, I would receive a concept that's been about five years in the works!

Ever since 2019, I've always had the idea of a fanfic series with the premise of adventures taking place in the worlds within The Disney Parks.

But unfortunately, I didn't really have the skill to pull off something this ambitious.

But now, five years later, I think I'm ready.

So today, I wanted introduce you all to the world of my upcoming series.....

Adventures of the Magic Kingdom!

If the named hadn't clued you in already, this series takes place in The Magic Kingdom.

Well, a fictionalized version of it.

The park consists of eight uniquely-themed lands.

And within those lands, exists worlds known as realms.

And these realms can only be accessed by those with magical means.

Main Street:

Set in a fictional small American town in the Midwestern United States during the turn-of-the-century, Main Street U.S.A. gives us a glimpse at a somewhat romanticized version of the childhood of Walt Disney himself, and what life during the late 19th and early 20th century was like.

-Main Street U.S.A.: A small Midwestern town set during the mid-1910s. The streets accompanied by buildings and architecture of the Victorian style and filled automobiles of all kinds. There's tons of shops and restaurants to visit here. Along with some entertainment like a movie theater and a basement stadium. This realm is home to the characters from Lady and the Tramp and the Casey duology.

-London Town: London, England during the early 1960s. Home to the characters of 101 Dalmatians.

Fantasyland:

The heart of The Magic Kingdom. Home to the fantastical realms of various fairy tales, folk stories, classic literature and European legends. Here you can meet famous fantastical characters like Snow White, Cinderella, Alice, Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, Ariel, Pinocchio, Rapunzel, Aurora, Merlin, Arthur, and many more!

-Perceforest: The kingdom of Sleeping Beauty.

-Wonderland: The topsy-turvy world where all logic is defied. Home to the characters from Alice in Wonderland.

-The Aberson and Pearl Circus Grounds: The always traveling grounds of The Aberson and Pearl Circus. Home to the characters from Dumbo.

-Camelot: The legendary English kingdom. Home to the characters from The Sword in the Stone.

-Matterhorn Mountain: A massive mountain in The Swiss Alps, accompanied by a quaint Bavarian village, lush mountain forests, snowy slopes, and icy caverns. Oh yeah, and The Abominable Snowman.

-Toad Country: A town on the English countryside, inhabited by anthropomorphic animals. Home to the characters from The Wind in the Willows.

-Neverland: The magical island, right within the second star to the right. Home to the characters from Peter Pan.

-Collodi: An Italian village. Home to the characters from Pinocchio.

-Sneewittchen: The kingdom of Snow White.

-Atlantica: The kingdom from The Little Mermaid.

-Villeneuve: The kingdom of Beauty and the Beast.

-Perrault: The kingdom of Cinderella.

-Corona: The kingdom from Tangled.

-The Hundred Acre Wood: The woodlands that's home to Winnie the Pooh and his friend.

-Arendelle: The kingdom from Frozen.

-DunBroch: The kingdom from Brave.

-Olympus: The realm of Greek myths. Home to the characters from Hercules.

-La Cité des Cloches: 15th century Paris. Home to the characters from The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

-Nottingham: The kingdom from Robin Hood.

-Mousedom: 1880s London. Home to the characters from The Great Mouse Detective.

-The Boiling Isles: The series of mystical islands from The Owl House.

-Udrogoth: The kingdom from Dave the Barbarian.

-Jollywood: The kingdom from The 7D.

Star Wars: Galaxy's Edge:

Enter into a galaxy far, far away. Explore the various locations from Star Wars, from Tatooine to The Death Star! Join the ranks of The Rebels and The Jedi and fight against the forces of The Dark Side! And become one with The Force!

The Galaxy Far, Far Away: The Star Wars universe.

Marvel's Super Hero City:

Enter into the massive Marvel Universe! Join forces with mighty heroes like Spider-Man, The Fantastic Four, The Incredible Hulk, Captain America, The X-Men, Iron Man, and many more! And face off against even mightier villains like Doctor Doom, The Green Goblin, The Red Skull, The Mandarin, Magneto, The Abomination, and more!

