#force-sensitive! oc

[im-yotsu]

What am I supposed to do with you?

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 2}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: You come to realize that as much as you want your freedom, your new captor is someone you are afraid to run from. 

Word Count: 7.1K 

Warnings: mentions of narcotics, reader was drugged previously, withdrawal, insinuation of past SA, insinuation of sexual favors, mentions of past torture (not detailed), mentions of past trauma (not detailed) 

A/N: this chapter is brought early to you by the various albums of tool, copious amounts of coffee, and the buzzing of excitement to get this out to y’all. it’s a very intimate glimpse into reader’s internal monologue and i sincerely hope y’all enjoy this. it was very very fun to write and put down in concrete scenes ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

The sounds of heavy breathing were harsh in the quiet expanse of the desert. The sun beating down suffocating rays that made sweat build up along your hairline and on the skin underneath your lightweight tunic. The fabric was old and frayed, from what you were beginning to think was a few years since you had donned it for travel. It was larger on you than it had once been, the weight you had lost during your captivity obvious. You ran the last few yards between where you had been trying to keep up and the figure that had just been rushing at a fast pace but now lay motionless.

You slid to a stop on your knees beside the fallen form of the Mandalorian on the rocky terrain that made up the desert planet. His body having landed on a heightened outcropping of softer gravel that was the base of a jutting rock formation.

The drugs were still waning from your system but not enough for them to have tricked you into seeing the absolute absurdity that was the unconscious man laid out before you giving chase to the Jawas as they fled the scavenged mess of his ship. After they had sought refuge on their giant crawling fortress and began to flee the scene in haste.

For someone who came across as so put together and focused while on a hunt, he had run off after the small beings with no thought. Granted, you’d be pretty upset too if you had traveled so far for work only to come back to your ship, your home, being scavenged beyond use. But it had been rather comical to witness a lone figure chased after such a large structure that was speeding away into the desert, until he had gotten injured. Until you realized what it meant.

Electric shocks sparked over him in disjointed waves as his armor whined at a low timbre. The wiring charred because of getting electrically shocked by so many guns at once thanks to the Jawas. They were small creatures and the electroshock weapons they carried allowed them to gain an even hand in the cutthroat world of scavenging and trading. He wasn’t making any noise himself, but you could hear the modulator picking up his faint breathing and displaying it for you. You glanced toward the horizon, seeing the crawling fortress that carried your way off this planet with it disappea from view.

Your hands were still contained in the binders fastened around your wrists, the mechanics of them too strong for you to break. But you weren’t too confident you’d be able to get out of them if you were at full strength, even with the Force. You had a feeling they would send shocks themselves, if tampered with beyond general jostling. With bated breath you hovered your open palms over the helmet, trying to get a sense of what to do, your skin felt the coolness of the metal despite it being in the sun as long as you have been.

Gaze wandering over the man’s form, you took in how broad he was, how solid. His armor surely lent him more than protection, the plates strapped carefully to his body allowing him to appear bigger than he was. But as you took in the width of his shoulders, the stockiness of his legs, you were beginning to think he was a wall of a man even beneath the armor. You felt your face flush as your thoughts wondered about him, unsure where the fascination was coming from. He was just another captor of yours, granted he had been contracted. Maybe that was why.

Because he was a professional, seen as someone of high value and skill in his field. Someone you knew your dearest mother would’ve requested to receive your tracking fob to ensure your return to her.

You wondered what the final trigger was, for her to reach out to the Guild. If you took the Mandalorian’s words as fact, which you felt like you could, then you had been ‘missing’ for five years. Out of those five years, your memory of time was warped. Your entire sense of what had happened and when was jumbled up and would take you serious time to try and decipher.

You recalled overhearing talk of an arrangement for you to be relocated, both you and your mother, to someplace that could offer more complete protection. To someone who could provide you with a life that was still caged and corralled but in a way that would seem like you weren’t. You had heard the term ‘betrothed’ that despite an addled state had triggered the sense to run and immediately began planning a way to escape in earnest. You wouldn’t be sold for some man’s amusement and posterity. To be a boasting point of someone’s accomplishments that were only brought on by money and status.

Memories of landing on Tatooine, of finding affordable supplies and as updated a map as possible flooded your mind’s eye. You had purchased everything needed to set up a small moisture farm for yourself, in order to live off of and provide for yourself in such a desolate place. You hadn’t been too keen on settling in the desert, preferring the rich shrubbery and canopy of leaves forests provided. The deep greens of plant life and the scent of rain in the air when storms approached on the horizon, but you had decided it would be too predictable. Too easy to track you down to a planet that appealed to you. With a sigh you reigned in your thoughts.

You looked over to the small green face of your other companion peeking out from his pod, worry in his large eyes and the droop of his adorable ears. You sucked in a breath before chancing digging your fingers into the material of the Mandalorian’s cloak that created a wrapped cowl around his neck to find a pulse. His skin was warm underneath your fingers, the softness of the man beneath the armor a little dizzying. His pulse was weak, but it was there, you removed your hands and marveled at the sensation his skin left on yours as you settled down beside to wait for him to rouse.

Shivers moved your body as chills traced heavily over your skin, withdrawal hitting you full force after not having anything forcefully injected into your veins in over twenty-four hours. The hinge of your jaw was sore from the force you were clenching it shut with, the pain reverberating from the crown of your head too much to handle. You don’t know what type of sedative they had kept you on but now that it was wearing off after however many consecutive days of it, your body was beginning to struggle without it.

You don’t know how long you sat beside him, it must’ve been a few hours at least judging by the movement of the sun from overhead to well into its descent of the day. You kept checking his pulse, which had gradually grown in strength. 

Relief flooded you when you noticed the change from his breathing being labored to even once again. Bound hands hovered over the rip in his sleeve from being cut, and you focused your concentration on the injury he had closed up hastily the night before. After a few moments the jagged, irritated skin smoothed out and it was as if he had never been injured to begin with.

You checked his pulse again, worried your healing would have spiked it and were about to remove your hand from within the fabric around his neck when one of his own shot out and gripped it crushingly tight. The Mandalorian jolted up from his laid out position, a string of grunts sounding through his modulator. His legs opened wide to help stabilize himself and he turned his helmet to face you.

His breathing was a little on the heavy side as he took in your form, your face a twinge red from being in the sun all day. Some of the flush from a fever you were sure that was beginning to take over your immune system. He took in the floating pod behind you, still occupied by his other quarry. Your hand twitched in his hold and he looked down to where he had it in a tight grip, his gloves encompassing the entirety of it. The creak of your bones beneath his grip had him dropping your hand and turning to face the trail left in the wake of the traveling fortress.

“How long was I out?”

You were slightly taken aback by his question, unsure if he was really initiating conversation with you. You rubbed at your aching hand, his phantom grip still on your skin.

An answer quietly followed, not wanting to enrage the man who had willingly run after the remnants of his ship in such a haste. Because despite how absurd it had been, it told you a lot about him. How he was willing to give chase, to hunt in the very depths of his core. He was devoted to it. It was who he was, it made him a challenge you had to acknowledge you couldn’t overcome lest you try to run yourself.

And while that terrified you, it also made you feel a swirl of emotions that you couldn’t name. You had spent nearly your entire life on the run, in hiding, keeping to yourself and keeping a low profile. But now that he had your tracking fob, now that he knew about the price on your head and taken on the responsibility of your capture, you doubted he would ever stop his pursuit. He took things personally, a way to prove himself. And while you prided yourself on your ability to hide, you knew he would find you because he was devoted to the chase. It would fuel him should you give in to your baser instincts and attempt freedom.

Even if you could get to your hideaway home here on planet, it wouldn’t matter a dank ferrick thing. Off world was the only option. But it was too bold of one without any bearings.

“A few hours, jatne vod.”

“You were touching me.” He moved to sit up straighter, stretching the muscles in his back with the motion. He stood from there, leaning down to reach for the tops of his boots with a deep breath. He stood at his full height and began to walk back in the direction of his ship. You fell into step behind him, the Child’s pod floating beside him. “Don’t do it again.”

“Apologies, jatne vod. I caught up just in time to see them all fire on you at once. That and the fall from the ship worried me.”

“Worried. Worried you would end up trapped out here with no way off world.” His tone was flat, stating rather than questioning. You both knew he was correct in his assumption of why you hadn’t run off. Why you had stuck by his side as he had laid unconscious. You didn’t say anything, there wasn’t anything to say. He was reading you as if you were projecting everything plainly for him. If he noticed the way you were literally shaking as if cold despite the sweltering heat, he didn’t comment on it.

“I healed that nasty cut you had on your arm, and I didn’t have to touch you to do it.”

You weren’t sure why you felt the need to tell him, he may not have even felt the injury any longer, but you recalled the way he had breathed so heavily when he had discovered it. The rough tissue from the fast cauterization of it had bothered you, the idea of a scar marring his skin had bothered you and weren’t sure why the thought had upset you enough to prompt you into healing him. No response was given but the helmet was aimed at you. The darkness of his visor captivated you, rooting you in your spot. You tore your gaze away, unable to take the direct attention.

You weren’t sure your chills were solely from withdrawal having caught a glimpse of him in action…

His ship was…for the most part just a frame. The basic structure of the ship was intact, but everything that could be pried from the frame had been taken. The area around where he had landed was littered with parts the Jawa’s had left behind in their haste to flee the scene. It was an older ship, surely the parts were valuable for them to have taken nearly everything they could from it. You remained quiet as you approached it for the second time that day, behind your captor and fellow captive. Sparks intermittently lit up the interior of the ship, the gaping holes in the hull and siding allowed for you to see as well as hear them in the quiet of the desert.

Sounds of things slamming and an attempt to start the engines had you walking towards what was left of the ship. You hesitantly stepped up the ramp and into what was once the hold space. Wires hung from everywhere, the source of the sparks that still flew every so often as power found no way to transfer and run the various mechanics. You looked around and took in the bare bones of what was once a pretty ship. You spied the Mandalorian seated just inside a small doorway that led to what had to be his sleeping quarters. His shoulders were slumped, his helmet hanging low as the man gathered his thoughts.

A small hand touched the back of your ankle and your head snapped down to see the Child had climbed out of his pod and followed you both up the ramp. His touch hadn’t elicited the same nauseating and painful effect as it had done at first. Which allowed you to conclude that he had been trying to show you that he remembered you, from long ago and that he was trying to connect with you when reunited. He had used the Force to try and push his thoughts into your mind, though he was clumsy with it and had flooded his own emotions of a time past into you along with them.

You leaned down to help him scramble over a large chunk of the hold space wall that was dented and on the floor with a gentle hand on his back. He stopped in front of the Mandalorian just as a deep sigh fell from the man’s helmet, the Child babbling up at him as if in response.

Words didn’t leave your lips, knowing what it was like to have the place you called home and returned to at the end of the day decimated. Both in the literal and metaphorical sense. When you had first returned to your home planet of K’ath, you had faced the same desolation he was most likely experiencing. Your home had been destroyed and for a fleeting moment you thought you had taken too long to return from training and that your mother had fallen victim to the obvious attack aimed at you.  Turned out she had relocated with the help of some kind people that helped her to raise you, to a smaller and more secluded part of the inland area.

Without a word, the Mandalorian reached down to pick up the Child and held him to his chest as he walked past you and back down the ramp. You watched as he carefully placed the small figure securely into his pod, making sure that the blanket in there was flat for him to sit atop it. You felt something flutter in your chest at the sight and tears sprung up in your eyes at the softness. You weren’t sure if it was because you missed when the touch of your mother had been soft toward you or if you were moved at seeing such a formidable man taking the time to ensure the comfort of such a small being. Emotions confusing you more than you already were at the way things were unfolding, you turned around quickly so they wouldn’t be seen by your captor.

“Move it.” And with that you followed them both back into the expanse of the desert, wiping the cuffs of your tunic underneath your eyes.

It was nightfall the next day when you stopped walking, the journey long and tiring on an empty stomach and no water. A complaint didn’t leave you, not one to bring up the impossibilities of your captor sharing however he was keeping himself nourished. His suit must’ve held some sort of food or drink because every so often you would see his hand reach up to the bottom of his helmet. The previous night when he had stopped for a few hours, he seemed to have been taking sips from a small pouch you hadn’t seen before.

There was a smattering of structures up ahead, surely the destination he was seeking out. There were lights on in the alcove over the entrance to a typical structure most lived in on desert planets. Equipment to farm moisture from the air. There was a beacon of some sort that jutted out tall on the landscape, a figure tinkering away at the top of it. As you approached, the figure spoke.

“I thought you were dead.”

The shuffling sound of the Child fidgeting in the pod urged you to reach down for him. The hard gaze of the Mandalorian weighing on your back as you did so. You carefully lifted him underneath his armpits, the rough fabric of his clothing against your fingers as you lowered him to the ground where he immediately began to play with a small frog-like creature that had been minding its own business. It was a rather endearing sight, the small coos falling from him prompting a soft smile to grace your features. 

