#but that make it so you’re no longer writing luke skywalker

[phoenixkaptain]

Honestly I can’t help but find it a bit reductive the way some fans act like Luke Skywalker is only ever adorable and he’s never intimidating.

Pardon me for saying this, but how fucking rude! This man killed a rancor with all the odds against him. He didn’t kill Darth Vader, but he stood over Darth Vader’s fallen form, a position that he put Darth Vader in himself. He stared down at the collapsed body of the Emperor’s attack dog and he thought about killing him. He considered killing him. Luke’s death count is well over a million people. The blood of well over a million people stains his hands. You don’t think that’s the kind of thing that changes a person? You don’t think that’s the kind of thing that would change someone on a deep, fundamental level?

To his enemies, he’s a spectre, a myth, he’s like chasing smoke through the air. But, he’s a spectre to his allies, too. Nobody knows where Luke is, aside from maybe Leia, because Luke wanders. Whether you’re looking at the extended universe or the Disney universe, Luke spent a long time going to seemingly random places without telling anyone before he left.

Don’t you think that Luke would be terrifying, from either side? This man who destroyed the Death Star, and with it, one million people. This man who can vanish without a trace. This man who wanders the galaxy and smiles in the face of danger. This man who witnessed the death of Death himself, Darth Vader, the only person with a kill count higher than Luke’s. And this man watched him die, and reports vary on whether or not he was the one who killed him.

The Rebels must hold Luke on another level. They must view him as untouchable. They view him as a Jedi of old, but one of the Jedi of old who were more akin to gods than men. Who’s going to speak against a man who could silence you without raising a finger? Even if they know he won’t hurt them, don’t you think there’s always that trickle of fear in their hearts, sending a chill down their spines? Don’t you think there’s doubt? A voice that says, “First was the Death Star. Second was the Emperor. You could be next, but you wouldn’t even rank as above a worm on his list”?

And it goes without saying that he’s a monster to his enemies. He’s on the same level as a kraken to a sailor. They know that he would not hesitate to kill them. They know that being a foot soldier doesn’t mean they won’t die if they get in his way. He’s a man who can break out of traps that are thought to be impossible to break out of. He’s a man who can crumble death troopers like tin cans without strain. He’s a man who is not on the same level as these mortals, and how could they ever forget that?

It’s incredibly reductive of a complex and three dimensional character to act like he can’t be taken seriously. It’s reductive not to take him seriously. If you’re writing something with Luke in it, no matter what role you’re having him take on, you have to take him seriously! Because you have to take ALL of the characters you write seriously!

That doesn’t mean you can’t mock him. Of course, makingn fun of characters is how a lot of people show their love for the character. But you can’t act like Luke Skywalker always fails at being intimidating. That’s reductive to the character, but it’s also rather rude to Mark Hamill, isn’t it? You’re saying that a talented actor is bad at acting. Hamill took the role seriously, and you can feel that when you watch the movies. At the very least, grant him the distinction of being passable. His acting isn’t perfect, sure, but it’s not like Luke never comes across as intimidating!

I don’t know. It bothers me when people reduce the character down to just being cute. He is! He’s hot, I’ve had a crush on Mark Hamill specifically since I was like ten, Luke Skywalker wears clothes that are incredibly flattering despite the fact that they shouldn’t be so flattering and it’s very attractive and sometimes my heart flutters when I see him in his orange jumpsuit, but none. Of. That. Matters. Because you can’t just act like all people who are attractive can’t also be scary. You can’t just pretend that horror monster Luke Skywalker can’t be both intimidating and adorable.

It’s like enjoying Leia only for the way she looks in a bikini. You’re reducing a well-written character down to their looks. And you CAN like a character just for how they look! That isn’t morally wrong!! Thought crimes were made up by the church because they want all human beings to feel as sinful as the lying sons of bitches are themselves!!! If you like a character just because you find them cute or hot or whatever, that’s! Just! Fine!

But please try to remember that enjoying the way someone looks isn’t the only way to enjoy someone. This rule goes for reality and fiction both. And I know I’m coming across as such a weirdo, telling you how to think, but I’m not trying to tell you how to think. I’m trying to help you understand that I am shorter than Luke Skywalker and I have made grown men quake, so seeing a character be reduced to being “cute” fills me with irrational rage at least partially because of the misogeny I faced in my youth.

[veras1ne]

“Malevolent.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Hi My Stars! Sorry I took a short break, as I stated in my previous posts I just haven’t been doing well mentally and started to focus my energy on different things but I believe I have reached a balance and feel ready to take on writing again.

˗ˏˋWith that being said this post is dedicated to THIS ask! I hope I did. your request justice Nonnie because this was truly a fun experience to write!!´ˎ˗

: ̗̀➛ WARNINGS🪷: This is your warning for the following NSFW content: PIV Sex, not explicitly stated consent, ❗️CONSENTUAL, I do not write non-con, it’s just not what I’m comfortable with. ❗️Slapping, Cum Stuffing, Squirting, Choking, Degrading, Rough Sex.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳🫧Pairing: Luke Skywalker x AFAB!Reader

*ೃ༄ I am NOT responsible for the content you consume or view! Read responsibly!! 🫶🏻

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Summary🕊️: Just pure smut, quite literally nothing else, no plot, nothing, just.. disgusting sex with Luke Skywalker.

"Look at me when I speak to you. His hot breath fanned against your cheek; his voice was callous and angry. "You hear me? Look at me.” Your eyes met with his towering over your frail body; the once gentle touches he provided your body with were replaced with harsh grabs that formed bruises on your cold skin.Hot tears began to form and fall against your cheeks.

Your sobs echoed in the room as he grabbed a handful of your hair. You bit back a scream, but it was only a whisper instead of a yell. He pulled you closer until your faces were barely inches apart from his own.

Your nose grazed his lips as you looked up at him with watery eyes; your lips were pink and swollen from his violent kisses, and the purple hues on your neck matched the angry scratch you had left on his back due to his hours of torture as he tore apart your pussy, licking and nipping at your clit.

It was the first time he had done such things to you; however, after this, you were sure that it wouldn’t be the last. His rough hands grabbed your wrists as Luke took your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it and scraping his teeth across your sensitive nerves.

You writhed on the bed, screaming incoherently as your mind became consumed by images of his dick entering your pussy while he rutted against the sheets, seeking pleasure while providing you with pain mixed with indulgence and elation. The image burned like fire, making you feel as if you would die. It made your stomach churn, and his hand clasped against your throat, constricting the airflow and making you gasp for air. Your newly released hands grasped Luke’s face, pulling his lips to meet yours, swallowing each other's pleasure and the sounds of nirvana.

The feeling of his lips caressing your mouth caused you to whimper as your hips bucked beneath him, begging him to give you what you so desperately wanted. His cock was the one thing you could no longer go without; you needed it, and you needed it terribly. But the feeling didn’t last long.

His tongue swiped against yours, forcing your parted lips open as his fat cock began to stretch your walls, his length providing a simply stinging sensation that you only craved more and more as he thrust up, rutting into your pussy. The smell of sex filled the room, causing your head to spin and your eyes to roll back.His scent intoxicated your senses, and you felt your inner walls tighten around his dick as his thick cock throbbed in an almost desperate need to come out of your cunt.

You moaned, grabbing a handful of his sandy hair and pulling his strands harshly.

His hands dropped from your hips to the headboard, his right coming down and opening your sore mouth with his fingers. "You’re such a disgusting slut, letting me torture your pussy and choke you out? This is all you’ve ever wanted, huh?" His voice sounded gruff and low; it sent shivers down your spine. "You're such a fucking whore; I bet you've never even been touched like this before. Nobody could ever fuck a disgusting whore like you like I could." His hand slipped from your mouth, cupping your mouth to keep it open and spitting down your throat. "You better swallow that. You should be grateful I would ever give my spit to a slut such as yourself." He squeezed your breast roughly, earning another painful cry from your lips. "That got you to look at me, didn’t it? Good job, you did one thing right."He shoved your face against the mattress, forcing your head downward as he forced himself further inside of you. You felt your body quiver with every movement he made. “Luke, please. Please make me cum, please." Your pleas fell on deaf ears as he continued his actions, using you as a sick dumpster for his cum and a doll for him to play with when he needs relief.

You cried out, your eyes closed, as his hand came across your cheek, slapping you and sending shocks through your bruised body as he fucked you harder and harder, his hard cock pulsating inside of you, filling you with pure ecstasy as you felt the orgasm building. “You want to cum? Fine. Cum, bitch." His words seemed to burn in your head.The pressure increased inside of you; his cock was pounding faster and harder, pressing against your cervix and causing you to tremble violently.

You screamed as you climaxed, your body trembling uncontrollably as you tried to control your breathing. Your squirt sprayed his thighs and chest as you convulsed against his body, writhing under his hands and turning your head to watch him with eyes full of ecstasy as they rolled back, your cream mixing with your squirt to create a disgusting mixture. He removed himself from your throbbing hole, fetching the pants he had stored in his pockets earlier.

He lined himself up with the center of your worn underwear that was wet with your slick, jerking his cock as he came on your undergarments, tainting it with thick ropes of his own release, sweat dripping down his chest, and coating his hair with salt.

"There we go. That wasn’t too bad, was it?“ His words were soft as he ran a hand through your messy hair, his tone now tender as he pulled you up and onto your knees, pulling your body to rest against his. He wiped the remnants of your cum off your body as you looked up at him in exhaustion but with a smile, his hands holding your body as he put on your cum-stained panties back onto your cunt, shoving his fingers through the sheer fabric and stuffing his cum inside the shallow end of your pussy.

"You’re such a dick baby." You rested your hand on his thigh, listening to his fast heartbeat.

"Oh, but who was the one begging for mine?"

[fr3man]

All Too Well - Part 2

Ghostface was well and truly back. Sam and Tara didn’t even get to the police station straight away the previous night, they were nearly shot at the bodega. The group were now being as cautious as possible. Mindy’s version of ‘cautious’ was rounding off the suspects.

The group were now currently sat on the campus of Blackmore University, Mindy stood in front of everyone.

“Okay, nerds! Listen up! As terrifying as this all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time... It’s fine. Okay. The way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel.”

Anika raises her hand.

“Um, what’s a requel?”

“You’re beautiful, sweetie. Let’s hold questions till the end.”

Anika smiled at her before Sam spoke up.

“Stab 1 took place in Woodsboro. Stab 2 took place in college.”

Tara looked towards Sam.

“So we think the killer is trying to copy the movies?”

Mindy pointed at Tara.

“That is one possibility. Heroes now in college: check. Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list and or body count: check, check and check.”

She pointed at Quinn, Anika and Ethan.

“I don’t like this.”

Ethan said before Molly gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“But it can’t just be about Stab 2.”

Mindy carried on.

“Why not?”

Tara’s eyebrows furrowed.

“It would make sense if this were just a sequel. But we’re not in a sequel, because nobody just makes sequels anymore… We’re in a franchise! And there are certain rules to a continuing franchise.

Sam, Anika and Molly sighed.

“I had a feeling.”

“Rule 1: everything is bigger than last time. Bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count. Longer chases, shootouts, beheadings. You gotta top what came before to keep people coming back.”

“Beheadings?”

Molly and Chad said in unison.

“Beheadings. Rule 2: whatever happened last time, expect the opposite. Franchises only survive by subverting expectations. If the killers last time were whiny snowflake film nerds with Letterboxd accounts instead of personalities, you bet the opposite will be true here.”

Nobody seemed to notice the face Ethan made when Mindy made a comment about Richie and Amber.

“And rule 3: no one is safe. Legacy characters? Cannon fodder at this point. Usually brought back only to be killed off in some cheap bid for nostalgia. It’s not looking too good for Gale and Kirby. Oh and that’s not even the worst part!”

Chad continues to write in his notebook.

“This is the part where she tells us the worst part.”

“The worst part is franchises are just continuing episodic instalments designed to boost an IP. Which means main characters are completely expendable now too. Laurie Strode, Nancy Thompson, Ellen Ripley, Sally Hardesty, Jigsaw, Tony Stark, James Bond - I mean even Luke Skywalker all died so their franchises could live on! That means it’s not just the friend group. Any of us could go at any time… especially Sam and Tara.”

Sam and Tara exchanged worried looks.

“Wait? Any of us?”

Everyone turned their heads to Ethan as he spoke.

“Yeah.”

“Am- am I in the friend group?”

“Yeah.”

“Am I like one of the targets?… At least I won’t die a virgin.”

The entire group gave him puzzled looks whereas Molly hit him on the arm.

“Babe, seriously?”

Mindy looked kinda grossed out.

“TMI, keep it in the bedroom. But it brings us to our current suspects.”

She stepped in front of Ethan.

“Ethan. The shy and dorky guy who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky.”

“Okay, why am I on the suspect list because I’m randomly Chad’s roommate?”

Ethan motions towards Chad defensively.

Mindy looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“Roommate lotteries can be juked, you could’ve fixed it to get next to us! And the fact that you just so happen to be interested in Molly?”

“Okay, what does Molly have to do with this?”

“Well, we all know how her last relationship turned out…”

Tara and Chad immediately jumped to her defence and everyone else seemed surprised at Mindy’s audacity.

“Mindy, seriously?”

Tara looked at her angrily.

Chad looked very irritated.

“Mindy, come on!”

Molly was staring daggers against her.

“Can you not bring up Amber?”

Mindy shrugged her shoulders.

“Whatever, I’m just saying… be careful…”

Molly furrowed her brows and felt a pit in her stomach.

Molly blocked out the rest of what Mindy said. What if she was right? What if Ethan was the killer? What if he betrays her just like Amber did? She tried to snap out of it and tell herself that he’d never do that but the voice at the back of her mind was telling her to never say never.

She was snapped out of her thoughts she. Sam spoke.

“Okay, so we have our rules and we have our suspects.”

“Wait, what about you guys?”

Ethan motioned with his hand to the 5 survivors.

“I mean, I think it’s pretty safe to rule out the 5 of us who went through this last year in Woodsboro.”

Chad smiled at Mindy.

“Agreed.”

Quinn shook her head.

“Not agreed. What if the trauma you all went through caused one or more of you to snap?”

Ethan agreed with Quinn.

“Yeah, or if the fame you got from the killings made you thirsty for more. I mean, let’s be honest here, some of the theories online about Sam are-“

Tara immediately cut him off.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Molly hit him in the arm again.

Anika tried to diffuse the situation.

“Okay, she’s right though. I mean face facts, if we’re all suspects - you’re all suspects.”

The 5 looked at each other worriedly.

Molly gets up from her seat.

“As much as I love discussing which of us I think is a murderer, I’m going home.”

Tara gets up from her seat.

“I’m coming too.”

Molly looked at Ethan.

“I’ll see you later.”

He nodded.

“See ya.”

The pair immediately walked off before anyone else even moved. Tara just knew something was wrong with Molly.

“You okay?”

Molly nodded her head.

“Mhm… just thinking about what Mindy said.”

“Just ignore her, alright?”

“No, Tara she’s got a point. It could easily be him.”

“But it also might not be him.”

“Let’s face it, he’s either the killer or he’s gonna get killed. That’s just how it works.”

Tara linked her arm in Molly’s.

“As long as we stick together as best we can, that should keep us all safe. And I’ll always be here for you.”

They looked at each other and smiled softly.

“Thanks, Tara. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After a few seconds of silence, Molly spoke up again.

“Y’know, he really reminds me of Wes.”

Tara looked at her.

“Yeah?”

Molly nodded whilst holding back tears.

“Yeah. They have the same stupid smile.. and they’re really good at cheering you up. When I first met Ethan I just immediately felt like Wes had come back to me.”

Parts of Ethan made her think of Amber too - the way they’d both comfort her when she needed it, the way they’d let her vent about her dad, the fact they were both the first people she’d go to if anything happened, the way she thought of them as her entire world - but she couldn’t bring herself to talk about it.

Tara and Molly arrived back at their apartment and sat down on the couch together. Not long after, the sound of keys could be heard and Sam came in.

“Hey.. are you okay?”

The girls shrugged.

“I just really don’t want to go through this again.”

Tara put her arm around Molly.

Sam sat down on the couch with them.

“Hey, I promise I’ll do everything I can to protect you. To protect you all. Which reminds me, I’ve told everyone to stay over here tonight.”

“That’s a good idea - safety in numbers.”

“Exactly.”

Sam smiled at her.

“Everyone will be here in a little bit so it’ll just be us three until then. If you want, we could go to the store and buy some food so we can cook dinner later?”

Tara and Molly nodded.

“That sounds nice.”

Sam got up from the couch.

“Come on, we should go while it’s still daytime.”

A couple of hours go by. At this point, everyone is at the apartment… except Ethan. He told Chad and Molly that he had an econ class. What was so urgent about a college class with everything that was going on?

Molly didn’t like Ethan’s absence one bit - it was just making her more and more worried. Tara and Chad were the first to notice.

Molly went into the kitchen to get glasses for the dinner table. Tara and Chad were in the middle of cooking when she walked in and her entire demeanour was off. They exchanged a look before Tara put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey. You okay?”

Molly nodded but her face remained emotionless.

“Yep, fine.”

Chad knew better of course.

“Dude, come on.We know when something is bothering you.”

“I said I’m fine, Chad.”

“We know there’s a lot going on and I know you’re probably worrying because Ethan isn’t here-”

“Chad. Look, I appreciate it but I’m fine, alright?”

Chad and Tara looked at each other again before looking at her again.

“We’re here if you want to talk, okay?”

Tara’s voice was full of genuine care and concern.

“Thanks…”

She left the kitchen and placed the glasses on the table.

Mindy and Molly entered the kitchen a couple of minutes later.

“Sam!”

Mindy called her into the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“We do not have to stay here.”

“Well, too bad. I insist. Safety in numbers.”

Chad had a big smile on his face.

“This’ll be so fun. A little slumber party with the Alive Five!”

Sam furrowed her brows.

“Alive Five?”

“Yeah.”

“The fucking what?”

Molly looked at him with a very confused expression.

Tara looked at him in slight disbelief.

“Did you just give us a nickname?”

“I sure did. We’ve been through a lot together, and it’s a pretty cool nickname.”

Molly and Mindy just looked at him like he was stupid.

“That’s debatable.”

Sam looked down at the floor, holding in a laugh.

“It’s extremely debatable.”

“You can’t just give yourself a nickname, dingus.”

Mindy smiled mischievously.

“Of course I can, dingus, because I just did. Alive Five, up top!”

He lifted his arm, waiting for a high five.

Mindy shook her head.

“No.”

He turned to Tara.

“Down low!”

“Get that away from me.”

He then turned to Molly.

“Come on!”

“Fuck off.”

He finally turned to Sam.

“Please, for the love of God!”

Sam was smiling and it was clear she was tempted.

“Don’t do it!”

Mindy begged Sam not to go along with his bullshit.

Everyone was on the verge of laughing.

“Y’know, I would actually like a little more respect and support from my fellow members of the Alive Five.”

Their attention was then turned to Anika when she shouted them.

“Guys! What the hell?”

She turned up the volume on the TV and everyone went into the living room.

The news headline read ‘PRIME SUSPECT SAMANTHA CARPENTER’.

“We’re hearing from sources inside the homocide division that the prime suspect is none other than Samantha Carpenter, one of the survivors of the Woodsboro killings in 2022, seen here attacking a woman on the streets last night.”

It then showed a video of her ‘attacking’ the girl who approached them after the Halloween party.

“In the wake of the Woodsboro tragedy last year, rumours sprouted online that Carpenter was responsible for the killings, blaming the crimes on her boyfriend, Richie Kirsch and teen Amber Free-”

Sam grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. She walked into the dining room and sat at the table, looking downwards.

Tara cautiously followed her and sat down next to her.

“I know you’re not a fan of the way I’ve been handling things, and that I’ve been giving you a really hard time. But I can say that none of us can relate to what you’re experiencing. And I’m really, really sorry that you have to do that alone.”

The twins, Molly and Anika listened to what Tara was saying to her sister and they were all relieved that Tara was finally getting along with her compared to recently.

Sam shook her head whilst holding back tears.

“It’s not your fault. And I know I shouldn’t care what people think.”

She pauses for a second and wipes a tear of her face.

“It just sucks being this hated.”

The twins and Molly then walked in.

“Hey. Just a reminder, not a single person in this room hates you.”

Chad said as the three of them sat down.

“Okay? We have all been through some fucked-up stuff, and we are coping with it differently. But, I mean we moved here together for one very specific reason… We’re a team.”

Sam smiled at Chad’s words.

“We are the Alive fuckin’ Five.”

Mindy smiled as she said this.

Chad turned his head.

“Thank you very much.”

“I hate myself.”

The twins exchanged a high five and Molly quietly laughed.

“You said it.”

Tara was smiling a lot, as was Sam.

Chad looked so proud.

“That’s what I’m talking about. It’s the Alive Five.”

Mindy looked at Tara.

“Say it.”

“No, I’m not gonna say it.“

“Molly, come on you say it.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“Definitely not.”

Chad tried to convince her.

“Come on, it’s got a nice ring to it.”

Sam suddenly spoke.

“I’ve been sleeping with Cute Boy from across the hall.”

The group went silent before they erupted into cheers.

“I fucking knew it!”

Tara clapped her hands together.

Sam looked confused.

“Yes! Chad, give it, come on!”

Chad rolled his eyes whilst smiling and handed Molly $20.

“Knew it from the day you had that hickey.”

Mindy’s comment made the group laugh.

“I feel like we should high five or something.”

Chad held his hand towards and the group all joined hands.

“The Alive Five high five, may we please?”

Tara laughed.

“Don’t call it that but we’ll do the high five.”

Sam’s phone started ringing and Danny’s name was lit up on the screen.

Tara’s face lit up and she held the phone up.

“No, Tara.”

Sam was holding in a laugh.

“Hey, so what are your intentions?”

The group burst into laughter.

“Tara, give it here.”

Tara went to pass it to Molly, the pair of them laughing, before Sam took it back.

“It’s fine. I’ll call him back.”

“Poor guy.”

The sound of Quinn moaning could be heard. Not like it was an unfamiliar sound.

“Oh my god, Quinn and her gentlemen called are back at it again.”

The group looked towards Quinn’s bedroom door.

“She’s getting it too? Okay.”

The group were still laughing.

Quinn’s moaning got heavier and at the same time everyone’s phones went off.

They all got their phones out to take a look. Danny had air-dropped them all a picture. It was of Quinn. Getting attacked by Ghostface.

The sound of Quinn shouting for help was then heard.

The group sprung from their seats and ran to the living room. Anika sprung up from the couch to see what was going on.

Quinn then screamed. Tara ran towards Quinn’s room before Chad pulled her back.

“Tara, wait!”

Not a sound could be heard. The group waited for any kind of noise but there was still nothing.

“Run.”

Quinn’s door burst open and Quinn’s dead body was thrown at the group, landing on Anika and pushing her on the ground.

Anika screamed in terror.

Sam and Molly got on the ground to pull her off.

Chad pulled Tara with him as he ran out the apartment.

“Guys, come on!”

Ghostface stood there and tilted his head, looking at Mindy.

“Oh, fuck.”

He sliced her in the arm with his knife.

She threw herself back in pain, holding her arm.

“Mindy!”

Anika grabbed onto his cloak as he tried to move towards Mindy again.

“Stay the fuck back!”

Molly quickly stood up and tried to pull him backwards. He immediately grabbed her and threw her to the floor and she hit her head on the ground. She held her head in pain, trying to get herself up but by the time she was in a state where she could, Anika was at the other end of the room and Ghostface was dragging a knife through her stomach and she was screaming in agony.

She quickly stood up but before she could get to them Sam came in and hit him in the head with an empty knife block. He fell on the ground, giving the girls enough time to run into Quinn’s room and lock the door.

Ghostface then started pounding on the door before it all went quiet.

Sam looked behind them and saw the bathroom door was still open.

“Molly. Bathroom door, hurry!”

She got up and went into the bathroom but stopped in her tracks and screamed when she saw Quinn’s boyfriend dead in the shower.

“Fuck!”

She then looked up and saw Ghostface standing in the doorframe and screamed again. She tried to shut the door but he kept pushing it open. Sam ran in the bathroom to pull her out and back into Quinn’s room.

They locked the door but he just kept pounding and pounding on it. He was strong so the lock kept unlocking. They pushed a dresser in front of it but it then got pushed backwards due to a hard kick to the door.

Sam and Molly stood with their backs against it to keep him out. Sam then saw Danny out the window, trying to get their attention. She ran to the window and opened it.

“Don’t worry, I got you!”

He pushed a ladder out his window.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You got a better idea?”

“Fuck. No.”

She reached her hand out and pulled the ladder so it reached them.

“You gotta come one a time!”

Sam turned to the girls.

“You three go first!”

“No!”

Molly and Mindy were pressed against the dresser but they were still struggling.

“Guys!”

“Someone needs to hold the door, we’ll send Anika next. Go!”

Sam looked hesitant.

“Go!”

The girls said in unison.

Sam got onto the ladder and started crawling towards Danny’s window.

Mindy and Molly were still trying to keep the dresser against the door.

“Sam, she’s losing a lot of blood!”

“Say something more positive!”

Sam managed to get across and then the sound of Danny and Sam could be heard.

“Come on!”

Mindy looked towards Molly.

“Molly, go!”

“No!”

“Molly-”

“You’re injured, I’m not. I can hold the door. Get Anika on the ladder, then both of you go.”

She hesitated and then moved towards Anika and helped her off the bed.

“You have to go first-”

“I can’t!”

“You have to go!”

“No, Mindy no! I’ll be right behind you, I promise!”

