#jedi lore? maybe

[cerulianvermillion]

Do the jedi have like. the star wars equivalent of sword dances? I mean lightsaber fights already look like dances, but like what about the ones that are actually intended to be dances? like imagine dancing with a lightsaber- that would be sooo pretty to look at. I imagine that obi-wan isn't like super good or an expert or anything, but there's a couple that he knows and loves and does really well, especially when he's on his own. Qui-gon was really good at many and taught him to do them and it stuck, and on those nights he was grieving he just dances listening to the force. Nobody dances quite like obi-wan, though. Like he doesn't know a lot of dances but he's really really good on the ones he does know, and plus points to the fact that obi-wan is probably also musically inclined.

Anakin is really good, too, like qui-gon, he caught it much more easily than obi-wan did. It probably started out as him accidentally seeing obi-wan do it when he was younger, and then trying to emulate and failing lmao, and then it became like, and alternative way of meditating for Anakin? like at some point Obi-wan realized that dance could totally work as a way of moving meditation and decided to teach anakin himself and enroll him in classes, and I think anakin would really get into it especially during the war. Padme would like it, she has an eye for stuff like this so sometimes she helps point out details to anakin.

Ahsoka learns from anakin because anakin is definitely the type to add sword dance into ahsoka's curiculum, but he prefers teaching her himself because he just so happens to be really good at it. Ahsoka would like it! like she's not as into it as anakin is but sometimes she practices when there's a lot on her mind or like, when she wants to show the clones what she learned. oh, the clones would absolutely enjoy watching ahsoka dance, and ahsoka would totally convince anakin to do it with her. Sometimes they'd convince obi wan. When she leaves the order she still practices, it's her way of staying connected even though she'd never come to realize it herself. And when (if?) the whole oder 66 thing happens, the sword dance is one of the few jedi culture bits that not many outside of the order knows, and she preserves it.

I like to think that she'll teach luke, one day. like maybe directly, or maybe she'll leave him a set of holo-recordings that he finds, and then luke would try to emulate and learn, and because he's Padme's and Anakin's son, he'd catch on and learn quickly. It won't be a perfect imitation, so Luke just uses his gut (the force) and adds new bits into the missing portions of the dance. He'd teach leia too, like leia is not super interested as luke is, but this specific aspect is actually super fascinating to her, so maybe she'll learn a bit, while also assisting him in doing some research about it. It surprised her how it helps her clear her mind.

[aspiringnexu]

Saw a post a while ago that mentioned a debate among Star Wars fans and Star Trek fans about the typical who-would-win between a Borg Cube and the Death Star.

I'll leave them to that debate because who-would-win is highly dependent on the plot anyway and that kind of debate only leads to arguments (plus I find it incredibly boring, I'd much rather debate things like the similarities and disparities between human cultures in the two universes, one with and one without Earth, that would be interesting). But what did catch my eye was a mini-debate later on with people discussing whether or not said Cube would detect the Death Star approaching, the argument being that the modes of travel in the two different universes (namely warp and hyperspace) are so different that the Cube wouldn't be able to detect the Death Star until it reverted to real space.

Which reminded me how much I love that the two travel systems are so similar and yet so different.

I won't be able to get too technical, I'm sure some fans know the exact ins and outs of both kinds of space traversal, but the fundamental difference is how the ships attain FTL, or Faster Than Light. Because otherwise space travel takes FOREVER.

In Star Trek they use impulse engines to putter about for more precision maneuvering but use warp engines to achieve FTL, the warp engines 'warping' space by making a subspace bubble around the ship and therefore insulating it from the extreme pressures of breaking normal physics. As you do.

In Star Wars they use sublight engines for the usual puttering and maneuvering but instead they rely on the hyperdrive to achieve FTL which punts the ship into hyperspace, basically a parallel dimension where ships can achieve FTL without undue stress to the ship itself.

In both cases ships can be pulled out of their warp bubbles or their hyperspace streams due to factors in normal space. In Star Wars, for example, there exist Interdictor class ships which produce massive gravity wells, similar to those of moons or any other significant cosmic body which forces ships to drop out of hyperspace in order to avoid crashing into said body. (This also makes jumping into hyperspace too close to a planetary body incredibly risky. Not impossible, mind, but there is a reason planetary governments have a minimum distance allocated for incoming and outgoing ships.) Star Wars also makes a big deal out of Hyperspace Lanes (there was an entire war fought over them at one point) which are routes that have been confirmed to be empty of any cosmic phenomena discounting the occasional asteroid that wanders in. They're used as major shipping lanes and commercial passenger transports as a result. You can, of course, elect not to use the routes but you run the risk of encountering surprises even with a navicomputer.

In Star Trek the same rules seem to apply with various cosmic phenomena able to disrupt the warp drive and pull the ship out of warp, whether it be extreme gravimetric distortions that require precision piloting to avoid or nebula too thick for the engines to filter or, really, the list goes on. Could be anything from a nebula to the glowing green hand of a supposed Greek god stopping you from going to warp.

But regardless of the actual metrics of the two kinds of space travel, I find the idea that neither ship would be expecting the other to just appear incredibly amusing.

Neither universe would have any experience with a ship that travels in a space bubble or a ship that just casually drops in from another dimension and really why focus on inter-fandom discourse when you can focus on the incidental comedy?

[newvegascowboy]

more of that one SW oc after some Design Edits

[canonskyrissian]

creating lore that I have no idea if it actually will end up in the finished fic for the jedi lando au but hey, at least I'm having a good time

[smallandangry24]

Me, just now realizing that the hunt of the Jedi across the galaxy very closely mirrors the genocide perpetrated by the N@z1s, even though I’ve been telling people about the parallels between Star Wars and WWII antifascism for years (ex: Stormtroopers being the name of Hitler’s private army). 😳😳😳

[0h0possum]

A Codywan and How to Train Your Dragon crossover that turned into a the Mandalorians factions are dragons AU, because I can never just do something simple and for the heck of it.

If you’re not interested the AU lore, leave now or suffer my rambling lol.

Basically, the idea is that Mandalorians started as a race that could shift into dragons. The Mand’alor line and those of most influence were notably ‘Fury’s (for example Mand’alor Tarre Viszla was a Nightfury and so is his generational line). But over time most Mandolorians who could shift were killed off or just lost the ability as more non-shifter Mandolorians married in. Eventually only a few of the Fury’s were around, and when Mandalore split most chose factions lead by the remaining Fury lines. AKA: the New Mandalorians/Lightfury’s, the Haat Mando'ade or True Mandalorians/Duskfury’s, and the Kyr’tsad or Death Watch/Nightfury’s.

Basically this also helps explain (in my head) why Mandalorians would follow Death Watch (terrorists) or the New Mandalorians (Intense Pacifist). It’s because they see those lines that can still shift as chosen leaders or a physical embodiment of the Ka’ra’s will.

How is Obi-Wan a shifter though? Well in this AU he’s the son of Tor Viszla. Long story short, early on when Obi-Wan was born he displayed being force sensitive, and Obi-WAN’s mom (Tor’s wife??? Idk it’s not important to the story) basically went ‘Aw hell naw’ and tried to drown Obi-Wan. Only to be stopped by a traveling Jedi who stole Obi-Wan and saved him. Totally unaware that this baby was Mandalorian, the son one of the biggest Mandalorian factions, AND also one of the last few existing Mandalorian dragon shifters. (Also Obi-Wan’s mom doesn’t want to admit that she lost Obi-Wan to a Jedi and just tells Tor that he was force sensitive and she succeeded in drowning him).

Maybe I’ll get into it later but basically Obi-Wan grows up as normal in the Temple, but obviously at some point he shifts and has the biggest panic of his life. But with help from friends (Quinlan, Garen, Siri, and Bant) he figures out shifting (enough to control it) and helps keep it a secret (Mandalorians and Jedi still don’t have best relations and Obi-Wan is paranoid about being kicked out of the Order anyways *cough cough Brandomeer cough cough Melinda/Daan*). To be clear, Obi-Wan isn’t like ashamed of what he is. He just doesn’t want the judgments of coming from CLEAR Mandalorian roots, and Death Watch at that. Plus he kinda just decides to not think about how he’s pretty much definitely related to well known terrorist Tar and Pre Viszla, because then he doesn’t have to address it. Besides he’s happy as a Jedi.

Anyways, NOW CODY-

So without getting to detailed (mission failed lol) all the clones ARE shifters (Duskfury’s just like Jango Fett), but they have it suppressed by the Kaminoans (probably part of their chips? I haven’t thought it fully out yet). BUT THINGS HAPPEN, probably Cody and Obi-Wan get stranded alone somewhere for a long time and Cody gets his chipped fucked up somehow, and now he’s shifting into a dragon???? And scaring the shit out of both him and Obi-Wan. But Obi-Wan exposes himself as a dragon shifter as well to comfort Cody and show that he will keep his secret. Plus he clearly understands him. (At this point they both are under the impression the clones aren’t shifters, and think Cody is just an outlier and “late bloomer” so to speak). Cue them learning how to be dragons together and be comfortable in their other form.

And eventually they get rescued and find out somehow all the clones are shifters, and therefore find the chips and discover Palpatine’s plan, SO THE GALAXY IS SAVED!

(Additionally the clones get rights and go to form their own society/group (Obi-Wan comes with to be with other dragons, but mostly to be with Cody), and they form an alliance with the New Mandalorians and accidentally unit Mandalore purely by the three Fury types (Nightfury/Obi-Wan, Duskfury/Cody, Lightfury/Satine) being around each other lol.

[kanansdume]

Look, I love Kanan Jarrus, I literally named this blog after him. I loved his relationship with Ezra and I AM glad that there was significant mention of Kanan from Ezra.

But.

I hate that Ezra's new lightsaber ended up just... a copy of Kanan's, both in its emitter and its color.

It's lazy. And it's so insulting to just... let Ezra make himself a new one and he just COPIES Kanan's rather than being able to make a saber that was uniquely his and spoke to the person he has become after everything he's been through, from losing Kanan to having to sacrifice himself to surviving Thrawn to spending so long on his own.

Ezra could have had a purple lightsaber, the first live action Jedi since Mace Windu to be given one, which allows him to stand out against Sabine and emphasizes that connection to his lineage through Kanan without being an exact copy of someone else's.

Or Ezra could've had white. This could've been an interesting and meaningful way of actually explaining the white sabers in mainstream Star Wars. Most casual viewers are going to have NO IDEA that the white sabers are "healed" crystals from red sabers. That lore is lost on people who aren't deep in this fandom. Ahsoka just wanders around with white sabers because... it's unique and it makes her look cool. No one's stopped in any of the shows she's been in so far to explain what they are or why she has them. (Yes, I know it came from the book but again, not EVERYONE has read the damn book and if they're going to use that particular piece of worldbuilding in the shows, I feel like they could go to the effort of explaining it on the shows, too.)

Ezra could've found a crystal somewhere on Peridea that had been corrupted by the dark forces of the Nightsisters that permeate the planet (which would also add to the lore of the planet just a little and actually connect it to the Nightsisters better given that it's apparently THEIR homeworld). Maybe he could feel just how broken it was and he could see that it was either red or a really sickly witchy green color and even though the darkness in it repulsed him, the crystal also called to him, so he took it and has been fiddling around with it ever since, for years. Over time, it started to lose its sickly red or green color and became a pure white, but he'd never been able to acquire the right parts to actually make a new saber, so he'd just been carrying around the crystal for a while.