“This is what was causing all the fuss?” The figure that you could decipher now, that of an older Ugnaught, climbed down and stood beside the Child, watching as you and the Mandalorian did.

“I think it’s a child.” The Mandalorian glanced over at the Child as he played with the frog-like creature, chasing it around the open area with small steps and gurgles. The man was standing with a foot atop something as he leaned over his knee slightly and messed with the cuff on his left arm that was emitted an even electronic glow up and down the entirety of it. You suspected his back was hurting him and he was subtly trying to stretch it out. That fall from the Jawas fortress must’ve hurt, as he had landed directly on his back onto the rocky ground.

“It is better to deliver it alive then. And who might you be?”

You just shook your head and bowed your gaze as the Ugnaught approached you. You were sitting down beside the pod, not sure where the Mandalorian preferred you but positive he would be unhappy if you weren’t within his range of immediate sight.

“Another quarry, to be taken back alive. Directly to the person who contracted the Guild.”

You didn’t look up as he walked away from you, going about his business.

“My ship has been destroyed. I’m trapped here.”

“Stripped. Not destroyed.” The Ugnaught corrected evenly as he piddled around his workspace before going to stand beside the armored man. A tool was handed over. “The Jawas steal. They do not destroy.”

“Stolen or destroyed, makes no difference to me.”

You scoffed lightly at the nearly petulant tone of the Mandalorian’s voice. At the movement of his helmet toward you, you huffed and tried to cover it with a cough. Though it wasn’t much of a performance as the noise deep in your dry throat had been too much stress. Your fake cough quickly delved into a fit of very real coughing. You waved off the Child as he approached you with drooping ears and wide eyes, plaything momentarily forgotten. The Ugnaught set down a pouch beside your feet, silently offering you what was inside it. You gingerly took the pouch, not drinking from it yet as you tried to wait for what he wanted in exchange for it.

“That is yours to keep, you must stay hydrated here on Arvala-7, it’s an unforgiving planet.”

You sputtered around the sip you had taken, trying to hold what little of your dignity you had left and not spit out the precious water in your shock. Surely you were just exhausted and your body strung out, mishearing what the man had to say. The sip you took glistened on your bottom lip as you stared from him to the Mandalorian just beyond him, both of them watching you as you struggled to swallow the water in your mouth like a fool.

“Wait, we… we aren’t on Tatooine?”

“No.” Such a simple word, a simple statement, but it tilted the axis on which you stood. Altering the very understanding of what was going on that you had just begun to grasp at over the last few days. You were standing quickly, mind moving a mile a minute as it tried to process the new information.

“….what- what planet are we on?”

“Arvala-7.”

“Oh.” You felt dizzy, vertigo rocking your entire body and making your knees buckle to try and right it back on track. Your knees hit the ground hard, and your palms followed as you tried and failed to catch yourself. A panic settled over you, you weren’t even aware of what kriffing planet you were on. Shame bubbled up and settled hard in your throat, making it hard to catch a breath. Gasping in breaths only made the vertigo worse and you felt yourself crumble completely on the ground, your vision spinning and your senses not comprehending anything.

“They- they drugged me and moved me across the fucking galaxy and I had no idea.” You muttered, face pressed into the cool sand of the ground now that the sun had set completely. You felt the heavy gaze of your captor but it was too calming a sensation to relinquish the way you laid on the ground, the coolness of it on your heated face. Shame flared up again, stronger this time and making your entire body warm, overwhelming you. “I-I don’t…no. No.”

You pushed yourself up roughly, standing on shaking legs and walked away from the two men and the Child. You were vaguely aware that the Mandalorian made to follow after you, but soft words from the Ugnaught stopped the man in his tracks. You staggered around the main part of his small abode, away from the sounds of their voices, needing a second to gather your swirling thoughts. You leaned back against the side of the building and let your body slink down it to settle on the ground. Bringing your knees up to your chest you crossed your arms atop them and laid your head down, face hidden.

“Give her a moment. She’s been through a lot if the stories about the compound are true. There’s nowhere for her to run.”

“Running isn’t the problem. She might kill herself.”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I have spoken.”

“The Jawas are protected by the crawling fortress.” He went back to repairing his cuff, the Child’s sounds picking back up as he resumed playing. “There’s no way to recover the parts.”

“You can trade.”

“With Jawas. Are you out of your mind?” Incredibility genuine in the man’s modulated voice carried in the air over the building and you spared a curious thought mid mental breakdown as to what exactly his problem with the small species was.

“I will take you to them. I have spoken.”

“Hey! Spit that out.”

His raised voice made you jump, even though it wasn’t aimed at you and he couldn’t even see you.

Between a literal child and…the mystery of who you were beginning to get on his nerves. Each fob was a job but the two that had activated upon landing.  He took each job seriously, wanting to devote all that he had to them individually, but he didn’t have that luxury this time around. Both of you needing transport within sensitive time frames a little too much to be easy with how much trouble was occurring since securing you both. Things happening in too quick a concession for him to come up with a solid plan, especially in the wake of losing his ship.

You traveled through the night, a storm breaking and rain poured down upon your little group as you crossed the terrain. You, the floating pod, and the Mandalorian were settled on the transport that was being pulled along behind the blurrg that the Ugnaught was guiding. The blinding lightning and the subsequent boom of thunder had you curled into yourself, but you disguised your discomfort with the storm as trying to shield yourself from as much of the rainfall as possible.

It was well into the following day when you spied the structure of the crawling fortress that the Jawas called home. The Ugnaught directed the blurrg closer to the stationary structure. It appeared to be that they had stopped in order to access their recent scavenges. Small sunshades were propped up and items were strewn all around them, their figures milling about and taking stock of what they had. A wave of sound flowed through the air to your approaching group as they spotted you in the distance.

The Mandalorian removed the rifle from his back and held it at the ready. Wariness at seeing the Jawas again evident in the tension that you could feel coming off of him in waves. The Ugnaught held up a hand and shouted out a greeting to them from atop the blurrg as you cleared the remaining distance and came to a stop within the shade of their giant structure.

They raised their own weapons, ushering more of their people to make almost a blockade to protect their wares.

“They really don’t like you for some reason.”

“Well, I did disintegrate a few of them.”

“You need to drop your rifle.”

“I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are a part of my religion.”

“Then you are not getting your parts back.”

A deep sigh left him as he weighed his options. You watched as he ushered a tight ‘fine’ and placed his rifle beside his feet, close to you directly on the transport. He stood from his seat and stood on the ground, a small motion of his hand directing you to follow suit. You stood and stepped down off the transport to stand just behind him, a few feet of space between you.

“And the blaster.”

You watched as the armored man clenched his fists, aggravation obvious. The Ugnaught approached the Jawas, speaking in their native tongue as he did so. 

You turned back around at a soft cooing sound and helped the Child down from his pod once again with careful hands. You placed him on the transport, hoping he wouldn’t try to hop off, he seemed content to stand there and watch the flurry of motion. The Mandalorian was suddenly in your space and causing goosebumps to sprout along your arms as he leaned so far into your space that your arms nearly brushed as he tossed his blaster onto the transport.

All three of you settled into a seated semi-circle, Jawas mirroring you a few feet away to create a full one.

“They will trade all the parts for the beskar.”

“I’m not going to trade anything. These are my parts. They stole them from me.” He pointed a gloved finder at them, his tone hard as he spoke. You remained still, back straight as the armored man leaned back on one hand slightly, one of his knees bent up to rest his pointing hand on. He was close, too close and your nerves felt like they were on fire as you silently watched on. Instincts urging you to put distance between you. 

He attempted to speak to them in their native tongue, his words clumsily fumbling from his modulator. It was an odd thing to hear, his low voice sounding unsure as he spoke. Shrill laughter sounded from all around as the Jawas poked fun at his lack of ability in their language. That only angered him further and he flung out the arm he had been leaning on and flames erupted from his cuff. You startled, drawing the attention of the Jawas even as they scrambled about in panic.

The Ugnaught reigned in the commotion quickly, asking what else they were willing to trade. When the main one talking with you pointed past the three of you and toward the transport you felt the need to move. Before you could blink, you were waving away two Jawas that had approached the Child, the Mandalorian shouting at them to get away from his as well. The prickle of their eyes focused on your figure set you on edge. 

More words were exchanged before the Jawas surrounded you in a rush of swirling black cloaks and glowing eyes. Your anxiety sparked as you felt small hands begin to reach out for you, but you didn’t move. You stood perfectly still despite the flurry of movement around you, continuing to shield the Child from them, the feeling of small hands patting at places on your body over your tunic.

You had the fleeting thought of using the Force to push them all away from you at once and make a run for it, but the glint of beskar out of the corner of your eye held you still. You were sure if you were in better health you would attempt to despite your earlier musings. But the truth of the matter was that you were stranded here just as he was without his ship. The desert was unforgiving to those who had no supplies. You knew from experience…

The Ugnaught was quick to respectfully usher them away with sharp words, oblivious to the loop of revelations running in your mind.

“What are they saying? She has nothing on her.”

“It’s not about what she has, it’s about what she is. They claim to have heard of the favors she’s done at the compound and want the same. In exchange for the parts you need.”

“They weren’t favors, I gained nothing from what those guards did to me.”

Seething aggravation dripped from the words you spat out without thinking. Your lips curling back in an ugly grimace as you did so, catching the two men still seated off guard. You hadn’t shown such emotion in front of either of them, only a glimpse of it as you had asked the Mandalorian to kill you just a few days before. But that had been desperation, not the white-hot fury that you carried with you for those that had kept you captive and tortured you.

It fell silent. Tension pulling your muscles taught as you prepared for this new captor to turn you over in order to get back what was rightfully his, what was stolen from him. You schooled your face into a mask, not willing to let them see the way you felt about it, about being used and traded as if you were credit, as if you were nothing, despite your outburst.

The Jawas watched you intently, their glowing eyes raking over your body. You remained in your spot between the Jawas and the transport. There was a hush of movement before you felt hands grasp your shoulders, the Mandalorian having stood and crossed the small space in a few strides. His touch shocked you, not having expected him to do such a thing, especially after his strict orders of no contact.

“She is not for trade.”

“They claim they do not want to keep her.”

“That’s even worse.” Large hands guided you back the few steps toward the transport. He held a hand resting steadily on the backs of your shoulders to help you to step up onto it and waited until you were settled by the Kid’s pod before leaning down to speak to you in a low tone that couldn’t be picked up by anyone else. The modulator masking any emotion in his low tone.

“I will not trade you for parts, you are not mine to do so with.”

You pressed your lips into a firm line, resisting speaking lest it be the wrong move. Of putting yourself in a situation that wasn’t playing out. If he were to trade you for parts, you’d have a better chance at besting the tribe of Jawas. But the issue of travel once again was the one thing tripping up your freedom. The helmet’s visor tilted slightly as he watched you for a moment, reading the things your face and posture were giving away despite you trying to reign them in. You didn’t like that while seated on the transport and him standing beside it put you at an even eyelevel.

“You have something to say.” You just nodded your head once, still hesitant to speak, he had been so harsh all those days ago, continued to be so, and you didn’t want to see what he would do if you disobeyed. You had been quiet since he had raised his voice at you, only speaking when he spoke to you as you quickly figured out how to best interact with him. “You may do so.”

“My saber, they would trade you anything you wanted for the saber. It’s highly valuable.” You nodded to where it was fastened to his utility belt, the metal of the handle glinting in the sun as it decorated his frame, nestled in with the rest his belongings.

“Beskar and kyber are not to be traded to those it does not belong to. If it is anything like beskar is to us Mandalorians, I will protect it as if it were my own until we are to part. It remains with those who value and respect it.”

The visor of his helmet was no longer trained on your face and his back was to you as he walked back to where the Ugnaught was speaking with the Jawas. You just watched, shocked at both his actions and his words.

You were silent as a trade was established and your group was ushered into the crawling fortress. The cramped spaces designed for the smaller forms of the Jawas had you leaning low as you settled into a seat while it spurred into movement.

“You run, and I will give chase. Do not forget that.” The Mandalorian’s warning chilled you as you knew all too well that he was speaking the truth. You stood beside the pod ramrod straight, not wanting any movement to make him suspect you were foolish enough to give in to your instincts. You nodded once to signal that you understood him, that you would remain out here and wait for his return. “Do not interfere, I need the credits and you are to be returned unarmed.”

All was quiet as his figure disappeared into the cave you had approached after leaving the crawling fortress, the reflection of the light on his helmet dimming until the entrance was pitch black once again. 