They kissed before Mindy reluctantly got onto the ladder.

As Mindy struggled to make her away across, Ghostface kept pounding on the door. Molly and Anika kept yelling for her to go.

Mindy made her way to Danny’s apartment.

“Guys, come on!”

“Anika, go.”

“What?! No, I’m not leaving you!”

“Anika, go! I’ll be fine, I promise!”

The others continued to shout.

“Guys, come on! Hurry!”

Ghostface pounded on the door even harder.

Molly tried not to cry.

“Ani, please!”

Anika looked at her tearfully before getting on the ladder.

“Oh my god… I can’t! I can’t do it!”

Ghostface is slowly getting the door more and more open.

“Anika, go! Quick!”

Molly is struggling more and more to keep the door shut.

He bangs on the door which prys it open, pushing Molly forward roughly. She tries to push it back again.

“Fuck…”

She looked to see how far Anika had gotten, which sadly wasn’t very far due to her gutted stomach.

Ghostface manages to bang on the door enough so the cabinet is knocked forward causing Molly to fall to the floor.

“No!”

Ghostface approaches Molly and she tries to keep them away. Ghostface grabs her by the neck, lifts her up and shoves her onto Quinn’s bed.

Everyone is terrified for Molly and Anika’s safety.

“No! Molly!”

“Anika, move!”

Molly tries to block him so he’d be at least injured to give Anika more time.

Ghostface slashed her hand and she screams in pain.

Molly’s scream only slows Anika down.

He lifts Molly off the bed and slams her head into the cabinet, knocking her out and leaving her for dead.

By the time she woke up, she was in an ambulance. She tried to lift her head up but winced in pain. She noticed the bandage wrapped around her hand. The group immediately got to her side.

“Molly! Hey, you okay?”

She could hear Chad’s voice but her ears were ringing.

She looked around to make sure everyone was there and okay. She saw Danny, Sam, Tara, Chad, Mindy… her heart almost stopped when she didn’t see Anika.

“Where’s Anika?”

Mindy was distraught.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

The group all nodded.

“Oh my god…”

She put a hand on her stomach.

“Oh my god, Anika…”

She looked at Mindy.

“Mindy, I’m so, so sorry.”

She got up from the stretcher and sat down next to her. She put her head on Mindy’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Mindy. I tried to help her but I just let her fucking die.”

She broke down crying as she said this.

“Hey. Hey, it’s not your fault, okay?”

She wrapped her arm around her shoulders.

Chad and Tara sat down with them.

“She’s right, Molly. Don’t blame yourself.”

Chad put his hand on her arm.

Tara grabbed her hand.

“You put yourself at risk just to protect her, you did the best you could, alright?”

“I didn’t do the best I could because she’s fucking dead.”

Tara was taken aback when she snapped.

“Sorry, I’m sorry Tara.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t be.”

Sam put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ve got you some water.”

She handed her a water bottle.

Molly sniffled.

“Thank you.”

The group ended up spending the night at Danny’s apartment whilst the police inspected their apartment, not that any of them could really sleep properly anyway.

The only thing Molly could think about was where the fuck Ethan was.

[sallowhillshq]

.✾. ═  welcome to sallow hills.  enjoy your stay.

i see we have a new member to our town.  welcome, welcome DEAN WINCHESTER.  we truly hope you enjoy your stay.  please feel free to head over to bevin & cecil’s until you’re settled.  i know it might be difficult right now and you might be missing your home.  Sam and Castiel may be arriving shortly, so you won’t have to be alone.

══ moony we’re so excited to have your newest muse in sallow hills!  you can re-find the welcome package in the source link & if you are using side blogs, make sure we know where your character is going.  

╔═.✾. ═  LOG *** :  dean winchester |  cis man, he/him |  36.

Just spotted DEAN / THE RIGHTEOUS MAN around town.  Our records show that they remember [ some things ] from their source : supernatural (canon).   They were first spotted in july 2021 and our best guess is that their last memory would be closing the gates of hell & sam “dying”.  Archivists watching them state that they still have the eldest child syndrome, lack of understanding of self, fear of breaking the norm, protector of the weak, dad rock blasting vibe about them.

━  from Armes E. Sallow’s  personal archives. ═.✾. ═╝ ↳・゜eoin macken.

↳・゜hahahahaha mental state: falling back into supernatural and dragging scout with me. ANYWAY. i am pulling dean from just after the season 8 finale, but with a bit of a twist. instead of saving sam by allowing ezekiel/gadreel take over, dean believes sam died closing the gates of hell. he also believes cas was successful in closing the gates of heaven and is forever locked up there (not that he’s mourning that all no, no no no). after roaming around america for a month, he found that he only saw sorrow and the people he lost there. with heaven and hell closed for business, dean figured that the hunters no longer needed him and he could finally leave the business. he boarded a trans-altantic ship with baby and ended up in ireland, and then in wales. he was just driving around northern wales when he crossed into sallow hills. the time jump, truthfully, wasn’t that much of a shock to dean, nor were the supernatural beings. what was as shock was the fact that his favorite freaking characters were here. kate fucking kane and tim drake! luke freaking skywalker.

but despite that excitement, he carries the weight of his lost brother and definitely not way more than a friend but dean is too repressed to acknowledge it. he’s working at the mechanics currently, spending his days buried in cars.

some notes: i’m pulling, honestly, a lot from fanon and some canon divergence. the core of dean is the same, but with some adjustments. i’m going to be writing him on the autistic spectrum with high masking thanks to dear ole pappy John. i also write dean as bisexual, homoromantic.

[stupidfatpenguin]

Salty, I hope you're well, congrats on 403 followers! I would simply adore if you would write a little drabble of Din attempting to explain to his very scary and very nice friend Boba that his partner may or may not be the same Luke Skywalker who helped land him in the Sarlacc pit. Thank you! <3

“I have some news.”

This is not Boba’s favourite way to start a conversation. “News” has a way of being unpredictable in a way that seldom works well with running a stable gotra or maintaining a steady stream of profit.

The thing about Din Djarin—brave and honourable, a man of his word, one of the few people Boba has come to trust with his own life—is that “news” seems to follow him wherever he goes.

“Good? Bad?”

“Both… I think.”

Boba sighs, pours himself a pre-emptive glass of his latest batch of imported spotchka. His gut-feeling tells him he’s going to need it. “Let’s hear it then.”

It takes Din a moment to get to it. “I… found someone.”

“That’s the nature of your work, is it not?” Boba frowns, thinking. “Unless you mean it differently.”

“Yes.”

Well, that’s a surprise. Perhaps he should have gotten out another glass.

“I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you.”

“Hope they make you happy.” Boba raises his drink in a quiet toast, receives a curt nod in response. Something tells him this isn’t the end of it. He takes a good mouthful of liquor. “And the bad news? Unless these were the bad ones.”

Din’s own heavy sigh filters noisily through his helmet. “He—well. He told me he knows you. That you’ve met before.”

The admission perks his interest, but it makes for a long list of possible names. And from the context, he doesn’t imagine it’s anything good. “Someone who’s got a bone to pick with me?”

“No,” says Din, “but he thinks you might have one to pick with him.” If Boba was anyone else, he imagines this is the part where Din rests his hand on his blaster. Instead, he takes a seat across from him—a show of good faith. Between friends. “I’m here to ask you to drop it.”

Boba frowns. “Who?”

“Fett.”

He thinks hard, until it finally—mortifyingly—dawns on him. “You’re fucking Han Solo?”

Din stills. “The smuggler?”

Boba could cry out of relief. “Never mind. Well, it can’t be that bad then, can it. Let’s hear it.”

Din holds on for another moment, perhaps still processing what the infamous smuggler has to do with any of this. Eventually, releases a bracing breath.

“His name is Luke. Skywalker.”

“Alright.”

A pause. “And you’re… ok with this.”

Boba shrugs. “Don’t see why not. Shouldn’t I be?”

It’s still hard to know exactly what goes on behind that helmet sometimes, but Boba imagines he is thinking very hard on what to say next.

He sighs, decides to spare him the agony. “Look, am I surprised you’ve gone and shacked up with the Jedi Knight who ended Jabba’s rule as well as the Galactic Empire? Sure. But I’ve had my revenge, and I’ve picked my winnings. Whatever grudge he thinks I’m holding—just tell him it’s all blue milk spilt in the Dune Sea.”

Din’s shoulders drop, as if they’ve just been relieved of something heavier than beskar. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Boba downs the rest of his drink and can no longer conceal his smirk. “Now, what I want to know is if your Jedi happens to be the same Jedi you’ve been leaving the kid with. You know—his teacher.”

The silence provides all the answer he needs long before Din finally concedes with barely-there nod.

“Well, you have far bigger problems then, don’t you think?”

Like how Fennec will get a good laugh out of this when he tells her—and how she’ll never let Djarin live it down.

-

Hi darling! So sorry this took so long I wrote it in dialogue-form when I first got the ask but didn't have it in me to flesh it out before now haha, thank you so much for the prompt, it gave me a good laugh and I hope you'll enjoy it too, if you're still interested in this ship ♡

[ironmandeficiency]

a flicker of hope

pairing: din djarin / reader

word count: 1942

summary: your relationship with din begins to crumble after grogu leaves with luke skywalker but neither of you are ready to lose the last person you have

a/n: ow. also idk why i had to write it in bullet point format, it just wouldn’t have been written otherwise, sorry in advance

when grogu was taken by the death troopers, your entire world was crumbling

he was your baby the same as he was din’s and all you wanted was to get him back safe. you and din shared this goal but you and him differed in how this desire was shown

he was stoic and broody, everything he felt held back behind beskar walls after years of learning to not show weakness

but hell hath no fury like a mother in pain, and you were not hesitating to make that known — almost no one was safe from your wrath when in pursuit of your son. even decades tested bounty hunters shrunk under your gaze when anyone so much as breathed wrong

during the firefight with the death troopers, you were separated from the others and pinned down until a jedi showed up and freed you from your position

moments before you were begging the galaxy to spare your son and your lover if it was truly your time, but as the chunks of murderous metal were obliterated, the hope of reuniting with your son came back

the jedi’s only words to you were “you’re safe now” before he continued his crusade, his black robe billowing behind him ominously

by the time you arrived to the deck where the rescue team surrounded a bound moff gideon, grogu had already been taken from his father’s arms by a stranger, taken far away from his mother that didn’t yet know he was gone

it took longer for you to process that din’s helmet was off than it did for you to realize that grogu wasn’t there with him. once you realized that your son was not there, no one could tame the tempest that was your fear and anguish

the first time din tried to hold you, he was pushed away because you didn’t recognize the brown eyes that were barely holding it together. but when he choked out reassurances with a quavering voice, you recognized that din was the one trying to soothe you

for a long time you had wondered what events would lead to you seeing your lover’s face for the first time. the only constant in every scenario was the marriage vows he spoke highly of, the ones from the culture he adopted when he was a child. on the imperial cruiser, there was no marriage vows or merriment or your adopted son. aquaintances and enemies were on all sides and there was no green baby to be found

your first thought was that grogu was dead; why else would he not be in din’s arms, giggling and safe?

“WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS MY SON?! DIN, WHERE IS HE?!! WHERE IS OUR SON?!”

“he’s with his own kind, ner kar’ta. the jedi came for him. i promise you he’s safe. he’s where he needs to be.” din was barely keeping it together himself, but he couldn’t sit by and watch you fall apart

you objected through your sobs that no, your son needs to be with you, that he needs his family, that you need your son with you. you spent many hours afterwards in boba’s ship crying in his arms, din shedding fat and silent tears behind his helmet

din wishes he could afford the luxury of thinking about the three of you as a family. he had overindulged far too much already in the time he had grogu, seeing you be so gentle with him and making din’s heart swell with every time you referred to din as “buir”

seeing the jedi on the security cameras was a slap to the face, a reminder that the end goal was to reunite grogu with the jedi. he hurt you both by letting you get attached (din couldn’t help it though, and he knew he was being selfish) and now you were falling apart

when he arrived to the control room, the jedi didn’t seem to have the patience to wait, so din made the decision to relinquish his son to him before it wasn’t an option (part of din almost said no to the man in black, but he could see in grogu’s eyes how elated he was to be with another of his kind and could never say no to those eyes)

while din is holding you, he found that he will never forgive himself for not stalling, not letting you say goodbye to grogu. with the knowledge that you didn’t have that goodbye, his goodbye to grogu felt so much worse

going back to nevarro empty-handed, greef set you up in a hotel until you and din were able to get a new ship

the domesticity was strained; words were few and far between, and nothing more than “excuse me” and “goodnight,” those kind of pleasantries. neither of you brought up the kid, and everyone that knew you both were smart enough to avoid the topic as well

he was all but erased from your lives with how you avoided the topic of him and oh how it hurt. even if no one spoke of him, your green baby never left your mind and part of you was torn between burying every moment and screaming your love for him from the rooftops

nights spent in hyperspace were never as cold as they were in that hotel bed. at least in hyperspace in the shitty not-a-bed bed, din held you while you slept. you and din slept so far from each other now that breathing wrong could send either of you to the floor. touching each other for more than a few seconds was out of the question, every touch liable to set you both on fire and that wasn’t a risk either of you would take

if you could, you would have kept the kid’s toys and his favorite blanket as some sort of memento to your son, but everything went in flames with the crest when you lost him the first time

weeks went by of this careful dance, the timidity of grieving parents trying to recover from the abrupt absence of their child. loud noises made you both jump, whether it be a dropped dish or the carried noises from the world that’s still spinning around you. din didn’t used to be that skittish but when something breaks the permeating silence, it can be frightening

it all comes to a screeching halt one evening, the city oddly quiet and the air between you calm. the few interactions you had that morning weren’t tense or forced and that alone was progress

you left under the guise of a grocery run (but truly you could sense that din needed space) and when you came back, the hotel room was eerily quiet and felt oddly empty

your mandalorian was all kitted up and had bags hoisted over his shoulder, standing in the doorway prepped to leave as you were coming in

“...din, where are you going?”

he says nothing for a long moment. he didn’t think he would be here when you got back, at least he hoped he wasn’t. but here you were, asking him where he was going while he had every tangible possession loaded on his back

you realize just how bereft he was leaving your temporary home and something in you breaks. “you… you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

if you were leaving together, he would have commed you before you got back. if you were leaving together, he would have your bags packed alongside his with the painstaking care he puts into most things. but your clothes are still on your side of the room and your bags are still empty in the corner

“yes.” he can’t keep his voice from wavering, just enough to clue you in on how deeply this was hurting him

din lost his parents, his covert, his son, to circumstances he could not control. he refused to continue watching your hatred for him grow with the passing days because of something he did control. he didn’t let you say goodbye; any parent would harbor unsurmountable rage and anger if their other half did what he did to you. he couldn’t just sit and watch your fury grow, his broken heart couldn’t take that pain

din was your person, and you thought you were his. things have been rough for a while, yeah, but that didn’t erase the love you’ve shared for so long… did it? if he was determined on leaving, you at least deserved a reason. he would give you that. “why?”

din’s deep breaths crackle through his modulator. he seems to be having an internal debate about how to give you the answers you deserve. “i can’t continue to watch you grieve knowing that i caused it. you shouldn’t have to share a bed with a cruel man.”

“last i checked, i share my bed with you, din.” “exactly. it’s my fault that…that—“

you know exactly what he’s about to say and you aren’t going to hear it for a second. “you did not do anything wrong by him that day. those monsters took our baby and we fought back with everything we had, and we got him back. he was reunited with his people, din. you did right by him when you let him go.” you sniffled, trying to stave off the tears you knew would come sooner rather than later. din noticed the action and he dropped a bag on instinct, gloved hand cupping your cheek gently. “i don’t think i would have been strong enough to.”

there’s more to it than just the guilt about grogu being captured in din’s mind, and he fully intended for it to stay there, but with you looking at him with watery eyes, he can’t control his brain long enough to get his mouth to stop moving. “i didn’t let you say goodbye, ner kar’ta. how can you say those things when i caused that pain in your heart?”

“you had to give the jedi our son alone, din. i would give almost anything to go back and change the events of that day, to be able to have held your hand as you told our son goodbye, but i wouldn’t give up you.”

there was anger for the first week about the fact you didn't get to say goodbye. but the longer you thought about how heavy of a burden it was to give your child to a stranger, you forgave and felt for din; you already were without grogu, you couldn’t lose din too. not like this. you were too stubborn to think that your love was gone

“think of the start, din. of how long we’ve survived because of each other, in spite of almost an entire galaxy trying to kill us. we can survive this, but only if we confront this like we have everything else our lives have thrown our way: together.” you don’t remember when the tears started or when din was suddenly that close and wiping your tears away with his orange-tipped gloves. “just please din, please don’t leave.”

he’s crying in his helmet and if he had the wherewithal to complain about it he would, but right now? he couldn’t bring himself to care. his bags had been dropped to the floor the moment you started crying, regret being one of the most overbearing feelings he had ever felt

he doesn’t leave that day, or the day after that or the day after that. you were right (like you usually are when it comes to him) that if you stayed together, you and din could heal the cracks in your relationship

din djarin taglist: @the-studious-porg @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @leias-left-hair-bun @obirain @olluea @themarcusmoreno @catsnkooks @mackstrut @simping-for-fives @stardustsunrisekisses @darthadeline @artemis61003 @majorshiraharu @getdookuedon @capricornrabies @max--phillips @jedi-mando @darklingveracruz @book-of-anarchy @andysficrecs @purelypascal @whovianwar@lv7867 @hornystarwarsbisexual @princess76179 @evyiione @maydayfigment

[folklorefairyy]

* my all time faves!

celebration post !

this list could be so much longer and there are some amazing moots i have that i havent included or haven’t had the chance to read for (namely bucky since that list is so big dhdhd) and so check out the moots tagged on my celebration post and go check out all their works because they are genuinely amazing)

i might do another of these one day so that i can get more fics on but just know if you’re a moot and i havent included a fic of yours i love your work and i love you and i just think ur amazing

➱ Bucky Barnes

wakanda by @buckybarnesdiaries *

Steve gives you Bucky's dog tags for a reason.

froot loops by @burninmatches // more than just destruction *

bucky helps you during a tough time and maybe your relationship is not just mentor and student.

drunk in love by @burninmatches

you got infected by the love serum and now you’ve fallen in love with one of your closests friends, peter parker. what happens to your boyfriend, bucky barnes?

as long as i’m here, no one can hurt you by @blackberrybucky *

bucky holds you through the sadness

i’d never hurt you by @cap-n-stuff *

bucky x short!civilian!fem!reader who meet in Bucharest with reader as a tourist and as Bucky’s getting his plums reader trips and catches her - a relationship ensues yet the fairytale comes crashing down when Bucky is framed for the UN bombing and Steve and Sam come to get him

innocence by @extremelyblackandwhite

bucky barnes, recently retired avenger, is hired as a bodyguard for an innocent upcoming actress.

warm by @revengingbarnes *

“The fire alarm in our building went off and you rushed out without a coat. Wanna share my blanket?”

period. by @greyslytherin

Bucky Barnes taking care of the reader while she’s on her period

bucky having a nightmare by @cap-n-stuff

imagine bucky having a nightmare and walking into the readers room with a blanket and waking her up asking to be the small spoon

➱ Peter Maximoff

the coolest twinkie by @amourtentiaa *

where the reader discovers they have a mutation and is lowkey panicking and Peter is just there like “BUT THIS IS AWESOME!” and just generally full of encouragement while trying to calm you tf down

adventures in parenting 101: nightmares by @milkytheholy

peter maximoff x reader being new parents and raising a kid in the mansion

ivy by @sunflowergirl522 *

Your mutation is controlling and growing plants. Peter spots you one day while he’s running and makes it his mission to get close to you. You then use flowers to tell him what you think of him without actually saying it.

(just check out zoe’s full peter maximoff masterlist because she’s bloody incredible at writing peter and i need to read more of them!!)

bad behaviour by @free-pool-trash *

Peter x Reader where they’re in the sitcom reality and Billy and/or Tommy get in trouble in school so they ask them to pretend to be their parents so Wanda and Vision don’t find out

convenience store by @quicksilverownsmysoul

you work at the local convenience store, everyday the same, that is until someone speeds by. Someone brings a little more excitement to your life than you bargained for

➱ Pietro Maximoff

the other half by @burninmatches

You and Pietro have been walking through the fine line past friends and before… something else. Perhaps a handful of moments, though the domestic bliss of sharing food to the boiling feelings under your skin, would change everything. 

double sided recipe card by @vanillann *

where the reader tries to cook sokovian food for him because he’s homesick

kiss of life by @dem-obscure-imagines

You are an Avenger with the power to heal. However, you didn’t expect to catch feelings for the man you brought back from the dead.

➱ Peter Parker

sweater weather by @beskar-tano *

You spend a cozy evening by the bonfire with the Avengers and your boyfriend, Peter Parker.

the ship by @itsapeterthing *

you and your best friend and teammate, peter parker, go to a costume party only to discover that everyone believes that you and peter’s alternate super-hero identities are dating.

stuck in my brain by @felicityparkers

whatever music that is stuck in your head is stuck in your soulmate’s head too.

i have them too by @tom-holland-is-spiderman

A headcanon of Peter Parker comforting the reader with stretch marks and they get ashamed of them so they hide their body from Peter making him feel sad.

by the elevator by @peterbenjiparker * (there are two parts to this and the second is linked on the op)

You break your hand after punching the elevator door. But luckily the cute boy is there to help out. You thought you would never see him again but you both keep running into each other by the same elevator.

➱ Thor Odinson

totally not a date by @superficialstark *

in which you go on a double date with tony and pepper expecting steve to show up as a mate date and instead being met with thor who you can’t help but be charmed by

but i just wanna hear your voice by @blackberrybucky

thor comes back after they defeat thanos and tries to make things right with you.

➱ Wanda Maximoff

of taunts and tickles by @beskar-tano *

Wanda spent the past few days trying to cheer you up and bring you out of your dreadful slump. After trying almost everything, she resorted to her last hopeful idea: a tickle fight.

➱ Natasha Romanoff

my girl by @beskar-tano

Natasha surprises you with a romantic date by the lake, surrounded by the beautiful scenery as fall takes its toll on the changing leaves. 

➱ i’d love for you guys to suggest some fics for steve, sam and loki because i apparently don’t know of any in this dodgy brain of mine (she’s not working as i make this dhdhd) - you can also send some in for any i’ve not got too many fics on so far!

i havent written or read for star wars in so long (dw i am still a sw account and i love my sw moots ive just been on a marvel kick and haven’t had time to read many moots fics recently so they’re all piling up lol) and so i don’t think i could come up with a comprehensive enough list given the fact that there’s so many amazing fics coming out each day!

so instead i thought i’d direct you to some accounts that have some phenomenal work that i instantly fall in love with each time!!

➱ @etherealsanakin

poe dameron, anakin skywalker

➱ @xwing-baby

din djarin, poe dameron, star wars oc

➱ @dindjarindiaries

din djarin

➱ @sunsetkenobi

obi-wan kenobi, anakin skywalker, boba fett, din djarin, padmé amidala, rey, luke skywalker

➱ @artiza-n

anakin skywalker, marvel! (namely bucky)

➱ @beskar-tano

anakin skywalker, obi-wan kenobi, boba fett, din djarin, luke skywalker, fennec shand, poe dameron

➱ @anakinswhore

anakin skywalker

➱ @anakinlove

anakin skywalker

➱ @betweentwopines

din djarin, anakin skywalker, padmé amidala etc.

these are just some accounts that i have read regularly or some moots who post for these characters (and i need to get around reading for) but there’s so many more incredible writers for sw on here, some that i’m moots with too, that can self plug here if they want!! (my brain isn’t working today so i can’t think of everyone)

[25centsoda]

Star Wars Fanfic - Wisdom Teeth

I just got my wisdom teeth out the other day...you know what that means! Luke too!

I just wrote this in one sitting and there is very minimal editing. If I ever feel like cleaning this up I’ll throw it on AO3 (and possibly make it longer, possibly leave it as-is).

.

.

.

The world filtered up slowly, rising from the smoke of dreams. The first thing Luke was aware of was that there was a blanket on his chest. It was warm, and soft. The room faded into view.

His tired mind dimly registered the fact that the blanket was blue, and the walls were off-white. The lights confused him. They shone blindingly, obscuring much of the space. Between the two of them, the only other thing he could make out were the empty chairs beside him.

Luke drifted.

The world was quiet, as if buried beneath sand. There might have been a memory of being supported on each side as he was led down a hallway, but that could have easily been a dream; the memory was shadowy and indistinct.

He moved his hand slightly. Yes, the blanket was soft.

Words filtered into his consciousness. Murmurs, far away and nonsensical. He couldn’t summon the will or strength to focus on them.

Through the Force, a spike of emotion.

It was quickly washed away by his exhaustion, and Luke’s eyes fluttered closed. His mouth hung open slightly. Something held it open. What was it? Why was it there? 

He forced his eyes open again and squinted at the room, trying to bring it into focus.

Medbay, his mind finally supplied. Now he could tell that he was seeing double. Closing one eye or the other turned the two chairs into one. He entertained himself with looking at each part of the curtained-off room in turn. The small table on his other side. The curtain rod. His own covered legs.

A commotion outside in the hall filtered into his awareness. Luke made a small questioning noise he wasn’t sure even left his throat and turned his head slightly towards the sound.

It sounded almost like...blaster shots?

Behind the curtain, a door hissed open. Cold followed like a shadow. Luke closed his eyes against the chill, grateful for the blanket. Loud, rhythmic breathing grated against his ears. He peered up through his eyelashes.