Or Ezra could've used some cool Force powers to yoink away Shin's saber from her during the fight with the bandits and when either Sabine or Ahsoka suggests he keep it since he refuses to take his old one back from Sabine, he says that it just feels... wrong. Something about it feels dark and full of pain and anger. And Ahsoka can explain how she was able to heal the crystals in her own saber so that Ezra is able to do something similar.

Literally anything OTHER than just giving Ezra Kanan's saber recreated would've been more interesting and said something new about Ezra's character and how he's grown and changed.

But nope. They couldn't be bothered to come up with a new design, so he just gets Kanan's saber now. How inspired.

[gffa]

What I mean when I say, "I think we have to have learned our lesson by this point [with Star Wars shows and 'Deep Lore']–whatever deeply complex ideas we try to come up with, the shows themselves basically never match anything near that level of detail, depth, or complexity." is exemplified by the excitement over the Zeffo references in Ahsoka. Basically, hieroglyphs in episode 7 of Ahsoka that translate to "praise Kujet", who was a sage from the Zeffo people who are an ancient, mysteriously vanished people from the video game Jedi: Fallen Order and Kujet specifically has ties to having a great amount of power on Dathomir in some form. It's very tempting to want to take this and think that Filoni is going to build something major out of these connections and I'm saying, we have got to have learned our lesson by this point. Filoni does not care about the supplementary material, nothing in this series or his episode of The Mandalorian or The Book of Boba Fett or even particularly any of his TCW/Rebels work have born this kind of connectivity out. He likes to include things, like there's an almost-nod to Revan in TCW, but it's not meant to go anywhere, it's just cool. The recent Obi-Wan Kenobi series included a planet named Jabiim, which was a significant planet with an important story in the Legends Clone Wars era, but within the show, that connection does not affect anything, it's just the name of a planet, a cool nod. Hell, I wouldn't even necessarily put money that Filoni himself chose the nod to Kujo/the Zeffo/JFO, it could have been a set designer who was frantically looking up anything to do with Dathomir on Wikipedia and thought it would be a cool easter egg to put in there. Or maybe it was Filoni, it's not impossible that this is a deliberate signpost to where this is going! But I think looking at the established patterns of these shows and how little these easter eggs have ever born real fruit and temper our expectations. Go wild with the speculation, that's great! But Star Wars is not laying out a roadmap where you can find the clues and guess the ending by the easter eggs, they're fun little discoveries, but I don't believe for a single solitary second that Felony is counting on us to pick up on the clues to put together a strong case for worldbuilding. And I'm not saying this to be a pill about it, either! I just think we'll build more satisfying theories if we understand that the source material itself isn't always going to build up the way we wish it would, that instead we'll have more fun if we treat these as extra bonuses, rather than the real foundation of what the "lore" of Star Wars is!

[raineydaywrites]

The De-Canonization of "No One Loved Baby-Wan"

(title ripped from one of @forcearama's delightful recaps, because I think she'd appreciate the concept)

A while back @gffa (I believe? 90% sure but now cannot find the post) had an excellent meta about the ways that Star Wars canon has now erased the Legends canon (specifically Jedi Apprentice) lore about Jedi Initiates aging out at 13 and shows that some get chosen as Padawans canonically into their late teens. I wish I could find that post again, but regardless, it inspired a thought I want to share.

Because while the Jedi Apprentice lore around the process of becoming a Padawan has been de-canonized, some parts of that story haven't been. The books still say that Obi-Wan was chosen as a Padawan at age 13. The "Master and Apprentice" short story by Claudia Gray nods to Legends canon (re: Obi-Wan being widely perceived as unprepared to begin Jedi training) with this:

Except...

Now that canon supports the idea that Jedi could become Padawans far later than that, these facts have utterly changed a few things.

"Padawan" by Kiersten White says that age 13 is (now considered) relatively young to become a Padawan.

This means that, while many Jedi at that time might well have thought that Obi-Wan wasn't ready to be a Padawan, they would also be of the opinion that that was hardly unusual. He's only 13, after all. That's so young! Give him a little more time to mature.

Which ends up painting Qui-Gon choosing to train him in a wildly different light.

Before, the story had Obi-Wan nearly being sent away from his culture and family and a career path he desperately wanted to pursue, only to be reluctantly pulled in at the eleventh hour because someone decided 'oh, maybe there is something of value in you after all and this is your last chance, so.'

But now?

The majority of Jedi Initiates are unchosen at age 13. Obi-Wan couldn't have been 'falling behind' his peers in readiness- at least, not in any major way.

The story we can infer now is that Qui-Gon chose Obi-Wan. Despite his age, not because of it. Qui-Gon looked between this tiny, "rebellious", angry little boy who everyone else said needed a little more time cooking before he'd be ready, and the older children who had gotten more training, more time, and said, "No, I want that one."

And as someone who has always found the Jedi Apprentice books painfully tragic, I am utterly delighted.

[alphasmoonlit-selfships]

Just a little rebel lass with a bark just as strong as her bite 🐺✨

I made a Star Wars Rebels, Mandalorian oc/self insert, with the ability to shape-shift into a space-wolf/lycan species (cause why not?)!

I’m still learning more about Star Wars, I have been re-diving into a lot of it my main blog because of Sabine/Ezra (the beans) and it developed into wanting to create a self insert 🤍 one who is Mandalorian, because I genuinely love the lore, culture and language of the group (Sabine being a strong motivating factor 💜).

Danielle would definitely star in somewhere in Rebels canon, sometime around season 2, maybe as a contact/client for the Ghost crew to provide them with some intel or so, and likely join their little group after they learn more about her ;w; (I love found family, ah).

Can you also tell I’m re-obsessed with THG and ABOSBAS too? I’ve fallen for the soundtrack and songs and it just fits what I have going for with Dany here~ definitely a lass with strong vocal song, the rebels could use song and music to strengthen their spirits 😌

While it’s more for the found family and platonic relationships! I have also thought, why don’t I insert Atsushi or Jason into Star Wars too 👀😳 make it an Au within an Au 🙌🏼 perhaps (─‿‿─)♡ and make them a Jedi or a pilot? 😍 heck yes!

We shall see 😊 I definitely love the design I have going for my self insert here! 🙌🏼

[david-talks-sw]

I got a good feeling about "The Acolyte"

Not even kidding. Like, I've spoken before about why I'm wary of it.

George Lucas' Star Wars is something that intentionally has black and white morality, rather than shades of gray. Those movies are meant for kids and projecting a "gray" morality onto them then proclaiming it was George's vision all along is doing so in bad faith.

The narrative of the Prequels doesn't frame the Prequel Jedi in as negative a light as Leslye Headland, Dave Filoni, etc etc do.

See here for more details, but bottom line: yeah, a show that has a darksider as the underdog is bound to demonize the Jedi (who are the actual underdogs in the Prequels), and obviously that rubs me the wrong way.

BUT.

The trailer looks fucking cool. It really really does.

And more importantly? I've done some research... and Leslye Headland is ticking a lot of good boxes, in my book.

1. The Acolyte won't be a 10-hour movie.

I've criticized Disney Plus shows before, explaining that a big source for most of their issues is that these series are being structured as "long movies" rather than, y'know, actual shows.

But in this interview with Collider, Headland addresses that: it'll be a series. Not a long movie that you need to watch across four weeks.

Thank God. You have no idea how much that comforts me. Finally a showrunner who's, y'know, actually running a show.

And this goes hand in hand with what she told IGN, here, about how she's going about building suspense.

Yes! Exactly! That's how it's supposed to be!

Like, compare this to Baylan Skoll's storyline in Ahsoka.

In no possible way was that emotionally-fulfilling. For 8 episodes we had no idea what he was after, and the season ended where we still don't know. What does he want? What is he after? Your guess is as good as mine, it's something Mortis-related.

So yeah. Maybe getting the Emmy-nominated trained screenwriter on board to run this was a good idea.

2. Maybe the Jedi will not be as demonized as I originally thought.

Don't get me wrong. 80% of what she says about the Jedi makes me cringe. It's the typical fan's interpretation and y'all know I disagree with that interpretation.

It's painful to see her refer to the Jedi as an institution (not how the Prequels' narrative frames them) and to see her frame "Balance" in the "oh there's so many of them and just two Sith, that means the Force is out of balance" meaning... but at least she acknowledges the Jedi are a benevolent institution.

They're not an "elitist force hiding in their ivory tower" as others have described the Jedi.

Moreover, there'll be a variety of Jedi POVs, many personalities.

Yord Fandar, is described as a strictly by-the-book Jedi Knight and guardian from the Jedi Temple, is an overachiever and a rule follower.

The question now becomes: will the narrative frame him as "your typical Jedi" or is it just this one guy? I'm hoping it's the latter.

I also like how her reasoning goes re: Jedi drawing their lightsabers.

Which explains the hand-to-hand combat seen in the trailer.

This teenager is coming at Carrie-Ann Moss with a dagger, of course the Jedi won't draw her saber.

3. She's a fan of Star Wars... but a screenwriter first.

You can tell in the interviews she's a fan. She's using words like "BBY" and "EU" casually. In the above-linked interviews she's bringing up the Nightsisters, Timothy Zahn, The Clone Wars, she mentions she has a tattoo of Ralph McQuarrie's concept art of Leia, the High Republic books, etc.

She's done her homework. She's a fan.

But the vibe I'm getting from these interviews is that she's weaving in these various lore-elements in a more organic way, rather than in the "fan-servicey" way Dave Filoni has been doing in his shows.

The references and Easter Eggs will be there, but the narrative won't bend over itself just so you can get it. Crafting a good story comes first, and Andor is a beautiful illustration of why this is true.

Which is why I was never bothered about one of the writers never having watched Star Wars before getting the job. You need those fresh eyes when you're tackling something of this scale.

That makes sense to me. Maybe it's because of my own screenwriting experience, but yeah. That out-of-the box perspective is precious.

And like, obviously, that writer watched the films eventually, but for some reason everyone who bitched about Headland omitted that detail and opted for a more bad faith interpretation.

Hm. Wonder why.

Maybe it's the same reason that months ago this clipped audio circulated socials without context, in which she debates whether Star Wars only came from George Lucas and only Lucas is the key.

The FULL context of that interview reveals that she's actually:

debating the "autheur director" myth and positing that it was achieved by a collective of excellent filmmakers and craftspeople that George was skilled and smart enough to recruit...

the studios now think it's a simple as hiring one guy and throwing money at him, because they have no idea what the fuck they're talking about. See Napoleon (2023) for example.

Yes, she also does a jab to the Prequels, which speaks to the generation of fans she's a part of... but overall she's giving Lucas props whilst also stating an ideological difference, that's it!

George is a proponent of the "autheur" theory, Leslye isn't.

However, guess what, in like half the talks George gave post-selling Star Wars? He's giving shoutouts to everyone who helped make the first film, even remembering their names.

So I'm not even sure he'd vehemently disagree with Leslye, in fact they'd prolly have a conversation about it and immediately bitch about how stupid studio executives are :D

But that's not as incendiary, is it? Again, the more I do the research, the more it feels like the reason most of these influencers are hating on her is purely sexist.

I mean, on IGN she's even acknowledging that she does plan on taking stock of fan reactions for Season 2.

It's not a guarantee that she'll incorporate the feedback, but at least that's more consideration than, say, JJ Abrams or Rian Johnson gave the fandom.

She's even bringing the moral ambiguity that the Gray Jedi-loving edge-lords love so much.

"No, she's a woke feminist! Anything she does is evil! Eww, girls!"

🙄

Needless to say... I'm gonna give it a shot.

I think it's gonna be a good show, I think it's gonna be a solid story.

