#but anyway the jedi deserved a few hours of my day

[cut-off-the-grain]

got sent this one today. of course you can ignore this, but i'm sending it anyway <33 - Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

@dobranocka It’s been three weeks since you sent this but let’s do it!

1 The Days Were Made For Running (And The Nights Were Made For Love) Lord of the Rings, Gimli/Legolas

This was such a fun one because it really let me flex my writing skills. Of course it was all still my style, but I tried to incorporate Tolkien’s style as well. Someone bookmarked it and tagged it ‘the sex was good, the angst was better’ and I consider that one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received on my writing

2 Don’t Be Shy (You’ve Been Here Before) Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Hux/Kylo

This one makes the cut because of all the great friends I made because of it! I truly thought I would maybe get a comment and a few kudos, so I was overwhelmed by how people responded to this. I’m not even in TFA fandom anymore, but so many of the friendships I made have carried over, and that all started with this fic.

3 The Minor Fall, The Major Lift Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Hux/Kylo

Is it egotistical to say I wish this is what had happened in The Last Jedi?

4 I Will Find My Home In You Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Hux/Kylo

This was supposed to be a flip on the fake dating trope (they really are together but everyone thinks they’re making it up!) that somehow became an exploration of the weight and damage of family expectations and how to find yourself and love and free yourself from the role your family expects you to play. I reread it every Thanksgiving (hey, it’s like the author knew exactly what I like!)

5 let’s go, don’t wait (this night’s almost over) Be My Favorite, Pisaeng/Kawi

Truthfully this probably isn’t the strongest thing I’ve ever written, but it’s the first thing I’ve finished and been happy enough with to post in four (FOUR) years. Be My Favorite was a silly little Thai BL show I wasn’t expecting to enjoy as much as I did, and while I loved the ending, I found I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to the characters. I wrote this on my phone at work while pretending to pay attention to a Zoom meeting. The words just burst out, and within and hour I was posting it on AO3. And anything that can remind me why I enjoy writing like this fic did deserves to be on this list. (yes the title is from a blink-182 song no i don’t feel as ashamed of that as i should)

I think I’ve rambled enough. All fics mention are posted on my AO3, link below.

And now it’s time to no pressure tag @fandomfix8 @glass-oceans @atlinmerrick @kyluxtrashpit @helliskylux

#my writing #my fic #legolas x gimli #kylux #pisaengkawi

[starsspin-a]

anyways yesterday @kenobiian was like what if obi-wan died on naboo instead. and it would not let me rest so now she gets a drabble 

Obi-Wan Kenobi had deserved a better master than him. It was a battle he had always had within himself.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He should have been him, why wasn’t it him? Stupid foolish boy, why didn’t he listen? No, none of that. He had to stop himself, his Padawan was not to blame. Obi-Wan always listened. He had a habit of taking things too literally, but he always listened, always was trying to please him. He was a good student, and what a Jedi Knight he would have made. A fate that now would never see the light of day, and it was his fault. Qui-Gon was a fool for not saying it enough, and he would regret that, regret this, until his dying day.

He kneels beside Obi-Wan. Even if help arrived at this precise moment, it would be too late. Qui-Gon is vividly reminded of the first time they had met, how small and young he had been. Bright eyed and eager, young and naive. He’s still so young now, too young. There’s another stab of guilt one Qui-Gon tries to ignore. With gentle care he gathers the boy in his arms. He’s alive, just barely, the light quickly fading. A hand cups the Padawan’s cheek. “Obi-Wan.” Come back, I’m here.

His eyes open, and Qui-Gon feels a rush of panic, pain and anguish, fear and failing. It took all the years and hours of practice and patience for Qui-Gon to not show the effect it had on him. Instead pushing calm reassuring back through the Force. Trying to give Obi-Wan something to hang onto.

“Master, I…”

Qui-Gon shakes his head, cutting him off, knowing the words he was about to say. “This is my failing, you did everything right. ” There’s a few moments of silence, before Obi-Wan manages to find his voice again to speak.    

"You were more of a Master than I deserve."

Each word was a blade to his heart. You fool, you should have said something sooner, now look where it's gotten you both. “No, Obi-Wan, no, I am the one who failed you.” There’s a beat before he goes on. “I could not have asked for a better Padawan, and I could not be more proud.” His voice shakes, but it doesn’t break. He won’t allow it. He has failed Obi-Wan in every other way, he will not fail him in this, not in his final moments. “And I’m sorry.” He loves him too, the same as any father loves his son, but those words, he doesn’t know how to say.

He doesn’t know the impact his words had, the emotions are too strong on both sides for him to be able to tell. Obi-Wan’s light and strength finally slip away, the Master felt it, as the force left the younger man, and he did not have the words to describe the feeling for it. Obi-Wan’s body went limp in his arms. Qui-Gon’s forehead rests against his now former Padawan’s. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The words tumble over in his mind, like waves against the shore. He hears a sob echoed through the now empty chamber, perhaps two, not that it mattered.

Pain, anguish, failure, grief, anger, they all consume him, and Qui-gon allows it, letting it fill every fiber of his being. Then he lets it go, though it takes awhile for him to settle back to himself. Grief and failure would linger forever whispering in the back of his mind. Yet the world turned on, and there was other work to be done. Another boy who needed guidance. 

Not that Qui-Gon Jinn ever allowed himself to forget, he had removed and kept Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid. He deserved that much at least, to have his life and not death not be forgotten. If only he had done a better job as his Master, perhaps this fate could have been avoided all together.  

#starssung #CAN WE NOT HAVE PAIN ALL THE TIME #you put me through enough #II qui gon jinn II ic #II qui gon jinn II drabbles

[panharmonium]

Glancing sideways at Obi-Wan, remembering his former Master’s restrained but heartfelt praise of that mission, he felt a twinge of guilt.

I wish I could tell him about Padme. The Jedi are wrong. Love doesn’t weaken us. It makes us stronger. I wish Padme and I could show him that. He’s very alone.  (Karen Miller, Wild Space)

about the quote accompanying that last edit - 

i haven’t read wild space for so long, i forgot a lot of the things i didn’t like about it.  but like all the karen miller books i’ve read, it’s not my personal favorite.  and it’s been a long time since i wrote any star wars meta, but i’ve had that edit in my likes for months and i don’t want to attach a bunch of irrelevant meta to someone else’s lovely work, so here i am.

to whoever the anon was who asked me if i would write jedi order meta (a million years ago, i realize) - at the time i said i wasn’t sure, but times have, apparently, changed.

disclaimer:  personal opinions ahoy!  if they are not your opinions, that’s great! cool beans!  this is a fictional universe in which we all engage for fun; no need to get stressed - please feel free to hit the ‘ew, don’t like it’ tumblr button and go have fun with fandom in whatever way appeals to you! :)

(that disclaimer includes a request to please refrain from reblogging this for the sole purpose of arguing or starting a star wars debate™, even a good-natured one.  i’m literally just trying to organize my own personal interpretation of something on my own personal blog, for my own personal enjoyment.  i promise you there is no need to hit me up with ‘BUT HAVE YOU CONSIDERED THE FOLLOWING REBUTTAL - ’  i promise.  it’s cool.)

(under a cut for absurd length and many scanned book excerpts)

so, that wild space quote.  

my response to it hinges entirely on a question of author vs. character.

if this is solely a character’s point of view, then i find it eminently believable. this is a thing anakin might say.  it demonstrates yet again anakin’s fundamental misunderstanding of everything he’s ever been taught, but it’s very much a believable misunderstanding for him to operate under.

if this character bit is supported and endorsed by the author - which i suspect is the case, given that this is the angle i see the majority of star wars authors and fans taking - then that’s a different thing.

i feel like i’ve written variations on this post several times before, but surprisingly enough i am still staunchly opposed to virtually every interpretation of the jedi i have ever read, including wild space (shocking, i know, what can i do). it’s frustrating to me that the Prevailing Opinions out there about the Jedi Order are virtually all assumptions, not facts, and that these assumptions have for some reason been accepted as the only possible truth, the only possible extrapolation from canon, when in fact it is just as reasonable, just as textually-supported, and, i would argue, more realistic for us to extrapolate and make inferences supporting a different conclusion.

anakin’s interpretation of the jedi order in the quote above represents the Prevailing Opinion: “the jedi are wrong.  love doesn’t weaken us.”  this interpretation, in turn, relies on an assumption: “the jedi think love weakens us.” however, contrary to popular belief, the statement "the jedi think love weakens us” IS in fact exactly what i said it is: an ASSUMPTION.  

a presumption, i might even say, and one that i don’t personally feel is particularly well-supported by canon.  even anakin himself, when teased by padme, shows that he’s been taught enough jedi philosophy to know that “love” is more complicated than “love/emotions = bad!” and that “love” and “attachment” are not the same thing.

Padme: Are you allowed to love? I thought that was forbidden for a Jedi.

Anakin: Attachment is forbidden.  Possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi's life.  So, you might say that we are encouraged to love.

which is still something of a rudimentary explanation, less nuanced than what an older knight or master might give you, but it absolutely indicates a deeper philosophical understanding of jedi pillars than what people usually credit anakin for knowing or obi-wan for teaching.

obi-wan says in ANH that the jedi knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy for “over a thousand generations.”  now, even estimating ridiculously low and saying that humans in the star wars universe only ever live to be thirty years old (i don’t know! it’s a dangerous galaxy!), a thousand generations is still thirty thousand years.  that’s…. significantly longer that our society’s entire written history, never mind the lifespan of any one modern-day religion.  

when we have so little canon information about the jedi order, obviously everybody is free to extrapolate about it however they like, but - when you look at things and recognize how truly old the order is - it’s just baffling to me that there is so little attention paid to canon/legends textual evidence of the philosophical nuance of the jedi order, to the near-certain existence, as with any real-world religion, of varying yet equally accepted schools of thought within the jedi order (not schools of thought elevated above the jedi order by some lazy label like ‘grey jedi’), to the idea that the jedi order is OVER A THOUSAND GENERATIONS OLD, and can you honestly not envision the sheer volume of scholarly debate and theological treatises and movements and growth and accumulated history and depth and internal interpretations that this organization necessarily must encompass?  think about any real-world religion today - think about how many different interpretations one religion might have for a single line of holy text, never mind an entire holy book - think of all the non-textual supplementary material that contributes to any philosophy or theology, i.e. the hadith; think about the exegesis that accompanies any religious text; think of the incredible volume of critical thought and literature and liturgy that falls under the umbrella of just one modern-day religion, and can you honestly imagine that the jedi order - which again is tens of THOUSANDS of years older than any of our religions - isn’t bursting at the seams with philosophy and history, with debate and interpretation, with myriad streams of literalist and revisionist schools of thought - ALL equally jedi, and ALL included in a jedi education?  

do we honestly think that the jedi code is five precepts scribbled on a piece of flimsi, and that everybody interprets them the same way?  we know that’s not true.  mace windu tells qui-gon that taking a second padawan is impossible because “the code forbids it,” and i hear that - but nowhere in the familiar ‘there is no emotion’ mantra do we get guidelines for padawan-raising.  that directive has to come from somewhere else.  we KNOW there’s more text.  we KNOW there’s more history.  but somehow we just refuse to extrapolate this knowledge out to its fullest logical extent, which is that the jedi order has a thousand generations’ more history, more text, more commentaries, more scholarly debates on every subject, and that while one tradition for, say, padawan-raising is accepted currently, the one-padawan/one-master convention isn’t just some arbitrary rule.  every structure and every tradition comes with a history, a conversation, and about 200 philosophical treatises, all of which are considered equally Jedi, and all of which are available to be checked out from the Archives.

this is how it would really work: padawans taking exams are tasked with answering questions like ‘explain, with textual evidence, so-and-so’s interpretation of the Fourth Precept, including references to such-and-such’s landmark rebuttal and the modern-day commentaries of X, Y, and Z.”  when masters tell their students that levitating their clothes into the laundry chute is a frivolous application of the Force and thus to be discouraged, certain impudent young scholars *cough obi-wan kenobi cough* troop down to the Archives and return later that night with ten different texts in hand, all of them ruminating on virtue or vice: applications of the force in everyday life, relevant portions circled. padawans taking saber classes are instructed not only in the elements of combat but in philosophical paradigms, and ethical dilemmas - a “real discussion about competing conceptions of the good” (to quote the office, of all things!), as in this excerpt from cloak of deception:

or this, about emotions:

With both eyes open now, he studied his Padawan. Obi-Wan sat cross-legged in a chair with his eyes closed. But his shoulders were tensed, and beneath his eyelids Qui-Gon could see movement.

“Are you all right, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked softly.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and met his Master’s gaze. “Yes,” he said slowly. And then, “Well, I don’t know.”

“You are afraid,” Qui-Gon stated plainly.

A look of shame came over Obi-Wan’s face, but he did not deny it. “My heart is full of dread,” he admitted. “I wish we were on another mission - any other mission. I am not sure I have the courage to face the Holocron…”

Qui-Gon leaned toward his apprentice. “You have every right to be afraid,” he said quietly. “Allow yourself to feel the fear - really feel it - and then let the emotion go. If it comes back, feel it again and let it go again. There should be no shame in one’s emotions.”

“I am not at fault if it comes back?” Obi-Wan asked, looking up.

“No, Padawan,” Qui-Gon replied. “We cannot control how we feel. Only how we choose to handle our feelings.”

A look of true relief crossed Obi-Wan’s face, and he smiled slightly. His shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes. (JA, Jude Watson)

about love:

No attachments. He did not see this as a conflict. He saw it as a great truth - that he could love, but have no wish to possess. That he could trust, but not resent those who let him down. (JA, Jude Watson)

about discipline, from Rogue Planet - discipline tempered by understanding, discipline that instructs rather than punishes, discipline that is as willing to point out the teacher’s error as it is the student’s:

and

THAT is the kind of education obi-wan kenobi received, and that is the education he provided for his own student. that is the jedi order. qui-gon jinn’s interpretation of jedi precepts and philosophy doesn’t make him something un-jedi.  it doesn’t make him a radical, and it doesn’t make him a “grey” jedi. “grey” jedi isn’t a thing.  differing interpretations and meaning-making, in this thousand generation-long tradition of scholarship and spiritual development, IS jedi - certain universal principles that the entire order accepts, but with nuances, readings, and applications that vary across individuals/traditions/historical periods.  

THAT is the jedi order.  or at least, it’s a more realistic conception of the jedi order than the oversimplified, unlikely, and unimaginative version that authors are typically referring to when they write sentences like “the jedi are wrong about love.”

#boop be doop i fell down a star wars shaped hole today #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #that quote though -_- #'i wish padme and i could show him that' honestly the most condescending foolishness #like obi-wan doesn't actively choose the life he lives every single day #also uhhhhh good lord it's late #this is why i don't write meta anymore; i don't have tIME #but anyway the jedi deserved a few hours of my day #star wars #meta #order appreciation

[coexiising]

Midnight Love - Anakin Skywalker

REQUEST ◆ can i request a little something where anakin comes back from a long mission after there were rumors that he was dead, so the reader is super relieved and impatiently waiting to be alone with him? basically fluff where she could take care of his wounds and maybe some passionate sex

WARNING(S) ◆ smut, piv sex, mentions of death, cursing

WORDS ◆ 3.1k

NOTE ◆ im sick but i got the sudden urge to finish this request so!! thank you for requesting!!

If someone was to ask you what love was a year ago, you would insist that you had no idea and tell them to ask someone else. But in the coming months, even in the throws of Civil War raging throughout the entire Galaxy left and right — You had found love. And maybe it wasn’t perfect and not like the fairytales that you used to read when you were a young child but it was yours, and that was all that mattered in the long run. You were in love and so happy.

But right now, all you were was nervous. You had been for almost a week since hearing the news that a rather intense battle had broken out in the Outer Rim, where Anakin Skywalker, the man you were in love with, had been stationed for almost a month now. You were scared and wracked with anxiety of the possibility of something happening to him. You stayed up late at night and tried to calm yourself down, but it was to no use. There was no way of contacting him during the middle of a mission and the only thing you could slightly rely on was the news, which sometimes wasn’t entirely factual.

And then the rumors started.

You weren’t one to rely on the news of gossip or others, though this talk had been spoken about within a rather influential group of politicians, about how The Hero With No Fear was dead. You didn’t want to believe it, it couldn’t be true. Anakin, your Anakin, couldn’t be dead. So you vowed from that day forward that you would only think of him as alive, not going to engage in any conversation until you were sure of his true outcome.

And another rumor spread that the 501st was coming back to Coruscant and again, you tried to ignore it, trying not to get your hopes up on false promises. Still though, you checked your comms where Anakin always contacted you when he was within range, and checked, and checked, and checked until it was becoming somewhat of an addiction. There was no call.

It is now marked two months since you’ve seen Anakin, the days dragging long and boring and the nights cold and lonely. You missed him so much that it was hard to breathe, feeling as though another half of you had been thrown into the wind never to be seen again. He had a job in the Republic and you understood that completely, but it didn’t stop you from wishing that things were different, that you could be together with him without anything pulling you away from one another or that you could just be with him in public in a romantic way rather than platonic.

Your feet took you across the Jedi Temple building, tasked with giving some papers to Senator Padmé Amidala who was briefing with the Council about security in the Senate. The sun shined through the tall windows as you walked, illuminating the pathway and red carpets. You made your way up the steps and that’s when you stopped dead in your tracks.

You weren’t sure if you were making things up in your mind, if you missed Anakin so much that your mind was playing tricks on you. But at the end of the hall you could swear that was Anakin, walking with . . . That was Ahsoka. So that had to be —

“Anakin,” You spoke out loud, low like a whisper to yourself. It was Anakin, standing at the other end of the hall. You felt your balance go out for a moment and you were almost sent toppling down the stairs until you caught yourself. Your heart rate picked up and it took everything in you not to run up into his arms, knowing that you were all being watched in the Temple and there was no way to have alone time with him no matter how much you wanted to.

You walked at a faster pace now, coming within range of his eyesight and Anakin’s features immediately softened upon looking at you, a small smile making its way onto his face that you reciprocated, hoping to not gain the attention from his Padawan learner. When finally, finally you were only a foot in front of him, you felt at ease again. Anakin was alright, he didn’t die or get gravely injured like the news always made things out to be. He was here and although you could see cuts and bruises on his face that have seemingly gotten uncared for yet, you were more relieved than you had ever felt in your life. It had been too long without him, you supposed, too long without his touch or his love.

Ahsoka was the first to speak up. “Hi, Y/N, what’re you doing here?” Her tone was happy, which led you to believe that whatever they did in the Outer Rim turned out successful. You loved Ahsoka, but right now you wished that it was just you and Anakin.

“Just getting Senator Amidala some papers, Ahsoka, how was your mission?” You asked, eyes darting from her to Anakin, who looked at you with soft, longing eyes.

“It was . . . Stressful. But Master Skywalker led the whole 501st by himself!” Ahsoka exclaimed, giving her Master a grin. You couldn’t help but smile, thinking about the fearless leader and how passionate he was about helping the Republic. How he was yours, all yours and he loved you just as much, if not more, than you did him.

A few more words were exchanged before Anakin said, “Why don’t you go get some rest, Ahsoka. You deserve it.” It seemed as though Ahsoka didn’t need to be told twice, the girl saying a quick goodbye and walking off in the other direction. Now it was you and Anakin in the hallway, looking into each other's eyes as if you were both having a silent conversation between one another without any movement. You weren’t sure what to say, actions spoke louder than words anyways and all you wanted was to be near him, be in his arms so that the fist of anxiety clenching your heart was finally gone.

He had a small smile on his face that made your heart warm, one that you reciprocated and looked around to make sure that no one was eavesdropping. In the Temple you were never really sure how far your talking would go, if others could hear the whispers spoken between you two from other hallways. There was no one there, thankfully.