Vader.

Father.

Was this another dream? Luke’s eyes melted closed again.

He was on the verge of falling asleep once more when the sound of flimsy being shifted pulled him back towards consciousness again. He was almost tempted to wave the sound away, annoyed, but his limbs felt like lead. It wasn’t worth the effort. Amusement washed gently over him in the Force.

The flimsy was folded and shifted against something, then the noise stopped. Something carefully stroked his hand through the blanket.

“Come, young one. It is time to go home.”

Luke managed something between a hum and a groan. That amusement came again, along with an undercurrent of love. He peeled open his eyes and squinted up at his father’s insectoid mask.

Vader helped him sit up while Luke stared at him. His mind spun slowly. His father couldn’t really be here, right? The last thing he remembered...the last thing he remembered…

That shadowy image of being helped across a hallway resurfaced. He pushed it away. Before that, there was…

The surgery!

The Empire had been quiet for long enough that the Alliance decided to take the opportunity to get its soldiers and staff medical care while they could afford both the time and expense. Luke had been brought in to get several teeth removed that had grown in sideways. Leia was supposed to be with him when he woke up.

Where was she?

Luke was pulled to his feet and he stumbled, knees weak beneath him. His head rocked with vertigo. Without thinking, he clung to the arm supporting him.

Where was Leia? She was supposed to be here…

He barely noticed the hallways passing under his feet, focus taken up by the effort of staying upright and trying to figure out where Leia could be.

Maybe...maybe he was hallucinating, and what he thought was his father was actually just Leia.

Luke made a noise that was meant to be “Leia?” but all that came out was nonsense. He furrowed his brow when he realized he couldn’t feel his tongue. Or most of his mouth, really.

The person leading him didn’t respond.

Something was wrong.

“Nng,” he managed, tugging his arm away from their grip. They held on tighter as he stumbled, keeping him upright.

“Hush, young one. You’re safe.” A feeling of security washed through him with those words, overpowering the panic that had begun to rise through the fog of sedation. He leaned on their arm for support. “There. We’re nearly to my ship, then you can rest some more.”

Their boots clanged on a ramp. Luke’s socked feet didn’t make a sound.

The next thing he knew, he was being buckled into a seat. In front of him, a viewport showed the mountains of the planet the Rebels had made their latest base on.

The ship vibrated as it took off, and Luke fell back asleep.

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

Vader marveled at the boy sleeping next to him. At long last; his son. He had been most fortunate in finding the boy and his rebellion in such a state. It had been laughably easy to invade the base and take Luke. The Rebels had grown complacent.

As he piloted the shuttle back to the Executor, he puzzled over the sheet of flimsy that had been tied to the end of his son’s medical bed. “Wisdom tooth extraction”, it had read, along with instructions for care once the boy was released from the medbay.

Vader had heard of such a thing - Obi-Wan had told Anakin Skywalker of his own experience with the procedure, but Skywalker never had a need for it. Evidently Vader’s son did. Incompetent as they were, the Rebellion did not waste money and soldiers on unnecessary medical procedures.

Glancing at Luke again, Vader wondered if perhaps he should have paid closer attention to the sheet before leaving with his son. The boy may need supplies the Executor did not have; the surgery was most often performed on humans younger than the majority of his officers, and Star Destroyers were not equipped for most non-injurious surgeries.

No matter. If anything needed to be acquired, he would get it.

First, he had to get his son to the rooms he had prepared.

Although they would evidently need slight modifications as the boy was recovering from surgery…

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

When Luke woke again, he was once more covered in a blanket. This time, however, he was also propped up by many pillows on all sides, and there were ice packs on both cheeks.

Where was he?

At his confused hum, his father reappeared beside him. Luke’s eyes widened.

Oh. So it hadn’t been a hallucination, then. His father actually...just kidnapped him out of the medbay.

Kriff.

“Father,” he tried, but he still couldn’t feel his mouth. He huffed in frustration, then winced when doing so pulled at his sore jaw. He mimed writing on his hand, looking at his father through narrowed eyes and hoping that conveyed his frustration.

Vader handed him a datapad and pen.

Luke held the pen above the datapad for a minute, trying to decide what to say. He eventually settled on, What did you do?

“You had a surgery, young one,” Vader said. Before he could finish, Luke started writing again. “I did nothing to you.”

I know I had surgery. Where did you take me? What about the base?

“You are on my flagship, the Executor. The Rebel base was taken by the Empire, although I believe the Princess and Wookie escaped, if you are worried about them.”

No dark side.

Vader inclined his head. “You are in no state to begin your training, I agree. However, there are other things you should be aware of in the meantime. For example, the sheet your medic left indicates that the gauze in your mouth should be changed every 30 minutes, the ice should remain as much as possible without causing damage, and you are not to have solid foods for the next several days.”

Luke looked up at the ceiling in lieu of throwing his head back. Kriff. He thought it would be bad to go through this back on base with his friends; to do it stuck with the Empire? With his father? The man had chopped off his hand during their last meeting; Luke had since come to terms with both the news and the prosthetic, but that didn’t mean he trusted his father with his health.

He cleared the screen and wrote again. I want to see a medic.

“They will not tell you anything different, Luke.”

He underlined the sentence and gave his father a pointed look with as much vitriol as he could muster.

Vader sighed, an odd, staticky sound. “Very well. I will call for him.”

Luke watched with interest as his father picked up a slim remote from a small table next to the bed Luke was propped up in, and pressed a button. A small buzz sounded. Moments later, the door hissed open and a man in a medic’s uniform stepped through, clipboard in hand. He bowed, and approached.

“Commander Skywalker, Medic Kix at your service,” the man said. “What can I do for you?”

Luke reset the screen and wrote, then held up the datapad.

What will my recovery look like? How long will it take?

Kix nodded and said, “This first day, there’s going to be a lot of blood. It should clot by the end of today and over the next few days there should be some swelling. The ice will help keep that down. You’ll need to change the gauze every thirty minutes to help the blood clot and keep you from swallowing too much of it. Take it easy for the next few days; no strenuous exercise. Liquid foods only for today, then tomorrow you can start moving on to soft foods like pudding. We’ll talk more about the day after when we get there. You should be fully healed in two to three weeks, assuming all goes well.”

Two to three weeks??

“Yes sir. As you were not treated by one of our medics, I’m unsure how well the surgery was performed, but rest assured we will do everything we can to ensure your healing is as fast and comfortable as possible. Any other questions?”

Kix waited patiently as Luke wrote.

Can I change my own gauze?

He did not want his father to try to interfere more than strictly necessary.

The medic hesitated. “...Yes, but I would advise that you have somebody help you. If you’d like, I can assign you a medic for the next few days.”

“I can--” Vader started, but Luke interrupted him by holding up the datapad.

Yes, I would like a medic. The writing was rushed - his father could speak faster than Luke could write - but it was legible enough. Thankfully Kix took Luke’s side.

“Very well sir. I will send somebody to assist you.” With that, the medic left.

His father turned back to him. “Would you like access to the holonet, young one? It will be restricted, of course - you wouldn’t be able to contact any Rebels - but you would be able to watch videos.”

Kriff, he really was stuck here with his father for at least the next two weeks, wasn’t he? Couldn’t even eat real food.

He was already exhausted of it all.

Yes, Luke wrote. He handed the datapad to Vader.

At least he’d have plenty of time to hack into the datapad and find a way to contact his friends.

----------

Luke’s mouth finally stopped bleeding by the end of the day. He was so grateful to be rid of the gauze in his mouth that he almost didn’t mind the fact that his father had stayed after the medic left.

He tipped his head back and carefully drank some water, reveling in the fact that he could close his mouth almost all the way now. It was still partially numb, but most of the feeling was back and there was nothing holding it open anymore. He set the cup back down next to the pill bottles on the bedside table, then looked between his father next to the bed and the datapad on the blankets.

He’d wasted the day dozing and watching as many pod, speeder, and spaceship races as he could find, but Vader had stayed away for most of it, only seeming to come in as Luke was falling asleep. What...was he supposed to do now that the man seemed determined to stay?

He stared at his father for a long moment. Vader stared back.

Slowly, as if his father was a watching krayt, he grabbed the datapad and turned the latest speeder race back on, sinking into the fresh ice packs and pillows.

They watched it together, side by side.

[amiedala]

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 30: Something More

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content & descriptions of violence

SUMMARY: “I’m ready,” Din repeats, more fortified. You nod, and then beam at him and the baby, pushing your shoulders back. “This is a lot,” he says, his voice still tinged slightly with anxiety, “are you sure?”

You step as close as you can, reaching your hand up to bring his face down to yours, tipping your foreheads together. “Din Djarin,” you whisper, “I’m sure. We were always meant for something more. And,” you continue, smiling, mouth an inch away from his, “I don’t scare easy.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i am literally sitting here, emotional, crying as i write this. this has been the journey of a lifetime. i hope you all love this last chapter, and i hope it gives you that something more that Nova and Din found together. this last chapter, this grand finale, it's dedicated to every single one of you. thank you for being my readers, supporters, and friends. i hope this ending is everything you've dreamed. more notes, as always, are at the end. <3

*

A year ago, almost to the day, if you’ve counted correctly, you crash landed on Nevarro and the entirety of the rest of your life shifted somewhere huge and cosmic. You’ve always been a believer—in something bigger, something great, something more—but the second you met Din, and then the baby…well, everything seemed to just click into place. From Nevarro’s molten surface, to Bespin’s back alleys, to the excursions into the Mid Rim, to falling in love on Naator, to saying yes to the most romantic proposal on Yavin, to heartbreak and back on Dantooine, to all of the lives you’ve lost and the ones you’ve lived, all the way straight back into the Rebel Alliance, to losing your kid and your fiancé and then somehow coming out on top of it, ready to unite the remainder of the Jedi and the people of Mandalore and every single Rebel you know to pull off the greatest eradication of evil since the Death Star blew, you genuinely and sincerely can’t imagine your life being any other way.

And when you look over to the man you love, his helmet off, every contour of his gorgeous face in your full view, it makes your heart ache in your chest. Not in the way it did when you stumbled and drowned in the losses along the journey, not the way it did when he left you to protect you back on Dantooine, but in a way that feels just as huge and cosmic as the last year has been. You know war is on the horizon. You know there’s so many battles out there left to fight, and to hopefully win. You’ve come a hell of a way since being bounty hunter and babysitter, respectively. And all of it, every second, you think was worth it to get to this moment.

Because you’re not only about to be the wife of the king of Mandalore, you’re not only about to spearhead an entirely revitalized Rebel Alliance to take down the evil the Empire left over in the shadows, but you’re about to do all of it after meeting Luke Skywalker. And there’s something just as starry and explosive about your old life meeting your new one, just as bright, just as shiny.

Din’s quiet. You’re buzzing with adrenaline and anxiety and everything in between, but you’re trying to stay calm. Mandalore is a serene orb on the horizon, and you watch it through the blinking mirrors on Kicker’s dashboard as you slowly coast through the stars. Everything out here, when you’re not in warp, feels like everything is drawing towards something more. Not an ending. Never an ending. But there’s something poignant in each dazzling ball of gaseous light, as if this journey is a transformation.

“Where’s your head?” Din asks, lowly, and the spark in his voice is enough to break you out of your reverie.

“On you,” you answer, immediately, flashing a wide smile towards him, “as always, my big brave Mand’alor boyfriend.”

Din winces, just a little, but you can see the small beginnings of a smile etched into his face, a reflection of yours. “That one doesn’t seem as catchy.”

You laugh, throwing your head back, your loose hair dancing down your spine. You feel the way his eyes roam over you—not just hungry, not just with desperation—but with ease. So much has changed, and yet this, right here, the two of you in the cockpit, heading into the stars, this is so familiar you could do it in your sleep.

“Give me time,” you answer, finally, grinning back over at him, “I’ll come up with something better.”

Din’s quiet, and you turn your attention back to the space around you. It’s quiet out here. Peaceful, even though so much of the galaxy is rife with stress and there’s evil lurking out there in the shadows you and the rest of the team have to yank back into the light. And you know this is just the beginning—that the last time the Empire won, it took almost twenty full years to defeat them, and even longer to put anything right—but knowing you’re moving forward, you’re secretly married with the leader of a planet, you have an entire squadron of people caught from all haphazard places in the galaxy, and that your family’s going to be reunited in a matter of days, feels like you’re coming home in a way you haven’t felt in years.

“Nova,” Din starts, and then falls back into his silence. You glance back at him. The muted interior of Kicker reflects back onto the beskar, makes it look like it’s camouflaged. If it were anyone else, if you didn’t know him as intently as you do, you’d be on edge with Din disappearing into the ship. But you can feel his steady heartbeat, you know he’s right behind you, and, more than anything, he’s yours. Nothing about him scares you. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. “Do—do you really think we can pull this off?”

You sigh, flicking the switch so Kicker goes into autopilot, and then you slowly turn around him in your chair so you can face Din in yours. “Yes,” you say, gently, conviction seeping into your voice. “Yes, I think we can pull this off. You’re going to be the best leader Mandalore’s ever had, I’m going to work with the Alliance, we’re going to get our kid back, and we’re going to eradicate the First Order, whoever and wherever they are. We’re going to pull it all off, Din,” you continue, earnestly, leaning forward in your seat, holding his gorgeous gaze. “It’s not going to be easy. It’s not going to be quick. But we’re going to do it.”

Din holds your eyes. There’s something strange behind his own. “How are you so optimistic, even after everything?”

You blink, hand finding the Rebel insignia around your neck, fingers pressing down against the smoothness of the metal. You swallow. It holds heavier against your throat than your mother’s did, but something about the beskar carving makes it feel totally indestructible. A small beacon of fortification. Something to bring you out to sea and back to shore again. “Like I told Gideon,” you say, finally, “I have hope.”

He’s quiet. You are, too. Eventually, Din leans forward, hand linking with yours, meeting you right in the middle. “Don’t lose that.”

You shoot a small, guarded smile back at him. “I held onto it even when I thought you abandoned me back on Dantooine. I think I can keep this part of me alive forever, and I think it’s strong enough to keep it alive in you, too.”

Din stares at you. “I need you to know,” he starts, voice low and urgent, “that I’m so sorry. For leaving you. For not including you in my decisions. For—” he cuts himself off, inhaling sharply, “for breaking your trust. I messed up. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to fix it. All I can promise you,” he continues, hand tightening its grip in yours, “is that I’m never going to do it again.”

You look at him. There’s still that burning pyre in your chest, that fear that he’s going to disappear and not come back, that some sort of fate will lightning strike between the two of you, but the anger that lived there for so long has completely dissipated. You love him. You take a shaky breath, holding up your left hand. The beskar encircling your ring finger glints in Kicker’s low light. “I believe you,” you say, finally, laying it all bare. You inhale, biting down on your lower lip. “That’s what this is all about,” you continue, wriggling your fingers, “right? I know you,” you say, leaning closer, hair falling over your shoulder. His eyes track the movement of it, free, unencumbered. “I love you,” you continue, nodding slightly. “And I trust you. So I believe you.”

Din inhales. “Nova,” he starts, “do—do you ever think you’ll forgive me for leaving you back on Dantooine—”

And then he’s cut off, because Kicker starts screaming. It’s not the same warbled screech that haunted the comm back on Khubeaie, not that desperate kind of wailing. She’s warning you, you realize, as you let your hand drop out of Din’s and whirl back around to man the controls yourself. Din reacts almost completely in sync, but you saw the spark of ache in his eyes before he finished asking his question. Your stomach flips over.

Something’s failing. You know that. You’re not sure why, but the ship starts flickering and sinking, even when you’re supposedly moving on a full fuel tank, and even while you know you fixed all the major issues before you left Mandalore. Bo-Katan had even given the ship a very begrudging once-over, and you know her seal of approval is very hard to come by. Frustrated, you press all the right buttons, trying to calculate what exactly the issue is.

Your comm blinks. “Come in,” a voice rings, and for a second, everything floods into fight-or-flight. You’re running completely on adrenaline, still high from saying your wedding vows the night before, and you haven’t had more than one consecutive night of good sleep in months. Quickly, you flash your eyes on Din. “Come in,” the voice on the other end of the line says again, and it’s urgent enough for you to raise your wrist to your mouth, make you speak.

“Who am I speaking to—”

“Your ship’s haunted.”

You stare into the comm, back at Din, and then into your comm again, as if any of this will somehow crystallize the absolute nonsense that’s ringing in your ears. “What?” you say, still thinking you’re losing it, and then, before you can do anything else, you hear blaring on the other line.

“Not haunted,” another voice says, tiredly, and it’s not until Slave I pops out of warp that you realize you’re talking to Boba and Fennec. “Ships don’t get haunted,” she continues, “you just didn’t fix your disabled comm system when we first scrambled your signal. That’s the issue.”

You squint. You can’t see her, of course, everything about the ship is covered in tinted windows, but you want Fennec Shand to feel the full force of your disapproval and confusion. “You scrambled my signal? But that was days before—”

“Had to get a hold of you somehow,” the other voice says, and you exhale, shaking your head. “That was her doing. Not mine. The ship’s comm system is, for lack of a better term, haunted. Land on this planet.”

“We have to go to Hoth,” you protest, halfheartedly. “That was the plan.”

You can hear the wry smile in Boba Fett’s voice. “Oh, they won’t like me on Hoth, Rebel.”

You raise your eyebrow over at Din. By the way his helmet’s cocked, you know he’s laughing under there. “Too bad,” you shoot back, flipping switches on the dashboard as Din’s plugging in the coordinates to the ice giant nearby, “they’re gonna have to deal with it, because you’re with me.”

With a relatively boring flight and endless grumbling from Boba Fett, the two of your ships touch down on Hoth. It makes your stomach flip over. Everything in you is still buzzing—all that emotional resonance, all that fluttery anxiety of standing on the precipice of something more—and you can barely hear Din as he slips his helmet back on and gestures you to slide down the ladder after him. You feel alive. Dazzlingly, excitedly so.

Everyone complains about the cold. It assaults all of you the second the gangplanks are lowered, but there’s something so warm inside of you that you barely feel the bite of the chill. You flash a big smile at Wedge and the various members of the New Rogue Squadron as they greet you at the thermalock door, the warm breeze that greets you the second you step into the light downright summery compared to the ice.

“Did you talk to Luke?” Wedge asks, his voice low and complicated, as he leads your ragtag group to the control room. You don’t know why he’s whispering, but you follow suit.

“All I got from his last hologram,” you sigh, rubbing your icy fingers together, “is that he wants to see me in person.”

Wedge raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

You glance back over at him, eyebrows furrowed down the middle. “Yeah. Was that not what he told you?”

Wedge chews on his bottom lip. “He didn’t really say much of anything,” he admits as you round the last corner, “just that he needed to speak with you, as soon as possible, and that it was important. I’m not used to him being so secretive.”

You shoot him a small smile. “Is that unlike him?”

Wedge’s expression is wry, but his eyes sparkle. “The Luke Skywalker I know could talk to an empty moon for years before he realized there’s no one talking back.”

A grin breaks across your face. As Wedge walks around to his usual command spot on the other side of the holotable, you bite back your smile and stand at yours, feeling a very strange sense of pride as your unlikely team lines up behind you. Din is fully armored, but the set of his shoulders is much more relaxed than the last time he was there. Boba, especially with his newly refurbished armor, sticks out like a sore thumb. The generals across from you are defensive, not taking their eyes off of him for a second. Fennec doesn’t look like she belongs, either, but you have a very strong feeling that Fennec Shand doesn’t belong to anything except the chaos she craves. Still, there’s a determined set to her face that shows you she’s on your side. Mixed in with the rest of the semicircle are Cara and Karga, who don’t exactly blend in, but wear the same proverbial colors of the rest of the people at the table.

“New Rogue Squadron,” Wedge starts, his eyes dancing all over everyone stationed at the holotable, “meet our newcomers.”

“We’ve met,” one general says, disapprovingly, looking Boba Fett up and down.

Wedge lets Boba step forward menacingly for exactly two seconds before he steps forward, just an inch, and retakes command. “Refamiliarize yourself, then. We’re all on the same side here. We are,” he cuts himself off, lowering his voice, looking straight at you, “all on the same side here, right?”

You nod. “Who here wants the Empire eradicated for good?” Everyone’s hands go up. You cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at Fennec, the only one in the room that doesn’t have her hand in the air. “Fennec?”

She looks back at you, her eyes alive, a reflecting pool. “I like to be on the winning team.”

“Well,” you level, “here, you certainly are.”

She cracks a grin, and then her hand extends in a perfect line above her head. “I have a feeling,” she says, tongue snaking out and wetting her bottom lip, “that you don’t break promises often.”

“She doesn’t,” Din chimes in from behind you. You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, and you look back at Wedge, turning back over command.

“Alright then,” Wedge says, leaning forward, bracing each hand on the glimmering edge of the table, “let’s get started.”

The two of you talk first. You recount a very abridged version of the events, starting from when you and Din left Hoth last, all the way up to everything that happened on Mandalore. You glaze over the more unsavory bits back on Cantonica, only wincing slightly when you smooth over the fight in the back alley, the way that you were close to death. You can still smell that creep’s breath if you focus too hard on the memory, so you think instead of the way Din plunged the Darksaber into his chest. You bridge the gap by introducing Cara and Karga to the rest of the group huddled around the table, talking about your reunion on Nevarro, and how they were tracking down ex-convicts and members in the Guild, respectively, to uncover any new information on the Order. You finish, warily, with Gideon’s final statements, how he promised you the Order was going to come and take anyone with power they could manipulate for their own, how his eyes glinted when he told you that all Jedi would either be eradicated or turned into weapons. Finally, you close with his death, Bo-Katan’s measured rage, the battle over the Darksaber that chose Din again and made both of you basically royalty. Wedge’s face shifts as you tell him the last bit, your eyes very focused on his and not anyone else’s. You know that being associated with the current Mand’alor puts even more of a target on your back than it did when you were simply an exiled Rebel and bounty hunter, but you keep your chin up. You don’t care about the royalty aspect of it, don’t love the idea of being in charge of other people, especially after fighting for so long to be your own autonomous being. But you like the idea that Din is the rightful leader, and there’s not a chance in hell anyone—especially not the First Order—is going to take that from him.

You turn it over to Wedge, who’s still looking strangely at you. It’s not judgment. It’s not questioning. It takes about halfway through his opening remarks for you to classify it as pride. You step back as he talks, hiding a small smile.

“We have our work cut out for us,” he sighs, and you tune back in. “None of this is going to be easy. I’m going to ask you all one last time,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, a flurry of orange against the stark, cool interior of the base, “if you want out, this is where you leave. No hard feelings. But it needs to be now.”

No one moves an inch. Not a single general. Not Cara or Karga. Not Boba or Fennec, who both seem to be much more involved with this idea than they showed at first glance. Behind you, Din steps just an inch closer, and you feel your body filling up with warmth in his close proximity.

“That’s what I thought,” Wedge says, that smile of pride etched into his face again. “Here’s what we’ve found out. There isn’t a lot of information on anything related to the empire left, save for libraries and research archives, and of course, the lived experiences of everyone in this room,” He pauses, bringing up an image on the holotable. You see the flickering images of both Death Stars, and you hide a small shiver at how impending and filled with doom they look, even on this imitation of a screen. “We knocked both of these out,” Wedge continues, pointing at the rotating stars. “We made extra care to do it the second time,” he says, gesturing at the bigger and more reinforced of the two, “and then we tried to eradicate every single building plan the Empire had stashed away. I can’t promise that schematics didn’t survive, because I think there were parts of their regime that were a lot smarter than others. But we’ve made it our major effort over the last few years to put in as many annoying and massive roadblocks as we possibly can so that nothing can rise from the ashes. And yet,” he sighs, bringing up an image of Gideon on the screen, “this Order survived.”

“What makes you think they didn’t start after the Empire was eradicated?” Din asks, which causes more of the generals to mutter to one another.

“Because—” Wedge starts.

“I’ve seen this before,” you interrupt, gently. “Almost everyone associated with the Alliance did, too. I wasn’t alive when Darth Vader rose to power, but it didn’t just happen out of nowhere. It was calculated. It was planned. There was a large league of evil hiding under the surface, they were just good at hiding it. We wouldn’t have any idea that the Order exists now, except everyone we’ve fought has huge egos and can’t stop shouting it from the rooftops.” You glance back at Wedge. “I’m sorry. I cut you off.”

“You hit the nail on the head,” Wedge says, approvingly, giving you a quick nod. “With Gideon dead, it’s easy to think that most of the evil that’s terrorized the Outer Rim is gone, or—well, at least dormant. But that’s not the truth. They’re strategic in their darkness because they won’t survive without it.”

“Do we know exactly who we’re dealing with?” Cara asks, stepping forward. You watch as her strong, full figure fills the frame of the holotable. Everyone’s eyes are on her. “With Gideon dead, we don’t have much to go on.”

“I know,” you agree tiredly, dragging a hand over your face. “That—that was not the plan. But in that moment, it was what had to be done,” you amend, chancing a look back at Din. “No. There’s no new figurehead that we know of. From my experience—our experience—though, they wanted Grogu and me for a reason. It wasn’t to use our Force sensitivity as a weapon, like we had originally thought. They experimented on the baby when they took him,” you say, voice shaking a little, “and extracted something from his blood. Midichlorians. I don’t know, exactly, what they are or how they work. I’m a little new to the Jedi thing. But I know they have something to do with how we harness our energy, whatever it is that makes the Force up. Back on Cantonica, the people who tried to grab us insinuated using us—or our power—as weapons wasn’t their current mission, but it would be. And then when we spoke to Gideon back on Mandalore, he said the same thing. But his motivation may not have been the same.” You swallow. “He was scared,” you say, slowly. “Of them. The First Order. He admitted it. He was never in charge. He was a pawn, the same way they want to make us.” You stare at his rotating image on the table, tinted blue. You hate it. Even in this mugshot, he looks smug. It’s an expression that you know won’t go away for a long time after his death. “Whatever’s out there,” you finish, quiet, “it’s big, and it’s coming. We need to be ready. Because when it does, we’re going to have to give them everything we’ve got.”