You don’t know how much time passed but it could’ve have been long, before the faint sounds of blaster fire decorated the air. The body of the Mandalorian came flying out of the cave suddenly with a shout. You watched as he landed with a sickening thud into the thick mud that had resulted from last night’s storm. Some of it splattered up from the force of his landing.

You fought against the urge to run toward him to see if he was okay when a loud roar echoed through the air from the entrance of the cave. You saw the damaged plate of his chest armor bent and nearly falling from his downed frame. The sound hit you deep in your bones, it settled heavily into your stomach and froze in your spot. You reached for the saber that wasn’t attached to the waist of your tunic and you felt utterly exposed.  

You could only watch as a large shape emerged from the cave. As the sunlight settled over it, a rather large mudhorn was revealed to be the culprit. Beside you, the Child cowered in his pod, ears drooping low as he tried to shy as far into the interior of the pod as possible while still being able to peer over the lip of it. You reached out a hand to rest atop it, prepared to throw it away should you need to.

The scene unfolded before you, the fight the Mandalorian tried to put up against the angered beast. But he was at a disadvantage, the creature far larger and far stronger than he was. His rifle jammed, allowing the mudhorn to charge him and fling him into the air once again with a hard hit of its ivory. The rifle flew from the man’s grip, splattering into the mud in much the same fashion as he did. The creature set its sight on you and the pod, altering its charge. 

You scrambled to put more distance between you and scaled the outcropping of rock behind you while the Mandalorian hit the panel on his cuff and directed the pod to fly away out of the direct line of the creature. Its horn connected hard with the rock formation you were clinging to, the force of it jolting as you tried to keep your hold.

Deeming you too high a target, the creature turned on its heel and set its eyes back on the downed Mandalorian. You watched from your perch as he got dragged and thrown around again and again, still fighting against the creature after every avenue seemed to prove pointless in overpowering it. Another particularly harsh fling had him crashing into the ground and when he didn’t move to get up you found yourself climbing back down to the ground.

Before you could think to do anything, the creature was rearing itself to charge him again. As it neared him, the Mandalorian managed to get up onto his knees and held out a small dagger in front of him. A frown pulled at your lips as you realized that was all he had left to defend himself. He struggled to get a steady hold on the small weapon, his head bobbing and his arms shaking. He bowed his head and held the dagger out in front of him with both hands as the creature closed in on him.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight. You clenched your eyes shut and flung a hand out but concentration left you in the wake of blinding panic. Across the clearing, the Child did the same motion, mimicking you as he too clenched his eyes.

When sounds of the creature struggling finally wedged into your tunneled ears, you looked up with a gasp to see it being held steady in the air. Your head whipped around toward the pod, despite the distance it was obvious that the Child was using the Force to restrain the creature, effectively stopping it from killing the Mandalorian. Shaking off whatever he was feeling at the sight, the Mandalorian stood and slowly approached the floating, struggling creature. He spared a glance at you and then the Child when you nodded your head over toward it.

The Child seemed to lose his concentration, becoming overwhelmed with using the Force and he collapsed back into the pod. The mudhorn’s figure settling back onto the ground shook the clearing. All was still for a moment before the Mandalorian ran toward it. With a quick movement, he dug the dagger deep into its neck, collapsing as he did so.

It was quiet as he stood back up. Looking over the downed creature and twisting the blade in further before removing it completely.

A deep roar sounded from the mouth of the cave again, sending a trill of panic over you. One of them was enough of a challenge. Two of them would mean the death of the Mandalorian and subsequently you and the Child.

“Jatne vod, ogir's shol'shya!”

Sir, watch out, there’s one more!

Your shout was loud and sudden, voice harsh with panic. The already exhausted and beaten man had no more weapons, yours had been tucked into his belt, but you didn’t see it on his person anymore. The probability of it being lost in the mud somewhere from when he had been flung about like a ragdoll. 

You rushed across the clearing before the cave as a second, larger, angrier mudhorn exploded out from the entrance at incredible speed. You reached out a tether with the Force, trying to hone in on the kyber crystal that you could hear faint whispers from. You were just stepping in front of the man still in front of the first downed mudhorn when the handle of your saber flew to you from the depths of the mud.

He rushed from the fallen body of the dead mudhorn and ran toward the pod in an attempt to protect the now unconscious Child.

A split second later the mudhorn made a curdling roar as you reached a hand out to shove the creature back a few yards, getting it as far from the two recovering figures as you could muster. Rushing after it without another word. It was already back up and rushing toward you, angered at having been tossed in such a way, at seeing the corpse of its partner off to the side.

You dropped to your knees and used the slickness of the mud to slide entirely underneath its charging form. Reaching up you engaged the saber, the white light of the blade searing a deep cut above you across the entirety of the creature’s underside.

The creature fell to the ground, dead. And you let darkness take over you as you collapsed beside it, the saber falling from your shaking arms.

The Mandalorian watched from where he was kneeling heavily on the ground in front of the pod, his knees digging into the thick mud. Both you and the small being in the pod were passed out, the foreign powers you both had used draining you. That was two quarries that had decided to save his life despite the circumstances, two debts he now owed…

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scene dividers made by the lovely @cafekitsune​

[dragonrider9905]

Also find me on Ao3--DragonRider9905

Everything is separated by series

Canon

One Shots/Stand Alones

Hunter's Stress Journal

Clonetober 2022

Lessons from the Past Offer Hope for a Golden Future

AUs

To Be a Jedi (Hunter Force-Sensitive AU)

The Clone's Incomplete Guide for Navigating the Afterlife (We're Learning as We Go)

Technically, We’re in Love (Tech/OC)—Same AU as Broken, Not Shattered

Broken, Not Shattered (Crosshair/OC)(Hunter/OC)—Same AU as Technically

With You From Dusk till Dawn (Hunter/OC)

The World Where You Live (Hunter/OC) (Tech/OC)

Reader Inserts

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy!

Feel free to comment and/or reblog. Would be much appreciated!

[dhampiravidi]

the story of darth tenebrous & his chase

Those eyes--

She'd first seen them the day her Master had been killed, the last week she'd been a Padawan. Despite the Jedi Council knowing that the planet of Fjerda was hostile towards Grisha like themselves, they sent their people to aid the Republic-friendly faction against invading Confederates. Jayn saw a Fjerdan, only a few years older than herself, shoot her Master clean through the chest when the woman tried to help the fallen soldier up. Full of sudden rage, Jayn screamed, and a wave of power kicked the soldier yards over. She sobbed, then went to check on her friend, her de facto mother and sister. Just as she looked up to reassess the situation, she noticed the oncoming droids--

And then a dark blur threw itself between her and the droids. It was illuminated by a colored glow, then by the blasts fired. But the blur simply kept moving, until the blaster bolts deflected and destroyed all of the incoming droids. Only when the blur stopped did Jayn see that it was a person, one who gave her a quiet, dark stare before he ran off. Aleksander Morozov, the hero of Fjerda, saved my life.

That was years ago. Since then, Jayn had ascended to the rank of Master, while on the path to becoming a Jedi Shadow. She'd added another blue lightsaber to her repertoire, and she had never taken on a Padawan, aside from volunteering to lead combat training on occasion. She felt lonely sometimes, and she had a few escorts she kept visiting against her better judgment (attachment was forbidden, not sex, after all), but she knew she was fighting for peace. According to the Jedi, that was all she needed to be satisfied. And yet, she was not. The Senate grew more disjointed by the second, Fjerda had joined the Confederacy, and the Confederacy kept upgrading their droids faster than the Republic could learn to counter them with regular soldiers.

The whole time, the Jedi stayed quiet unless directed by the Senate, and it ate at her. She knew that her mother had been killed for being Grisha, because her father had been the one to bring her to the Temple. We aren't doing enough.

The night of the first time she thought that, she dreamed of those dark eyes again. They might be on a glowing advertisement, or on the face of a Wookie, or even in the sky like stars, but they kept appearing, just before she awakened.

Ravka. A group of children had been taken hostage by a gang that had had increased conflicts with the local police. Negotiations were going poorly, so Jayn would go and deal with things herself.

She was just entering the planet's atmosphere, sitting calmly in her starfighter when she felt something strange in the Force.

@starlsssankt

[notsomeloncholy]

Quick color of an inktober piece to get a lock on Dalin's markings when he gets older 💕 angry wörmman what will he do

[livingemkayde]

Twin Moons - Chapter Seven: The Song

Series Summary: 

when you meet a Mandalorian on the sands of Tatooine, for some reason you both can't stay away. even through all the pain—you keep coming back to each other. it's all you know how to do.

Chapter Seven: The Song

Notes: Ummmmm. No notes for this chapter other than ur not fucking ready. PLEASE ENJOY.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive f!reader

Series warnings: *Although this chapter may not contain graphic content, this story is rated 18+ due to graphic depictions of violence and sexual scenarios.*

Warnings: This chapter is rated mature (18+) for graphic sexual content (Fingering, f!receiving). Not much else.

Summary: He trails his hand up your leg, bunching the fabric along with it, his touch soft on your skin. He reaches further, passing by your knee and you close your eyes, bite your lip and involuntarily let out a small whimper. His head snaps up to meet yours when your soft sounds echo through the room, but it only spurs his hand up.

Masterlist  Chapter Five  Chapter Six

Some months later. 

Beep…

Beep…

Beep…

Be–

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you slam your hand down on your alarm clock. 

You sit up from your bed in the dark room. It's late. You can tell. You see the strewn clothes around your room and your blaster and viroblade sitting at the foot of the bed on a chest. You rub your tired eyes and move to use the refresher. 

As you wash your hands the bite of cold water shocks your system. Fuck. You groan, finish drying your hands quickly and move towards the bedroom to put a sweater on. As you move to the closet, you see it in the corner of your eye. The black fabric seems to glow to your sight in the darkness of the room. You push it to the back of your mind. 

You get dressed quickly, and step out into the dark night sky and make your way to the cantina. You pull your hair into a small bun at the base of your neck—baby hairs falling loosely down your neck and around your face. It's a cold night, the wind rips through your skin and you brace your jacket further around your body. 

You enter the cantina, travel to the back and put your apron on to begin the night shift. 

Bartending—what a fucking joke. 

But you needed credits. 

After Davin—his followers seemed to scatter in the wind when someone tipped the New Republic he was dead. They raided the place, ransacked the spice, released the prostitutes working, freed the prisoners you didn’t even know he was harboring in the dungeons. 

After that, you fled to the upper levels, looking for work in a much more approachable cantina. A cantina hired you for bartending. He said you were pretty enough that he would let it slide if you didn’t have any experience. 

You met someone who worked with the New Republic and made friends with him—a regular at the bar. Just to get them off your back until everything died down. And it did die down. No one ever sought to question you—to the New Republic, you were some lowly servant girl looking for work after escaping her home planet. No one would know and you would keep it that way. 

The man you befriended, Leo, offered you housing for cheap, in a complex near his. 

He was okay—you guess. 

He was some pilot for the New Republic but was decommissioned after an injury to his brain. He kept you company—no—kept you busy. 

He was okay—until his touches turned lingering when he began inviting you out to late night drinks and parties going on till the early mornings. 

But he was harmless. 

The two of you have never talked about whatever is going on between you. There was never any need to—you felt nothing. And he was harmless. He let you push out of his hugs that lasted too long and squeezed you too tight. 

But he was nice—he was fine. 

His friendship allowed you to be invisible to the New Republic records and in turn the Empire. If it meant slipping through the cracks, you would put up with much worse. 

He does make you laugh—not in the way the Mandalorian did. 

But he certainly doesn’t make you cry. 

He also never brought a flush to your face, never gave you butterflies, never asked more than you let on, never excited you. Not the way the Mandalorian did. 

You think back to his shirt you saw this morning in the closet. You haven’t put it back on since Sorgan, all those months ago. You wonder if it still smells like him, or if he’s truly lost forever. It makes your heart ache, even after all this time—you wonder if it will ever stop. 

You tie your apron around your waist and make your way to the bar. It should be a slow night. You know Leo will come in for a drink soon, and to talk to you. 

As you watch the time pass, he enters the cantina doors and finds your eyes almost immediately. He smiles. Really smiles. That’s something you like about him—you can always tell what he’s thinking. You smile back, tight lipped and continue to make a drink for a patron seated at the bar. 

When Leo approaches the counter, you excuse yourself from the other customer, and begin to prepare his usual—some spotchka the cantina gets from a backwater town. You made fun of him when he revealed it was his favorite, but he only told you it reminded him of the glory days. 

Whatever that meant. 

When you set the drink in front of him and place your hands on the bar, he smiles at you again. 

“Hey doll.” He winks at you. The nickname seemed like overkill in the beginning—but you barely notice it now—many people have had many nicknames for you your whole life. His flirting was getting tiresome—but you always put on a fake smile in response. He’s none the wiser to your apparent lack of blush. 