I'm crossing my fingers that they won't as biased against the Jedi as it seems they'll be. Even if they are... if it's still an enjoyable experience, I'll gloss over it.

As @gffa states in this post:

Worst case? It's not a story from George. I can dismiss it from my headcanon without a moment's hesitation :D

[yeehawhijack]

If y’all got citation tag me pls

[radiosummons]

Real talk: Does the Jedi Order have a tax exempt status?

I know it's somewhat of a meme to make jokes about how the Jedi don't know how to pay taxes, or rather questioning whether they get paid or make any income at all. And, yes, this question is kinda dumb in the sense that whether the Jedi Order has tax exempt status or not, it doesn't effect the over all story or any actual SW lore in any way that actually matters.

I also know that tax exempt status works differently in other countries besides the US (yes, hello, I am American. I hate it here, too). But for the sake of taking this very dumb question at face value, would the Jedi Order:

1) Count as a religious institution in the eyes of Republic law?

2) If so, would their status as a religious institution have any impact on whether they attained tax exempt status from the Republic?

3) What standards and regulations would the Republic IRS have in place regarding tax exemption?

4) Do the Jedi even have an accounting department?

I would peronally argue that, yes, the Jedi Order is in fact a religious institution. On the account of the obvious connection to the Force and heavily coded (if not just downright) religious practices that the Jedi follow.

However, even if the Republic were to grant the Jedi Order the status of a lawfully recognized religious institution, I'm not sure if this would actually lead to them a guaranteed tax exempt status.

According to United States IRS standards and regulations, the Jedi Order could and would also be seen as a religious institution. However, one of the biggest stipulations for retaining tax exempt status is that the religious institution does not attempt to or make any influence on legislative or attempt to influence political campaigns.

(Palpatine voice: Ironic).

Now, if the Republic had similar stipulations, I would argue that, no, the Jedi do not get tax exemption. Mostly because one of the longest known duties associated with the Jedi Order is their role in assisting with galactic diplomacy. It would be literally impossible for them to not get involved in some capacity, especially when their aid is often directly requested (whether by a Republic aligned planet or not).

That being said, this is all going by the standards of the IRS. And at the risk of sounding too jaded, there are hundreds if not outright thousands of religious institutions in the US that should have lost their tax exempt status decades ago. And yet ....

Obviously, this all ultimately depends on what standards the Republic would theoretically have in place for situations like this. And while I would never actually want George Lucas--or any other writer for that matter--to attempt to give us a canon answer, I can't help but wonder.

Even if the Jedi Order was completely self-reliant--which I personally don't think is possible due to them, well, living on Coruscant for thousands of years-just as an example. It just doesn't make sense to me that the Jedi would limit themselves to only what they make in house when they could have easy access to other local businesses, ya know?--whose to say that they wouldn't still be required to pay for taxes like regular citizens?

The Jedi Temple, again, has literally been there for thousands of years. I don't think it's entirely out of the realm of possibility that the Republic wouldn't have sent their own SW IRS agent at least once to audit the Jedi Order.

I honestly wouldn't even be surprised if that Jedi Order would be given a slight form of tax exemption, but only if certain conditions were met. Like, I don't know, what if an official member of the local Coruscantii/Republic government were to make a direct request for the aid of the Jedi. Maybe they'd get a tax write off for all the transportation and housing (or vehicular damage) they'd acrue while on this government sponsored mission?

Or what about this? Business institutions in the US get tax write offs for charitable donations (which the fuckers exploit to hell and back, fuck me). I have to wonder if there was a point in time (maybe the early years of the ye Old Republic) where someone had to bring up the fact that a lot of what the Jedi do could count fall under charitable tax deductions. So if they wanted to continue taxing the Jedi Order, they'd probably have to change up the definition or something.

Idk, man, I'm sort of spit balling random thoughts at this point.

I'd also like to say that I believe the Jedi do, in fact, have an accounting department. Just to keep thing running smoothly in regards to the Temple budget and so on. It would be kinda hard to keep a place that big with that many occupants still around and for that long without having someone keeping a close eye on the Order's spending.

Mostly, though, I just find the idea of the Jedi being audited absolutely hilarious.

[pedros-mustache]

nighthawks (19)

series masterlist || previous chapter

word count: 5.4k+

warnings: canon typical violence and weaponry, allusion to smut (creampie), language, x fem!reader

a/n: i have rEtUrNeD! thank you for your patience, for your kindness, and for your support. even if i’m the last gal standing, i’m finishing this dadgum story if it is the last thing i do. 

also: i play fast and loose with some mandalorian lore in this chapter. figured i would give a heads-up in case that is important to you. 😘

DAY ONE-HUNDRED-SEVEN—LOCATION: UNDISCLOSED JEDI TRAINING CAMP

Hours later, the Sunder lands in the same place it did seventy-six days ago: on a rocky patch of earth swallowed by fog and mystery. From the open mouth of the cargo hold, you peer into the mist, imagining what lay beyond the edge of the clearing. Skywalker’s academy sits at the very edge of the known galaxy, but maybe that was always his intent. You don’t know much about the Jedi—only the rumors that swirl through the galaxy like hushed whispers—but it seems to you that the Jedi thrive on secrecy and shadow. You couldn’t pinpoint your location even if you tried.

You suppose it doesn’t matter. You are here, standing in the Sunder and on a planet you never thought you would see again. You have been afforded one too many second chances over the course of your obstinate life. 

You refuse to fuck up again.

Something thuds on the cargo hold floor behind you, and you look over your shoulder. Din stands in front of an open weapons cabinet. He slowly strips himself of his armor one methodical movement at a time. Like a priest preparing for a ritual sacrifice, his mood is a solemn one. Not quite sad, not quite happy either. Sober perhaps. There is a chance that the hunt for Crik could go sour and—

You shake the thought off. It is poison to an already-feeble stomach. 

Though visiting home did you well, you have yet to reconnect with the snarling girl of one-hundred-seven days ago. Something in you has quieted since returning to your birthplace. You don’t like the feeling, that tranquility in your chest. The places that once churned with anger and regret have turned peaceable and mellow. It is… unnatural. Uncomfortable.

Inhaling sharply, you wade through your clouded mind to find a spot of clarity. Now isn’t the time for introspection. Time is wasting with Crik ever on the move. 

You close in on Din’s side, leaning against the weapons cabinet as he hangs the remaining portions of his armor. “What is it you’re going to say? To Grogu?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, avoiding your pointed gaze. He exchanges his tac belt for a heavy cloak, and the fabric transforms him from a warrior to a wanderer. “But I want to see him. Just in case.”

Just in case. The sense of foreboding shrouding those words brings a chill to your spine. Your mouth runs dry. Fuck, just what is it you are asking him to do? Sacrifice himself for you and your quest for revenge? It’s too much. It is all too much to ask. 

Surely someone else is on the hunt for Crik; you cannot be the only one. A renown swindler, an expert smuggler—you remember Din said there are at least seven fobs with his name on them floating around the cosmos, if not more. Someone else could do this; someone else could bring him in. 

But no. This is your fight, and Din offered it to you so easily, so confidently. He wants this maybe as much as you do. 

“Hey.” Din touches your shoulder. You blink, and the belly of the Sunder comes into focus, as gray and cold as it has always been. Din though—Din touches your arm with a warmth that goes straight to your stomach. “It will be okay.”

“Yeah.” You step away, nodding in earnest as you hurry to tidy the floor. You shove a random boot beneath your arm then grab a scratchy blanket and throw it over your shoulder. “Yeah, I know. It will be fine.”

You move deeper into the cargo hold, further away from Din and the nerves that cling to your skin like a germ. Your arms grow heavy with the objects you collect from the floor. When was the last time someone cleaned up in here? Would a little organizing kill the man? You can barely form a path to the turbolift with the number of boxes scattered across the cargo hold. It’s almost as if the Mandalorian’s habit of decluttering and stripping the ship of any human touch was suspended. As if he were preoccupied with something—someone—else over the last few months.

On that thought, you drop your gathered items to a wooden crate in the middle of the ship. You sigh, hanging your head in remorse. It’s wrong to brush aside Din’s attempts at comfort; it’s wrong to overlook the obvious signs of his affection. But you can’t help yourself. Not when you and your mistakes are the reason he now straps on a pair of hiking boots so he can say goodbye to his son. Just in case.  

It’s too much. It is all too much to ask.

The wooden crate you lean against boasts a small pile of veritable junk. In addition to the things you picked off of the floor, there are a few wayward screws and an empty holster draped over the corner. Out of curiosity, you lift the holster and find it is not empty; the weapon inside is merely small. You haven’t seen it before, and you pride yourself on your knowledge of the Sunder’s weapons cache. Not so long ago, Din made you catalog every Makerforsaken weapon in the ship and this definitely wasn’t in the small blaster container.

The weapon is small, only large enough to fit snugly in the palm of your hand. You curl your fingers around the black hilt, rubbing your thumb over the ribbed base. Strange thing, this weapon. You frown as you turn it over in your hand. It pulses with an unseen energy, like a mystic heartbeat, and all your worry about Din and the weight of what is to come, about Crik and journeying to Hoth, about your own complicated existence, vanish. The weapon catches you in its trance, and you stare back, unblinking. You find a small circle inlaid on the side with your nail. You cock your head, scratching the button as you ponder.

Across the room, Din must wonder at your sudden silence. His canteen smacks against the weapons cabinet as he turns to look for you. When he sees you, you hear him take two hurried steps forward. “No! Don’t—”

Too late. You push the button. 

With a hiss, the weapon in your hand extends. 

A jet black blade fringed with glowing white light cuts through the dim atmosphere of the ship. Long—sharply hewn point—heavy—alive. The weapon is bold and understated at the same time. It is haunted and holy. It is something otherworldly, sent from the heavens or maybe the pits of hell. Maker, you don’t know. You don’t know but it clings to you. 

Your initial instinct is to drop the thing, to escape what is so obviously not meant for you, but your fingers tighten of their own accord. As you stare, the weapon’s power seeps beneath your every pore. You swear you can hear the blade itself singing a far away lullaby, a song of old, one that touches something deep in your heart.

Yes. Yes! it calls. Our mother, our mother.

Your heart pounds, and your ears ring. Blood rushes through your veins, potent and sizzling with energy. You cannot breathe—cannot think—as the words of the weapon flood your senses. Sight and sound merge into a pinpoint focus on the faraway language that curls through your mind.

Mother—mother—mother. 

Sacred mother—holy mother—at last joined with her holy mate.

Come to us, Mother. Return to—

“Scout.” Din’s voice is low and gentle, a shepherd consoling a lost sheep. You startle, gasping for breath as his hand comes to rest on top of yours. The words which consume you begin to fade, dripping from your mind like ink spilled on blank parchment. “That’s not yours.”

You do not look at him. You cannot look away. “But—”

“Let me take it.”

Without warning, he presses the inlaid button, and the blade disappears within the hilt on a soft whoosh. In an instant, the magnetic hold of the sword is gone. The vice-like grip that held your mind releases, and you sag backwards, falling against Din’s chest. You exhale, trembling.

“What—what was that?”

“It’s called the Darksaber.”

“I heard it… singing.”

Din stiffens. The tension is subtle, but you can feel it in the way he shoves the Darksaber in his waistband with a snap. There is something wrong here, something very wrong. 

Din circles to face you, his hands firm on your shoulders. “What was it you heard, mesh’la?” The concern in his voice is evident, and that concern is strong enough that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt you have opened something bigger than yourself.

You want to answer him and parse out the strange words that still ring in your ears

but—

Ka’ered enters the cargo hold. “Ready to go, Mandalorian?”