“Well said,” Wedge says, looking around the room. “Anyone else got an update?”

A few of the other members of the Alliance step forward, confirming and denying a flurry of half-baked theories. Cara fills the rest of you in on what she’s learned from the people that are out of the prison system, which is really a whole lot of nothing. Most of the more dangerous criminals with the heinous crimes are still in prison, and those who have gotten out want to life a quiet, peaceful life. She talks about the refinery explosion back on Morak, the way she knows a few spots of Empire sympathizers, but other than surface-level information, she hasn’t gotten deep into any of her contacts. Karga and the Guild is the same. You can feel the way Din’s eyes are boring into him, the measured way he’s scrutinizing his face. Karga’s slippery, but he’s never posed a real threat, and there’s a kindness to him you wouldn’t expect in a bounty hunter.

Then again, you just secretly married one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the galaxy, and under all that beskar, there’s nothing but a heart of gold.

You smile, hiding the grin under guise of your hand stroking your lip. As if he can read your mind, Din steps so that the plate of beskar on his thigh bumps up against the back of yours. Even through your pants, you can feel how cold it is, how unyielding. How different it is than the man who wears it. The rest of the Alliance turn in small bits and pieces of information. Wedge uses the holotable to input everything, to keep as both map and record. You stare as it projects more and more of blue data. If you unfocus your eyes, it looks like stars.

Eventually, the conversation dies down. “One more time,” Wedge calls out, “do we have anything else to update, or shall we divide and conquer before our next rendezvous?”

Again, no one speaks. The slowly cartographed map projecting up from the table stands as proof that even without a ton of information, you’re starting a long and valiant fight. You feel fortified on that alone. Wedge dismisses everyone, and then you hear a modulated voice behind you.

“Actually,” Din says, his voice rough through the modulator, “I have something.”

Wedge raises his eyebrow, nodding to encourage Din to continue.

“I…” he starts tiredly, sighing, “am the ruler of Mandalore now. I didn’t want it, nor did I ever ask for it, but it’s a responsibility I have to deal with. But I made a promise to Nova,” he continues, knocking his knee slightly against yours. To the outside eye, it doesn’t look like he’s moved at all, but you know it happened. “And I’m going to follow her. I’m in this fight as much as the rest of you are, now, and that’s not changing. So, I would like to move the Rebel base to Mandalore,” Din finishes, finally, to a mixed crowd.

“Mandalore,” the older general says, gruffly, “is not ours to claim. They don’t take kindly to strangers of our kind.”

“I know that’s the history,” Din answers evenly, “but it’s going to be different now. This…this First Order, they don’t seem to only be after Rebels. If we’re not careful and strategic about the way we fight back, they might slip through the cracks. I think cracking down on another fascist regime is something that the Rebels and the people of Mandalore could agree on.”

“I beg to differ,” Wedge says, but his voice is light. “Listen, we’ve been base-hopping since before the first Death Star was blown to bits. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s not a ton of us left. I don’t know if relocation is the smartest idea, not right now.”

You can feel Din’s anger underneath the suit. It’s not directed at Wedge, but the complication of accidentally becoming the ruler of an entire planet isn’t easily dissolved.

“What if we don’t move the base?” you step in. “What if we kept the order of operations on Hoth, but we have a small squadron of people who work out of Mandalore so we keep in touch? The commute is short,” you continue, bringing up the distance between the two planets on the table, “and scattering our protection across the Outer Rim is probably smart, anyway.” You look from Din to Wedge. Everyone else is quiet. “None of this is ideal,” you press on, slightly worried about the tension floating up around everyone in the room, “but I think we’ve more than proven that we’re on the same team, and that we’re going to fight like hell. If the First Order emerges from more than just these shadows,” you continue, chancing a glance around the rest of the room, “then we revaluate where the base is. But right now, I think we should focus on communication instead of relocation.”

“Fine by me,” Wedge answers, easily, and you feel the rest of the anxiety in the room lessen. “Does that work for you?”

Din turns to you. You nod, just once, pleading through your eyes alone. Finally, he gives a swift nod, agreeing without saying a word of contempt or assurance. You smile over at Wedge, nodding again.

“Then the rest of you are dismissed,” Wedge says, with a note of finality. Murmurs fill the room as people start flowing outside of the doors. He looks over at Boba, who, like Cara, Fennec, and Karga, haven’t moved an inch. “You’re really in this?” There’s something complicated in his voice. You can’t quite place it. “You’re not going to try to sabotage us? Or take any of us out?”

Boba steps forward. If you weren’t well-trained in Mandalorian body language, you’d take his commanding presence as a threat. Wedge bends his knees a little, lifting his chin. “I’m not a bounty hunter anymore,” he answers, voice low and smooth. “I’m just a simple man, trying to make his own way in this galaxy.”

You can tell from Wedge’s expression that he doesn’t trust a single word out of Boba Fett’s mouth. “If you won’t cause any harm to us,” he continues, “can you promise me that you’d say the same for Luke Skywalker?”

Boba crosses his arms. Wedge stands taller. “I want to knock Skywalker into that Sarlacc pit and come out in one piece,” he says, and even though his voice is even, it’s not filled with the malice it was when you first met him on Khubeaie. “I don’t care if he lives or dies. I just assume that he’s integral to this whole…eradication of the First Order. So until they’re dead and gone, I won’t touch a pretty blonde hair on his head. Afterward?” He pauses, as if to seriously ponder it. “I can’t promise you what I’ll do next.”

Wedge regards him. Because you’ve known him practically your whole life, you can see his tell of fear. It lives on, like a little flame beyond the blackness in his eyes. Finally, he nods. “That’s fair.”

Boba nods, relaxes his stance. He turns to you. “We’ll keep searching,” he promises, and you flash him a quick smile. Fennec nods, confirming his words. “We do still have unfinished business on Tatooine. But send us a hologram when you’re about to be coronated,” he continues, turning to Din. You can hear the wry humor hidden in his voice, “I want to see the look on the Kryze girl’s face when you’re officially Mand’alor.”

You want to placate Din by telling Boba that they’ve firmly agreed to a truce, but Din doesn’t rush to explain any of this to the other Mandalorian. “You got it,” he says, easily, and then the two of them are gone, heading back to where Slave I is parked. You look over at Cara, whose arms are still exposed in this icy room. She’s not even shivering. You think maybe she’s the only person in the galaxy who could literally intimidate cold and dissuade it from touching her. Karga, on the other hand, is practically turning blue. He’s swaddled up in furs and a very fancy jacket, and yet, you can hear his teeth chattering. “Back to Nevarro for us,” he says, his voice a lot more strained than usual. “We’ll keep looking, too. I know this isn’t going to be easy,” he continues, turning his gaze to you, “but we don’t give up.”

“Ever,” Cara enunciates, knocking her shoulder into Din’s, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “Really. You’re in good hands,” she finishes, dropping her voice an octave, glancing up at Din.

“Oh,” you say, grinning brazenly, “I know.”

She flashes you another smile before the two of them depart the briefing room, too, and you’re left with Din and Wedge. You look back at your old friend, and you still see that vaguely disguised concern in his eyes. For a few moments, no one speaks. You exhale through your mouth and watch as the cold lights it up into frozen air.

“What did Luke say?” Wedge asks again. His voice is urgent. “When he sent you that second hologram?”

You look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “He just—he told me that he needed to speak with me, and that when I saw you next, you’d give me the coordinates of where to meet him. That’s it.” Wedge inhales, his breath slightly shaky. “Wedge, what—?”

“There’s something wrong with him,” Wedge finally says. “There’s this…sadness to him, now, this quiet. When I first met Luke, he talked my ear off for three days before I was able to get a word in edgewise. He whined. He was oppositional. More than anything, he had the biggest heart of almost anyone else I’ve ever known.” His eyes meet yours. “You give him a run for his money, though, rebel girl. We—the last time I was…with him,” he continues, guarded. You have a feeling that he’s intentionally censoring himself, but you don’t push it. You know the way his face lights up whenever Luke is mentioned. And you haven’t met him yet, but you’d be more than willing to bet that Luke feels the same away about Wedge. “The last time we were together,” Wedge continues, “he…he told me that he was going to try and rebuild the Jedi Order, that he wanted to locate all of the sacred texts and find anyone else out there. To create a sense of community. Then he basically disappeared. I had to get to him through Leia, which wasn’t an easy feat, either, and she finally told me he was off on a planet none of us had never heard of before.” Wedge sighs. Something in you sparked when he mentioned Leia, and you’re trying your very hardest to keep your cool, because if there’s anyone in the Alliance you hold in higher regard than Luke Skywalker, it’s his twin sister. “When he contacted me again, he just seemed…heavy. Haunted,” Wedge amends, “and urgent. Like he’s running out of time.”

You stare at Wedge until his eyes find yours again. “I’ll help him,” you say, gently, stepping forward. “I don’t know what he wants from me. I only know him from stories. But whatever it is, I’m here to help. Okay?”

Wedge sighs. “Okay.” He looks back between you and Din, and then the small, easy smile he regularly sports flits across his face. “He’s on Ahch-To. In the Unknown Regions. He wants you to meet him there, and he wants the two of you to come alone.”

“That,” Din finally says, breaking his silence, “will not be a problem.”

Wedge smiles up at him, too. “I like you,” he says, gently slapping Din’s forearm. “Stay alive and don’t let this one go, Mandalorian.”

“Trust me,” Din assures him, as Wedge pulls the data drive from the holotable so that the two of you can keep a copy of everything in your journey to Luke and back to Mandalore, “those are my two top priorities.”

Hoth is cold. Space is colder. Usually, by the time you’re out in the stars, it’s impossible to feel empty and chilled, but you’re hurtling through warp to the Unknown Regions, and there’s something so dark and desolate about this corner of the galaxy. It’s ancient, from what you can tell, and largely abandoned. Something here is bringing you an odd sense of quiet, but mostly, you feel that haunted, desperate feeling associated with the lurking, looming threat of the First Order, and you’re trying your best to ignore it.

Din rises up out of his seat and stands beside you. He dangles both of his hands into your line of sight, and you gently undo his gloves, letting them drop to the floor. His fingers slip under the fabric of your shirt and start pressing on where the ache has blossomed and hardened. “You carry all of your stress here,” he murmurs, digging his thumbs into the knots that line your shoulders.

“Hard to feel stressed,” you hum happily, “when you’re doing this.”

He tips your head back. You stare upside down into the visor, and then his hands disappear from your shoulders to pull the helmet off. You hide your small sigh under the noise of the hiss that his mask makes, and when you’re face to face, something kickstarts like a drum in your chest.

You’ll never get tired of seeing Din’s face. Not now, not ever. It’s complicated and etched with so much worry, but when he looks at you, everything has quieted. It’s just the two of you, the crush of space, and the promise of being a real family on the horizon. It makes everything in you swell and burst like a eager tide against the shoreline. “I love you,” you whisper, and he strokes his thumb over your cheek.

He smiles. It’s such a rare thing, that genuine smile. It shines on long after it’s left his face. “Ni kar’tayl su,” he agrees, and then, so softly you may have imagined it, “Novalise.”

When he comes in for a kiss, he spins your chair around so fast that you don’t even have enough air in your legs. He kneels down so that his face is level with yours, knocking his forehead gently against his. You wrap both of your arms up and around his neck, staring into his deep, brown, expressive eyes as he holds both of your cheeks with the palms of his large hands, breathing in his scent of cleanness and metal and smoke and, still, cinnamon.

“Do you remember,” he starts, his voice thick, “when we…we first met, and I asked you how old you were?”

You nod, quietly, feeling his hair brush up against yours. “Yeah,” you say, softly. You can feel your heart beating quickly in the left side of your chest.

“That,” Din sighs, “was a year ago today.”

You look up at him, startled. “You counted?”

He nods, still with his forehead against yours. “You’re not twenty-five anymore,” he says, quietly, “and I didn’t get you a birthday gift.”

You smile, pulling away, only slightly, so you can see his eyes. “We have been a little busy,” you say, grinning. “I think I can forgive you on that one.”

He meets your gaze, low and intense. “Can you?” Din asks, and as you’re registering the weight of the words of forgiveness, he’s taking off your pants. There’s something desperate and hungry in his eyes as he works them off of you, dragging his bare hands up and over your thighs. You gasp with the lightness of his touch, and when his mouth moves up in between your legs, you think his tongue can work miracles. Huge ones. Devastating ones. You’re pretty sure Din’s mouth alone could bring about galaxy-wide peace, except you don’t want it anywhere except for buried in your pussy.

You let out a strangled moan, low and wet, and right as his tongue starts furiously circling your clit, Kicker starts fucking hollering.

You could kill her. You love her, the home you’ve made in her, how she’s kept you safe, but right now, if ships could be strangled, you would absolutely throttle her. Sighing, you wrench your pants back up over your hips.

“I’m not done,” Din warns, and the image of him wiping the slick off of his lips replays in the back of your mind as you try to yank your attention back to your screeching ship.

“What’s wrong?” you mutter, checking through the laundry list of flips and switches and buttons, trying to figure out why Kicker’s on high alert. It takes a second, but then you see it—black TIE fighters, wicked and sharp, arachnid and blending into the crush of space. “Shit,” you murmur under your breath, strapping yourself back in. Before you can warn Din to do the same, lightning-quick, he bolts his safety belt. You crack your neck back and forth, shaking your fingers free of the cold cabin interior and any leftover jitters you’re still feeling from Din’s mouth on you.

“Where did they come from?” Din asks, and you recognize that his voice is modulated, his helmet back on in a flash. “We’re in the middle of nowhere—”

“Warp,” you call back, as the first one fires. It’s not their stereotypical light blast—something about it is just as dark and insidious as their ships are. You escape it, but narrowly, and you yank Kicker up to evade the shot. “Every time. Every single time. How the hell,” you call back at him, firing off a few rounds of your own, “do they find us this easily?”

“Well,” Din answers, over the noise, “your ship isn’t exactly the most inconspicuous, even with the modifications—”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, barrel rolling over on yourself, evading another blast. It careens into some debris of a nearby asteroid field, and you wince as it collides. “Do you think it’s because they know that Gideon’s dead?” The word feels heavy in your mouth. You gulp, setting everything to stun, dropping some of your height so that you can avoid the new shots they’re volleying at you.

“How could they?” Din yells back, and then a blast hits Kicker. You scream with the impact, loud and uncontrolled, as it drains your shields. You can’t tell how bad the damage is, but nothing is burning or smoking, even though Kicker’s screeching at you again. You’re almost positive she’s a sentient being, at this point, because she’s always so humanoid in her reactions. You grunt, hauling the ship as far right as you can get, blasting one of the three fighters with your own artillery. “I’m going to arm the cannon,” Din says, and you don’t have time to tell him that the defense system at the back of Kicker is a mess of wires and buttons, and that you’re not even sure if the rear artillery works, before he’s gone in a flash.

It turns out, the rear artillery does work. It’s no masterclass in shooting, but Din knows his way around his weapons, even ones he’s never used before. You’re exhausted, but you yank Kicker up and over, avoiding another blast. You stare at the fighters as they whiz around you. There’s a darkness to them that you don’t entirely understand, but when they start shooting again, you’ve had enough. You hate killing. You still carry the tally marks of the lives you’ve ended deep inside your chest. You know all of them by heart. But you’re willing to let these people take a few punches with Kicker’s best cannons, because you’ve had enough of them trying to take everything you love away from you for what feels like the millionth time.

“Up!” Din yells from the back of the ship, and you take every single atom of strength you have last in your body to wrench all of the thrusters upward, careening Kicker dizzily into the mess of the stars above. The fighters follow you, lightning quick. Din shoots, hard and heavy, with what feels like all the ammo left on the ship, but then you’re out and the one right on your tail shoots another blast. Everything in Kicker shakes, screams, and then slowly starts to power down. You can feel her sliding into sleep.

“Not like this,” you mutter, furious, flipping every switch you can think of, trying to make it the right way up so you can recalibrate your defense, if you have any left, or at least punch in new coordinates so you won’t die out here, lost in the crush of space. That same, awful feeling that filled you when you crash landed on Dagobah is running through you again. The last thing you think before you start moving is how horrible and lonely your parents’ deaths must have been when they were spinning to their terrible, fiery end.

The fighter closest to you fires again. You unbuckle. If you’re going to die like that, out here in the middle of nowhere in the Outer Rim, you’re going to get to your secret husband first and you’re going to tell him that you love him, that you don’t want to die alone, and that after this, after everything, of course you forgive him.

But you don’t have a chance. You slide across the floor, and scramble towards the ladder, and you can hear the uncharacteristic noise coming from Din down in the hull, and then everything quiets. It’s not possible. It can’t be.

A single X-wing comes out of nowhere. You stop your struggle to get downstairs. You forget everything else. Your jaw drops as your eyes track the ship. You know it before you see him. You know it because literally everything in you is shaking and screaming, every single last part of you that harnesses the Force is kaleidoscoping in the shape of Luke Skywalker, but you watch, stunned into complete silence, as he delivers three blasts, knocking each fighter down into space. You watch their trails dizzy down to nothing as everything filters back in. Din hurls himself up the ladder, promptly crashes into you, and then you’re both tangled up on the floor together.

“Nova,” Din mutters.

“That’s—” you stop, blinking, trying to take the image in, still, everything locked on the X-Wing you can see out of the starboard window, jabbing at the shape of his ship with a shaky finger, “that’s—Luke Skywalker—”

“Kicker is failing,” Din says, patiently, and then, not nearly as patiently, he grabs your face. “Hey! You either need to get her down on the nearest planet or I will, but either way, I’m not dying out here.”

“Not dying. Right,” you say, dazed, and then the adrenaline kicks back in. “Um—” you get up, heaving yourself back to a standing position with all the weight you can on the heels of your hands. You throw yourself back into the pilot’s chair. Kicker is screaming. Your comm blinks, and you raise it, still not entirely aware of what you’re doing. “Hello?”

“You need to help me ground your starfighter,” the voice warbles across the intercom, and you choke back a sob. It’s him. It’s him. You have absolutely no idea what he means, but General Luke Skywalker is talking to you. “Your kid told me he did it before.”

You squint. “My kid—?”

And then, like the sound of a million tiny, glorious bells ringing all at once, you hear Grogu’s laugh. You choke back a sob. Din’s hand finds your knee, clenches it in something that feels an awful lot like relief.

“It’s too big for us to do it alone,” Luke’s voice rings through again, “you need to use the Force.”

And, holy Maker and all the stars above, you do.

It’s not easy. You have no idea how Grogu did this alone, especially since the Crest was so much larger and clunkier than Kicker, but you let Din pilot the controls as you work with Luke and Grogu to bring the ship down as easily as you can to the closest planet. It’s not the most populated place, and you have no idea what the terrain will be like, but you put everything out of your mind except for getting to the ground in one piece.

Kicker isn’t in the best shape when you ground her, but she’s alive and, like her namesake, still kicking. You’re going to need more fuel, and definitely some repairs on the starboard side, but you’re on the ground and alive. You disembark down the gangplank, shivering even in your Rebellion-issued parka, because this ice giant is just as frozen and formidable as Hoth is, and even vaster. Din looks completely untouched in his usual beskar, but he grabs and releases his hand as Luke Skywalker’s X-wing soars through the cloud cover, touching down a good distance away from your ship. Everything in you is alive and anxious, your heart beating out an intense staccato rhythm inside your ribcage. You know this isn’t a trick, that this is really Luke, that he has Grogu, that everything you’ve been working toward for the last year is meeting you face to face, but it’s still making your knees buckle under the weight of it. When you see him moving down the ladder, you can’t help yourself, running straight towards the ship. Luke turns around, and you skid to a stop in the snow, staring at him. When he shifts, you can see Grogu safely nestled in his robes, and you choke back a small sob.

The second your child sees you, he starts crying. You do, too. The chill freezes the tears on your face, but you don’t care, and you’re running again. Grogu stretches out his tiny green arms toward you. You vaguely register that Luke Skywalker has a smile on his face, but the only thing you’re focused on at all is Grogu, and when you pick him up, he smiles at you, sniffling, latching his small body against yours as tight as he possibly can.

“I missed you, bug,” you whisper. Your words are whisked away by the howling wind, but you don’t even care. You know he can hear it. “I missed you so much.”

He warbles, and you hold him even tighter, tipping your forehead against his tiny, wrinkled green one. Din catches up to the two of you, and you turn around, beaming, eagerly passing the baby to his dad. Grogu throws himself against Din’s armor, with zero regard to how cold the beskar is, happy to simply share in his warmth.

You’re still crying. Ugly sobbing, really, slobber all over your face, and you drag the sleeve of your jacket across your nose, hoping that it’ll amend some of your tears and the remnants it left behind.

“He’s missed you for a long time,” Luke’s voice rings out, and you turn around. You stare at him. He has a warm, big smile on his face, an unencumbered one, which is in high demand these days. His blue eyes are kind and endearing, and he tracks Grogu’s movements with great care. You stare at him, mouth slightly ajar, trying to dream up any words to string together to express your gratitude. “I’m—”

“General Skywalker,” you interrupt in a rush, wincing. “M—Master Skywalker. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

He smiles at you. “You can just call me Luke.”

You nod profusely. You have the strange feeling that you’re meeting royalty, and you don’t know what to do with your hands. “I—I’m Nova. Novalise. But you can call me Nova.”

His gaze drifts from your face to Din and the baby. He nods once at Din, and you can tell there’s something yearning behind his kind eyes. Luke looks back at you. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time,” he continues, stepping toward you. “I’ve seen you. In visions. In the baby’s head.”

You nod, swallowing. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

The wind howls. You shiver, feeling your nose turn red from the chill. Luke shakes a bit, too, which seems notoriously human from someone so legendary, before you remember he grew up on a desert planet and probably has zero resistance to the cold. He takes another step toward you. “How long have you been having premonitions?”

You blink at him. “How did you—?”

Luke offers a tired smile. “I can sense them in you,” he answers, gently. “You’ve been in mine. I can only assume you’ve seen me in yours. When did they start?”

“A few months ago,” you answer, honestly, sifting your weight more evenly between your feet. “I’ve always thought I was tapped into…something else. Something more. But this was different. It showed up in dreams, then the baby would show me his, then I started having them of my own. Sometimes, they’re clear, like before we met Ahsoka Tano. Sometimes, though, they’re vivid and completely nonsensical. You started showing up in them recently,” you tack on, faintly, “both how you look now and…what seems to be you much older. I can’t make sense of them.”

Luke tilts his head a fraction of an inch. “Have you ever met anyone else like you besides Grogu?” He offers up another small smile. “Or me?”

You shake your head. “No,” you say, earnestly, “no, it’s just…the three of us. Have you?”

The expression on his face changes, shifting enough for you to categorize the difference. “My nephew,” he answers, but there’s something slightly off about his voice. “I train him, sometimes, too. But he also has these visions, these—premonitions. For a long time, I was the only other Jedi I knew, and I just thought that was normal. I’ve been researching, and those types of premonitions aren’t the typical vision.”

You stare at him. “What—what are we seeing?”

“The future,” Luke says, grimly. “I think. I don’t know if it’s set in stone. But there’s this darkness coming. I know you’ve felt it. Wedge told me about your visions, but he didn’t need to.” His eyes search over your face. “I can see it. You’re like me, Nova.”

Despite everything, you grin back at him. “I can think of worse people to be like. Lucky me.”

And then you see it. What Wedge was talking about. A conflicted darkness flitters across Luke’s face, and then he does his best to absolve it. He does look so much older than you were imagining him to be—not by much, because he’s only a handful of years older than you are—but his eyes are haunted with an emptiness that comes with accumulated loss. And if he’s right, there’s more to come. Din steps in closer, carrying the baby. Grogu coos, and the youthful smile that Wedge talks about spreads across Luke’s face when he looks at the kid.

“I wanted to meet you,” Luke says, finally, turning his attention back to you, “because I wanted to see it in your eyes. The Force. I wanted to show you that…you’re strong, and you’re unique, and that can very easily make you a weapon. I’m here to tell you,” he continues, leaning in, “that you can choose not to be.”

You nod, locking eyes with him. “I’m a Jedi,” you say, slightly winded, but strong. “Or at least, I’m going to be. I’m not going to let the First Order take me.”

He blinks. “You know about the First Order?”

You nod again, then slowly shake your head. “No,” you admit, finally. “Nothing really beyond their name and their plans to use us as their weapon.”

Luke studies you carefully. “I thought—I was naïve, when I first started. I thought that turning my father back to the light and letting him kill the Emperor would end things. I was wrong. There’s more to come,” he says, gravely, looking out at the barren wasteland of the planet you’re on, “and I don’t think what died fully stayed dead.”

The familiar words rush over you, seizing in your diaphragm. “What did you just say—”

And then you’re cut off by the screech of TIE fighters. You flinch, grabbing the Darksaber off of Din’s belt, unsheathing the blade. There’s five of them. Luke, immediately, unholsters his own lightsaber, a piercing green. You’re captivated by it, by the determined set of his young face. He just looks like an expert. You take stock of his fighting stance, adjusting your legs to match his position. When the first blasts come, you brandish the Darksaber in front of you, sizzling away their attack. They swoop and soar around you. You hear the impact when one hits the beskar, Din knocked to the ground.

