#posts from the mynock

[themynock]

thinking about neo american trucking/travel/road culture again because I am crazy

[vingtetunmars]

Unlisted

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: Din Djarin accepts a bounty from Captain Teva to track down a mysterious fugitive hiding in the lower levels of Coruscant. Things took a left turn when his son took a liking to her.

Part 2 / Part 3

Tags: Enemies to Lovers-ish?, smut (18+) in later part, Grogu plays matchmaker, set after season 3, slow burn, pre-relationship, star wars content that may or may not be canon. I think both are equally emotionally unavailable. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: Din Djarin have been plaguing my mind, and this turns out to be a longer fic than I anticipated, sooo...yeah.... If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 4k

masterlist

You kept your head down. Not just metaphorically, either — the hood stays up, shadowing your face like a curtain drawn on a stage you no longer wish to perform on.

Down here, in the belly of Coruscant, the sky was a myth. The higher levels sparkled with hover traffic and clean storefronts, but the lower levels — Level 1313 and below — were where light came in flickers. Neon buzzed overhead, casting pale blue veins down crumbling walls. You slipped through the crowd like a whisper, unnoticed, which was how you like it.

Your boots splashed through puddles that hadn’t seen sunlight in years. A vendor hollered about fried mynock skewers behind you; someone screamed further down the street — no one turned their head. It was just another day.

You reached the alley behind the scrapyard, the one that still had an access panel no one’s noticed. A sharp knock in a three-beat rhythm, and the door opens — you’ve greased enough palms to keep that privilege. Inside, your makeshift workspace waits: scraps of old droids, power cells half-drained, a busted protocol unit whose vocabulator you’ve been repurposing as a signal jammer.

It's not pretty, but it works. And that's what matters.

You slid off your outer cloak, revealing the belt of tools at your hip. Plasma cutter, sonic wrench, home-built pulse bomb. You always carry more tricks than anyone expects. That’s probably the only reason you’re not in a cell. Yet.

You were just about to reroute a power coupling when you felt it — not a sound, not a shadow, just presence. A change in the air behind you.

You turned, fast—

—and he was already there.

Silver beskar, unmoving. The T-shaped visor locked onto you. He hadn't made a sound, not a single footstep. You stumbled back a half-step.

"You're a hard one to find," the modulated voice said.

Your hand moved before your brain did. A flashbang slipped from your belt — you hurl it down, shielding your eyes as light erupts.

You didn't wait to see if it worked.

Your legs were burning, breath tight in your chest, but the alleys blur past in streaks of shadow and neon. You darted through steam vents, leapt a fallen droid chassis, and ducked into the narrow crawlspace between two shuttered stalls.

For a second, all you heard was your own heartbeat.

Then — the low, mechanical thud of boots on metal.

He was still coming.

You pivoted out the other end, slammed a panel shut behind you, and vaulted up onto a maintenance ladder. The climb was fast, practiced. You’ve done this route before — knew you’d need it someday.

Tonight was that day.

You reached the catwalk above, drew your sonic wrench, and twisted it until it whines with unstable energy. Footsteps hit the ladder behind you.

You didn’t hesitate. You turned and launched yourself off the catwalk — straight at him.

Mid-air, you jab the wrench forward. It connected with his pauldron and lets out a crackling burst that should’ve dropped anyone else.

But he wasn’t just anyone.

The impact staggered him, barely. He gripped your wrist mid-strike, wrenched your arm sideways, and you cried out — but you twisted with it, slammed your knee into his ribs, planted a boot against his chest, and shoved off hard.

You both hit the ground — you rolled, he lands heavy.

You sprung to your feet first, palm a smoke charge from your belt, and slammed it into the floor. White haze erupts.

You vanished into it.

You could hear him coughing behind his helmet — the charge is laced with an irritant, non-toxic but disorienting. It bought you seconds.

You moved fast, ducking under hanging cables, burst through a flickering doorway—

—and hit a solid wall of beskar.

He must’ve flanked you.

You striked first — a knife from your boot into your hand in a blink. You slashed low, aiming for the thigh joint.

He blocked it with his vambrace, grabbed your forearm, and swung you around. Your back crashed into a pillar. The knife clattered away.

You were gasping, arm pinned, struggling — and then you felt it. The snap of a cold metal cuff around your wrist.

You froze.

His grip tightens for half a second, then loosens — not out of mercy. Just efficiency.

“You done?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

But your glare could burn through beskar.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The walk back to the Razor Crest was silent, save for the shifting of your boots against the metal of the landing pad. You were still cuffed, and you’ve stopped struggling — but The Mandalorian doesn’t relax. Not yet.

He had enough runs to know that quiet didn’t mean safe.

You didn't say a word, just kept your hood low and your jaw set like you were chewing on the galaxy’s worst secret. He didn’t ask what it was. That wasn’t his job.

He got the puck from Captain Teva three rotations ago. No chain code, just a vague directive — female, human, operating out of the lower levels of Coruscant. Wanted alive. High payout.

“New Republic’s nervous,” Teva had said, crackling through the holocomm. “No official charges I can find. No open case file. Just… pressure from the top. Someone wants her quiet.”

The Mandalorian had asked the usual questions. What’d you do? Who are you?

Teva had shrugged. “I don’t know. Hell, they didn’t even give me a name.”

That was the part that stuck with him. No name, no record, no crime listed — but a full-system alert and credits on the table.

Which meant whoever you were, someone high up wanted you gone without questions.

He’d taken the job anyway. Credits were credits. And he had mouths to feed.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The Razor Crest creaked as the ramp closes behind him. He tossed your gear onto a bench — gadgets, explosives, tools that look cobbled together out of junk and genius. Then he guided you toward the carbonite chamber.

You froze when you saw it. “Seriously?” you muttered, voice raw from running, but steady. “You’re freezing me?”

“It’s the safest way,” he said flatly.

“For who?” you snapped. “I won’t run.”

He hesitated. Not because he believed you — but because you looked him in the visor, and there was something behind your eyes that didn't match the bounty he was told to expect.

You look tired. Sharp, but worn down. And more than anything, angry. Not reckless — cornered.

“I’m not stupid,” you added, quieter now. “You’d catch me again. Just… don’t freeze me.”

The Mandalorian glanced toward the carbonite controls. It would be easier. Safer. Less complicated.

But he had already seen how resourceful you are. If you wanted to escape, you would’ve tried already. You could have blown yourself and half the alley apart with that last trick you never used.

“I’ll cuff you to the bunk,” he said.

You nodded once. No snark. No protest.

He almost preferred it when people are mouthy. It’s easier than silence like this — silence that carries weight.

He cuffed you to the narrow bed in the small bunk area and shuts the panel behind him. Then he climbed up to the cockpit and sets a course for Adelphi.

Grogu coos softly from his seat, eyes wide.

“I don’t know either, kid,” The Mandalorian mutters, sinking into the pilot’s chair. “Something’s off.”

He didn’t say it, but he knew: this is the kind of job that never stays simple.

The hum of the engines has settled into a steady rhythm — low, comforting, like a lullaby wrapped in metal. You sat cuffed to the bunk, legs stretched out, back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling.

The Razor Crest was old, rugged. Not like the sleek, polished ships you used to know. It’s held together by care and stubbornness, and judging by the wear on the walls, it’s seen more battles than peace.

You breathed in slowly, finally letting your shoulders drop. You were not in a cell. Not frozen. That’s something.

Then you heard it — a soft patter, like tiny feet on metal.

You looked toward the corner, squinting.

A small green creature with wide eyes and bigger ears stands halfway down the ladder, blinking up at you like you’re the strange thing in the room.

“…What the kriff?”

He tilted his head.

You sat up straighter, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. He toddles down the last few steps, round eyes locked on yours. No fear. Just curiosity. And maybe… sympathy?

“I didn’t know he brought pets,” you muttered, watching him wobbled closer. “Or... children?”

He stopped just out of your reach, still staring. Then, slowly, carefully, he lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers.

You raised an eyebrow. “That a hello, or a warning?”

He cooed.

You blinked, a short laugh escaping your throat before you could help it. “Alright, you’re cute. That’s illegal.”

Before he could get any closer, the sound of metal boots clanking on the ladder echoed down from above. You glanced toward it just in time to see silver beskar descend — slow, heavy, with purpose.

The Mandalorian stepped into view just as the kid reached your side. He stopped dead in his tracks.

“Grogu,” he said sharply, voice low with warning.

The little one startled but doesn’t move.

“I told you to stay in your seat.”

Grogu looked back at him with the most innocent eyes you’ve ever seen on a living thing. You watched the standoff, entirely entertained.

“Kid has taste,” you quipped. “And a better sense of company.”

The Mandalorian didn’t answer you — he walks over and scooped Grogu up gently but firmly, holding him under one arm like a wayward satchel.

“You shouldn’t be near her,” he muttered to the kid, glancing at you.

“Her is right here,” you said, raising both brows. “And I’m not gonna hurt him. Honestly, didn’t expect you to have a soft side.”

His helmet turned toward you.

“He’s not part of the job,” he said simply, climbing the ladder with Grogu in hand.

You smirked after them. “Didn’t say he was.”

The panel slid shut behind him, sealing you in again. You let your head fall back against the wall and smile to yourself.

So the bounty hunter has a kid.

This just got more interesting.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

You weren’t sure how long you’ve been in hyperspace. Time feels like sludge in a durasteel box, but the constant thrum of the engines and the gentle sway of the ship made it bearable.

What makes it better was the small, green creature who kept sneaking down the ladder like he owns the place.

The first time after the initial scolding, he was sneakier. You heard the soft squeak of feet before you saw the ears poke around the corner. This time, you didn't say a word — just gave him a little nod and a smirk. An unspoken truce.

Then came the second visit. And the third.

By the fourth, you were sitting cross-legged on the bunk, cuffs clinking quietly as Grogu sat on the floor in front of you, trying to mimic the motion of one of your tools using only the Force and a very determined face.

You glance toward the closed panel overhead. “He’s gonna come down again and scoop you up like a misbehaving tooka, you know.”

Grogu just gurgles.

“Right,” you sighed. “Rebel spirit. Should’ve known.”

The panel opened. Speak of the devil.

The Mandalorian climbed down the ladder, visor landing on the pair of you instantly.

“Grogu.”

It was the same tone as before — firm, quiet, expectant. Grogu’s ears twitch like he’d been caught drawing on walls again.

“He’s not doing anything,” you said, raising your cuffed hands. “Just hanging out.”

“He shouldn’t be near you.”

“Why? You think I’m dangerous?”

He didn’t answer. He just crossed the room and gently scooped Grogu up again. Grogu let out a protesting whine, tiny arms reaching toward you as he's lifted away.

“Maker forbid someone wants to be my friend,” you muttered, mostly to yourself — but you didn't miss the way the Mandalorian paused at that.

The visits didn’t stop.

Over time, Grogu got bolder. He sat on your lap. Tugs at your sleeves. Tried to mimic your expressions. You started talking to him in low tones — nothing personal, just stories. Jokes. The occasional grumble about hyperspace.

You learned quickly that he likes to coo when amused and tilt his head to manipulate you into silence. He was an expert.

At one point, you held up your cuffs and shook them lightly. “These really ruin the vibe, don’t they?”

He looked up at you with wide eyes, then turned to the ladder.

“Don’t even think about it—” you started.

A few moments later, you heard the Mandalorian climbing down again. He stepped off the ladder, helmet tilting in that what now way.

Grogu was standing beside you, one hand lightly on the chain of your cuffs. He looked up at the Mandalorian and lets out a pleading whine, eyes huge, gesturing with tiny fingers like he was explaining something very serious.

You shrugged one shoulder, as much as the chain allows. “I told you. He just wants a friend.”

A long beat.

You couldn't see his face, but something shifts in the air — maybe in the set of his shoulders, maybe in the way his helmet lingered on Grogu.

Finally, he sighed — that kind of sigh that sounds heavier than it should.

Then he moved. Keys in a code. The cuffs popped open with a metallic click.

You stared at him, rubbing your wrists. “Didn’t think you’d actually—”

“Don’t make me regret it,” he muttered, already turning back toward the ladder.

Grogu gave a pleased coo and nestled back into your lap like he’d just won a game only he was playing.

You glanced at the little guy. “You’ve got him wrapped around your tiny fingers, don’t you?”

He just blinked up at you, innocent as ever.

You leaned back against the wall, cuff-free, your first real breath in hours escaping you.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

It was a rocky descent.

You were strapped into the jump seat in the hold, with Grogu curled beside you in his floating pod, blinking sleepily as the Razor Crest cuts through the atmosphere. The landing thrusters groan in protest — this planet wasn’t exactly known for friendly ports.

The Mandalorian appeared at the top of the ladder, helmet reflecting the blue-green light of the planet below.

“Stay on the ship.” he added.

Grogu lets out a soft coo, like he disagreed.

You shrugged. “Fine. I like it here. Cozy.”

He paused at the top of the ladder. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you felt his stare. Measuring.

Then—

“You’re coming with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“There’s a bounty. Quick grab. I don’t want to leave Grogu alone.”

You glanced down at the kid, who seems entirely unbothered and was now nibbling on a snack he absolutely did not ask permission to eat.

“And I’m your trusted babysitter now?”

“If you run, I shoot you,” he replied evenly.

You sighed and got to your feet. “That’s fair.”

You were walking slightly behind Mando, hood up, hands tucked in your coat. Grogu floated between you, his pod humming softly. The outpost reeks of oil and sun-baked metal. A couple of locals eye you warily, but the gleam of beskar kept them at a distance.

“Who’s the target?” you asked under your breath.

Mando taps a puck. “Rolk Tenek. Rodian. Wanted for arms smuggling and ditching New Republic probation.”

“Aw. A real gentleman.”

The bounty’s signal led to a rust-stained scrapyard on the edge of the city. You spotted movement near one of the larger hulks — a Rodian hauling crates into the back of a shuttle. No guards. Sloppy.

“I’ll circle around,” Mando said.

You nodded but hesitated. “Wait. He’s powering up the shuttle. You sneak in, and he’s gone the second you step out.”

“I’m not asking for advice.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Just don’t get mad when I save your ass.”

He vanished around the right side of the yard.

Predictably, all hell broke loose.

You hear a crash, followed by blaster fire. You dart behind a stack of old droid plating just as a second Rodian — a lookout — emerged from the scrap with a blaster raised.

He spotted Mando and fires.

You were already moving.

Your hand dipped into your coat and pulls out a small, disk-shaped gadget. You twisted the edge — click — and rolled it across the ground toward the attacker. It hummed once, then popped with a bright burst of light and a short-range EMP pulse.

The Rodian’s blaster fizzled.

By the time he looked down, you were on him. A kick to the knee, elbow to the gut, and he went down hard.

You looked up just in time to see Mando haul the main bounty — stunned and grumbling — out of the shuttle. He freezed when he saw you standing over the unconscious lookout.

You lifted both hands, mock-innocent. “Didn’t run.”

The bounty was in carbonite. You were back in the hold, wiping dirt from your sleeves. Grogu was curled beside you, clearly impressed.

Mando descends from the cockpit.

“You had a clean shot at the door,” he said.

“I know.”

“You could’ve taken the shuttle.”

“I know that too.”

A pause.

“Why didn’t you?”

You shrugged. “Because that idiot had a blaster pointed at your head. And because I didn’t feel like stealing a junk pile with bad shielding.”

Another beat of silence.

You glanced up at him. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He didn’t say it. Of course he doesn’t. But after a moment, he crosses the hold and tosses something your way.

A ration pack.

You caught it one-handed, raising your brows.

“A meal and no chains? You’re really starting to spoil me, Mando.”

He said nothing as he walks back to the ladder — but you swear you hear the faintest huff of breath through the modulator. Maybe a laugh. Maybe not.

But it was a start.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The bounty was delivered. Fuel was loaded. Grogu was fed, and now he was curled up beside you on the floor of the Razor Crest’s hold, content and snoring softly.

You leaned against the wall, rolling a hydrospanner between your fingers. Mando sat across from you, still in full armor, arms resting on his knees, helmet tilted slightly downward like he’d been staring at you too long and didn’t want you to notice.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Who are you?”

You looked up. “That’s not a very nice way to start a conversation.”

He didn’t respond. Just waited.

You sighed, twirling the spanner. “If you ask me questions, can I ask you questions too?”

“No.”

You smirked. “Then I won’t answer yours.”

“Fine.”

Silence.

Then, after a long moment, he shifted. “This isn’t a game.”

“No,” you said, watching him carefully. “It’s not. But if you want something from me, you better be willing to give a little too.”

His visor stayed locked on you. And then— “One for one.”

You nodded, serious now. “Deal.”

He leaned forward slightly. “Why is the New Republic after you?”

“That’s two questions. You want motive or context?”

“Motive.”

You paused, glancing at Grogu’s sleeping form. “Because I found something I wasn’t supposed to. Something that makes them look very, very bad.”

His silence was all the answer you needed — he wasn’t surprised. Just curious.

“My turn,” you said. “What’s a Mandalorian doing babysitting a green gremlin?”

“He’s not a job.”

That was all he gave you.

You raised a brow. “So he’s what — your son?”