The World of Marvels: The Marvel universe.

ToonTown:

The homeland of Mickey Mouse himself! Along with the rest of his famous pals: Donald, Minnie, Goofy, Daisy and Pluto. But they’re not the only ones. You’ll also find the stars of Disney’s animated television shows here as well!

-ToonTown: The home realm of the Mickey Mouse and Roger Rabbit cast.

-Cape Suzette: The home realm of the characters of TaleSpin.

-St. Canard: The home realm of the Darkwing Duck characters.

-New York City: The home realm of the characters of Gargoyles and American Dragon: Jake Long.

-Germainville: The home realm of the Recess characters.

-Hazelnut: The home realm of the Pepper Ann characters.

-Greendale: The home realm of the characters of Sabrina: The Animated Series.

-Metro City: The home realm of the Inspector Gadget characters.

-Springfield: The home realm of the characters of The Simpsons.

-East-Westland: The home realm of the characters of Teacher's Pet.

-Bahia Bay: The home realm of the characters from The Weekenders.

-Wizville: The home realm of the characters from The Proud Family.

-Middleton: The home realm of the characters from Kim Possible.

-Minneapolis: The home realm of the characters from Fillmore!

-Pleasant Hills: The home realm of the characters from The Replacements.

-Danville: The home realm of the characters from Phineas and Ferb and Milo's Murphy Law.

-Plainview: The home realm of the characters from Diary of a Wimpy Kid.

-Norrisville: The home realm of the characters from Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja.

-Big City: The home realm of the characters from Big City Greens.

-Brighton: The home realm of the characters from The Ghost and Molly McGee.

Westernland:

A step back into the yesteryears of America. From the colonial days in the Northeast, to the ever-growing expansion into the Western frontier. This land covers a ton of ground about America's past. Its presidential history, its folk heroes, its wildlife, and its indigenous culture.

-The Land of Legends: A paradoxically timeless version of the United States and northern Mexico, with different parts of it being set during different time periods of sorts. Home to various figures of American folklore and history. This includes the likes of the American presidents like George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, Sitting Bull, Pocahontas, Crazy Horse, Patrick Henry, Betsy Ross, Geronimo, Red Cloud, John Chapman, Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, Mike Fink, Calamity Jane, Jigger Johnson, John Henry, Molly Pitcher, Billy the Kid, Buffalo Bill, Anne Oakley, Paul Bunyan and Babe, Johnny Kaw, John the Conquerer, Pecos Bill, Captain Stormalong, Johnny Appleseed, Br'er Rabbit, Lewis and Clark, Sacagawea, Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, John Magarac, Pancho Villa, Augustine Chacon, Juan Cortina, and Joaquin Murrieta. Also home to tons of fictional towns like Thunder Mesa and Liberty Square.

-New Orleans: The iconic Louisiana city set during the 1920s. Home to the characters from The Princess and the Frog. Also home to a particular abandoned mansion, which is rumored to be haunted.

-Critter Country: A land of lush forests and swamps, home to a society of anthropomorphic American animals, including The Country Bears.

-Amphibia: The realm of......well, Amphibia.

-The Land of Great Spirits: Alaska during the last Ice Age. Home to the characters from Brother Bear.

-San Ángel/The Land of the Remembered: The realms from The Book of Life.

-Gravity Falls: Need I say more....?

Tomorrowland:

A glimpse into the possible world of tomorrow. Showcasing all kinds of potential achievements in just about every field of science and technology. This land will take you to the farthest reaches of both outer space and liquid space.

-Cosmopolis: A futuristic metropolis up in space.

-Toy Box: The home realm of the characters from Toy Story.

-The Great Barrier Reef: The home realm of the characters from Finding Nemo.

-Monstropolis: The home realm of the characters from Monsters, Inc.