“Hey!” you call, running over to him, dropping the saber down by your side as Luke jumps and slices at the arachnid ships in the air. Your heart is in your throat. You didn’t see the hit, but you heard him fall, and frenzied worry is burning in your chest.

“I’m fine,” Din says, gruffly, “Fine, I promise. Go be a Jedi.”

You stare at him. He nods, wrapping Grogu up in his cloak, letting his tiny hands soar out in the open. Tiredly, the baby drags down one of the ships. More artillery is fired, and you pull Din and Grogu beyond a large shoal of ice, trying to avoid the blasts.

“Go be a Jedi,” Din repeats, and you shake your head. The fighters are so aggressive in their assault, but you watch as the swoop and soar around Luke, barely shooting anything in his direction. They want Din, you realize, like a lightning bolt in your chest, they want to attack Din and the baby because they’re after you. “Nova—”

“They’re trying to kill you,” you say, grabbing either side of the helmet as more blasts shake free some of the ice above your heads. “I’m supposed to be here—”

Before you can do anything, Din wrenches the helmet off. You stare at him, dumbfounded, trying to shield his face from the low, swooping fighters above your heads. “No—”

He kisses you. Full force. His lips are so much warmer than yours are, his tongue gentle and slithering into your mouth. You lean into the kiss, grabbing at him with everything you can, and then he’s pulled himself away. “I meant it when I asked you,” Din whispered urgently, “do you think you can forgive me for leaving you?”

Your heart is pounding. You can feel your eyes fill with tears. “Yes. But what are you—”

“Good,” Din answers, shoving the helmet back down, “then you can forgive me twice.”

And then he’s running, with Grogu in his arms, making a beeline straight for Kicker. You scream, but the sound gets ripped away in the wind. Terrified, you stare at Luke, who makes eye contact with you and extends his left palm, focusing on the first TIE fighter. You sheath the saber and run towards him, focusing all of your energy on the one that’s after Din. For what feels like forever, you stand back-to-back with Luke Skywalker, fighting off the evil surrounding you with nothing but the Force and each other. It feels huge in a way you can’t quantify, and even though you’re terrified with what Din’s doing, you don’t take your focus off the fighter for a second. When he’s back up the gangplank in Kicker, you help Luke tank the biggest one in the shoals of ice.

Two of them are grounded. You heave a heavy breath, trying to catch air in your lungs, and then the other three are delivering an array of artillery in your direction.

“Don’t let them touch my ship!” you scream, and Luke nods. You pull the Darksaber off of your belt, and swing it at the fighter that soars overhead, searing off their blasts.

“Nova!” Luke shouts back, and you turn to watch the holster of his green lightsaber fly through the air. Seamlessly, you grab it. The blade ignites immediately in your hand.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” you yell, and Luke twists around to stand by your side. You watch him as the three remaining fighters soar in above the two of you again, heart pounding.

Luke gives you a small smile. “What you’re meant to,” he answers easily, closing his eyes and lifting his hand to the three skeletal fighters in front of the both of you, “be a Jedi.”

You close your own eyes. Two people spill out of the fighters you’ve grounded, and you let Luke shoulder the three in the sky as you run, determined, towards the two men running angrily towards you. One of them lunges for you. You use the green blade to scare him off, but he doesn’t pay it any attention, just roars at you and tries to tackle you down to the ice.

“No you don’t,” you seethe, swiping the saber at his arm. It barely cuts anything, but the burn of it makes him howl. “You don’t get to have me.”

The other one is huge, menacing, built. You stare up at him, trying to only portray strength, not showing him a sliver of weakness, but when he comes for you, he’s vicious. This one���s smarter. He brought his blaster with him, and the bolts that he fires off are lethal and dangerous.

“You have no idea what you’re up against, little girl,” he smirks, and then, lightning quick, his hand closes around your throat. You’re not even sure how it happened, because you were brandishing Luke’s blade, and you’re much faster than the large figure in front of you, but the light behind your eyes starts to fade as he lifts you into the cold air, choking you out. “I’m not going to kill you,” he whispers, a horrible grin on his face, “what we’ll do will make you wish you were dead.”

You gasp, feeling the black spots in your vision slowly pinprick. You can barely see Luke. You don’t know where Din and Grogu went in Kicker. You can still hear the jeering of the soaring TIE fighters, and you know there’s only one thing left to do. You close your eyes, let everything run out of you backward, and then offer one, singular word to the universe.

Help.

Your consciousness fades back in. The man holding you drops you to the ground, and you wheeze and retch, trying to pull all of it back, stumbling away from his grip. It takes you a second to register what’s happening. Kicker comes out of nowhere, Din fires a series of blasts to the remaining fighters, Luke takes his lightsaber back to strike down both of the men, and above them all, Grogu has his eyes closed, his ears pushed back, and his little hands up in the air, using all of his tiny powerful body to Force choke the man who tried to throttle you.

You love him. Maker, you love him, so much. You cry up to him in relief, and the second he hears your voice, he stops, leaving the thug unconscious. Din uses up the rest of the artillery to blow the remaining fighters to bits, and then he grounds the ship.

The man, strangled, warbles out, “the First Order won’t forget this.”

Luke, icily, rises one eyebrow and his right hand, coaxing the man into a faint. “Neither,” he says, coolly, even after he’s sure the other guy’s out, “will we.”

“Thank you,” you say, warmly, rocketing the baby up in your arms. “Thank you, thank you—”

“His idea,” Din says, and you look up at him, both irritated and relieved. “I’m sorry I—”

“You,” you say, voice shaking, “are not forgiven.” But you jump on him as well, wrapping your arms around the cold beskar of his shoulders. “But thank you,” you whisper, in a voice so quiet that you know only he can hear it.

“This isn’t the end,” Luke says, behind you, and he tosses the Darksaber over to you. Din catches it midair with a singular hand. “This is just the beginning.”

“I’m not tired,” you say, exhausted, holding out his saber in your hand. “Thank you. For everything, thank you.”

“No. You hang onto that,” Luke says, finally. He has a strange expression in his eyes. “Keep the lightsaber. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again, soon enough.”

Grogu, nestled up in your arms, stares up at you. You know, even wordless, what his huge eyes are asking. “Can we—” you start, voice shaking, “can—can Grogu come back to Mandalore with us for a few days?”

You wait with bated breath. Luke nods, meeting your eyes. “When you bring him back to Ahch-To,” he agrees, the ghost of a smile sparking up his face again, “bring my lightsaber with you. I’ll teach you a few things.”

You nod, profusely. Luke nods at the both of you, and right as he’s turning to go back to his X-wing, you find the rest of your question from earlier.

“What did you mean?” you call out, after him. “When you said what died didn’t stay dead?”

Luke’s eyes are haunted with something you don’t entirely understand. “Evil has a way of rising again,” he says, finally, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if the people I killed find a way to come back.”

It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “The people you killed?”

He looks at you. You know what he means. The Emperor, or at the very least, the horrible people who surrounded him. You swallow, trying to regulate your breath. “What—what can we do?”

Luke glances from Din to the baby to you. “Be a Jedi,” he repeats, his voice faraway. “I’ll see you soon.”

You nod, watching him, dazed, walk back to his ship.

“And Nova,” Luke continues, bracing himself on the ladder, “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” you whisper, watching as the X-wing disappears into the cloud cover, staring at the trails as they evaporate, as you hold the only tangible proof in the form of his lightsaber that Luke Skywalker was ever here at all.

The trip back to Mandalore is probably as cold as the one here, but you don’t even notice. You have the baby in your lap again, and all of the warmth in the whole galaxy is sitting here with you, green, adorable, and alive. The three of you spend the entirety of the trek cuddled up together, and when you finally land on the planet, you’re exhausted but safe. Your legs hurt from running, your scar aches from the residual cold, but you barely notice them. They’re such small hurts in comparison to all the good nestled safely in your arms.

Grogu, as always, is exhausted from using the Force to ground your ship and choking out the guy trying to do the same to you, and he falls asleep in your arms before you make your way back to the suite that Bo-Katan gifted the two fo you the last time you were here. You lay him down in the tiny bassinet in the adjoined room, his little snores just as quiet and angelic as they were the last time you heard him.

Your heart, still ran over from all the danger you’ve spent the last year fighting off, is full. You walk into the fresher, staring at your reflection. You’re positively disheveled, your clothes dirty and torn, your hair hanging half out of the braid you tied it in multiple planets ago, but that smile on your face is still lighting up even the darkest parts of your eyes. You stare at yourself, running your fingers across your lips, taking in every single inch of yourself. You don’t look like a normal twenty-six-year-old. You certainly don’t look like royalty. But you look like you. Nova, Her Highness Rebel Rouser Pilotess of the Outer Rim. Nova, wife, mother, Rebel. Nova, yourself.

That alone makes the grin stretch even wider. Din walks into the bathroom, staring at your reflection in the mirror, wrapping his big arms around your waist, letting his helmeted face rest on your shoulder blades.

“You are,” he sighs, “so beautiful.”

“I’m a mess,” you insist, giggling.

“Beautiful,” Din repeats, and when you tentatively hook your fingers under the rim of his helmet, he lets you gently pull it off. You stare at every sinch of his handsome, rugged face in the mirror, your eyes roaming over the valleys of his lips, the mountain of his nose, his gorgeous brown eyes that hold the stars.

“You are, too,” you whisper, faintly, and then he’s turning you around, his strong hands on your hips.

“I never finished giving you your birthday present,” Din murmurs, and he starts pulling his worn gloves away from his fingers. You watch as he lets them drop to the floor, breath hitching in your throat. “Do you think you could let me do that, cyar’ika?”

You nod, breathless. When he strips you down, you’re expecting to be perched on the cold metal of the sink as his mouth returns, again and again, between your thighs, but his warm, rough hands hook underneath your thighs and he carries you out of the fresher.

Din lays you down on the bed. He’s still fully clothed side from his helmet, and for what feels like an eternity, you just stare into his eyes, thanking the Maker and all the stars above that you’re the one that gets to know him like this, that he trust you to look at his face, that you broke down on Nevarro all those months ago.

And when Din dives between your thighs again, you know he’s thanking everything in the universe for the same exact things.

His mouth is an omen, a prayer, a miracle. You’ve never been particularly religious, but he makes you want to be. You can feel the way he’s opening you up, letting no part of you go untouched or untasted. You sigh, moaning loudly into the soft flesh of your arm, trying to stifle the animalistic noises he’s evoking. When his tongue finally, finally finds your clit, you can feel what he’s spelling. First it’s mine, then it’s your name, and then it’s I love you. You gasp. You could recognize it anywhere, even in the dark, and still, your pulse is absolutely racing.

“Din,” you start, strangled, “fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—”

He pulls his mouth away from you, an obscene smacking noise filling the rest of the room. “Good,” he enunciates, and then his tongue is back on you.

You’re pretty sure you see heaven. Your fingers knot tightly in his gorgeous dark hair, whimpering as he coaxes another orgasm out of you, then another, then another. Your legs are shaking, and you’re infinitely grateful that he carried you out here instead of trying to eat you on the edge of the sink, because you wouldn’t have been able to stay standing. You swallow, gasping harder and harder as his mouth pulls off your pussy and roves up your stomach, decorating your scar with the sweetest kisses, pawing gently at your tits before his mouth licks love bites into the underside, above your nipples, in the middle of your chest. You think that if he asked, you’d let Din plant hickeys literally anywhere he wanted, to put his claim on you, to prove that he’s yours. When his mouth meet yours again, it’s like you’ve died and come back to life.

You can taste yourself on Din’s lips, salty sweet. He licks into your mouth. “Taste so good,” he croons, mouth dropping to the pulse point behind your ear. You shudder as he teases you with his mouth, two fingers dipping in your slick and then pushing inside of you. You clench and moan around him, and faintly, you hear him moan about how tight you are before the rush of another orgasm rips into you and everything goes starry and skyward.

Finally, you come back to your sense, reeling. “Din,” you try again, but his name comes out in a breathless puff of air. You’re writhing under his touch, every inch of you alive and his. You feel electric.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he grunts out, and you don’t even have time to try to bargain for a taste of his cock, to touch him, to put your mouth in places that’ll make him feel as good as you do. For a second, he pulls you up so you can wrap your mouth around him, but the second he thrusts into your throat, he’s gone. “Not gonna last,” he murmurs, fingers tangling in your loose hair, “I have to fuck you now, cyar’ika.”

Your eyes roll back. “If—if you must,” you manage, but your voice is so thick and laden with lust that the joke doesn’t deliver. Din uses the head to rub against you a few times before he goes in, teasing your swollen clit before he pushes everything inside of you.

It’s everything. He’s not gentle, this time, which is exactly what you wanted. You don’t think you could see straight for days if he tried to pound you with ease. You want to be absolutely annihilated, to have the breath taken out of you. Wordlessly, Din does just that. He fucks into you hungrily, without remorse. You’re both moaning. His lips press up into your ear, but you can’t even recognize what he’s saying as he fucks everything out of you. Eventually, his words register-feel so good, my sweet thing, fuck, Nova—and you cry out as you clench down around him for what feels like the hundredth time. Din plants a singular kiss against your lips, moans, and whispers, “that’s it, sweet girl,” and then both of you are sent to the stars at the same time, gasping, moaning, screaming, like you’re colliding stars, like you belong to nothing but each other. It’s everything. It’s huge. It’s that something more you’ve always felt, that cosmic connection, that dual astral projection. For what feels like hours, you lay together, breathing in each other’s air, satisfied and happy.

Both of you end up in the shower, although you can’t remember either one of you asking to move towards the fresher. You let Din drag the soap over your sore shoulders, cleaning between your legs, frothing the suds in your hair. You don’t know when he had the time or the energy to do it, but he got that lavender soap you love, and the scent fills up the place with steam.

You do the same, wordlessly, dragging his soap over his broad shoulders, across his toned stomach, down both of his legs. You kiss Din as he presses his lips against yours, over and over again, and when you leave the shower, you’re both inches from sleep, happy, exhausted.

The bed is so much more comfortable than the one on Kicker. You sink into it, completely naked, shifting as close to Din as you possibly can. It’s dark in here, but you’re close to the window, and you see the foreign shapes of the buildings of Mandalore, and everything filters back in.

“Did you ever believe,” you whisper, not even sure if Din is still awake, “that when we met, we would end up both being Rebels and the leaders of a whole planet?”

“No,” he answers, immediately, his voice muffled against the back of your neck. “Not a chance in hell.”

You grin, into the darkness. “And now?”

“Now,” Din sighs, pulling you closer, “I truly can’t imagine our lives being any other way.”

You nod, in silent agreement. The night beckons you in closer and closer, and you let yourself fall onto the edge of sleep, heart full, eyes closed, exactly where you’re supposed to be. When you drift off to dreamland, you hear Din whisper he loves you, and you replay the words over and over in the back of your mind until they forge a promise stronger than the one living on your ring finger, content, together, on the precipice of something more.

Morning comes quickly, and it comes with Grogu jumping on the bed and waking both of you up with his abnormally loud cooing. You wake first, not even sure how the little guy found his way up on top of a bed that’s easily five times his height, but you pull him into the nest of sheets and blankets you and Din made in your sleep. When he wakes up, it’s slowly, and you touch your fingertips over to his face, tracing lines of love into his skin.

“Good morning, Mand’alor,” you say, and Din’s eyes open slowly.

“Not yet,” he answers, voice flat. You look over at where Bo-Katan must have left your outfits while you were gone on Hoth. His is typical—the Mandalorian beskar he’s been wearing for as long as you’ve known him, but with a neutral blue cloak to replace all that black. Your dress is gorgeous. You didn’t even know if you would have anything new for the ceremony, because all you’re doing is standing there, but you have to admit, Bo-Katan went above and beyond with this one. The color of the dress is shimmering, a dark navy blue that’s almost completely black. The fabric hugs the top half of your shoulders, and as the dress flows down the rest of your body, the blueness lightens into the same color Din’s cloak is made of. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, rivaled only with Yavin’s sunsets and Naator’s pink skies, and when you put it on, you feel like a princess. It’s not practical, but it’s also functional, and as you interrogate the chair full of things Bo-Katan brought you, you find a matching garter, shimmering in the same impossible way the dress does, embroidered with twin silver stars. When you slip it on, the lightsaber Luke’s letting you hang onto fits perfectly, flush against your legs. There’s a small slit trailing up the dress, so hidden by the starry, shimmering fabric that no one would catch it if they weren’t looking for it, and you grin as you put it on, thanking the Maker above for the Mandalorians being so effective in their aesthetic.

“Holy fuck,” you hear behind you, and you turn around. Din’s only in his underclothes, the tiniest bit of his belly peeking out from under his new tunic, and he’s staring at you.

“Bo-Katan,” you say, shyly, taking stock of his shocked face, “does not miss.”

Din walks toward you, taking in every inch of your shimmering dress, mouth slightly ajar. “No,” he murmurs, and then he’s striding towards you, holding your face in his hands, his lips feverish and frenzied against yours. “She certainly does not.”

“Neither do you,” you whisper, dazed, touching your lips, staring at him as he shoulders the cloak. “You look—”

“Strange,” he mutters, checking out his reflection critically.

“Amazing,” you correct, walking closer. The two of you look like royalty—outfitted in all the blue bells and whistles that Mandalore has to offer, standing tall in all that silver regalia—and when Grogu tugs at the bottom of your dress, you lift him into your arms, adjusting his own blue outfit. You don’t look like a rebel and a bounty hunter and their strange baby. You look like a family, a real one, and something else. You look like you belong here.

When Bo-Katan meets you at the door, she looks equally as regal. Her eyes roam over Din’s helmeted face with slight disdain, but she looks at you like she sees stars, and when her gaze flits over to Din again, her expression has molded into something that faintly rings out excitement.

“Are you ready?” she asks, leading the three of you down the staircase at the back of the quarters. You can tell by the shift in architecture that you’re heading straight for the throne room, and your heartbeat is knocking itself dizzy. Everything feels alive and electric, that buzzing of something more loud in your ears. You know this isn’t the ending. You know that by all accounts, that this is truly a beginning—you’re about to be married to the new leader of Mandalore, you have an entire shadowy fascist regime to beat, you know practically nothing about being a Jedi—but everything that started when you crash landed on Nevarro all those years before feels like it’s settling cosmically into place. Your breathing is quick and shallow as you hear your heels click against the empty hall, trying to take everything in, and before you know it, you’re at the door.

Bo-Katan looks at you and Din. “Everyone’s in there,” she says, and her voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard it. “They’re likely not going to be happy with this. But I’m going to go out first, and I’m going to introduce you and…” she looks over at you, and then back to Din, “and then you three will come in.”

Din nods.

“Are you ready?” Bo-Katan asks again, and there’s no greed in her voice. She’s not wanting for him to fail. You watch as she stands up straighter, and you notice the same color cloak flowing out from all of her beskar. You don’t know if you fully like her, yet, but you trust her, and you know that’s far more valuable in a situation like this. She offers you the tiniest of smiles. You return it, tenfold.

Din nods again, and then opens his mouth to speak. His voice is calm through the modulator, calmer than you would have expected. “Yes,” he says, finally, “yes, I’m ready.”

Bo-Katan nods at both of you, catches your eye one last time, and then shoulders herself through the double doors. The cheering and noise of the whole planet filters through the wide doorway, and then they click closed, leaving you and Din and Grogu together with nothing but each other.

“We can still run for it, you know,” you whisper, trying to shake the jitters out of your voice. “Think about it. We could disappear back on Yavin. Or Naator. That tiny little village. Pink skies, beautiful yellow trees.”

Din looks over at you, and you know you’re looking straight into his eyes under the visor. Your heart is beating so fast. “You made a promise to me, cyar’ika,” he says, “that you won’t run.”

You grin back at him. “True. I did say that. But I meant it in the context that I was never going to run from you. I never promised I wouldn’t run with you.”

“That’s quite the loophole.”

“I’m good,” you say, giggling, “and smart. I have like ten thousand contingency plans.”

“Well,” Din says, facing back to stare at the doors, reaching his gloved hand out to meet yours, “you don’t need them here.”

You look at him. “We’re gonna pull it off,” you repeat, trying to make your promise shine just as bright as all the ones he’s given you. “All of it. You are going to be the greatest leader that Mandalore has ever known. Grogu,” you continue, looking down at your adorable, green child nestled safely in your arms, “is going to become a Jedi.”

Din turns to you again. “And you?”

You smile. “Maybe both. I contain multitudes.”

Din laughs, and the noise is so light and so free that it makes every single inch of you melt. You beam up at him. “You certainly do,” he says, quietly, and then, after what seems like a moment of deliberation, he lifts his fingers and pulls his helmet off. He doesn’t look relaxed, but he doesn’t look particularly fearful, either.

“Are you sure?” you ask, breathless, as he brings his helmet all the way off, staring back at the double doors that Bo-Katan disappeared through a minute ago. You can only faintly hear what she’s saying, but you know it’s nearing the time when the three of you—your strange, wonderful little family—have to meet her in there.

He nods. “We’re both done running,” he sighs, his voice thick with resolve, “and I’m done with hiding.”

Your eyes fill with tears. “I love you. Ni kar’tayl su, darasuum.”

“Forever, Nova,” Din whispers back. He turns to face you one last time. You stare into his eyes, that warm, eternal state of brown, and as he moves closer to you, his hands around your waist, you don’t take your eyes off of him. Not even to blink. Not even for a second. You just stare, drinking in every single inch of his gorgeous face, knowing that you know him. It pulses and burns inside you like a shared, glorious star. “This is the beginning, you know.”

“I know,” you repeat, softly, feeling as his hand gently strokes over your perfect hair. There’s a headband as part of your outfit, made out of glittering spikes of beskar, and when Din touches his hand to it, it feels like a crown. “We’re going to change the world. Stop the order. Bring peace and good things, and then when we’re done, we can retire knowing we made all of this better for the rest of the galaxy. And then,” you inhale, staring into his eyes, “we’re going to have a real wedding. Flowers. Grogu presenting our rings. Boba Fett marrying us.”

“Absolutely not,” Din cuts you off, but you can hear the lilt in his voice. “Cara or nothing.”

You grin back. “Deal.”

“And where are we retiring?” There’s a tiny sparkle of humor hidden in his voice.

“We’ll have homes on all our favorite planets,” you decide, “but we can live on the ship for good, if you like.”

“No,” Din says, his voice faraway, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “When I make our next home with you, it’s going to be permanent.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Nova—”

“We’re ready,” you assure him, stepping closer, tipping your head back. “I’m ready. Are you?”

After a moment, Din nods. The way he’s holding you—protective, possessive, wholly yours—it makes everything fade out. For a moment, a dazzling, fleeting moment, everything else fades out. You see the two of you on Nevarro the first time, the way his hands felt when he was patching your wounds, all the promises you both made and broke back on Dantooine, the vows to each other on Naator, the proposal on Yavin, every single time you’ve saved each other, which is now an even tally, standing together at the Rebel base, standing together through the darkness, through the light, still standing together here. You love him. With all of your heart, you love him, and you know it’ll last even longer than forever. There’s war coming, but for now, you’re with your husband and your baby, about to step into the next phase of saving the world. And after everything, after all of that, you know the perfect thing to say before moving through those gilded double doors.

“I’m ready,” Din repeats, more fortified. You nod, and then beam at him and the baby, pushing your shoulders back. “This is a lot,” he says, his voice still tinged slightly with anxiety, “are you sure?”

You step as close as you can, reaching your hand up to bring his face down to yours, tipping your foreheads together. “Din Djarin,” you whisper, “I’m sure. We were always meant for something more. And,” you continue, smiling, mouth an inch away from his, “I don’t scare easy.”

And as Bo-Katan opens the double doors, you lean into your embrace, everything rushing back to the present, the entire galaxy evaporating and colliding at once. You hear the crowd in the throne room. You don’t know what’s coming next. But, you think, as you prepare to move forward, as long as you’re doing it with Din and Grogu, you’ll be okay.

So, regardless of the open door waiting for the rest of your lives in front of you, you slide your hand down Din’s face, lean into his kiss, and whisper that you forgive him.

*

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*

I HOPE YOU ALL LOVED IT!!!! writing this has been the adventure of a lifetime. it's given me peace, solace, happiness, giddiness, and, most importantly, all of you. thank you all endlessly for coming along on this journey with me. i love each and every one of you with all of my heart. thank you for supporting me and my story, for leaving incredible comments and analysis, for being my friends, and for jumping off this crazy cliff with me. SM turned into the story i was always meaning to write when introduced Nova as her whole character, and your love for her has filled my soul up with so much joy. thank you, endlessly, for coming along this ride with me. i know this isn't a "real" ending, and that not every single little plotline was tied up in a neat little bow, but i hope you'll forgive me because i have PLANS for the sequel. give me a month or so to get writing and planning, and the next installment in the SM series will be up as soon as possible!!!! as always, i'll give ya all the updates on tumblr (amiedala) and tiktok (padmeamydala) when writing starts!

you are all so important to me. thank you for reading, thank you for loving my words, and thank you for seeing this through with me.

onward and upward; the next adventure awaits!!!

all my love always,

amelie

[dutchdread]

Hi again, I'm the same anon from your last ask. So my next question then is why would you consider it to be a bad story if Cloud ends up with Aerith in the end? You also say Cloud and Tifa supposedly have something going on, but even if they did, Aerith doesn't know that. Neither Cloud nor Tifa tell anyone, or even show that there's anything going on between them throughout the whole story. Did you see that in Remake that Aerith even asks Cloud if Tifa is someone special and he says no?