“Hey Leo. The usual.” You gesture to the drink in front of him and he takes it while raising the glass to you. 

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks while pulling the glass from his lips. 

“Just working.” You respond and start polishing glasses for more drinks. “Why?” You peer at him, he has a devilish smile on his face. 

“Two tickets. Tonight. You and me,” he says coolly. More declaring the plans rather than asking.

“Where to?” You ask while prepping another glass. 

“You can’t say no. I gambled away next month’s rent for these tickets.”

“C’mon just tell me,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes—a small smile on your face. 

“We’re going to the Opera.” 

_

He convinces you to go—somehow. Maybe you feel bad for him or maybe you want to get out of your room. You feel trapped in this life. Stuck in a place you were seeking to leave. It feels different even 1000 levels up, but you still feel uneasy being in one place for so long. You told yourself you should go see Ahsoka, go do anything. So you go. 

He convinces you to break out an old dress, do your hair for once, put on some makeup—telling you he would be in his best suit. You dig through your closet to find a black dress that comes down to your ankles. You had bought it to attend a ball Davin made you go to. It makes your skin shiver at the thought and when it pools at your ankles, the feeling doesn’t dissipate. 

You smooth the dress over your body and grab a small shawl to go over your shoulders. He knocks on your door as you grab your clutch, pinning a few fallen pieces of hair back, and make your way to the entryway. 

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look really nice,” he adds, wrapping your body in a small hug and looks down at you with a smile.

You don’t feel nice. The heels you’re wearing digs at your toes and the dress keeps surfacing old memories you fought so hard to bury. But you don’t tell him that. You don’t tell him anything. 

“Thanks. You too,” you reply shortly. 

You enter the speeder first, he opens the door for you. He’s a gentleman. He’s sweet, nice, everything you should be settling for, but you can’t help but think about a certain beskar covered man. He floods your thoughts constantly when you’re with Leo—you don’t know why and you don’t care to think about that particular notion further. 

On the way to the opera house he talks your ear off about the show, saying something about how it’s his favorite since he was a kid and wanted to take you there. It’s fucked up, but you stop listening half way through. Just absentmindedly nodding your head and look at him smiling every so often. The ride feels like it lasts forever. 

When you reach the platform of the house, he holds his hand out to you, taking your silken gloves in his hand to lift you out of the speeder. You remember the Mandalorian. His hands. The way it felt to touch his gloves in your bare ones—feeling the heat of his palms sear into yours. 

He leads you to your seats, the lights dim, the show begins. He claps enthusiastically throughout the show. You like it too—when you’re not fighting to keep your head from slumping to the side. It’s too long for you, too domestic, too…boring. 

The lights slowly lift when the show ends, Leo jumps to his feet to clap, you join him slowly, while stealing a glance at him through the corner of your eye. 

You smooth your dress over your thighs and adjust your shawl over your shoulders. The room is cold, you can feel the chill go up your spine. As you clap and look around the room, people begin to exit. You can see them filing out through the aisles. Leo got seats in the mezzanine so you place your hands on the balcony ledge and peer down into the audience below you. You watch as the people move towards the exit. 

But something shiny catches your eye and momentarily blinds your vision. 

No. 

It can’t be. 

It…can be—but surely it can’t be because what are the odds?

He’s moving against the flow of traffic. Going towards the stage, and peering around—looking left then right. When his helmet moves towards up, you duck behind Leo and let out a small squeal. You aren’t sure why. You’ve been thinking about him for months and he’s here. In the flesh. Your heart skips a beat at the thought that he might be here for you—looking for you.  

Leo guides you down towards the exit, holding your hand as you make your way down the grand steps which lead out to the main entrance. 

You keep looking around you, curious about his arrival at the show. Leo notices your sudden uneasy energy and asks you about it—but you simply brush it off as being tired. 

He appears then, in front of you. You can see the top of his helmet as he sticks up slightly from the crowd. You continued down the staircase, vision remained locked on his T visor looking around the room and at the people passing him as they make their way towards the exit. 

He looks past you, further up the staircase and when his vision finally lands on you, you stumble. Holding onto Leo’s arm for dear life, you look down, your dress getting caught on the toe of your heel. You frantically look back at him, curious as to his reaction to everything. Seeing you here. Seeing you alive. With another man—in some outfit playing dress up. You pick your dress off the toe of your shoe and quickly descend from the last staircase. 

Leo follows your hasty figure. His gaze coming up to meet your eye line. 

“Is that a Mandalorian? Wait—hold on—he’s dangerous.” He grabs your bicep and attempts to hold you back gently. Your pace towards the Mandalorian doesn’t falter. 

You meet him in the middle of the room. He stalks towards you, the crowd parting for him as you push through. Leo follows fast after you, breaking into a small jog.

It feels like time stands still—you push and push—rude, you know. But he’s here. And he sees you. And you want to explain everything before it’s too late. Before he leaves you like you left him. 

You finally reach him. He stands still before you. He looks the same. Sans a small green child at his hip. Good. You note. He’s probably with Luke. 

You’re breathless as you stare at him. You move to open your mouth and say something—anything, but Leo finally catches up to your side and pulls at your waist. You notice how the Mandalorian’s helmet looks down at Leo’s hand on your body. 

“Geez. You move quickly. I–” He pauses when he looks up to who you’re standing in front of. Leo suddenly straightens his posture, though he’s still not taller than the Mandalorian. His voice appears in your ear, whispering lowly as if the Mandalorian can’t hear him. 

“Do you know this guy or something?” 

You ignore him and his touches. Only the man in front of you matters. You step toward him. Leo’s hand falls from your waist—he’s speechless, you can tell. 

“Hi,” you say dumbly. He doesn’t respond. Only nods his head back at you. 

Fuck. Maybe he’s mad—pissed even. But you can make it up to him, right? Explain everything?

“What are you doing here?” You ask, still breathless. 

“Bounty work.” He replies. Your heart drops for a split second. He wasn’t here for you. It was all a coincidence. But maybe it was meant to be because, Maker. His voice. It sounds the same as you remember, richer even if that’s possible. It sends you into a trance. “What are you doing here?” He continues. Your face blushes embarrassingly. 

“I—” You start but Leo’s touch on your body causes you to spin to look at him. He’s ruining everything. 

“We should get going.” Leo says, hand coming to find your hip now, pulling back slightly towards his own body.

You look around and suddenly realize a small crowd has formed, watching you and the Mandalorian. 

Fuck. 

He’s right—too much attention. 

But you can’t bring yourself to walk away from him. He’s right there, and you look pretty, and seeing his helmet in the flesh makes you feel lightheaded after so many nights of imagining his image. 

“Go,” he says through modulation. Almost knowing. Like he understands everything—because for some reason, he does. 

“I—” you start again before Leo’s hand drags you away, and the Mandalorian continues through the crowd and disappears from your vision. 

_

“What the fuck was that?”

Leo drags you to some back alley away from the opera house. Maybe you should be scared in this situation, but like you said before, he’s harmless. 

“Just someone I knew okay? Can we just drop it?” 

“You just know a Mandalorian?” He places one hand on his hip and questions you with furrowed brows. 

“Yes, it was a while ago—look can we just go back?” You don’t meet his eye. 

“No, what business do you have with a Mandalorian? They’re dangerous. You know that right?” 

“Yes. I know. Just drop it okay? He—I have no business with him—he’s no one.” The sentence coming from your mouth stings at its blatant lie. 

“I’ve never seen you like that. You were—flushed—or—I don’t know. Can you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“He’s—just—Maker, can we just go? He’s nothing.” You say with a slightly more threatening tone. Leo’s eyes sink to shock and he turns around, hands coming up to his head.

“You don’t tell me anything. I give you everything. And you can’t even tell me who that was. You’re awfully flustered for him being nothing.”  He says, you look at him with pity. 

“He’s someone from home. Okay? Just someone I used to know. I didn’t expect to see him here.” You say while not meeting his eye. You feel bad that you’re still searching for him even in this dark alley. 

Leo looks at you. Really looks at you, and you finally meet his gaze. Fuck. He looks hurt. This isn’t what you meant to happen tonight. The Mandalorain pulled you against your wishes and this is you dealing with the consequences. 

“Leo stop c’mon. I promise you. He—he’s no one. ” 

Another lie to add to the pile. 

“Maker I—you don’t get it. Do you?” He asks, his head hanging to the side. 

You stare at him shocked. You’ve never seen him worked up, let alone mad at you. 

“Get what? Leo I—” 

He cuts you off, bringing his lips to yours. You don’t kiss him back, but you don’t push him off. He stays pushed against your lips for a couple seconds. Then he releases his hold on you—panting against your lips. 

You pull back your head slightly, trying to find his eyes. You probably look like a deer in headlights right now. 

“And now you look like that.” He says, breathless, defeated. 

“Like what?” 

“Scared.” He replies. 

“I—Leo, I-I don’t know if I wan—” “I know. I just…I just had to try.” He drops your body from his hands and steps back. You don’t know what to say. 

When you don't respond, he gestures towards the street and lets out a soft, “Let’s go back.” 

_

He walks you back to your room, eventually. He leaves with his head down. You should feel bad—for lying. But all you can think about is the Mandalorian. 

Fuck. 

He was right there. You wanted to fall into his arms and tell him everything. Confess everything. But you couldn’t—and now you don’t know if you will ever be able to. 

You reach into your clutch for the keycard to your room, and shuffle through some spare makeup to find it. You swipe it through the sensor and your door flushes open. You look in the mirror beside the front door—you’re unrecognizable to yourself after so many years in hiding. 

You feel awful. You’re distraught and devastated—now it’s the appropriate feeling to use the word. He was right there. And even worse, you can’t shake the feeling of Leo’s lips on yours. You tried to wipe it off, but to no avail. 

You slump down into a chair and begin to take your heels off. You unclasp them and drop them to the ground while reaching into your dress to take off the holster you had strapped to your thigh with your blaster and blade—just in case. You struggle with the clasp and begin to yank on it, the movement rustling your dress. You feel your blade cut into the skin on your pointer finger. 

“Fuck.” You curse to yourself and bring your hand to your eye to inspect the damage. 

“Need help?” A thick voice peels through the air of your small room. You yelp out of instinct, jump out of your seat, grab your blaster, and spin to face your bedroom. 

Fuck are you dreaming?

He stands there. Just like a few hours before. In front of you—head tilting to the side. You don’t know whether or not to drop your blaster. Maybe he’s here to kill you. 

“H–how��I–I…” You start breathless but can’t find the words. 

“C’mon. Put that down.” He says while nodding his head to the blaster you still have raised at him. You lower it slowly while he steps toward you. 

“H–how did you g–ge—” “Your lock is easy to pick.” He states—still approaching your shaken form. 

“You—the opera. I—” you start, but he comes close to you. His body crowds your senses and you move your head to stare up at him. 

“I got the guy.” He says. “And you live here now.” He looks around the room in reference. “And you’re with…him.” He says the last part and his voice raises at the end like it’s almost a question, but he’s trying to convince himself it’s a statement. 

“Yes. I—well no—I-I live here. But we’re—he’s not—I’m not—we’re not together.” You stutter over your words. You can’t believe he’s here, in your home, crowding your senses like all the weeks before. 

“Sure looked like it,” is all he says in reply. Fuck. Was he talking about the kiss? 

You don’t know what to say to that—nevermind what he’s doing in your bedroom. 

You choose to shake your head in response. You break your gaze, your eyes falling to your feet. 

A few moments pass until he begins to move in front of you. He slowly kneels at your feet, mimicking the first time you met him, in the cantina. His hand finds your ankle and your breath hitches in response. You say nothing. Partially because you’re scared your erratic words will cause him to leave forever and the other half because you truly do not know what to say. 

He trails his hand up your leg, bunching the fabric along with it, his touch soft on your skin. He reaches further, passing by your knee and you close your eyes, bite your lip and involuntarily let out a small whimper. His head snaps up to meet yours when your soft sounds echo through the room, but only trails his hand higher. It reaches the holster on your thigh. He slowly begins to unbuckle it and lingers there slightly longer than necessary, kneading the flesh of your leg while the holster falls to the ground. 

He drops his hand from under your dress when you let out a small moan. 

The Mandalorian stands and comes face to face with you again. 

A thousand years could pass by but you would still be stuck in this moment. You look into his visor—you find his eyes immediately. 

“You left,” he breaks the silence first. He sounds—mad. Or maybe hurt. You can’t tell under the modulation.

“I know. I–I’m sorry. I…” You don’t want to make excuses, so you settle for that. 

“Why?” He asks anyway. 

“Davin. He—I needed to be done.” You state, breaking your haze on his visor and looking to the side. 

“You killed him?” He asks. 

“Yes. I—the New Republic was all over the club after. I had to come up here to get away from it.” Your eyebrows furrow at the memories. “Leo is just…I don’t know. He worked with the NR. Takes the heat off me,” you confess. 