“I’m sorry I-”

“When will-”

You two spoke at the same time, making a laugh erupt from the both of you. You took a moment to admire him, thinking about how much you missed the little things about him like his laugh. “You go first,” You told him.

Anakin nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming back. I wanted to make it somewhat of a surprise but then you were here and . . .” He trailed off. You shook your head and flashed a smile, signalling that all was fine. You found it endearing that he was planning on surprising you, it seemed as though you were on his mind the whole time as much as he was on yours.

“It’s okay,” You said. “When will you be able to stop by my apartment?” That is where you usually stayed when he was on Coruscant and he could get away, since it was way easier having Anakin sneak out of the Temple there instead of him sneaking you into the Temple. You had to admit that now that you knew he was here, your anxiousness got worse, wanting him all to yourself as quickly as possible.

“I still have to report to the Council. Then I’m all yours. An hour?”

“It’s a date.”

~

The waiting was excruciating even though it was only an hour. It was almost as if waiting for an extra sixty minutes was worse than the extended time you had just been away from him. Perhaps it was because you knew that he was here, alive and well, and wanted to see you just as badly as you wanted to see him. You tried passing the time looking through the holonet, and then deciding to take a quick shower to wash off anything from today.

Opening your drawer and putting on the last of your outfit, some black lounge sweatpants, you heard a knock on the front door of your apartment and your heart practically leapt out of your chest. You needed to remember to give Anakin a key sometime soon, knowing that this wasn’t going to be the last time he came over and he almost practically lived here whenever he was on Coruscant. You walked and opened the door, being met with Anakin’s smiling face and big, strong arms wrapping around your frame, walking both of you backwards as his foot kicked the door behind him closed.

You leaned into his touch, memorizing all that you could from this moment for later. His soft, plush curly hair brushing against your cheek, the smell of fresh breeze and some type of floral scent that was most likely his body wash. It was so inherently Anakin and you were surrounded by it, you loved it. You loved him.

“I missed you so much,” He spoke first, pulling away to make eye contact. His blue eyes looked down at you and you couldn’t help but lean up and press a small kiss to his lips, the smile on your face growing wider as you pulled away. Your eyes scanned his face, taking note of a few cuts and bruises that littered it, almost causing you to frown.

Your hand came up and brushed against one, it seemed freshly afflicted. You weren’t exactly sure what the mission he had gone through was about, he would most likely tell you later when both of you got settled. “I missed you too, Ani,” You said. “Do you want me to look at this cut?” It wasn’t as though you were a medic by any means, but basic first aid wasn’t that hard and all you really needed to do was clean it and any others he let you look at.

He didn’t respond with words, only nodding and allowing you to grab his hand and lead him to the bedroom. Your kit was in the bathroom connected to it, quickly grabbing the small white box and sitting down on the bed next to him, getting to work.

“What happened while you were away?” You asked, making conversation as you got the materials out of the box. “These cuts look recent.”

Anakin shrugged his large shoulders, a usual response when you asked about his injuries whenever he came home. This wasn’t new behavior, he always seemed like he was as tough as nails, but it didn’t take much to see that he was tired and glad to be home. The home that was your arms.

As usual, the two of you exchanged some small talk while you tended to his wounds, rubbing the cloth with the antiseptic and covering up the ones along his arms that needed bandages. Bacta worked best for the bruises, covering them up with the oil that would have them healed in as fast as a day or two. Once everything had been looked at, you put the materials back into the box and placed it on the nightstand next to your bed, reaching over to Anakin to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He came to lay down and pulled you close to him, both of you sitting in the silence for a moment.

“There were so many rumors that you had gotten into too much trouble on your mission. Some people were even saying that you were dead,” You muttered, a small, tiny bit of concern lacing your words. Anakin could feel your worry through the Force and in response, held you even tighter against him. “I didn’t want to believe them, but then you were gone longer than normal and I don’t know. . . I just get so scared sometimes with your line of work.”

Anakin sighed. “There was a setback in the mission and we needed to take caution so that we wouldn’t lose many people. But it’s alright, I’m here with you now. You know that I’ll always come back to you.”

“I know, Ani.”

You turned to face him, the covers shifting comfortably under you. You pressed your lips against his again, relishing in the feeling of having him back all to yourself. You wished that you could keep him here forever, in your large apartment away from the judgement of society: The Senate that expected you to stay away from scandal, and the Jedi Order that prevented Anakin from having any attachment whatsoever. It was a hard world out there, but you were grateful that you were with Anakin through it, you couldn’t imagine being with another person.

Sensing a bit of urgency in your kisses to get as much of him as you possibly could, Anakin responded with the same passion, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek and the gloved one coming to push himself on top of you. Your legs wrapped around his waist and trapped him against you while the two of you kissed. Your hands reached for his hair and tugged, spurring him forward and biting your bottom lip with a groan.

He detached his lips from your own and instead began kissing along your jawline, stopping for a second to inhale the scent of yours that he missed more than anything. And then he started again, kissing all the way down your neck and deciding to leave a tiny mark on a part of your collarbone that would be somewhat easier to conceal. It was rare that he did leave the marks this high up, but in this urgency he couldn’t seem to control himself all that much. You wined out, pushing your hips forward and meeting his own.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” He muttered in between kisses against your neck, hand moving down and coming to the edge of your work blouse, working to get it off of you as fast as he could but stopping for a moment to make sure that you wanted to go farther. You fervently nodded, helping him in taking your shirt off and throwing it down onto the ground near your bed. Quickly, you did the same thing with his shirt, untucking it from his pants and the moment it was off you ran your hands along his torso, marveling in the fine edges of his body. “All I could think was coming back to you and now that I’m finally here I’m blown away by how beautiful you are.” His words made you blush, as well as send a shock downward towards your core.

You needed him, you simply couldn’t wait anymore. You had waited for too long and you weren’t in the business of stopping any time soon and it was clear that he felt the same way. While you were waiting for him to come home, it wasn’t too apparent how much you truly missed him because after a while you found some other ways to occupy yourself. But now that he was here, all those feelings of want were coming back to you and you couldn’t help but start to speed up the process.

“Anakin, please, I need you now. I can’t wait anymore,” You whispered to him, loving the way that his lips felt while they kissed every single inch of your chest. You wanted to slow down and at the same time wanted to speed up, it was an odd feeling. But there would be more moments for the both of you to take it slow, now you just wanted to satiate the feeling that was growing rapidly in your core. He laughed at this, coming to meet your eyes with his own as they had a hint of teasing behind them. You gave him a small smile, but your eyes were glossed over with a type of lust and wanting that you were sure he could tell that you were serious.

In a matter of mere seconds, both of your pants and undergarments were off and he was getting into a more comfortable position on top of you, and you were spreading your legs open and just waiting for him. Anakin took one look down between your legs and muttered some type of curse in Huttese that you couldn’t understand and before you spoke to ask, he was pushing into you.

It felt like bliss.

The moment you adjusted to him and your walls relaxed, he began moving, slowly out and then plunging back into you with intensity. He continued that motion a few times, each making you moan out his name and flying your hands back into his hair, tugging on the golden, curled locks. You moaned out and it was louder than you were expecting, but it seemed to be exactly what he wanted to hear because he started going faster. You could hear the wet sloshing between the two of you and it only made you closer to that peak and the fire within you was almost raging.

Anakin kept kissing your neck until he went up and started kissing your lips. It was a sloppy kiss, all of his concentration was bent on making you feel good but you appreciated it, since you could feel all the love that he was giving you. You matched his pace, lifting up your hips to meet his when they came down and he hit at an even more deeper angle, both of you gasping into one another's mouths.

“Anakin, I’m going to-”

“Me too.”

Your orgasm snuck up on you and placed itself right onto your core, and with one more thrust you felt yourself release and your eyes rolled back into your head. For a moment it felt like you weren’t on Coruscant and you had flown up into the sky, that was how good it felt to be with him again. When you came back to reality, with a roll of your hips, Anakin was right behind you, releasing inside of you. Both of you stirred and he laid down on top of you, breathing heavily to try and catch his breath. Your hands rubbed up and down his back, fingers tracing inconsistent patterns along his skin.

A few more moments passed by and Anakin rose his head up, pressing a small kiss to your nose that made you smile. He also smiled, nuzzling into your neck.

“The second I catch my breath, we should go again.”

It was good to be back.

#Anakin Skywalker #clone wars anakin #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x reader #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars prequels #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars smut #anakin x you

[jaigeye]

An Instrument of Memory.

The darksaber is haunted by all those who have possessed it. Din seeks council with the ghosts; they are here to help.

Read on AO3.   |   My own more benevolent take on the ghosts of the saber.

______

Din Djarin is eight years old, and he is afraid. 

There are many people here, metal-and-flesh people who are loud and strong, and some of his fellow villagers among them. 

The Mandalorian who saved his life has not set him down for hours. He clutches his neck for dear life- a lifeline in this unfamiliar aftermath. The man has not yet chosen to deny him this comfort, and he sits down with the boy in his lap, arms curled around him. 

"This is my wife," says the man, and he points to a helmeted figure across from them, clad in dark blue durasteel.  "She and I will care for you." 

Hesitating, Din turns in his arms, loosening his grip. Her helmet shines in the dim light of the homestead. "Why do you wear that," he asks, pointing to the armor that covers her from head to toe. 

The woman leans in and tilts her head just so. "It is our unity. Together we are strong. Nobody can hurt us this way." 

"Okay," he says, watching as she kneels before him with her hands on her knees. 

“What is your name?” 

"Din."

“We will take care of you, Din. You are safe with us.”

"Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad," She whispers to him in a language he does not understand. It is soothing nonetheless. She pulls her helmet off her head; her hair is done in tight black braids against her scalp, and she has the darkest eyes he has ever seen. “Ner’ad.”

The Mandalorian brushes over his hair with one hand and translates. "... I know your name as my child. You are our Dinui. That means gift. You are our gift." 

                                                    •

In a cave by the sea, Din sits in stillness with the darksaber in his hand. 

The sun’s reflection on the water flickers over his armor like primordial fire, casting strange, fragmented light over the stone. 

The saber hums in his hand. It is so quiet here. 

He feels an odd tug on his glove, another on his sleeve. An urge.

He flicks the switch, and the black bar bursts forth from the hilt, encased in its eerie white glow. 

His breath catches.

The cave bursts to life. Across the stone walls, there is a shifting expanse of black handprints-- from the marks sprawls a strange oozing dust. They move as if they are crawling, flowing in and out of the rock, dribbling to the floor and reappearing elsewhere. 

There are figures at the edge of his vision. They stand in his periphery and dissipate when he turns his helmet to look at them.

To anyone else, the sight of a room clamoring with ghosts might initiate the instinct to run. He does consider it, for a second-- but he doesn’t, because Mandalorians look death in the eye. He’s seen a great many strange things as of late, and he figures he may as well get used to it. 

Sitting straighter, he folds his hands more firmly around the hilt of the saber and says; “What do you want?” 

“That’s not the question you want an answer to,” whispers a melodic voice from behind him. 

“Maybe not number one on the list, but I have a few,” he mutters, and chooses a better place to start. “What are you?”

The walls of the cave bend around him; the gap in the stone where he entered through transforms into a mirror. The only solid figure he can discern in the room is the sight of himself. Cross-legged, helmeted, tense. 

From all around, he can hear a steadily intermingling throng of voices. You don’t deserve it, says one, good on you for showing that Imperial scum what our folk are made of, says another. Zealot, zealot. He cranes his neck, but the half-remembered ghosts flicker out of sight. 

Where is your heart, a soft voice murmurs, you keep your heart in a bag on your hip or on the crook of your arm. 

“We wielded the saber, we died by it, we live by it.”  A woman’s voice, deep, sincere. “Ask your question.” 

Images blink across the cave walls. Paintings of mythosaurs, spears, dead civilians, razed villages-- great herds of beasts cascade over the stone. The handprints divide and scatter, oozing together into black sludge that smears strange markings across the walls. Words in Mando’a, in Aurebesh, in alphabets he has never seen before. Stories he will never understand. The ghosts whisper now, ask us, speak, we are listening...  

“I have brought Grogu to the Jedi. I completed my quest.” 

Unsatisfied. Discontent. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad. Wind rushes through the cave; the ocean laps against the rocks. 

A deeper voice emerges from the hum. “Every Jedi is a child his family decided they could live without.”

“That’s--” Din pauses, swallowing his retort. He watches as the air burbles, a geometric miasma scattering out from the cave-paintings. “I want him to be safe. With or without me.” 

“Every time you have left him with another, it has gone afoul.” The ghosts blacken and flicker. He feels a firm hand on his shoulder-- one he can feel but cannot see. “It should be you.”

"What if I do it wrong. I'm not- I’m not a Jedi. I do not understand the force." he cuts himself shorts and sighs. "I'm afraid."

There is a metallic taste on his tongue. The air stinks of ozone. He feels the phantom weight of Grogu in his arms, and he can't help but instinctually cradle that empty space.

“You think your buirs were not afraid?” A rustle, the sound of bells, the sound of a hammer in a forge. Ner’ad, we will take care of you- 

“Will you-- as long as I have this saber, will you help me? Tell me what to do?” 

“We will not always be with you,” says one. “You have lived without us very long, and did well even then.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, unconvinced.

“You know what to do. You will not be alone.”  Buirkan, responsibility, whisper the ghosts. You are like a father to him- be afraid, and do it anyway. 

Named and nameless, real as they are not, the souls who belong to the darksaber touch him. They press their palms into his shoulder, brush where his kneecap transitions into thigh, flutter at the base of his neck, squeeze his shoulders, lay their weight against his back.

“It must be you. It has to be you.” 

“I will try,” he says, and watches as all the strange forms in the cave retract into the black bar of the saber. He sheathes it, holding it in the palms of his hands. “I will try.” 

                                                         •

Din is thirty-eight, and still afraid.

The strange planet that Luke Skywalker chose to build his temple upon is lush and green. The humidity crawls between the gaps in his armor. Moss covers the earth; his footsteps feel light as he sinks into that softness. 

Overhead, strange birds called out. A ziggurat rears its head overtop the dense treeline. The darksaber weighs heavy on his hip. Sweat cloys in his helmet; Din swallows, watching silently as a silhouette clad in black emerges from the greenery, cape billowing about him. 

They meet in the middle. Luke Skywalker's smile is as reassuring as it is gentle. "I’m glad you came," says the Jedi. "He asked for you every day."

From a bag on the man's hip, the child reaches for him. 

Din's fragmented heart clicks back into place, whole and trembling. 

He plucks the child from the pouch and cradles him against his armored chest. The ghosts linger about him, press their thumbs into his shoulders, touch his back and murmur kindly. He taps his helmet against the child's forehead; the baby gurgles, pressing his claws into the concave slope of Beskar.

"Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Grogu," he whispers to his son. “I know your name as my child.”

#dins haunted #din djarin #the mandalorian #writing #an instrument of memory #:) i love ... legacy... ancient relics... ghosts #benevolent guidance from wise old ancestors who care #the sword is haunted and this is as lovely as it is strange #darksaber #eeheee #feel free to rb #this is so sappy my bad i love sweet reunions

[staranon95]

DinCobb Week Day 5: Sharing Cultures (SFW)

for @dincobbweek​ with a wedding!!

@astrangebird​ drew some fantastic art and i decided to write a piece about it. that’s that. that’s all of it.

AO3 Link

Wait For Me Here

“We should get married,” Din idly said one day when they were in bed, side by side to wait out the worst of the day’s heat.”

“Oh yeah?” Cobb asks. He’s on his stomach, pillowed on his arms. Din knows this without even having to look because he knows Cobb likes sleeping on his front, usually one leg tucked up a bit, sometimes one arm stretched out for Din as if he’s reaching for him in sleep.

“Think about it. We live together.”

“Mm.”

“We cook together.”

“Mmhm.”

“We fight together.”

“Mm.”

“And we have a child together.”

Cobb snorts. “Sharing custody of your child with a Jedi might be putting it a bit generous.”

“There are also the school kids.”

“’cause half the time I have to tell them not to get into shit they shouldn’t.”

“Still.”

“Still,” Cobb says and breathes in. Then he opens his eyes and Din turns on his side to face him. “Marriage, huh?”

“Mmhm. Unless if . . .”

“Unless?”

“I don’t know what marriage customs are like on Tatooine, and the ones I’ve been invited to were Tusken in nature.”

“Well, shoot, partner, I reckon we go just as hard with our wedding flair as them Tuskens do.”

“Is that so?”

Cobb nods tiredly against his arms and closes his eyes. “Two-day affair most of the time. Eat and drink late into the night, sleep a few hours, and then get up in the morning for the breakfast feast. Everyone comes out with everything. Real big community thing as well.”

“I, I might like to see that.”

“What about you Mandalorians though?” Cobb then shifts suddenly, rising up long enough to lie himself across Din’s chest and hold him close with a leg in between Din’s. “I know you’ve . . . I know it’s not easy for you.”

Din sighs. The fallout from the survivors of his clan is still fresh. At least they didn’t strip him of his armour, but he doesn’t think they see him as Mandalorian anymore. He saw to their relocation on Tatooine with Boba Fett’s help, and finally they can live without the fear of being seen or being caught. But they will not accept Din as one of their own, not anymore, not after he gave up the Darksaber, allowed his face to be seen, and nearly broke every Creed he had taken on as a young adult.

“Well, the weddings were mostly, they were short,” Din admits. “Usually it requires an exchange, especially if one member were coming from a different clan.”

“An exchange of what?”

“Equipment. Weapons or armour. I once saw someone approach the Armourer to ask her how to show them to make a knife for their betrothed. It’s meant to be personal to a degree. Either you got this weapon in battle or you’re offering up a piece of yourself, your beskar’gam.”

Cobb hums. “Sounds very official.”

“Marriage is a pact. You raise warriors. You grow the clan. You protect the clan.”

“Mm. I can work with that.”

Din smiles. “You’re a very agreeable partner.”

“I try.”

…

What starts out as a simple comment quickly turns into nearly a town wide event. Neither Din nor Cobb know how the secret got out. They were thinking, originally, a small affair with their closest associates. Boba is even willing to host at his palace, and Din is fine with that. But then word gets out, as it always does, that the Marshal and the Mandalorian are planning to get married, and now here they are, eating breakfast at Werlo’s cantina, getting approached by one of the mothers in town who’s there after dropping her kids off at the school, no doubt, casually talking like Din and Cobb know what’s going on.

“Marshal! Have you decided on a date yet?”

Cobb blinks and looks to Din before looking at the woman. “Excuse me?”

“For the wedding! Gaia said you and the Mandalorian were planning to marry.”

Din chokes on his caf.

“Um, well.” Cobb reaches out to pat Din’s hand. “We were planning a small ceremony.”

“Nonsense! I know you’re both busy men. We can handle all the logistics for you. All you and your fiancé need to do is show up to the day!”

“Well, Lee, thank you for the offer,” Cobb says, and Din can see he’s trying to be polite about it, but Din knows Cobb has a hard time turning down any of the favours the townspeople show him.

“It’s my pleasure, Marshal. It’s been some time since we’ve had cause to celebrate! We’ll be in touch!”

“Yeah, Lee. See you.”

Once she’s gone, Cobb looks to Din, and Din tries to smother his smile behind his hand.

“Hey, this is your town too,” Cobb says.

“I know. I guess a small ceremony is no longer in the works.”

“They were going to find out one way or another.”

…

From how Cobb explained it, Din thought he had a good idea of what entailed a Tatooine wedding from the settler-slave population. Good food, good drinks, good company.

“Have you thought about a house yet?”

Din looks to Jo as he’s elbow deep in a speeder. “What?”