-The Grid: The home realm of the characters from TRON.

-Kokaua Town: The home realm of the characters from Lilo & Stitch.

-Game Central Station: The home realm of the characters from Wreck-It Ralph.

-Todayland: The home realm of the characters from Meet the Robinsons.

-Treasure Galaxy: The home realm of the characters from Treasure Planet.

-Metroville: The home realm of the characters from The Incredibles.

-San Fransokyo: The home realm of the characters from Big Hero 6.

-Metropolis: The home realm of Metropolis Institute of Time Travel, where The Timekeeper lives.

-Landmark City: The home realm of the characters of Alpha Teens on Machine.

-Shuggazoom: The home realm of the characters from Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce GO!

-The Yonder Galaxy: The home realm of the characters from Wander Over Yonder.

Adventureland:

A trip into the far-off, exotic regions of the world. From the darkest jungles of Africa, Asia and Latin America, to the hot deserts of the Middle East, to the tropical islands of The Caribbean and South Pacific, to the frigid fields of the North and South Poles.

-Tropical Waterways: A series of tropical rivers during the 1900s that consists of The Mekong, The Irrawaddy, The Ganges, The Nile, The Congo, The Rufiji, and The Amazon. Notable locations include The Lost River Delta, The Temple of the Forbidden Eye, The Seoni Jungle, and The Pride Lands. The home realm to the Jungle Cruise Navigation Company, as well as the characters from The Jungle Book, Tarzan, and The Lion King.

-The Desert of a 1001 Sands: The home realm to the stories of The 1001 Nights. Notable locations include the likes of the kingdom of Agrabah, Baghdad, and The Mystic Seas. Home to the characters from Aladdin, along with other 1001 Nights characters like Scheherazade, Sinbad the Sailor and Ali Baba.

-Ciudad de los Antiguos: The ruins of an ancient Mayan city deep in the jungles of Central America, now being used as an archeological site during the 1920s.

-Oriental Gardens: Ancient China, Japan and Korea. Home realm to the characters from Mulan.

-The Land of the Pharaohs: Egypt during the 1920s.

-The Caribbean: The West Indies during the Golden Age of Piracy. Home to the characters from Pirates of the Caribbean.

-The Pacific: Ancient Polynesia. Home realm to the characters from Moana.

-Atlantis: The fabled lost civilization. Home realm to the characters from Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

-The Kingdom of the Sun: Home realm to the characters from The Emperor’s New Groove.

-The Mysterious Ocean: Home realm to the characters from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

-The Earth’s Core: Home realm to the characters of Journey to the Center of the Earth.

-Astragard: Home realm to the characters of The Island at the Top of the World.

-New Switzerland: The home realm to the characters from The Swiss Family Robinson.

-The Adventure Bazaar: A popular shopping district in San Diego, themed around the exotic regions of the world. Perhaps its most renowned attraction is the nightclub, The Enchanted Tiki Room.

Well that’s all for now!

I had a lot of fun coming up with the various realms of this world.

The series itself will probably be out by either this coming spring or summer.

Let me know what you guys think about this concept of mines and how well I did with translating the Disney attractions into their own worlds.

[starcrashx]

Star Wars The old republic on crack aka what my thoughts were when I was playing the game.

While at Taris:

Hero: Can't we just evacuate and...nuke the place?

T7-01 beeping: I thought you were a pacifist.

Hero: I protect the people not the architecture.

When my character says to the Mountain that he is smaller than she expected to be and also says siths are my speciality while on a com:

Me: She said it!!!! She said the lines!! *Inaudible screaming*

The Tatooine mission:

Lord Praven: If you lose this duel the whole planet will explode.

Hero: Fine by me.

Lord Praven: What?

Hero: It's Tatooine we are talking about I don't even understand why people live here! Just hurry up and blow it to bits, no one will be sad trust me.

Lord Praven: Do you...perhaps have a personal problem with Tatooine?