“I see.” He notes in reply. 

Silence surrounds both of you. You look back to his visor. 

“I’m sorry. About everything.” You say. You want to reach out and touch him. Hold his hands in yours while you speak. And you do, before you even realize you’re moving. His hands feel rigid in yours while you mold with them. 

You feel connected with him at your touch. Even through gloves you can feel every nerve ending in your body. 

You feel the attachment that led you to him all those months ago—what kept you dreaming about him, what kept you coming back over and over again. 

And maybe whenever you thought about him, it was because he was trying to find you. Searching the galaxy for your white eyes—dreaming about them behind his eyelids. 

His hands pull back in your grip but you don’t let them go. 

You’re done letting go. 

But he’s angry with you. You can tell. Maybe it’s Leo, or maybe it’s just you. He was looking for you while you sat here pretty—leading on the guy next door. 

“I should be going now. I…wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” 

“I–” He lets out a breathy laugh. “I saw him drag you into that alley.” 

“You followed me?” Your eyes widen in shock. 

“I guess. But you’re fine. You got out of there when it started looking…intimate,” you wince at his words. So he saw everything. 

“Yeah. He-he just kissed me. I don’t know what happened.” You reply softly. His hand drops from yours and comes up—much like all those months ago, to touch your waist but he falters. Din remembers the man who was with you. His hands were all over your body. The way he glared at Din from behind your shoulder—threatened. Din silently shakes his head, this isn’t what he was here for. 

But he isn’t sure what he was here for. He saw you, walking into the opera house. He rounded up the bounty quickly, dragging him back to the ship and sought after you when the show ended. It was supposed to be nothing more than following closely behind you—to steal a couple glances at you in that dress again before he got off world. But you had spotted him through the crowd—and then he knew there was no turning back. 

Going to see you after the opera turned into following you to the alley, then to your complex, and picking the back door silently when you bid Leo goodnight. 

Now he was—he wasn’t sure. But he knows getting involved with you again was dangerous—and he should treat it as such.

His arm drops and he balls his fist at his side. He feels your hand in his other one. 

“Please,” you say with white eyes while you look at him through your lashes. All that was looking back was a black T.

“Don’t go.” 

“You left. You left me.” He says with a certain bite that registers in the back of your throat and shoots down to create a pit in your stomach.  

“I didn't know you were looking for me. In your dreams, you were looking for me,” you say while your head hangs and you drop his reluctant hand. 

“I’m always looking for you.”

Tears well your eyes at his words. You stifle your cries for soft sobs but feel like dropping to the floor and staying there forever. 

“Don’t cry,” he says. He brings his hand to your face—his thumb rubbing away fast falling tears from your eyes. 

“I'm sorry,” you plead through tears.

“I know,” his hand remains on your face. 

You push your cheek into it. 

_

You stayed like that for a long time. He pulled you into his chest and gripped the back of your neck as he held you. 

When you both settle to the table in the kitchen, you tell him about Davin—everything about him. You don’t miss how his hand tightens its fist at the mention he was your first kiss.

He tells you he took the kid to the seeing stone, lost him for a bit, then Luke swooped in and saved them all. Typical. Luke is so much like his father and yet, not at all. 

“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?” You say, making your way to the kitchen cabinets. Your bare feet patter into the floors—you’re still in your dress, the shawl wrapped around your body. 

“I’m okay. Thank you,” he responds while looking around your home. 

“Can I?” He gestures to the expanse of the big room—your living room, bedroom, and kitchen stand undivided, your space looking more like a large loft rather than a house. 

“Go for it,” you prepare some berries in a bowl for him anyways. Although you aren’t sure how he will eat them in front of you—a reminder of the rift between you. 

You watch him from the kitchen as he stalks around your small space. He looks at the books on your side table, inspects the small trinkets lining the shelves above your bed, touches the headboard with an open palm. It sends a heat to your lower stomach. He’s here. He’s in your room—your bedroom. 

It's late. You both left the light switch turned off—blanketed in darkness, the only light coming from the glow of the moon through your windows. 

You sit on the counter in your dress, next to the bowl of berries. You nibble at one while watching him look around your open closet. 

“You like it here?” He asks, making his way back to you slowly while looking around. 

“It’s cheap. It’s…fine. I guess.” you smile slightly at him. He meets your gaze and continues through the small space. 

 “Leo got it for me. Says he knows the landlord or something,” you concede—heart beat picking up slightly at the mention of his name. 

“Leo.” He echos. 

“Yeah. The guy from the Opera,” you note quietly, staring down to your swinging feet. 

His figure stops a couple feet away from you, hip popped out, leaning on the side of the table with his arms crossed. 

“He–y–he treating you right?” He asks, his stance looks ridgid. 

“I guess. He’s…nice…fine. I told him I didn’t want anything though.” 

“Before or after he kissed you?” 

Your eyes widen at the statement. You try to find your words, lips parting. 

“I–a-after. You weren’t supposed to see that.” 

“No?” 

You shake your head in response. 

“Why not?” He steps towards you again, you find yourself parting your thighs, a quiet invitation for him to settle between your legs. 

“B-because…” you trail off when his hands come to rest on both thighs, massaging them gently while he separates them more, his hips resting in between your legs. 

The only contact you feel is the sides of his body on the inside of your knee. You look down, flustered, and when you see his hands on your legs it makes your breath hitch. 

“Because?” 

You close your eyes momentarily while he rubs your legs. You hesitate in your confession, but find your voice, maybe this is your proposal for him to stay here between your legs forever. 

“Because everytime I'm with him I can only think about you.” 

His hands stop moving on your thighs and your eyes snap up to meet his visor. 

A long silence passes between you. His chest plate rises and falls with every breath. You count them. You’re worried your confession has upset him in some way. 

“Fuck. You’re killing me,” he finally mutters. His hands begin to move again, wrapping around your waist—feeling your ribs under the dress. “You look…good. In this dress,” you let out a sigh of relief. You relish the feeling of his hands on your body. You want so desperately to tell him to rip it off you—do anything he wants with you. 

“You wear this dress for him?” His words break your trance. 

“No,” you shake your head furrowing your eyebrows, leaning into his touch, and arching your back slightly. You start breathing heavily, you can see it fogging his visor. 

He crowds your senses, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. You can feel his cock—hard and wanting under his flight suit push into your core. It makes you gasp and see stars. Your hands instinctively come up to his chest plate. You feel the cold beskar bite your hot skin—it makes you shiver. 

“You fuck him?” He says, his crude language mixed with the feeling of his body pressed to yours runs laps in your mind. He pulls the shawl off your shoulders and toys with the strap of your dress. You can’t breathe, let alone see straight. You are drunk at the feeling of his hands on you—his body so close to yours. 

“No…no no. Definitely not,” you shake your head while leaning up to his helmet. If things were different you would reach up to kiss him. 

“No? Would you have let him?” He pulls the straps of your dress off your shoulder, the fabric falls down your chest, exposing your breasts to the air—your nipples pebble at the cold. 

“No—I…no. P-please,” You aren’t sure what you’re asking for, but you need him to do something, anything. 

“Fuck, angel. Please what? What do you want from me?” The nickname burns your skin—unlike anything you’ve ever felt. 

“Anything. A–anything. Whatever you want,” you plead. There’s almost tears in your eyes from your whining. The pool forming in your underwear is ever growing as he runs his hands along your bare chest, coming to grasp your tits in his hands, thumbing your nipples slowly. 

“Anything I want?” His hand pulls back, travels under your dress, and toys with the hem of your underwear. “You’re just for me?” He continues.

“Yes. Y-yes—just for you. Only for you. Mandalori—” 

He dips into your underwear, the pad of his gloved finger touches your aching clit lightly, you gasp and your head falls to rest against his chest plate. 

“Mandalorian.” He chuckles. “I’ve got my hand up your dress and you don’t even wanna call me Mando?” His head tilts down to the side to see your face. He suddenly pulls his hand out, and starts to undo the fastens on the wrists. Fuck. Is he going to show you his hands? His real hands? You look up to him, and back down to his wrists. You can’t take your eyes away from his hands. 

“Mandal—” 

“Bite.” He cuts you off, his fingers appearing in front of your mouth, you bite down on the tips of his fingers and feel him pull back—his hand slipping out of his glove. He undoes the other glove. You see his skin. Decidedly human, and tan. You figure his skin never sees the sun, so it must be his natural color. Tan. Human. 

“Do you want to know?” He returns his hands back under your dress, inching up your thighs again. The skin to skin contact makes your head spin and you feel lightheaded. Maybe he’s no good for you—something so simple isn’t supposed to feel so good. 

“Know what?” His fingertips dip back into your underwear, feeling your wetness. He groans slowly. He begins to push his right middle finger into your aching hole, but pulls back out so only the tip remains.  

“My name.” 

That snaps you out of it. He can tell. His fingers stop working on you. 

“I–only if you want…or you can just be Mandalorian to me.” You say and try to find his eyes beneath the visor. You whimper at the feeling of his fingertip in you. He pushes in—twisting his palm up so he can fill you till his knuckle. Maker, he causes you to see stars.

“I want you to know. ‘Cause you’re not just an assassin to me. Can I tell you?” He starts to pump slowly, finding a steady but achingly slow rhythm that has you whining into his chest. He brings his other hand to your chin, forcing it up to look at his visor. His head cocks—maker, he’s really asking you this question when he’s got his finger deep inside you? 

You nod your head frantically and shut your eyes. You feel close just from his slow movements—the pressure building from months of dreaming about him is about to explode. 

“Maker, I can feel you. You gonna come already angel? If I tell you, will you say it when you come? ” 

“Yes—yes fuck—please, please, f–anything for you.” 

He pumps more, adding a second finger, leaning down so his helmet’s forehead touches your own. That makes you want to cry. You bite your lip to soften your whimpers. 

“Din. Din Djarin.” He mumbles under his breath and starts pumping faster. 

Din. Din. Din. Din. Din. 

Maker, you can barely breathe. When you feel the heat in your belly begin to spill over, you clutch onto his bicep so tight you’re afraid it’ll hurt him. 

“Alright—alright. C’mon pretty girl. Give it to me,” he says—and you do. You come all over his fingers with a whine, louder than you expected, but then again it feels better than you ever expected. You say his name, his real name. Kriff. Your heart could explode.

When you come down from your high, he leaves his fingers inside you while he holds you in his arms, yours strewn over his shoulders, hanging from his body to keep upright. 

You drift to sleep in his arms, your mind only chanting one thing until you see darkness. 

Din. Din. Din. Din. Din.

_

Chapter Eight: The Resurgence

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be added!!

@iammissdoddydoodagrimes @dinwifey @n7cje @sasakipsposts

[reneeofthestars]

REMEMBER THE FALLEN

Summary:

After a harrowing battle, Captain Mark and the other clone leaders of Chimera Company celebrate and mourn their fallen brothers.

Originally written for the unpublished fanzine, We Were Here - @cloneoczine celebrating Clone Trooper OCs

Word Count: 4,229

Mark stood on the landing platform for several minutes after the Jedi speeder disappeared into the distant Coruscanti traffic.

The airspace around the clone trooper barracks was quiet. With civilian traffic restricted and the next closest clone regiment a good distance away, the noise and light pollution was severely diluted, leaving Mark feeling strangely isolated.

His arms hung heavy at his sides, as they’d been when Commander Tiatkin had hugged him tightly. He hadn’t embraced her back; not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t find the energy to raise his arms. It felt nice, though.

The Jedi had cried. Two years ago, Mark would have been appalled at the very idea of the all-powerful Jedi showing such emotion. But he understood now that Jedi were only mortal, and General Teyla Marin and Commander Gida Tiatkin were held very dearly by the clones of Chimera Company. It meant more to Mark than he could say that the two women had spent the entire day in the barracks, mourning with the troopers.

Their last battle had devolved into a nightmare.

Mark felt no ill-will towards the Jedi; they had done everything they could to counter the Separatist army, but Chimera Company had been outnumbered and outmaneuvered. The mission had been straightforward: Chimera Company was sent to wipe out a Separatist outpost on the jungle world of Akiva, and bring the planet under Republic protection.

He passed a hand over his face, scratching at his beard. The intel had been wrong. So very, very wrong.

They’d gone in prepared to assault a base. What they found instead was a battle droid factory, deep in the catacombs beneath the planet’s surface, churning out droid after droid after droid. It wasn’t the first time their intel had been bad, but never this bad.

The entirety of Tazer Squad sacrificed themselves to sabotage the factory. Though Mark hadn’t been able to get confirmation, and wanted to believe that they’d survived, the fact remained that he had last seen them swarmed by droids, falling beneath skeletons of steel. And somehow… he just knew they were gone.