“You know,” she says like Din should know. “A house.”

“Why would I—”

“Oh. You don’t know. Right.” She pops her lips. “It’s a Tatooine thing. ‘specially for freed slaves and poor settlers. It’s a thing of pride to be able to provide a place like a home. I know my dad worked hard to get an apartment for me and my ma while he also worked to get our manumission. Tiny one bedroom place ‘til I moved out here. But he was very proud of that place when he had it. Point is—what are you bringing to the table, Din?”

Din blinks and reaches for a towel to wipe sweat from his brow. “I hadn’t thought of anything.”

“Let me give you the one up ‘cause I know the Marshal won’t be asking’ for it himself.” She slides down from her perch on a workbench to lean over the speeder. “Man needs himself a proper house. And I’m talking a proper house. Most of the buildings here are temporary. They’re not built for long term which is why they require so much maintenance. Houses underground are the way to be. They take a while, sure, but when you’ve got a village.”

He frowns. “I thought that was for raising children.”

“Villages are for everything here, Din. If you want to give him something good, really show you love him, come find me when you’ve got free time. I’m pretty sure I can help you out with that issue.”

She then leaves and Din tries to return to his work at hand, but he’s stuck on the thought of a house. Of building a house for him and Cobb and for Grogu when he and his Jedi visit. Where they can host friends and not feel too crammed in Cobb’s home as it is. Where they can actually bring their lives and interests together in one shared space. A shared unit.

Cobb enters the garage looking like he’s dressed up to head into town, and Din stands to greet him. “Hey, darlin’!” He kisses Din on the cheek. Din wrinkles his nose.

“I’m dirty.”

“We’ve been worse to each other. Now. I’m headin’ into town for a bit. Told Jo to hold down the fort and you’re here for back up.”

Din nods. “You don’t want me coming with you?”

“Baby, I know you don’t like to travel to Mos Eisley. Take it easy. I’ll be back shortly after dinner.”

“Okay.”

He helps Cobb push out his speeder onto the main street of Mos Pelgo and kisses him once more before Cobb pulls his scarf up over his mouth and nose and pulls his goggles down over his eyes and offers Din a two fingered salute and then he’s off.

Din trudges down the street towards where Jo is leaning against the wall of the cantina. “So. A house.”

She nods. “Come on. Let’s talk logistics.”

…

In what they originally wanted to be a quick and short wedding turns into a several month-long affair as Mos Pelgo comes out in spades to support their Marshal and Mandalorian in tying the knot. They plan for food and for drinks. They send out invites to the local Tuskens, who also seem enthused that Din is getting married. They think it a good match, and well, at least Din has their approval.

The building of the Marshal’s new house is quietly under wraps. All Cobb knows is that a new house is being built, but he thinks it for one of the families in town, even comes by to watch Din at work in the staked-out pit, helping to dig down and remove sand until they come to the more compacted ground that they can put stabilizers against and hold in place before they’re pouring the plaster and concrete for the walls.

Whenever Din has a spare moment, he plans with Jo for the interior. A nice open kitchen. A large room for the both of them with an en-suite bathroom. There is not only one guest room but two. One that will largely be Grogu’s when he’s here to stay, and also one for the Jedi if he plans on staying the night. Sometimes he does.

Then there’s the living room, circular in design that could hold a dozen people comfortably, and knowing Cobb, he’ll like the opportunity to entertain more. Din thinks it’s perfect, and he finds as he puts the work into making a home, he realizes he’s looking forward to it not just for Cobb’s promised happiness, but also his own. He can’t remember the last time he’s actually had a proper home like this. Not since Aq Vetina anyway.

“You’re in a good mood,” Cobb says that night when they’re finishing the dishes after dinner.

Din shrugs. “Just happy I guess.”

“Good.” Cobb kisses him quickly on the cheek. “You deserve to be.”

…

One of the next steps for the wedding is the clothes themselves. For Cobb it means he’s getting a robe made for himself. White, flowing fabric with a fancy gold trim around the hems. It’s a standard piece of Tatooine marriages, and Din feels himself sort of bereft that he doesn’t have something similar.

So he plans a visit to Boba’s because they have a shared lineage, and Din can’t exactly walk up to where his old tribe is and ask, “Can any of you help me dress for my wedding? Even though you see me as dar’manda and probably wouldn’t accept my marriage to an outsider?”

Best not to think of it.

He rides with Cobb to the palace, but Cobb isn’t planning on staying.

“I got business in town,” he says. “Might be a while. You okay staying here tonight?”

“Of course.”

“’kay. Kiss.”

He tilts up for Din to lean down and kiss him before waving him off. Then Din heads towards the palace and is let in by the guards.

It’s one of Boba’s work days, meaning he’s not seeing court, which means he’s pouring drinks for him, Fennec, and Din to enjoy. He always serves the strong stuff, which makes Din’s throat burn, but he’s getting used to it.

“So how is it anyway?” Boba asks, reclined on one of the sofa’s where Fennec can press her feet against his thigh.

“Going well,” Din says, keeping his eyes on the dark liquor in his glass. “The house is coming along.”

“You still haven’t told him yet?” Fennec asks.

Din shakes his head. “I want to keep it a surprise for him.”

“Sounds like you got it bad.”

“And you don’t?”

Fennec chuckles and Boba smiles amusedly.

“Fennec’s not exactly my queen here,” Boba says.

“That’s right. I’m an empress.”

“Still. A house sounds like a good idea. Putting down roots. Settling in.”

“It’s about time,” Din says, taking a sip. He smacks his lips. “But it’s getting close to the day and . . . the seamstress offered to tailor me something, but I was hoping for something more—”

“Familiar?” Boba offers. Din nods.

“I think you can help with that,” Fennec says. “Despite what he might say, Boba’s become a real fashion snob.”

“It’s not fashion when you have to wear it to impress people who won’t take you seriously otherwise. The battle armour doesn’t always work.”

“Sure,” she says. “We’ll go with that.”

“I’ll see what I got.”

They eventually move to Boba and Fennec’s shared private quarters where Din can examine the clothing in front of a mirror.

“If you’re looking for something more Mandalorian,” Boba says from within his closet. “I’d suggest the lavalava. Especially if you’re aiming for tradition.”

“Bring out the blue one if you have it,” Fennec says.

Boba returns holding what Din first sees as a skirt, but recognizes the design of it when he was first living in the Fighting Corps’ barracks as a child. It’s meant to be a more formal piece of Mandalorian wear for more casual settings if one didn’t want to dress up in full battle armour. It’s meant to just sit on the hips.

Boba gets him to try it on right there. “You’d probably just wear a light pair of leggings underneath,” he says.

“Oh, and then,” Fennec says, rising to her feet and entering the closet. She returns with a lighter blue cloak and a red sash. “Tie it off with this sash here.” She wraps it around his waist. “And then the cloak like this.” She lets it sit on one shoulder and brings the two ends together to pin at his other shoulder. “You know, I might have a broach that could fit this. Din, hold this for me. I’ll be right back.”

He does as he’s told and looks at himself in the mirror.

“Not bad,” Boba says. “Colour suits you.”

Din turns a bit to admire himself in the mirror. He looks at Boba in the reflection and asks, with his stomach fluttering, “Have you spoken to the clan?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Last week I think.”

Din hums.

“They’ve settled in just fine. Getting along with the Tuskens just fine, but seems like they got more in common than they do the settlers.”

Din nods. “I had a feeling they would.”

“Have you . . .”

“Not since they relocated.”

Boba hums.

“Here we go,” Fennec says, coming back into the room with a silver brooch—in the shape of a Mythosaur skull.

“I didn’t know you had that, cyar,” Boba says.

“It was a gift from a long time ago. Guy who gave it to me certainly wasn’t Mandalorian, but I think it’s best to return it to someone it should actually belong to.” She fixes the brooch to the cloak and then turns Din to face the mirror directly. “There. Now you look ready to get married.”

Din runs his fingers through his hair. He might want to get it cut before the wedding, but he knows Cobb likes it when it’s longer and it holds its waves more. He should at least shave. The uneven scruff on his jaw isn’t all that appealing to himself.

“Stars, it’s going to be a mad house on the day of,” Boba says. “Seems like we’ll have to bring the good stuff, Fennec.”

“You’re telling me.”

…

In the days leading up to the wedding, Din sees to the final touches of the house, ensuring the furniture is in place with room for more when they make the final move. He plans on surprising Cobb that day.

They have a good celebration the night before at the cantina, drinks on the house, and then, in Tatooine fashion, the couple are separated the night before. Din is headed off by Boba and Fennec to Din’s new house, and Cobb is dragged away by his deputy Jo to his house.

“Rest up, vod,” Boba says. “You got a long day ahead of you.”

The next morning, Fennec helps him get ready for the day, making sure his hair is just right, and the cloak is sitting on his shoulders just so. Boba is there in his armour, and Din feels a sour note in his stomach that he’s not wearing any of his. He wouldn’t feel right after his expulsion from the clan.

“You still want the Mandalorian vows?” Boba asks.

Din nods. “If you can.”

“I’d be honored, vod.”

And then he’s led out with his friends on either side of him down the main street with everyone and then some—Tuskens, out of town friends, some of Boba’s closer associates—have come out in full force down the street as it’s been fully decorated for the day.

The ceremony itself is held at one end of the town where an arch of bone from bantha horns has been carved as a gift from the Tuskens. And that’s when Din sees him—Cobb, dressed in white with gold trim and with the hood up over his head, a red sash at his waist as if to match Din’s without even knowing. His back remains turned as Din walks up the aisle towards the arch and then he’s standing next to Cobb, shoulder to shoulder, with Cobb’s lifelong friend and impromptu wedding officiator Issa-Or standing before them. Din keeps his eyes forward for now, waiting for the right moment to face his soon-to-be husband head on.

“Now, I know ya’ll have come out and taken time off of your busy schedules,” Issa-Or says. “And we don’t have much time to dilly-dally like they did in the nicer districts in Mos Eisley and the rest. Time wasn’t a luxury for people like us, so we had to make do. Which is why we’re here to see that Cobb Vanth, Marshal here in Mos Pelgo, spends the rest of his days married to none other than a Mandalorian! Someone he chose to let into his life, his home, and share the rest of his time in this mortal coil with.”

Din feels himself blushing, feels a smile breaking out over his face.

“Cobb?”

He sees Cobb lift his head.

“Why don’t you take a look at your man?”

He feels Cobb reach for his hand and Din gently turns with a little prodding. And as he turns, he sees Cobb pushing back his hood, and Din feels as if he could cry at the sight of him.

He sees Cobb’s lower lip tremble before he smiles, as bright as Tatooine’s suns themselves. “Din.” Cobb lifts Din’s hand and holds it between both of his own. Then Cobb laughs despite himself. “First time I’ve been without words in a while.”

There are a few laughs among the crowd.

“Darling, my love. First day I laid eyes on you, I knew I couldn’t let you go. And I am a richer man for having you. Even if I don’t got much but my name and my reputation and the good will of the people before us, I hope to give you everything you could ever need.” Then he raises Din’s hand and kisses the back of it tenderly.

“At this point, we’d say a done deal and have a feast,” Issa-Or says. “But as it is, Din is a Mandalorian, and we want to respect that part of him, so he comes with his own vows.”

She steps aside to let Boba come up.

“If you’ll both repeat after me,” he says. “We are one together.”

“Mhi solus tome,” Din says, quietly, only enough for Cobb and Boba to really hear.

He watches Cobb smiles, the pink curl of his tongue before he’s repeating in Basic. “We are one together.

“We are one when parted.”

“Mhi solus dhar’tome.”

“We are one when parted.”

“We share all.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“We share all.”

“We shall raise warriors.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“We shall raise warriors.”

“Oya, vod,” Boba mutters.

And Din finds himself feeling bashful, and that’s when Cobb pulls him closer by his hands.

“Now I consider that we’re well and truly hitched now,” he says, and Din rushes in to cup his face and kiss his riduur in front of an adoring and loving crowd.

…

The rest of the day is pretty much a blur of being at Cobb’s side, being dragged away from Cobb, of Cobb being dragged away from him. Dance until his feet ache and he’s dizzy. More food than he’s used to. More drinks than he can tolerate, and falling asleep in a tent when he’s imbued too much with a pink cheeked Cobb next to him.

A few hours of sleep later and they’re back at it again for a more restful filled breakfast and relaxed conversation before finally, the festivities are over and people begin to head back to their business.

“Do you want to go home?” Din asks.

Cobb stretches and yawns, looking exhausted but content with his station in life. “You have read my mind.”

They walk down the street together, their clothes in a state of disarray before Din is leading him elsewhere.

“Babe, where . . .” Then it dawns on him and Din can’t help but smile. “No,” he says.

Din nods. “Come on. Let me show you to our home.”

Cobb is speechless when they enter the new partially buried house. He’s taken by how large it is, how high the ceilings are now, and how cool and inviting it is. Then he rushes forward to kiss Din and hold him close. “Oh, you are full of surprises.”

“Jo told me it’s a custom.”

“Well, not always a custom, but we pride ourselves on being able to provide.”

“Then let me provide for you.”

They kiss again, deeper this time until Cobb pulls back to rest their foreheads together. “Mm. As much as I’d like to christen this place, I’m bushwhacked.” Then he’s pulling Din into the bedroom where they collapse onto the bed as husbands, as riduurs.

…

“Hey, Din. You awake?”

Din stretches out on the bed and opens weary eyes to find Cobb kneeling on the ground next to the bed.

“What time’s it?” he asks.

“Afternoon-ish. Just went out to get some things from the old place, and, um, I guess now is as good a time as any to give this to you.” He sets a bundle of cloth knotted off with string on the bed before Din, and Din rises up on one elbow to look at it.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Din says, tugging at the strings.

“Yeah, well.” Cobb rubs the back of his neck, a nervous tic of his. “I felt like I had to for this one.”

In the cloth is an ornate dagger with its own leather sheath. When Din pulls the blade, he’s mesmerized with how the blade shimmers. A single piece that looks like it’s been carved from onyx.

“Cobb, I—” Then he sees the mark in the hilt of it.

The mark of his tribe. The Mythosaur skull. On the other side is the mark of the mudhorn.

He looks up to Cobb. “Where did you get this?”

“Well, I, I went to your clan.”

Din breathes out and sits up in full with the dagger in his lap. Cobb comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

“When you told me about your customs, and seeing your armour just sitting in our wardrobe for months, I wanted, I wanted to confront your clan. I know things are rocky between you and them, but I went in there to just speak with them at first. Then next thing I know, I’m sitting on the ground drinking tea with your matriarch.”

Din closes his eyes for a moment.

“And I don’t tell her everything, I don’t ream her out or nothing. I know you hold her in high regard. But I told her I was intending on marrying you and I wanted to do it right by you. No one else. So, she said she’d show me how to make something. And each time I visited, she’d ask about you and I’d tell her that, oh, you were a guest speaker in the school today, or you had fixed the power generators. And she’d tell me my smithy skills were shit and tell me to begin again.”

Din laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

“Then she asked me why I wanted to marry you. And I told her I wanted to spend the rest of my days making you happy, giving you everything you could ever need. And she said, he deserves it.”

He lifts his head to look at Cobb. “She said that?”

Cobb nods. “I think she misses you. She won’t say it, but she does. I think it’s just taking some time for her and some of the others to come around to this new world order of theirs. But next time I go, I want you to come with me.”

Din nods. “Yes. Yes, I’d love that. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He kisses Cobb several times and holds him close with the knife on the bed spread next to him.

They don’t plan the trip out to Din’s clan for some weeks yet. They have a house to settle into after all. But then one day, they’re setting out on Cobb’s speeder. This time Din is wearing his armour with the knife at his hip. And this time they are facing Din’s clan together as one.

#dincobb #din djarin #cobb vanth #mandalorian #dincobbweek #dincobbweek2021 #dincobb week #star speaks #star writes

[uponrightful]

Second Chance Ch.1

Author’s Note: This is my first attempt at writing for The Mandalorian. I’m an English Major in college, and love to write but I don’t get to share what a write often. I hope you enjoy it. ♡

TW’s: Violence, Blaster Violence. (If I've missed anything let me know.)

Word Count: 9,951

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

The child was gone.

The Mandalorian was left with no ship, no child and no true plan as to what was next. It was the first time in his life that there was nowhere he needed to be or someone he needed to hunt. A different man would take the opportunity and run; disappear somewhere and live the rest of his life without the smell of blaster charges and stale blood. Someplace that no one would recognize the steely image of a Mandalorian streaking across an otherwise picturesque landscape.

The Mandalorian wasn’t that man.

He knew that there was nowhere in the galaxy that would offer him a true safe place. He only knew one thing and that was the ability to hunt. He knew that hunting was the one thing that could save him again. Once he was away from Grogu, his life would be back to normal. There wasn’t an end in sight where he would once again have the child… his foundling, back where he thought he belonged. It felt like a new world had opened with its hungry mouth swallowing any sense of direction that the Mandalorian thought he once had.

He had made up his mind, before he had even set foot off of Moff Gideon’s ship where he would go first.

Nevarro.

He knew that Guild contracts were no longer an option, but despite the loss of steady quarry Nevarro was notorious for contracts. The Mandalorian knew his name carried weight, and now that Grogu was gone, it would be somewhat easier to return to his bounties. The Guild was not only steady work, but it had only been so because of his hard work. Four pucks weren’t normal, if not exceptional  in most cases; but for him there was no questioning. He always returned with the bounties within a thin time constraint. He was meticulous and that level of professionalism gave him advantages.

Advantages that he no longer had.

Boba Fett was quick to offer the ride to Nevarro with the promise of not-so-stale food and a little but more comfortable stay than he assumed The Mandalorian was used to. Fett talked much more than Mando had expected however it didn’t bother him much. Fett talked briefly about some of the more exotic women he had met -some from Nevarro- and recounted the nights that he had spent under the sheets with an unfamiliar woman getting his satisfaction.  

Mando listened not for interest in Fett’s bedroom habits but for information. He hoped that Fett might just slip something that would be useful. Maybe somewhere he could get resupplied, or even find a ship… but nothing of the sort happened.

Hyperspace was endless and the pure torture of watching is pass by was worse than leaving his child with the Jedi. His entire being ached from constant action and the even worse pain of a heart that had to heal. It wasn’t right that he should be forced to suffer so badly after only doing what was right. This was The Way. No matter how many times he tried to think it over, and find some sort of solace it only deepened the hole that kept growing in his chest.

“Mandalorian.” Fett barked, pointing towards the planet registering on his monitor.

Mando stepped up to check the readings and they were nearing Tatooine. Mando turned to see Fett preparing to push into airspace.

“I brought you here for a reason.” Fett continued, “You’ve been in my service and therefore I owe you repayment. I thought the child would be enough, but after everything that happened on that cruiser I can’t leave our interaction heavy on your end.”

“I don’t understand, what is it that you believe you owe me?” he asked, sitting down in the co-pilots chair and waiting for the ship to make its descent.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

The hellish landscape of Tatooine greeted Mando and Fett with a blast of sand the cut across their helmets making it almost impossible to see until the engines on the Slave 1 finally shut off completely. Fett had landed miles away from any town, and seemed quite confident was he strode off onto the barren sand flat below them. Mando wasn’t someone who liked the idea of blindly following anyone, especially when there was no real reason for him to be there anyways.

But after Fett didn’t turn around and disappeared over the dune, Mando begrudgingly followed. The sand fell around the gaps in his pants, letting the fine particles fall into his boots. The suns were blazing and by Mando’s guess it was at its highest point of the day. Heatstroke wasn’t impossible, even if he had just been in a ship moments ago.