Thanks for the question. Your question is comprised of two parts, why Cloud ending up with Aerith would be a bad story, and then the secondary part about Aerith not knowing about the history between Tifa and Cloud. I think understanding the later will be helpful to understand the former so I'll start with that. This goes back to what I said in my last reply concerning the difference between thinking someone is a bad person, and thinking they're a bad character. First off, let me just make clear that I don't judge Aerith too much concerning her behavior in the OG, since as you rightly state, she didn't really know that there was anything going on between Tifa and Cloud, she probably knew there was some attraction there, but nothing about the extent or the history. And if in the remake it turns out she's actually blissfully ignorant I'll be more lenient there as well. However, in my opinion the remake heavily implies she does realize there is a thing between Tifa and Cloud. You mentioned Aerith asking if Tifa was Clouds girlfriend, and him replying "no". However, as always, there is context here, for starters, the scene doesn't end there and then. Aerith replies knowingly "but she's someone special". Moreover the scene is also only one scene in a series of relevant scenes concerning Clouds relationship with Tifa, which starts with Jessie asking about who Tifa is too Cloud, this plotpoint then continues through Aeriths flower. When Aerith gives Cloud the flower she mentions that his girlfriend will love it, then later when Aerith asks him who he gave the flower to Cloud says he doesn't remember, and Aerith calls him out on the lie. The question is then answered when Aerith goes to the 7th heaven and discovers Cloud gave it to Tifa, prompting a smile from Aerith. She figured it out, actually, she probably figured it much earlier, but now it was confirmed. She had a hunch about Tifa, just like Jessie, Cloud was defensive at first, then evasive, but ultimately, Aeriths hunch was correct, Cloud gave the flower to Tifa. He can pretend all he wants, Aerith knows. Personally, I think she smiled because it reminds her of the future. Throughout remake Aerith is hinted to know more than she lets on, and that's especially true concerning Tifa and Cloud. When Tifa is kidnapped she pushes Cloud to go after Tifa, calling Tifa Clouds special person. If I recall correctly she even uses the same terminology that she used to describe Elmyras husband. She actively tries to make Tifa jealous by calling Cloud her bodyguard, and then she straight up tells Tifa to follow her heart. She gives me the distinct impression that she knows perfectly well where Cloud and Tifas hearts lie, and is trying to push them into action. This is borderline confirmed during the Aerith resolution where she basically straight up admits to knowing more about Clouds feelings than she actually should, assuming you think that this apparition is at least somewhat related to the current Aerith in some manner. The thing that really clenches this in my opinion is a trace of two pasts, where Tifa straight up tells Aerith about her and Clouds history. If Aerith doesn't get it by then, then she's being willfully ignorant. But lets say she does indeed not know, that would to some degree absolve her as a person. But it would still make her a bad character, because WE, the audience, know. We know that Cloud is supposed to end up with Tifa, we know that's how the story goes. And when you rewrite old stories in such a way that you take things away from one character, just to give more to another character, you run the giant risk of insulting the characters involved. You see this in things like the star wars sequels, where they effectively character assassinated Luke Skywalker in order to artificially make Rey seem better. But there are two reasons why this doesn't work, for one, it tends to create Mary-Sue like characters who just get given everything, and two, it inherently causes the fans of the other characters and stories to resent the character that's taking it away.

People don't like people who are simply handed everything, even fictional ones.

In a sense, this is also why Cleriths so often seem to hate Tifa, because they feel like Tifa took their story away from them. The difference, of course, is that Cloud ending with Tifa is a part of the original game itself, while Aerith coming back to life and ending up with Cloud would be a 25 year retcon which would blatantly disadvantage one character in favor of another, this in turn would reek of favoritism, which in turn would generate bad blood in the player. A character who needs to take away from other characters in order to be put forward is not a good character. Good characters add to the characters around them, not take away, that's what Aerith in the OG does, that's what Aerith ending up with Cloud, would not do. This effect would then be magnified by Aeriths already over importance to the plot. Having the universe revolve around one character generally isn't good writing. One of the things that makes Lord of the rings so timeless and beloved is that Frodo is just a small hobbit in the grand scheme of things. Likewise, one of the key elements that makes FFVII so appealing to human nature is Clouds humanity and lack of importance. The fact that Cloud turns out to not be a soldier 1st class, but just a grunt who wasn't good enough, who still ends up being the one who saves the world, speak to the human spirit. Aerith living and ending up with Cloud wouldn't be just a small difference where the overall story would stay the same with only the love interest switched, no, it would inherently ripple effect into all other aspects of the story. From the smallest details to the overall themes of the story, from directing to the personalities of characters, everything would be effected and all of it would fall apart. I could go over a hundred examples but I'll limit myself to some of the smallest and largest. Stories have a flow, where what is happening follows logically from what came before. It's not that it's impossible to write a story where two characters that are roughly similar to Cloud and Aerith fall in love, get separated by death, and where the Cloud character mourns and pines for her after she's gone. The problem comes when you add in Tifa, Zack, and all the other context and details of the story. Consider Zack, if we take the concept of Zack as it relates to Cloud and Aeriths relationship and boil it down to the essentials we could see it as a story about a girl falling in love with a boy because he's channeling the spirit of her dead ex, the main internal conflict the characters need to overcome could then be the question of whether these feelings are true, or whether they are just the shadow of her feelings for the old boyfriend. On the surface, this premise works as the basis of a story. The problem lies in the execution. If you write such a story there are a few things you can and cannot do. For one, you have to make this love exceptionally obvious, you can't tell a story about whether or not feelings are true if you never even get to establishing the feelings in the first place. One of the key things you need to do for this is establish the two characters central importance to the others internal emotional arcs. The first thing you DON'T do is establish a second female character and have Clouds emotional arc revolve mainly around her. If you want to tell a story where Tifa and Clouds relationship turns out to just be friendship, while Aerith and Cloud turns out to be love, then you show the scenes establishing that. However, whenever Cleriths argue for a story like this they have to assert that Cloud no longer loving Tifa is just something that happened off-screen and is never mentioned. But if this were true, this would be extremely important to show. So again, if this is the story, then this is bad direction, aka, storytelling. Scene choices matter, if your story requires you to assume that the scenes you're shown aren't important, and that the crucial bits have to be imagined to happen of screen, then that's bad writing. And the reason you can't suddenly do it now, 25 years later, is

because of a thing called "set-up". Even if they were to change to story to suddenly direct it as such now, it would constitute a drastic change of direction, which means the larger 2-decade long story we've been told is no longer a single coherent whole. If the story in remake is that Cloud always loved Aerith, then why wasn't the ground work for that lain 25 years ago? If you want to say that the story is about Cloud loving Aerith, and ending up with her eventually, then you can't have Cloud not speak her name for the second half of the original game, and devote that time completely to establishing port-mortem that Cloud wasn't himself while with Aerith, and that his true self has deeply ingrained feelings towards another woman. And not some minor character who exists only as a plot-device, some fake hurdle designed to try to raise some fake tension, but Tifa, a character who is routinely established to be the "heroine" of the game, someone of equal importance to Aerith who cared for Cloud while he was in a coma, whose history with Cloud started his internal character arc, whose history with Cloud resolved his internal character arc, and who lives with Cloud 2 years later.

And the same thing goes for Zack, it was possible to write him as negligible when it was just FFVII, if you ignored the addition of Tifa and JUST focused on the Zack element as a side character. But the addition of Tifa and the existence of Crisis Core cause the narrative to become disjointed when trying to view it as a single story. This is why people so often want you to ignore Crisis Core, because they understand that if a conclusion of a story is that Zacks role isn't that important, then why did your story spend an entire game cementing the importance of Zack? One of the things I hear most from Cleriths is "why couldn't Cloud just get over his childhood crush on Tifa and fall in love with Aerith? It happens in real life" , or some other variation of "why couldn't this happen?" But this shows the problem with how they want the story to go, because stories aren't real life. Anything CAN happen in a story, but not anything should. Stories have a concept called " checkovs gun", if a gun is introduced into a story in the first act, it has to be fired somewhere down the line. If the gun turns out to not have a role in the story, why was it there? But the same thing doesn't apply in real life, in real life, chekovs guns almost never fire, with few exceptions, real life is a bad guide to how to write stories. Stories written like real life, generally suck. If characters in stories behaved like characters in real life, half their lines would be "uhhhhh", and half the scenes would be them sitting on the couch having meaningless unrelated events happen.

The entire flow, pacing, and sequence of events is wrong in a Clerith version of this story. In order to sell the idea that FFVII is a story about Aerith and Cloud getting together you first have to sell the idea that all these plot threats concerning Tifa essentially don't matter. But if they don't matter, then why are they there? What purpose do they serve? What purpose does Tifa serve? Or Zack? In order to "fix" their preferred interpretation, Cleriths need to get around this problem, which causes them to have to re-interpret everything that happens and twist it in order to create the appearance of a coherent story. This requires them to resort to minimizing characters, character assassinating characters, and generally misrepresenting everything that happens. I think there is no bigger indication of why Cloud and Aerith getting together would suck as a story than looking at how the people who propose this version of the story look at Cloud and Tifa as characters. What follows are some excerpts from the dumbest person I've ever debated.

This went on for over 200 replies, this is not a mentally sound interpretation of the story, but this is what you need to believe in order to get the Aerith/Cloud love story to work. You're forced to minimize Tifa and her importance to the story, and you need to demonize Cloud. So basically you have two options here, you either have to say "all this stuff with Tifa and Zack, doesn't matter", all their scenes, all those plot threats, they all aren't a part of the larger story being told and ultimately amount to nothing. Or two, you remove all those scenes or rewrite them to instead focus on Cloud and Aerith. And both those approaches suffer from the same basic problem, they're both effectively going "screw everything, all that matters is Cloud and Aerith". Which brings me back to my earlier point. If your story is pushing everything aside in order to hype up the main character, you're not writing a good ensemble story, you're writing a bad fan-fiction. This is the writing people HATE. Cloud is no longer a sad but likable character with complex motivations and feelings who wasn't as important as he thought he was, no, he's cliche self-insert main character that the world revolves around, who every girl genuinely loves regardless of whether or not it makes sense, even though he's a complete asshole who abandons children and takes advantage of women just because he's "lovesick". No other man could ever compare, a week with him braindamaged and you forget all about the man you pined after for 5 years. Aerith is not compassionate to a man who blames himself for his failings and thinks he'd do more harm than good, she's compassionate to a piece of human filth who refuses to go save children because he doesn't care about them. She's not just a girl with a big destiny and a tragic fate, no, the universe itself resets to make sure she gets laid. Tifa isn't a powerful woman who devotedly supports the man she loves through his darkest hours, instead she's a weak unimportant doormat without self-respect who even in 2 decades could not measure up to a week with Aerith. Zacks connection with Cloud doesn't come with complex implications about Aeriths feelings, Zack never really mattered, his entire story of getting back to her? Doesn't matter, it only exists to show how much Aerith must love Cloud to choose him over Zack. The entire lifestream reveal concerning Cloud? Doesn't matter, nothing matters, it's in the past. The central reveal of the story isn't important because Clouds true self suddenly likes Aerith now.....good writing. etc, etc, etc. Where Aerith was once a part of an ensemble cast, the heroine of the external plot, tasked with saving the world through her powers as an ancient, while Tifa as the equally important heroine of the internal plot saves Clouds through their shared feelings, now everything instead revolves around Aerith, and the other characters only exist in service to her, not as characters in their own right, but only to make sure she and Cloud gets together, like every hated mary-sue in history. The pain of her death? Gone, the impact and nuance of the story? Gone. Literally everything that made FFVII special? Gone. And concerning the small, even the little details would no longer be coherent, Cetras thematically guide people to the promised land, note: "GUIDE", but now Aerith would suddenly be the promised land herself. The through-line of Cetras "returning to the planet"? Gone, if Aerith doesn't die that doesn't link to the story anymore at all. Tifa's bar being the 7th heaven, aka, the final heaven, aka, the promised land where Aerith guides Cloud to? Suddenly a meaningless name. Tifa's last name "lockhart" being a direct hint towards the "tender feelings locked up inside Clouds hart"? Completely trivial, the feelings weren't that important to the story. And I could go on for hours, every aspect of FFVII, from small to large, would be fundamentally poisoned if Cloud ends up with Aerith.

I could rewrite the story to make it work, but that's the point, then you'd be rewriting the story in order to diminish every other character and story in favor of Cloud and Aerith. Which brings us back to it becoming a horrible fan-fiction where no one and nothing matters except Cloud and Aerith. It's ok to write unimportant characters, it's not ok to make your important characters unimportant in retrospect in order to wank off another character. Thanks for asking.

[something-tofightfor]

Magnetic: Introduction - It’s All Very Complicated

Pairing: None, yet. 

Word count: 3,565

Rating: None, really. Yet. Some mentions of sex, general angst. This is truly an introduction. 

Summary: Welcome to the Academy, where trained and capable Jedi work to teach the Force-sensitive how to best manage and utilize their abilities. Though you live there, you’re no longer training, and one of your main responsibilities is providing companionship and understanding to the newest Padawan: Grogu.  You’ve got a past, sure ... but is that past going to shape your future? 

Author’s note: 

This is the “sequel” to T’ad nac or’atu (Two No More) - and takes place about a year after Grogu left with Luke, featuring a female reader insert. There will be spoilers from seasons 1 and two of The Mandalorian throughout. If you didn’t watch the show, this won’t make much sense to you. 

I’m terrified to post this, I’m gonna be honest. Even though this is a general introduction to this series, and I’m well into writing it ... it’s still scary. I’m very thankful to the people that have provided me with feedback, honesty, support and have offered to read parts of this for me. 

This is going to be the shortest part by far, but I didn’t think that an 8,000 word introduction was the right call. 

I hope you enjoy it. Feedback - both positive and critical - is always welcome. 

(banner made by the absolutely talented @malionnes)

Before your eyes had even opened, and even though you were still half asleep, you sensed that someone was in the room with you. Again? Blinking, you let out a slow breath, giving your eyes time to adjust to the dim glow from the panel next to the door as the dream you’d been having slipped away, dark brown eyes and a cautious smile the only things you could remember. The room was silent, aside from the low hiss of cooled air through the vent, but then after a few seconds, you heard a quiet thud at the foot of your bed followed by a nearly inaudible whine. Again. “C’mere, Gr - kid.” 

 The blankets shifted with the added weight as he tugged on them, and you clutched the top edge to keep them from slipping off of you entirely while he climbed. Too cold for that. In the low light, you saw the curved top of his head and his sloping ears appear first, quiet coos accompanying them. Hey kid.

 It didn’t happen every night, but at least three times a week, the little guy found his way into your room and into your bed, nesting right next to your upper body, your arm curled loosely around him as you both nodded off. “Couldn’t sleep again?” He moved more swiftly over the blankets, and it didn’t take long for his face to pop up right next to yours, mouth opened slightly, his massive eyes focused on you. No. 

 Lifting the corner of the blanket with one hand and groaning at the slight chill of air it allowed to enter the previously covered space, you paused as the kid dove beneath it, letting the material fall again as you felt him lay down next to you, more babbling noises a sign that while you were still on the edge of sleep, he was wide awake. “You could just knock, bud. It would be…” No knock. Too loud. “Fine.” You weren’t annoyed with him - not really - and despite the numerous ongoing middle of the night intrusions, you knew you’d never tell him to stop coming into your room. Keeping me from being lonely, little guy. Hope I’m doing the same for you.

 It had been happening since shortly after the youngling arrived at the Academy and you were introduced. The first few times, you’d been quick to scoop him up, carrying him back to his room and  tucking him into his bed before telling him that he had to stay put. While you didn’t have all the details about Grogu’s past, you knew that it had been a lot more unconventional than that of the other students and Masters, and that he wasn’t used to such a routine - or being alone at night. None of us were before we got here. 

 But he’d been subjected to more difficult times than you could imagine, and although you got glimpses of them through his thoughts, much of it was still hazy - as if he was trying to keep his early years a secret, hidden from everyone - even himself, but especially you and the other adults at the Academy. And you’re gonna make sure it stays that way, aren’t you. Absently, you stroked the back of his head, feeling the wrinkled skin beneath your fingers, along with the soft edge of the top of his sleeping robe.

 He’d come back with Master Skywalker, straight from a dangerous confrontation with Imperial remnants on a light cruiser, and you’d quickly learned first hand that he was powerful with the Force - although uneducated and undisciplined in the ways of the Jedi. Prior to his rescue, a Mandalorian bounty hunter was responsible for his care, and that had been the case for almost a year, which added to the child’s lack of control and discipline. But it’s not his fault, it had to be that way. 

 The Mandalorian had done his best, keeping the kid as safe and as secure as possible for as long as possible. But the Empire finally caught up with them, leading to the kid’s current situation - separated from the people he’d spent a great deal of time with and studying under capable and trained Jedi. It had to be… hard. Yes. You glanced down, but could only see the side of Grogu’s face, his ear folded against the pillow beneath his large head. It is. 

 At the unusually candid response to your thoughts of his previous life, your tired mind turned back to the Mandalorian, eyes drooping shut. You’d also caught glimpses of him through Grogu’s thoughts; a tall and broad-shouldered man, covered nearly head to toe in gleaming beskar and a flowing cape, a sizeable helmet perched atop his shoulders and obscuring his features completely. Through Grogu’s eyes, you saw the man as imposing and to be feared, dangerous, though Grogu himself hadn’t ever been afraid, even in the beginning. You saw the weapons he carried; a huge rifle, a weighty blaster, even a flamethrower attached to his wrist along with a sleek, shining spear made of the same material as his armor. Not only could you see them in your mind, you felt the same sense of pride that Grogu felt when he watched the man wield them in the memories. He was the right person to protect you, kid. 

 You’d never met a Mandalorian before, but had researched them in the Jedi texts and other history books, learning of their ferocity and belief systems, which differed depending on their specific clans and Tribes. “It’s all very complicated, hmm?” You whispered the words, a smile on your lips as you pressed them gently to the back of the child’s head. He cooed again in response, but you felt that his mind was beginning to settle, his three-fingered grip on your forearm loosening. “It had to be a lot for you to understand, right kid?” The Way.

 You felt the weight of the words from his thoughts, another slow, heavy breath leaving you, but the sadness Grogu knew when thinking of the man quickly changed into a happier emotion, and you closed your eyes, too, concentrating on his shifting thoughts. He was nearly twice your age, but Grogu was - for lack of a better description - still a child, and although he’d grown much stronger in the months he’d spent training at the Academy, his emotions were still much more volatile than the Masters would have liked. But it happens differently for everyone.

 That volatility made it easier to read him even when he wasn’t focused on communicating with you, and while you knew that some of the other students seemed to fear the little green creature and the strength he radiated, you’d never felt the same, even though you knew that he knew when you were prodding at his thoughts - and he was more than capable of making you stop. 

 It wasn’t because you were prying; in fact, it was the exact opposite, and you’d spent countless nights like this one before, connecting with the kid as a way to calm him, giving him a chance to remember and share his earlier life with someone that was willing to listen. You helped him drift off to sleep by sharing space in your own mind with him, despite the fact that even the most untrained Padawans could tell that Grogu’s mind was often troubled - and that he’d seen and been a part of things that most of them couldn’t begin to imagine. “Sleep well, kid.” You murmured the words, feeling Grogu’s fingers tighten once more before they relaxed almost completely. 

 He fell asleep before you, and the last thought that you had before you followed him into sleep was of yellow-gloved fingers curled around a smooth silver ball, one of Grogu’s small hands outstretched toward it. 

 --- 

 He was gone when you woke up the following morning, and despite the middle of the night interruption, you felt refreshed and awake as soon as you opened your eyes. I usually do after he’s here. 

 It was a strange relationship you had with the kid, but it worked, and you knew that along with being good for Grogu, it helped others focus elsewhere, so you were happy to continue. At least until his training’s done, and he rises in the ranks. Or… until I leave.

 You blinked into the mirror, brushing your teeth. Him becoming a Knight was a looming possibility; every Padawan’s training lasted a different amount of time, and one of the other things that you knew about Grogu was that he’d had prior training - meaning that even with his lack of constant focus, he was far more capable of using the Force than most of the others within the Academy at his classification level. He was strong and smart - but still learning to control himself. Just a kid.

 That didn’t mean that he was good at it all the time, or that it didn’t tire him out immensely when he overdid things, but the Masters spoke of him as though they already knew that when he became a Master himself, he’d be a formidable adversary when and if it became necessary. We’re still a while off from that, though. He’s still little, he’s … Spitting your tooth gel out, you straightened up, adjusting your shirt over your shoulders and glancing back at the door of your room as a new set of thoughts made themselves known to you. Bari’s coming. 

 You couldn’t help it sometimes, finding yourself unable to block out the thoughts around you - especially when emotions ran high, and it was the reason that your training had been halted. One of them, anyway. Rubbing a hand over your face, you turned away from the mirror and slipped your shoes on, striding to the door and opening it before the young man had a chance to knock. “Morning, Bari.” He looked shocked at your greeting but quickly recovered, nodding his head and greeting you by name, lips curving upward into a large smile. He’s happy to see me… as always.

 “Hey. Can I walk you to breakfast?” Nodding in agreement, you stepped into the hallway and stayed next to the man, turning toward the dining hall. “You look like you slept well.” 

 “Yeah, I did.” You nodded in greeting as you passed others in the hall, taking a deep breath. “The kid ended up in my room again, and once he was there, I was out.” 

 “Grogu? Isn’t he a little old to -” Stiffening, you glanced over, watching as Bari eyed you. “I mean he’s been here for a year, he should have let go of -”

 “They… his kind age different, Bari. And since there’s no record of what he is, we don’t know …” You bit your lip. “He’s a kid that had to leave his dad, and it’s only been a year. He might be fifty human years old, but who knows what that equals out to in his species.” You swallowed as you reached the dining hall, eyes sweeping over the room as you looked for Grogu. I bet he’s not here. I bet he’s with … “Besides, it’s not like he’s interrupting anything, so if it makes him feel better to sleep in a room with someone?” You reached for a tray, once again looking at the man next to you. “It’s fine with me.” 

 He was silent for a few minutes as the two of you loaded up your trays with food, and you could tell that he was conflicted. Say it, whatever it is. “What if there was someone else in your room? Would he -” 

 “I think he’d understand, Bari.” You slid into a seat at an empty table, reaching for a piece of fruit. “He’s not stupid, just … young.” You chewed thoughtfully, feeling as Bari’s emotions raced. He’s going to do it again. Ask me … “Why, who do you think that he’s going to -”

 “You know that since you’re no longer training that the rules technically don’t apply to you, right?” He leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “You’re allowed to… I could … we could.” 

 “Bari.” You closed your eyes. “I know that you …” You glanced up. “It was my decision to stop training, and the Masters were generous enough to let me stay here anyway because they thought I could help.” You knew that it was rare, but also knew that any sensitivity toward the Force was looked at as an asset post-Empire, and turning you away wasn’t anyone’s first option. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to do anything to -” 

 “I know, I know.” You felt the frustration from him, and understood it. Bari had befriended you almost immediately upon your arrival to the Academy years earlier before it was even a shadow of its current self. You’d met him in the town a few miles away from the building, the young man providing a friendly face when you felt lonely at first, and then someone to talk to during breaks and on days off after you officially began your education. He was simply employed within the building, and despite it being unconventional for Padawans to closely befriend those not in the program, you were drawn to the boy, his honesty and openness welcome after separating from your family in the manner that you had. “But maybe just -” 

 “Bari, come on.” You shrugged, lifting your fork and using it to cut into a piece of your omelette. “We’ve talked about this. Us… It’s better to keep it the -” You felt it - for the first time in him, anger at your rebuff, but it quickly changed to forced nonchalance, and you were able to keep your expression even, too. That’s interesting. 

 “Someday, you’re going to leave the Academy. Even if it’s only to settle somewhere close by.” Bari leaned in, his eyes wide. “You won’t have to follow their rules all the time, and then you can … maybe you won’t still feel…” Not with you. Not … I’m sorry, Bari. We’ve talked about it.  “You came here to make a life for yourself, and now that you’ve chosen not to follow the path of … their path? You’re free to follow your own, and that means…” 

 “Not until I decide to leave here.” You beamed at him, lips twitching upward as you glanced past him at the doorway. “And Bari? That’s not going to be for a while, especially with this little guy here.” He turned away from you after a few seconds and the two of you watched as Grogu floated through the room in a small pod, his head peeking up over the edge of it. Morning, kid. He looked in your direction as he passed by, eyes widening and mouth opening in greeting, one hand waving slowly. “Come on, Bari. How could I just leave him behind?” 

 “Yeah, I guess you couldn’t.” The man’s attention went back to his food, fingers holding his own fork loosely. “”I guess I just wonder …” His words trailed off and he raised his eyes to yours, forehead wrinkled. He wants me to see what he’s… His thoughts hit you full force and you couldn’t help the wince, looking away from the man across from you as he replayed in his mind the night the two of you - along with a few others from the nearby town - had spent an evening playing Sabacc and drinking too much Gizer ale and spice beer. 

 “Bari, come on.” You whispered the words, shaking your head. “That’s not fair.” But he kept thinking, the sadness in his gray eyes growing more pronounced. “We were barely old enough to drink, and we both agreed that things shouldn’t have gone that far that night.” And I meant it, even though you didn’t.