General Marin said it was his Force-sensitivity. She’d carefully broached the subject a few months ago, and she and Commander Tiatkin had been… not necessarily training him, but teaching him about this bizarre connection he had. He hadn’t believed them at first; only Jedi could use the Force. But once he stopped resisting the idea, and opened himself to the possibility…

While he was still uneasy about the whole thing, Mark was learning that he could use the Force. He felt the ebb and flow of energy when the Jedi meditated with him, and could move small objects across the table. It came through most clearly during combat, when he wasn’t trying to use it at all. He noticed it first in the uncanny accuracy of his shooting, then in his reaction time. And it finally explained the connection he felt with the other clones, on a level he couldn’t describe. He could sense their feelings, could tell when they were lying, could know their intentions. Mark had always known those things, but now he understood why.

And it was that why that forced him to face that every member of Tazer Squad was dead. He just knew.

He said their names out loud. The dark night of Coruscant might not care, but he did.

“Boots. Amari. Hatchet. Garrett. Lorn. Mouse. Targon. Mechi. Shave. Nath.”

Tazer Squad weren’t the only deaths.

General Marin called for the evacuation, but Separatist ships had lurked unseen in the shadow of nearby world Malrev IV and delayed the assistance of the Zenith of the Republic, leaving Chimera Company stranded planet-side with droids pouring from the catacombs, surrounding the Republic forces in a valley.

“Mixer. Shorty. Gangle. Anchor. Ralphie. Buzz. Kory. Sunspot.”

The droids kept coming. Brothers fell around him. Explosions rocked the world.

“Avery. Karn. Arial. Carbine. Brink. Gale. Twister.”

It was only thanks to a Republic-aligned local militia that Chimera Company wasn’t completely wiped out. Ground forces came in from behind the droids and cut a path for Mark and the others to escape through, and provided cover while they fought to get to an elevation that the transport ships could access. Meanwhile, the militia sent their limited fighters and gunships to aid the Zenith in keeping the Separatist ships at bay.

“Hazel. Mac. Croaker. Cred. Vent. Hinter. Gossip.”

Nearly everyone was injured. Blaster burns, broken bones, cuts, concussions, contusions. Mark himself suffered a blaster bolt to his chest, reaggravating an old wound. Commander Tiatkin got caught at the edge of an explosion and had been flung across the valley, landing unconscious. General Marin collapsed from exhaustion as soon as the Zenith jumped to hyperspace.

A week later, most of the clones had recovered, though a handful remained in critical care. Marin and Taitkin arrived at the barracks as soon as they were released from the Jedi Temple’s med center. And together, they all mourned. And laughed, which Mark hadn’t been expecting. But the Jedi had begun reminiscing about those who had been lost, and before long there was laughter and smiles. Sorrow still tinged it all, but it was easier to bear.

Mark drew a deep breath, trying to center himself. To feel himself here and now, boots on the landing pad, rooted to the world, to the galaxy. Constant and present like the cities of Kamino, stalwart and unyielding to the tempests around it. That had been an argument between General Marin and Mark, in the beginning of his not-training. She had described her mediations as floating in a void, tethers to all other beings keeping her in place. But Mark didn’t feel that. He couldn’t let himself feel weightless, drifting; he needed to be grounded, sure of himself before he reached out to others.

It was several minutes before Mark finally made his way back indoors. He lost track of how many times he clasped a trooper’s shoulder or hand, how many more he nodded to.

By the time he got to the officer’s quarters, he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bunk. But as the door slid open, he realized that wasn’t going to be the case.

The four lieutenants of Chimera Company were gathered in the center of the room, having hauled over chairs around a supply crate; a jug full of liquid sat on the crate, surrounded by five cups. Mark made his way to the empty chair, shucking his armor as he went. He let the purple-painted armor clatter to the ground, for once not caring about packing it away properly.

He accepted a cup proffered by Bookie before collapsing into the chair. “Hal, how’s your leg?”

Hal – fresh out of the med bay– grunted and extended his right leg gingerly out in front of him. “Stiff, but the bone’s mended. I can walk on it.” He waved a hand. “And Cleese’s got his hearing back.”

“What?” Cleese asked loudly, the scar across the bridge of his nose crinkling as he failed to keep from smirking.

Tech rolled his eyes and shoved Cleese’s shoulder. “What about you, Captain?”

“Stings a bit,” Mark admitted, a hand going absently to his chest, “but that’s the last time you’ll hear me say it.” The faintly caustic smell emanating from the purple liquid in his cup signified Christophsis tals – potent, crystal-cured alcohol. There had been toasts and honorifics all day, but one more could do no harm. He raised his glass. “To those who rest, and those who live. Vode An – brothers all.”

“Brothers all,” the other for echoed. They drank deeply; Mark’s eyes watered.

After a while of listening to the shuffle of footsteps out in the hall and the hum of power through the barracks, Bookie leaned forward, a loc of purple-dyed hair falling into his apprehensive eyes. “Captain? When are we due back to the front?”

Mark drained his cup and refilled it, keeping his eyes fixed on the sloshing liquid. His tongue tingled from it, but it would be another cup or two before he really started to feel its effects. It had been a while since he’d been properly drunk.

“Mark?”

“The Republic wants us mission-ready in two days.”

Cleese uttered a low curse, but Tech talked over him. “And the Jedi?”

“Marin said the Jedi Council agreed to not assign anything for seven days. She’s going to push for longer, but I think that’s all we’re going to get.”

A muscle jumped in Hal’s neck, right under the black ink of the Republic tattoo there. “A week is fine. Any longer, we’d all go stir-crazy. Don’t know about the rest of you, but I need action – I can’t just hang out at Seventy-Nine’s indefinitely.”

“How –” Bookie faltered, then pressed on. “How long did it take you to move on before? With… with your original company?”

Hal turned a baleful look on him. “It’s not a matter of ‘moving on’. It’s about not being stuck.” He drummed his fingers on the crate. “I was in the med bay for a week after the attack. Shattered my collar bone and a few ribs. It was all volunteer medics – no clones – and they wouldn’t tell me anything. That should’ve been my first clue something was wrong. They dunked me in some bacta, then kept me cooped up til I thought I was gonna short-circuit. By the time they let me out, I was ready to kill something.”

He paused, his focus drifting. “Went to join up with the boys – but found out I was reassigned cuz everyone else was dead. I was on the field the next day. It helped, being able to focus on the missions. But if I’d just… if I’d waited just a moment during the attack, I might’ve been able to grab a few others.”

Cleese frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“The clankers hit our outpost with an orbital bombardment. I only survived because I was able to make it to a reinforced bunker. There were three clones right behind me when we started running. But when I reached the bunker and turned around to pull them in, they were two dozen feet behind me. And a blast came down right on top of them. I couldn’t have outrun them that quick; maybe they got tripped up by something. But if I’d slowed up, realized I got ahead of them – ” he broke off and glowered at his cup.

The guilt rolled off Hal in waves. It was a pain shared by all the clones of Chimera Company; they were all survivors from other companies and squads that no longer existed.

“This is a day for remembering our brothers.” Mark raised his glass. “To Zeta Company.”

Hal’s harsh expression faltered and he ducked his head to hide his tears as the others repeated the salute.

Bookie spoke up; Mark felt his embarrassment at having prodded Hal. “We were fractured at Ryloth. We weren’t expecting the Separatist interest in the planet, and they hit us with more forces than we ever expected. It was a slaughter. Two of our squads survived the initial battle, and we hid in the canyons while we waited for reinforcements. But the droids chased us down.” Bookie averted his gaze, unable to make eye contact. “I was able to duck down quick enough after taking potshots – I dodged the bolts that came my way. But most of the others couldn’t. Only six of us walked away. They reassigned us to another force on Ryloth three days later. I think I would have liked to have some more time to process everything; I feel like I had to move on too fast.” He took a swig of the tal. “The Fifty-Eighth Battalion.”

They toasted; Mark took a smaller sip, a pleasantly warm buzz already at the edges of this consciousness. He had wondered when they’d have this conversation. Chimera Company had been formed almost two and a half years ago, and though they had all strengthened their bonds over that time, they’d never discussed where they’d come from, what they had experienced. Mark knew the stories of the rest of the company, but he’d hadn’t pressed the lieutenants; the weight of living while those under your command had died was a harder burden to bear.

After a stretch of silence, Tech turned his head away. “We didn’t even fall to the Separatists.” The bitterness in his voice made Mark’s gut twist. “There was a distress beacon out in the middle of nowhere. The General and the Captain argued about it, but the Jedi finally ordered the ship to go and offer assistance.”

“And there was nothing there?” Hal asked.

“Oh, there was. A civilian cruise ship, dead in the void. We boarded to search for survivors. Once we were all split up, the pirates made their move. They’d been lying in wait onboard, and picked us off as we went through the halls, and their ships dropped out of hyperspace and took out our capital ship.”

“How’d you get out?” Bookie asked, refilling Tech’s cup.

“A small group of us were in the lower levels of the ship. I could tell when they were nearby – I think I could hear them, or whatever – so we were able to sneak around them, for the most part. We managed to steal one of their smaller ships and get away. No one else survived.” He tapped his cup thoughtfully. “I was reassigned the next day, after we were debriefed. Didn’t really have time to process what happened. I just tried to fit in with the new group.”

“To the Two-Oh-Third,” Mark intoned.

After they drank, they looked to Cleese. 

He scowled. “What?”

“What about you?”

Cleese’s lip curled. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Mark set his cup down. “You’ll need to eventually,” he murmured softly.

Cleese’s head snapped toward him. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’ve been carrying around the weight of it since you lost your company. I don’t think you’ve ever let yourself mourn.”

“There’s always more brothers to mourn,” Cleese snarled. “More dead, every day – it’s a miracle that Chimera Company hasn’t suffered major losses like this before. There’s always dead brothers that need remembering, but there’s no time for it – we have to keep moving, we have to keep marching on, to win this war, so they didn’t die for nothing.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the barracks’ generators. “I read the official report,” Mark said carefully. “That Haval Company responded to a distress call at Garentti’s Keep and gave the civilians enough time to evacuate the city and escape into hyperspace. You saved over two thousand people.”

“And I lost one-hundred thirty-seven men!” Cleese launched himself onto his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “One-hundred thirty-seven brothers who were depending on me to get them out alive. And they died. I only focused on the tanks and ships attacking from the north, I didn’t think to look out for anything else. A whole squad of commando droids crawled out from the cliffs to the south. Only reason I lived was ‘cause I felt one of the karking things sneak up behind me. They took us out from behind, and the clankers overran us.”

“You had no way of knowing. You did what you could with what you had.”

“And what about you, Mark?” Cleese was suddenly in Mark’s face. Anger radiated from him, washing over Mark in such a tangible way that he almost toppled off his seat. “Have you talked about losing the Eighty-Second? Only twelve of you survived, right? You lost an entire battalion. You gonna act like you’ve gotten over that? That you’re gonna get over this?”

He may have said more, but a high-pitched ringing in Mark’s ear drowned him out. Mark’s blood boiled and heart hammered, aching beneath the blaster burn scar. Brothers could fight, could say things and apologize later. A captain couldn’t.

Mark ground his teeth together as he slowly stood. Cleese filled his vision, shaking and blinking hard. Mark hadn’t gone over managing his emotions with the Jedi yet. Marin said it was because he already had control over it, that she wasn’t worried he would act out of anger. He wasn’t about to start now.

“Of course I never got over it.” Mark kept his voice low and even. “I did what I could, and it wasn’t enough. After that slaughter on Eadu’s moon, I blamed General Thalen, I blamed the Separatists, I blamed myself – I even blamed the ones who died. But the end result was the same. The men under my command were dead, and I wasn’t able to help them. It was out of my control. That doesn’t make the pain go away. Or the guilt. But when I was given command of Chimera Company, I had to pull myself out of my own misery, because others were depending on me.”

He paused and drew a shaky breath. The others were silent, waiting. Drawing on the Force, he grounded himself. And as he did, he felt his connection to them like a heartstring. He softened his voice.

“And this? No, I’m not going to move on very quickly. It’s easier, sure, because more of us survived, and I know that we’ll remain together. But what eases more of the pain for me is this.” He gestured to the assembled lieutenants. “Being together. Remembering together. The twelve of us from the Eighty-Second, we got four days. And all were hazy to me but the last one. Because the night before reassignment, we all met up in the mess and talked about the ones we’d lost. Just like we did today. For me, it doesn’t matter how many days it’s been – or how many years. The pain is still there. But it’s easier to bear when I’m with others who understand it.”

Cleese’s anger had melted into sorrow, and he didn’t say anything; he just sank back to his seat, head in his hands. Mark clapped a hand onto his shoulder, and raised his cup. “To Havel Company. And to the Eighty-Second.”

“I’m sorry, Mark,” Cleese murmured after he drained his glass.