He caught sight of Fett’s helmet glinting a bright white light toward Mando. He watched as the man knelt down and began shoving sand away from beneath his shadow that splayed downward. He shook his head, and caught up to further inspect what Fett could possibly be doing digging around in the sand.  

The two men stood at the bottom of what looked like a the beginnings of a sand dune in the middle of the flat. But after watching Fett struggle to dig deeper into what seemed like endless sand Mando grew impatient.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Dig with me. And you’ll see.” Fett’s voice was labored, proving how easy a possibility it was for the both of them to drop dead in this heat.

Mando started digging away. It took a good 15 minutes before Mando pulled out a handful of sand revealing what looked like an old piece of tan fabric. He was about to groan at how ridiculous this little job had been, but Fett began chuckling and walked away toward his ship.

“Stay there, I’ll be back.”

Fett was going insane. There was no way any of this was going anywhere good, but at this point Mando had two options. See why this piece of fabric was such a happy sight… or kill him. Fett brought the ship closer and closer towards Mando, kicking up sand and creating a small sandstorm that virtually blinded Mando to what Fett was able to see from above. Mando could barely see the shine of metal through the cloud that thickly surrounded him, choking out most of the clean air he could breathe.

After a few more seconds of fighting to get out of the Fett-made sandstorm Mando finally got a glimpse of what Fett had been so damn happy about. Under what had been a giant hill of sand, appeared an expanse of heavy canvas that took the shape of a ship’s outline. An ion turret jutted out into the blinding sun like it was proudly showing itself off for the first time in years. Mando was even able to recognize the tip of a Proton-Torpedo launcher sneaking out from underneath of the fluttering canvas shield.

Fett circled the newly unearthed ship, section by section revealing more and more of what looked like a transporter ship. Mando stood daunted, at the sight before him watching as the last corner of the cover slipped off the back entry hatch.

The Slave 1 landed right next to Mando its engines thrumming with the slight struggle of the burning temperate. He could even see the heat haze lifting up off the metal body distorting the edges of the ship like he was in a mirage. The last hour felt like it was all a dream, but the hard slap on Mando’s shoulder confirmed that he wasn’t imagining any of it.

“This is the Slave Two … it just so happened that it was my backup for quite some time.” Fett explained, walking towards the ships hatch.

“With updated blaster cannons and some damn good Deflector-Shields it wasn’t quite on par with Slave One… but still one of the best ships a man could own.” Fett nodded approvingly of his own assessment, lowering the hatch.

Mando walked up the ramp, and followed Fett through the hall and towards the cockpit. There were at least seven doors that he could count without the help of any lights on, and a streamlined floorplan that allowed Mando to navigate the ship even without Fett’s guidance. The inside of the ship looked like it hadn’t been touched for many years, with a weapons closet filled with an array of blasters and other devices that harbored a thick coating of dust and sand.

“This is yours?” Mando asked, glancing to see Fett climbing up through the floor into the cockpit above him.

“Yes, she’s mine. Come give me a hand Mandalorian.”

Mando climbed the ladder, and pulled himself to his feet to see Fett sitting calmly in the co-pilots chair looking out onto the desert that stretched ahead for miles. Fett seemed as if he was trying to find something out there, like if he looked hard enough it would just suddenly appear out of thin air.

Somehow Mando knew that he was feeling the same way.

“I’ve spent many years creating a life that has come back to punish me in ways that I’m sure you are beginning to understand Mandalorian. But when I heard that you gave that kid away… your kid. I knew that losing your Crest wasn’t the biggest thing weighing down that beskar.” Fett turned the chair for face Mando, mirroring their appearance in a way that Mando hadn’t experience in quite a while.

“You’ll take her, Slave 2.” Fett said with a satisfied tone. “If you treat her right, she’ll repay the favor just the same as I do.”

“I can’t.” Mando was willing to accept anything from Fett, well deserved or from pity. There was nothing inside himself that could allow any type of transaction like this to happen.

“You’ll do it because I said so.” Fett growled standing from his seat and closing the extra space in between them. “I didn’t bring you hear because I feel bad for you. I know what you’re after. You’re after your life before that kid.” He chuckled, turning back towards the windshield. “The only way you get do that again, is if you take her.”

Fett didn’t stay long enough to hear a response from Mando. He simply dropped back down through the floor into the hull and made his way into the hallway where the row of doors was. The ships control panel wasn’t anything unusual to Mando, but it felt strange to sit down in the chair, and begin turning on the ships controls to hopefully get the Ion engines running without any hiccups. After a few switches were set, and the efficacy level checked out, the Slave Two was hot and humming smoothly with the smallest beeps from the cockpit sounding all around him.

Mando watched as Fett came into view from the windshield, walking out away from the ship. He didn’t check to see if Mando was still sitting there until he was in the cockpit. He watched as Fett reached to press a couple buttons.

The Slave Two’s speakers crackled to life projecting Fett’s voice in the cockpit;

“I know some Hutt’s about 180 kilometers from here, they might be able to find you some… work.” He said pointing his finger towards the direction.

“Everything on this ship is-”

“Yours.” Fett snarled already knowing that Mando’s independence was going to make this difficult enough. “You’ll need it.”

“I owe you.” Mando replied.

Fett’s low chuckle sounded through the speakers “This is Your Way.”

Both men left without saying another word with destinations in mind. Mando however, was still unsure of whether or not doing business with Hutt’s would be worth it. They’re reliability was almost nonexistent, but if Fett was able to do business it might mean that so could he.

Slave Two was larger than the Razor Crest and from Mando’s judgment it was quite a well-handling ship. Not a single error button flashed, nor did the Deflector Generators need repaired. It wasn’t like Mando to pay much attention to the way a ship looked, but he knew that this ship was better suited to his work. He liked the controls, how well the ship responded to his ministrations. He even noticed the modifications that Fett had made during his flight toward the Hutt’s encampment.

Fett had wiped any memory on the ship, and there was a mock Hyperspace Tracker that could bounce signals around in hyperspace so the ships couldn’t be located easily. It was quite sneaky, and something Mando didn’t have the luxury of on the Razor Crest. Often times the worst part of the Crest was the recognition that it drew to plants like Nevarro-7 or even Tatooine. Before he could even land there were questions from ground securities wanting some type of registration information. None of that would be a problem any longer.

The Hutt’s base sat underground, buried underneath of a outcropping of rock mountains in the sand dunes outside of Mos Eisley. Mando could see the sandstone buildings, wavering from the baking heat. The door was guarded by a man, carrying a blaster with a smug look on his face. Hutt’s didn’t normally keep humans as guards, but Mando assumed he was a slave of some sort.

The guard didn’t ask for much, simply opening the door and mumbling something about ‘good business’ before pointing him in the direction of the cut-stone stairs that led down further into the ground. The stairs became damper as he descended with the smell of Hutt sneaking through his helmet. It was almost unbearable by the time he made it to the hall below.

His eyes first caught the women two women chained to the Hutt’s throne of sorts, the heavy links weighing down their wrists. They were skimpily clad, but had to have been the cleanest beings there. Four guards approached Mando, patting down his body finding his single blaster that was holstered to his hip. They made no comments but took the blaster and sat it down in front of the Hutt who laughed deeply at his first sight of Mando.

“A Mandalorian!” he boomed, using Basic language for Mando’s convenience. “What brings a fearsome man like you here, to me?” his chuckles still echoing through his question.

“I was told that I could find work here.” He replied, again darting his gaze back toward the two women who were no cowering behind the throne as far as their chains would allow. Their faces were covered with fear, but not of the Hutt… of him.

“Who told you this?” He boomed louder, rattling the sound equipment in Mando’s helmet. It made him wince at how terrible the enhanced sound felt against his ears.

“Boba Fett.”

The Hutt stopped his incessant chucking to look towards Mando was a harder stare, more serious this time. “I haven’t seen him in years… Do you have alike professions?”

“Yes.” Mando tried to keep his information limited for his own benefit. The less this Hutt knew about him the better off he would be.

“Bounty Hunting…” the Hutt said quieting his tone. “I have heard stories of your kind… yet only to this day met two.” His chuckles returned. “I have quite a few… interests that could use your level of expertise.”

He called out to one of the guards that had search him upon arrival and ordered him in Hutt nodding toward a hallway leading toward Mando’s right. The guard hastened away, trying to keep a professional tone. Mando kept quiet as his listened to the Hutt began talking again;

“I have three contracts… outer rim quarry that are needing some attention. You would be given their pucks… no tracking fobs or anything but their names and last locations.” He paused taking a labored breath, “The fourth is an exceptional job.”

“Exceptional how?” Mando pushed.

“It is a… cold job. But you would be given a fob.” The Hutt boomed with laughter.

Mando only nodded, familiar with the certainty that contractors wanted when dealing with quarry. A dead quarry wouldn’t cause problems, and Mando knew just how convenient that could be for the hunter as well.

“The other three are desired alive, and if they are not the payment would be reduced.” Hutt continued, “However, I do not pay out. I am only a middle man.”

“Where would I receive payment?”

“From a man in Mos Eisley, you would have different random contacts every time to secure… anonymity.”

The guard returned with the four pucks and one fob in hand. Sweat beading on his brow, he brought them to Mando and handed them gingerly to him before returning to his place against the wall surrounding the Hutt. Mando looked at the pucks, before returning focus to the Hutt.

“You would bring the assets to Mos Eisley, and they would be unloaded from your ship while you received payment.” He huffed, again out breath. “You would have three weeks to perform your duties… Do you accept?”

“I accept.”

***

2 Weeks Later.

“Hey man! Whatever they’re paying, I’ll double it!” the quarry yelled, struggling against the restraints Mando had put on him.

Mando stayed quiet, letting the bargaining spew out of his quarry’s mouth. It was so habitual that they tried bargaining, running or anything of their other useless attempts at escape. He never bargained… and he only let one quarry change his mind.

Grogu.

He did his best to push the child out of his mind while he shoved the quarry into the carbonite machine, quickly disposing the ship of the sounds of pleading. It became deathly quiet on the Slave Two after the carbonite had frozen his quarry into a thick slab. Only the sound Mando’s heavy footfalls signaled any life aboard as he walked back toward the cockpit.

The ship was too quiet for Mando’s true liking hyperspace was deathly silent and freezing cold. He couldn’t imagine it was any better than dying and that hyperspace was really where he would go after he was finally killed. His only solace became the beeping sounds of his ship, creating a pattern that was as close to a song as he could remember.

He only had job left, and it was the Cold Quarry. They were supposedly heading to Hoth to wait out any bounty hunters that were sent for him. Mando knew the quarry was hoping to dissuade anyone from coming to find him but Hoth’s snow and freezing weather wasn’t a problem. He had been on frozen planets before and it never distracted him from the job.

He would be on Hoth in a few days at most, and it gave him the opportunity to take a check of his low supply on food, and even lower supply of fuel and water. The Hutt had supplied him enough of both for about twelve days, not the full twenty-one. If it would have been the Guild he would have been well taken care of, and what wasn’t supplied for him was allotted in his job payments. A small part of him wished that he was able to return, simply for the respect that he had gained but he knew in his heart that he could never do so because of Grogu.

He hadn’t noticed how quickly his allegiance had changed for the support of the foundling, but after letting him go the full force of his protective nature had come crashing down on his shoulders with the weight of the galaxy. In those last few moments not only had he broken his creed, but he had felt true heartbreak for the first time. Of course, he had a moral compass, and anything that the Empire had planned wasn’t good for anyone, but it was a relationship that he was completely unprepared for. It was hard to let go, harder than any bounty he would ever have to catch.

He picked up a small can of soup turning it in his hand and inspecting his memories of eating with the child. It was one of his favorite things. He was cautious to not let Grogu to see his face, but after the first few times it was quite usual for him to sit facing the kid and eat without any issues of the kid trying to pull at his helmet.

Mando wasn’t hungry despite the churning in his stomach. He needed to get this job done.

Maybe he had forgotten just how cold Hoth could be. The wind cut through his clothes, and whipped his cape wildly in the gusts behind him. He could hear a small whistling from the gap in between his pauldron and the bottom edge of his helmet causing a ringing in his right ear. Mando didn’t spend much time hiding his ship, with the security of snow covering the visible planes from airspace. Not to mention how Hoth was almost deserted… except for the occasional bounty with a death wish.

He could easily see from airspace the most easily accessible to a man wanting somewhere to hide. And after landing down it was even easier to see the tracks made by a single set of shoes. They were undoubtedly a man’s, and from the information the Hutt gave him, these prints seemed like a dead ringer for shoe size and weight.

They were leading back into a separating in between to tall rock outcroppings that mostly likely afforded protection from the wind cutting through Mando’s layered shirts. He looked down to activate the ground security system with his vambrace, but after taking a second look, he could see a thin layer of frost covering even inch of the control section and even on the beskar surrounding it.

A cold bounty… he thought, finding no real humor in the situation.

Mando walked until daylight grew scarce. The weather had picked up, and if it hadn’t been for the two mountains he walked in between there would be no way for him to continue any further. The whistling in his ears were not helping his cause either. There would be no way for him to hear his bounty without being right on top of him. He’d had to turn off his audio enhancement so long ago due to the whistling becoming so loud.

The rock walls that surrounded Mando soared high up with ice and snow covering the jagged edges. Mando could see caves high up but the walls were too steep for anyone to climb up. He was looking for heat signatures, anything warmer than the frost covering everything, including him. There was nothing low to the ground, not even the footprints held any residual heat or memory, so his helmets enhancements were almost useless for tracking from the ground. But when he looked back up, he could finally see a little bit of heat. It was quickly disappearing, and the tell-tale red signature was barely visible, but it was still there.

A smoke trace.

It was too cold to not have some source of heat but burning a fire wasn’t smart for anyone hiding from a bounty hunter. After turning off his infrared display, the smoke was more visible in contrast with the bright white snow.

He was happy that the quarry wasn’t far, grateful his landing was well-founded in his good presumption of where the bounty could be hiding. His bounties were often well-hidden away, but this time he was truly struggling to keep a straight focus. Mando felt out of practice and it was only adding onto the feeling that this hunt was hard.

After what felt like an hour of trudging through the snow he could see the reflection of a fire licking up the side of the mountain. The flames burned high, and Mando couldn’t help but think how great it would feel to sit down at defrost his cold body. No shadow could be seen huddling around the fire or any real movement that Mando could see from his position.

His own footfalls were silent sinking into the snow as he drew upon a small cave lit up brightly by a roaring fire fueled by a small metal box that blew blue flames out into a controlled ball. A large man, laid close to the ball covered by a thick emergency blanket covering his entire body.

Mando drew his blaster, careful not to disturb the man before he was in position to wake him up.

“Wake up.” He demanded, expecting the man to shoot up out of bed.

The sleeping man stayed still. For a minute Mando debated whether or not to complete his job with the man unaware of his impending death. Killing him now would not only remove the chance of a fight, but also save Mando the risk of getting injured. He decided against it.

He leaned down, and shoved the man in the shoulder with his blaster. He watched as the mans’ body rolled over onto his back, covered in frost. The quarry’s skin was blue and the veins underneath were just as frozen as his skin. Mando’s eye widened, at the man’s brittle body, frozen in time right before his heart has finally frozen solid.

He hadn’t had to kill the bounty after all. But in the back of his mind, he knew that taking the dead man back tonight was not worth the risk. It was too cold to go back with extra weight after he experienced the cold without any slowed pace. He needed to get back quickly before the temperature dropped to low.

He employed the use of his jetpack, now that he was not at risk of spooking his quarry and cut through the blistering gales back to his ship. Before the door could shut he was stripping away the beskar covering his body. He sat it close to a small vent, watching for a second as the thick layer of frost slowly began dissipating around the edges. It was a magnet for cold, and it only accentuated how badly his core temperature had dropped outside. It wasn’t low enough for him to worry about any long-term effects however a hot shower was sounding better than even before. He even removed his helmet so the padding on the inside would vent and dry itself while he showered.

The steam rising out of the fresher welcomed Mando’s cold skin as he pulled away at the crunchy undershirt and pants he still wore. They had been soaked with sweat and frozen, leaving what was a normally comfortable shirt into a crystallized model of his body. The clothes landed with a heavy thud by his feet.

Mando sighed at the feeling of hot water soaking his hair and melting away the frigid feeling he carried in his muscles. He rested his forehead and elbows against the wall perfectly happy to let his ships remaining water supply to funnel down the drain. He stayed there for a long while, reminding himself that in the morning he would need to stop into a port and stock back up before leaving Hoth. There was an outpost not too far away that would supply everything he needed, but the price was what he occupied himself with.

His credits were uncomfortably low for his liking and if he showed any desperate need for fuel or water it would be easy enough for the normal price to become doubled. Hoth wasn’t known for crooked people, but you never knew what you were going to get when someone met a Mandalorian. Some didn’t give any protest, happy to supply Mando without any qualms… mostly driven by avoidance of conflict. But others were quite happy to make Mando’s life just a little more difficult, always staring at his beskar with a wicked look in their eyes.

He dried off, and retrieved another set of clothes from underneath his cot hastily pulling them on and retrieving his helmet from the floor to avoid losing any of the precious heat he had just regained. He eyed the cot and the heavy blanket that sat folded neatly at the foot, calling for him to actually lay down for once. He denied its pleas, and instead retreated up the ladder to the cockpit.

The pilots chair lightly groaned at his weight as he collapsed down into it. He lolled his head back, letting his helmet clink against the metal trim surrounding the headrest. He wouldn’t sleep, only sit in the darkness of Hoth’s night and listen to the howls of an ongoing snow storm rage against the sides of his ship. It rocked the Slave Two gently, back and forth creating a cradle for its inhabitants.

No sleep would come. Only the bright white reflection of sunlight casting off the continuously falling snow.

The bounty was easy enough in the height of Hoth’s sun. Giving him a small advantage in dragging the unbending weight of his bounty back to the carbonite machine. Mando almost thought the weather was comfortable until he stepped foot into a small cantina that hung on the edge of a small outpost.

The room was small, with enough seats for twenty at maximum with only five people filling those seats. It was decorated heavily with furs, and a roaring fireplace that licked high into the chimney space, like the quarry’s small metal box had. Only this one was filled with some sort of natural material. Mando had never seen anything like it before, and upon further inspection it looked like glassy black stones that gave off a sweet and smoky smell that permeated through his helmet.

It was only a light tap on his ribcage that brought his attention away from the fire. An elderly woman with deep age lines in her face, stood meekly in front of him with a small, crooked smile on her face.

“You look like you could use some heat.” Her smile grew wider as she ran a withered finger across his paulron. She inspected the gathering of frost on her finger, and watched it melt away before looking back up to him.

Underneath his helmet, the smallest smile graced Mando’s face at the woman in front of him. She looked old enough to be his ba’buir… his grandmother. Her fine white hair was pulled tightly back into a bun with small little strands staying out of the slicked back style. He couldn’t help but feel a small bit warmer with her gaze on him.

“I came for supplies, and fuel.” He said quietly, afraid of startling her with the crackling sound of his modulator.

Her wise eyes softened at his voice, and it only surprised him into silence as he waited for her response.

“Fuel is on the other end of the outpost.” She paused turning slowly to gaze toward the opposite end of town. “However, if you want supplies, I might be able to help you… Mandalorian.”

Her emphasis came with a charming glitter in her eyes, as she motioned for him to follow her. He did so silently, watching to make sure her shuffling feet didn’t catch on any of the chair legs that sat in her path. She opened a door, and let him walk through into what looked like a pantry. Shelves lined the walls, and were stocked with almost everything Mando could think of needing. Jars of unlabeled food -most likely hand filled- emergency medical supplies, and even random ship parts sat in metal crates stacked in a cobweb and dust covered corner.

He was quite speechless at the sight, but hesitated as she cleared her throat from hoarseness.