Turning your face to the newcomer, you blink away the tears rimming your eyes. Your muscles vibrate with unspent energy, your stomach a clenching pit of anxiety. You feel sick. Whatever it was you saw and heard in the Darksaber, it feels like too much for you to consider right now. There will be time later, after Grogu and Crik and righting the wrongs of so long ago…

Din isn’t so quick to sweep the moment under the rug. “Your timing is shit,” he tells Ka’ered. 

Ka’ered looks back and forth between you and the angry sheen of Din’s helmet. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You answer the question in unison. 

Your eyes flash to Din’s, and you grit your teeth. “It’s fine. We need to get going anyway.”

You can almost feel him roll his eyes as you brush past. “Scout—” 

“Mando, please. We can talk about it later.”

“When later?” 

“I don’t know. Just—later.”

“I’m getting tired of all the laters. There are things we—” 

A two-toned beep fills the cargo hold. Din shakes his head in frustration as he hurries to the table on which he left his communicator. He glances at the face of the tech piece then shoves it in his back pocket.

“Gods-fucking-damn-it,” he mutters. He grabs his knapsack from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. “Skywalker is ready.”

“Then let’s not keep him waiting.” 

As you prepare to slowly follow Ka’ered down the loading dock, Din catches your bicep at the top of the ramp. You look away from the unsteady doctor to meet the inexpressive helmet of your lover. You already know what he is going to say before he says it, but still, you listen. 

“Later is going to come, Scout. Before we go to Hoth, you and I are going to sit down and talk. About everything.”

A tucked-away sliver in your chest flares in indignation. He can’t tell you what to do. Since day one the Mandalorian—Din Djarin—has never been able to tell you what to do. Though you love him, though you would happily kill for him, you are not his puppet. You are not his plaything. You are your own, molded by the hard work of your own hands. 

Have you really changed so much in your months with him? Have you truly forgotten what it means to be fashioned out of fire and brimstone? 

The ember of that faraway girl—so brash and rude and everything you need to be on this next hunt—glows in the pit of your stomach. You cling to the hot violence of your youth, stroking it between love-soaked fingers. Come on, you think. Come to life again just this once.

There—you see her—in the corner of your heart, backed between a rock and soft place. You stretch out your hand, and she snarls. Somewhere inside, you smile.

You jerk your bicep out of Din’s hand. “We’ll see about that,” you bite, your tone gone cold with disdain. You take a few steps down the ramp before tossing an upturned brow over your shoulder. “Later.”

/

DAY ONE-HUNDRED-NINE—LOCATION: HEGORA

Din can tell you feel out of place. Out of practice. Out of control.

You duck, you thrust, you parry, and yet— 

you fail.

Time and time again, the muzzle of his gun comes to rest on the exposed flesh of your waist or the small of your back. “Dead,” he says, the word toneless. “Again.”

It is the strangest thing, this sudden change in you. You struggle where you did not struggle before. Though you fight him with the tooth-and-nail bite of the first day he met you, you are uncoordinated and sloppy. You do not think before you act, and you pay the price. With painful repetition, your back, your ass, or your knees become intimately acquainted with the soft earth. 

To your credit, each time he bests you, you accept defeat without argument. You rise on trembling legs, square your center, and you fight him again. You are dogged, a typhoon struggling against the house upon a rock. You do not give up. You fight your hardest but it is as if every sliver of training he has drilled into you over the past six months has disappeared. You have reverted back to your old ways—and he’s not sure how to respond.

Since arriving at Skywalker’s academy, you have retreated into yourself. You are standoffish, bordering on cruel. During Din’s brief meeting with Grogu, you stood to the side, arms crossed, face pulled tight in a frown. You gave Ka’ered a half-hearted wave when he elected to remain at the academy to help Skywalker with his trainees; you barely said a word on the trek back to the Sunder, even after Grogu reached out to toy with the end of your braid in a kind farewell. Irritable—despondent—a mere fragment of the girl he has come to know and love.

So he elected to bring you to Hegora before facing the frigid wilderness of Hoth. It has been one-hundred-one days since Din last brought you here yet it feels like one-hundred-one lifetimes with all that has passed. It was here, though, where your partnership first began to blossom, and he is hopeful it is here he can root out whatever bitter weed is now poisoning you.

Din knocks you to the ground again with a firm elbow to the center of your chest. You weren’t looking, were distracted by something off in the distance, so he took the opening. You hit the ground with a weak grunt, your palms breaking your fall before your head can connect with the ground too. Sweat rolls down the side of your face, and you groan, angling your head back to face the sun.

“Damn,” you mutter—as though you had a chance, as though you were even trying.

Frustration worms beneath the concern cocooning Din’s patience. He grabs the front of your tunic and lifts you from the ground with a rough heave. “For fuck’s sake, Scout. What’s wrong with you?”

He tries in vain to keep the irritation out of his voice but he cannot understand this change in you. All your skill, all your focus—gone in the blink of an eye, shattered like glass upon an unforgiving floor.. 

You shove him away. “I don’t know. I just—” You sigh, neck drooping, eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

“Are you scared?”

Head lifting, you narrow your eyes. “No.” 

Din scoffs, the irritation in his chest flaring with your obstinance. “Liar.” He flips his blaster over his wrist to return it to its holster. “There are things we need to discuss.”

“Yeah?” You brush your braid over your shoulder. “Like what?”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

With a dismissive wave of your hand, you step away, reaching for your canteen discarded on the ground. “I just want to get this over with, Din. I don’t want any distractions.” You take a swig of water then wipe the back of your hand across your mouth. You keep your gaze fixed on the horizon, and he wonders where your thoughts float off to.

Gently, he sets out to plead his case. You are skittish, and for good reason; he must tread carefully. Still, Din can’t shake the feeling that setting out for Hoth with so much other weighing down the hunt is a bad idea. 

“We should talk—about the Darksaber, about what your father said to me on Inora, about Grogu and what’s going to—” 

“No.” You shake your head and toss your canteen to the side. “I can’t do that right now. We need to get Crik.”

“We won’t get Crik if you are distracted.” 

Eyes snapping to face him at last, you stab a finger in the direction of his chest. “We won’t get Crik if you are filling my head with—with other things.”

“These aren’t other things. It’s your future, our future.” He winces at the edge in his voice. Gently—gently—he can’t fuck this up for fear you will run to Hoth with your vision painted scarlet.

“I don’t want to talk about our future. I want to get Crik.”

“So do I.” He pauses to ease his tone to a caress. “But I want to know that you’re with me.”

You hesitate, and the bewilderment that twists your brow almost makes Din wish he hadn’t said anything at all. 

“Haven’t I made myself clear? I’m with you until the end.”

“The end of what? This job? This year?” He steps forward to take your hand, but relents when you withdraw, shoulders pulling back in defense. He holds up his palm in surrender. “Talk to me, Scout.”

You work your jaw back and forth for a moment of consideration. Your eyes darken as a nameless emotion rises to swallow your face. When you speak, your voice is hardly a whisper, a soft breeze caught in the grass. “I’m with you to the end of the fucking universe.”

The breath in Din’s lungs catches in his throat. He grunts to dislodge the feeling. He nods. “Fine.”

“Good.” You blink, swallow hard, find a comfortable place for your feet to rest. You fist your hands and square your center. “Now fucking fight me, Mandalorian.”

Cocking his head to the side in approval, Din pulls a small blade from the belt on his waist. He flicks his wrist, and the smooth, shining piece of metal ejects with a click. “Show me what you’re made of, mesh’la.”

With an angry screech, you shift your weight onto your back heel and attack. Your right leg explodes outward as your hips rotate in a semicircle. The heel of your foot strikes Din’s wrist, and his fingers reflexively relax. The knife falls to the ground.

But Din Djarin is quick. Always has been, always will be. And this journey to Hoth will test every hard-trained muscle in his body. He needs to be ready—just like you.

As the knife tumbles to the ground and before you can resume your fighting stance, Din circles his fingers around your offending ankle. He yanks, pulling you roughly in his direction. You collapse, your forearms taking the brunt of your fall. Still, you crawl forward, desperately searching for purchase between the grass and the dirt. He grits his teeth and tightens his hold on your ankle.

“Not so fast.”

But you are quick. Always has been, always will be. And this journey to Hoth will test every hard-trained muscle in your body. You need to be ready—just like him.

Propelling your weight over your shoulders, you flip to your back, your free leg swinging as you go. The firm tread of your boot connects with his arm, and again he releases you. Grunting in frustration, he withdraws a different knife as you scramble to your feet.

A line of dirt cakes your cheek. You spit a wad of blood to the ground. Beneath his helmet, Din smirks.

Sunlight glints off of the painted blue dagger you unsheathe from the leather scabbard tied around your thigh. As if you can sense his amusement, a grin of your own captures your face. Somewhere overhead a bird caws, circling the valley, the same valley in which you sparred before. 

He moves first. 

Din angles his shoulder inward as he rushes forward, but you have enough time and enough wherewithal to step to your left, positioning yourself just out of reach. The corner of his pauldron catches your shirtsleeve. He catches a whiff of your perfume—a gift from your mother—on the wind. He was close, but not close enough. Fast, but not fast enough. 

Reaching out, you fist your hand in the loose fabric around his neck and use the momentum of his body to jump onto his back. You cling to him like a lichen to rock, bearing down hard from your position above his head. Your legs wrapped tight around his chest, you lean hard on the back of his neck, trying with all of your strength to force him to his knees. You knock his head to the side with an errant elbow. He teeters, but does not fall. 

He dips at the waist. With half of your body poised near or above his shoulders, the sudden shift throws your center of balance off of its smug perch. You gasp, and your hands release his helmet and his arm to grip his pauldrons. Din uses the change in position and the momentary fear to reach over his shoulder and locate your armpit. He grips hard, securing his hold, before throwing his hips backward and up. You slide from his back with a soft oof. 

But you take him down with you. Your fingers remain attached to his pauldron, and as you fall, he tips to the side. When you hit the ground, his knee buckles beneath the weight of your body pulling against his. He falls, and his head bangs against the earth with a heavy thud. 

Upper hand found, you push him to his back, setting your knees on the juncture between his shoulders and his armpits. The fine point of your dagger digs into the flesh of his neck. You grin, sweat glistening on your forehead. “Gotcha.”

He swallows past the dry patch in his throat. “Unfair advantage. I hit my head.” He sucks in air as he struggles to catch his breath. “I’m out of practice.”

You cluck your tongue in mock-scolding. “Excuses, excuses.”

“No. It’s the truth.” Gently, Din removes you from your seat upon his chest so he can sit up. “That time on Inora was the longest stretch of unpaid leave I’ve taken in awhile.”

You roll your eyes. “You need to get out more.”

“You just want to see me work in the field without my armor on.” He nudges you with his shoulder, and the smile with which you reward him is enough to steal his breath away all over again.

“Maybe.” You give a playful shrug of your shoulders, nudging him back. “A girl can dream.”

A moment of quiet passes. Din extends his canteen to you, and you drink readily. You dutifully look away when he takes his own mouthful of water. One day, he muses. One day soon. 

Hegora has not changed in the months since he first brought you here, but you have changed. He has changed. The landscape still rolls into infinity, gentle and graceful and everything Din sees you becoming. The rocks remain steadfast, the treetops swayed by the eastern wind. Din is somewhere between the rocks and the trees, forging a new path, a new Way. 

With you. 

“Let’s hash it out then. Right now. Before tomorrow, let’s put it all out on the table.” 