Mark sat down heavily beside him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

The other man smiled ruefully at the rapidly-emptying pitcher. “As far as gatherings go, I much prefer happier ones. One of the Haval Company squads learned from some local children about birthdays. The kids didn’t like that none of us clones exactly have a ‘birth-day’. So they decided that all clones were born on that day, and somehow convinced their parents to throw the entire Company a birthday party.” Though it was undercut by a dry sob, Cleese laughed. “I’ve never had such sweet desserts, before or since. That cake was way too rich, and we ate way too much of it.”

“Oh, cake will get you in trouble!” Bookie jumped in, his eyes suddenly bright. “Charger almost got married because of cake once.”

“Married? But we’re not allowed to marry until retirement.” Tech cocked his head to the side, frowning. “Unless that’s changed?”

“It’s still the same. It was an accident. We were on a backwater world where Basic wasn’t well-spoken. One of the locals offered him a cake – in a real meaningful way – but Charger just thought he was being friendly. The translator saw what was going on and managed to set it straight.”

Tech shook his head with a smile. “The long-necks really should have taught us to speak more than just Basic. I think I’d like to understand Huttese – it seems useful.”

“You had any communication mix-ups?” Cleese asked. Mark was relieved to see he’d relaxed.

“All the time. The boys always had trouble in the Outer-Rim markets.” Seeming to jump from one memory to another, he went on. “I was just thinking of the time a shiny – he didn’t live long enough to get a name…” Tech faltered, then gave a weak smile. “This shiny started trash-talking me to my face. Since I’ve always been pretty regulation, he thought I was a shiny from another unit. Didn’t realize I was the squad leader.”

Mark laughed. “What did he say?”

“He was complaining about the drills I was running them through. Thought I was treating them like cadets. He didn’t expect me to be going through the paces with them.”

“Shinies always have such big heads in the beginning.” Hal settled back, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. “Sometimes those heads never deflate. I had a kid in Zeta Co that crashed everything he ever piloted. Fighters, AT-RTs, speeders – if it had a control yoke, he’d end up walking away from a flaming heap of debris with a smile on his face. We called him Crash after the second time.”

After another drink, Cleese turned his watery gaze toward Mark. “I’d asked you when we first met, Mark, but I don’t think you ever actually answered me. The strike team you led on Brentaal Four. Did you really use a B-One’s faceplate to tunnel under a Separatist compound?”

He hadn’t thought of that mission in ages. “We didn’t just use a droid’s faceplate. But some of our tools had to be left behind when we had a complication with landing, so it was the next best thing available.”

“And that worked?” Bookie said incredulously.

“Droids never considered that we’d try to dig our way through. Besides, they were preoccupied with a diversionary force in orbit. If I hadn’t been so concerned about rules at the time, I would’ve let the men keep it as a trophy. It was probably the most useful thing the droid had ever done.”

Cleese slapped his leg as he laughed, tal sloshing out of his cup as he did. “Ah, damn.” He reached for a rag on a trunk behind him, still focused on the dripping liquid. The rag was about a foot away, but before Mark could get up to grab it for him – it moved.

Mark froze, watching as the rag twitched, then slid right into Cleese’s fumbling hand.

He stared at the other man, but Cleese didn’t seem to notice; he was focused on mopping up the mess, saying that at least he hadn’t hit the pitcher.

The Force. Cleese had just used the Force. Mark knew it. But how?

“You okay, Mark?” Bookie asked. Bookie, who had been able to dodge blaster bolts, moving just before they could hit him. Mark slowly looked around the circle.

Hal, who had found himself moving with unprecedented speed. Tech, who had sensed when pirates were nearby. And Cleese, who had sensed danger behind him, who had just moved a rag without touching it.

But then other instances started coming to the forefront of his memory: a clone who always caught whatever was thrown at him, even when he wasn’t looking; a squad jumping much further than they should have been able to over a crevasse; a clone that every animal seemed to become docile around; and every time someone had muttered that they had a bad feeling just before something went wrong.

They piled up, instance after instance of clones in Chimera Company that were just a bit faster or stronger, a bit more agile or focused, a bit luckier or more aware, a bit more –

Seas. They’re all Force-sensitive.

“Mark?” Bookie repeated, concern creasing his brow. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mark croaked, blinking rapidly. His heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing. “Yeah, I just – It’s been a day.” He stood, the alcohol rushing to his head and making him teeter for a moment. No, it wasn’t just the tal; it was the adrenaline that suddenly coursed through his veins, the energy that came with suddenly knowing something vital and not knowing what to do with it. “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

The others made to rise, but Mark waved them down. “Don’t let me interrupt this. Stay up as long as you need. And remember – this doesn’t have to be limited to today. We can mourn and remember as long as we need.”

The others called out their good nights as he gathered his armor and made his way to the far end of the officers’ quarters. A door led to his private bunk, and when it slid shut behind him he stood there, arms shaking as he put his armor away.  

Force-sensitive. Was that how they’d all survived? The remnants of companies and battalions that made up Chimera Company, had they all lived because of the Force? Because they subconsciously tapped into an energy that they didn’t know about, and enhanced their skills, like he had?

Did it matter?

Before General Marin had started teaching him about the Force, Mark would have said no, it didn’t matter; the troopers had their abilities and advantages, and it didn’t matter where they came from.

But a company of trained, Force-sensitive clones? They would be a force to be reckoned with.

But would the Jedi see it that way? Would the Republic?

Mark sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees as he stared at his armor. He’d need to talk to Marin about it. He trusted her. Hopefully, she’d have an idea of how to proceed.

[oonaluna-art]

Here's a recent commission I did of a Sith fan character! Both variants of the shirt say the same thing.

—

[My Ko-Fi] [Patreon]  

[darth-bagel]

Frankly, this is the sluttiest armor I've ever put together... and that's including the all white Morale Boost outfit Jedi Tivan'n already has. If it only didn't clip it'd be perfect—but it fits well enough that I think I can not fret over it too much.

And some choose character screen screenshots. Because fuck they look good from the back.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Psst Eps. Where is Muttley. Where is the therapy doggo

She comes in later after the shadowing assessments are done.

The Jedi Council sees that the 105th's veteran troopers are in much worse condition than the younger squads that other battalions took on so, after a thorough discussion and a suggestion from one very specific Jedi, they comes up with an idea of how to help the 105th lads become a little less uncooperative in the form of some community service with a trustworthy private establishment (serve as security detail and learn to unwind around natborns who are in no position to judge or push them around).

When that proves effective with getting them to work with natborns but not clones, a group of clone medics suggests getting them a therapy massiff to give them a common goal to bond over (raising and training a massiff definitely would do the trick while also serving as much needed emotional support). Rex goes to Fox to inquire where one could get a massiff pup while on Coruscant, and Fox gives him some directions to someone who won't ask questions because the Corrie Kennels are currently not breeding any.

Rex sends Fives and Jesse to get the massiff pup from a rather shady gentleman. They come back with an albek pup instead (very easy mistake to make since they're incredibly similar).

[oolathurman]

Divided

Backstory for Azimuth and Asamta Taro, the two children of Indigo Taro. Both Azimuth and Asamta are demi-female and use they/she pronouns.

.

“You wish to live like this?” Azimuth scoffed, “With humans calling you filth, where they treat you lesser than, for reasons beyond your control?”

“We can rise above this, ner’vod,” Asamta insisted, “You know we have the strength to do so.”

“But I don’t want to do so!” The taller of the sisters threw her hands in the air. “I don’t enjoy standing at attention, never at ease, forced to perform like circus beasts for those lesser than us!”

Beside them, another slave coughed. “Overseer’s comin’. Youse two’d do best to keep it down, ‘n get back to work.” He spoke in Huttese, with a thick accent neither nautolan could place. The two thanked him, before diving back into the water.

Diving for seafood was, simply put, a terrible job. They both hated it, and yet they were forced to do so for the benefit of humans and red skinned aliens that stood on the back of their labor. “So how do you suggest we rise, Asam?” Azimuth demanded in a watery rendition of Huttese, “They wear us to bone, without energy to even stand, much less fight for what we deserve.”

“You seek an easy way out, Azi,” their sister retorted. She reached into the wire cage of crustaceans to pull one out, setting the clipped tail creature free. It swam off in a hurry, apparently eager to avoid siblings fighting. “A dangerous one, too. Explain to me, how you will remove your own slave collar, find a smuggler, pay the smuggler, and find something better.”

“I would rather attempt to find something better as a free person, than die hoping I can rise above crustacean farming as a slave.” Azimuth pushed them, earning them an indignant yelp. At this point, any edible creature that wasn’t trapped was sure to have been far away, hiding from bickering siblings. They would lose their wages, if this continued. “I see no hope here.” She grabbed two cages before swimming off.

“Then you are blinder than those eyeless creatures that make their home in the shitty ground!” Asamta screamed back. Their voice rippled, cracking coral as it travelled. How couldn’t they see? How was their own sibling, their flesh and blood, so blind?

Hours later, night had fallen. Asamta had finished their duties for the night, and brought with them their wages and her sister's. She pulled her weary feet to the bunks where they stayed, and saw her sister with a bag stuffed clumsily of her things. On Azimuth’s bunk was their slave collar, cracked open in two, wires and circuit boards exposed. It would seem that they managed to break it with some invisible force.

Asamta sighed. They walked up beside their sister, dumping both their wages into her bag. Then they fished around for their own stored wages, and added those as well. Azimuth looked over her shoulder at her sister. “You’re an idiot and a fool and I sincerely believe you’ll die before you even make it to the spaceport,” Asamta signed in Mandalorian. “But in the slim chance you get off this planet alive, you will need every credit more than I do.” 

Azimuth’s face scrunched, but it did little to stop tears. She pulled her sister into a hug, so tight neither could breathe. Eventually, eventually, she had to let go. “Come with me,” Azimuth signed back, “I don’t want to go without you.” 

Asamta chuckled, shaking their head. “You will need a home to come back to once you’re done running away, will you not? Or in case your head is clear enough to come back before you’re killed?” They couldn’t see past the tears, but they tried. If only to better remember their sister by. Azimuth laughed softly, and gently pushed their shoulder.

“Fine, you stubborn bitch. At least I know where to find you when I have to be the one to buy your freedom.”

“By then, I am confident I will already be free. Just watch.”

Azimuth snorted and shook their head. “Galaxy’s most stubborn nerf,” they said quietly, as they started making their way out of the tent. 

“Not as stubborn as you.” 

[larkoneironaut]

Sneak peek of the character sheet for my special girl Elikai Vidis from my Din Djarin romance fic 🪐 It will include her full outfit, her inventory, the title of the fic, a short plot summary & a few facts about her 🖤 So excited to share it all when my fic is finished!

I’m currently in the middle of writing chapter 6! It’s going well but a bit slow, tbh, I hope I have more energy soon to properly write more than just a few sentences a day 🤞🏽There will be about 20-25 chapters, it will be slow-burn because that’s my thing and an adventure! 🏝️🏜️🗻

I’m also working on two more drawings with Elikai, one together with Din and one when she was younger on her home planet! She’s 30 in the fic and that drawing will show her happy unbothered 20-year-old self 🥹 I will post these drawings when they are finished!

[varpusvaras]

The nights on Alderaan were a dark shade of blue.

Leia had seen nights on other planets. Most of the planets she had been on had moons that illuminated the sky even during the darkest hours of the night. Alderaan had none, but still, they had clear skies and countless stars shining down on them, and she loved the nights like they were.

Especially as the darkness made a very good cloak for anyone who knew where to step when sneaking around.

She wasn't the one doing the sneaking tonight, but she welcomed the cover anyway. She knew he was coming, even before there was a light knock on her door. Two-one-two-two.

Come in, she thought, and listened as the door slid open and then close, as soft steps made their way to her bed.

"Can't sleep?" Even asked quietly, as he climbed up next to her.

It was a rhetorical question more than anything. Even already knew that she couldn't sleep, and he already knew why.

"No", Leia answered anyway. "I had the dream again."

"Of the boy and the Suns?" Even asked. Again, a rhetorical question.

"Yes", Leia still answered, again.

It was not a bad dream. It was a good dream, actually. Leia liked seeing the boy, his light hair, bleached in the rays of the two suns, his eyes, just as blue as the sky above the sea of desert around him. He was always radiant, even more than the suns, and every time Leia saw him, she felt warm, like she had been standing there with him.

But every time she opened her eyes after the dream, all she was left was the feeling of the heat leaving her body, and doing so, leaving her only with the cold sorrow of longing.

Even always knew when Leia had that dream. She was almost sure that he could see it too, every time she did. Just like they seemed to know each other's thoughts and feelings, like they were whispers only they could hear. Leia had never felt anything like that with anyone else, and she couldn't bear the thought of not having him in her life.