Hero: Just hurry up and BLOW IT! I'm not going to stop you. We will say I was late.

Lord Praven: What about the Jedi master?

Hero sighs out of hatred for Tatooine: God damn it.

Every sith lord I come across: I will kill you!

Hero a jedi knight who is a one woman army because I did every heroic mission with her for the best gear and always being 10 levels higher than my opponent: Can I interest you in mercy?

Hero killing a bunch of soldiers.

That two other low level idiots that stood too close to the fight: You might have killed our whole army and destroyed every machinery we have, but let me come and try to kill you!

Me getting the achievement of Spider-man of the Jedi order because I literally climb the terrain sometimes just to avoid fights, and then inevitably get stuck between two rocks and a pixel, and I end up fighting anyways.

[courscants]

AFTER THE FALL — Anakin Skywalker

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ CHAPTER I — Landing On Unknown Shores

Follow @courscants on wattpad to get the full story :)

⟡ pairings — Anakin Skywalker x Oc

⟡ timeline — Act 1 is post TPM !

⟡ warnings — None :)

⟡ authors note — Hiii! Welcome to “After The Fall” This is an Anakin fic that I have on my Wattpad (Courscants) So go follow me there! I post primarily on Wattpad, but the chapters will be posted here as well! I hope you guys enjoy Act 1 :)

⟡ summary— When Lillia Dione Val’eaon gets caputured during her coronation, her oldest friends and Jedi, Anakin Skywalker & Obi Wan Kenobi are sent out to find the missing princess.

⟡ tags — @panakinthedisco @heartofmortis

 

Anakin searched for the belt, head turning from left to right as he found it and hatched it into the top part. The ship jolted as they exited hyperspace. The planet that lay before them was extraordinary. The shades of sapphire and emerald lit his face, while the planet illuminated bright whites from its atmosphere. Valérian was beautiful from afar, but Anakin could only imagine how it would look when they landed. When he was on Naboo, it shocked him how much green there was in the world. He had only ever seen the same sand and twin suns every morning, he grew to be tired of it.

The ship entered through the sky, light clouds flooding their way onto the glass in front of them. Anakin sat up to get a better look at the view. They flew directly toward the capitol, Selenta. Anakin had read very few books, but he remembers hearing the name of this one. Selenta was full of soft mountain ranges, mostly covered by the city that was built off of the cliff side. He could see mountains in the back, which casted a light shadow over parts of the city. Golden and white architecture flooded the grounds and walls like heaven painted the skies.

The boy smiled widely as the ship lowered onto the landing platform. He jumped out of his seat, hurriedly walking toward the ramp that was now well set on the floor, but Obi-Wan stopped him. "I ask you to keep your focus, I understand that this is all so exciting, but you must remember why we are here." He looked to the blonde boy that stood in front of him, Obi-Wan did not like tearing the boys smile off his face, but it was for the sake of the Jedi, and Obi-Wan Kenobi had now taken a huge step after his master died.

Anakin nodded. "Yes master." He pulsed his lips together slightly and then began to follow the older man off the ship. The planet was warm -- but welcoming to his tan face with star fallen freckles. The tropic smell of the sand hit this nose, although he grew up on the dunes of Tatooine and did not appreciate them, this was different. It felt more like a home instead of a dungeon. The pair were met with a man and a woman, both dressed neatly. They looked wealthy, while the woman wore a floor length flow white dress, with a gold plate to tighten the waist.

Anakin thought it looked uncomfortable and almost wanted to say something, but he decided not to. "Welcome to Valérian, I do hope it was an easy travel." The woman smiled, her hands clasped together. "Thank you, your highness," Obi-Wan bowed, Anakin followed. "we are truly grateful to be here." He continued. "We have so very few new Jedi show up, but we are happy it is finally put to good use." Kier Val'eaon beamed, his smile pearly white, and his eyes young.