“…Something like that.”

That was more than you expected. You softened a little, eyeing the tiny creature curled up like a seed pod.

“Your turn,” you said.

“How’d you find it? The thing that got you hunted.”

You shrugged slowly. “It was a routine audit. I worked in records verification — nothing flashy. But someone filed a data-wipe request with all the wrong clearance codes. Sloppy.”

“You were a bureaucrat?”

“Please. I was a thinkerer in a sea of paper-pushers. But yeah, I had access to archives most people don’t. I followed the glitch and... found an encrypted list.”

“What kind of list?”

You hesitated. “A roster of old Imperial loyalists… still on New Republic payroll.”

That made him shift. Just slightly.

You leaned forward. “That’s when they came after me. Scrubbed my ID. Flagged my face. Marked me as hostile and told everyone I’d gone rogue. Leaked false charges — weapons theft, sabotage, conspiracy. All fabricated.”

He didn’t say anything.

“My turn again,” you said quietly. “Do you ever take that thing off?”

“No.”

“Not even to eat?”

He didn’t respond.

You stared at him a beat. “How do you brush your teeth?”

Still no answer.

You grinned. “I’m going to assume you just let Grogu do it for you.”

He leaned forward again. “What else did you do, besides ‘records verification’?”

You sighed. “Before the New Republic? I was a slicer. Not for the Empire — I wasn’t that dumb. But I made systems work for the people who needed it. Protected vulnerable data. Fixed supply routes. Rewired droids to stop attacking civvies.”

“So you were a criminal.”

“In the same way you are,” you said coolly.

Another beat of silence.

“…I know how to break things,” you added. “But I know how to fix them, too.”

He didn’t reply. But something in his posture had shifted — a touch more open, less stiff.

You looked at him. “My turn again.”

He didn’t stop you.

“How come you trust him?” You nodded at Grogu. “You don’t seem like the trusting type.”

There was a long silence.

And then — “He saved me. More than once.”

You looked at the sleeping child again. “Yeah. I can believe that.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. And neither did you.

Then, finally, he spoke again. “What’s your plan?”

“Plan?”

“If I let you go.”

You hesitated. “I… I don’t know. I was just trying to stay ahead of the bounty boards. Find someone who’d believe me. But nobody wants to admit the New Republic’s a mess. They just want to pretend it’s better than what came before.”

He was quiet.

You met his gaze — or the visor, at least. “You believe me?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Fair enough.

But something had changed. You could feel it in the air between you. Not quite warmth. But no longer cold suspicion either.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said finally.

“Neither are you.”

Grogu snored loudly, and both of you looked down at him.

You smiled faintly. “He’s not gonna let you keep me cuffed forever, you know.”

“…We’ll see.”

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The Mandalorian sat motionless in the pilot’s chair, gloved hands resting loosely on the controls. The stars outside streaked by in endless white-blue trails — peaceful, in a way. Deceptively peaceful.

He hadn’t slept.

He told himself he was keeping her around to learn the truth. To weigh what was lies and what was fear talking. That was what a bounty hunter should do — verify the puck. Decide what to believe, who to hand over.

But he’d already made a mistake. He hadn’t put her back in cuffs.

He’d told himself it was temporary. That he’d lock her back up once the next stop came.

And then Grogu had started bringing her things.

He glanced toward the nav screen, though the course hadn’t changed.

She had her reasons. Her story. A believable one, if not convenient. And part of him wanted to write her off as just another fugitive lying through her teeth.

But he knew the type she’d talked about. The ones still walking free in shiny New Republic uniforms. He’d seen it himself — the Empire’s rot hadn’t been cut out. It had just been repainted.

If her story was true… if that list really existed…

He exhaled slowly. This wasn’t what he signed up for. Teva had only said she was a wanted slicer with a long list of tech-based crimes. That she was dangerous. That she’d run. Not a word about internal leaks or conspiracy.

Grogu would be asleep beside her by now. Again.

He should’ve carbon-frozen her. Should’ve done it the moment she stepped aboard. But something had stopped him.

And now?

Now it felt like the line he was supposed to walk — hunter and target — had started to blur.

He leaned back in the chair, the weight of the beskar pressing heavy against his chest.

She was still a bounty.

But he didn’t want to turn her in.

Not yet.

And he hated that he didn’t know why.

Part 2

—comment if you want to be added to this fic taglist

[bikananjarrus]

kanera week 2024 - day 4

prompt: outside pov

rating: teen | word count: 3.3k | ao3 link

[note: apologies for the belated posting, this got much longer than anticipated. again lol. but this was SO much fun to write! it is absolutely silly and ridiculous but i made myself laugh writing ghost crew shenanigans and that's really all that matters!]

~

Zeb thought it was cute, really, Kanan and Hera trying to hide their relationship from him, when he could smell their intermingled scents almost from the second he stepped aboard the Ghost.

And it wasn’t the smell of two people, separate, but sharing the same ship for an extended period of time. No, their scents were so intertwined that it was sometimes hard to tell who walked in a room if he wasn’t looking. It was worse with Kanan; Hera’s scent clung to Kanan’s hair like mynocks to the underbelly of a ship.

He willingly admitted to it being almost immediately that he noticed. But he would also argue that the only reason he didn’t notice even sooner was because of the chaos and adrenaline of Kanan rescuing him; and then recruiting him; followed by days of claustrophobic fear even considering staying in one place long enough to call it safe—much less a home—no matter how short the actual stay, because his last home was gone, and he hadn’t been able to protect it, and— Well. It had been a lot, okay?

So it had taken three or four days into joining their little crew for him to notice that they were, in fact, together.

He was helped along by the stench of sex in the air the morning he figured it out (which they’d both pretended way too hard that it hadn’t happened right under his nose. Or within range of his Lasat hearing.) But that was beside the point.

The point was—that he knew. And he was grappling with himself, trying to decide if he should put them out of their misery of sneaking around and just tell them that he knew. Or if he should wait and see how long they would try to keep up the charade until he caught them red-handed doing something they couldn’t deny.

He didn’t really think they were trying to keep it a secret, per se. More that they (mostly Hera) were trying to maintain a professional facade. Which Zeb respected.

He just wasn’t sure how long respect would win out against the desire to stop hearing them through the Ghost’s walls anymore. He wasn’t exactly known for being the most patient being in the galaxy. And the least they could do was make up some lie to get him off the ship once in a while if they wanted to be alone.

As it turned out, four months was his limit.

Admittedly, he’d thought about caving a month in. Then two. Once it hit the three-month mark, it started to get funnier, watching the two of them scramble to keep their relationship as covert as they could. Then the amusement wore off and Zeb was just ready for them to stop pretending around him.

The opportunity to talk to them came one early morning when he trudged into the mess. He’d been moving slow, still waking up. But not so slow he didn’t see the way Kanan and Hera yanked away from the light kiss they’d been sharing.

Hera did a better job at appearing casual, leaning against the counter and grabbing her mug of caf to sip at. Kanan, blushing furiously, was hopelessly trying to make himself look busy.

Pouring himself a cup of caf, Zeb sat down heavily in the little dining booth opposite them. Groggily, he mumbled, “You know I know you two’re together, right?”

They both blinked at him. To his sleep-hazy brain, it was only slightly creepy how attuned to each other they were.

Then, with a dramatic exhale, Kanan said, “Oh, thank the Force.”

Hera poked Kanan in the side, muttering, “I told you he knew.”

“Well, he didn’t say anything, how was I to know.” Then Kanan turned to him. “How long have you known, anyway?”

Zeb took another gulp of caf. “Pretty much since I stepped on board. Could smell it on ya both.”

Kanan frowned. “Smell it?”

Hera just gave Zeb an understanding look, then pinched Kanan’s cheek playfully. “Poor human senses.” Then, to Zeb, she added, “Here I was thinking that Chopper spilled the beans to you.”

Now it was Zeb’s turn to blink. “You think I know what that rust bucket’s sayin’?” He swallowed down the rest of his caf, getting up with a stretch. “Just…try ‘nd let me know in advance if y’two wanna have sex. The Ghost’s walls’re thick, but they ain’t that thick.”

They both flushed at that—Kanan a rosy pink and Hera a darker shade of green.

Kanan rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. We tried to keep quiet.”

“It’s alright,” Zeb replied. “For the record, you were quiet. But, y’know.” He pointed a clawed finger at his ears.

“Right.”

Zeb dismissed himself to finish getting ready for the day. On his way out, he caught Kanan looping an arm around Hera’s waist, pulling her close again. Their quiet laughter followed him into the hall.

He fondly shook his head. Yeah, they were cute or something.

::

When Sabine joined the crew a year later, Zeb was so used to Hera and Kanan by then that he didn’t even think about Sabine finding out, much less telling her.

Not that there was a lot of opportunity to have that kind of conversation with her anyway, when she first came on board, because—well. Sabine wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Especially not in those first few months. She communicated with them all when it was necessary for missions and the occasional small talk. Otherwise, she was more of a listener and a quiet observer. And that was when she was hanging around them at all; most of the time she was hidden away in her bunk.

But she was good in a firefight and a hard worker. And now that she had a safe bed to return to, she didn’t seem intent on leaving anytime soon. So, if she didn’t feel like talking much? That was just fine.

Zeb knew the girl had been through a lot. And something bad. He and Hera and Kanan could tell that just by looking at her. Not to mention the way Kanan and Hera had found her—alone and bleeding from a grievous injury in some back alley in the pouring rain.

And positively filled to the brim with anger and hurt.

They still didn’t really know any details about what had happened to her. Zeb could relate; he hadn’t wanted to talk about Lasan at all afterwards. But he knew time and patience helped. She would—hopefully—open up eventually.

Kanan had definitely managed to reach her the most. It had been Kanan who’d gotten through to her in that alley, convincing her that they were trustworthy enough to help her. And Kanan was persistent—trying to get her to crack a smile, complimenting her when she executed a particularly brilliant set of explosives, buying her a set of paints when he caught her doodling with a half dry marker one day.

She started warming up to Zeb, too. Being paired off on missions helped, and she enjoyed poking fun at him. He let her, and he didn’t mind. Seeing color return to her cheeks and a spark enter back into her eyes was worth it for a little laughter at his expense.

Only Hera was having a tough time getting through to her, and Zeb was pretty sure it had less to do with Hera herself, and rather some underlying issues on Sabine’s part.

So. All this to say—Zeb hadn’t gotten a lot of opportunities for casual conversation with her. Wondering if she knew about Kanan and Hera didn’t even cross his mind until it was right there in front of him.

He and Sabine were playing sabacc in the common area one afternoon, about six months after Sabine had joined the crew.

Hera and Kanan passed through, chattering quietly. Stopping at the ladder Kanan pressed a quick kiss to Hera’s lips.

With a soft smile, she uttered a low, be careful, and then they were separating—her down to the engine room, and Kanan up to the Phantom to head out on a quick supply run with Chopper.

Zeb observed the whole interaction out of the corner of his eye. Sabine barely looked up from her cards.

“So, um.” Zeb cleared his throat. He was pretty sure that if Kanan and Hera didn’t want Sabine to know about them, they wouldn’t have kissed so blatantly in public. But then again, they hadn’t ever mentioned to him that they’d told her. And he hadn’t said anything.

Sabine’s lack of reaction was throwing him more than anything.  

Not that it was some huge forbidden secret. He didn’t think. But the way Hera and Kanan had snuck around when he first joined up with them flashed through his mind, and he was suddenly questioning—well. Everything.

“Did you, uh,” he tried again. “Kanan and Hera, I mean.”

Sabine picked a card up from the pile in the center. “That wasn’t a full sentence.”

“Well, what I meant was—”

“If you’re trying to ask me if I saw what just happened with Kanan and Hera, well the answer would be no because my back was turned. But I know what it sounds like when two people kiss. So, yes.”

Zeb blinked. “You don’t seem surprised by it.”

“Should I be?”

“S’pose not. I wasn’t.” He examined his cards. “How’d you find out anyway?”

She shrugged. “Kanan told me.”

“Now that’s just not fair,” Zeb grumbled. “They didn’t tell me a thing! I finally had to tell ‘em that I knew the whole time.”

She gave a short, little laugh. “I mean, I’d figured it out before he told me, because he is not subtle at all. He’s always staring at Hera with a dopey look on his face.” She rolled her eyes, but it was more affectionate than anything. “Remember when he brought me those paints?”

Zeb nodded. That had been about three months ago now, after Kanan had noticed her doodling. She hadn’t said much beyond an awed thank you; but Zeb had remembered the way she practically glowed with gratitude when Kanan had given her the paints and told her that Hera said it was okay for her to paint whatever she liked in her bunk.

Sabine smiled at the memory now. “We hung out and talked for a while that day. Well—he talked. I listened, mostly, while I started painting. I don’t think he meant to, but he let it slip about him and Hera, and once he started talking about her, he just kept rambling for a bit.” She shook her head like it wasn’t that big of a deal, but he could see it had meant a lot to her. “So, yeah. I knew.”

“Good.” Zeb blew out a breath. “That’s—good.”

Her nose scrunched up and she looked up at him. “They’re just so—”

“Disgustingly affectionate?”

She laughed louder this time, and it felt like a victory. “Exactly. It’s…cute, I guess.”

They were certainly that.

Zeb was just happy to be poking fun at them with Sabine, and even more glad they could all joke with each other. It was starting to feel an awful lot like family.

::

It was after Ezra joined the crew that things started to get really fun.

Ezra had been with them for maybe two weeks when they were all relaxing in the common area together between jobs. Hera and Kanan were seated, fairly close, in the booth around the dejarik table, not acting particularly outside the norm. Kanan had an arm thrown around the back of the booth, and occasionally his fingers would brush across Hera’s shoulder, or down the side of one lek. She usually tossed him a Careful, there, look when that happened, and Kanan’s mouth would quirk up in a trouble-making smirk, eyes alight.

Zeb nearly rolled his own eyes. They were so disgustingly affectionate sometimes, it made it hard to be around them and not be at least mildly annoyed. Or envious of what they had. Yeah, mostly that one, probably.

Ezra sat on the opposite end of the booth from Kanan and Hera. He was half playing dejarik with Kanan, half chatting with Hera about who she’d bet on in the podrace taking place on Malistare next month (if she was the sort of person who would actually put money to betting on races, that is), and completely oblivious to the couple flirting through touch alone across from him.

Zeb leaned back in his wooden armchair, watching the scene unfold with amusement.

He might have suspected the Ezra knew about Kanan and Hera. If it hadn’t been for Ezra’s exasperated, “Kanan. Pay attention! It’s your turn.”

“Sorry, kid.”

Zeb caught Hera nudging Kanan’s knee under the table with her own as he turned back to the game. Ezra stared at him intently, waiting for Kanan’s next move.

Yeah—the newest addition to their crew had no clue that his Jedi Master’s thoughts were more focused on the woman beside him than the holochess game in front of him.

Zeb leaned down towards Sabine, who was on the floor, repainting her shin armor. “Psst.”

Sabine’s eyes flicked up, but she didn’t stray from her hunched over position. She gave him a look like, What?

Zeb crooked a finger at her to come closer.

With a roll of her eyes, Sabine unfolded herself and stood next to his chair. He leaned close, keeping his voice low for only her to hear, “Hey, how long until ya think the kid figures it out?”

He tipped his head in the direction of Kanan and Hera. Sabine followed his gaze, assessing the scene surrounding the dejarik table. After a moment, she smiled conspiratorially.

“Oh, if he hasn’t figured it out yet, I give it at least three months,” she whispered.

“I was gonna say four.”

“You want to put a few credits to it?”

Zeb grinned sharply. “You know it.”

Instead of the much-to-obvious handshake in present company, Sabine bumped her fist against his. It was a deal.

::

It took six months (six!)for Ezra to figure it out.

Zeb won the bet by default, since he’d guessed the longer timeline. But he wasn’t sure that was really fair, since Ezra didn’t even figure it out on his own.

Ezra came barreling into the mess one morning while Zeb was still drinking his wake-up caf, out of breath, and asked, “Have you seen Kanan?”

His ears perked up a bit at that. “No. Why?”

“He’s late for Jedi training,” Ezra said in a tone of voice like it should’ve been obvious to Zeb. And normally it might’ve been. But he was still waking up—hence the wake-up caf. “I checked his bunk and he wasn’t there. Then I looked in the cockpit and the engine room and then all the store rooms and nothing! He didn’t go into town on his own, right?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” Zeb said. Hera and Kanan would’ve told them all if that was the case. “Come on, I’ll help you look.”

They found Kanan quick.

He was trailing behind Ezra as they turned the corridor towards all the bunks when Hera’s cabin door slid open and Kanan nearly stumbled into the hall. His undershirt was untucked, only one arm shoved through one sleeve of a dark blue sweater. His hair was down and mussed; from just last night, or also this morning, it was hard to tell.

What was blatantly obvious is that Kanan had not spent the night in his own bunk.

Eyes wide, Kanan caught sight of Ezra first, then Zeb, his expression one Zeb could only describe as a plea for help. Zeb nearly broke then and there.

Especially when the next comment out of Ezra’s mouth was, “Hey—wait, why are you coming out of Hera’s cabin?