 “But they did.” He shrugged. “You knew how I felt then, and how I …” He didn’t need to finish his sentence - he was right. You knew that the man liked you, that he hoped that after you’d chosen to stop training at the Academy, you wouldn’t go far - that you’d be free to be with him in every way. He said your name, giving you a small smile. “It’s not going to change. I’m sorry that I just threw all of those memories at you, but it … I think about it a lot. About you a lot.” You had too, for a while. It wasn’t the first time you’d fooled around with someone, and Bari knew it, but since leaving your home, he’d been the only one to even come close to getting you alone in a room with a bed. 

 You liked him - you really did - but you didn’t feel anything when you’d been with him - not anything that mattered anyway. Even after what had happened with your parents, their story was one that you admired; the spark between them, the defiance of both of their families to up and leave with only a small number of credits to their names, starting a family with little support. Because they believed in each other, in their future. Because they loved each other. 

 Bari had been the first regular person you’d met that wasn’t afraid of you after you’d realized that you were attuned to the Force, that you could do things that other people couldn’t, and his acceptance had been a large part of the reason you’d gotten so close to him in the first place. That was part of it. You sighed, looking down at your tray, suddenly much less hungry than you had been. Why we got close. It was nice to … He wasn’t attracted to you because of the Force, you knew that from his thoughts, and that was appealing to you, too, but as time had passed and you’d grown into true adulthood, the size and number of students in the Academy growing as well, it hadn’t been enough. It never was. It never would have been. 

 After that first and only night together - fumbling in the dark, hands moving over each other’s bodies and your thoughts mercifully blank for the first time in months - you’d made it a point to never let things go that far again; not with Bari and not with anyone else, either. Not while I’m here. Not while I’m setting an example. Not … As you thought, you closed your eyes again, seeing a flash of the deep brown from the dream the night before.  “I’m sorry, Bari. That’s not what I want. That’s not why I’m still here.” Not to settle.

 He grumbled in disappointment, but he didn’t have long to stew, as you heard a quiet mechanical whirring noise and Grogu’s levitating carriage pulled up next to you. Very hungry. You grinned at him and reached over, pulling the tray off the top of it and setting it onto the table before you turned toward him, holding out both hands. Happily cooing, he reached for you, ears perking up, and you lifted him from the nest of blankets, setting him on the table beside his plate. “Morning, Grogu.” Bari was making an attempt - for your sake - but you knew that the kid didn’t buy it for one second, only nodding once at the man before turning his focus back to his food. “Soup, again?” 

 “It’s easy for him to lift the bowl.” You raised an eyebrow, absently reaching over to straighten Grogu’s robe across the back of his neck. “Utensils are kinda hard with three fingers, right kid?” Right. You heard a quiet slurp as he raised the bowl to his mouth, turning your attention back to Bari and hoping that Grogu wasn’t listening - or thinking - too hard. “We can talk later, if you want.” You tried to smile, but it came out strained. “I have a full day today, and then tomorrow this little guy and I are …” You lifted your hands, miming covering Grogu’s ears as you mouthed the next sentence, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Leaving the Academy for a little while.” 

 It was meant to make him smile, but Bari only shrugged, eyes still on you. “If you want.” He stood, pushing away from the table, tray in his hands. “Doesn’t matter.” Before you could respond, Bari was walking away, his back the only thing you could see. Damn. You picked up your fork again, sighing as you returned to your breakfast. He’s mad. 

 “Nah, little guy.” You chewed on your eggs, glancing down. “You’ll understand when -” But you laughed as you saw him holding a spoon in one hand, leaning over a second bowl of food, the surface rippling as something moved within it. Yuck. But Grogu paid no mind to that thought, poking at the top of the liquid, his tiny body nearly vibrating in anticipation. “C’mon, kid. Don’t play with your food.” At that, he froze for a second before turning his head toward you, ears lowered and eyes wide, his emotion changing swiftly to sadness. “No, I wasn’t… I’m not mad, but it…” What did I say?

 He blinked slowly and you saw his grip on the spoon tighten, another flash of his thoughts filling your head briefly. But this time it wasn’t a man’s eyes - it was the Mandalorian, hunched over and staring in your direction from the middle of a dimly lit room.  

---

Tag list is OPEN. Please feel free to ask to be added! 

Magnetic/Din Djarin Tag List: 

@the-blind-assassin-12 @pheedraws @alraedesigns @malionnes​ @deceiverofgodss @thisisparadisemylove​ @siegfriedkingsglaive​

[luukeskywalker]

dinluke - first kiss?

YEAAAH BROTHER YOU KNOW JUST WHAT I WANT TO WRITE

“So,” Luke asked, his eyes for once cast shyly down, and Din felt his breath leave his body as he studied the sunlight filtering across the Jedi’s freckle-dusted face. “I have a question.” 

Din nodded his head, a silent invitation to ask. He didn’t trust himself to speak at that exact moment. Still, after everything Luke had done, no questions asked, the man deserved an answer or two. Even if Din didn’t really have a lot of answers, he’d try his best.

Luke continued to look down. The light hit the fringe of his bangs and his eyelashes at just the right angle, turning his features golden. “I know that some Mandalorians don’t remove their masks.” 

Din’s whole body turned to ice. Was Luke thinking of their first meeting? Where, without shame, he’d removed his helmet? Broken his sworn Creed? He’d never asked in the months since that day, even though Din had visited his academy often to ask question after question about the force, and raising a Force-sensitive child, and once or twice how to handle a lightsaber (however, he hoped he wouldn’t have to keep those lessons in mind for much longer…), and foolishly Din had hoped that Luke had put that unmasking out of his mind entirely. 

But clearly not.

“And I was wondering, I guess, how - um.” Luke laughed, a shy little thing that sent a light, gentle feeling fluttering through Din’s chest. He tried not to think about it. “Sorry,” Luke ran a hand through his perfect hair, “I’m trying to find the right words.” 

Din had a problem. It was something unlike he’d ever experienced before, and it ate at him with a ferocious, confusing, desperate hunger. He did not know what to do with it, but it burned in his chest whenever he caught a glimpse of that damned Jedi’s smile.

He certainly hadn’t expected it. When Luke had taken Grogu with him, Din had not expected to ever see the handsome young man again. He’d certainly never expected Cara Dune to lose her mind once the man had left, and could not believe it when she immediately told him who, exactly, that had been - Luke Skywalker. 

At the time, the name held no meaning for him. He could only attach the name to an ephemeral black-clad Deus ex Machina that had swept in and, in equal measures, saved his life and took it away from him. 

Oh, how things had changed. It didn’t take him long to track down that Jedi academy, and for some reason Luke was more than willing to entertain his endless questions. He’d even smiled with an almost smug glee when he’d asked Din if they could hold their conversations in the privacy of his own quarters. 

It was all downhill from there. The real Luke Skywalker was leagues different from the one he’d met on that Imperial cruiser. This Luke almost always had a smile on his face, and answered Din’s endless array of stupid questions with a joyful patience. He’d inform Din on Grogu’s progress with barely concealed excitement, and was not even a little hesitant to show off his newest student’s skills. For that matter, he never stopped talking - he always had something to talk about, whether it was some new story about his travels, news from his strange family, or even just an anecdote from one of his classes.

And he was beautiful. He wielded such tremendous power with an insane amount of grace - but not necessarily the dignified kind. He was so bright, his smiles so infectious and his every movement so self-assured and confident, was it really a surprise that Din quickly found his heart racing in the presence of such a stunning man? 

So seeing Luke before him, shy and, dare he say it, nervous, it sent all of Din’s emotions into hyperdrive. “It’s okay,” he found himself saying, suddenly needing to know what Luke wanted to ask. He felt the urge to reach out across the endless expanse of the table that separated them and take up the Jedi’s gloved hand, to feel the warm whir of the mechanical limb under his touch. 

“I was just wondering how you - showed affection for your, ah, partners.” Luke finally said, the words spilling out of him almost too carefully, as if to mask some emotion from bleeding into his voice. “I imagine that you have ways around that helmet, right?” 

His heart stopped, sputtered for a few horrible, endless seconds, and then started again. Blood rushed to his face and had he not been wearing his helmet, he was sure Luke would know everything. 

“... Yes,” He said eventually. “The Creed does not get in the way of intimacy.” A pause. “You don’t have to wear your armor around your Clan.” 

“But,” Luke looked down again. Din wanted to protest, wanted to see those blue eyes focused on him again. “What if you’re not Clan?” 

His heart was pounding so hard that he was surprised Luke couldn’t hear it, even through his polished armor. He didn’t know what came over him just then, but the way Luke’s voice quivered when he asked that question made something in Din’s mind snap. 

He stood up from the table and moved to stand in front of Luke. The Jedi looked up at him then, and any doubts Din might have had were silenced immediately by the shy, excited glint in Luke’s eyes. He reached down to cup Luke’s cheeks in his own hands. He was grateful for the armor again, for protection from his own shaking, nervous hands. 

He pressed in close, close enough that Luke’s breath fogged in his visor. For once, Luke said nothing. With the lightest amount of effort and an excruciating slowness, with the fear that Luke would for some reason bolt if he moved even a little too eagerly, he pressed his helmet to Luke’s forehead. 

Under his gentle touch, he felt rather than heard Luke’s shuddering breath. Din hoped that Luke had noticed that his breath had been stolen in much the same way. Everything was too much, but he couldn’t tear himself away. 

Luke was so warm. Din had known this before, had been lucky enough to bask in the residual warmth that emanated off of him in waves, but this… this was different. That heat licked at his fingertips and scalded the spot where his skin met Din’s helmet, as if he was being burned through Beskar. 

They stayed there for a long time. Longer than a kiss had any right to be. And when Din finally pulled away, slowly, as if it pained him (and in some ways, it did), he was so awestruck by Luke’s stricken, blushing face that he almost went in for another. 

“... There are ways around the Creed,” Din said shakily. 

“I see.” Luke’s voice was barely a whisper. He smiled, and then laughed, and it was as if the fragile moment was over. “I see.” He spoke louder, closer to his normal volume. “And… do you make out like that with just anybody who asks?” 

Din hoped that somehow, Luke knew that his eyes rolled. “A Mandalorian never kisses and tells.”

[ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing]

For the ask game: I wish you would write a fic where… Obi-Wan gets knocked up, Anakin’s definitely the dad but he convinces himself somehow that Anakin must not want him Like That, so he pretends it isn’t happening until its impossible to. Maybe he tries to dip out of the order without Anakin knowing once he’s too far gone, maybe Anakin finds out the hard way and convinces himself its not his from that one time.., angst with a happy ending? A premise i always wanted to write but writer juice machine broke and you’re a killer author ✍️ haha

Listen Anon Friend. Okay, listen. I was gonna do like a small short thing but then I got an idea and was like... this isn't going to be short, is it? (Spoiler: It won't be) Because! Because and get this!

What if Luke and Leia are the children that Obi-Wan had but Obi-Wan never told Anakin and Palpatine got into his head and convinced him that someone had gotten Obi-Wan pregnant by forcing themselves on him (which would make sense because Obi-Wan won't tell him who it was) and then Anakin falls to fight the Jedi that hurt Obi-Wan but it's too late to save him and Obi-Wan had to hide and raise the twins by himself but eventually Anakin finds them and kills Obi-Wan in a fit of rage and then, of course, Luke defeats Palpatine because Anakin fights to protect his son like normal ROTJ but then... Luke is on Yavin IV, going through the rubble of the temple there and he touches a Sith Holocron that sends him back to just when Obi-Wan finds out he's pregnant and he that he can rewrite the whole timeline if he can convince Obi-Wan to tell Anakin he's pregnant.

So yeah...about that.

Here's the first chapter (Check under the cut!)

Stars Let You See Into The Past 1/? (1.8 k)

WANT TO PLAY? FIND THE ASK PROMPT HERE.

Luke isn’t sure what happened, not really.

There was just so much. So much to go through, so much to explore. He feels like he could live out the rest of his life on Yavin IV and still not know all there is to know.

It’d been ransacked during the time of the Empire and there wasn’t much to find but he still looked. He stills wanted to see everything there was to see.

Which is how he found it.

Hidden in the rubble of what he figures once housed a library, was a small transparisteel prism. The force bends unnaturally around it, as if it’s afraid to touch it and Luke can hear the way it whispers, the sound dark and dangerous.

“Luke what are you doing?”

He looked back to see Leia with her arms crossed over her chest, clearly displeased.

“It’s calling to me,” Luke explained to her, “I don’t… I don’t know how to explain it but I need to figure out what’s going on.”

“You do not,” she told him firmly, but Luke had already stepped forward, hand reaching out to it. She rushed forward to try and stop him but it was too late.

He touched it and then there was a bright flash of light, the world around him seeming to swirl by in a mix of color and howling wind.

When the world finally felt like it was done spinning and he stopped seeing two of things he looked around to realize that he was no longer in the temple on Yavin IV.

Strangely though, it looked like he was in a temple of some sort and-.

It felt-. It felt warm and calming, in a way that the force hasn’t felt in years. It almost feels like the way his father had explained it to him whenever he’d talked about it.

He felt a stab in his chest at the thought.

His father had been the best of men. He’d given everything that he had to make sure that Luke and Leia lived the life that he wanted for them, only to die in the end.

He’d died at the hands of the man he loved, even though he’d told Luke that Darth Vader was not the man that he had loved.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had loved Anakin Skywalker.

And when Darth Vader had been born, Anakin Skywalker had died.

He was so busy letting the force dance around him that he almost didn’t hear the door open but when he turned around he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There just wasn’t any way.

“Wh- Who are you? What are you doing in my quarters?”

The man in front of Luke was clearly young. Much younger than Luke’s father had been as Luke had known him but it was impossible to deny with the way the force was quiet and collected around him.

“Dad?” Luke asked, barely able to believe what he was seeing, “Is it really you?”

“I- I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” the man stammered as his hands flew up, “I am- I’m not a father. I have no children.”

Except it was him.

“Dad!” Luke said, rushing forward and wrapping his arms around the stunned man as tears started to fall.

It was him. It was really him. It was their father and he was here and he was alive and he was younger but that didn’t matter and Leia wouldn’t-.

He looked behind him, only to realize besides the two of them he was alone. He turned back around, “I don’t- I don’t know what happened dad but it’s me. It’s Luke. I- I-. Oh force, it’s really you!”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said, looking overwhelmed, “I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I don’t-.”

Luke felt like he might be sick, “You’re- you are Obi-Wan, right? Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“Yes I am,” Obi-Wan agreed, “But you-. I have no children. It’s just that- you see I am- But I don’t-.”

Luke realized what he was saying, “You’re pregnant? I- I haven’t been born yet?”

“I- What- what is your name?” Obi-Wan asked, instead of answering the question.

“My name is Luke,” he reiterated, “Luke Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan sucked in a sharp breath, “Skywalker. You are Anakin’s son.”

Luke swallowed thickly. Could he really tell his father what had happened? That the love of his life would betray him? Could he- could he change what had happened?

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Luke told him, grasping his arms, “Please. It’s important. You have to know.”

“I’m- I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Obi-Wan finally said, “I think that maybe we should talk to the council. They may know what to do.”

The Council. The High Jedi Council. That meant that Luke would get to meet other Jedi. He’d get to talk to the people who were part of the legacy that he was so desperately trying to continue.

He’d- He’d be able to see Yoda again.

“Okay,” Luke agreed, “Let’s go talk to the council then.”

The truth could wait.

---

Obi-Wan already had a lot on his plate.

He knew instinctively that most of it was his own fault, but it was still a lot to deal with.

Pregnant.

He wasn’t even sure- well that wasn’t true.

He knew how it had happened. He just didn’t understand why he had let it happen. He should have known. He should have gone right to the Halls of Healing the minute it had happened. But- he didn’t want to taint the memory, in case it was the only one that he and Anakin had.

There was a knock on his door that startled Obi-Wan awake.

He immediately got up, stumbling his way through his bedroom so that he could open the door.

Anakin was on the other side, panting heavily, his smell strong and spiced and just the scent of it made Obi-Wan start to-.

Oh kark. Anakin was in rut. Something must have triggered it and now it looked like his gaze was glazed over and before Obi-Wan could stop him, Anakin was pushing into the room, herding Obi-Wan back onto the bed as he forced him down into the soft sheets.

“Need you,” Anakin panted out as he pressed Obi-Wan down, nose and mouth dragging along all of the exposed skin of Obi-Wan’s neck and chest.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, “Wait, wait Anakin. You can’t- you are in rut. You don’t actually feel this way dear one. You need to-.”

Anakin’s grip tightened on him and he whined, “I need you. Please. Please. I need my omega.”

And maybe it was the way that he begged or maybe it was the way he called Obi-Wan his omega but Obi-Wan couldn’t say no.

It was shameful he knew, but he was in love with the man. He’d been in love with him for so long that Obi-Wan forgot how it felt to not have feelings for the younger alpha. He’d dreamed of Anakin taking him, of Anakin mating his so many times during his heat, fingers shoved inside of himself as he bit down on a pillow to keep himself quiet as every part of his body screamed for the alpha.

But this was different. Obi-Wan wasn’t in heat and Anakin wasn’t able to really think about what he was doing. Obi-Wan was just a safe option, it wasn’t that-.

Anakin yanked Obi-Wan’s pants down and started rubbing at his bare thighs and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but squirm under him.

He wanted it so bad. He wanted Anakin in any way that the man would give him and he’d spent so many nights dreaming of exactly this and it- it couldn’t hurt, could it? Anakin wanted him and he obviously needed a partner so why couldn’t Obi-Wan be that partner?

“Please,” Obi-Wan said, voice barely audible, “Yes, please. Alpha.”

Anakin growled, low in his chest, obviously pleased as his fingers brushed against Obi-Wan’s already soaked entrance, “Mine. My omega.”

“Yours,” Obi-Wan agreed, “Please. Please take me.”

It had been everything that Obi-Wan had ever wanted. It was warm and soft and safe but firm and rough and Obi-Wan had thought he would die the moment that Anakin’s knot caught inside of him and the man had kissed all over his face as he’d filled his uterus.

It had felt amazing and Obi-Wan had figured that the birth control he was on would do what it was supposed to do.

Except he hadn’t counted on whatever magical sperm that one got when they were The Chosen One and then by the time he’d found out he was pregnant he couldn’t believe it.

To make matters worse, it seemed that it had been an induced rut, due to stress and Obi-Wan had been called away after the first day, off to fight on the war front so when Anakin woke up alone, he’d not even remembered what had happened.

He didn’t remember holding Obi-Wan down and promising him a bite and a pup and everything that Obi-Wan had ever wanted from him.

It tore him apart to know that Anakin wouldn’t ever remember. He wouldn’t ever know that the pup inside of Obi-Wan’s was theirs. That they’d made it in a fit of passion and love and-.

And Obi-Wan wouldn’t ever get to experience it ever again.

And then he’d walked into his quarters and Anakin had. He had-.

There was some dumb blonde omega in his quarters that had started using stupid excuses, trying to tell Obi-Wan that he was his son. As if Obi-Wan didn’t know that he didn’t have any children.

But then Obi-Wan had caught sight of the Holocron in his hand and the man had said his last name was Skywalker and Obi-Wan wondered if there wasn’t a way that he could interrogate the man about everything because if his child bore his lover’s last name then maybe there was hope for them.

Maybe he got his happily ever after or at least got to raise his child with Anakin and that would be better than nothing and if he could just-.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Luke told him, grasping his arms, “Please. It’s important. You have to know.”

He couldn’t. He could upset some balance. He could change things so that they never happened. Time was a tricky thing and this was something that Obi-Wan knew he couldn’t mess up. He could do something with unintended consequences. He needed help. That’s what he needed and the Council seemed like the best place to start.

“I’m- I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Obi-Wan finally answered, “I think that maybe we should talk to the council. They may know what to do.”

“Okay,” Luke agreed, so easily that Obi-Wan wondered if he was up to something, “Let’s go talk to the council then.”

“But do me a favor,” Obi-Wan told him as they began to walk out, “Please do not tell the council your last name. They do not know about you. I haven’t told anyone I’m pregnant, not even Anakin.”

“Of course,” Luke agreed, “I won’t tell a soul da- Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan prayed to the force that this boy was a better liar than the man who had sired him or they would both be fucked.

[dindjarindiaries]

DIN DJARIN WEEKLY FIC REC #1

This week’s fic rec (January 24th to January 30th) is here! Below the cut, you can find a wide selection of Din Djarin fics to read, whether they’re multi-part, one-shots, drabbles, prompts, or headcanons. I challenge you to provide these writers with feedback if you choose to read their fic!

You can start submitting next week’s fic rec here.

MULTI-PART FICS

Space Cowboy by @punkrock-writer​​

summary: A Girl is teleported from her hotel room, and dropped onto the floor of the Razor Crest. Chaos ensues as she tries to convince The Mandalorian not to freeze her in carbonite, and do her best to find her place in the endless Void of space.

pairing: Din Djarin x F!oc

warnings/rating: Mature. Canon typical violence. Lots of swearing.

genres: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

submitter comments: Hi this is my first fic, you can find it on AO3 also. I’d really appreciate some feedback or any ideas because I have a hard time figuring out if I’m doing the right thing😂 Thank you for doing this.

Touch by @magicrowiswritingstuff​​

summary: It seems so unfair that he is able to touch you and send shivers down your spine when you’re not.

pairing: Din Djarin x female!reader

warnings/rating: A bit of violence and injury/blood

genre: fluff

submitter comments: Just wanna say that I really love this idea and am excited to browse through all the recommended stories on Sunday! <3

Ciryc Ca’tra (Cold Night Sky) by @javi-djarins​​ (Ao3: brianmay_be)

summary: When you crash-land on a frozen planet on your way to Trask to find the Frog Lady’s husband and more Mandalorians, you and Din work together to keep the Crest afloat and keep your little family safe.

pairing: Din Djarin x wife!reader

warnings/rating: G

genres: fluff, hurt/comfort

submitter comments: She may be adding an epilogue that contains some smut, but right now all of the chapters are rated G!

Blossom by @dinthisisthe-wayson​​

summary: Alone.  You felt like you had no purpose in such a powerful galaxy, being the bystander is what you felt was the only thing you were good at.  But when a warrior with a child extend a helping hand.  You take it.  Not knowing that you will no longer be alone for the rest of your time in the universe. Not knowing that your place in the galaxy will be much bigger than you expected.  And just like any flower, you will blossom. In more ways than one.

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

warnings/rating: Teen and Up, violence and language

genres: angst, fluff

submitter comments: N/A

Narudar by @zapsalis-d​​​

summary: You, an experienced bounty hunter working for the Bounty Hunter’s Guild, have found it difficult to sustain yourself lately, requiring more and more credits after each hunt to be able to buy your basic needs. Yet with so many members of the Guild, high rewards were tough to find. Until you’re given a bounty with the prize being something extremely valuable – beskar. During your hunt, you bump into an old enemy you were just so tired of fighting. On your attempt to finally get rid of him once and for all, he found out a secret you wished he hadn’t and now you don’t have any other choice than to team up with him, whether you like it or not. The both of you thought it would be simple. Deliver the quarry, split the reward between the two, and hopefully never see each other again. Oh, how you were wrong.

pairing: Din djarin x female reader

warnings/rating: Rated t for now (but im not sure if that writer will change that in the future or not)

genres: angst, fluff

submitter comments: N/A

Connection by @beskarhearts​​

summary: Din Djarin and you were very similar. You both were closed off from everybody and had on masks of your own. But, when the universe brings you and Din together, you form a connection you didn’t know you two could have.

pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

warnings/rating: Cursing, family members passing away (think that’s about it so far)

genres: angst, fluff

submitter comments: N/A

Homeward Bound by TheStarvingWriter (Ao3)

summary: After Luke Skywalker takes Grogu, Din Djarin is adrift. He attempts to find solace in his old ways of bounty hunting, but he feels like an imposter—a shell of his former self, roaming around in a suit of beskar that no longer feels like his own. When a visit to Coruscant leads him to a Seer who tells him that Grogu is in danger, however, everything changes. Now, it’s a race to find his kid and return him home, before he truly loses him forever.

pairing: Din Djarin and Grogu (father/son)

warnings/rating: Teen and Up Audiences 

genres: angst, hurt/comfort

submitter comments: The writing of this is phenomenal. The way they write Din is fantastic and the angst is insane. There will be eventual reunion and each chapter leaves you wanting more. 158288483/10 recommended!!!

the light of stars by @tiffdawg

summary: In pursuit of the Child’s people, the mysterious Jedi, Din Djarin and his foundling find hope in a woman who shares the kid’s strange powers. Newly partnered with the Mandalorian, you are trained in the ways of the Force, but you’re no Jedi. You’re just trying to find your place in the galaxy.

pairing: din djarin x reader

warnings/rating: hurt/comfort, sexism, mild injury, mild language, angst, kissing

genres: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

submitter comments: N/A

ONE-SHOTS

Only for You by @firstofficerwiggles​​

summary: You like to sing and it ends up bringing you closer to the Mandalorian. Events take place sometime between Seasons 1 and 2. It’s pretty much fluff with a teeny bit of story. Still has plot though :)

pairing: Mandalorian x female reader

warnings/rating: Rated: G, Warnings: None

genre: fluff

submitter comments: I hope you like it!