Din looks away from the distant grove of trees, pulled from his thoughts by your resolute voice. “Really?” 

You nod. A sweaty lock of hair falls in front of your face, but you push it away. “I hate to say it—really I do—but you’re right. We have things to talk about, and we should do it before we go after Crik.

“Okay.” Bracing his elbows on bent knees, Din begins with a question. “Why have you been so angry since we left Skywalker and the kid? We’ll go back once this is all done, give him a proper home…”

You pause to peer up into the bright, blue sky. Drawing in a deep breath, you steady yourself. Din covers your hand with his gloved-palm, and you turn to look at him. Your face softens as your fingers twist to notch between his. 

“I needed to dig in,” you say. “Try and find the me from before. The girl who fought so hard against everything and hated everyone.” You hang your head on a sigh. “I found her, and I thought she would help me get ready to fight Crik, but…” Twisting a blade of grass between your fingers, you shake your head. “I don’t think it worked. She’s not… me anymore.”

“No, she’s not.”

You look up. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“Guess not.” You blink, eyes wide with questions. Din just squeezes your hand. “I like you like this. I mean, I like you angry and rearing for a fight, but I like you like this too.”

“Like what?”

He hesitates then moves to cup your cheek in his palm. His thumb brushes over the smear of dirt on your skin. “You know it now, all of the things you ignored before. You are forgiven—treasured—” His heart lifts to his mouth, and he does not fight the confession any longer. “Loved.”

He swallows hard. He watches your face. He waits for you to respond.

Loved—I love you. Please hear me. 

You suck in a quivering breath as tears flood your eyes. Scoffing, you shake your head and avert your gaze to keep the tears from flowing. With a laugh, you shove his shoulder. “You would,” you whisper, wiping your now tear-stained cheeks. “You would tell me you love me like this. So matter-of-fact.”

Din rubs his hand along the back of his neck, his face warm. “Can’t seem to stop forming attachments to the people who come into my life and are supposed to be temporary. First Grogu, now you…” He shakes his head on a rueful chuckle of his own. “I’ve got a type, I guess.”

“I’m not temporary, Din. I told you: to the end of the universe.” Before he can question you any further, you twist your legs to the side and angle your torso to better face him. “My turn for a question. The Darksaber, what it said to me back on the ship… What does it mean?”

“Gotta tell me what it said first.”

“It called me its mother. Sacred mother—holy mother—at last joined with her holy mate, it said. A bunch of nonsense, but…” Your brow furrows as the brief moment of amusement drains from your face. “I felt it—in my gut and in my head.”

Din leans back, resting his weight on his palms. A cool breeze whispers over the heat rising in his body. His heart thuds against his ribcage. Externally, he is relaxed, a man lounged alongside his partner. Internally, the significance of your revelation is not lost upon him. In fact, it drowns him in reality. If the hunt for Crik goes sideways, he risks losing you. Mandalore risks losing you. Suddenly, cruelly, the promise he made to you to bring Crik to justice seems foolish.

“Mando?” You wave your hand in front of his visor. “Hello?”

He snaps to attention, clearing his throat. “There is a legend. On my home planet, the Darksaber is wielded by the rightful ruler of Mandalore. This is widely accepted. But there is a legend about the Mand’alor’s mate…”

You lean close, hooked on every word. “Well?”

“I haven’t thought about it for a long time. I learned about it as a kid, didn’t think it mattered, wasn’t really sure if it was real. But then I won the saber and—”

“Din, tell me for fuck’s sake! What does the legend say?”

“The Mand’alor’s mate will rise like a phoenix from the ashes.” He continues quoting those ancient words drilled into his head as a boy. “Fire and ice, fury and forgiveness. She will be two sides to her own coin. She will rule longer than the Mand’alor himself, and she will bring an upheld peace to the clans.”

“So you think… the Mand’alor’s mate… is me?”

“If you believe the legend, then who else?”

“What about Grogu?”

“After Hoth, we’ll go get him. He can come with us.”

“To Mandalore?”

Din shrugs. “If that is what we decide. But we don’t have to make up our minds now.” 

Rising to his feet, Din offers his hand. You take it, and he pulls you to standing. Your body falls flush against his, and he molds his fingers to the curve of your hips. He dips his head to press the curve of his helmet to your brow. You hum with appreciation as you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers find the unshorn ends of his hair, and he is home—here, with you, on the Hergoan hillside.

“You really do, don’t you?” The whisper cuts through his honey-sweet reverie.

“What?”

“Love me.”

Without hesitation, he responds. “Yes.”

The corners of your mouth pull into a girlish smile. Your eyelashes flutter across your cheekbones, and the sun shines from beneath your very skin. He is besotted. He is in love. 

He reaches out to curl his finger around the ends of your hair. “My girl,” he whispers.

You laugh and roll your eyes in jest. “Your mate, apparently. Not sure we had an option to avoid all this. We might have been fated to end up this disgusting.”

Din thumbs your chin with the knuckle of his forefinger. “In another life, I’d fight fate to make you mine.”

“I still have questions.”

“I know. For what it is worth, me too.”

Sliding your hands from his neck down his arms, you peer up at Din with a sweet glaze covering your face. So unlike before, so precious now. “Kiss me,” you whisper. “Before tomorrow comes and things get desperate, kiss me.”

When your eyelids flutter shut, Din pulls the helmet from his head. He drops it to the ground, and he thinks he hears it roll away, perhaps down the slope, but he doesn’t care. He catches your face between his hands, and he kisses you. Over and over, his tongue roaming through the open cavern of your mouth. He kisses you until your knees buckle and you sink to the waiting earth. 

He takes you beneath the sky, amidst the waving field grass, with your legs wrapped tight around his back. He buries himself to the hilt of you and spills himself within you because he cannot help it and you beg him (“Inside me, Din. Please. Please.”).

After you have both found release, he sucks a dark mark on the side of your neck as you catch your breath, your nails drawing idle patterns along the skin of his shoulders. “My mate,” he murmurs.

“My Mand’alor,” you reply.

When night falls, he sleeps beside you under the stars. You lay tucked between his arm and his chest and your cheek is hot on the skin of his collarbone. Hegora spins on its axis, hurtling through the universe at break-neck speed, but you are safe at his side.

He could ask for nothing more.

/

DAY ONE-HUNDRED-TEN—LOCATION: HOTH

Snow and ice—as far as the eye can see. Blinding whites and blurry grays, all mixed together in a cacophony of bitter cold and wind. You stand at the top of the loading dock, bundled in the winter gear you stopped to purchase on Nevarro prior to entering Hoth’s atmosphere.

You stare into the beast that is Hoth’s unfeeling climate, and the beast stares back.

Yesterday…

Letting go of the girl you were for good…

Mandalore and the saber’s mate…

His mouth on yours and his body between your legs…

He loves you…

Din loves you.

More than you are able to process overnight, but it’s okay. You have time. Surely, you have time. There will be time for talking and planning and learning the true depths of each other when your business with Crik is through. But first you must complete the one thing you set out to accomplish. Long before Din and offering yourself to the Guild, there was Jeelia.

You suck in a breath. For Jeelia—always for her.

Sensing your resolve, Din interlaces his fingers with yours. He cocks his head to the cold wilderness as a gust of wind sweeps snow up the loading dock. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go.”

NEXT CHAPTER (coming soon)

[heirtotheempire]

Prefacing this with mentioning that I'm autistic and Star Wars as a whole is my special interest/fixation/whatever the term is. So it really, really, REALLY gets to me when the lore and context and history of this franchise gets stepped on.

If Filoni wants to write his fanfiction and do whatever he wants then that's fine go make something on AO3 or whatever. The issue is that this is official. And like, maybe I'm insane for thinking this, but official material should probably stick with the official lore. Lore that states midichlorian count is what determines force sensitivity. Not training. Lore that has had examples of lightsaber wielding characters that did not have to be called Jedi or have to train as Jedi. General Grievous is the best example of this. He was never Sith, he was never force sensitive, but he was really good at using lightsabers.

If Sabine wants to train using a lightsaber, then I don't see the problem. But I DO see an issue in trying to shoehorn in the idea that she has to be trained as a Jedi for it, or has to be force sensitive for any of this.

Hating the official lore (from the OT, Prequels, Sequels, etc) is fine, you do you. I understand critiquing canon and wishing it was different. But as fans, we aren't influencing canon by having these views or writing fanfic and drawing fanart about it. The stuff that is set in stone doesn't change when we have headcanons that go against lore. But Filoni seems to.... Want to alter how canon is based on his headcanons. Which results in a clumsily written show that steps on itself trying to tell a story.

Regardless of if you like Filoni's interpretation of things or not, he kinda needs a check on his power and influence. He isn't the king of Star Wars, he isn't some God that can only create good content. If anything, Mando S3 kinda proved that he can make something absolutely awful out of what was great. And I really hope that he recognizes that maybe he should re-consult the lore specialists a bit more for the official work he does before charging ahead and assuming everyone thinks hes hot shit.

[kedsandtubesocks]

in the shadow (of your heart) - Mandalorian!Bakugo

pairing: Mandalorian!Katsuki Bakugo x Jedi!Reader

tags & warnings: (all characters aged-up 25+) Star Wars AU, intense yearning and light angst, brief discussion of raising children, a surprise Jedi!Todoroki x Smuggler!reader appearance, Monoma bestie supremacy, exploration of mandalorian lore and customs, inexperienced Bakugo and the endearing fluff that comes with him

wc: 7.6k

a/n: here it is…the cultivation of all my other snippets and ficlets that have led to this moment, you don’t necessarily need to read them before to understand this but I think it would just add to the goodness of reaching this point, biggest and dearest thank you to @willowser & @ofmermaidstories always being my mando bakugo squad, also the title of this piece comes from the always lovely Florence + the machine & her song ‘cosmic love’ - thank you for reading!

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

It’s been a galactic month since your entire world collapsed.

A month has passed since the Jedi temple was attacked. A month since you woke up and found yourself in the bedroom of the mandalorian that conquered your heart.

And a month since you…

The thought of what you did has you flinching in pain like you just touched an exposed live wire.

Someone calls out your name. When you turn there stands Shouto along with his intriguing friend - the scavenger pickpocket who could speak seven and maybe even more languages.

“We plan to explore Tatooine tomorrow.” Todoroki is patient and calm, a true honor to his Jedi title. “You’re more than welcomed to join us.”

Even his friend, the pickpocketing smuggler who still does not seem trustworthy, wears a rather understanding look mirroring Shouto’s.

You think of the heat on Tatooine, the blistering mirage of the sand and the change of scenery it might bring.

So you agree to go.

Shouto smiles a reassuring grin that whispers of how proud he is for you to take this step.

His smuggler friend grins wider. “Sweet, guess that means I get to steal a bigger means of transport for us.”

“No.” Shouto flat out swiftly shuts the idea down.

Something hollow, the echo of a laugh leaves you but you hope even this is the start of returning back to yourself.

You send Monoma a private message over your jailbroken data pad about your upcoming trip. He immediately calls as you pack.

“Sure Tatooine is boring but...” Neito begins, a bit bored himself. “You can go snag me one of those nice satchels the vendors there sell.”

The truth is easy to find under his words.

I’m glad you’re getting out, I’m glad you’re trying to move forward.

You ask if the Jedi council has anything new to stay and just thinking about it draws a deep ache in your soul.

“Nah. They’re mainly keeping busy overseeing the rebuilding process and there’s been no update on the hunt for the culprit.”

You sigh. There had been no leads or luck on your side of the search either.

“I’m not surprised. Leads are going cold. Even with Sir disgusting picture perfect Jedi knight Deku still on Naboo, we got nothing.”