“Well, I—”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. You’re late for Jedi training, come on!”

Then Ezra was off, shoving past Zeb and dashing back the way they’d come. Kanan looked at Zeb helplessly, blushing as he tucked his shirt in and finished pulling on his sweater.

Zeb chuckled, clapping Kanan on the shoulder as he trailed after his padawan. “Good luck, mate.”

::

Everything came to a head later, while they were en route to Garel for supplies. Zeb was in the cockpit with Sabine and Hera—who was piloting, of course. Kanan was finishing up their list of necessities in one of the storerooms with Chopper and Ezra was tucked back in the Phantom.

At one point, Kanan’s voice had called Ezra over the ship-wide comms, asking Ezra for a rundown of what needed to be restocked on the Phantom.

They were still on the ship-wide comms when Ezra asked, “So, what were you doing in Hera’s cabin this morning?”

Sabine jerked around in the copilot’s seat to look at him, her eyes comically wide. He knew he wore a similar expression.

Simultaneously, they both shifted their gaze to Hera. She continued to fly steadily, but from this angle, Zeb could see the slight way her lekku stiffened in embarrassment, a slight flush coloring high in her cheeks. Catching Sabine’s gaze, Hera just shrugged one shoulder. “What. It’s nothing you two aren’t already aware of.”

“Umm…” came Kanan’s voice over the comms.

Zeb could so easily picture him rubbing the back of his neck, trying to decide how to tell Ezra in a way that was more appropriate than, Yeah I was late to training this morning because Hera and I were having passionate sex deep into the hours of the night.

Zeb leaned forward in his seat. “Should we tell ‘em they’re on the whole ship’s comms?”

Sabine gave him a look.

But it was Hera who raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “Are you kidding?” A sly grin. “I want to see who caves first.”

So, they waited, listening.

Finally, from Kanan, “We’re partners.”

“Well, duh, you’re partners. What does that have to do with you being in her room?”

“No, I mean we were together.”

“Together?” A lengthy pause. Briefly Zeb wondered how Kanan was managing to keep Chopper from chiming in through all this. “Like…did you have a private briefing with Fulcrum this morning or something?”

“No, kid. I—” Kanan cut off, and Zeb knew he was grinding a fist against his forehead in frustration. “I mean, we are together. Like, together. Intimately, as a couple, you know.”

There was a full minute of silence. He was slightly worried either Kanan or Ezra had finally shut off the ship-wide comms, and they wouldn’t get to hear how Kanan’s misery ended.

Then, “WAIT. You’re together together? Since when?”

“The whole time you’ve known us, but thanks for noticing, kid.”

“Hold on—do Sabine and Zeb know?”

With that, Zeb couldn’t hold it in any longer. He guffawed—loudly. Sabine was bent over in her chair with laughter. Smiling broadly, Hera flipped the switch on the cockpit’s comm, so their laughter echoed through the ship for Kanan and Ezra to hear.

There were groans from Kanan’s end, exasperated yelling from Ezra, warbles from Chopper as he finally chipped in.

Moments later, Ezra was bursting into the cockpit, pointing between Zeb and Sabine. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me!”

Sabine exchanged a look with Zeb, and he replied, “Well, we were kinda waitin’ for you to figure it out on your own.”

Ezra continued to grumble as Chopper wheeled in, a blushing Kanan trailing behind to take the seat behind Hera. He squeezed her shoulder, and she reached back for his hand.

“Well done, love,” she teased.

“Love,” Ezra muttered, folding his arms as he leaned against Zeb’s chair. “Unbelievable.”

That sent them all into fresh peals of laughter.

Looking at Kanan and Hera’s linked hands, Zeb had never been more grateful to them for bringing their little family together.

[end]

(p.s. everyone pray for ezra's poor 15 year old braincells 🙏 he's not dumb, just a little unobservant sometimes. happens to the best of us <3)

[wolveria]

👀👀👀 can I ask about the wing AU??

Yesss!! The Wing AU! Which is really just a long document with the various clones and Jedi/Sith what their wings would look like.

I'm going to post it as it is because the bullet point works, and this is the "baseline" part of the winged universe. I might have several stories stem from it, because... I just really love wings and I feel like I could go in several directions. So here it is!

There are only two beings in the galaxy with wings: those who are Force-sensitive, and the clones engineered by the Kaminoans

The wings of a child will be drab until they molt in maturity, bringing in their true colors

Touching another person’s wings without permission is disrespectful and invasive, while trusting someone enough to allow them to preen their wings is a sign of trust and closeness

The clones were engineered with wings to keep up with the Jedi during the war, though this has brought its own controversy with senators questioning if engineering wings is a step too far in cloning technology, as wings are supposed to be sacred (but the Chancellor claims this is a sign they are on the side of righteousness, though in reality he wants the clone troopers to have wings to keep up with the Jedi when he orders their execution)

Yoda has grey wings, Dooku has elegant black wings, and Darth Sidious has no wings at all (he removed them at an early age to hide his affinity for the Force, and he almost abhors the idea of them), Maul’s wings are black with red tips, and Ventress has wings of white with black tips

Anakin has beautiful golden-brown wings, Obi-Wan has soft sandstone-colored wings, and Ahsoka has white wings with blue stripes

Cad Bane has wings of blue variation, light blue at the base and darker at the tips, though they are so ragged from being unpreened and kept in bindings against his back that they can only glide, not fly, until they are restored with care and practice (which is unlikely since he always keeps them hidden and no one knows he even has them)

Clones Wings:

Hunter has dark grey wings, the same color as his eyes, and the feathers are broader and longer than a typical clones’ (his brothers used to joke that his missing height went into his wingspan)

Crosshair has silvery white wings that match his hair, and they’re especially soft around the shoulders of the wings, almost downy, but if anyone tries to touch them, they’ll get pummeled for it. Not with his hands—Crosshair has learned how to “punch��� with his wings with uncanny accuracy, and other troopers learned long ago to steer clear of them

Wrecker has reddish-brown wings that have golden highlights in the sun, though he had to have cybernetic feathers and muscles implanted into his left wing after the explosion that took his eye

Tech’s wings are golden-brown, and they are prone to being unkempt much like his living space, the clone too distracted with his work to care for them, and if it wasn’t for his brothers they would be nearly unusable (which would be a shame, because he flies like a mynock on fire)

Echo used to have grey speckled wings that complimented Fives’ grey and white wings, but once he was captured, the Separatists cut them off. After he was rescued, Rex and Cody made sure there were funds to build him advanced mechanical wings so he could fly again

Omega has golden-white wings, and the Batch had to teach her how to fly because the Kaminoans didn’t show her and probably never would have

Crosshair would be the one to preen Hunter’s wings after a battle, and Hunter would preen his (Crosshair would let Wrecker preen his wings but no matter how hard he tries, Crosshair’s too sensitive, and Hunter is the only one with a light enough touch to do it)

Tech doesn’t really care who preens his wings out of the Batch, just as long as they don’t screw up and pull out any feathers, and he’s more than happy to let Wrecker do it since the big clone loves preening his brother’s feathers

If a flyer goes through a traumatic event, their feathers will molt and grow back a different color: this is what happens to the clones after Order 66, they lose their individuality/feathers, and grow all white wings to match their bleached armor (Crosshair loses his silvery feathers and they grow back in a much darker shade, showing he’s not completely under their control and is suffering for it)

There are only a few Imperial clones that don’t grow plain white feathers, but instead, they grow in pure black. The ones with black wings are selected to be Death Troopers

Crosshair’s new wings are not technically black, they’re more of a dark grey, and coincidentally, the same shade as Hunter’s wings

For clones who start to fight their chips, or their chips start to fail, they gradually shed their feathers and start growing them back with color. Such as Howzer, who started to grow back his teal-tipped feathers, and he had to bleach his wings so his superiors wouldn’t find out

The new TK troopers are given mechanical wings, but they are far inferior to the natural wings that clones are engineered with, but mechanical wings are cheaper than biological ones, and the clone troopers that remain are taken to Tantiss for experimentation

[materassassino]

2024!!

Taking advantage of @emmalostinwonderland's open tag for this one. Yes, I know it's a day late, leave me alone.

I wrote less than I hoped, but worked harder than I expected on what I did write, which to me is a successful year. I didn't manage to write the original thing I wanted, and I think I'll have to just accept that I don't really want to write original things, and just want to write fanfiction. We'll see how that goes this year, I have ideas, it's just actually writing them down that's my downfall. I am also never a very prolific writer, and this year I chose to focus on a very small fandom. But the feedback has been lovely nevertheless! One thing I was slightly annoyed about was the lack of interaction with any ask prompt games I reblogged, which made me sad because I love writing those little things.

(It took ages to fit that screenshot onto that laptop screen and I forgot to fucking save it for future use.)

✨Some Statistics✨

Fics posted: 11 Fics updated from past years: 1 Kudos: 1,635 Bookmarks: 400 Subscriptions: 122 Word count: 101,401 Hits: 17,778 Events participated in: 1 (Star Wars Big Bang)

📝Fandoms I wrote for📝

The Old Guard: 9 Star Wars: 2 Mo Dao Zu Shi: 1 His Dark Materials: 1 (crossover/AU)

👑Most Popular Fic of 2024👑

Vento di Tramontana Fandom: The Old Guard Words: 7,682 Hits: 1,382 Kudos: 190 Bookmarks: 58 (TIL that the stats page shows you private bookmark numbers as well, whereas the fic itself only shows public ones) Comments: 35 Yeah, I'm surprised by this one too, I was expecting it to be Wild Mynock Chase. But overall I'm very glad of it, I enjoyed writing it and the reaction it got.

(I am measuring by kudos, not hits. If we go by hits it is Wild Mynock Chase)

💖Personal Favourite Fic of 2024💖

Even in Another Time Fandom: The Old Guard Words: 26,440 Hits: 1,282 Kudos: 102 Bookmarks: 42 Comments: 28 I was slightly disappointed, but there's still plenty of time for people to read it, of course, and I understand it's not easy subject matter. But this fic means a lot to me personally, so I will likely never shut up about it ever.

💻WIPs I'm taking into the new year💻

Agate and the Sea (the Soulmate AU) Pygmalion AU (very disappointed I didn't finish this at the end of the year) Pride Flag Colours Series Battle of Yavin Anniversary Fic (I WILL FINISH THIS) Various and Sundry Oneshots (Nudity Fic, Bookbinding Fic, Outsider POV fic, Dancing Fic etc) Gentleman Thief AU

Here's to working hard in the New Year on things I cannot discuss with people in meatspace! It's an open tag to whoever wants to do this, but I'm especially tagging @dangerouscommiesubversive, @wingsofbadass and @maered613.

[squirrel-art]

Q: What do Jedi wear to the club?

A: Their lightsabers!

This is probably the most ambitious thing I’ve drawn in like, a year, which is wild bc I couldn’t even be assed to draw the background (it’s one of my own screenshots from Nar Shaddaa). 

I dunno, I just really like the idea of the psychic space monks getting to be hip normal girls once in a while! <3

Sartorial inspirations below the cut, because figuring out how I was gonna dress everyone was part of the fun teehee

Kira: Kira always struck me a little more of a tomboy, and I like the idea of Coruscanti street fashion orbiting the techwear sphere. So she gets the Kim Possible fit. I think she’d want any excuse to show off her abs \o/

Ántonia: Basically a copy of this outfit  (+leather jacket, gladiator heels, & lightsaber belt) worn by Australian model Isabelle Mathers that I found reposted to Pinterest. I wish I could link to the actual post, but I couldn’t find it on her instagram and suspect it might’ve been from a reel that’s no longer available? Apologies for my lack of journalistic integrity TuT And then her cute little mynock masquerade mask is based on this bat mask.

Savtas: Sav’s casual non-robes wear is almost exclusively jumpsuits, for both convenience and comfort, so of COURSE I put her in the successor to Mark Hamill’s gold lamé jumpsuit he wore for that German TV skit in the 80s. I’m in love with it now

Nadia: I just really wanted to put her in something cute with a lean towards 60s retro-futurism! It felt Star Wars-appropriate. Her dress is based on this fantastic little number by Gnyuki Torimaru. I also gave her Dior boots because I saw them on Pinterest & decided they were fantastic. You might also notice she’s changed the design of her face paint to match Sav’s tattoos ^_^

insert that old adage about gay friend groups always looking like they’re attending separate events

[stellanslashgeode]

5,6 and 10 for the askgame please? ♥️

Oh, and I really love how you write gender performances, especially after reading "Doorways, corners and shadow: a clone trooper Sister mystery". Not everyone can write nonbinary characters that well, but you also write feminity very well with Sister, Barriss and more recently with Trace (I'm talking about the scenes where she contemplates about her appearance)

Oh my gosh, thank you! You are too kind. Yeah, that's part of why I love writing for Tepoh, I have to decide how masculine or feminine zhe wants to be at that moment. But on to your questions!

5. Where do you get your title inspiration from?

To be cliche for a moment, song lyrics and titles pop up a lot: The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Barriss Offee, Don't Get Captured, Let's Call it Love. Sometimes it's a line from the source material: Heart of Kyber. Inferno and all the chapter titles were all movie titles. Sometimes it's a joke: Permission to Come Aboard, Admiral, Lavender and Chartreuse, Jedi: Dropout. Doorways, Corners, and Shadows is a The Expanse reference. Sometimes the title is expressing something I want to get across in the work, like the Sundari Concerto having a music motif, or Serpentes Tremens referencing snakes and Dementia Tremens. Anemia for a vampire story about thirst is pretty evident. It was important for me for my words in her voice to be all in lowercase letters, because fics like that have their own vibe.

6. Do you listen to anything while you write?

When I was starting out I would choose a musical artist or two and listen to them nonstop while I wrote. Usually a band that had the vibe I wanted. Inevitable Rise was all CHVRCHES. Sundari Lament was all Daughter. Heart of Kyber was Billie Eilish and Mitski. And that landed me in the top 3% of Mitski fans on my Spotify Wrapped that year! I've kind of gotten past that and I listen to a lot of those atmospheric music channels on YouTube now.

10. How much do you write before you post?

What you see is usually what you get. I very rarely write ahead and I usually post after giving the chapter a quality control, spelling, and grammar read through. I am impatient like that. I've done some writing ahead for Way of the Mynock, but that's only because it requires more planning out since it's so darn long and I want to get scenes out while I am inspired.

Thanks for the ask!

[vaguely-concerned]

When I say that I think blue is fundamentally not a gamer what I really mean to say is that his way of interacting with a game would be nothing so sane or recognizable as like. playing it, btw. What he might be should he ever get interested enough to engage with the medium is some kind of nightmare speedrunner. He would view it as a battle of wills against an enemy coder (*sighs in star wars nonsense* …slicer…) and seek out every single way to glitch or break their game with uncanny bordering on unsettling focus until he could produce an ‘any%’ playthrough that somehow completed five minutes before you even pressed the start button. then he’d walk back and forth having a gloating little villain monologue about it. And that’s where he’d find his fun. ‘And so you see I have exposed the many woeful inadequacies of your coding and will enumerate your failings as I get to them while I explain each step of the process of engineering your downfall, trivial as it was. Please take notes as we go you clearly have much to learn here’

(zero who had just wanted to maybe have a fun little gaming night as a way to hang out without having to play kriffing scrabble again sighing and begrudgingly flashing heart emojis over his helmet screen as he sits back to watch the show and/or find out if he’s using the rest of his night for corpse disposal: well to be fair I’m not entirely sure what else I expected here)

(When I was writing my fics and rooting around deep in the podcast itself and the few precious extant social media posts that somehow survived every disaster that’s hit twitter and tumblr since the time of their posting ( :’) I have dragged myself through hell and over barbed wire on my stomach in the name of love, thank god I got in there in early 2023 before musk could finish the job with the bird hell app, I think it’s all lost to radioactive internet sludge now), I puzzled together the tentative understanding that the metaplot of the podcast — should these beloved mynock-based chucklefucks ever have stopped determinedly running away from the narrative for long enough to actually engage with it (which… lmao I think we’d be safe even had the podcast kept going <3) — is that Blue is seeking a means to rewrite the rules and very nature of existence through getting his hubristic little hands on the Journal of the Whills. Which is basically the same thing as the scenario outlined above just on a cosmic scale. Accuse him of many things and accuse him accurately he sucks so bad (affectionate) but a lack of scope and ambition is not among them.