“You take whatever you need… if you can help me with my problem.” Her eyes focused right in on his, despite the black visor shading his eyes from view.

“Problem?” he asked.

The woman’s eyes that had glittered with pride, suddenly grew serious as she shuffled closer to him. 

“There’s a man out at the bar who desperately wants something I have.” She whispered, glancing every so often like the door behind her would bust open at any second. “I need you to get rid of him… and if you do, I’ll give you something that’s worth more than anything you’ve ever had before.”

Mando stood before a woman who he’d never met before, not fully understanding what it was that she was so serious about protecting or what she was willing to give him. Not that he wasn’t willing to help her, but her entire demeanor was surely enticing him.

“I’ll help.” He replied shifting his gaze back up to the door.

“He’s the only man at the bar,” she repeated reverently “He carries a blaster in his waistband… behind his back.” She whispered as she walked back out into the cantina’s dining space.

Mando focused back on the fireplace on the opposite side of the room, where he could sit and watch this man without gaining any more attention than he already was. A wooden chair sat close to the flames, and Mando found himself leaning back into it with the intent of looking as inconspicuous as he could.

The man at the bar was taller than average, but a full head shorter than Mando. He had broad shoulders and a bulge at his lower back. She was right. He thought, making a mental note of how observant the old woman truly was. He also sported a shaved head with many scars littering his skin with marred sections where the hair hadn’t grown back.

Mando couldn’t see him face, for the angle that he sat at. But he could tell from the wavering of his torso in his chair that he’s had one too many of whatever the elderly woman was serving. There was no way that Mando could get the man to leave without there being a scene, but something in the back of his mind told him that the woman was more than prepare for that to happen.

He even caught her out of the corner of his display, carefully taking glasses and other breakable items and stowing them underneath of the bar. Mando let her work quietly for a few more minutes, giving her enough time to save as many of her dishes as possible before he stood up.

“Another!” the man demanded loudly, slurring as he raised his glass in attempt to gain the old woman’s attention.

Mando reached the man’s side before she could, and reached his hand out to keep her from getting any closer. “I think you’ve had enough.” He stated, keeping his gaze straightforward.

He could hear the drunk man’s stunned choke as he whipped his head around to face Mando. He chuckled loudly, and dropped his half-full glass onto the bar-top spilling its contents all over the place. “And what would you know about it, tin can?”

“Enough to know you’ve had enough.” Mando repeated, this time turning just enough that half of his visor faced the drunk.

“How about you leave shiny. Before I make a mess out of you and this wenches bar.” His threat warbled with plastered slurs as he reached into his belt and pulled out his blaster, waving it all around before finally resting it on Mando’s chest.

Even if the man had been sober, he wouldn’t have noticed that Mando had already pulled out his own blaster and statuesquely trained it on the man’s head. It was quite the standoff, and Mando was quite certain in his ideas of why the old woman wanted him gone.

“Drop it, and you can leave Hoth alive. Or… I can drop you on the floor with a blaster hole through your chest.” Mando threatened, not letting his blaster waver an inch.

“I own this bar…” the man bluffed getting redder in the face by the second. “I own her-“ he jerked pointing to the old woman, “And her prize possession.” He spat turning back to Mando.

“You can live or you can die…. Your choice.” Mando growled, his finger resting on the trigger.

His ultimatum seemed to work well enough that the man dropped his blaster to the bar with a metallic thud, before stumbling off of his stool. He mumbled incoherently, even Mando’s helmet was unable to enhance what he said as he walked through the door, rattling the hinges as he slammed it shut.

Mando turned to the elderly woman, a sparkle in her eyes as she spoke to Mando again, “I’ll send word that you need refueled, and after you rest tonight, you’ll be leaving tomorrow.” Her satisfied tone rang through Mando’s speakers.

“I can’t stay.” He protested.

“You’ll stay here, for free.” She smiled, “Please, humor an old woman for a night.”

Mando could only sigh, and allow the woman to show him to a small room upstairs where he could place his belongings and lay awake, wondering what prize possession everyone but him seemed to know about.

As he listened, he could hear music playing below and a few bursts of laughter floating through the floor boards. He wasn’t comfortable laying there, but with the happy vibrations of celebration it did soothe his overly tense body enough that he could relax his helmet against pillow and cross his ankles to listen better.

He could hear the old woman’s hoarse voice sometimes making itself stand out from the other conversations, but nothing loud enough he could make out. He could hear a man’s voice speaking to others about the almost-blaster fight in the cantina earlier, embellishing the encounter with help from some liquid encouragement.

Under his helmet, he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling listening to the man talk about the ‘grand Mandalorian’ who kicked out Yir Fearbe. So that’s his name… he thought. They talked about the Corellian, and how he had left for Hoth years ago with the idea of taking over a port and making enough credits to further control the planet. Apparently, from the loud laughter his dream of becoming Hoth’s unofficial governor was hilariously outlandish.

Mando wasn’t surprised. Corellian’s were always reckless with a huge lack of reverence for anyone else’s existence. Mando knew of bounty hunters from Corellia, but they were all untrustworthy to say the least. Personal gain was the main currency for a Corellian. They had no creed, something that Mando was half-jealous and half-detesting of.

But as the man below continued with his stories and accountings of Yir, they grew much more serious in tone. He spoke of how brutal he was toward the elderly woman, but no one was able to win a fight against him… let alone win. The man barked out a laugh after saying that Mando was lucky he was too drunk to realize what was happening… and that “he would be back after the metal man left.”

The conversations droned on through the night, and early into the morning before silence fell over the downstairs. But it wasn’t two hours later that he heard the clinking of glasses and dishes being put away. He needed to get his ship re-fueled before mid-day, and be in hyperspace before that. The sooner he was gone the better.

He picked up his belts, and slung them over his chest also placing his blasters in their holsters before ducking through the short door frame. He was met with the tired eyes of the old woman, already watching him with a close gaze. Mando sat down at the same chair he had last night, letting the fire warm his back and neck, careful not to let his cloak get too close.

“Something to eat?” she asked absentmindedly, like a mother would.

“No, thank you.” He nodded his head, watching her slowly wipe down the bar top.

“Something to drink?” she queried again. Dank Farrik she was persistent.

He only shook his head this time, waving his hand dismissively at the offer. She only gave him a smile that creased the deep lines near her eyes and created heavy contours around the corners of her mouth.

“I expect as much… from a man like you.” She murmured.

“How do you know what I am?” he asked, leaning to rest his arms on his thigh plates.

“I have only heard stories of your kind,” she said looking fondly somewhere off in her memories. “But I expect that before you leave, you’ll show me just how good you are.” She pointed at him, her wrinkly fingers shaking.

Good.

Mando knew that wasn’t true. Even if she heard real stories she would know better than to think of him with any high regards to his goodness. Loyalty... sure. Maybe even a small sense of what justice was, but goodness wasn’t anywhere close to something he deserved. He was not only a warrior, but a contract killer. He made his living at the cost of others lives. Mandalorian’s were taught with weapons, not prayers to any gods. Children were trained not taught.

He thought of himself as a weapon.

They sat in silence, him watching her work and her consistently asking him for something to eat or drink. If she had been watching closely enough, the old woman might have seen his shoulders rise in the slightest when he huffed an amused chuckle at her progressively worrying tone.

“You do eat, don’t you?” she blustered, seemingly upset at his continuous declinations.

“Yes.” He tilted his head, trying to figure out just what it was she was upset about. “This isn’t about me eating is it?” he questioned back.

Her eyes drifted down towards her feet, suddenly looking more tired than she had after he came downstairs. She tottered across the room, and sat in down in a chair across from Mando, looking him up and down slowly before settling back on his visor.

“That was my husband’s chair,” she murmured. Mando made an attempt to get up, wanting to appease her, but she quickly stopped him. “No, no. You don’t have to do that. Hardly anybody likes sitting in that old thing, but if you like it… then you sit.”

He adjusted her hips in the wooden seat, and winced before continuing on, “That man you made leave last night killed my husband, years ago when he first landed on Hoth. My husband only owned this building, but Yir wanted it for himself. And instead of doing the honorable thing, he killed my husband thinking that I wouldn’t have the wherewithal to do it myself.” She shook her head, a small bit of arrogance flashing across her features.

“I have done everything in my power -which isn’t much- to let you know the truth. Giving every last ounce of my strength into keeping everything that needed protected, protected.”

Mando shifted foreword again, narrowing his eyes in focus and trying to understand her real meaning behind all of this.  

“But when I saw you walk through that door, I knew that you were my last opportunity.” She smiled, making real eye-contact through his visor.

“Who are you? And why do you trust me?” he blurted, desperate for a straight, uncryptic answer.

“Mandalorian, I’m just an old woman. Nothing more. That doesn’t mean I don’t know when I see a second chance sitting right in front of me.”

Mando was about to speak again, when the loud ring of a familiar voce began thrumming through the air, followed by incessant blaster fire. The old woman gasped, grabbing at her chest and hurriedly standing up with her gaze locked on the door.

“Maker…” she whispered. “He’s coming.”

Mando thought quickly, and rushed her over to the storage room she had brought him into yesterday, carefully trying to get her there before Yir could catch him with his back turned. But before he could close the door, he frail hand reached out and touched his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“You are much more than a warrior… but at this moment, that is exactly what you need to be.” She stated reverently, before shutting the door herself.

He heard the sound of a lock click on her side of the door right before the one behind him smashed open with a bright read beam of blaster fire. Mando couldn’t remember what happened, or how he found himself being thrown around the room and being smashed into tables but that’s exactly what happened.

His beskar absorbed the brunt of most of the blows he took, but the man was so belligerent that he took too punching Mando in the helmet despite the ugly angle that balled-up fingers were at. Mando tried to fight back, but without a chance to reach for his blaster there was not much he could do but grapple with the man, and find an opportunity to reach down to his hip.

Vir growled ferally screaming about taking what was rightfully his, and other nonsense that Mando could barely catch before he was thrown once again this time, his back making solid contact with the hard, stone edge of the bar. Vir lifted him up, and angrily smashed him against the wall, trapping his throat and squeezing hard, trying to push past Mando’s thick cloak wrapped tightly around his throat.

“I’ll make more money off that beskar than I would on this planet in a lifetime.” Vir growled, smiling happing at his reflection in Mando’s helmet. “I can’t wait to see what’s under all that metal.” He barked happily, not noticing Mando’s free hand struggling for purchase on his blaster.

“I told you to leave.” Mando choked out, pulling the trigger and hearing a loud scream resonate from Vir. They both dropped to their knees, but Vir kept screaming at the giant wound in his thigh, or what was left of it.

“You…. You will pay for this.” Vir threatened with a tremble, gripping at his leg with a fierce grimace on his face. “They sent me here, for her.” He smiled, delirious anger taking over. “They’ll come for you once they find out what happened he-“

Mando silence Vir’s threats with another blaster shot.

“I told you to leave.” Mando repeated, struggling to his feet. His head buzzed with the rush of oxygen flooding back.

“Mandalorian!” the old woman hissed, rushing out the door and across to him.

He pushed away her attempts to check him for injuries, knowing well enough for himself that any blaster shots that had went off ricocheted off his beskar.

“I’m fine.” He said pushing away from her. “But I need to leave. Now.” He stated, giving her a hard look.

“Take what you need. Your ship is ready, I checked this morning.” She said pointing towards the storage room she had just came from.

He nodded silently, and quickly began grabbing what he needed, throwing all of it into a canvas bag that was hanging from one of the shelves. Canned food, and two medical supply kits were only a couple of the things he shoved into the bag before exiting to see the old woman standing with a huge coat and a change of boots.

“I’ll walk you there.” She stated, not giving him much of a choice.

“My pace.”

She only nodded, and lead him out into the street where at the end of the street he could see his ship had been moved.

“Who moved my ship?” he asked impatiently.

“Someone trustworthy.” Was her answer.

“Listen, I don’t know you. And I understand we had a deal, but that’s over with now.” he retorted, glancing over at her.

“Not yet, I gave you one last thing…”

He looked to see tears spilling over her sagging cheeks, and he shoulders slumped low like she was carrying a huge weight.

“You owe me a promise Mandalorian. And I entrust you’ll keep it.”

“What is this promise?” he asked, finally reaching his ships back hatch.

The hatch hissed as it began opening, and Mando reflexively drew his blaster pointing in at the figure who stood in the hull of his ship.

“Everything looks fantastic I fixed a few loose connections on the hyperdr-” A honeyed voice filled Mando’s ears as the figure came to a sudden halt, open hands raised in submission at the blaster trained on them.

“Who are you?” he demanded, feeling quite whiplashed by his last day and a half. He was ready to start shooting without asking questions.

“She’s mine.” The old woman cut in, rising her mittened hand to push away at Mando’s blaster.

“I refueled your ship, and check to make sure that you were ready to go.” The silky voice added.

He watched, carefully as a young woman walked slowly down the ramp of his ship, hands still raised up, with wide eyes trained on his. What is with these women… he thought, feeling quite uncomfortable with how easy it was for them to find his eye behind the visor.

The old woman pushed harder at his blaster and he finally dropped it down to his side, finally getting him to release his steady aim on the girl. “You have a promise to keep.” She murmured, looking at the girl, who was staring just as puzzled at the old woman as Mando felt.

“She is yours to protect.”

The girl immediately began denying the idea, and Mando himself finally cut off that annoyingly sweet voice to put up his own protest,

“I have no reason to take her anywhere.”

The old woman’s wise eyes fell back onto Mando, and consequently silenced the surprised interjections from his ship.

“You need a second chance…” she spoke almost prophetically piercing through Mando’s resolve. “And I might be an old woman… but I have seen what you can do. And that assures me that you’re the one man that can keep her safe…” she hesitated. “Promise me you’ll take care of her.”

Mando was about to question her again when the sound of a blaster echoed up through the snow-covered pathway. He shouted a warning, and reached to cover the old woman’s back  when she was already falling down into the snow, still as the quarry from the cave.

She was dead.

He heard more blaster shots, and a scream from the girl, as she attempted to run off the sloping hatch of the ship, carrying her own blaster and retuning fire. It wasn’t a good situation when Mando turned back toward the street again. A group of men masked, and carrying a lot firepower began making their way toward his ship, all pointing toward the girl who was squatting next to his ship, blaster trained down sight.

“Give us the girl!” one of them shouted, pointing a gloved hand past Mando.

He flashed back to the bounty droid, pointing its blaster at Grogu… the feeling he had now identical to that day. He tried to suppress it, but after a few more seconds hundreds of ‘what-if’s’ and what the old woman had said, he turned toward the girl;

“Get on the ship. Now!”

Blaster fire erupted, bouncing off the back hatch as it pulled up off the ground and Mando stepped back towards the hull space. He fired, eliminating the closest people in the group when he felt the ship lurch upwards into the sky.

She was flying his ship.

But, surprisingly he wasn’t as mad as he thought when the imminent threat of the men boarding became slimmer and slimmer as the distance between Hoth’s frozen ground and the Slave Two grew wider. Only after leaving air space in a hurry, did Mando make his way to the cockpit to see just who it was that was now on his ship.

She sat in the pilot’s chair focused on the dash of buttons in front of her, eyes flashing occasionally up to the interfaces showing their positioning. If it wasn’t for the red display flashing on her face he wouldn’t have noticed the tear streaks on her cheeks. Her breaths were uneven causing her chest to jerk, but she didn’t make a single sound.

Mando watched from behind her, quietly watching as the ship veered around small debris that floated in Hoth’s gravity, expertly guiding the ship out of the dangerous field. Her hand hovered over the switch that would send them into hyperspace. Her silence was a question, not just of if he was ready… but if he trusted her.

“Go.” he finally answered.

He pushed his shoulders against the wall behind her, preparing himself to feel the force press him back even tighter against the wall. Her ministrations over the controls were precise, even though the weight of force was pinning him back, she was able to smoothly operate until the streaking blue and purple lights of hyperspace lit up the cockpit.

Her chair spun around to face him, her small frame being swallowed by the chairs harness that she had pulled over her shoulders. Wisps of damp hair and sweat covered her forehead, and her eyes locked onto his with a mix of emotions that Mando couldn’t quite read.

“You’re the man my grandmother has talked about…” She searched up and down his body, carefully taking stock of his frame, lingering on the blasters that were strapped to his thigh and hip.

“I hadn’t met her before last night.” He answered, feeling like his response was inadequate.

“She told me you needed your ship refueled… but I had to move it.” She explained, pulling the harness off of her shoulders. “I didn’t expect for any of this to happen.” Her voice dropping a little. He knew what she was talking about, despite her lack of real conversation. “I wasn’t busy so I tried to clean up some of your wiring boxes…” she kept explaining herself, trying to bargain her value to him.

He let her continue, finding a similarity in her tone with the bounties that were sitting in carbonite slabs in the back of his ship. He saw her nervousness in the way she began chewing on her lip after she had run out of things to say.

“Where am I supposed to take you?” he asked, seeing a flinch of uncertainty cross over her face. He mentally chided himself for sounding so harsh. It wasn’t like intimidating her was going to benefit him at this point.

“I- I don’t know.” She frowned, still chewing on her bottom lip.

He shook his head, letting his frustration and lack of understanding in the situation show for the first time towards her. “Then why are you here, and why were those men after you?”

She huffed out a breath and ran a hand through her sweaty hair, pulling it off her forehead. “There’s a man named Vir… he came to Hoth and when he met me he tried to date me, I guess. But when I turned him down, it only made things worse.” She stood up, and leaned her back against the controls, “He killed my grandfather as a sick kind of punishment. And since then he’s been obsessed, following me around and threatening me constantly.”

Mando listened, taking in everything that the old woman -her grandmother- had said and finally put all of the pieces together. That old woman had been protecting the girl, and he was becoming more and more in awe of how fierce the old woman’s loyalty was. Even her last sentence was spent holding the him to a promise of security.  

“But now everyone is dead because of me…” she admitted quietly, before looking up to Mando with more tears in welling in her eyes. “You have to get away from me, whoever you are. You don’t know me and none of this is your problem.” She nodded at her own decision, seemingly satisfied at her plan.

They stood in silence again, her waiting on him to say something and Mando just looking at her under the cover of his helmet. She wore layered shirts, with a coat -too large for her- cloaking any real idea of what her shape really looked like. Her boots were tiny, and snow still clung to them. In the back of his mind, he weighed his options but kept thinking about the old woman’s voice: “I’m giving you something special…”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by giving her to him, but what he didn’t want to admit was that he was going to keep that promise.

“I can see you fly well, and I could use a co-pilot. I’ll show you where you can put any of your things.” He said turning away toward the ladder, with a small motion for her follow him.

He passed his own room, and pushed open the next door and let her walk in. She glanced around, and sat down on the corner of the small cot. She shrugged off her huge coat, and looked to Mando with a very innocent look.

“I can’t stay here for long.” She said with a sigh, “But I appreciate you helping me.”

He nodded and left without another word.

Mando retreated back to the cockpit, only to review everything the woman had said, and the story that the girl had told him. All of it raced around, especially the girls sweet voice that gave him a dizzying head rush. It sounded so pretty. He thought rubbing the forehead of his helmet like it would help subside the feeling of drinking too much spotchka. She looked so young, but the way she carried herself added to his confusion about her true age.

The old woman was her grandmother, but that didn’t help him get a better idea either. The dead man on Hoth had been after the girl for a at least a couple years so she was most likely in her early twenties. But one thing stuck in Mando’s head above all the images of her and her sugary voice in his head.

Seeing her silhouette framed by hyperspace, and the silky sound of her voice contrasted to his own was exceptionally difficult to ignore. She hadn’t been on his ship two hours and the idea of getting another glimpse at her was already pushing itself into the forefront of his mind. Mando always thought about anything ten different ways before proceeding. But for the second time in his life his gut had overridden his judgement. The second time.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know when I see a second chance sitting right in front of me.” The old woman had said.