Oddly enough you missed hearing Monoma complain about the shining star that emerged from your academy class.

“Let’s hope Tatooine has something.” You hope.

“Well now with you on the investigation team I know we’ll get shit done. And if not, I’m getting so close to blowing something up myself.”

“Hey now.” You playfully chide Monoma. “No threats of violence now, Jedi Knight.”

Monoma chuckles weakly but the comment draws blood at a barely healing wound.

A silence settles between you and your dear friend. Its heaviness over the call clogs your senses and painfully crawls over your skin.

“Miss you dummy.” Nieto coughs out through tears and you furiously blink back your own.

“Miss you too, you annoying ass.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Tatooine’s heat bears down unforgivingly.

The planet’s two suns stings your eyes. There’s even sand in places you didn’t think it could reach. But the liveliness of Mos Eisley, the commotion of the markets, comfort you and raise your spirits.

Under the dry air it feels as if you are resurfacing, emerging from a fog you have existed in for an entire month.

It’s invigorating, has you strolling through the markets with a relaxed ease.

Shouto and his smuggler, who is notoriously friendly with the Jawas, decide to check the junkyards first for any new information and leads. You instead head to the city to hopefully pick up any chatter about the temple.

After all, you are no longer in your Jedi robes.

So any fear of someone not speaking about the temple around you is gone.

Among the bustling marketplace in the heart of the city, a stall with shimmering jewels and trinkets twinkling under the two suns snags your attention. Specifically a beautiful iridescent gem like pendant immediately catches your eye. The jewel hangs off a simple sturdy leather thread and allows the stunning crystal to be center focus. Your fingers trace over it gingerly and fondly.

“Oh, are you planning to propose soon?”

The vendor suddenly asks intrigued and brightly curious. Her words make you choke out a wild dry cough.

“Excuse me?” You politely and weakly laugh.

“That’s an engagement pendant!” The older twi’lek woman beams excitedly with a twinkle in her eyes almost rivaling her jewelry.

“You have someone special in mind?”

The image of who you have in mind flashes fast. His striking black beskar armor, the electric orange and green trimming… his loud voice…

Your heart starts crumbling in your chest.

“No.” Your reply is rather hollow. “Just thought it looked beautiful.”

Whatever else the woman hears in your voice is enough to quiet any more questions she might have. You return to browsing the other jewels offered on the stand. But even with the beautiful craftsmanship before you, a slow poison seeps into your mouth and you try swallowing it back. But your heart remains an open wound thinking of that mandalorian.

And you think it always might be now.

The stall vendor who went silent now gasps so sharply it spooks you. You snap your gaze up to her.

Her eyes staring beyond you are wide and hypnotized.

“A mandalorian.” She whispers.

A terrifying dread runs up your spine. The rational voice screaming inside your head argues it could be any mandalorian, that you shouldn’t be getting this worked up.

You decide to see and prove to yourself that it is not the mandalorian haunting your existence.

When you turn off to the side -

You discover striking obsidian beskar armor, a beautiful ink dot against the shimmering sands.

Your heart collapses. Your legs almost buckle.

The familiar beskar helmet stares straight at you.

“Shitty Jedi!”

Then the mandalorian screams so gutturally loud that half of the market turns towards him.

You turn the other way and run.

Your heart races wildly loud in your ears, a horrifying war like drumbeat.

It can’t be him.

But in your heart of hearts you know it is. You would know it’s him in every lifetime, in any other reality.

In such a wild panic you can’t fully comprehend your focus. You even forget to use the force to run away.

A dead end hallway stops you in your tracks. Before you can bolt in another direction, a mandalorian descends down from the sky. He lands before you a fiery man of myth immortalized straight from his people’s creed.

“What the fuck?!” Bakugo screams at you raw and demanding.

“Stop screaming!” You hiss back but your voice already begins cracking.

“No!” He snarls back.

“You’re going to cause a scene.” You snap back harder and glare fierce at him.

“I don’t fucking care!” He punches out every word not wavering once. Standing across from you, Bakugo is an intimidating force so broad and filling up the space with his armor.

It’s a simple staring contest. No words are spoken for what feels like hours. A part of you wonders if maybe this is all just a heat mirage illusion brought on by your sad heart.

You end up sighing defeated.

You weren’t going to have this discussion, this reunion, here in an alleyway of the city. You and him deserved better than that.

So with a silent nudge of your face beckoning him to you, the mandalorian wordlessly follows you back to the hostel Shouto’s smuggler booked.

A rapid nostalgic haze tugs at you. This feeling of him so close to you, walking through a crowded planet is as if not a day has gone by.

Yet, an entire month hangs between you and him.

Thankfully your two travel companions are still out when you return to the suite. In the eerie stillness of the cramped room, you turn to the tense warrior.

“What are you doing here?” You don’t even have the energy to yell at him.

Out of all the planets in this grand universe, how did you have the luck of stumbling into this man here?

“That annoying fuckin’ blonde Jedi friend of yours.” Bakugo replies gruffly and his words rattle your brain.

“Wait, Monoma?!” You’re the one shrieking now.

The helmeted warrior nods.

“He told me you’d be here…” Bakugo’s voice trails off.

Even with the rabid confusion consuming your brain, you remember Neito was planned to be sent back to Mandalore. However, he never spoke about it with you. So you began to wonder if he ever did go. Now it makes sense and only confirms your suspicions.

“Why did he tell you?” Your voice wavers frustrated.

The mandalorian’s fist clenches. “Because I told him I needed to talk to you, shitty Jedi.”

The term claws at your soul.

“I’m not a Jedi anymore.” You flat out tell him.

A moment passes.

“Yeah…blondie told me about that too.”

Your heart drops. Of course Monoma told him. He always was a damn gossip.

All you can do is shakily exhale.

The memory still stings so raw.

Leaving your lightsaber at the ruins of the temple, crying with Neito over your decision, sitting with a thick confusion that had you in a daze for days…

“Why?” Bakugo asks, confused, dare you even say genuinely concerned.

“Why did you leave the order?” He clarifies.

The question you knew was coming.

The weight of its answer still feels too grand, too out of reach even for you. It’s like your heart and mind can’t fully comprehend into words the complicated sticky reason.

You tried to justify that your confusion mainly stemmed from the trauma of the temple attack and that you needed time to mediate, to heal. But the truth, your answer, is that you wanted more.

You wanted to yank off the shackles keeping you from reaching for him, that kept you from embracing every aspect of your heart.

So you half heartedly lie.

“I couldn’t wholeheartedly serve the order anymore.” Even stripped of the title of Jedi knight, your answer surprises you. So noble and composed as ever, a hard habit you think you might never fully be rid of.

“What’s that supposed to fuckin’ mean?” Of course Bakugo sees through your words, tries digging through them.

“It means what it means.” You reply back sharply. “I couldn’t stay in the order. I had too much on my mind and I knew…”

You knew that everything in you ache to break everything you were raised with. Because after you faced ruin and destruction, you ached to step forward into a future full of life without anything holding you back, without worrying if you were disappointing anyone or even yourself.

“I knew I couldn’t honor the Jedi.” You finish simply.

You were thankful those like Shouto and Monoma especially understood and helped guide you. They supported you even after your path diverged from theirs.

It’s why you would continue to still help look for the culprit who attacked the temple. You might not see yourself as a Jedi anymore but that didn’t mean you would truly abandon them.

So absorbed in your thoughts you don’t realize how quiet the room has gotten until Bakugo suddenly breaks it.

“Sorry…Knew how much it meant to you.”

It did. But you realized there are things that might mean more.

All you can do is weakly thank him.

You sigh again as the weight of this moment slowly curls over your shoulders and tries to dig past your skin.

“Is that why you left without saying shit? Without even saying goodbye?” His voice gradually fluctuates with tension and hurt. It shreds apart your heart with a jagged edge.

After you had woken up in Bakugo’s room, you stayed in a pretend sleep whenever he returned, not ready to face him yet. You couldn’t continue to keep bringing him into your path of trouble. Even after meditating, even after deciding to leave the Jedi order, you came to the same conclusion. You needed to leave this mandalorian.

For his sake and maybe mainly yours.

So you tell him how you managed to leave like a wordless ghost.

In your first true selfish act, in your first step at shattering your sense of self as a Jedi, you used the force to sense when Bakugo left. Once he was far away enough, you slipped out of the hut. Using the force to cause diversions, you bolted straight to the planet’s port of entry. After that you slipped away onto the next transportation shop.

You cried the entire time on the way back to Coruscant.

You do not tell him this.

Now the consequence of all these actions, your actions, stands before you hurt and anger forged in a man of beskar armor.

“You didn’t even tell me.” His voice cracks and your eyes blink through cloudy tears to stare at him.

You ache to see his eyes, to know what this man looks like.

“I have my reasons, and I’m sorry. I really am.” You apologize, wiping your tears away.

“Yeah? Those reasons better be real fucking good!” He snarls and you glare furious at this mandalorian.

“You wouldn’t understand.” You snap back like a cornered loth cat. You’re tired. You’re emotionally drained and the heat of the planet is catching up to you. You wearily move to sit on the creaky dusty couch.

“To have something control your life that keeps you away from someone…from somethings-”

You quickly correct yourself, but your voice continues wavering more and more with the frustrated tears threatening to spill.

“You’re so loyal to your own creed and I…I couldn’t face you.”

You don’t tell him the whole truth.

You don’t utter the truth that you loved him so much that it alerted your entire world. You wanted to let yourself love him against all odds. But, you wonder if this myth of a man could even possibly hold the same feelings towards you.

Every emotion tears you apart all over again. Inside of you rages a storm ripping apart every safe harbor you had built. All you can do is close your eyes to stop the tears from the storm raging.

“You said it kept you away from someone.” Keen as ever, Bakugo catches your comment.

That’s when you also notice his voice is closer.

Your eyes snap open and your heart drops into your stomach. The explosive mandalorian kneels before you.

“Who?” He asks calm, firm and surprisingly low.

You can’t even say his name and instead stare at him, stubborn and your tongue locked up tight

Bakugo says your name in the same direct tone except now with an undercurrent of urgency.

“Who?” He repeats again.

Out of frustration or maybe finally the weight of your emotions cracks you. Angrily shove away tears until you eventually cry into one of your hands not even able to look at him.

“I knew we could never be together.” You croak out a whisper. “You’re engaged. And with your creed, even when I stopped being a Jedi I just…”

The words escape you on another sob.

Large gloved hands suddenly rest gently on your thighs. Panic snaps your eyes open and there his striking black helmet stares unwaveringly at you.

Bakugo firmly says your name and you wait for the heartbreak that’s about to come.

“Marry me.”

It doesn’t.

“What!?” You ask through tears and snot.

“Marry me.” Bakugo repeats as unflinching and true as he did the first time.

“You… you’re engaged!” You stammer out.

“Obviously not! I’m in love with you but I’m not a fucking asshole! I wouldn’t have asked you if I was still engaged!”

His words knock you breathless, throw you out of orbit and you’re surprised your body has not floated away.

“You love me.” The words don’t sound real even from your mouth.

He coughs out a watery sound and moves forward. His bodily slots between your legs effortlessly. He curls against you and presses his helmeted forehead to yours.

“More than you know, shitty jedi.” He croaks while his strong arms wrap you in his embrace.

“Not a Jedi anymore.” You mutter watery as you clutch onto him.

“You’re not.” Bakugo confirms as he moves to rest his helm against your face.

“Be my riduur instead.”