They began to turn around, walking inside the tall white building. The actual space inside was smaller than how it looked on the outside, columns lined up along the border, stopping just a few feet apart for the great stairs that led to the top. As Anakin looked around, he realized that him and Obi-Wan were at the cusp of Valérian, he looked over the sharp buildings, his gaze focused on the distant mountains in the horizon. Obi-Wan nudged his shoulder, signaling him to return to reality. As they walked in, another person waited at the table. She had dark hair, and dressed in similar Jedi robes.

"This is Master Sarratla, she has been here for quite some time." Kier muttered. She stood up, bowing her head at the royals and the Jedi who she greeted.

"It is nice to finally meet you," She began, looking toward Obi-Wan, who nodded his head with a small grin. "I am sure there is much to teach you, young one." The woman looked down to the young boy, Anakin nodded, grinning happily like we was ready to take on the galaxy.

⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　..　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　⋆✴︎　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　 　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

It was now later in the day, the sun was bright and hot, its presence challenging against the dark robes. The temple was smaller than the one Anakin had faced on Courscant, but still, it held a chance for Anakin Skywalker to take. It was white instead of a sandy dim orange, with golden statues of ancient Jedi that lived long before him. Anakin's Palawan braid blew as the old doors swung open into a neat courtyard. Two short flights of stairs led to the bottom of the in-ground training center, with luscious greenery and vibrant flowers decorating the sides.

Anakin took a deep breath, staring up at the sky in admiration. Valérian was beautiful, its moons Haakon and Solae sat brightly above. There was much to learn about this planet, so much knowledge buried in the core that begged to be revealed. The garden stretched out far enough so that it reached the countryside. Anakin was grateful he was able to see it, how the mountains reflected the moons and sun. He could die here. The boy would thank Valérian for letting him be wrapped in its ancient vines and turn to nothing but bones.

Except he couldn't.

He was now a Jedi, and he was expected to be one, not to fool around while day dreaming of places he will go. Anakin was just a boy, but he was ready to be great. The Jedi had told him he'd be great, and he believed them. It was almost dusk, within a few hours, the sun would be submerged beneath the planets surface. Obi-Wan walked down from the stairs, looking at the boy with his hands behind his back and ready to train.

"Master." The boy turned, bowing his head as his padawan braid fluttered in the wind. "This temple is old, but it will do," Obi-Wan started, reaching the end of the steps.

"the Jedi who remain here are welcoming, but our stay will not be so lengthy." The man walked over to the little boy. "Our training starts now, we will begin with meditation." Anakin nodded, sitting down criss crossed on the pavement. "You must remember, Meditation is key to a Jedi's daily life," Obi-Wan copied the padawan's pose on the floor. "it creates balance and clarity." He finished. Anakin took a deep breath, eyes closed as he felt the ground beneath him shrink. There was a silence for a few minutes, Anakin had lost himself to pure solace, and he cherished it. "Beginning training with meditation is important." Obi-Wan got up as Anakin opened his eyes.

"Now, we will do what Master Qui-Gon taught me," He paused, looking at the confused boy. "using the Force to move desired objects." He finished, a small smile on his face. This had been one of Anakin's favourite lessons, he had done it before back on Courscant within the first month of his training. The boy jumped up, grabbing rocks from the nearby ruins of old cobblestone. He set them down and then ran over to stand next to his master. "Force telekinesis is born within the mind." Obi-Wan enlightened the padawan.

"It is an important skill, something I'd be grateful to use in a battle." He continued. Anakin admired his master, he thought he was wise, and he took on a huge responsibility after Qui-Gon passed away. He thought of the times he may use this skill — perhaps in an everlasting fight with the droids he encountered on Naboo, or even a creature he comes across on another planet.

He closed his eyes, envisioning the rocks in front of him levitating with his outstretched hand. He then took a deep breath, feeling the clean and salty air fill his lungs, as opened his eyes, he saw the rocks in a new position — about five feet away from its previous. "Impressive." Obi-Wan looked to the setting sun that was now on the waters of Procidens Stella — otherwise known as The North Sea. "That will be all for today, the celebration must be starting soon," He paused, turning his head back to the boy.