As Zero is the brain worm-inducing character he is due to the delicate balance of 90% ruthlessly competent murdermachine, 10% meme loving goofball (100% reason to remember the name and also devotion), to me Blue is defined by being 90% a pathetic, fragile, emotionally volatile and neurotic wretch of a man and 10% someone who would declare war on God and who might, somehow, inexplicably, through sheer stubborn insanity and evil autism, win that war. (to disastrous effect for everyone involved including himself, needless to say!) like. He probably wouldn’t win. But it might be best to keep something else around for him to think about as a distraction anyway. Just in case. (The deep mutual Zeblue psychosexual obsession++ truly is the soldier protecting the sleeping child that is the gffa or possibly the Force itself meme)

[kalevalakryze]

Mynock Fever

Pairings: Shin Hati/Sabine Wren, Shin Hati & Baylan Skoll, Shin Hati & Baylan Skoll & Sabine Wren & Ahsoka Tano Characters: Sabine Wren, Shin Hati, Baylan Skoll, Ahsoka Tano Warnings/Notes: Sickness, Fever, Canon Divergence, Sleepover!!!!, Truce, Fellas Is It Gay To Hunt Down The Woman You Want To Rail (You)?, Goth Dad Baylan Skoll, Good Dad Baylan Skoll, She/They Shin Hati, Wolfwren Summary: “It appears my Padawan has come down with Mynock Fever and cannot be convinced to rest.” Baylan’s hands were clasped in front of him, his face remained impassive, though Ahsoka could feel his worry in the force. “What do you want me to do about it?” He cleared his throat. “Your apprentice, Sabine Wren, seems to have a rather positive influence on her, it is my hope perhaps that if she accompanied Shin here, they would be able to get the rest they needed,” “I’m not letting Sabine go anywhere near Morgan and Marrok. You two can come here,” He seemed like he was going to decline, until a loud, chest rattling cough filtered through the speaker off the projection. “We will be there,” Word Count: 4,463 AO3 Link: Here! Notes: Big thanks to Steelgrace for this rec, and for helping me figure out all of the intricacies! Here is the link I used for the lullaby (edited for Mando'a), And another thanks to Steel for helping me with translations. Also, I cannot believe I didn't post anything yesterday. I have failed you... I have failed you.

Ahsoka went to the meetup point alone, she had not told Sabine about their soon-to-be guests, or the circumstances of her departure. The Imperial shuttle set down in the clearing, when she reached out, the Togruta sensed only two being inside the ship. The ramp lowered to reveal Baylan Skoll, his arm wrapped around his apprentice, who’d shrunk into her cloak with the hood tugged over her head. The skin she could see was paler than normal, their shoulders shaking as if they were cold, tucked closer to her Master’s side than Ahsoka would have thought possible.

Shin looked smaller without all of her armor, her robes wrinkled and messy, hanging off of their shrunken frame. A mask looped around their ears, covering their nose and mouth, though Ahsoka’s montrals picked up on each wheezing breath.

Baylan’s eyes scanned their surroundings as he led Shin off of the ship, a bag slung over his shoulders, the armor Shin normally wore tied to the outside of the bag, clinking softly with each step. “Thank you for taking us,” He greeted with a dip of his head. Both of their sabers hung from each belt, and he must have sensed Ahsoka’s distrustful gaze. “Shin, give me your saber,”

“Master..?” Their voice was hoarse, thick and stuffy as they leaned further into him for support, hand unwinding from the fabric of their cloak to retrieve the saber tucked against her hip. Trembling hands passed the weapon over, though it was not taken far, clipped to Baylan’s belt beside his own. “Trust goes both ways, Lady Tano..” He reminded at the scrunching of Ahsoka’s facial markings. “We are putting ours in you,”

Relenting, Ahsoka nodded her head, arm sweeping towards her speeder parked in the brush. “Your ship will be safe here, though I suggest making sure it’s locked. The wolves can open unlocked doors,” Ahsoka warned, listening as their ramp raised and ship sealed itself.

Baylan helped Shin into the speeder, allowing the young woman to tuck into his side once more as Ahsoka shot the speeder across the thirty minute trip back to the two small buildings that made up their home. A pre-fab building had been erected near Sabine and Ezra’s tower. A mop of orange and red hair was leaning over the railing, though Ahsoka could feel the Apprentice’s eyes on her as she pulled up.

By the time the speeder pulled to a stop, Sabine was leaning against stacked crates nearby, arms crossed over her chest with confusion pulling at her face. “I’ve picked up some guests for a few days,” Ahsoka greeted as she slid out of the speeder, head turning back to Shin and Baylan as he helped Shin out of the back of the speeder.

“Woah, what happened to her?” Sabine pushed off her spot, closing the distance between herself and Ahsoka as Baylan approached.

“Mynock fever, it seems they’ve picked it up on our travels,” Baylan informed the jedi as Shin finally raised her eyes from the dirt.

“Jeez, Shin,” Sabine offered a crooked smile in greeting. “Never got vaccinated for Mynock fever?”

Shin blinked slowly. “Vaccinated?” Their brows furrowed in confusion, and they glanced towards Baylan, who seemed as equally confused by the other Jedi at their response.

Realization crossed Baylan’s face, his hand raising to press his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “Of course they never had you vaccinated on Balosar,”

“Bal-“ She hadn’t known Shin had come from Balosar, Shin had never told, and Sabine had never asked, all she really knew of the planet was how few humans could survive long periods without a large sum of creds to keep supplying oxygen.

Ahsoka’s hand on her own stopped her from questioning further, it wasn’t their place to question yet. “It would be wise to get it handled in the city once they are well again,”

“I’m right here,” Shin rasped over the conversations around her, arms hanging to the side before falling with a smack to her sides. The blonde’s weight shifted unsteadily, though before Baylan could reach to steady her, Sabine was taking a large stride forward, allowing the blonde to grab onto her arm, sliding her other arm around them.

Offering a sheepish smile, Sabine let Shin lean into her. Truly, they didn’t care who was holding them up, or even if they fell… the Lothal dirt seemed pretty comfy, Sabine would know, they should ask…

“Hey, I’m gonna take her inside?” Sabine broke apart the quiet conversation between the Masters, nodding her head towards the tower. Baylan eyed her with something protective that both warmed her heart and put her on edge. She was no fool, she’d seen the holo of him killing the rebellion leaders to free Morgan, getting on his bad side (outside of his… bad side; the side that made them enemies) was not something she wanted to test out.

Shin didn’t seem to care about who was leading her away from the group, and Sabine was grateful to not have the usual homicidal comments sent her way in front of Baylan and Ahsoka. In fact, the Gray Jedi didn’t even seem to realize or care that she was moving, feet dragging through the dirt as Sabine led the way.

“Jeesh, Kurs’kaded, you’re in rough shape,” Sabine commented as she guided the woman into the tower, brushing their hood off their head as the door slid shut so she could press the back of her hand to their burning forehead. Their roots were a startling mess of brown, that she absolutely was not expecting to see from the blonde.

“How long have you been laid on your ass like this?” Sabine questioned as she settled them into her bed, pulling their cloak away only to replace it around her shoulders with the softest blanket she had.

“Weeks,” They sunk into the mattress and the familiar warmth and smells as Sabine fretted about to cover them up in blankets.

Sabine paused, brows furrowing as she turned to stare at the blonde. “We fought last week-“ She settled herself on the edge of the bed and a look of mock hurt crossed her face. “Wait, is that why I beat you?” A smile flickered across their lips from under the mask as Shin nodded.

“I mean, as much as I liked handing you your own ass, it’s less fun knowing it took you being sick for it to happen,”

“I could have beaten you, if I wanted,” Shin leaned back into the headboard, eyes fluttering shut as she burrowed into the blankets.

“Mhmm, get some rest, copikla,”

Defaulting to what she knew best, Shin obeyed the gentle command, drifting off into a feverish sleep.

Two sets of footsteps ascended the steps until the door was sliding open again. Ahsoka and Baylan both stepped into the tower to see Sabine working over a portable hot plate on the table, the beginnings of a pot of pog soup brought to a boil inside. “Shh,” The Mandalorian warned, gesturing to the sleeping ball of murder curled up in the corner of the room.

“Wait, is her hair brown?” Ahsoka’s eyes narrowed at the tops of Shin’s head, glancing towards the hair care and weapons expert.

“Yeah, she does the same thing I do,” Sabine pointed out quietly as she added spices to the pot. “Actually,” Her attention turned to Baylan. “They said you help her take care of it,” The civility was weird, for Sabine, though this was not her first experience being friendly with an enemy (considering the woman that had tried to murder her was snoring quietly in her bed), and she could at least play nice so long as it was returned.

“Yes, every few weeks,” He and Ahsoka lowered themselves into the open chairs in sync, the Togruta focused more on the conversation of human hair than anything else. “Although I hadn’t wanted to do the latest treatment until she was feeling better,”

Sabine nodded along, pleased with his answer as she settled into the open chair between the two older force-sensitives. “So, what’s all this about Balosar? That’s the core world they turned into a trash heap, right?”

Baylan scratched a hand through his beard in thought, debating on what he should provide about his Apprentice’s upcoming. “I can only offer some of the details, the rest you will need to ask her yourself.”

Sabine planted her elbows on the table and leaned in. “Spill,” A smile twitched at her lips, and she could see Ahsoka’s shoulders moving in silent laughter in her peripherals.

The older man only looked confused for a moment, though he did not bother to question their amusement. “As you know, a force sensitive child in the galaxy after the Jedi Purge was a danger, they would reach into their abilities and cause havoc, which oftentimes would lead to Imperial… intervention,” The Mercenary stroked his beard, lips pressing into a line as he pondered the piece they would have played in Shin’s life if he hadn’t shown up, how different she would be from the woman he raised and how similar she would instead have been with Marrok.

“I picked up on her fledgling presence and requested that Imperial presence in the area to clear until I could investigate. She’d been using the force to help her survive, which had only gone so far on a toxic planet unfit for humans, and an overpopulation rate that made the most basic of tasks nearly impossible. The healthcare on Balosar only extends to their corporate elite, the most she received was a used oxygen tank every handful of cycles.” His hands folded onto the table as he looked to his sleeping Padawan fondly.

“When I retrieved her, no one had inquired on my intentions, though I was stopped and… forced to buy out her employment with one of the Line Supervisors for the company that had hired her. Of course, when we were back on my ship, we had been more focused on the pressing ailments than that of routine vaccinations,”

“Wait, doesn’t Balosar export Death Sticks?” Sabine’s nose crinkled. “They hired a kid for their shit?” Anger rose in her blood, boiling like the soup in the center of the table.

“Sabine, mind your feelings,” Ahsoka called, her hand resting on Sabine’s arm, gesturing with her eyes to the shifting body in the nest of blankets, the spark of her anger causing unrest in their state.

“Right, yeah, calm,” Sabine huffed as she dropped back into her seat. “She didn’t deserve that,”

“She didn’t- doesn’t” Baylan corrected with a nod of his head, eyes warm as he glanced between the apprentices, through his shared bond with Shin, he’d been able to feel the spark of another bond that they had cherished just as dearly. Shin’s reaction to Sabine’s feelings even in her state of feverish sleep directed him to the other that his Padawan had felt dearly about (though he never would have guessed anyone else, it was nice to have the force confirm it).

“Shin has come a long way from Balosar, though many of her habits have stuck onto her, I am afraid that my own teachings in survival may have even reinforced some of their more unhealthy mechanisms, which is why I had sought you out, Lady Wren.”

“You have sparked something in my Apprentice that I had not known was possible for her to safely experience, it has been fortuitist in her training and connection with the force.”

Sabine relaxed at the words, a fond smile flickering at her lips as she fought off the feeling of smugness that settled into her chest.

“Shin has been helping Sabine as well,” Ahsoka pointed out, waving her hand towards the portable hotplate to turn down the heat with the force. “Both with her connection to the force, and her saber training,”

“Shin has been looking for a fight with a lightsaber user for some time, it’s a wonder they haven’t killed each other, but she spoke highly about Sabine’s aptitude, she believes you would be more comfortable in form three, or perhaps, adapting your culture into how you learn.”

“Wait, Shin talks to you about me?”

“All the time,” His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle as the Mandalorian’s cheeks turned red and she looked down, a smile tugging at her lips fondly.

Ahsoka’s facial marking raised, shooting a knowing smirk towards Baylan to convey that likewise, Sabine talked about Shin more often than she even realized.

“Okay, before I get embarrassed any more-“ Sabine started, rising to her feet to shuffle through the cabinets along the wall. Mentally, she patted herself on the back for cleaning up the clutter before their surprise guests had arrived.

Four bowls were set out, the serving spoon passed to Ahsoka to fill each bowl while she rummaged through the cabinets for the caf pods. “ ‘soka, the pods okay for tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” The Togruta answered as she poured each serving, moving to the counters to grab silverware for each bowl.

“Baylan? Tea, caf, water? Might have some flavor pods too,” Sabine called over her shoulder, just loud enough to not disturb Shin’s sleep yet.

“Water is alright, thank you,” The man’s head dipped in thanks, taking the bowl Ahsoka slid over to him in much of the same manner.

Drinks were passed around as the three settled in, Shin’s bowl set aside and covered to keep warm, giving her a few more moments of restful sleep as the three ate in peace and general quiet.

Sabine was the first to finish, offering a lopsided smile at the fond shake of Ahsoka’s head. “I’m gonna go wake her up,” She declared, uncovering the bowl and grabbing another glass to fill with water before making her way to the small bed in the corner.

Sabine settled the bowl and cup on the nightstand, laying her hand out on Shin’s leg to offer a small shake. “Kurs’kaded,” Her voice was quiet, the running water from the sink across the home as Baylan and Ahsoka did dishes, keeping her soft words between them.

Shin groaned in discontent, though her body leaned closer to the warmth offered by Sabine’s hand. “Come on, I made pog soup,” She bartered, lips pulling into a smile when the woman’s eyelids began to flutter open.

“What the krif is a pog?” Shin rasped as she freed her face from the blanket nest. The mask she’d been wearing had been pulled off from her shifting around in their sleep, allowing Sabine to study chapped lips and each labored breath they managed through their mouth.

“It’s a kind of soup, Mandalorian thing, but it’s good, and you need as much liquid as possible, or you’re gonna dry up. And then you’ll die,” She exaggerated with a smile that widened with her victory in the form of Shin’s eyes rolling.

Helping Shin sit up better and piling pillows at their back, the Mandalorian grabbed the bowl from the table. When Shin started trying to free their arms from her burrito, the other woman shook her head and raised a spoonful of soup to their lips. “It’s not the first time, you know,”

Shin looked like they were going to argue that point, but with both of their masters less than twenty feet away, commenting on their prior experiences having followed being fucked ‘stupid’, didn’t necessarily seem like the wisest option. Instead, they parted their lips and allowed Sabine to feed her.

It was slow work, making sure that she could handle the broth, and then the various vegetables and chunks of meat she’d added for Ahsoka’s sake.

Once the bowl was mostly empty, Shin adjusted herself to lean forward, forehead pressing against Sabine’s bicep as the woman wrapped an arm around her. “This happen a lot of the time?” She whispered gently, her head turning to press her lips to a burning forehead.

Shin nodded her head slowly, a quiet grumble meeting her question as she shifted enough to get one arm free of the blankets, reaching to fist into the fabric of Sabine’s shirt.

“Your Master’s acting like this is the first time he’s noticed,” Her voice dropped lower, barely even a whisper in Shin’s ear as she glanced at the man who was sitting and engaged in quiet conversation with Ahsoka once more.

“ ‘hid it,” They managed, voice muffled by Sabine’s arm. “took other jobs, away,” there was something in her voice that was thick with dissatisfaction and self-loathing, something Sabine was intimately familiar with.

“This is the first time you haven’t been able to go somewhere else,” Sabine realized out loud, though the blonde nodded her head as if asked a question. “We’ll get you what you need before you go, should look into everything else you missed out on too, you know?”

Shin didn’t answer, hand twisting further in Sabine’s shirt as her weight shifted to try and find comfort while still touching her moon.

“Alright, scooch over,” The woman kicked off her boots before sliding into the rest of the small space, though it was quickly cleared by Shin practically laying themselves on top of her the moment Sabine had settled.

By the time Sabine was comfortable, Shin’s breaths had already slowed to an easy slumber, her face relaxed enough that the hard lines around their eyes could soften. Encircling her arms around their waist, Sabine settled in, she mouthed her goodbyes to the two Masters as Ahsoka guided an only mildly hesitant Baylan out of the tower. Nix was let back into the room, finding himself a spot on Shin’s back where he curled up and purred loudly against her.

There was an overwhelming loneliness, choking like a vice grip around her throat, a heavy fog that sat heavy in her lungs, and the strike of fear that ignited the blood in her veins.

Baylan, where’s Baylan? Where am I? Where do I go from here? What should I do?

Sabine’s nose twitched in her sleep as her nightmares shifted with an overpowering sense. Ezra, Kanan, Ketsu, and Mandalore were replaced by faces she could not see, crowded city streets and the sour tang of acidic air and ash. Cartons of death sticks and spice were passed between hands, death hung around each street corner; Sabine became aware of the feeling of bodies at her feet, all faceless, but being trampled by the moving streets. Her legs looked small, and certainly not her own, or any that could belong to a human woman in her late twenties, they looked like those of a small child.

She could see the back of Baylan Skoll’s head, though, and she knew she needed to get to him as each breath grew harder to take in but he wouldn’t stop! “Master!” She was calling above the roar of the street, though her voice came out weak and broken, the poisonous atmosphere was taking its toll-

Sabine startled awake as the body pressed into her delved into a fit of gasping coughs, each breath a struggle as her lungs wheezed. “Shin,” Sabine called, consciousness finding her quickly as her adrenaline started pumping.