During your time in Mandalore you picked up on plenty of Mando’a phrases and words. You even flirted with the idea of trying to learn the language fully.

You did learn some mandalorian words held a sacredness that set them apart because of their layered holy weight.

Riduur is one of those words.

It translates to wife, husband, spouse. But riduur held the weight of a partner forged in such a deep love that the basic term of spouse couldn’t capture the bond a mandalorian marriage would bring.

Your eyes widen and a storm of tears blur your vision. This time however, it’s the overwhelming overflow of emotion filling your heart and spilling over.

Nodding you holding onto him tighter.

You try joking about wanting to be the only one who gets to annoy him for the rest of his life. But your voice comes out a ridiculous sob.

Bakugo barks a wild chuckle and his arms tighten around you as well.

“S’why I asked you. Couldn’t put up with any other extra.”

Your eyes close right as you now hold onto your fiancé, and the thought of that makes your brain trip over itself.

“We’re getting married.” You mutter out mainly to yourself still not believing it.

“Damn right.” Bakugo growls low and proud.

“Congratulations.”

Your eyes snap open wide and horrified at hearing Todoroki’s simple flat comment.

Your mandalorian scrambles away from your embrace to instead lean in front of you, as if to shield you.

Standing in the door’s entryway is Todoroki and his smuggler friend who smacks your once fellow Jedi knight.

“I told you to keep quiet!” The smuggler cries out horrified at being caught.

You’re embarrassed. Bakugo is screaming obscenities but for some reason, you laugh. It’s a buyout laugh filling you bright and beautiful. That’s when the force suddenly surges through you warm and celebratory.

Earlier this month you thought it had slipped away. That even the force itself began to pull away because of your decisions.

But now it hums beautifully in and around your body, exhilarated and electric. You think you could power an entire planet.

You laugh and simply lean against your fiancé who continues to threaten to blast poor Todoroki out the window. But his hand suddenly reaches out to your knee and he squeezes it tight, reassuring as if to say I am here.

You came to Tatooine simply looking for a lead on the temple attack.

Now would be leaving it engaged with a mandalorian by your side.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“Come back to my ship with me.” He mutters softly after you manage to drag him away to a local cantina to grab something to eat.

You don’t hesitate to follow him.

The inside of his grand sleek starship, modified to fit a whole room compartment, greets you like the warmest old friend. You even take a stroll around trying to see if he added anything new.

“So you wanna to get married now or what?” Bakugo simply asks.

Your mind feels as if he just set off one of his explosives inside.

“Now?!” You shriek shrill and chaotic.

“Yes now.” You’ve been with him long enough to know this tone suggests he’s rolling his eyes.

Trying to process this your mind sputters in a spiral like a broken speeder bike.

You understood mandalorians held certain courting rituals that you vaguely heard of. You voice this concern to your mandalorian who crosses his hands over his chest in a pouting type manner.

“That’s for potential marriage partners. We’re already engaged aren’t we?” Bakugo challenges.

“So we just skipped an entire courting process?” He seemed like such a traditionalist and would be upset over this. You even sound more upset than he does.

Especially when your fiancé simply shrugs.

“You’re not mad?” Now you have to ask and he shakes his head a casual no.

“Didn’t need to court anyone else.” He gruffy asserts confident and true.

So that meant jumping straight into marriage?

Whatever lies on your face, whatever is clouding your heart, your fiancé notices it and sighs.

He explains how Mandalorians typically didn’t have long engagements. When someone proposes marriage it’s with the acknowledgment they would be wedded moments or at the latest days after.

It mirrored the same direct quickness the first mandalorian vows were rumored to have been said in the creed’s legend.

“Look,” Bakugo continues with all the conviction a warrior pursuing victory holds.

“I know that’s my culture and shit but…We can wait whenever you’re ready.” He reassures you.

“I’ll wait for as long as you need because I know the ending s’always going to be the same. And that’s me as your husband. So if we do it today or fuck a year from now, I’ll wait.”

Love crashes into you in waves and you cannot fight the current any longer.

“So whenever you’re ready.” Bakugo’s beautiful beskar helmet nudges towards you. “You let me know.”

Now, you want to marry him now.

“Bakugo-” You are about to say your answer when he cuts you off.

“Katsuki.” He corrects you, a gentle firmness that speaks of his kind understanding.

His first name.

The most precious of gifts he can give to you and now here it is ready for yours to hold.

“Katsuki.” And you find to tastes like the most reverent prayer.

Mandalorian weddings, from what you remembered, were quick and privately intimate ceremonies. Here in his ship, away from his home planet and far away from yours on Coruscant, it’s as if this space is carved out just for you and him.

You don’t care about how long it’s been since you last saw him or that you only have been engaged for less than a day.

You want this, to be married to him, for him to be your husband.

And maybe it’s the shackles of the Jedi order being released from you but you want to be selfish. You want to grab at anything you want and greedily say yes it is okay to want without any guilt. It is beautiful to embrace it.

“Guess you’ll be the one having to call me Bakugo then huh?” You tease light but adoration coats your voice thick.

His shoulders tense. You can almost sense, almost see the suspended hope hanging on by a thread.

“So…you saying yes?” He tentatively ask.

You nod repeatedly and firmly.

“I want to marry you now.”

Katsuki walks closer to you, gently holding your hand in his.

“There’s this saying…” he begins low as if someone outside the ship might hear him.

He says a phrase and you can’t process what it is. You barely even pick up a word of Mando’a

“It’s a way we say I love you.” Katsuki explains. “But translate into basic it means something like… I’ll know you forever.”

To know is to love and to love is to know a person.

“That’s beautiful.” You admire and he nods silently.

“You know me, more than anyone else has.” Your mandalorian tells you. “And I know you. And even when I think I didn’t want to. I wanna keep knowing you for as long as I live.”

You swallow back a sob threatening to escape as you nod. You want that too.

He squeezes your hand.

“You ready?”

You squeeze his hand back. “I am.”

For a moment you think of the oath you took when you became a Jedi knight. How you swore to consecrate yourself to the universe, to a grand idea that would tie you to preserving an ideal and cause until your last breath.

Here you are now taking another vow, another oath, that you swear to honor for the rest of your days.

“Repeat after me.” Katsuki says and you don’t miss the slight waver in his voice.

“We are one when we are together or apart.” He declares and you repeat.

We are one when we are together or apart.

“We will share everything.”

We will share everything.

“And…” he pauses for a moment, but quickly gathers himself.

“We will raise warriors.”

The implications are not lost on you. You knew how open the mandalorians were about adoption, about raising children communally. This was a topic you would have to deeply discuss with him.

But the idea of simply guiding and watching over any young ones, even if they were not your own, even if you and him decide to not have children, shifts your world. Because just being by his side to help guide the next generation as you grow old with him is more than you can ever imagine.

We will raise warriors.

Once the words leave your mouth suddenly a shaky modulated exhale escapes your mandalorian.

Katsuki breathes out your name.

His bare hands move to cradle your face and a wide range of beautiful emotions begin to bubble in you.

“You shitty Bakugo.” Your husband, your husband, croaks to you tear soaked. You laugh loud and just as watery as he sounds.

That was going to take some time to adjust to. But this, in every way, is better than hearing him call you a shitty Jedi. Because you are Jedi no more. And now you exist as a Bakugo.

The excitement and giddiness bubbles over, illuminates you from the inside out. Katsuki presses his helmeted face against yours as you embrace him tight.

“I love you.” You breathe out to your husband.

Katsuki squeezes you firmer. You simply exist in this moment in his arms soaking in the quiet but powerful conviction of this new existence. You are someone’s spouse. You are his, just as irrevocably he is yours.

Katsuki mutters out your name.

“There’s…still one thing we gotta do.” He adds.

Oh?

Slowly Katsuki untangles himself from you and you already miss his warmth. His shoulders slightly curl over and his helmet can’t even face you.

A tinge of fear bubbles in you fast and threatens to poison the barely moments old wedding bliss.

“I’m going to have to fight your ex fiancé for stealing you away, aren't I?” The idea that pops into your head so fast and quick you can’t even stop it.

The beskar helmet turns back to you.

Then, Katsuki bursts out laughing. A true warm gruff cackle that shakes his shoulders and makes you want to smack him.

“What?! That’s it, isn’t it!?” You shriek. You immediately dreadfully think of having to go hand to hand against the red and white armored mandalorian of Yui Kodai, who you only met once.

Katsuki continues to laugh even after you begin pouting. He even shakes his helmeted head a solid no.

“Fuckin’ love your ridiculous ass so much.” He breathes out a wonderful modulated sigh.

His hands move up towards his helmet.

And then he begins to raise it.

The action clicks instantly in your mind. In many cultures and customs a kissing vow is exchanged after weddings. You wondered if that was a secret only known by mandalorians.

So out of respect for your new husband you naturally close your eyes.

The hissing sound of his helmet being removed fills the small space of his ship. You didn’t realize how much you had missed the quiet but electrifying sound.

You wait for the pressure of his lips against yours.

Nothing comes.

The force even retreats away from you so softly like a loth cat returning to its bed to nap and you feel a chill in the air.

Katsuki sighs slightly shaken and heavy.

You’re about to ask if he’s okay, want to comfort him already when he speaks up first.

His voice crystal clear calls out your name.

“Open your eyes.”

The words clutch your throat and ignite an electric wave throughout your body.

“What?” You ask a bit confused because maybe you had misheard.

“You heard me.” Katsuki urges gruffly but gentle, so truly like him. “Open your eyes.”

You couldn’t.

It was against the code, against everything he stood for, everything his people stood for.

The surprise brush of his fingers against yours provides a solid stability.

“What?” He teases light. “Afraid of what you might see?”

No. That wasn’t it at all.

You even shake your head a furious stubborn no that makes him chuckle.

You know without even seeing him that he’s beautiful, probably one of the most striking forces to ever be seen in this galaxy.

“You know I can’t.” A fervent urgency leaks into your voice as if you want to remind both him and yourself of the danger behind this act.

Defiance, banishment, excommunication.

The words sting you fierce.

Like the solid lifeline he is, the back of Katsuki’s bare hand tenderly running across your cheek floats you out of your hectic thoughts.

“We’re married now, idiot.” His voice wavers. “Clan members are allowed to see our faces.”

Something deep inside of you shifts so effortlessly.

You are a clan member now. The answer hangs so truthfully and effortlessly in the air you almost can sense the force itself giggling at you.

You want to see him. You’ve wanted nothing more than this, to know him and know the face of your husband.

So you open your eyes.

The first week after you left the Jedi order, Shouto’s smuggler friend took you out for a drink. There on the sips of alcohol and the freedom it tasted of, you spilled your heartache.

“In love with a mandalorain.” The scavenger had sighed almost a bit apologetic. “And you have no idea what he looks like?”

You shook your head no.

“I have imagined it though,” you instead added boldly because you had.

At first you couldn’t picture what this man of fire and beskar, who would fight a galaxy with his bare hands, would look like. But for some reason you always pictured his eyes bright, like the fiercest force that could never be dimmed because that’s the type of man he is. You believed his eyes would reflect that.

And now you find they do.

The most stunning crimson eyes stare at you so openly, honest, hesitant and guarded slightly. The bold red color is beautiful. You don’t even think you’ve seen eyes so gemlike.

You think of how red for a Jedi is aligned with the sith. It’s not a color one wants to encounter in a lightsaber. There was even a legend that spoke of how the first red kyber crystal was created when a sith held a white crystal in their hand until they bled and let the color soak into the gem.

The color that was once a warning sign now stares at you as a promise of your future, wonderful and warm like the red sky in the evening.