"join us soon." Obi-Wan finished, walking away with a slight nod with his head. Anakin stared off at the waters, something had been bothering him. He felt a pair of eyes watching him from afar, but they did not seem threatening. Anakin did not feel the need to use his new force abilities right then and there. The presence was soothing, soft and kind. He turned, looking toward the conical trees that lined the small training area. Something had scurried behind it, the trees gently  swaying as Anakin walked closer.

"Hello?" His voice rang out, nearing the tile wall that separated the higher land above the sector. "Who's there?" He asked again. A young girl walked out, her gentle footsteps on the soil underneath her, her hair was slightly messy, but still curled and flowing down her shoulders.

She wore a long light blue dress, with golden jewels cascading down the center, similar to the dress he saw on the woman earlier. The young girl had flowers in her hair, which sat nicely upon her head and forehead. She looked as if she was from the stars, twinkling in the setting sun and violet skies."Are you a Jedi?" Her voice was as soft as she looked, and Anakin Skywalker swore he had just met a fallen star. He looked up at her as she stood on the raised land in front of him. "A Jedi Padawan, but i'm sure that's the same." He smiled. The girl giggled slightly, fully coming out behind the long and skinny tree that 'hid' her.

She sat on the tile wall, jumping down next to the boy. "I've always wanted to meet a Jedi, this temple has been here for several years," she paused, looking up toward the sky and her lips silently moving, "four-thousand seven-hundred and twenty eight years in fact!" She beamed. "How do you know that?" Anakin asked her. "I have read the history books several times, i'm training to be the queen of Valérian some day." She twinkled. Anakin's mouth opened slightly. "You're the princess?" He questioned, bowing as he said so. She nodded, smiling as he bowed.

"Lillia Dione Val'eaon, what's your name, Jedi?" She held out her hand, in which he gladly took it. "Anakin Skywalker." He shook it. "Well I suppose I'd have to bring you to the celebration now, my family expects you as much as they expect me." Lillia scrunched her nose and smiled. "If we had more time, I would love to show you around Valérian." They walked up the stairs and toward the city of Selenta, which beamed in lights and fireworks as dusk came upon them.

"I never thought an actual Jedi would be here." Lillia looked toward the sandy haired boy who walked next to her. He looked confused, "don't you already have Jedi?" Anakin questioned. "Well, yes, but they are older, you are new." She shrugged. Anakin laughed as they walked by townspeople with sparklers and colored powders.

The stars above them had finally been able to peak out among the mix of lilac and cerulean. The seas next to them on the platforms glistened. Selenta was built right off a mountain, with staircases that led straight up to the main hall. The main hall was a circular structure, with a dome roof and pillars that surrounded it. Valérian was known for its white and gold architecture, and many had loathed them for it. They had also loathed it for its materials, but Valérian was protected — only a madman would be able to breach its waters.

They walked up the stairs to the building, where the royal family had stood next to Obi-Wan and Master Sarratla. Lillia hurried over to her mother, then nestled lightly into her skirts. Soteria smiled at her daughter, placing her hand on her back and hugging her slightly. "This evening, we welcome our Jedi who have made the long journey to our home." Her father's voice echoed over the town as people gathered in the center before him. Keir Val'eaon placed his hand on the podium in front of him. Lillia looked toward her people, grateful that she could be apart of a dynasty as great as this.

"We are appreciative that we can provide them the temple." He smiled, looking back toward the two Jedi who nodded. "Now we must celebrate!" The King raised his hands as shouts of happiness rang out from beneath them. Lillia was a mere nine stars old — that's what they had called age on Valérian, relating back to its oldest star: Asteria, but still she was a girl full of wonder and a strong future.