“Kurs’kaded,” She called again, reaching to press guide their hands up and uncurl them from her side, rolling the blonde onto her back so her lungs could properly expand as she sucked in each breath. When her eyes snapped open, they were full of tears that fell hot down her face, like a river of lava on Sullust.

There was a brief moment of hesitance in the gray apprentice, the force thrumming between them before they were pressing their face harder into Sabine’s shoulder, nails pressing past the material of her shirt and into the soft flesh underneath, grounding themself to the living, breathing person in her grasp.

Somehow, the grip Shin had on Sabine was strong enough to rival the fear in her veins when she’d woken up, though she didn’t dare offer any less pressure returned as she hugged the blonde closer. “I’m right here, ner Kurs’kaded,”

Sabine knew enough now about their connection that the emotions that were pressing in on her own heart were not her own. She also knew that she was entirely inexperienced in sending feelings not influenced by the ones being pushed on her, echoing back the panic and pain that was expelled out to her as all she could do was press Shin’s head close and hope that the heavy thumping of her heart would be enough to help.

The overwhelming fear starting to fade, Sabine finally no longer had an irrational fear of Baylan leaving her (despite her own issues regarding the prior abandonment of her own Master), and she could breathe again.

“Tuu Tattuine t’ad vod tranir drala or tra. Bal hokaad’la’vhekad buurenaar iviinir dos ori’suumpir, nyac tusken, demagolka, ra’beroya runar vurel alaror gebbar. Sa’munit sa ni olar taylor gar morut’yc bal novor ni.”

Sabine’s voice was soft, throat still thick with the force of the emotions projected onto her from the blonde that was using her as a lifeline. The lullaby was one Hera had sung to her once, when she’d been in a position much like Shin’s; feverish and scared. She only learned it after Jacen’s birth, and had recited it to the screaming infant only a handful of times, but the promises were etched into her heart either way.

“Let Naboo’s cerulean ceiling form a canopy o’er your head, as her bright, sparkling waters flow through lovely landscapes green, while sweet shaaks frolic ‘cross the plains. They won’t disturb your beds, so you may sleep peacefully in pleasant pastoral scenes.”

Nix, who had been brushed aside some time during the night, was rubbing his face into Shin’s arm, his weight settled half on the small mattress and half on Sabine’s hip. Hir purring broke the space between each breath, and eased some of the tension in the gray apprentice

Shin’s shoulders started to ease, her breathing quieting, and her fingers loosening from their crescent shaped indents placed deep in Sabine’s abdomen. When Shin’s fingers released from her stomach and started to brush through the soft fur along Nix’s spine, calm finally settled over both women. “Hey,” Sabine started, offering a lopsided when half-lidded, silvery blue pools met her own again.

“Hi,” They rasped, shifting under the blankets to lay more on the mattress than to weigh down the Mandalorian below her. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Di’kutt,” The woman smiled warmly as she shook her head. “Those were some feelings,” She decided, sure that telling Shin that being suffocated emotionally and in her sleep like that wasn’t pleasant, wouldn’t bring a smile to her kurs’kaded’be face like the thought on injuring her in a fight would.

Shifting to sit up and hissing at the dig of claws into her hip at her movement, Sabine sat up, leaning back against the small headboard and allowing Shin to wordlessly obey the silently invitation into her lap. Their head tucked into her shoulder once more as they settled to straddle her lap, legs sliding to hook under Sabine’s own as they relaxed into the woman again.

“Like you, I have to work on my shielding,” Shin grumbled into Sabine’s shoulder as the Mandalorian’s hand started to brush out her hair, running brown and blonde locks across her fingers with a soft hum.

“Not with me,” The flash of their eyes on her had Sabine rushing to continue. “You don’t have to shield yourself from me, what you’re feeling, I want to feel it,” A sleepy kiss was pressed into their cheek. “I want to feel you, all of you; whether it’s through your lightsaber in my stomach, or when you kick my ass sparring, when you come and I get to experience it through your side- absolutely divine experience, by the way,- and when your feelings get too much, I want to share that with you, I just… want you, in sickness and in health,”

Shin’s mouth gaped, opening and closing for a moment before she pitched forward, arms wrapping around her moon’s neck. They weren’t sure how to respond, not verbally at least. It seemed Sabine got what she wanted, however, because she pulled back enough to catch Shin’s gaze. “I’m not fucking you while you’re sick, cyar’ika.”

They grumbled in mild disappointment, though a smile twitched at her lips. Their head ducked back against her shoulder and Sabine settled them back down. When teeth dug into her shoulder, the Mandalorian only exaggerated a sigh and brought her hand back to Shin’s hair to card back through the messy strands.

▬▬ι═══════>

When morning came, Shin’s fever had broken, and she’d even had enough energy to help Sabine cook breakfast. Which ended with a counter on fire, an angry Nix, and Baylan taking over for his disaster of a daughter.

It took Shin another three days to get into Capital City and receive the vaccinations she’d missed. During that time, Shin worked on getting back into fighting shape and getting her hair fixed, Sabine was only pretending to be hurt when the Wolf wouldn’t let her bleach it, though, Baylan did a good job for a man who’d never dyed his own hair.

Sabine’s fingers were intwined with Shin’s as they made their way downstairs. Shin and Baylan’s gear was already packed back into the speeder, Ahsoka leaned against the side of the vehicle, laughing with Baylan about an old memory they shared. Sabine could hear the name ‘Anakin’ on her lips, and while her curiosity piked, she kept quiet as they approached.

“Hey, Geezers, get a move on,” She called, making a show out of rolling her eyes as Ahsoka stood.

“Geezers, can you believe that?” Ahsoka remarked, a smile on her lips as she pushed off the side of the speeder. “Padawans these days,”

“Alright, Snips,” Baylan remarked with a hearty laugh, earning a look of mock anger from the relaxed Togruta.

“Hey, don’t forget, I will gut you,”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Sabine stepped back in when Shin’s energy pulsed with a wave of protectiveness. “ ‘soka’s all bark, no bite,”

“Well,” The woman’s hand reached for the thin strap of fabric of Sabine’s muscle shirt to reveal the bruised and bitten skin along her collarbone and throat. “My padawan seems to be taking all the bite with her, these days,”

“It’s like poetry, then,” Baylan joked, hands clasping together at his waist as Shin slipped away from Sabine to join at his side.

“Hey, poetry is good,” Sabine shrugged her shoulders. “It’s an art,”

Mand’alor the Ultimate was a poet, after all and Sabine was proficient at walking the way of the Mand’alor, ever since she took her creed.

Translations: Kurs’kaded - Wolf Copikla - Charming, cute – never use on women unless you want your head ripped off Ner kurs'kaded - My wolf “Tuu Tattuine t’ad vod tranir drala or tra. Bal hokaad’la’vhekad buurenaar iviinir dos ori’suumpir, nyac tusken, demagolka, ra’beroya runar vurel alaror gebbar. Sa’munit sa ni olar taylor gar morut’yc bal novor ni.” - When Tattoine’s two sister suns shine brightly in the sky, and violent sandstorms rush across the sea. No Tusken, Monster, or Bounty Hunter will ever come close. As long as I am here to keep you safe and close to me. Di’kutt, - Idiot: with affection Kurs’kaded’be - Wolf's Cyar’ika. - Darling

[joellesolo]

Ugghh.

My dash is doing the thing where it's only showing me posts from over five days ago (with the exception of one, JUST ONE, post from four hours ago which I'm quite glad I saw, so I could offer support to a friend) but it's just so freaking frustrating! Because who knows if you'll see this? Who knows WHEN you'll see this?!

Anyway. A tumblr friend from NJ sent me really cool Star Wars stuff ten years ago (if you were around then I posted it) and she JUST FUCKING DID IT AGAIN 😭 I'm literally on the verge of tears. I had the worst fucking weekend, and the worst fucking day today, and just... oh my god. I didn't even know it on its way, and there's a fucking MILLENNIUM FALCON THAT FUCKING OPENS and it has LANDO AND NIEN AND A MYNOCK?! and I was googling the micro machine set to see if I could figure out where this weird windowshield thing went and saw that the original set came with Han and Leia (and others) and a sensor dish and was like... oh my god! What if, when she sent me the stuff ten years ago, it's in that box?!

So I went digging through that box (which, here it is, some of it!) and HOLY FUCKING SHIT, Han and Leia AND THE FUCKING SENSOR DISH ARE IN IT 😂😭😂😭😂 and this just made my day, my week, my MONTH, and wowza, I don't have words!!

So even though she's no longer on tumblr anymore, I'm just so fucking grateful to mosymoseys, for expanding my Star Wars collection, I will definitely be taking pictures later when I can (and I have to now figure out my shelf situation because, I don't know where I'm going to put all this amazing stuff but I'm going to fucking MAKE THE ROOM FOR IT 😍).

[themynock]

happy birthday to tryst valentine

[themynock]

THANK YOU I do have some more ideas for little neoscum doodles (and a more detailed thing than just a doodle!) and also putting that song on a dak playlist is GENIUS (drop the playlist op!!)

hiii it's themynock again and I am here to say that the hat is not specifically an Orville Peck reference (but I do know the song you're talking about and it's a banger for sure) and thank you for liking my little doodle <3

That song is on my Dak Rambo playlist so I thought of it right away haha. And yesss! I loved your doodle, I hope you draw more NeoScum stuff! <3

[jgvfhl]

The Number Lads (gn) Make Killer Memes

HAPPY NOVEMBER the Lads are back, and they're about to make someone's life very difficult. Hopefully, this marks the start of a monthly posting schedule again for this fic, but the holidays at the end of the year might delay things slightly in January. We'll see. But enjoy some new Mandalorian friends!

Words: ~7000 Warnings: some violence and some very bad humor Link to Masterlist of Chapters on tumblr Link to the full story on Ao3

Do-si-do sincerely hoped his sergeant never found out any details of tonight’s events. They had a sneaking suspicion she might not approve of their stealing a speeder bike from the Guard, then helping to lead a wild mynock chase through the Senate District on Coruscant. Still, they were doing an excellent job at not dying or crashing, even with about two dozen Guards on their tail.

Last they’d seen, Loops and Trees had commandeered a larger air speeder from the Guard and had split the pursuing forces a bit further. Maral was still here in her totally amazing, beautifully painted gauntlet starfighter Moon Saber, and Fours and Commander Bacara, the absolute madmen, had successfully gotten two of the transport shuttles off their tails as well. So, all in all, it wasn’t going terribly! Do-si-do had seen the commander and Echo get into the chancellor’s office, so he had to assume they would do what they set out to do. The rest of them couldn’t really help them out here.

Do-si-do swung their bike around a sharp corner, aiming for a shadowed overhang to get some cover and take a short breather before they had to head back out. It worked, but only barely. They had just dismounted and hunkered down behind the bike when the patrol of Guards zoomed past them. Fortunately, none of them stopped. Do-si-do let out a breath, then nearly jumped out of their armor when their comm started blinking green.

They answered quickly, transferring it to their helmet’s internal system in case they needed to get on the move again.

“This is the prettiest pilot this side of Trip Zip, what can I do for you?”

There was a pause. Then, Trees answered, “I’m not going to comment on that. General Unduli contacted me and told us to meet her and Kenobi in Little Sriluur. Something’s happening.”

That was vague. “Any better ideas on what that something is, or are we just guessing?”

“I was not given more information that that, no.”

Do-si-do nodded, easing the bike out of cover slowly, looking around for Guards. “Got it, Little Sriluur. Is the Clubhouse good?” What if someone had found out Sevenset and Fives?

“I do not have any more information to give you, Do-si-do,” Trees told them.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The comm disconnected before they had a chance to say anything else. That was Trees, they supposed.

Right. Little Sriluur. Their sense of direction, like any good clone, was impeccable, so they weren’t worried about finding their way there. But just in case they had to take some creative detours, they used the speeder bike’s control panel to enter the Noodle Bar’s name into the mapping system. The speeder bike hummed along beautifully as they put it into gear, shoved off the platform, and sped out onto the flight lane beside their temporary hideout.

Without the impending danger of Coruscant Guardsmen (who may or may not be acting with free will), the ride through Coruscant’s maze of buildings and alleyways was almost peaceful. They were a pilot, so of course the feeling of free movement through spaces otherwise confined by flight lanes and gravity was always invigorating. And, at least for now, there was no one shooting at them. That was a win. A few people honked at them or shouted insults when they flew a bit too close, but Do-si-do ignored them. They were too busy scanning the area for Coruscant Guards or security probes.

There were plenty of them, of course, but as they flew farther away from the Senate Dome and the government offices, their numbers thinned. A few more blocks, and it almost looked normal. About a block away from Little Sriluur, they startled a little when a Guard speeder appeared on their left, but they settled when they recognized Loops and Trees in the cab.

“Sweet ride!” they shouted over the rushing wind.

Trees’ helmet turned to them. Do-si-do imagined one of his finest, emotionally flat expressions on his face under it. “I am not happy about anything happening right now!” he shouted back.

Do-si-do laughed. “Hey, Loops! Where’d you learn to fly a speeder?”

Loops didn’t take his attention off of the flight lane in front of them. “Uh… General Koon,” he said.

“Nice!” they grinned, watching the bright lights and lit signs of Little Sriluur come closer and closer. “Where are the Jedi, anyway?” they called over to the other two. “Or do we just follow the sounds of lightsabers?”

“The transmissions on this speeder haven’t given us anything useful,” Trees said, pointing to the speeder’s control panel.

Do-si-do was a little put-out that they hadn’t thought to listen in to the Guard’s own transmission channels. “What did they say?” they asked.

“To ignore the ‘small disruption’ in Little Sriluur,” Trees answered, putting air quotes around the emphasized words.

That didn’t sound good. It meant whatever was happening in the neighborhood, they were on their own to deal with it. Well… no turning back now. They’d all either get medals for this, or it would be the last thing they did in service to the Republic. Do-si-do tried not to think about the last option. In a moment, the three of them were cruising into the heart of Coruscant’s weequay neighborhood. The sign for Sun’s Noodle Bar was visible at the end of the street, and at least initially, Do-si-do didn’t see anything amiss nearby. Hopefully, that meant Sevenset and Fives and the other inhabitants of the restaurant were still safe.

Hopefully, they could keep them that way.

“Do-si-do!” Loops’ shout pulled their attention back to their friends flying next to them. Trees was pointing off to their left, a little ahead of them.

It wasn’t clear right away what was so important over there. After a few seconds, bright lights flashed, and Do-si-do recognized a plume of smoke rising out of the cityscape.

Well, shit.

“I guess we know where the Jedi are!” they said, trying to find some silver lining here. “I’ll follow you guys!”

The air speeder veered to the left, zipping down a side street. Do-si-do followed, still keeping an eye on any probe droids or Guard patrols in the area. There were a concerningly few number of them both, and neither of them seemed too interested in checking out the “small disturbance” two blocks up. What they did start seeing more of were frightened civilians running or flying away from the plume of smoke. Loops and Do-si-do each had to execute a little fancy flying to avoid an oncoming civvy speeder going way faster than they should be in a flight lane this size.

Something had them seriously spooked. They were not looking forward to finding out what it was.

About two blocks up, they started hearing noises more at home on a battlefield instead of the heart of the Republic. A familiar clanking was the most ominous of them all. They turned right back towards the main thoroughfare, and immediately were faced with a blockade struggling to contain a mass of panicking citizens. A line of droids had cut them off from escaping down the side street, and were slowly but surely walking them back towards the main street.

Loops pulled his speeder up sharply, and Do-si-do followed, knowing it was a losing battle to try to calm down a crowd of that size on their own. Not without Jedi, certainly.

“Hey!” a droid yelled, noticing them finally.

As they approached the bigger street, one of the droids, an officer with yellow accents on its body, held up an angular hand. “Halt! No one passes—”

“We’re passing, thanks!” Do-si-do shouted as the two speeders zoomed over their heads. A flurry of red blaster bolts appeared in the air around the two speeders. Luckily, the droids were still lousy shots.

They burst onto the scene taking over the main thoroughfare, Do-si-do instinctively swooping higher for a vantage point. The pilot in them just liked to see as much as possible, and there was a lot to see. The blocks adjacent to the street that had led them here were all packed with people and droids—the bad kind of droids. It looked like the droids had worked to contain several large groups of citizens on the ground, holding them in place as collateral. It was a horrible, vile practice, but one the Seppies had no issues using as long as it kept the Jedi at bay. On the subject of Jedi, Doi-si-do still couldn’t see any Jedi, or even the occasional flash of a lightsaber that might give them away.

What they could see, however, were Commander Bacara and Fours holding their ground at the center of one of the walkways crossing the flightlanes. The droids seemed torn between containing their civilian hostages and sending more numbers to take on the pair of Marines.

Loops flew his speeder down to land between them and one side of the bridge. Do-si-do was quick to mirror the action, landing on Fours’ side.

“Where are the Jedi, sir?” Trees asked, ducking low in the vehicle to avoid the blaster fire.

“Dealing with Dooku!” came the reply. “Up the block to the northeast.” He tilted his helmet slightly up the street, unwilling to move his hands from where they were aiming his pistols.

“Dooku?” Do-si-do repeated, shocked. “Why the hell is he here?”