It fits him too.

The color of war, blood and passion so vividly mixing with the color strongly associated with love…

You think you fall in love all over again with this mandalorian.

Then you finally soak in his entire face and feel your soul leave your body.

He’s handsome. Of course he’s handsome you knew he would be. But he’s stunning in a way that has your thoughts clustering together in a collision.

A strong sharp manly jaw, high cheekbones, and the softest spikes of blonde hair -

You can’t believe it. He’s a blonde. He’s gorgeous.

And he’s yours.

“You’re beautiful.” You croak out freely and tear soaked.

You get to see his emotions flash across his face now, see how his eyes shimmer so glossy as his eyebrows furrow.

“Shitty riduur, that’s my line.” Katsuki replies back just as thick and his hand now simply cradles your face once again.

What did the vows say? That you and him were now one whether together or apart?

That already seems to be so true. Or maybe it always was.

The way you and Kastuki seemed to both mirror and repel each other like planets trying to fight a gravity bigger than your orbits. Now here you are.

You can’t help it.

You laugh a watery jubilant thing and clutch onto his hand still resting on your face. You happily burrow closer into his hold.

Slowly but so firmly Katsuki draws you into him. His bare face goes to rest against yours. His nose even burrows against your forehead as he towers over you.

Shakily your mandalorian exhales, relieved and gentle and you melting into him more.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him. “For showing me…for letting me know you.”

Katsuki’s arms wiggle out to now wrap you in a true warm embrace.

“Yeah, yeah.” He mutters back and your heart jumps at his lips tickling against your skin.

“You smell s’good.” His molten syrupy voice seeps into the very core of your being.

Your mind feels cloudy but in the best way so much that you can only hum back a quiet thanks as you press your cheek against his warm face more.

He says your name and your eyes, which had closed in pure content bliss, open wearily.

“There’s…there's somethin’ else…”

What elses could there be?

Begrudgingly you draw back from his warmth and glance up at him a bit curious now.

It’s so interesting and even a bit funny to see how expressive your husband truly is now. His crimson eyes are averted from you. His pretty blonde brows furrow so hard and faintly a hint of pink begins to color his cheeks.

Embarrassed, he seems embarrassed.

You’re about to ask what he means when suddenly those gemstone eyes of his snap back to you quickly and fierce.

“I wanna kiss you.”

He flat out says it but with unwavering solid sharpness.

The thought almost makes your body buckle. You even almost choke on the sharp inhale you take.

“O-oh.” You stammer out.

“Yeah.” Katsuki mutters out low and slightly bashful.

At just the thought your eyes immediately flicker to his lips. You noticed them earlier of course when you first saw his face but didn’t want to stare. Now you find they are soft, plush and you want to press your lips against his more than ever.

“I haven’t…” your mandalorian begins then his voice trails off.

He hasn’t kissed anyone.

It makes sense. He’s so abstinent in his loyalty that he would never remove his helmet for a simple kiss.

And, for some reason that truth licks a dangerously warm heat up your throat that also seizes your heart. To know you’d be the first and only one to kiss him awakens something clawed and pleased inside of you.

Katsuki swallows hard.

He’s hesitant, embarrassed, maybe even worried. It paints his handsome face so easily.

Very cautiously your hand rises up to his face.

After having his face covered for most of his life out of instinct Katsuki immediately snaps his attention to your hand with a hard cautious scowl. You freeze, wondering if this is all too much.

But then realizing what you are trying to do, your mandalorain’s scarlet eyes soften instantly. When your hand softly rests against his face, mainly against his sturdy jaw, Kastuki exhales heavily as he closes his eyes.

The weight of this force of a warrior melts against your hand as he leans against it fully.

“You’re considered the best of the clans,” you begin. “The best out of all the others.”

“Damn straight.” He mutters out still looking like a blissful lothcat against your hand.

You hold back a chuckle that still manages to trickle your lips.

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of.” You reassure him. “You’re a natural and the best for a reason.”

But you also realize that yes, even though he said he wants to do this, this does not have to be done right now.

“Plus, there’s no rush…We can wait whenever you’re ready, I’ll wait as long as you need.” You repeat the same words he told you, feel their weight and devotion, patience and love, weave deep into your bones.

You even feel a smile tug your lips.

Hazily, almost sleepily, his eyes halfway open to stare out at you with such an intense warmth you feel as if you are staring into his heart's core.

He’s so unbearably gorgeous you almost can’t stand it.

Then without any warning, Katsuki leans forward and presses his lips against yours.

The surprise of him acting so quickly mixes with the surprise of finally getting to kiss him that you wonder if your heart is going to give out from the rush of emotions. But then your mind melts to simply solidify into this moment.

You’re kissing him, your husband, your mandalorian. You’re kissing Katsuki.

His lips are so soft, warm and the faintest smell of his herbal soap suddenly fills your senses.

Slowly his lips begin to pull back ever the slightest before you jump back at him with the same energy of acting without hesitation.

Your eyes close as pure bliss fills you to the brim.

Your lips meet his once, twice in sweet simple kisses but each time he presses closer and closer to you.

Katsuki’s lips now chase yours as if to ask for another kiss every time as if he wants to slowly kiss you again and again until he can’t any more.

You almost want to snicker, but you believe if you do your secretly tender hearted husband might storm away in embarrassment. But it’s not out of humor why you want to laugh. It’s out of a giddiness you can’t describe.

Until you realize the giddiness is simply love.

It is a love stitched into your bones and so overjoyed to finally be free, to finally be in this moment with the man with crimson sunset eyes.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You came to Tatooine with Todoroki and his scavenger. You now would be leaving the planet with your husband.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just come back with us?” Shouto asks with the most intense sincerity in his dual colored eyes. He stares so directly into you wanting to gauge if you give him a secret sign saying otherwise.

“My ex jedi is coming home with me!” Bakugo barks back angrily at Shouto who ignores him flat out.

You laugh and even the scavenger who you now feel is slowly actually becoming a friend, laughs too.

You can’t thank this pair enough for what they have done for you. They gave you shelter when you were lost and aimless and a home when you had nowhere go. They became almost your strongest support system besides Monoma. Your heart would hold them tight together.

And when you bid them goodbye you hug the two of them just as right. You vow to contact them when you return to Mandalore.

Just because you are married now did not mean you would abandon any of your friends or the task of finding who attacked the temple.

As you watch them take a speeder bike to head out to the other city here on Tatooine you say a silent blessing to the force to keep them safe.

“When we get back home,” Katsuki mutters. “We’ll start figuring out what leads we can track.”

Seems like you would not be alone in your search.

Then the word hits you gently.

Home.

Mandalore would be your new home. Or mainly, Katsuki is your new home now.

Overwhelmed with emotions you turn back to stare at your husband.

Katsuki wears his helmet now but you can so clearly picture his handsome face composed with determination. You even itch to lean forward to just kiss the side of his curved helmet cheek. Instead you playfully nudge your armored husband who stiffens at your playful action. Then he nudges you back harder.

You snicker amused at how childish he can be.

“Damn weirdo.” He even mumbles out annoyed.

But his fingers continue to brush against yours as if to simply chase after your presence or simply remind him

how close you are.

The markets once again liven up the streets of Mos Eisely. You wanted to do one final look through the shops and vendors before your trip back. You even mention finding something for Monoma, specifically maybe that satchel he hinted about wanting.

“Fuck you and him are gonna be damn headaches together.” Katsuki even sounds as if the thought stabbed his side.

“Oh hush.” You chide him gently as you scan the market place.

That’s when you spot the familiar jewelry stand. The same elderly twi’lek woman is there working. Her eyes grow wide seeing you and then they eagerly flicker to the mandalorian with you.

Naturally you walk back to the stall.

“I’m thinking you might need that necklace now huh?” She grins wide and your face heats up.

“I was worried when I saw him chase after you but I should’ve known it was a lovers quarrel.” She adds and the thought of her being worried is endearing.

“Ha?” Your mandalorian asks so rudely and you lightly shush him as you buy the necklace.

The sweet elderly twi’lek giggles the entire time. Especially when Bakugou swoops in to hand the vendor credits.

“I could’ve paid for it.” You huff.

“No, cause that’s my job now.” He bluntly tells you like it’s the most obvious thing in this galaxy and you don’t even want to argue with him.

“Besides, s’nice.” He admires low, only for your ears.

“It’s an engagement pendant.” You explain. You even add how you’re just holding on to it until you can give it to him later.

“To mark our engagement and all that.” You casually and a bit cheekily say.

“We’re married!” He snaps back insulted and horrified that you’d even make the mistake of even forgetting.

“Oh you’re married?!” You’re not that far from the stall for the vendor to catch that. Or it could be that Katsuki is just that loud.

Either way you and him turn back to her. Her warm eyes shine with excitement.

You sleepy grin back to her. “So he says.”

“We are!” Your poor husband cries back furious.

You think this is it. This is the true blessing of getting to be married to this mandalorian for the rest of your life and that is getting to tease and annoy him.

You can’t help but snort. Then the rush of footsteps on the sandy gravel come towards you. When you and Katsuki turn back your dear vendor approaches with something in hand.

“Here, the companion piece!” She warmly hands you the twin of your necklace.

“Once someone gets married the spouse is meant to come back to retrieve the matching necklace so that the two are now together forever.”

It’s a sweet tradition and you happily hold the two necklaces together as you ask how much for both.

“Oh no young one, it’s fine.” The vendor waves you off warmly. “Think of it as a wedding gift from me and the city.”

You’re overwhelmed by the gesture, the pure genuine sweetness of it and the force even dances beautifully in the air.

“You’re too kind please let us-”

Before you can finish Katsuki moves beside you and places down two solid gold credits on the stall’s counter. That’s triple the amount that you paid and you’re pleased at your husband’s action.

The vendor exclaims in huttese and almost looks petrified seeing the money on her stand. She tries to sputter out something but you simply give her a warm thankful nod.

“Think of it as our thank you for the gift.” You tell her earnestly and even Katsuki beside you nods in quiet agreement.

With her heartfelt thanks you find yourself already walking back to the ship. Monoma’s satchel would have to wait for another day. Your eyes are focused on the two necklaces sitting in your grasp.

“I’m counting this as my wedding gift to you.” You say matter of factly to your husband.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup, deal with it.”

He chuckles low at your reply.

“Moron.” Is all he says but you hear the truth happily buried beneath it.

Thank you, it’s wonderful. I'll cherish it forever…

You glance down again to look at the two necklaces with a fondness before you move to place them in your bag

“You’ll get your gift when we get back home.”

Then his words almost make you trip and drop your precious jewelry pieces.

“What wedding gift?” You ask again as worry leaks into your voice.

Even with the helmet on you know he’s staring dryly at you.

“What? You can get me somethin’ and I can’t get you shit?”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” You reply back huffy.

He stays quiet.

“What did you get me?”

Again he stays silent and doesn’t answer.

“Katsuki.” You hiss out and you believe this ridiculous mandalorian is now grinning at you victorious.

“It’s meant to be a surprise, shitty Jedi!” He barks back and you’re too wrapped up in this conversation to even correct him.

“Shit…thinking about it, it won’t be a surprise when you gotta get measured.” He mutters mainly to himself as if he realized this fact.

The words stop you dead in your tracks.

You stare at him a bit petrified and confused. So all you can do is ask him again, low and even a bit serious about what he got you.

You’re thankful to have made it to the edge of the market and it is mainly vacant.

Because your spirit leaves you the moment you see Katsuki move to tap at his beskar shoulder pauldron.

And it clicks.

Armor.

He means to give you beskar armor.