A second chance.

His second chance.

If anything it only made his head spin more. What was it about himself that had given the old woman a sense of him needing a ‘second chance’? Not only that, but why did he need one? His only thought was Grogu, and how difficult it was to let his foundling go despite his knowledge that there was somewhere better for the child. He had fought desperately to return the child to his own people, but when the time came, he could barely let go.

Was he really supposed to take care of her?

If he was a different man, he would let her off on a safe planet before heading back to drop off his bounties. Leave her with a enough supplies and credits to settle herself somewhere far enough away from those men… and himself. But as he sat down in the pilots chair, and looked out at space flying past him, he acknowledged that he wasn’t that man. The idea of an old woman with wise eyes telling him that the girl on his ship was his second chance, was not only wildly dangerous, but something that he was already preparing himself for.

#the mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #secondchance

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Roommates - Theo x Reader

(gif source)

Summary: y/n’s landlord is increasing her rent once her lease is up. She has two options: move out or find a roommate. Theo, coincidentally, is looking for a new apartment.

Word count: 2105

Warnings: cursing, theo being a total house husband

a/n: and they were roommates

master list

“So then he finds out that Leia is his sister and- y/n, are you even listening?” Stiles cut himself off and looked over to where the y/h/c was nervously bouncing her leg. y/n’s head snapped up when she heard her name, nearly dropping her phone in the process.

“Uh, yeah, of course! I just um, keep going, I’m listening,” she replied unconvincingly. Her odd behavior caught the attention of the rest of the pack - not that they were really paying much attention to Stiles’s retelling of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi - causing the previous conversation to be forgotten.

“Okay, spill. There’s a handful of mostly human polygraphs in here and you’re a terrible liar. What’s up?” Malia grilled, looking at y/n expectantly. 

“It’s really nothing, everything’s fine,” y/n squeaked out, her ability to lie getting worse and worse with each word. After receiving another pointed look from Malia, she finally cracked. “Ugh, fine. I just got an email from my landlord that he’s bumping up the rent when my lease is up and I can’t afford to stay there by myself anymore,” y/n ranted. The group, minus y/n, glanced around at each other with frowns. Each and every one of them would drop everything to help y/n, but it just so happened that they were all already stuck in leases or didn’t have any extra rooms at their homes. After a few moments of silence, Theo piped up.

“I could be your roommate and split the rent if you want,” he offered nonchalantly. Stiles looked between Theo and y/n as if they’d both grown two heads. Before y/n could decline the offer, Theo continued. “My lease is almost up and your place is much nicer anyways. It’s a win win,” Theo pointed out casually and leaned back deeper into the cushions. 

An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment as y/n mulled it over. It wasn’t a horrible idea. Having a chimera as a roommate was basically like having a top-of-the-line security system. Plus, between being a full-time student and working part-time, y/n was hardly home so it didn’t really matter who her roommate was, just as long as they did their fair share of chores.

“Sure, why not,” y/n replied warmly.

It had been about a month since Theo moved in. Aside from sleeping, y/n had spent very little time at their now shared apartment. If she wasn’t at school or working, she was spending time with the pack, which felt like a full time job in and of itself. Too bad they weren’t getting paid to keep the whole damn city safe. For what felt like the first time in months, y/n finally had an entire weekend off. No looming deadlines from her classes. No long and grueling shifts for work. No supernatural threats. 

When she got home that Friday night she dropped her purse by the door, toed her shoes off halfway through the room, and unceremoniously flopped down onto the couch, sighing loudly as she did so. 

“Well hello to you too,” Theo called as he entered the room stealthily. y/n jumped, startled by his presence.

“Jesus, I didn’t even know you were home. What are you, a ninja?” y/n asked, chest heaving slightly.

“Something like that,” Theo smirked, earning an unimpressed eye-roll from y/n. Theo moved to sit down on the couch next to her, making sure to leave a respectful distance between their bodies, and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “So, you’ve been busy,” Theo began, striking up a light conversation. y/n snorted and leaned her head back into the cushions.

“You’ve got that right,” y/n groaned, running a hand through her tousled hair. The last thing y/n expected when Theo moved in was for him to be willing to hear her vent about school and work, but he actually seemed to enjoy the conversation and company. She told him about her lazy group project members and the sleazy old men who came to the diner she waitressed at. She told him how poetic justice had been served when one particularly disgruntled customer slipped and fell on the drink that he’d intentionally spilled when a waitress wouldn’t give him her number. Theo actually laughed in response to that story, his gleeful chuckle brought a warm smile to y/n’s face. 

“I didn’t mean to unload on you, thanks for listening though,” y/n finished shyly. Theo brushed off her comment.

“That was entertaining, thank you,” Theo replied with his signature grin. y/n felt heat rise to her cheeks but turned away before Theo could notice.

“Anyways… as much as I’d love to not move from this couch for the next 48 hours, I should probably clean up a bit. I’ve been a pretty shitty roommate,” y/n grimaced as she forced herself off of the couch. Theo gave her a puzzled look and patted the spot next to him on the couch, rolling his eyes when she seemed unwilling to sit back down.

“You’ve hardly been here since I moved in. I don’t think you’ve eaten a meal here, much less made a mess. Except for maybe your shoes in the middle of the floor,” he pointed out, gesturing towards her anti-slip waitressing sneakers. y/n’s face continued to burn as she moved to kick the shoes towards the shoe rack by the door. Naturally, she turned to sarcasm as a defense mechanism.

“What shoes? I don’t see any shoes,” y/n quipped slyly, waltzing back across the room to once again sink into the couch. Theo chuckled wordlessly at her antics and tore his eyes away from her to look at the TV.

“Friends or The Office?”

As luck would have it, y/n’s free weekend was short lived and the following Monday she was back to her never ending stream of school work and back-to-back work shifts. Fortunately, she was able to run home during her lunch break and wisely chose to use the time for a well-deserved nap. As she pulled out her keys to open the apartment door, she heard mechanical humming coming from inside. Truth be told, she had yet to figure out what kind of roommate Theo was, much less come close to understanding the walking enigma, so she had no idea what she was about to walk into. Was he building something? Did he figure out a way to bring the dread doctors back? Was he doing something unspeakable with a lady friend that would surely scar y/n for years to come?

As y/n mentally prepared herself for the horror movie that she was expecting to walk into, she inserted her keys in the lock. I need a fucking nap, whatever weird shit going on behind this door be damned. She pushed the door open with tense shoulders and hesitantly peered into the apartment. There stood Theo. Not holding any tools, not actively in cahoots with the nightmarish scientists that occupied part of their high school days, and (thank God) fully clothed...

But vacuuming.

Her murderous, half-human, former dirt bag roommate was vacuuming. Like a bona fide house husband. 

Theo heard the door softly close shut behind y/n and he turned to face her, unplugging the vacuum machine in the process.

“What’s with all of this?” y/n asked hesitantly, gesturing vaguely to the vacuum cleaner and the various cleaning supplies set out on the coffee table. Theo glanced at the area around him, proud of his work.

“I had some time to kill so I figured I’d clean up a bit. I’m pretty much done now so I shouldn’t bother you if you’re studying or…” he trailed off, giving y/n an opportunity to fill in the blank.

“Ha, I probably should, but no. I will be dead asleep for the next thirty minutes and then I have to head to the diner for a double shift,” she groaned and shrugged off her jacket as she made her way towards her room. Considering the fact that it was only noon on a Monday, y/n seemed far too tired. Theo frowned for a moment and genuinely considered going to have nice civilized chats with her manager and professors. That’s probably a bad idea though. Unless...

For some reason unbeknownst to y/n, her professors had begun to show some mercy in the number of papers and projects they assigned. Her manager at the diner even offered to decrease the hours she worked each week if she was feeling overwhelmed. Theo wore a knowing grin when a joyful y/n came home one day and explained this all to him. If y/n caught his mischievous smirk, she certainly didn’t call him out on it. With all of her newfound free time, y/n decided that she wanted to host a pack movie night at their apartment.

“Alright, the pizza is on the way and Scott is bringing snacks. We should probably get the movie set up before Stiles gets here and somehow convinces us all to watch Star Wars again,” y/n rattled off while she paced the apartment to make sure everything was in order. “I washed a bunch of blankets earlier, could you take them out of the dryer and put them on the couch?” y/n requested as she anxiously walked to the kitchen and began pulling out plates and cups. Theo nodded gently as he popped into the kitchen to check things out.

“Don’t stress too much. As long as there’s people and pizza, everyone will be happy,” Theo said, attempting to ease her anxiety. y/n smiled lightly at his words and took a deep breath. Lately he seemed to have some magical ability to calm her down. Theo left the kitchen to take care of the blankets while y/n put together a makeshift snack bar, complete with plates, bowls for snacks, and beer. The pizza and most of the pack arrived just as y/n and Theo were finishing up with their respective jobs. The pizza delivery boy seemed a little scared by the tall, muscled men and tiny but mighty women surrounding him so she gave him a decent tip and rolled her eyes at her friends’ naturally intimidating nature. After y/n ushered them all inside and set the pizza down on the kitchen counter, she joined the rest of the pack in the living room. To her surprise, the blankets had been neatly set out around the room and folded with expert precision. She sent Theo an impressed smile and winked when she thought no one was looking.

Stiles was the last to arrive and much to his disappointment Ghostbusters had already been set up on the TV. It didn’t take long for everyone to grab food and get situated around the living room, so by the time y/n was done buzzing around the apartment like a madwoman to get everything situated there was only one spot left on the couch. y/n knew that her friends - aside from Stiles - weren’t actively trying to hurt Theo’s feelings, but seeing him tucked into the corner of the couch distanced away from everyone pained her more than she’d admit.

So, she did what any good friend would do. Not only did she gladly take the spot on the couch next to him, but she also casually tossed her legs over his and covered the two of them with a blanket. The action definitely earned her a few raised eyebrows, including from Theo, but no one dared to call them out. y/n was able to easily ignore the sideways glances they earned throughout the course of the movie, mostly because she had fallen asleep about 15 minutes in. By the end of the movie her head had fallen to lazily rest on Theo's shoulder and he had subconsciously pulled her in closer to his side.

After the movie finished and they spent some time catching up, the rest of the pack began to trickle out of y/n and Theo’s apartment. Lydia was the last to leave so she offered to lock the door behind her so that Theo wouldn’t have to move and wake y/n. Lydia tossed out a few stray cups on her way out the door, and because she was never one to tell secrets, she definitely didn’t send the girls a picture of Theo and y/n now both passed out and cuddling on the couch.

a/n: this seemed like a great idea in the shower and now i’m not sure i even like it but i hope you enjoyed :)

edit: enjoy my best friend’s live reaction to this fic

join my tag list!

@linkpk88 @grace-wade-08 @plq-cid @jazzyhales @ineedyourskulls @lilyspells @pure-ghost​ @ellxpsismm​ @samkysnks​ @sweetfairyprincess17 @basicbibitxh​ @rogershoe​ @dashkana​ 

#theo raeken imagine #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken fanfic #theo raeken fanfiction #theo raeken x y/n #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf imagine #theo x reader #theo x y/n #theo imagine #theo raeken #theo being a total house husband #probably a totally incorrect characterization #but i'm really tired so i can't quite bring myself to care #read and enjoy the garbage i guess

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point. 

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up. 

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv​ for being my incredible beta and to @maybege​ for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content! 

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control) 

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss. 

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother. 

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine. 

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet. 

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments. 

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

 In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

  But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

 He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

 You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

  You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you. 

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be. 

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway. 

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well. 

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from. 

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life. 

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby. 

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead. 

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least. 

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes. 

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours. 

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things. 

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project. 

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any. 

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!” 

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize. 

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen. 

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way.  “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.” 

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?” 

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you. 

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast. 

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving. 

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch. 

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru. 

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…” 

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.” 

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod. 

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves. 

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own? 

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.” 

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area. 

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him. 

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house. 

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working. 

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him. 

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours. 

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in. 

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent. 

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away. 

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams. 

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence. 

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest. 

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.” 

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall.  “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover. 

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to… 

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs.  Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it,  meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso. 

 And you begin to weep with him.

 *********

 The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut. 

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth. 

 You cannot tell him for a long while still. 

 *******

 It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.  

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.  

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it. 

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

 At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words. 

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

 And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

 *****

 The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air. 

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance. 

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors. 

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.  

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”  

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.” 

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet. 

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist. 

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.” 

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.  

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface. 

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.  

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.  

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality. 

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.” 

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him. 

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss. 

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you. 

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all. 

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features. 

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him. 

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth. 

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal. 

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest. 

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him. 

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern. 

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in. 

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first. 

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there. 

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy. 

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity. 

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other. 

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other. 

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived.  With more than ever to lose. 

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course. 

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down. 

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him. 

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile. 

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away. 

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating. 

“I can feel you staring, little one.”  He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence. 

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.” 

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek. 

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively. 

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest. 

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.” 

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.” 

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from. 

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter. 

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms. 

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches. 

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy. 

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin. 

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously. 

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted. 

 With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too. 

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed. 

Although first you needed a blank canvas. 

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up. 

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance. 

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created. 

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this. 

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew. 

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him. 

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises. 

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful. 

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods. 

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing. 

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue. 

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors. 

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now. 

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?” 

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.” 

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you. 

 You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat. 

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay. 

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan. 

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold. 

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know. 

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen. 

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it. 

Gentle. 

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again. 

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow. 

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him. 

Stars, how you want to let him. 

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture. 

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach. 

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is. 

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind. 

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother. 

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him. 

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble. 

Confident. 

Steadfast. 

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you. 

Nothing can. 

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you. 

Treasure. 

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion. 

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying. 

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him. 

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.” 

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons. 

“Darling, I’m…” 

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now. 

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now. 

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping. 

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before. 

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself. 

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly. 

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists. 

“Allow me.” 

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head. 

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves. 

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening. 

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind. 

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did. 

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples. 

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing. 

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked. 

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.” 

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it. 

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again. 

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone. 

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is. 

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night. 

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him. 

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care. 

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple. 

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all. 

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control. 

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand. 

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.” 

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him. 

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all. 

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.” 

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.” 

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body. 

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips. 

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you. 

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you. 

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own. 

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time. 

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this. 

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed? 

Anchor. Anchor against me. 

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before. 

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck. 

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge. 

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought. 

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him. 

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit. 

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear. 

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back. 

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under. 

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up. 

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you,  how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this. 

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion. 

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths. 

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it. 

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth. 

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes. 

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations. 

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.” 

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough,  how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied. 

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.  

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you. 

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it. 

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity. 

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force. 

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all. 

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind. 

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them. 

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been. 

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time. 

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke. 

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair. 

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand. 

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke. 

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment. 

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over. 

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too. 

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms. 

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it. 

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle. 

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.” 

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef. 

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses. 

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day. 

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving. 

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning. 

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite? 

So is the promise of the return of the Light. 

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

[subbing-for-clones]

The New Apprentice Part 8

Maul x Sith!reader 

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Yall it has been a God damn week I'll tell you that. So sorry it has taken me so long to get this out. Fair warning, had to do some already known stuffs to move the story along the timeline and I just wasn't feeling it while writing, but it's important to the timeliness nonetheless.

WARNINGS: 18+ P in V sex, unprotected sex, Canon violence. Kinda angsty at the end? Idk.

PREVIOUS         NEXT          MASTERLIST

       The following morning you awoke alone in your tent. The cool morning air aiding to shake the fog from your mind as you thought of the previous night. A smile twitched on your lips that was soon replaced with a heavy eye roll. One of your pant legs had been torn up the seam by the medic who worked on you. Shrugging, you ripped off the tattered fabric and did the same to the other to match. Sliding on your now short one piece you pulled on your boots, hung your sabers from your hips and left your little shelter.

    You knew why Maul left; he didn't want anyone to think the two of you were involved until the situation was less vulnerable. You were thankful he waited until you were asleep before he absconded into the darkness. Maker, you had to stop thinking about it lest you rile yourself up again. It was time to go to work, continue to prove to your master that you deserved to be at his side. That he needed you there.

    You were relieved that Savage followed behind you a few minutes later. At least you weren't the last one up. Pre and Maul strode through the camp with you and Savage following closely behind.

"We will need an army if we are to successfully take back Mandalore." Your master rumbled.

"The people will support us once we remind them who they are." Pre retorted.

"Perhaps... but the Black Suns will be able to provide us with resources beneath the attention of the Republic."

"They're a crime syndicate!"

"Yes, and a powerful one that will lead to our victory. We have but one chance to pull this off."

      Boarding a Mandalorian starship with your Master and Savage was quiet. You had decided to keep your mouth shut and revel in Maul's ability to command and scheme. You stood at Savage's side with your hands clasped behind your back, back straight and chin high. Your weapons dangled dangerously at your hips. Every so often a Mandalorian would look at you curiously through their visor to which you responded the same every time. You gazed into their black where their unseen eyes lay behind, unblinking with a straight lip and an air of importance until they turned away. Savage quirked a lip slightly every time.

When you were alone he rumbled quietly.

"You make them uneasy. Much more than I do I think."

"I hardly doubt that my friend." Your voice soft and cold in the off chance someone could hear you.

"Possibly... they fear us."

"Good. Then they will stay in line under Lord Maul. A warrior should never show fear. They may be strong but they've shown a vital weakness we will exploit in time if necessary."

    Maul was the only one within ear shot and he silently listened to your words. Although he didn't show it at the time externally, his chest swelled in pride.

    After landing on Mustafar they were greeted with a battalion led by a tall Falleen male by the name of Vigo Ziton Maj. He chuckled when your master harshly requested an audience but he led Maul, Savage, Pre Vizsla and yourself inside the fortress anyway.

    Five more men sat at a long black table upon your entrance. When demanded that they join you, you were met with exclamations of amusement and they attempted to call for your deaths.

    Without hesitation you and Savage each tossed a spinning lightsaber in their direction. Effectively beheading each and every one of the leaders in single mirrored motions. After seeing first handedly that denial of an alliance would lead to death, Moj, the next in line to lead agreed to join your cause without hesitation.

    The Pykes practically handed themselves over to you once news about the Black Suns had reached their ears. The offer of their alliance was a grateful surprise to you. Recognizing the slow shift in universal power only spurred your attraction to your master. Visions of you riding his throbbing cock permeated your mind and drifted to his.

    On the ride to Nal Hutta these thoughts only grew in intensity as your sinful need grew. It had been days since he had last touched you and although you maintained an outward composure, your mind reeled. With only a few hours until your arrival, Maul strode past you, pausing momentarily to give you a knowing glance and ever so slight nod of his head. You waited a minute before following his force signature until a supply closet door hissed open. He grabbed you almost violently, pulling you within the small enclosure. He listened to be sure you weren't followed before he turned to you.

"My my what devious thoughts you project little one." He cooed as he pulled you into his embrace. With your back to his chest, he lowered his face into the crook of your neck, planting gentle wet kisses to your sensitive skin and lightly nipping at your ear. You took his hand and covered your mouth to stifle a whimper as he ground his hardening cock into your rear. You could feel the heat of your core as his velvety voice hummed in the ear he was toying with.

"Now, I'd much rather take my time with you but it seems you need some tension released. I'll need you clear headed on this venture. I believe the Hutt Clan will give us the most trouble in forming an alliance. Would you like my help my sweet little apprentice?"

    You nodded fervently, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he slid your one piece down until it pooled on the floor. He bent you over infinitesimally, just enough to grant him entrance. He prodded his hot, firm erection against your folds letting out a silent groan feeling how wet you already were.