But still, it felt like-

It felt like she was missing something. Someone. Like there was a violently torn seam on her side where Even wasn't.

Even took her hand into his, and tugged it lightly. She scooted over to him, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Even was already almost a full head taller than her, despite being several months younger. Leia didn't mind it too much, though. He reminded her of Papa and Buir more and more every single day, and she found it more comforting than anything else.

"You miss him", Even said.

"I do", Leia said. "I just- I have you."

It felt unfair, for both her and Even, for her to miss someone like that. He was her brother. It should've been enough.

"You do", Even said, calmly and patiently. He really was more like their parents, every single day, even like Mama. "It's alright. Buir has us, but he still misses his family, every single day. It doesn't mean he loves us less than he loves them."

That was true. Leia knew that the sadness and yearning she could feel coming from Buir wasn't because they weren't enough for him. They all occupied his heart just as much, but there were holes in it, holes that just weren't the right shape for Leia, or for Even, or even for Mama and Papa to fill back up. Leia understood that, but still-

"But Buir knows them", she said. "He misses them because he knows them. How can I miss someone I don't know so much?"

Even was quiet for a moment. Leia could feel him thinking, but for once, not the exact thoughts going through his head as he tried to figure out what to say to her.

"I think", he said, after a moment, "I think you do know him, already. Maybe you always have."

Leia's eyes burned.

"It's not fair", she whispered, trying her best to make the burning go away. It wasn't working, not that night. "It's not fair."

Even didn't admonish her, nor did he try and make it better by saying something to make her not sad. He just leaned down and pressed his forehead softly against Leia's, and let her pour her silent tears into the night.

[identityflawed]

maul was never meant to succeed sidious. he was just a tool and a weapon. he was never an apprentice and he was never really, truly a sith. as all of sidious’ apprentices (yes, all), he was entirely disposable, though sidious had no apt replacements at the time.

had he not died, i am sure sidious would have continued to use him for covert missions, but he would’ve recruited someone else (dooku still, i imagine) to lead the separatist side of the war. and while there are a litany of things to show that maul was little more than a weapon, the clearest one is from The Wrath of Darth Maul.

the key tenet of the sith is that the apprentice yearns to kill the master. both tyranus and vader had the desire to murder sidious, though dooku was far less eager to act upon such things in comparison to vader… arguably this is second proof of dooku’s pure disposability, was the fact that palpatine first endeared himself to dooku, so he was always a friend before he was an enemy.

(anakin is the exception. he is a son who wishes to kill his father. palpatine saw that, and he acknowledged that no amount of false affections would be enough to keep vader’s killing intent at bay.)

back to maul. during his final trial on hypori, where he dueled sidious, he lost his hatred for his master. it became unwavering loyalty. treachery is the way of the sith, and this is the antithesis to that. palpatine needed a subordinate. he did the same with dooku, but dooku always figured that by the end of the day they would be somewhat equal in the post-war empire. dooku was deluded. maul was just… never meant to be a sith. too bad for him. he had all the anger and all the strength, and he would’ve absolutely crushed it about a thousand years earlier. but he was not built for the modern era of darkness, where deception and political cunning reigned supreme.

sidious preaches finding apprentices who are strong where you are weak, but also weak where you are strong (the creation of monsters). maul could carry out assassinations and hits and takedowns that sidious could not, but he was never well-accustomed to the world of subtlety and subversion. he chafed at the idea of being restrained to non-force action, as any sith would, but he prioritized his master’s will over his own. and it’s good that he did, from sidious’ perspective, anyways.

and while sidious considers vader to be his minor masterpiece, this guy is absolutely terrible at picking apprentices and keeping them. or, more like, he’s just a terrible fucking dude and master as well. and he didn’t really want a successor; he just wanted monsters and tools and subordinates.

but the dark side is founded not only on anger but on arrogance. you have no truly humble sith lords, no true sith lords who believe that they are just fine where they are. this hunger for strength makes good students and good masters, but terrible, terrible tools. maul was a failed apprentice because he thought he had everything he needed. he died. dooku was a failed apprentice because he never thought he needed more. he died. anakin was a failed apprentice because he needed what only palpatine could provide. each in their own way failed to carry out the will of two because of palpatine’s ability to engender dependency on him.

tldr: what palpatine really needed was a neurotic and insecure force-sensitive who didn’t get arrogant and die to a jedi on naboo. nice try, old guy.

[livingemkayde]

Twin Moons - The Prologue

Series Summary: 

when you meet a Mandalorian on the sands of Tatooine, for some reason you both can't stay away. even through all the pain—you keep coming back to each other. it's all you know how to do.

The Prologue

Notes: This is my first fic!! I'm excited about this journey. I am not an expert on the Force or Star Wars. I will probably still continue with this even if it gets no attention. I was thinking about making this original character but I like reader fics too much not to create my own. Please enjoy.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive f!reader.  

Series warnings: *Although this chapter may not contain graphic content, this story is rated 18+ due to graphic depictions of violence and sexual scenarios.*

Chapter warnings: Depictions of graphic violence and blood, mentions of the empire, the dark side, and the force, angst. 

Summary: Set in a galaxy far, far away. This is the beginning of the end. 

Masterlist

You have seen it all. At least, you thought you had seen it all. Done it all, been it all, heard it all. 

You mutter inconsistencies to yourself while you trudge through the sand on Tatooine’s blazing surface, the twin suns staring down at you and your misery. 

You hate sand. The way it sticks to your boots, the way it finds its way into the small crevices of your nails, in the length of your hair even in your hood, and in your mouth even in your mask. Most important, the way the white of it blinds your eyes under the sun. 

Your tracking fob beeps more steadily in your belt, you can hear it. you try to focus on anything but the feeling of sand everywhere. 

A Mandalorian. You scoff to yourself. No chain code, completely off the record. What are you? A magician? Tracking him down was one of the hardest tasks you had ever done. 

Find someone with no chain code? That's something you’ve never done. 

“Kriffing Mandalorians…” you mutter to yourself. You have only met one other Mandalorian, a friend of the republic or the empire you do not know, you do not care either. What either ever done for you but destroy? 

You enter the cantina and your face turns. You ignore them. You can feel what they think of you. Feel their thoughts so clearly you swear you can hear them. Most of them border on what kind of girl is doing in a dump like this. What’s wrong with your eyes, why do they look like moons? you ignore them. 

You spot him easily. His head is a beacon screaming, “Come kill me” which you find funny enough since all you've done since the incident is try your best to remain in the shadows. You walk over to where he is seated in a booth towards the back of the cantina. His helmet follows you the whole time. 

“You’re a hard man to find,” you state. Your voice is hoarse from the winds wrapping around your face on the long walk from your ship to the cantina. He just stares at you. You find it unnerving the way he remains still, he could be a statue for all you know—finally, his head tilts to the side. 

“Yeah? Good.” He states. 

His voice strikes something in you and your eyebrows furrow while your body flinches back. If he notices this, he says nothing of it. You feel something strange radiating from him. Something you have never felt before. The force is bouncing off him like blaster plasma off a lightsaber and you cannot, for the life of you, understand why. 

Thank the maker you’ll never have to know either. 

You draw your blaster and to no one’s surprise, he does simultaneously. Your second hand has a viroblade at the ready from your thigh’s holster. The entire cantina goes silent and you can hear heads turning to look at the two of you. You can feel how many are in the room. At least seven.

“You gonna make this hard for me, Mandalorian? Should we take this outside?” you say as you cocks your head. 

“Follow an assassin? I’d rather not.” He says while his hand moves to something on his side. That's what it is. The uneasy feeling. The nervous energy bouncing off him. Something kyber. Something fighting his every move. 

Your eyes shift from the black T of his visor to his hand and he takes the opportunity to shoot, thankfully, you can feel it before he does and moves out of the way while simultaneously taking your own shot. It pings off his chest plate. He charges you, hooking his arm around yours and maneuvering the blaster away from his direction. He twists your arm and you drop it. 

You extend the viroblade from the other hand and it slices a space between his pauldron and vambrace. You kick out of his grip while he is momentarily in pain. You reach for your blaster but he kicks it out of reach and extends a flamethrower from his vambrace. You dodge it, not without some burns you would need to take care of back on the ship, and take a plate from a customer's table to smash it on his head. He does not stagger. 

He grabs you by the throat and lifts you only to slam your back down onto the table he was previously sitting at. You gasp and see stars. Your hands scramble around, finding a piece of broken glass, and even though it cuts through your skin, you grasp it tight and try to find the areas on his body not covered in beskar. You manage to draw blood a few times while dodging punches before your body is bound by a whipcord and drawn tight to him. 

You look into his visor, and to his surprise, you find his eyes immediately. 

“Who sent you?” He demands while wrapping the cord tighter. You struggle against his grip but know it's no use without breaking free. You ignore his questioning. 

You cut through the cord with your vambraces and spin to kick his helmet down to the table and he steps back, his vision seeing stars. He’s on his knees before you now, all of it looking like some sick and twisted scene of him pleading for his life. You pick up your knife from the ground beside you and slowly walk toward him. 

You falter as you feel the earth shift and your vision becomes blurry. The force is bending through you in the way it does only when you feel another in your presence. Certainly, it could not be him, you would have felt it already. Instead, you look to the side and gasp from beneath your mask. A child, maybe? You aren't sure. Although he looks small, he has wrinkles and leathery-looking hands–cute. 

At the turn of your head and small gasp, the Mandalorian joins your eye line on the child. With you distracted, he suddenly slides to grab his blaster. You focus again on the Mandalorian, then scramble for your blaster and are again drawn at a stalemate with the Mandalorian. You pants, and he remains motionless. Your eyes flit back and forth between the Mandalorian and the small child. 

The small creature waddles from the entrance of the cantina towards the Mandalorian. You worry first, for the child’s safety from the warrior, until he breaks into a small laughter while tugging on the tail ends of the Mandalorian's sorry excuse of a cape. 

“He’s with you?” you ask, breathless, with wide eyes and mouth agape. 

When he doesn't respond, you drop your blaster and step back, he doesn't. A feeling of guilt rushes through you and you begin to breathe harder, your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Just go,” you say while staring at the Mandalorian. He keeps the blaster trained on you.

“Or get it over with.” Though for some reason you know he won’t kill you.

A beat, you look down at the child. 

In the next beat, you're gone. 

Not what you signed up for.

Certainly, not anything you've seen before.

_

Chapter One: The Fall

[imogenkol]

— LAST LINES/WIP WEDNESDAY

tagged by the lovely @inafieldofdaisies thank you!!! 💕

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @adelaidedrubman @marivenah @socially-awkward-skeleton @statichvm @eloquentmoon @kyber-infinitygems @shegetsburned @simonxriley @florbelles @voidika @v0idbuggy

kinda funny that I wrote the dialogue for this scene right before the new a*soka episode dropped and all that force sensitive discourse happened. Anyway this isn’t gonna lead to anything angsty :) don’t worry about it :)

Bix hovered just behind the pilot’s seat of the Crimson Huntress as Imogen ran diagnostics. The mechanic watched closely with her arms crossed, though her troubled thoughts made the silence between them feel louder than the beeps and whirs of the ship. “The last time you left, I was told you were dead.”

Imogen barely glanced over her shoulder, too occupied with her current tasks to be bothered by the other woman’s concerns. “You were given false information by a man who lacks any real ability to kill me.”

“But how am I supposed to know that?” Bix pushed back with a more insistent tone and began to pace in the cockpit. “Are you just going to disappear and I have to wait until I need to decide on what the appropriate amount of time is to realize you’re not actually coming back?” 

“You would know if I was dead.”

“How?”

“You would sense it,” Imogen answered confidently. 

Bix scoffed as she shook her head. “You know I don’t have that kind of power, Imogen. At all.”

Imogen sat back in her seat with a sigh. Luthen’s attempt on her life still occupied space in both of their minds, but where Imogen sought restitution, the roots of fear coiled inside of Bix to a point where she anticipated a loss that Imogen would not allow to happen. She should have felt offended that Bix thought she might get herself killed so easily. Instead of stern assurance, Imogen stood and approached her beloved mechanic with gentle intent.

“All living beings are connected through the Force, Bix. You and I, we share a strong bond. If I were truly gone, you would feel it. Here.” Imogen placed her hand on Bix’s chest. Warmth seeped into her palm as she sensed the rhythmic energy flow through the vibrant life underneath her touch. Bix regarded her curiously while she listened. “You would feel it as a certainty that shakes you down to the core. So, if there is even a single doubt within your heart, know that I still live and that I am trying to find my way back to you.”

Bix slowly let her arms untangle to hold Imogen against her by the waist. “If you say so,” she replied with uncertainty, though her expression had softened. 

Imogen brushed her hands up the mechanic’s neck and cupped her face. “I would make it so.”