“I’m not gonna ask him!” Commander Bacara shot back.

Fair.

“What can we do, Commander?” Loops wanted to know.

“Try to break through these blockades,” the commander answered. “Getting the civvies out of danger is our first priority.”

That made sense. It robbed the droids of their leverage, and cleared the field of noncombatants at the same time.

Do-si-do nodded. “On it! Sir!”

They kicked off the ground again, hunched low to the handlebars to make a smaller target. Nearby, they watched Loops’ speeder lift off as well. They punched in Trees’ comm frequency to make it easier to… well, communicate.

“Which group are we aiming for first, boys?” they asked.

“The smallest?” Trees answered, sounding slightly unsure. To be fair, none of them had any leadership experience on the field. But that didn’t mean their other experience didn’t count for something.

“Maybe the one closest to where the Jedi are supposed to be?” Do-si-do suggested.

“You want to get closer to the Sith lord and the two Jedi fighting him?” Trees replied.

Do-si-do shook their head, turning their bike around in the air and aiming up the street. “I’m thinking we get the civvies closest to danger out of it,” they said sharply. “Now, come on!”

Trees didn’t reply, but the comm stayed open. When they glanced back, Do-si-do saw the Corrie speeder turn around and start to follow their path.

“What’s the plan?” Trees asked.

Honestly, Do-si-do wasn’t sure they had a plan, per se, more of a… vague idea. “You two stay this side of the street and take out the droids there. You can use the speeder for cover. I’ll head around to the back of the group and get the civvies a way out that way.”

“How?”

“I am a master at improv!”

There was a pause that Do-si-do barely registered as they approached the group of terrified civilians. “No, you’re not!”

“I’m not an officer, okay? Gimme a break!” was the only response they managed to find to that. They just had to hope Loops and Trees would actually carry out the skeletal plan.

They swooped down, skimming over the group of droids and other people until they could veer to the right down a one-lane sidestreet, similar to but smaller than the one the three of them had used coming here. There were six B1 droids guarding the back of the group on the walkway hugging the building next to the sidestreet.

“Duck!” Do-si-do shouted as they angled the bike downwards.

Luckily, the collection of weequay and other races heard them, and listened. The people closest to the back of the group crouched down, some people pulling others to the deck if they were too slow. The droids, always a slower study, had only just noticed their hostages had moved before Do-si-do and their bike registered as a threat.

Do-si-do turned sharply, temporarily dropping the thrusters’ levels as low as they dared without killing the engine as well. It was nice to know machines. Gravity and physics did the rest, and they crashed sideways into three of the droids, laying them out flat on the deck as they kicked the thrusters back up to normal levels. As the bike slid over the droids, Do-si-do leaned down and swiped one of their blasters from its owner. The other three droids were chattering in surprise, just now leveling their blasters at them. But the Kaminoans hadn’t spent all that time and money to put out lousy soldiers.

Do-si-do shot down two of the droids before the speeder bike had even stopped moving. The final droid was quickly seized, disarmed, and deactivated by some proactive citizens while Do-si-do made sure the three on the ground wouldn’t get up again.

They steered the bike off the walkway, up and over the slight railing that kept people from toppling into the flight lane. “Go!” they said, gesturing down the open walkway. “Get out, let’s go!”

The crowds needed no further instructions. They surged forward en masse, right over the droids that had been holding them captive moments earlier. They moved down the walkway, heading away from the bigger street as fast as they could. Do-si-do grinned, rather pleased their haphazard plan had worked. They saw Loops and Trees standing among the scrapped bodies of the ten or so droids that had been guarding the hostages on that side. They flew over to them, hovering on the walkway beside the main street.

“Good plan, right?” they said, grinning still.

Loops shrugged and Trees just stared from behind his helmet.

“Alright, contain your enthusiasm,” they said. “We’ve got other civvies to deal with.”

Loops and Trees climbed back into their speeder and followed Do-si-do back into the air. There were two remaining clumps of civilians held hostage by droids. One was across the street and under active assault by Commander Bacara and Fours. The other was down the block on the same side of the street.

“Has anyone checked on the Noodle Bar?” they said out loud after checking the comm channel with Trees was still open.

“In what copious spare time would we have done that?”

“I was only making sure the Seppies aren’t after Sevens and Fives” they replied, ducking under a string of colored lanterns hung across the flight lanes. “Do the Seppies know? Is that why they’re here?”

“Shall we ask them nicely?” Trees answered, his voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm.

“Okay, cool it, Green Bean. Let’s get these natties dealt with first.” They tried to keep the worry out of their voice. It was hard, though. Sevenset and Fives were right there. If the droids found that out, they had no trouble believing they’d storm the place without hesitation. Considering that, they felt a little more confident that the droids didn’t know where they were.

They had just passed the Noodle Bar, still aiming for the group of hostages held a little ways up the block from the restaurant, when a large crash and a distant humming reached their ears. They looked over their shoulder for a second. Flashes of blue and green caught their eye.

The Jedi, finally.

There was also the small issue of a large lit sign being ripped off its building and hurled towards the Jedi. It missed, but ultimately crashed into the opposite building and the walkway adjacent to it.

The humming noise was getting louder too. Do-si-do recognized it as some kind of air transport, but they couldn’t tell what exactly the vehicle was yet. They hoped it was more allies, but they had to be prepared for it to bring more enemies too.

Trees’ voice cut into their thoughts. “Do-si-do, it looks like the droids are bringing reinforcements.”

Well, joy of joys. “How many and what kind?”

“Mostly B1s, but I can see at least ten SBDs.”

“Great! Let’s see if we can get these civvies outta here first,” Do-si-do told him, urging the speeder bike faster. Kriffing SBDs—seriously?

“Clones!” cried the first droid to noticed their approach.

“Clankers!” Do-si-do called back. The droids had been too slow in reorganizing to react to the new threat, so Do-si-do swooped as low as they dared, knocking the first droid on the head with the back of the speeder bike before skimming over the crowd of gathered natties to the far side of the group. Hopefully, Trees and Loops would get the hint.

They whirled the bike around to face the droids guarding the back of the group, quickly shooting two of them down like before. There were five more, plus the other seven Loops and Trees were responsible for scrapping. Plus the ones coming down out of the sky any second now. Wonderful.

Do-si-do ducked a blaster bolt and steered the bike around to point at the droids. The natties wouldn’t thank them, but they never did. They drove the speeder forward, bowling into two of the droids, who toppled to the ground as the crowd gave way. Not as brave a group as the first one, it seemed. They kept the bike over them to keep them in place. The two either side of them couldn’t quite decide if they should use their blasters at this close range, or just grab them. Do-si-do wasn’t too keen on letting them finish that decision.

They grabbed the droid on their right, shooting a hole through its chest from the neck down. The other droid did actually try to grab them, but they quickly smashed their blaster into its face to buy time to swing themself off the bike to shoot that one through the chest as well. It was honestly annoying how careful they had to be not to let the bolts go through the droids and into the crowd of terrified and screaming civilians next to them. The last droid shot at them, but missed (barely), hitting the wall of the building instead. Do-si-do lunged forward, crowding into its space so it couldn’t use its blaster as effectively, and shot it down.

That done, they returned to the bike, glad to find it still worked and hadn’t suffered any stray blaster bolts. “Alright, people!” they shouted as they rose a little higher. “Get going! Head south as much as you can,” they said, pointing away from the sounds of Dooku and the Jedi.

As before, the crowd surged forward down the walkway, hopefully to safety. Well. Somewhere safer than here.

They darted over into the flight lane to avoid the crowds and return to the main action. They still had one more group to free, after all.

Okay, the main action had gotten a bit more… active. Trees’ warning about more droids arriving had been well-deserved. About two or three dozen more had arrived, including those SBDs Do-si-do wished they could will out of existence. Up the street, they could see flashes of blue, green, and red as Kenobi and Unduli battled Dooku across the upper stories of the buildings. So far they hadn’t come too close, but the hum of sabers was audible between the high pitched whine of blasterfire. The main force of the new droids had gathered across the street, concentrating their strength around defending the hostages. Fours and his commander had backed down the footbridge over the flight lanes until they were hunkered down with Loops and Trees, all under a hail storm of red blaster bolts.

The SBDs were leading a march across the footbridge, their reinforced armor plating making it much harder to just pick them off like the B1s. Do-si-do steered their speeder bike higher, hoping to get some advantage to help their friends. They climbed until they were about as high as the division between floors in the buildings either side. Glancing around the scene, they tried to work out any weak points in the droids’ formation around the hostages. Just as they leaned to start turning down yet another sidestreet, something struck their bike from the side out of nowhere.

They yelped, torn between hanging onto the bike or hanging onto their blaster. What had hit them? As the bike’s spinning slowed, they could make out a small handful of B1s whirring around the air on small air speeders. Oh, those little shits—

Do-si-do snarled and aimed to give chase. They were sorely missing their starfighter’s aiming and hostile detection capabilities right about now. They took off after the nearest airborne B1, but only got a few seconds ahead before something much, much bigger came up behind them and swept them completely off their bike and knocked the wind out of their lungs and the blaster from their hands.

“Where are the fugitives.”

Once the momentary panic had started to subside, Do-si-do recognized the low, monotonous voice of an SBD. They all had jet boosters in their backs, right. Great.

“Where are the fugitives.”

“I don’t know!” Do-si-do yelled, watching the street and their friends fly by in a blur under their dangling legs.

The SBD’s metal hands tightened around their torso. “Where are the fugitives, or you will be destroyed.”

“Up yours, you karking oil stain!” No way they were giving up Fives and Sevenset. No way in hell.

The SBD stopped moving forward, hovering above the open flight lane that led down, down, down towards the lower levels of Coruscant. Do-si-do stopped looking down, knowing it would only make their stomach churn at this point. See, this was just another reason they liked being a pilot: getting shot down in space meant a very quick death, either being burned up or just freezing to death in the vacuum of space. But falling from this height? There was no guarantee. There was no guarantee they wouldn’t hit one of the footbridges crossing the flight lane and bounce off into who knew where. They might hit a speeder and only get broken bones, and since they were a clone, no one would even bother bringing them to a medical center, most likely.

For the third time in as many minutes, Do-si-do’s train of thought was interrupted by a collision. Something solid slammed into the SBD holding them. They couldn’t tell immediately what had hit it.

Then they felt the droid’s grip loosen as it deactivated. So someone had shot the SBD. That would have been great news, had Do-si-do not been dangling several hundred feet above the nearest flat surface below.

They started falling, uncaring of how undignified their screaming was, because they were falling, Force dammit!

Just as suddenly, they stopped falling, after a jolt of impact. They looked down to find someone’s armored arms wrapped securely around their torso.

“Can I go two kriffing seconds without getting hit by something or someone in the air?” they demanded. They were stressed and upset and they were allowed to be a bit pissed off.

“Yeah, you were looking a bit like a bouncy ball for a second there, kid,” said whoever was carrying them. The voice came through a filter, so whoever it was had a helmet too.

“Did you shoot that thing?”

“Nope! Someone has a sniper perch in one of the restaurants over there.” They zoomed over the street, weaving between the strands of lanterns strung across it, until they arrived where the other Numbers and Commander Bacara were still holding their ground against the force of droids across the street.

Do-si-do was set down on their feet next to Trees.

“You troopers want some help with these guys?” their rescuer asked.

Turning around, Do-si-do saw a Mandalorian in full armor. The armor paint was… garish, almost. Bright colors and odd designs faded and flowed into each other across the entire set, forming a stark contrast against the dark grey of their flight suit. Do-si-do looked back to the helmet, expecting to find a black T-shaped visor like so many had. There was… no visor. The front of the helmet was smooth and painted over like any other part of the armor.

This person had saved them… in mid-air… blind.

Holy shit.

They stopped gawking and ducked behind the walkway’s railing when red blaster bolts came a little too close for comfort.

Commander Bacara glanced over at the newcomer from where he was crouched behind cover. “Clan Ves?”

“‘Lek!” the Mandalorian answered, sounding almost chipper. “Maral called us in. I’m your Aunt Faye. You’re Bacara, right?”

“Elek. How many are you?”

“Two others. My ad and my vod.”

“Where are they?” he asked.

Faye pointed across the flight lane on the street corner opposite the crowd of hostages. “Over there somewhere. Trying to keep the ad out of this, since he hasn’t passed his verd’goten yet.”

The Marines commander turned to look at her. “You brought a child here?”

“I got a call! I didn’t have time to find a daycare,” she answered, gesturing to the general situation. “Besides, they’re thirteen. They’ll be fine with their ba’vodu.”

“Can we discuss this later, sir?” Trees demanded, completely flattened against the back side of the speeder to avoid the steady stream of red blaster bolts whizzing by overhead.

A huge crash brought everyone’s attention farther up the block towards the Jedi and Count Dooku. Their fight had continued to migrate, working its way down the block, closer and closer to the group of civilians they still hadn’t managed to free. This could get ugly if they didn’t get the hostages to safety soon.

“We need these SBDs taken care of!” Commander Bacara ordered. “I don’t care if you have to blow up the footbridge to do it.”

Faye checked one of their vambraces as they all crowded together to concentrate their fire on the approaching droids. Do-si-do assumed that’s what she was doing, anyway, since she never actually looked down at her wrist. “I don’t have enough Whistling Birds for all of them, but I could take out three.”

“Do it!”

Trees shoved a droid’s blaster into their hands, and Do-si-do wasn’t about to ask him where he’d picked it up. They kept firing with the rest of the Numbers, but they couldn’t help but watch out of their periphery. They’d never seen Whistling Birds in action before, but they’d always liked the sound of them from stories. Six pinpoints of light shot out of Faye’s vambrace with little bursts of noise. They left tiny trails of smoke or compressed air in their wakes as they sped across the air, homing in directly on the SBDs. The first three jolted slightly as two miniature missiles embedded into their armor and detonated. The droids stumbled, then fell, the red light in their visual sensors fading as they crashed to the deck. It slowed the rest down for a few seconds, giving the Numbers and the commander a chance to down two more of them. That left just five marching across the footbridge towards them.

Suddenly, and enormous chunk of signage came hurtling through the air and smashed through the metal footbridge. The bridge and chunk of metal disappeared into the gap, now careening through the lower levels of Coruscant.

“What the shit!” Do-si-do yelled as Loops and Trees both made wordless yelps as well. Fours and his commander and Faye seemed less surprised.

In the pause in blaster fire, flashes of blue and green made them all look up. Generals Kenobi and Unduli were leaping back and forth across the gap created by the flight lane. Do-si-do looked and found Count Dooku had hitched a ride on one of the B1s still in possession of a small speeder, and was skimming through the air towards the group of hostages.

Well, this wasn’t good.

A loud noise came from the building just up the block, and they looked to the source in case it was something dangerous. It was, just not for the Numbers and their allies. The building in question was the Noodle Bar. Apparently, someone had a rocket launcher pointed out the window, and had just fired it at the speeder holding up the Sith Lord.

A split second before the missile made contact, Dooku leapt from it, landing directly amongst the hostages across the flight lane. The B1 on the speeder was not as lucky, and it exploded violently in the middle of the air. Kenobi and Unduli landed on the street corner up the block from the Numbers’ current location. They looked tired but far from finished.

“Come no closer!” Dooku yelled, raising his voice and his red lightsaber. The civilians around him were quite literally shaking with fear. Do-si-do didn’t blame them.

“Really, Count?” Kenobi replied with a curled lip. “That’s stooping awfully low, even for you.”

“Leave the civilians out of this!” Unduli added on, gesturing with her green blade.

“I want what I came for,” the Sith replied. “But you Jedi are always in the way, and now look.” He gestured to the crowd around him with his free hand. “You’ve put innocent lives at risk.”

“Nar’sheb! You landed there on purpose!” Faye yelled at him. Do-si-do jumped a little, not used to people aside from Jedi doing the talking during these confrontations. “Let the young ones free, at least, and negotiate like a civilized person.”

“A Mandalorian asking for negotiations?” Dooku said. “You must be desperate, Kenobi.”

“I’ve never actually met that Mandalorian before,” Kenobi said, glancing at Faye.

She waved. “I’m Faye! Clan Ves! Su’cuy!”

The Jedi each gave little waves in return before resuming their conversation with Dooku.

Commander Bacara looked at Faye. “Any chance you have a Whistling Bird left for him?”

She shook her head. “I wish. Kriffing demagolka, but no. Used ‘em up on the Supers.”

“Didn’t you say someone had a sniper perch in the Noodle Bar?” Do-si-do asked her. Maybe that person could take out Dooku, or at least distract him?

Faye nodded, but didn’t get a chance to respond. A chorus of cries and protests rose up from the hostages. The B1s and SBDs surrounding them had turned inwards, now aiming at the hostages instead of their adversaries. Do-si-do’s stomach swooped uncomfortably.

“Dooku!” Kenobi shouted. “This is barbaric!”

“My master gives clear instructions,” the Sith shot back, still waving his saber around to supplement his speech. “I am to find the clones in question, destroy them, and not let anyone stand in my way. You, Kenobi, are in my way.”