"God's I've hardly touched you and your soaking wet you naughty little girl."

    Without warning he slipping inside you, biting one of his fingers to keep from crying out. He thrusted into at a brutal pace, sinking to his hilt with every rut. It didn't take long before you were fluttering around him and tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Maker, you're going to cum for me.. I can feel it... Let go my dear. Cum all over my cock."

    The command he soothed had you unraveling faster than you thought possible. The excitement of the risk at being found out only encouraged your orgasm. Still shaking from the aftershocks, your master bit your shoulder as he throbbed and filled you.

    You hastily cleaned yourself, getting ready to leave before you were caught but Maul grabbed your wrist and brought you back into an embrace. Gently pressing his forehead to yours and wrapping his arms around you.

"Soon you'll be at my side at all times my dear. Would you like that?" His glowing amber eyes meeting yours.

"Yes Master, of course."

    You pressed your lips to his and trying to calm your flush you left the small enclosure with newfound resolve undoubtedly spurred by your bliss.

       Maul had been correct as usual. The Hutts were in fact quite resistant. After hearing that they wouldn't be paid and that the deal was an alliance for their lives, five bounty hunters and the whole guard rushed the room. Desperate for some leverage you deflected the barrage of incoming blaster fire along with your master while leading them slowly out to the landing platform.

Finally, she's good for something you thought as Bo Katan fired rockets into the fortress, effectively killing most of the guard.

    You gave chase back into the fortress and fought the remaining bounty hunters. Unwillingly admitting that they were giving you more trouble than you would've hoped. Darting away from a purple woman with orange hair you kicked a dog off of your master while the bounty hunters made their retreat. Maul was convinced that they wouldn't be a further threat so you let them escape with their lives and empty pockets.

    You ended up having to travel to the gods awful desert planet of Tatooine for Jabba to finally agree to your terms.

       Back on Zanbar you and Savage shared a meal while Maul oversaw the organization of the troops and mixed crime syndicates.

"You seem restless." Savage noted.

"Duuuh." You exasperated. "All this planning and waiting and organizing. Ugh, I wanna go fuck shit up. We've been so busy with the boring shit I haven't even had time to train. Aside from that bounty hunter scuffle."

"Worry not little one, you'll be terrorizing the Mandalorians planet side with everyone soon enough." You scoffed at his response to which he cocked his brow.

"No, I'm not. Master wants me in the shadows. Something about the people recognizing me later on being a problem with his grand scheme."

"He has a habit of only telling half of a truth. Trust comes slowly to him. You know this." You sighed, pushing away your plate and pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Yes, I'm well aware. More so than he would like I'm sure."

"He cares very deeply for you."

"And I him but all this sitting around will get me nowhere. I told you about what happened on Malachor... for the first time since I've joined you two it feels like my feet are taking me some where I'm not supposed to go... it's been weeks and the only thing I've learned in that time frame is how to take his cock in secret, away from prying eyes."

    Savage nearly choked and also disregarded his food and sat looking at you with a pained look in his eyes.

"What will you do then?"

"Honestly? I haven't the faintest idea. All I know is that I'm supposed to 'extinguish the fear but always remember that 'the shadow cannot exist without the light' whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean."

"If you don't know what it means how do you know you're on the wrong path?" You paused at his question.

"Jedi and Sith both always say to trust in the force... I need to meditate on this."

    Savage nodded as you stood from your seat walking back towards your tent. Your master was a strong force user and ever since that night you two had opened up your minds to one another, truly lay bare before the other, it was damn near impossible to keep him out. When you passed him and Vizsla you had known they couldn't hear your conversation but the way that his eyes followed you. A specific crease in his brow. You had no doubt it had anything to do with Vizsla's ramblings, you realized he probably felt your conflict.

    Disappearing into your canvas enclosure you tried to push the thought of your lover, no, your master; down and away from the forefront of your mind. Gods above though, he was your lover. You loved him, so much. What if he was guiding you away from the place you needed to go? Everything felt right before you allied with the Death Watch. The weeks you spent training and traveling to Malachor felt right. But this, this felt like it was his path not yours. If your destinies didn’t cross would he abandon his to join you? Could you abandon yours to join him? You knelt in the center of your tent and straightened your back, closing your eyes. Allowing your mind to rest, allow the wild eradications to still and drift away. This was important. This was your destiny. You suddenly realized why, although you'd never admit it, the Jedi forbid attachments in their freakish cult.

#maul x reader #maul smut #darth maul #sith apprentice #savage opress #platonic savage #maul fluff #sith warrior #starwars au #star wars au #star wars #swtcw x reader #swtcw smut

[norcumii]

The Alpha 17 Supplemental

We all deserve something a little nice. So here’s a rough draft preview of the Star to Steer By Alpha 17 supplemental. (Please note, this is unbetaed, subject to change, etc.)