Fireworks danced above them as music echoed in the young girls ears, Valérian was truly exactly where Anakin Skywalker wanted to be.

[igot-wood]

Inversion vs Subversion (George Lucas and Rian Johnson)

Attack of the Clones and The Last Jedi both reuse the Battle of Hoth as the template for their big end battle. I want to highlight the approaches Lucas and Johnson took for this idea and show which one I thought was much better and far more interesting.

The Battle of Hoth is a set piece that takes place on a snow covered planet. It depicts an army in walking machines (along with the sith and stormtroopers) advancing from right to left on rebels trying to flee to space. The rebels are our main characters, including a Jedi. A general rule of screen direction is characters moving from left to right is typically positive and characters moving from right to left is typically negative. In the Battle of Hoth, the empire and the rebels are framed using this rule. The set piece is at the beginning of the movie as Lucas wanted to maintain the feeling of Star Wars as A New Hope ends with a giant set piece.

22 years later, Lucas is making the second film in his prequel trilogy. Lucas employs a technique of inversion. Inverting things from the original trilogy in the prequel trilogy. This creates a visual language of references which can bring new insights into the story and characters. For the ending of Attack of the Clones, Lucas has a battle sequence on Geonosis that features an army advancing from right to left in walking machines (along with stormtroopers) on rebels attempting to flee to space. But this time, the Jedi/main characters are with the walking machines and stormtroopers. While the sith are with the rebels.

Lucas takes the familiar and flips it. He’s mixing the iconography of the originals. Jedi, fighting alongside soldiers in white armor and walking tanks. Lucas is also playing with the rule of screen direction I mentioned, framing the heroes advancing from right to left like the Empire. And this sequence is the end of the film, while Hoth is the beginning but the inversions don’t end there. The Battle of Hoth has two opposing armies fighting for different causes. While the Battle of Geonosis has two armies fighting for the cause, advancing Palpatines agenda. Also, an obvious inversion is Geonosis being a desert planet while Hoth is a snow planet.

Heres a random visual similarity as well. I think this is intentional.

The Battle of Geonosis flips the Battle of Hoth. This invites you to reconsider so many things about both trilogies.

In the second film of the sequel trilogy. Director Rian Johnson often subverts audience expectations. This can be done with visual misdirection or having a character act in unexpected ways. The Last Jedi is well know for “subverting audience expectations”.

The Battle of Crait takes place at the ending of the film. It features an army, advancing left to right, in walking machines along with stormtroopers on rebels trying to flee to space. Johnson has broken the screen direction rule I mentioned earlier, seemingly just for the sake of flipping it. The surface is white and the rebels are hiding inside an abandoned rebel base, just like Hoth. The subversion here is that the white surface is a layer of salt concealing a red surface. This is explained to the audience with a scene of a rebel soldier tasting the surface and declaring, “it’s salt” so everyone knows it’s not snow.

The subversions essentially end there. This is what I consider the biggest difference between the Lucas prequels and Johnson’s episode 8. The depth of thought both directors put into each and every thing in their films. Geonosis is a desert planet but bares almost no visual similarities to Tatooine. It’s a planet with an insect like species, this species has its own culture and architecture that give the planet a unique feel. Geonosis is also more orange than Tatooine.

Crait is barren and empty the way Hoth is but… another barren and empty white planet? Johnson includes a scene just to let everyone know it’s not snow because it just looks like Hoth. The only fun surprise is the streaks of red forming under the vehicle’s and all the damage of blasters. Johnson copied almost every element of Hoth instead of creating something entirely new. While Geonosis only shares a superficial similarity to Tatooine while being vastly different in everyway.

The way Lucas inverts the OG trilogy is far more compelling than the way Johnson subverts audience expectations. Lucas inverts the Battle of Hoth and we get so much from it. Not just in terms of cool new things being added to Star Wars but it’s also interesting on a filmmaking level. Johnson subverts the Battle of Hoth and all we get is a cool visual of red stuff.