Getting Through This by Whumptastic (Ao3)

summary: Din has a hard time dealing with Grogu’s leaving, and like a true friend Cara offers support.

pairing: Din and Cara but only as best friends

warnings/rating: none really, lots of crying/sad vibes tho

genre: hurt/comfort

submitter comments: N/A

Fifty Four by @themand0lorian​

summary: Reader gets a drunken holo from Din, based on Pedro Pascal's 24 hour play monologue (linked in fic)

pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader (no Y/N)

warnings/rating: E

genres: angst, fluff

submitter comments: N/A

Reassurance by @galaxysgal​ (Ao3: imjusttheoutgoingsidekick)

summary: You worry about Din and his recklessness during and after the events of Morak and the two of you have a small chat about it.

pairing: din djarin x gn!reader

warnings/rating: PG, major spoilers for The Mandalorian Chapter 15, canon typical violence, near death experience (for Din), some swear words (both sw swears and regular english ones lol)

genres: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

submitter comments: since it's up on tumblr and ao3 i wasnt sure which link/acc name to give so I just gave both :)

ni kar’tayli gar darasuum by @pumpkin-stars

summary: Din was friends with another foundling as a child, they never saw each other’s faces, both shrouded in beskar from everyone. But feelings form from actions and words, not sight. AKA Din gets married to someone equally touchstarved.

pairing: Din/Reader (no pronouns)

warnings/rating: safe for everyone - warnings for (happy) crying, and it's my first attempt at a star wars fic so the finer details might be a bit dodgy

genre: fluff

submitter comments: i love your fics! i'm still new to the fandom but you seem so sweet and this is a really good idea/thing that you're doing! xx

The Vexatious Nine by Balsamique (Ao3)

summary: While searching for more of his kind on the desolate planet of Karth, a blizzard traps the Mandalorian, the child and seven lodgers in an isolated stopover. When one of the lodgers is mysteriously murdered, it’s up to the Mandalorian to catch the killer before they can claim their next victim. But as the storm thickens, so does the mystery — and this isn’t a problem he can shoot his way out of.

pairing: N/A

warnings/rating: General Audiences

genres: Action/Adventure, Murder Mystery

submitter comments: Author's name on Ao3 is Balsamique. On Tumblr it's first-order-media-department.

what happened to you? by @lesbisoka​

summary: After the events of Episode 8 (S1), Din returns to Sorgan to recover. Omera finds him in a less than ideal state.

pairing: din djarin x omera

warnings/rating: General Audiences, no archive warnings apply

genre: hurt/comfort

submitter comments: N/A

Sprained by @kesskirata​

summary: Rebel spy reader is injured and can’t make her meet up with The Mandalorian

pairing: The Mandalorian x reader 

warnings/rating: none

genres: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

submitter comments: N/A

Over the Moon by gobuyastarwars (Ao3)

summary: Din and Grogu travel with Boba Fett and Fennec Shand for a time. The Mandalorian, Boba, Fennec, and Grogu stop to refuel and find an unpromising tourist attraction nearby– an amusement park. Din doesn't want to go into the amusement park, but Boba and Grogu do.

pairing: Din and Grogu

warnings/rating: Gen, no warnings

genre: fluff

submitter comments: N/A

You can start submitting next week’s fic rec here.

[kylostantrums]

I hate this “no spoilers” culture that we live in right now. Producers and writers are so terrified of fans predicting the ending to their works to the point that they’re making nonsensical endings to their narratives. They’re messy, out-of-character, and outlandish, but, hey! at least they’re unpredictable!

Rian Johnson, The Last Jedi — completely ignored & disregarded the 3-film narrative arc J.J. Abrams has planned out for the sequel trilogy, and instead developed his own messy narrative full of subversions for the sake of subversion, and completely disrespected the legacy of Luke Skywalker’s character (Mark Hamill himself has reported several times that he doesn’t recognize the character).

Russos, MCU — give out fake scripts, actors play against green screens and are cut & pasted together in post, show fake/edited scenes in trailers, throw away previous character development (Thor, Ragnarok vs Infinity War and especially Endgame).

D&D, Game of Thrones — throw away a decade of foreshadowing and character development for shock value, not to mention they missed a whole ass Starbucks cup in a shot in 8x03 (either on set or in post, somebody should’ve noticed this).

I’m sick and tired of this. It’s not good writing, and it’s no longer entertaining to fans when the characters they know and love become complete strangers. There’s good shock value — “No, I am your father,” for example — and then there’s ignoring years of character development and turning a kind and caring character into a murderous maniac. There’s a difference, and I think writers still know what that difference is, but they’re pressured to create an ending that fans can’t predict because of this mass panic over “no spoilers”.

This needs to stop. Give me a happy ending. Who the fuck cares if we guess what comes next? That means the writers have done their fucking jobs. If we can guess what comes next that means the writers have successfully developed their characters and foreshadowed future events as you’re supposed to do in a well-written narrative.

No spoilers? Sure. I like to experience narratives without being spoiled. But don’t make the narrative unrecognizable by the ending. It’s just not good writing.

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Under My Skin: Chapter 1

Series masterlist

Word count = 4,6 k

Chapter Warnings = swearing, canon-typical violence, bad writing

Summary = You hate Poe Dameron. Simple, right?

Edit = Cross posted to AO3

Part 1 of 4 (I think)

Poe Dameron didn’t like you and you didn’t like Poe Dameron.

“Because!” You grouse to Rose as you make your way to the cantina, “he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else, no one could ever come close to his skills, and he always gets the best missions, and he’s good, but he’s not that good, he acts like he’s god's gift to women - no scratch that - to the galaxy, and he’s so arrogant!” You’re growling in frustration as you round the corner, suddenly lowering your voice as much as you can because Dameron is right there at the end of the corridor, deep in discussion with General Organa and Finn.

Rose’s only response is to whack you over the head as she walks through the swinging doors in the centre of the corridor. You’ve never been so glad you don’t have to walk past Dameron in your life. “What was that about?” You hiss as you catch up with Rose, grabbing your own tray and helping yourself to dinner. “You didn’t have to hit me in front of General Organa.” Rose snorts. “Yeah the General was the one you were worried about.”

Trays full, the two of you spot an empty booth and hurry towards it, sitting opposite each other. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You won’t shut up about Poe.” She jabs her fork at you, causing bits of potato to fall to the table. You can only gape, words escaping you momentarily.

Momentarily.

“What! I won’t - Dameron - he - he and I - urgh! - never in my life - he’s annoying!” You settle on finally, fully aware that you’re now whining. “He frustrates me!”

Rose raises an eyebrow, “Well maybe you need to work out those frustrations.” You shake your head, deciding to ignore her for now as you concentrate on eating. “You do need to get laid.”

You yelp, coughing when you try to swallow too quickly in shock. And then- “I can help with that, sweetheart.” You whip round, eyes narrowing when Dameron’s behind you, his flight suit tied around his waist, exposing his dirty vest and irritatingly strong arms. The only person who can beat him in arm wrestling is Finn - you can no longer count the amount of times he’s beaten you.

You take another scoop of dinner before talking with a full mouth. “Ok, one, I’m not your sweetheart, and two, Rose is wrong, and even if she was right, I definitely don’t need your help with-” you pause, swallow, and gesture vaguely in his general direction. “That.”

This, annoyingly, only seems to make him grin more. “That? You’re not gonna call it what it is?” You lean back, pulling your most unimpressed look onto your face, as he continues, still smirking, even having the audacity to wink at you. “Hot, animal sex.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff, turning back to your dinner. “Whatever you say, Dameron.”

“Does it make you feel better, being mean to me?” Dameron asks as he squeezes onto the small piece of bench next to you. You huff, moving up so that you’re not touching. You don’t like him, but you’re not rude. 

Ignoring his question, you deflect. “Where’s Finn? Don’t you want to sit with him?” It takes more effort than it should to sound like you’re asking out of interest, and not because you want him to go away. Which you do.

“He’s still talking to Leia.” Your eyes flick to Rose, and she knows what you’re thinking. You twist your body to face Dameron, bringing a leg up under you. “Is this about the mission?” Her voice is low as she leans across the table, forgetting about the rest of her dinner.

The last few days have been hell. Rumours have been flying around base, centered around a box full of Jedi crystals. Kyber crystals, you’d told Rose the other day, not that the name cleared anything up. You’d poked around the base’s library on your datapad when you had the odd chance, but the Jedi were now the stuff of legend, just stories told to children about ‘the good old days’.  

The rumours made things worse - you’re not sure how much of it to believe - there were so few people who were even Force sensitive but as far as you were aware there were no Jedi left. Luke Skywalker was lost, and therefore probably dead. And even if Jedi did still exist, weren’t they supposed to be the good guys? Why hadn’t they come to help fight along with the Resistance?

But Dameron decides to play dumb. “What mission?” His eyes are too wide to be innocent and it annoys you. “Finn’s talking to Leia about…” he pauses, eyes desperately searching the cantina as he tries to think of a good excuse. “The quality of the food!” Turning to you, his eyes are intense. “I know you want more chocolate pudding.” You ignore how he knows that, instead focusing on glaring at him. “Dameron do you think I’m a good pilot?”

“Look,” he turns to face you, ignoring his own food even as you continue to eat, “it’s nothing to do with your skills as a pilot.” He pauses, but you interrupt before he can give you some empty platitude. “I think it is - otherwise why am I not being included?”

“Hey, will you listen,” he turns to you, poking his finger at you for emphasis. “This mission is top-secret and the risk of the First Order finding out is high so-” This time you properly interrupt, flicking his finger out of your personal space.

“So you just decide to talk about it in the corridor by the busy cantina, where everyone and their mother will see you?”

This shuts him up.

The two of you are looking into each other's faces, inches apart. And it’s annoying because Dameron is unfortunately handsome. Why? Why is he of all people so good looking? Rose coughs obnoxiously loud, causing the two of you to break eye contact and turn to look at her. You lean back from him, trying your best to look thoroughly unimpressed as he stands, picking up his tray and when he speaks, huffing, his voice is sharper than it was before.

“Look, I only came over to say that we’re going to have a mission briefing tomorrow at 6. Ok? So, just-” He leaves, mumbling the rest of the sentence under his breath as he walks across the cantina towards Rey, leaving you with your mouth hanging open, looking and feeling like an idiot.

“Well,” you say as you turn back to Rose. “That’s why I hate him.”

“You’ve got a mission, aren’t you pleased about that?” You can tell you’re annoying her now, but you roll your eyes. “Yeah, with Dameron. He’s just going to be hanging over my shoulder and passing judgement whenever he can. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Every time you came back from a mission Dameron was there. Always. Just waiting to tell you what you should have done, how you should have flown, how he would have done it. As though the only reason he hadn’t done it was because he was too important.

You knew you didn’t fly how most people did, it had cost you marks in your final exams at school, and it cost you a place in a higher squadron, but it was hard to find the will to change when the poster boy for the Resistance saw nothing but incompetence when he looked at you. Bastard, you couldn’t help but think as you stabbed the last of your greens, wishing it was his face.

***

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

The mission had been going so well. You’d dropped into the planet’s upper atmosphere, bypassing the planet’s security, got inside the compound, obtained the uber-secret box (your briefing hadn’t quite covered what was inside, annoyingly) and you’d been about to sneak out when you’d decided a bit more snooping was necessary.

The box had been in the centre of a library/museum set-up and even you could tell that these were rare books. So you’d told Dameron to inspect the objects while you scanned the books, pulling out a few that caught your eye.

The first warning you had been given was a blaster grazing your arm, causing you to yelp in pain, dropping the books and duck to the floor as another shot had ripped through the shelves - an inch or two above where your head had been. So a crap shot then.

Paper had fluttered down around you as you looked for Dameron. The shelves would provide good cover but unfortunately it also meant you couldn’t see your shooter. Pulling your blaster out from its holder, you aimed a couple of returning shots into the darkness at the edges of the room as you looked for Dameron.

You found him near the exit, standing over a number of droids. He’d been holding the box with one arm, the other bleeding heavily, but you’d managed to escape, tangling with another droid who’d punched you as you left the way you came, avoiding the crap shooter on your way out. You didn’t want the First Order to know who’d been there.

So now you and Dameron were walking back to the ship, cutting through undergrowth as you desperately tried to remember the way, face throbbing in pain. Dameron had fallen quiet very quickly, and you were alarmed to see how much blood he had lost so far. His face was pale and all you could think was that it was your fault. If you hadn’t’ve tried to poke around and look for other useful bits and pieces, you would have got out with no trouble.

Oh shit.

You were definitely lost now. You’d taken a gamble on the last turn and this was wrong. There should be a stream somewhere to your left which led back to the ship. Where was it? This was so wrong. And how were you going to admit this to Dameron? “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You swore under your breath.

“What’s wrong?” Dameron’s voice wasn’t right. He’d lost a lot of his power, and you turned to face him, watching as a small drop of blood fell to the floor. You don’t want to say it, you know he’s going to hold this over your head later, your first truly important mission and you’ve fucked up so bad. “I -” you hesitate, mouth open, so unwilling to say it, especially to Poe, you have to force it out. “We’re lost...I don’t know the way back.”

And...oh god, you’re not going to start crying are you? You can feel the familiar burn on the back of your eyes so you blink, looking away from him. But Dameron starts struggling, using his injured arm to try and reach down, looking for something. You move closer, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to stop moving, to stop aggravating his injury. “What are you doing?” And your voice is mean and you don’t know why but his skin is cool, cooler than it should be causing your heart to skitter out of control.

Dameron looks up into your face and his eyes are a little unfocused. Shit. “Looking for a tracker - the ship -” His voice doesn’t sound normal. But you have to be the calm one, you have to be the one in charge so you push the panic down, trying to speak normally. “Where is it? You shouldn’t be using that arm.”

“In my pocket, I -” But you’re one step ahead, unceremoniously dropping his wrist and reaching in, pulling the tracker out. A thin disc with a central button, which you press, and a red light spins around the edge before settling a direction to your left, forcing you to turn about 45 degrees.

You set off, pushing through the undergrowth and snapping branches from trees, kicking any debris out of Poe’s path as he stumbles behind you. Panic is still rising in you, you can’t be the reason the Resistance’s best pilot dies. Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuckin’ motherfucker, please, please, plea-

You pause for a second, trying to get your breathing back under control, even as it skitters away from you. You glance back at Poe, who nods at you.

BB-8 is waiting back at the ship, preliminary checks before take-off having been completed. You help Poe lift into the co-pilot’s chair you’d been occupying earlier and squeezing into the pilot’s chair. You don’t remember the flight back, don’t remember dodging the planet’s security as you took off, all you remember is how pale and quiet Poe is. He watches you the whole way which would normally annoy you, but you don’t think his eyes are fully focused.

You’ve done better landings when you get back to the base, but you don’t really care, Poe’s breathing is different, you can’t stop the panic rising in you, and the second you’ve opened the door you’re yelling, voice already hoarse. “Medic! Medic! I need - I need a medic!” People swirl around you, when did they get here? But you don’t want to let go of Poe, one arm around his back, his uninjured one around your neck while you keep a tight hold of the box.

You fight as someone tries to unfurl your fingers, Poe’s weight disappearing and you’re crying now, hardly able to open your eyes. You don’t feel the sharp sting of the tranquilizer, instead blindly fighting the rising darkness inside you, unable to recognise it for what it is. Voices are all around you, muffled like you’re underwater and lights are appearing in bright spots above your head. You’re floating, falling backwards, further and further, until everything turns black.

***

The debrief was not fun.

Barely out of the medbay, you’d relayed to General Organa what had happened, how it had been your idea to stay back, how you’d got lost in the forest after, how you made a mess.

Due to your injuries, it had been just you and her, and even now, safely in your bunk, you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than having to tell a whole command room. Sure, you’d been spared public humiliation, but at the cost of having General Organa’s full attention on your failure.

You’d pulled your curtain across your bunk, and you felt as though you might have to stay buried under your covers for at least a week to emotionally recover from the whole ordeal. The worst part of it was that General Organa hadn’t even seemed disappointed, or angry, just...like she expected it.

And Dameron was still in the medbay. It was coming up to 4 days later, but you’d maintained your distance, not sure your fragile heart could stand the pain of knowing his condition was your fault, no matter what anyone said.

You wanted to see him, to apologise, but at the same time the idea of facing him made you feel sick. It was your fault he was in the medbay, you should have prevented it. In fact, the only reason you even knew he was still in the medbay was because you assumed there would be some kind of announcement or celebration when he was better.

A knock on your door made you jump, and then frown, however the door began to open before you could respond which you supposed was kind of your fault, you should have locked it, now you were going to have to talk to someone-

And General Organa walks into the room.

You stand up so fast, you get a rush of blood to the head, your vision going black slightly at the edges. “General, I-” you start talking before you even know what you’re going to say, so shocked to see your hero in your room. Your eyes flick over to the mess of clothes you haven’t bothered to wash in the last week, tissues on the floor, half eaten snack bars and their wrappers littered around as you wished the room was a lot tidier.

“I wanted to check how you were getting on.” Her voice is soft, but still carries that familiar authority as she pulls out the chair from your desk and sits on it.

Your mind goes blank. General Organa...wanted to check...on you?

You manage to pull yourself together, sitting back down on your bed with a suddenly excellent posture. “Good, thank you General.” You can hardly look at her, it’s like she emits light, and it’s too bright, too much.

You’re hyper-aware of your every movement, this is the first time you’ve properly talked to her, you want her to like you, and oh my god she’s in your room? Her eyes never leave you, so you stare at your hands, fingers twisting in your lap. “Call me Leia.” She pauses, but it’s not enough time for the implications of that to sink in. “It’s understandable if you’re still feeling rough.” Oh stars you’re going to cry.

Your eyes are watery and you know looking down only increases the chances of them falling, but if you look up, she’ll see. “I wish I’d done things differently.” You say, and your voice sounds rough.

The room is swimming when you finally look up, but General Orga - Leia is smiling softly at you. “I think about every second of that mission and for every decision that I made, I wish, I wish I did the opposite thing.”

“Why?” The question is asked so simply, and there are so many answers, they crowd your mind. “You were successful, weren’t you?” Still you can only gape at her. Successful? Dameron is still in the medbay-

“I know what it’s like to blame yourself for a mission going sideways.” Leia continues, “But you retrieved the box, you’re both alive, Poe is healing well, the medics say the bleeding has stopped and his stomach is on the mend now.” His stomach? You frown, his stomach wasn’t injured, it was just his shoulder, but Leia mistakes your frown for further dissent.

“I know you think it was your fault because you said let’s stay behind, but what if you had found something important? And Poe agreed, didn’t he? It’s not just on you. You just have to learn when the risk is worth the reward.” With that, she stands, so you do too. “I’ll formally debrief the two of you together when Poe’s out of the medbay, but I thought you needed to know this.” You nod, unable to speak again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

It’s almost too late before you can speak again, Leia halfway out of the door, but she turns back when she hears your voice. “Thank you.” And you mean it. Leia didn’t say much, and nothing new, but she was right. The mission was technically a success. Things went wrong, but you were both alive.

Sitting back on your bed, you feel lighter, more like normal. And a part of that normality is annoyance towards a certain pilot. He was injured in his stomach? The more you think about it, the more a cold fury rises in you. Why wouldn’t he say? He was carrying that heavy box and - you let out a growl, surprisingly loud in the quiet room.

You make your way to the medbay, becoming angrier and angrier with each step. No wonder he had so much blood loss! How dare he not say anything! How could he not tell you? Did he not trust you?

You ignore the signs that tell you visiting hours are over, and maybe it’s the look in your eyes that stops any medics from reminding you as such when you march up to the front desk. “I need to see Poe Dameron, which room is he in?” You feel a tiny bit bad for being so demanding to an overworked medic, but you can’t think past how Poe Dameron lied to you.

You’re shaking as you walk to Dameron’s room, not bothering with pleasantries as you bang open the door. He’s lying in the bed, BB-8 charging in the corner and had you been calmer you would have noticed how Dameron jerked awake when you slammed his door shut. You ignore how he’s hooked up to various machines and drips, bandages covering his body.

“You were shot in the stomach?” Your voice is mean again.

Dameron just blinks groggily at you, a combination of drugs and tiredness, but you push down any pity, letting righteous anger flood your veins with fire. “What?” His voice is hoarse from misuse and sleep.

“You were shot in the stomach?” You repeat, keeping hold of that cold fury as you look down at his face. This extra minute is all Dameron needs to wake up properly and realise why you’re so upset. “No- just, just stabbed.”

“Just!” - and it’s like you’re watching yourself, no control over your actions and even to your own ears you sound hysterical, the volume of your voice rising.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You demand as he presses a button, lifting the top half of his bed up. Tears are once again pricking your eyes, but this time you will not be crying, so you wipe them away quickly, past caring.

“Because,” Dameron huffs, realising that's not a full sentence. “I don’t know - you...you had enough on your plate, I didn’t want to add to it.”

“You should have told me.” Your voice is dangerous now, your whole body thrumming with an unshakeable anger, even as you stand completely still. A strong undercurrent continues to carry you onwards in the conversation, and you know you’ll need to leave before it runs out. “You carried that box for fuck knows how long, and what? You were just hiding your injury? You just wanted to be a hero, or embarrass me?”

Dameron stays silent, glare heavy in his eyebrows. It’s too much, you want, you need answers.

“ANSWER ME!” You roar, lashing out in defence.

“I had to!” He’s shouting now too, pushing against the bed with his strong arm. “It was hard enough to snap you out of it when we were in the compound - I wasn’t going to add to it - I had to know you could fly us home!”

His words are like they punched you, a heavy exhalation, and it’s as though all the anger was tightly held in your lungs. “I flew us home.” Your voice sounds small as you take a step back. Dameron’s found the one chink in your armour again, just like he did when you first met, the one weak spot of your insecurity and smashed it to smithereens.

There’s silence in the medbay, pushing against your eardrums as though to emphasise just how the loud the two of you were. There’s a brief flicker of curiosity in the back of mind, wondering why the nurses haven’t intervened yet.

You can’t look at Dameron anymore, instead taking in the number of different machines he’s hooked up to, watching the drips, how his heart rate starts to lower as he forces himself to calm down. “So you didn’t trust me?” You don’t want the answer, but you can’t stop the words.

He takes his time answering again, but you still don’t look at him, hands playing behind your back with the hem of your jumper. “If you don’t trust me - you should have asked Leia to switch me out!” Shut up, shut up, shut up, why can’t you stop talking, you stupid-

“Maybe I should’ve!” His voice doesn’t change, there’s no difference in his heart beat, although it’s on the high side of normal, matching yours, but something changed. There’s a split in the room, a chasm separating the two of you that wasn’t there before.

“Well why didn’t you?”

“Because I felt sorry for you!” Your eyes snap up, looking at his face in terror. “I wanted to give you a chance! I didn’t think you’d fuck up like that.” If Dameron’s earlier words were a punch to your gut, these sent you sprawling. Short of an atomic blast inside you, any feeling left inside you was obliterated. Hot embarrassment crawls up your arms and you want Dameron to feel the same pain.

“Fuck you.”

The words hang there, each second an eon. Poe instantly regrets his words, knowing he’s gone too far. He opens his mouth to apologise, but the words don’t come.

Neither of you say anything, glares still spitting red-hot fire, when you suddenly want to leave. You don’t want to see Dameron’s face again, not for a long time. So you clench your jaw, throwing up your middle finger and slamming the door behind you.

***

Isolating yourself doesn’t seem quite so appealing once you’ve left the medbay, so instead you make your way to Rose’s room, grabbing a bottle of firewater from the cantina as you pass. You need a drink.

When you arrive, you’re not sure you want to talk about the recent shitstorm your life has recently become so the first words out of your mouth when Rose opens the door is- “Do you like Jannah?”

It’s a little mean of a conversation to spring on your friend, but you’re a lot of things, and blind is not one of them. You’ve seen how the two mechanics look at each other. Especially when they think the other won’t see. Holding up the bottle as a peace offering, Rose smirks at you before leaving her door open as an invitation.

Rose denies having a crush on Jannah as you work through the bottle, only conceding on the point that Jannah is very pretty. You’re probably a little too quick to agree, blaming it on the drink that’s currently making you feel like you’re floating a couple of inches above the ground.

Comfortable silence falls on the two of you as you sit there, the floor a little cold under you, leaning against Rose’s bed.

“I’ve been thinking-” Rose starts but you interrupt before she can get any further.

“Dangerous.”

Rose doesn’t dignify this with a response, instead waiting until you wave a hand at her to continue.

“We’ve got a coordinating day off next cycle, if you wanna go to Sanctuary III. They’ll have a festival then, I can’t remember which but it should be good fun.” You can tell she’s keen, so you’ll go with her, but you find it hard to inject any enthusiasm into your voice.

Rose picks up on this, sighing as she refills her glass. “Alright don’t seem too keen on the idea.”

Your shrug, not really wanting to talk about the real reason you can’t find any excitement. “Sorry. I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun.”

“What’s wrong?” Her voice is gentle, and her hand is on your arm, and it’s so reassuring, so warm, your skin sings under her palm.

You talk to your feet as you tell Rose what Dameron said. “-and he - it was horrible, Rose,” you sniffle, tears springing into your eyes again. “And I - we’ve never got on, he’s, y’know, annoying, we’re always bickering, but I just - I never thought that he actually - it’s my fault he’s injured, and maybe he does hate me and-”

You stop your tirade and for the first time, just let yourself cry and breathe for a second. Rose’s arm comes around your shoulder and you lean into it, slightly. “It’s fine - I mean I never liked him anyway, now I can just move straight into the dislike section, maybe even hate I dunno.”

“Ok you should know that that’s not healthy first of all.” Rose’s voice floats out from above your head. “Second, I’m sure he didn’t mean it, and anyway, who cares what he thinks? Leia thought you did well. And third, this is all the more reason to do something on our day off!”

You give a weak chuckle and nod. You spent the rest of the night, playing cards and chatting about lighter topics until both of your eyes start to burn and you make your way to bed.  

***

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Chapter 2