“Threatening the lives of innocents doesn’t help your cause!” Unduli told him, walking slowly towards the small footbridge that connected the two city blocks across the sidestreet. Kenobi followed her. Their movements were deliberate and steady.

Dooku frowned. “It seems my message is not clear. Do you need a demonstration?”

He lunged into the crowd around him and dragged a young child to him. The girl looked no older than twelve, with tan skin, smooth black hair, and big brown eyes filled with tears. At the same time, the B1s surrounding the group all did the same, grabbing a random civilian and holding a blaster against their heads or torsos.

“I want those clones, Kenobi!” the Sith snarled. “Anything else, and these people will die for your inaction.”

Commander Bacara growled as he looked down the sights on his blaster. “I can’t get a good shot on anything. The SBDs are blocking the way.”

Faye sighed sharply as she did the same. “Yeah, me neither. Kriff.”

Do-si-do saw the commander’s comm light up, and watched him answer it in his helmet. His head tilted in a slow nod. “Okay. Saleha and Mira think they can take out the B1s without getting the civvies hurt.”

“How?” Trees asked.

“They have the sniper perches in the Noodle Bar,” he told him.

That made sense. Do-si-do did recall Saleha dragging a long case out of the hall closet while the rest of the clones were packing up to leave with Maral. Since Ahsoka Tano was still staying with Fives and Sevenset, they were fine with the two old ladies pointing weapons of war out of the restaurant windows if it meant taking out Dooku.

The two Jedi had made it almost across the smaller footbridge that would lead them right to where the Numbers and their allies were gathered. While the larger footbridge across the flightlane was destroyed, Do-si-do had no problems believing the Jedi would just hurl themselves across the gap anyway. The Sith still hadn’t budged, however. He still held the shaking little girl firmly in one hand by the collar, watching the Jedi’s every move.

Kenobi, living up to his nickname, was still trying to negotiate. “Release the hostages, and we’ll settle this on even footing.” Perhaps he was just stalling. It didn’t look like anything was getting through to the count.

Movement to the left of the huddled group of hostages made Do-si-do look away from the Sith Lord for a moment. On yet another street corner, this one across from the crowd of hostages on the far side of the street, a lone figure was visible. They were also in full beskar armor, all painted in black and purple, with a few white accents beside bare silver steel. A long staff protruded from behind their shoulder, possibly another weapon—probably another weapon. More Mandalorians? That must be the vod Faye had mentioned.

The movement had been this new person standing up to full height. “Hey, Dicku!” they yelled, even carrying across the way from behind their helmet. “Let the girl go.” They leveled a blaster pistol at the count. “Her name is Ligma, and she’s under my clan’s protection. You really wanna piss off an entire clan of Mandalorians?”

Do-si-do blinked. They bit their bottom lip gently to keep the ungraceful snort from coming out of his mouth. “Ligma?” they muttered to Loops.

“Yeah, I know,” he answered. “Not gonna question it.”

Behind Do-si-do, a thunk sounded. They glanced over their shoulder and saw Faye had slapped her palm onto her helmet’s front. “I’m going to slap them,” she muttered, then raised her head again. “And then I’m going to kill them.”

Before they could ask why, Dooku was speaking again. His tone was absolutely dripping condescension. “Explain to the Jedi that as soon as I know where I might find the fugitives in question, little Ligma here—”

The little girl screamed. “LIGMA NUTS!” In a second, the girl’s tan features gained a shade of grey-ish green and her eyes flashed yellow. Her arm came up, suddenly holding a miniblaster like Saleha had used to stun Nines earlier that evening. Only, this one wasn’t on stun. A bright red flash was all that could be seen before Dooku was doubling over with a cry of pain.

In quick succession, several more blaster shots rang out all over the street. One came from the Mandalorian across the way, and it slammed into Dooku’s head, killing him instantly. Four green shots came in rapid sequence from the Noodle Bar, scrapping four of the B1s threatening the civilians directly. Immediately, the Jedi leapt across the gap, using the Force to launch themselves directly in front of the droids surrounding the hostages. Faye took to the air on her jetpack to follow them.

Commander Bacara stood, aiming his blaster. “Fire at will!” he barked, already aiming for the rest of the SBDs.

Do-si-do needed no further prompting. They, Loops, Trees, and Fours followed his lead, picking off the B1s carefully. The Jedi never made careful too easy, and once again, Do-si-do found themself wishing they were back in a starfighter instead. Everyone kept moving around, blocking shots, and there were still the civilians to keep safe as well. It was a mess. A mess they were not entirely practiced in cleaning up. Luckily, Loops, Trees, and Fours seemed more than comfortable.

It was all over in under a minute. The droids lay in sparking pieces on the deck if they hadn’t been Force-pushed off the edge. The civilians were terrified and many of them weeping, but they were all alive. The little girl had disappeared. Do-si-do had lost her in the action, and couldn’t see her anymore, anyway. But he did see Faye meeting up with her vod, smacking them upside the helmet, and then embracing a young Mandalorian with gold accents on their chestplate and vambraces, and a gold helmet.

“Threat neutralized,” Commander Bacara said. He raised his comm, then stared at it when it started blinking green before he’d pressed any buttons. After the initial hesitation, he answered it. “Bacara.”

He must have had it connected to his helmet, because there was a stretch of silence before he spoke next.

“But you’re all unharmed?” He nodded in response to whatever answer he’d gotten. “No, we’re all done here. Dooku’s dead. The Noodle Bar is safe.” There was another pause. “I’ll tell you about it later. We will take care of the several unconscious and-or injured people inside the Clubhouse, yes.” After one last pause, he nodded. “Bacara out.”

“Was that the—er, Commander Sixes, sir?” Do-si-do asked.

“Yes. He and Echo are fine.” He turned to the Jedi still ushering the civilians away from the mechanical carnage. “Generals! A word!”

After a minute or so of being Jedi and comforting scared people, Kenobi and Unduli jumped back across the flightlane and walked over to the group of troopers. The Mandalorians all followed with jetpacks, the adults both carrying the young one over the gap.

“Thank you all for your help and your bravery tonight,” General Unduli said when they had all gathered.

“Yes,” Kenobi seconded. He looked to the Mandalorians and offered a small salute, bowing slightly with his right fist over his heart. “Vor entye, Aliit Ves.” Then he smiled at the Numbers and Commander Bacara. “And of course, thank you, troopers. This went far beyond the scope of your usual duties, and you all served bravely, as Master Unduli has said already.”

Do-si-do knew their helmet obscured their face, but they smiled widely. The Jedi could pick up emotions anyway, right? They’d know. Commander Bacara gave a curt nod.

“The chancellor is dead,” he said flatly.

There was a short silence while everyone adjusted to the sudden change in mood and subject. The Jedi’s faces both remained fairly neutral, almost impassive. Eventually, Unduli dipped her chin and closed her eyes.

“I had sensed the Force grow lighter,” she said softly. “But I had assumed it was because of Count Dooku’s death.”

“I had as well,” Kenobi agreed with a distant look in his eyes. “But, no. This is too much change to have been just the count. The chancellor held more Darkness than we had ever imagined.”

That was a terrifying thought, considering that man had nearly taken control of the entire GAR, and could have exterminated the Jedi Order as a whole with a few well-placed transmissions. But he hadn’t. He was dead. Dooku was dead. Ventress had abandoned the Separatists months ago, if rumors were to be believed. That just left Grievous to deal with, and there was no shortage of people gunning for a chance at scrapping the wheezing maniac.

Kenobi’s comm went off, and he answered it. “Yes, Anakin?”

“Master, the Force feels different.”

“Yes, I would imagine it feels very different,” he replied easily. “Lighter, perhaps?”

“I… guess? I’m not—I was kind of busy, I might have missed some things.”

Kenobi rolled his eyes fondly and held up a hand as he turned away to find some privacy for the conversation.

General Unduli took up the conversation. “With the chancellor no longer able to control the Guards, it would be safe to move your injured friends to the Temple’s Halls of Healing, if you would like.”

They were all a little taken aback by the offer.

“The Temple, sir—ma’am?” Loops asked.

“We still can’t be sure there aren’t others who can control the chips,” she explained. “Until then, especially in the upcoming wave of attention and public reaction to the chancellor’s death, it might be safer for them in the Temple.”

Unfortunately, she made good points. Do-si-do didn’t want to know what kind of backlash or outcry or whatever would happen after word got out about the chancellor’s true nature, and about the clones who had brought him down. They nodded, looking to the other Numbers and the commander.

Commander Bacara seemed to hesitate for a second. But, eventually, he nodded too. “Yes, ma’am, that sounds like the safest plan. We have a ship we can call for transport.”

Faye raised a gloved hand. “So do we, Bacara, if you need the extra room.”

General Unduli nodded. “I will let you take care of your own, Commander,” she said with a smile. “I will meet you all at the Temple.”

She turned to follow Kenobi, presumably to find whatever transportation they had taken here. Or maybe they’d just take the shuttles back. Do-si-do was far more interested in the Mandalorians they hadn’t met yet.

“Well, that was fun,” said the Mandalorian in black and purple armor. The remark sounded genuine. “I’m Aykhaal Ves. If you must refer to me, you can use they, them, and their pronouns.”

Do-si-do smiled under their helmet. Aykhaal sounded so confident saying that. It was nice. It was… hopeful.

Faye shook her head, one hand resting protectively on her kid’s shoulder. “Apparently, they had the bright idea to sneak this little one—” she poked her kid’s helmet— “over there to surprise Dooku.”

Do-si-do tilted his head. “That was you?”

The kid nodded. “I’m a clawdite, yeah. I’m Iskender.” After a glance at Aykhaal, Iskender added, “And if you have to refer to me, please use whatever gender makes the joke funniest.”

Aykhaal chuckled while Faye shook her head yet again. “Anyway, it is very good to meet you all. You fight well. Maral’s been talking about her little brothers for ages now, so it’s nice to meet at least one of you,” she added to Commander Bacara.

He looked at her for a second, his face unreadable behind his helmet. “Thank you,” he said finally. “We have several unconscious people to transport,” he went on, pointing to the Noodle Bar. “We should do that now.”

Aykhaal gestured to the way ahead. “Lead on, al’verde.”

How's that for a way to get rid of a Sith lord? I think it's hilarious, personally. All of Clan Ves belong to @23-bears and they are all wonderful, I hope you enjoyed them. @theultimatesandwich @rndmpeep @mercurydancer @thechaoticfanartist

[tbb-appreciation-week]

(Updated May 2024)

Now that the prompts have been revealed, I thought of answering some questions some of you might find helpful about the event.

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully first, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, check out the F.A.Q under the cut.

Frequently Asked Questions

Is [fill the blank] allowed?

When in doubt:

And how about…?

Yes, that, too. Give total freedom to your creativity, and don't worry about whether it's allowed or not. Most things are okay, barring anything inciting or glorifying harassment, hatred, or discrimination of any kind.

Do I have to post for all 7 days? 

Participate as little or much as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (e.g., #tbbaw2024 #warnings #theme (and/or prompts) #medium #more tags). There are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Can I post early/late?

You could, but I wouldn’t recommend posting early. Since this is an Appreciation Week event, it'd be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time. That being said, I’ll start reblogging works on September 2nd (thinking on the folks living on the other side of the world from me. You know, time zones and all that), but nothing earlier than that.

As for posting late, yes, that's totally fine; I understand that real life gets in the way sometimes. The only thing I ask is that you tag the for the day you should've posted on, not the day you're actually doing it. Example, if you missed Day 2 and are posting it on the Day 4, your tags must include the theme for day 2, NOT Day 4.

So, when should I start posting?

According to your time zone, during the day at the most convenient time for you, starting on September 3rd until the 9th. If you're super eager and can't wait, post when the clock hits midnight every day. Or if you're late, 11:59pm still counts as on time! 🤣

Will you reblog my post?

Yes, I'll reblog everyone's posts during the week. If it passes more than 2-3 days and I haven't reblogged your post, please let me know. If you tag your post properly and mention this blog, it’s less likely that I'll miss it.

However, I'm thinking that I might queue posts if they're too many at a time to drop them in bulk. If I do that, look for a like from @intrepidmare (my main blog), if you have it, that means I saw it and put it on the queue and eventually will be reblogged.

What if I don’t understand how the themes and prompts work?

Send me an ask! I'm happy to clarify it for you. To put it in simple words, you have a theme that it's in and on itself a prompt, which you can (but not necessarily) combine with any of the prompts for that day. However, you can also ignore the theme and go for a specific prompt only. It's up to you. And remember, the prompts are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. Prompts are suggestions, not mandates. You can go by ✨ vibes ✨ alone.

What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

Yes, that’s why NSFW prompts are included among the others for each day. And if you use the other safer prompts and turn it into something NSFW, that's okay too. In any case, you should tag your work accordingly, so that others participating in the event can curate their experience and be safe. HERE is a non-comprehensive list of tags you should use if they apply to your work.

Can I combine TBBAW prompts with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! If you have a bingo card to fill or another event to complete, go for it. That’s like shooting two mynocks with one bolt, using one of Crosshair's reflective disks! 

Can I upload/repost my TBBAW content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like. Additionally, I’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any work posted there. It can be accessed here. (It's closed right now, but I'll open it in due time)

If any of the prompts fits well for an existing fic/art I am currently working on, can I use it?

If you are actively working on this fic/art at the moment with the Appreciation Week prompts in mind, yes. In the case of using a work retroactively (meaning: already published and complete), then please, don’t. You can, however, add new chapters/pages/panels using one or more of the prompts.

If I’m not comfortable with this or that day’s prompts, can I use a prompt from a different day as a substitute and still count?

No, you can’t exchange prompts from different days (as in exchanging Day 3 prompts for Day 5 prompts). You can simply use the alt prompt (which can be used just once), or skip the original prompt, or come up with yours. Like I said, the prompts are only a suggestion.

Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to cross-post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind, if it’s not on Tumblr, I won't be able to add it to the blog archive. You can post a just link to anywhere else you've posted if you don't want to put the entire work in your blog. 

Do I have to finish a fic I started? Can I post a work in progress?

Yes, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it. It'd make me happy that this event prompt you to create something longer. Let's appreciate the Bad Batch all year around!

Is co-creating allowed?

Yes, absolutely! Encouraged, even. Not just the usual writer-artist or co-writing collaborations, also any kind of medium combos: fic-podfic, fic-playlist, art-art, etc.

Do I have to create 7 standalone pieces, or can I make one continuous story?

Do whatever you want. One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to create something for 7 prompts. If that’s spread over 7 fics/art pieces/etc. or just one with 7 chapters/panels/parts, it's up to you.

Is there a min/max limit on word count?

None. If you want to write a 100-word drabble or a 50k fic or anything in between for each day, it's all up to you. You're the only one who knows how much time you can dedicate to it and how high/low your level of inspiration/energy is. You can even write a snippet for a fic you'll write later when you have the time/energy. Remember that this is lay-back-type of an event. Do as little or much as you want/can.

Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit, and you can combine as many prompts for a specific day as you like. If you want to use them all, do it.

If you want to use all the prompts individually, there's also the option to create several pieces for a single day. It depends on you, your time, and your motivation. This counts too if you do works in different mediums, e.g., write a fic and do art for it (or for a different prompt).

Can I start working on the prompts before September 3rd?

Of course! That’s the idea of posting the prompts so early. I know how difficult it can be to create something in “real time”, without mentioning real life complications, so feel free to start creating as soon as now!! You'll have 2 whole months to work on your pieces.

How do I tag triggers?

Just tag the word/phrase, e.g., blood; main character death. (DO NOT add "tw" either at the beginning or the end. That makes it harder for readers to block the right tags). Here it's the list of the most common warning tags you should use when appropriate.

Also, it would be prudent to add warnings in the body of the post, giving the readers another layer of protection before they do the actual reading.

Do I have to use your tags guidelines?

I'd appreciate it if you did. If you follow the guide I gave you in the tags post here, it'd make it easier for me to keep track of who posted on a determined day, and for anyone else to find and/or avoid the content of a specific tag.

Can we @ you?

Yes, please DO! I think it's the safest way for me not to miss your posts. I'll also be following the #tbbaw2024 tag, just for good measure.

Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

As I said before, anything goes, EXCEPT anything inciting or glorifying harassment, hatred, and discrimination of any kind against anything or anyone. THAT WON'T BE TOLERATED. For anything else, please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever other site you use).

Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, sure. That's fine. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

.

If you got another question that you didn't find the answer to here, please, send an ask through the inbox, and I'll do my best to clarify your doubts.

Thanks for reading, and happy creating!

[kanerallels]

Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines

Okay so I may have written this fic inspired by Kenobi, that I'm quite fond of!! So since it's Wednesday and we have no Kenobi, I decided to post today (I'll probably still put up a chapter of my other fan fic later in the week, don't worry)

Rating: G (mentions of death)

Read on AO3!

Kanan Jarrus had been alone for a long time.

He hadn’t been alone in the Temple, not exactly. But he hadn’t made friends easily, and the jealousy when he’d been chosen by Master Billaba had alienated him from the few friends he did have. 

But he hadn’t been alone after that— he’d been with his master, and the clone battalion he’d fought side by side with.

Kanan did his best not to remember what happened to that.

He’d only been with Kasmir for a little under a year, and then he’d taken off to be truly on his own. Just him, Kanan Jarrus, alone in the galaxy. Making his own way from planet to planet, drifting and never staying long.

He told himself that the lifestyle suited him, that being with someone— anyone, be it a romantic partner or friend— was dangerous for both of them, and he didn’t want something permanent, not any more. 

But it hurt, deep inside him, no matter how far he shoved it down. It hurt to not have the community he’d had in the Jedi Temple or with his battalion. It was more than just being alone physically, too. The very few times he’d reached out in the Force and truly meditated after Order 66, he’d felt… empty. Like he was drifting in a dark sea, without a single other soul in sight.

Things had changed, though, about two years ago on Gorse. Things had changed when he found Hera— or maybe she found him. Whichever it was, he was glad to be part of her crew, along with the Lasat guard they met a few months earlier. Zeb could be gruff, but he was honest and a good brawler— which Kanan had both the privilege and the misfortune to be on both sides of— and he was already becoming a good friend. The three of them were a good team, and he was glad to be working with them.

He tried not to use the Force, though. It proved to be difficult when he knew there was something he could do to protect his crewmates, that he could push just a little harder and they’d all be safe. He’d given in enough times that Zeb knew that he was a Jedi, and he’d told Hera his story a few months after he first joined her crew. So they all knew— but Kanan held himself back anyways, and his lightsaber usually remained stowed in the secret drawer under his bunk.

Not this mission, though. This time, as they entered the Mapuzo system, it hung from his belt in two pieces, unassuming enough that no one would know what it was. Hera and Zeb hadn’t commented on it, and Kanan wasn’t sure what he would tell them if they asked. It wasn’t a dangerous mission— just a passenger pickup as a favor to one of Hera’s Rebellion friends, but Kanan felt… antsy. Like there was something itching at the back of his mind, sending him a message that he couldn’t read.

So he left the saber on his belt and didn’t say anything as Hera set the Ghost down a couple miles outside a tiny mining village, and they started the walk into town.

It was fairly quiet when they arrived— clearly, it was the middle of the work day, so the town was dead quiet. Kanan found himself making an effort to walk quietly as Hera led the way to a shop in the middle of town. “This should be the place,” she murmured, rapping on the door three times.

“Let’s hope so,” Zeb grumbled, glancing over his shoulder. “I don’t like how quiet this town is. Feels like we’re sitting mynocks, just waiting for the Imps to swoop in and grab us.”

“In a town this size, we’ll be able to handle whatever they throw at us,” Kanan reassured him. 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Hera said as the door in front of her swished open.

The woman standing in the opening ushered them in swiftly, closing the door behind them and darkening the room significantly. “Thank you for coming, Captain,” she said, her accented voice holding a hint of relief. “Our usual pilot is in a difficult spot, and we needed help fast.”

“It’s not a problem,” Hera assured her. “We’re glad to help. This is Zeb and Kanan, by the way.”

“Tala,” the woman introduced herself. Kanan studied her as she headed to the far side of the room. Her high cheekbones and accented voice spoke of a Core World upbringing, maybe even Imperial. But her eyes told a different story, holding an almost sad kindness.

Hera’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “What sort of cargo are we carrying?”

“I’m surprised Fulcrum didn’t tell you,” Tala said, opening a panel set in one of the shelves.

“I’ve heard enough stories about the Path to guess,” Hera admitted, “but I wouldn’t mind confirmation.”

“You ever heard of this Path?” Zeb muttered to Kanan quietly.

“In passing, yeah. They help people who the Empire are after get to a safe place,” Kanan responded quietly. "And they're working with Hera, so they're trustworthy in my book."

“Can't argue with that,” Zeb agreed.

Glancing at them as she keyed the button under the panel, Tala said, “Usually we'd take the tunnel down to the spaceport, but most of the garrison is out investigating a problem almost half the planet away, and there's no sense in putting you on the Empire's radar.”

“More than we already are,” Hera said, offering a wry smile that Tala returned. 

Stepping through the door, she said, “They're in here.”

Hera followed her, and Kanan and Zeb moved in after her into the small room. The first thing Kanan saw were the people— two of them, a man around Kanan's age, with shockingly blue hair and a deep scowl, and a boy that couldn't have been older than twelve, his dark eyes locking with Kanan's curiously. 

“Trever, Lune, this is Hera,” Tala told the duo. “She's here to get you out.”

Kanan could hear Trever asking suspicious questions and Hera answering them in her patient, professional manner, but his attention was pulled away as something caught his gaze.

There was writing etched on the wall. Aurebesh letters spelling out names and other phrases that Kanan didn't stop to read as he stepped forward, curiosity flickering inside of him. What is this? The names of escaped refugees? But why would they leave their name behind—

And then he saw it, carved carefully into the wall at the far end of the room. A symbol he'd seen a thousand times as a kid.

The symbol of the Jedi Order.

He felt a choked gasp escape his lips, and he moved across the room before he could think. His gaze was still locked on the symbol, and he found himself wondering if it was real, if it would disappear before he reached it. But then it was in front of him, and he was tracing his fingers along the slightly ragged edges, feeling the splinters in the wood.

Kanan pressed his palm against the wall, trying to keep it steady despite the shaking he could feel in his bones. He could feel the other's eyes on him as he spoke, striving to keep his voice calm. “You— you've had Jedi here?”

“Quite a few,” Tala said, and Kanan could hear her curiosity in his voice. He knew he was exposing himself, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

“There are others alive?”

The question slipped out, and he heard someone take in a quick breath of surprise. But Tala's voice was totally calm, the curiosity gone. In its place was sympathy as she said, “Yes. Those who put their name on the wall have passed through, looking for refuge. They leave their names for any other survivors, and what wisdom they can impart.”

Kanan stared at the walls, reading the roughly carved letters. Some names he didn’t recognize— Djinn Altis, Valin Halcyon, Naq Med, Kina Ha— but there were others he did.

Jax Pavan. Sierra Waspee. Quinlan Vos. Jaylin Twila. And so many others, more than he would ever have expected. Brushing a thumb across the symbol again, Kanan swallowed with difficulty against a tight throat.

He felt Zeb put a hand on his shoulder, and Hera quietly asked, “Are you alright?”

Taking a long breath, Kanan nodded. “Yeah. I’m— yeah.” He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to ask his next question. But Hera, being Hera, seemed to read his mind.

“Zeb and I can get the passengers to the Ghost ,” she said quietly. “We’ll be back in five minutes. Will that be long enough, or—”

“That’ll be fine,” Kanan said, giving her a grateful look. “Thank you, Hera.”

Giving him one of her gentle smiles, Hera said, “Of course, love. We’ll be back in a minute.”

She and Zeb moved away, and Kanan was left alone in a room full of ghosts.

He took his time, reading the Jedi proverbs scratched into the wood slowly, drinking it in. So much of it brought him back to training with Master Billaba, or meditating with Master Yoda, or getting lectured for fooling around in the Temple. It hurt, but in a clean way, like this was supposed to happen. Like it’s the Force’s will, Kanan thought.

Now that was something he hadn’t thought in a long time. Maybe it’s time to start thinking that way again, he mused, stopping in front of the Jedi Order symbol again. Slowly, he settled down on his knees, like he used to as a Padawan. And for the first time in years, Kanan closed his eyes and reached out for the Force, sinking into meditation.

It was… different. The Force wasn’t as bright as it had been, lit with the light of well over a thousand Jedi Masters, like the sun. Instead, Kanan found a dark expanse, spreading in every direction.

But there was light. Bright sparks, glowing in varying degrees, like stars in a dark sky. I’m not alone, Kanan thought, and felt peace settle over him.

A voice shook him out of his meditation. “Kanan?”

Opening his eyes, Kanan glanced up to where Hera and Zeb were standing a few feet away. “Hey,” he said, rising from his knees with a grunt. “I’m ready to go, I just—” he hesitated, glancing at the walls around him. At the names that had been left behind, like tiny messages saying, I’m still here. The Empire hasn’t brought us all down. He remembered a Jedi proverb his master had told him, shortly after his friend Stance had died— “There is light that cannot be overcome by the darkness”.  

He hadn’t understood what she meant then. He did now. 

The shrring of metal against leather caught Kanan’s ear, and he turned to see Hera pulling a knife out of the sheath she kept strapped to her boot at all times. Wordlessly, she offered it, hilt first, to Kanan.

He gave her a grateful look and accepted it, turning back towards the wall in front of him. Stepping forward, he carefully carved the words “Caleb Dume” into the wood. A little ways underneath it, he carved the proverb Master Billaba had told him, leaving it there for others to see. Maybe they would find hope in it, too.

Returning the knife to Hera, he paused for a moment, looking at her and Zeb. At his crew. His family, the one he’d built himself. 

Kanan was not alone. He never would be, as long as he had his family.

“Let’s go,” he said, and the three of them walked out of the room together, leaving Kanan’s past behind.

As for the future? He glanced at Hera, who was walking by his side. Who knew what the future would hold? Kanan, personally, couldn’t wait to find out.

[crispyjenkins]

Can we get a fic where Jaster somehow gets sent to the future or something and him reacting to the clones? (Being pissed off that his ad would do something like this to these poor kids/ just reacting to them?)

(this one was so. fecking. hard. to write, i’ve been struggling with it for weeks, but i’m glad i did, because this is by far the best version i made of it. it’s interesting in how much my opinion of jango’s decision to be the template has changed since i first got this ask, and i was definitely coming at it with this post in mind for their characterisations here.

i love hondo. so you get hondo knowing jaster from pre-civil war days, and i don’t care if canon disagrees: hondo ohnaka has been terroising house mereel for three generations.

also i’ve already had a few people donate to my ko-fi and i’m completely floored by your kindness and generosity, and i sat down with this fill knowing i wanted to get it out as soon as possible. i sincerely love you all, i hope you’re all healthy and being as safe as possible.)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

  “Oh, Jango? We keep him here.” —Lama Su, AotC

-

  By some will of the Ka’ra, it’s Boba that finds him.

  The possibility of dying in his ad’s arms hadn’t exactly crossed Jaster’s mind until it happened, like a nightmare he had never even had. For the first time since the Fett farm burned, Jaster cursed the Ka’ra, and he curses them again when he wakes up not marching* to the stars, but standing knee-deep in the snows of Galidraan

  And the Ka’ra make sure he knows it’s Galidraan though he had never been there, just as he somehow knows Jango is long-since dead. That he is a dislocated bone in the universe, snapped out of time and place and thrown into a future where Jango’s face stares at him from a body that is not his.

  “Oh,” the teen with Jango’s nose says, the snow coming all the way up to their thighs, and they don't look dressed nearly warm enough for this biome. “Did Hondo send you?”

  Jaster blinks at them. “Did...? No, ad’ika, I have not spoken to Hondo in many years.” Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised Hondo is even still alive, Maker knows Jaster’s tried to kill him enough times himself, but if the number of years since his death on Korda Six is as many as he thinks it is, surely someone would have shot him by now.

  The teen doesn’t wear beskar’gam —it’s unlikely they’re even old enough to— but the style of the armor they do wear cannot be inspired by anything else, just reminiscent enough of evaar’gam that Jaster can’t help comparing every little detail about them with the faded image of Jango in his mind.

  “Then who the kriff are you?” They eye Jaster warily, left hand twitching towards the vibroblade at their hip.

  Promising to strangle every one of the Ka’ra when he can finally march away, and throwing the last of his caution down to the snow between them, Jaster simply says, “Jaster Mereel.”

  Impossibly, though maybe not entirely, not-Jango doesn’t laugh at him, or call him crazy, or even try to shoot him with the rifle slung over their shoulder. No, they straighten to their full height, and—

  And swear so colorfully in Huttese that Jaster knows this hell-child has absolutely been raised by Hondo Ohnaka.

-

  Boba takes him to the ruins of Kamino first, where the kriffing Sith Empire has destroyed another one of his people’s homes. 

  The growth labs were all blown into the ocean by imperial ilk soon after the formation of the empire, but the barracks and some of the training rooms still stand above the waves. In the ship he says belonged to Jango, Boba steers them to a dilapidated landing pad, controlling the Slave I (Maker, had Jaster really left Jango to that fate?) far too easily through the rubble for this to be his first time to return, and Jaster tries not to think about what that means.

  Walking the dark, grimy white halls, seeing the narrow bunks and bare req rooms, he then tries not to think about a child being raised in such a place, about hundreds of thousands of children being raised in such a place. How had Jango... chosen this for them?

  “I only have his stories,” Boba tells him quietly, when he shows Jaster the tiny apartment the Kaminoans had given them to “keep Jango close”. It’s bigger than most captain’s cabins, to be sure, but it is just as plain and white as the rest of the facility. “But he couldn’t even get one hundred Mandalorians to come and train the... clones.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably as Jaster looks into the cupboard-sized kitchen and tries not to break down at the package of Mandalorian chiles rotted away on the counter. “Everyone else was New Mandalorian or Death Watch.”

  “And the rest... they fell at the Battle of Galidraan?”

“Buir always called it a massacre,” he looks away. “Only a handful of the Cuy’val Dar even considered themselves True Mandalorians, buir was there when the Jedi killed the rest.”

  Jaster inhales deeply, takes a few moments to steady himself, and is sickeningly, horrifyingly relieved. By the Maker, but knowing Jango had had no one left before his Kamino contract, that not even Skirata followed the codex anymore, that Jango had only taken the job after forcing Tyranus to give him an unaltered clone, makes Jaster guilty for having doubted his foundling. It doesn’t excuse anything, of course, but knowing Jango had done it all for aliit, well, it does make it easier to swallow.

  Boba leads him back out of the apartment, he had already stripped it of anything important years ago, and they don’t stick around after reboarding the Slave I. Only after they’re out of atmosphere with hyperspace coordinates for Tatooine in the astronav system does Boba join Jaster in the tiny galley with a bottle of tihaar that Jaster should probably reprimand him for, but won’t.

  “He tried to pretend he didn’t care, about the others,” Boba says and doesn’t even bother to find them glasses, “I think some days he even believed it.”

  “He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

  Boba takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it across the table. “Tyranus scared the shit out of me back then, he was too... put together, too fancy. Buir didn’t like him, I don’t know why he even did the tryout for him, the pay wasn’t even that great?”

  Rubbing his left eye until he sees stars, Jaster stares down into the bottle until he can come up with a way to explain core Mandalorian beliefs to a child that had barely a decade of living as one before that, too, had been taken from him. “If Jang’ika took that job intending to come out on the other side, I’ll kiss whatever Vizsla is left.”

  Boba’s mouth twists and he kicks his heels against the floor, not waiting for Jaster to hand it to him to grab the tihaar back. “Buir was an idiot,” he says, like the solve to a simple math problem, and Jaster can’t but agree.

  He sighs. “Unfortunately, he probably got that from somewhere.”

  “I mean, at least Montross didn’t live long enough to end up as the template? Kriffing fuck, can you imagine if the Jedi had had to work with that shabuir’s clones?”

  “Maybe the war would have ended sooner,” he muses and accepts the bottle, “surely this Emperor would have tired of his face much sooner than Jango’s.”

  “Or the Coruscant Guard would have shivved Palpatine in his sleep and tried to take over the Republic; what’s one betrayal of your leader to another?”

  “Then I’d like to think Jango would put him, them, in their place for a third time.”

  Snorting, Boba pushes to his feet to, presumably, check on the autopilot. “If buir would have even let it get that far, then I’ll kiss Vizsla.”

-

  “Old friend!” Hondo shouts as soon as he sees them, and Jaster winces, nursing his first hangover since his twenties.

  “Ohnaka,” he returns, and pretends he doesn’t notice the subtle way Boba brightens as Hondo comes to clap them both on the shoulders.

  The old pirate just chuckles and starts to steer them both back across the hangar bay to his latest junk ship. “I heard you died, Mand’alor,” he says casually, like the title isn’t cursed to the ka’ra and back, like it hadn’t been three decades since anyone had dared call someone from his house such a thing so sincerely.

  “I did.”

  “I found him on Galidraan,” Boba offers. “Is that why you told me to go?”

  Hondo scoffs, and Jaster would say he was flustered if he didn’t know him better. “No, I told you to go because Aurra had a job for you, that you seem to have forgotten about in your haste to bring my long lost best friend back to me.”

  Boba scowls. “Aurra wasn’t at the meeting place, laandur, it was a kriffing mynock chase and you know it.”

  Jaster side eyes his old “friend”, and wonders again about his preternatural... luck in all things pirate-related, despite being a boisterous mess of a man most of the time. If this Aurra had even been on the planet when Boba got there, Jaster will kiss Vizsla twice. 

-

Mando’a: Ka'ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” ad — “child”, gender neutral 'ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends beskar'gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy evaar'gam — lit. “youth armour”, fan name for the interim armour/garb Mandalorians would have worn before building their kit of beskar’gam buir — “parent”, gender neutral  Cuy'val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones aliit — “clan”, “family” tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit shabuir —  an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity  laandur — used here as “weak”, “pathetic”, but is usually used as “delicate”, “fragile”

*in reference to the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”.