I hope y’all have a good day. <3

~~~~

Alpha 17 was a good soldier. He knew from a very early age that he was good at combat, loved it, and he pushed himself to be the best that the GAR could produce.

He knew some of his brothers thought that made him a bit simple, limited, unambitious.

He didn’t care.

The trainers worried, concerned that he didn’t seem to pick up outside hobbies or interests. He could practically hear ‘there’s more to life than fighting!’ every time he got that look, the doubt screaming in their eyes. He knew that meant another psych eval was in his near future, and it was frustrating because they didn’t get it.

He liked fighting. He liked the simple math, how goal plus obstacle equaled a straightforward picture. He could break that down, take it apart and rearrange the bits for more carnage, less causalities, different outcomes depending on the goal. Some brothers liked painting, or reading, or whatever. Alpha 17 liked taking a battlefield to pieces, and the addition of life’s chaos and unpredictability just made it exciting.

It got worse as he got older, signing up for the ARC program the literal minute he was able to. His batchmates only rolled their eyes a little – they at least didn’t poke at him about it – but everyone else? The whispers just got more annoying.

ARC training was serious business, was he sure he wanted to? ARC training meant learning the ropes for hosting - like that would ever matter - and that didn’t seem to be the kind of thing he’d like. ARC training had a ridiculous wash-out rate, required a steady temperament, often led to a much shorter lifespan, blah blah blah.

ARCs got into the middle of the most interesting shit, were given command and solo missions in equal measure. They didn’t stick to any one thing, historically they were the ones getting shit done, and if there was trouble, they were liable to be at ground zero.

Of course Alpha 17 wanted in on that. So he did something else he was very good at: he kept his head down and worked his shebs off.

Didn’t stop the occasional complaints. He brushed off the ones that he could, went through all the usual psych evals (and the bonus ones too), and kept learning what he could. He trained, he excelled, he fought.

The attitude didn’t stop coming either, but that was no surprise. He might be stubborn, but so was the rest of the GAR. Came with the job description. Not that he took more than he had to, of course. After one instructor complained about excessive casualties, the next exercise he took an absurdly round-about approach which resulted in record low casualties for the sim exercise.

The next day he handed in a complaint against himself about incompetence, excessive caution, and an evaluation about how taking that fucking long would have resulted in a campaign that was far too high in cost, time, and resources.

The instructor quit bitching after that.

Alpha 17 started his ARC training as the youngest in his class. ARC trooper Alpha 17 went into his cryo stint as top graduate of his class, having already had a successful and noteworthy acclimation stint all around the mid- to outer-rim.

*****

Three years after his thaw, Alpha 17 returned from a mission totally-not-exploding some wildly unpleasant slavers’ headquarters to find the usual stack of correspondence waiting for him. He kept his holo-mail down to a screaming minimum as much as possible, because everyone and their classified dog preferred to send secured intel via datapads or datasticks or whatever data-things they could secure to biometrics and ident scans. He grabbed the box for incoming shit and hauled it off to his quarters, because it’d been almost four months away and even he would admit to needing a real godsdamned shower in his own fucking apartment.

He might’ve ignored the pile long enough for a decent meal from the commissary and a few hours of rack time out of sheer spite. When 17 finally sat down to sort it, he wasn’t too surprised that almost a quarter of the pads had the glossy red endcaps indicating highest priority. It took a second glance to register that one of those had further detailing, the Jedi Order’s symbol embossed on the center of the red caps.

That was different. 17 set down the two pads he’d grabbed at random to pick it up instead. The metal shell wasn’t new, but it held few of the dings and scratches any correspondence gained traveling through the courier system. Recently made or rarely used.

“The hell?” he muttered, powering it up. Official Order business of some sort, but what kind of mission could –

17’s brain stalled out as he finally read the simple, clear message.

Simple, clear, and about as unlikely as him sprouting wings and flying to Corellia without a ship. “Potential host.” Nope, sounded even crazier out loud. “Like hell.” He tossed the pad down and slumped back in his chair, staring at the datapad in confusion. How the fuck was he a potential host? What kind of Jedi could he possibly have a match with?

In some kind of vain hope that the message would change to something that made sense given enough time, 17 mechanically went through the rest of his mail. Several innocuous messages regarding hazard pay; five potential missions, two of which had a time window long past; one message rescinding one of the other potential missions; one airworthiness directive and recall about a jetpack model he hated anyways; somehow even more questions about his deposition for the fucking Cato Neimoidia cluster because lawyers were never truly done.

All the usual bullshit, really.

Didn’t change the potential host message, though.

*****

Alpha 17 answered the call, of course. He sent a reply message off, confirmed the trip to Coruscant via the usual GAR channels, and then he tried to lose himself in post-mission paperwork.

It didn’t help that if anything was less likely to occupy his attention, it was paperwork. Even the usual joys of finding new and ridiculous euphemisms for ‘killed a bunch of assholes’ and ‘blew up a lot of shit’ were empty and useless.

The question of what kind of Jedi could possibly consider him a match dogged him all the way to Coruscant, and only got worse when he walked into the changing room with the other two candidates. One was a quiet, well-dressed Zeltron who was the most unassuming being 17 had ever laid eyes on. Short red hair, heading towards middle-age, and 100% unremarkable – he wouldn’t call them “bland,” but he wouldn’t argue the point if someone else did. The other one was an older Wookiee who sauntered in with all the trappings of an AgriCorp member, cheerfully growling observations about everything with an air of nervous excitement.

Sure, he knew the matching was probably on different quadrants, but what the hells could he have in common with these two?

The Jedi deposited on the fourth side of the table was a bit on the small side – maybe fully grown, maybe just younger but with their mature coloring. It was hard to tell with Jedi, even for someone who was good at that kind of thing.

That was not in 17’s skillset.

It was no help whatsoever that the Jedi turned towards 17 first. He felt ridiculous, stretching out his hand like he was inviting someone’s pet to take a whiff, but somehow this was worse than in training. Training meant everyone had to be there, and was going through the motions, but this –

This was the real deal. What the fuck was 17 doing, really applying to be a host?

The Jedi curled around his wrist, warmer than expected. He could feel the faint buzz in his mind of the Jedi’s mental probe – nothing that could be strong enough to read actual thoughts, but enough to give them a decent impression of 17. He had to stifle down a snicker, imagining what it might be like to feel his mind. I like fighting, blowing shit up, and doing my job. Sorry to waste your time, Jedi.

The pulse of amusement – real, and not his – was a bucket of ice down his spine. Shit. Shiiiit, he hoped that hadn’t been somehow broadcast. It probably hadn’t, but that was awkward. Meanwhile, the Jedi let out a quiet hiss, sharing some kind of emotional nudge to pass them along.

It was hard not rubbing at his wrist where the Jedi had been as the other two host-potentials went through the ritual. 17 was sure that some of the discomfort was due to being out of armor, but a quiet part of him wondered about the strange reaction anyways.

Hosting wasn’t a thing. He’d never given the faintest shit about hosting, he just wanted to be an ARC.

He was paying enough attention to do all the bowing and whatever that was called for, but it took the amused chuffing of a Wookiee to pull 17 all the way back to the matter at hand.

Literally at hand; the Jedi was back near his wrist, looking up at him with those four bright eyes and a body posture that might indicate concern.

Wait, WHAT? 17’s head jerked up, and he looked at the other two in the room. The Wookiee was grinning, while the Zeltron was hiding their amusement almost well enough that they just looked a little bored. He couldn’t help but feel that it was intentional that he could read the body language at all. 17 looked back down at the Jedi, who weh-ed at him.

“What are you doing?” 17 asked right back, because there was no way this could be happening. The Jedi scooted a little closer to him, making another hissing noise. With the continued sensation that this could not really be happening, 17 held his hand out to the Jedi.

They sauntered right onto his palm, still giving him that look. Another glance at the other host-potentials confirmed the impossible, but 17 was still slow enough lifting the Jedi that there was plenty of time for someone to declare that this was some ridiculous mistake, or prank, or something.

Nobody said anything as 17 opened his mouth and let the Jedi in. There was that feeling of movement that wasn’t (except it really was), then there was a new voice in 17’s mind.

#Hello there,# the Jedi declared. They sounded male, young, good natured. Not at all like what 17 would have expected. #I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.#

#Well that’s a mouthful,# 17 couldn’t help but think, bemused and not quite sure what the hell was going on.

There was a sound of muffled laughter, accompanied by something not-really-a-flash to how that was a pun given how the Jedi – Kenobi – had just entered. #From a certain perspective, yes.#

17 smirked, enjoying the feel of a fellow sapient in spite of himself. #Alpha 17. ARC-17017.#

*****

It was always easy to tell the difference between Qui-Gon and Tahl. She moved with thoughtful purpose, feet planted solid on the ground and shoulders aggressively square. Jinn flowed more, confident and feline, certain of himself in a sometimes arrogant way that could piss off even the most serene being, let alone Alpha 17.

He liked and respected them both, more than he or Obi-Wan figured most people understood. He hadn’t expected that, when he’d first met the Jedi and host that were to be Obi-Wan’s – and his, in a sense – primary trainers. He’d resented that at first, not that he’d admit it. He was no youngling, for all that Obi-Wan was a shiny. Obi-Wan also had inherited memories, and since 17 was a well-trained and skilled soldier, they should be good to go in short order.

Then they had their first training session with Obi-Wan’s brand new lightsaber.

The less said about that fiasco, the better.

It took time to learn how everything fit together; 17’s blaster and fighting skills, Obi-Wan’s genuine talent for the lightsaber and acrobatics that thanks to the Force were well outside the normal bounds for a clone, and how the Force integrated with it all.

The first time 17 dodged away from a sparring partner only to reach and yank their legs out from under them, dumping them to the floor several meters away, he’d been stunned. It was one thing to know Jedi – and thus their hosts – could use the Force, it was totally another to see it in action, and it was a far different beast to do that impossibility himself.

He liked it, though. It was interesting to find there was a whole new area and styles of fighting he could apply himself to, and as always he did so with excessive diligence.

With the comforting glee inside his head of a Jedi just as eager to learn, and to fight, he no longer questioned why the hell he’d been the one to host Obi-Wan.

~end section

#star wars #our writing #star to steer by #star to steer by 2 #alpha 17 #Hugs #hugs for everyone

[coexiising]

west coast - anakin skywalker

SUMMARY ◆ you and anakin have just never gotten along and there seemed to be no way to get you guys to cooperate. hate sex basically. 

WARNING(S) ◆ smut, degradation, some bad names, rough sex, but there’s consent because consent is sexy, cursing,  choking, unprotected sex, fingering, anakin skywalker is a tease and a bitch, witty banter,  i pretend to understand the force and probably make up my own rules, unedited

WORDS ◆ 3.6k

»»————-　✼　————-««

THE EVENING LIGHT OF THE SUN SPILLED INTO THE LARGE HALL OF THE JEDI TEMPLE, BLANKETING EVERYTHING INSIDE WITH A SHEER COAT OF GOLDEN RAYS. coruscant was always so beautiful in the evenings, the way that the cars sped past each building with a low hum and the rush of traffic. it was a sound that you have grown to welcome these days, especially because it had been many years since you’ve lived here. the capital was beautiful, bustling with life and opportunities. 

your elbow was on the table, palm pressed against your cheek as you leaned against it lazily, poking at the food on your plate with a fork in your other hand. obi-wan was mouthing off in front of you, not that you were really listening anyways. you were too focused on trying to stay awake listening to this mission that he was assigned to bring both you and anakin on in a weeks time. though his speech was pretty much worthless since the other padawan was no where to be found. neither of you had seen him for a couple hours. 

oh well, you thought to yourself. it’s not like you missed him anyways. besides, he was probably with padme or getting in trouble somewhere like he was always doing. 

anakin and you . . . well, it was a complicated relationship. you had been assigned to work with master obi-wan after your master died on a freak accident, and ever since then, you were forced to work with anakin skywalker. you two didn’t get along, you never did. you were even surprised that obi-wan put up with it, but he wanted to train both of you. to say that you missed your life before you had to talk to anakin every day would be the understatement of the year, you longed for the days where you didn’t have to be in the same room as him and watch as everyone fawned over the chosen one. god, even your thoughts were going to make you throw up. it was better to bask in this non-anakin-ness the most you could before he came waltzing into the hall. 

unfortunately, right as you stopped thinking about him, anakin walked into the hall towards the food and would most likely make his way over and sit at your shared table with your master. you felt a groan go past your lips and looked down at your food, stabbing your starfruit and popping it into your mouth. 

a chuckle came from obi-wan in front of you. “you can at least act like you like him you know, might be easier to deal with it that way.” you shrugged, shaking your head and looking up to face your master. “I mean, saying that as your friend not your master.” 

“you’re one to talk, what did you call him yesterday? oh that’s right, insolent. if memory serves you said that to him pretty confidently,” you said. 

“well, yes, but I'm allowed to say those things,” obi-wan countered, popping up one of his expressive eyebrows as he looked at you. 

you stifled out a weak laugh, “I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of me liking him.” and that was the truth, there is no way that you weren’t going to do what almost everyone does here: allow him to get away with the things that he does. sometimes your master calls him out on things - but it was incredibly rare. 

anakin walked over in his usual fashion, which you deemed as strutting, but others didn’t see the humor in it. maybe it was just because every time he even was in the same room as you, you felt the need to insult something about him, you had to keep him grounded, right?

“good evening, y/n.”

“oh, it was,” you said to him, glancing in his direction and then instantly going back to your food. from the corner of your eye you could see as his face feigned hurt, then he immediately went to talking with obi-wan about the mission that your master had previously been briefing with you about. it was something about some trouble on the outer rim, separatists spotted trying to negotiate with the rulers of a planet that was vital for the republic to maintain peace with. a typical mission, one that you’ve been on one too many times. but maybe something exciting would happen, you never knew. 

dinner was, for the most part, uneventful. the only thing that happened was anakin threatening to throw his starfruit at you because you rolled your eyes at one of his comments, which didn’t end up happening because obi-wan gave him that look and a stern ‘anakin.’ 

for the rest of the night you retired to your rooms, telling the two you would meet them in the morning. 

you sat at the edge of your bed, kicking off your shoes and stretching your arms up. you set your comms down on the small nightstand you had and got dressed in something more comfortable for sleeping. the sun was fully down now, and the only thing that lit up your room was the tall lamp in the corner of your room and the distant lights of other buildings through your windows. 

as you slipped into bed under the covers, you allowed your mind to wander. first, to the mission, where you silently went over the details in your head to make sure you had them all memorized. you knew for certain that anakin didn’t, which could possibly give you a leg up in the future. and the more you pondered, the more they landed on anakin.

it was strange, thinking of him. typically you would be cringing at anything that included anything to do with anakin skywalker, but this time you allowed your mind to expand instead of bringing up the protective barriers like you always did. the calming effect of letting the force just make its way through every neuron and crevice of your mind was almost enough to lull you to sleep. 

that was until you heard a whisper, just the faintest, tiniest little sound that you were almost uncertain that you had even heard anything at all. 

your eyes stayed closed, again letting the force do what it wanted in your mind and waiting to see if it happened again. there was a presence there, just on the outer barriers of your mind. there was silence, complete and utter silence and you were about to call it a night when-

you’re thinking about me? 

you jolted up to sit, eyes snapping open and your head getting dizzy from the sudden shift in position. it was anakin’s voice, clear as day in your mind, that was what you were hearing. how could you be so stupid? it was like the force was trying to push that connection. and now that it was established, you knew that you would have to put up more barriers in your mind in order to keep him out. 

and the worst thing was that he was still there. you could feel it. you put your hands on either side of your head and closed your eyes, reaching him and saying, 

i was not. 

it was the weakest lie you had ever made in your life. 

you’re such a liar, anakin chided. you could practically feel his smirk. just admit it. 

you groaned to yourself, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your face from the focus. goodnight, anakin, you said to him and then immediately cut off the connection. 

now you were wide awake, you were sure that there was no way you could get any sleep after that. you weren’t even angry at yourself for doing that, but more embarrassed that your thoughts connected you to anakin - because you were thinking about him. you knew there was no way you were getting out of this tomorrow. 

you busied yourself at your desk with some books you had previously gotten from the archives, trying your best to basically bore yourself to the brink of sleep. and just as you thought it was beginning to work, you heard a knock on your door. glancing at the clock, you saw that it was a little bit past midnight. who the hell was at your door at this hour?

for a moment you stilled, thinking that perhaps it was a mistake and they would leave then you could finally try and sleep, but there was again another knock a few moments later. you finally stood up and made your way to the door, opening it and being greeted by none other than anakin skywalker. he was dressed in his comfort clothes and hair messy, like he had been awake for way too long. 

he didn’t give you any time to say anything, instead pushing his way past you into your rooms. your eyes widened and you took a peek outside into the halls to make sure that no one saw that. luckily, the halls were dead. closing your door and turning the lock, you faced him and stood there deadpanned, waiting for some kind of explanation. 

“well, don’t act all happy to see me,” he said sarcastically. 

you laughed. “im not. what are you doing here? do you understand what could happen if someone sees you and me in my bedroom alone?” there would be rumors spreading like wildfire, something that you definitely didn’t need to be confronted by the council about this. you hated to admit that you knew the exact reason he was here - because of your mini conversation through the force. but that still begged the question as to why he cared so much about it in the first place. 

anakin rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. you took a second to look him over, seeing that the black shirt he was wearing was sheer enough for you to know what he was hiding under it. you shuddered, coming to your senses again and frowning. “you were thinking about me, and i think i deserve an explanation,” anakin told you, shrugging his large shoulders and cocking an eyebrow up. “you were thinking so loud.” 

“I wasn’t trying to, i was trying to go to sleep.” you countered. 

“you think of me while trying to sleep?”

damn. wrong thing to say. and now he was giving you a look, one that you’ve never seen before from him. his eyes were almost dark, filled with lust. you felt like your fucking legs were going to give out at the look that he was giving you. it was enough to make your face heat up and clear your throat, not having anything else to say, there really wasn’t anything to defend yourself with. 

and it all happened so fast. one second you were both standing there, staring into each other’s eyes, and the next you both were walking towards each other and colliding your lips onto each others. the kiss was hot and searing, instantly making your head go dizzy at the feeling. his lips were soft, albeit a little harsh as his tongue forced its way into your mouth and prodded against your own. anakin’s hand came to grip your jaw, the other on the small of your back. 

you attempted to grab onto him, get your hands on him as much as his were on you, but he didn’t let you, using the hand on your back to pull you closer to your bed. you were still kissing, lips starting to swell with the agressiveness of the kiss. 

you still hated him, you had to keep telling yourself that, even though just by kissing he was making you feel so good. no attachments were to be made, this was purely just acting on normal human instincts, right? 

soon enough the backs of your legs were hitting the edge of your bed, anakin pushed you down onto the bed like it was nothing and you were silly putty molding in his hands. he fell on top of you, instead of kissing you on the lips, he went for your neck, one of his hands came and grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked it down, exposing your neck for him. 

and he made sure that you would have to somehow cover all the marks he was making, because his teeth seemed to graze over every inch of your skin and lightly nip anywhere he wanted. and you felt dirty because you let him. you would let him do whatever he wanted to do to you. 

anakin pulled away from you for a moment to pull his shirt off, discarding it to the floor and helping you to do the same with your shirt. you took a moment to look him over, seeing that his body was practically sculpted and personally handcrafted by the maker themselves, basically knocking the breath out of you. he noticed and you didn’t even care, instead of cringing at his smirk, you found it incredibly hot. 

your hands came to his torso, wrapping your legs around his waist as his mouth began kissing along your chest. you pressed your hips up against him, trying to get friction against your already wet core. sadly, it wasn’t enough and you were left with whatever he decided to give you. 

“anakin, please,” you whispered out towards him, looking down to watch him slip one of your nipples into his mouth, your mouth hung wide open. he came off of it with a ‘pop’ and tilted his head, waiting for you to finish whatever you were going to say. 

“please what?” anakin asked, going back to kissing your chest until he landed on your stomach and started painting masterpieces on your skin. 

you made the tinest sound, feeling sparks send right down below. “just touch me already,” you stated, putting your hands in his hair and giving the curles a good tug. he groaned against him, the vibrations going through your entire body. anakin came up face to face with you, pressing yet another kiss against your lips and pushing down your pants and underwear to the ground. you were now all exposed to him, while he still wore half of his outfit. you pouted at the unfairness but you knew it would get you nowhere now. 

he held his hand out in front of you and for a moment you looked at him confused. he sensed this and said blankly, “spit.” you did what he asked and spit into his hand, watching as he took that same hand and touch your clit, feeling the wetness of your spit and your own mixing together. your mouth hung open as he rubbed his fingers around, experimentally pushing the tip of his finger into you then immediately pulled it out. 

you felt yourself almost whine, needing him to give you more or you felt like you would simply die on the spot. right as you were about to say something, anakin’s other hand came and grasped onto your neck, his fingers digging into your skin and putting pressure on your throat. 

holy fuck. 

typically, you would be angry with how much control anakin skywalker had over you, but now you were just giving into it, liking that he was being rough with you. it was like a form of argument without the words and you were becoming addicted to it. he was able to make you feel so good and you were completely in his power. 

finally, as if he was putting some pity on you, one finger slipped into you, curling up and hitting a spot inside you that made you moan loudly. the hand choking you became stronger against your neck, his mouth coming to your ear and whispering, “be quiet, you don’t want anyone to hear us and have this be over too soon, do you?” he was looking for an answer. 

you shook your head, understanding that this would not be the best time to get caught by anyone else. you tried your best to keep yourself quiet as one finger pumped in you, the thumb of that same hand pressing against your clit and making your toes curl in pleasure. you could feel how hard he was against you and that made the fire in your stomach ablaze, nearing towards that edge desperately wanting some kind of release. 

as soon as you felt yourself getting higher to that point, his hand came off your throat and his hand stopped moving, your eyes opened up and looked at him, who was busy pulling down his pants and grabbing his cock with his hand. 

it didn’t take long for him to position himself at your enterance, his tip teasing you by rubbing it up and down against your slit. “is this what you want?” anakin asked you, his other hand tracing down your body and coming to grip the side of your hip. 

you nodded your head fervently. “yes, anakin, please just fuck me already,” you said to him. 

and that was all he needed before he was ramming himself into you, giving you no time to adjust, which was expected. you took the pain that came with his harsh motions, both of his hands gripping your hips with such force that you were sure that you were going to have bruises there in the morning in the shape of his hands. 

anakin pounded into you, your voice was already hoarse from his choking and you made as quiet sounds as you could. all that anger you had for each other had bubbled up onto the surface and there was only the desire left, the sickly sweet feeling that you had only dreamed about with anakin in your deepest fantasies. you could never get tired of this, perhaps you should’ve initiated this sooner, or pushed his buttons so he would take it out on you this way. 

“god, you’re so fucking tight,” anakin said in that deep, gravelly voice that basically sent you into orbit the second that it came past your lips. you were so far gone, head empty of any incoherent thought other than anakin skywalker. and he continued to move into you shamelessly, neither of you caring about anything in the world except this feeling both of you were chasing. 

you were close, you could practically feel the tidal wave starting to form inside your stomach. his pace would not let up, practically tearing into you with all the energy and stamina that he had from years of training. and anakin looked so good like this, his mouth hung open and sweat forming on that tanned brow of his. his muscles working overtime and flexing with every single movement he made. and his eyes, which were so blue like the oceans of naboo, were staring right into your own, almost like they were telling you to give everything to him. 

you were so worked up, that it only took his hand to come down and rub down against your clit, the pressure enough to push you over the edge. it was like a firework went off inside and the scream you wanted to make died in your throat, wishing that you could be as loud as you wanted. your back arched up and your hips faltered against his own, cumming around him and squeezing, earning a moan from his lips as well. you looked so good coming undone that anakin basically was just sent into fucking orbit with no trace of coming back down. 

the second you regained your composure and came down from your own orgasm, you watched as anakin hit his own, hips shifting and releasing right inside of him. you felt him fill you up to the brim, anakin falling down with his chest pressed against your own. the room smelled of sex and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

the only thing was the sounds of your pants throughout the room, and soon enough anakin was pulling out of you. you frowned at the sudden loss of not being filled up anymore by him. just a second ago you felt like you were on fucking cloud nine and now you were crashing right down to reality at what you had done, and whom you had just done it with. 

you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as anakin pulled his pants back up and started gathering the rest of his clothes in his hand. he was still shirtless, about to go towards the door when you said, “are you seriously going out there half naked?” 

“no one is up this late, trust me,” he said back. 

you bit the inside of your cheek. “well I don’t know about that after all the noises coming from here.” 

“that wasn’t me making all the moans,” anakin says in such a casual way you stare daggers back at him. he stifles out a laugh and then turns, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. you can hear his footsteps recede from the door and you are left here alone, thinking about what the hell you had just done. 

once you regained your composure and felt like you could walk, you stood up on your wobbly feet and made your way to your small mirror. the second you got there, you gasped at your appearance in the mirror. hair all messed up, marks all along your neck along with bruises from his hands, and the bruises on your hips. and to top it all off, you could feel what he left in you trickling down your thigh. 

that may have just been the best sex of your life. but you still hated anakin skywalker . . . 

. . . right?

#y'all ever heard the tragedy of darth- kidding #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #star wars prequels #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #obi-wan kenobi #anakin smut #star wars smut #star wars the clone wars #attack of the clones #revenge of the sith

[phoenixyfriend]

Madara and Obito... In SPACE

So the preface to this mess: I don’t know jackshit about Star Wars, so a lot of this went through friends who do know Star Wars (the primary of which does not have a tumblr).

(I have watched Episodes 7&8, and Rogue One. Of the first six movies, I remember watching maybe an hour total. I have not seen more than snatches of Clone Wars. Beyond that, nothing but fic.)

Anyway! Let’s go:

As y’all probably know by now, my favorite form of crossover is what I call “intrusive,” so... I'm enjoying the mental concept of "dump Madara on Coruscant and watch him go." (Prequels, probably.)

Does Madara know what's going on? No. Can he understand a word that's being said? No! Is he going to fight the first person to aim a weapon at him, and every person after that? Yes.

Is Madara fighting fit?

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnno, not really, he’s old as balls. This is "I was on cave life support but I'm getting back up to kick ass out of pure spite" Madara.

[Image description: A screenshot of a panel of the Naruto Manga. Uchiha Madara is old and visibly ‘decrepit,’ with spiky white hair and an amorphous black robe. He is sitting on a pale throne, and there is a scythe visible to the side. He has a speech bubble saying “I am... a ghost of the Uchiha.” End Description]

Two wrinkly old guys, staring each other down: There ain't enough room in this universe for the two of us. [Palpatine and Madara start fighting to the death]

Congrats, Palpatine! Your ass is getting kicked by a geriatric malcontent who doesn't speak any language you've ever heard or feel like literally anything in the Force. You may have Sith lightning, but do you have decades of frontline experiences and over half a century of cave-dwelling bitterness?

Both of them, simultaneously, in completely different languages: Get off my lawn, whipper-snapper.

Palpatine: Behold my mastery of the Dark Side, Foolish old man! Palpatine: [shoots lightning] Madara: Oh hey, you're like the seventeenth most dangerous person who can shoot lightning I've fought. Telekinesis? Fought that. Combat precognition? Fought that, have that, and let me tell you hwat, it doesn't help if you're opponent is just that much faster than you.

Now, I’ll take a step back and acknowledge that several people advised me that Palpatine would stand a chance against Madara, likely even win, if Madara just got hacked off of his life support and is down to one eye.

But. I want a shitpost, and also to clown on Palpatine, so Madara wins easily.

Madara also deserves to be clowned on, but the entire situation is clowning on him because he’s not in his cave anymore, and he really wants to go back to his Gedou Mazou statue.

Maybe Madara and Palpatine go Old Man Fight and then Obito just pulls a Ninja Move and kills Palpatine that way. Madara was ranting and Obito just. Ninjas behind Palpatine and slits his throat like “okay, you’re obviously evil so like... bye.”

(I just love causing "Wait what" reactions in characters that are used to having total control. Like. Have you read "Unexpected Guests"? The Bleach fic? Everything that happens in Hueco Mundo and after. That energy. I want that energy.)

Madara waves his scythe around like a cane. Obito just trails after like “Gramps, no” because it’s still pre-Sanbi, so he’s Mostly Innocent (you know, on the scale of how fucked up Obito is as a person), and just wants Madara to like. Stop.

Palpatine dies but nobody's sure what to charge Madara with since he did kind of expose a Sith? And Palpatine attacked first for [handwave] reasons?

Jedi: Well sir, in lieu of charging you with assassination of the emperor, we have decided to ask you politely to return to the elderly person's retirement home from whence you came. Please leave immediately. You are frightening the senate. Madara: [incomprehensible raving] Jedi: Yes yes, very interesting. Jedi, whispering: Does anyone know his caretaker???

Obito looks increasingly put-upon as events progress. You need Obito there to... well, not translate. Nobody can translate. But to at least poke Madara into being Slightly Less Homicidal.

Anakin seems sad about his friend dying and being evil so Obito challenges him to a spar. Madara and Obito get pulled into the Jedi Temple to help train Padawans? My first thought was "they wouldn't trust someone so obviously Weird, Crazy, and Incomprehensible around the younglings" and my second thought was "well they let Yoda do it and he's all those things so I mean? YEAH."

What if they put Madara in the bacta tank and he just freshened up like a daisy because of hand-wave Hashirama cell reasons (Blame Sir Tiddyface).

From “Decrepit and Reliant on Cave Tube Life Support” to “Will Call Down Meteors With Ease”

How many eyes does he have? Whatever’s funniest. Let’s say one Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan and one Rinnegan, for maximum chaos.

Would "half my body is missing" Obito freak out if Bacta regrew his eye? Can bacta regrow something like that? When characters lose limbs they usually just get cybernetic replacements, but  the person I spoke with said that apparently they saw somewhere that that kind of thing can grow back it just takes a really long time.

I want to imagine bacta would help Obito with the Zetsu integration.

Anyway! Yes. Have Madara help train people despite being... Madara about it. You know... kind of a dick.

(I’d put example gifs but I don’t feel up to it. Y’all know what Madara’s “weakness disgusts me” ass is like.)

Obito had to get his "these fools could never make me sweat" sass from somewhere, after all.

Do you think Obito could fight the baby Jedi that are around his age while recovering? I have no idea what their skill level is at fourteen, but I want to imagine Obito sparring the Padawans.

Obito + Zetsu + Bacta = he still needs physical therapy but he can spar again!

Madara is delighted to have a baby ninja to bully. He's too old to not bully baby ninjas, and Obito is the only baby ninja. TBH Madara just makes Obito his assistant teacher.

Obito: What are we even doing here and how do we get home? Madara: I'm still working on that. Obito: But I want to go home and see Rin and Kakashi! Madara, who was like two days away from triggering the Sanbi plan: I'm working on it.

Something sticking in my mind rn is Ahsoka&Obito, since Obito is still Baby.

I think Obito would be excited to have someone his age that thought he was Cool and Talented for being able to do Chakra Things instead of writing him off as "the dead-last." Like, Rin is friends with him, but she doesn't look up to him as someone more/differently talented.  He'd be excited to get to be "The Mysterious Cool Big Bro" for once.

I feel I also just like the idea of Anakin not knowing what to do with someone Several Years Younger that is also. Ninja Skill.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

Madara is a grouchy old man even AFTER he gets effectively de-aged via bacta dunk, for the record. He's back in his prime and the Jedi have no idea how. They're all concerned about tiddyface*. (When are people not concerned about Sir Tiddyface, really.) The mokuton is a problem.

*Sir Tiddyface is that random Hashirama face that Madara had growing out of his pecs for like... convoluted bullshit reasons.

(Madara doesn't have mokuton, but he has enough Hashirama cells that it interacted very, VERY weirdly with the bacta.)

Obito spends the intervening weeks trying to learn the local language. He's very eager. Not particularly fast. Still doing it though!

I want Obito juggling kunai as physical therapy while he's waiting for Mads to get out of the bacta tank and just gains himself the adoration of a gaggle of small baby Jedi children.

Madara comes out of the bacta tank looking like he did in his prime (which I mentioned earlier but whatever), and it absolutely incites a yelling match of an argument that draws way too much attention.

Someone tries to teach Obito how to access the Force, just to see what happens. He almost turns into a statue because the philosophy behind Force meditation is only a few steps away from Sage Mode Meditation.

Anyway, Madara smacks him with a stick like Fukasaku to make sure Obito doesn't turn into stone.

Madara grumps about the lack of paper and brushes and ink. Bitches about it until someone hits up an antique store or something to get them for him. The day before he and Obito are dispatched on a mission with someone, probably Anakin for plot reasons, Madara very publicly seals things into a scroll and then tells them that no, they can't learn it, because the Force isn't chakra so fuuinjutsu won't work for them, so There.

Obito practices some Teen Rebellion (tm) and like, tries to teach the Padawan friends he's made how to do Chakra Things... but he's so bad at explaining things that nobody can get it to work even if it were possible.

In Obito's defense, language barriers. Not in Obito's defense, he's just really bad at words sometimes.

#Star Wars #Star Wars Prequels #Naruto #Uchiha Madara #Uchiha Obito #crossovers #Phoenix Posts #body horror mention

[bluescluelessly]

Can we see Obi-wan getting the hugs he deserves? (preferably gen)

[Rating: T] || [tw: slavery mention]

For once in his life, Obi-Wan Kenobi is eager to get to a medbay. As Ahsoka breaks off to speak with the Togrutan Governor, he splits off with Plo and Anakin's group, following them as his former padawan and his fellow council member discuss the reconstruction and relief efforts the Republic will be making.

He keeps a smile on his face, his shoulders up, back straight, and barely listens. He gives his input where it's asked for, nods approvingly at what they say, and then at the first break in conversation, he begs off. "Ah- you two certainly have things handled from here. I think Helix might kill me if I don't have have my shoulder looked at, so if it's all the same, I'll leave you to it."

He gives them both a quick nod and farewell, then follows the steady stream of clone troopers and (former) Togrutan slaves towards the medbay on Plo Koon's flagship. As he walks, he recognises several refugees who were direct victims of his attempts to 'help'. He averts his eyes after that, unable to bear the weight of the guilt he feels for their suffering.

At least no more will suffer for his attempts to make things better. But that isn't true, is it? The great and terrible General Kenobi, bringing peace to world after world by force. He goes where the war does... or perhaps war follows hot on his heels.

No. Focus. Mind clear, eyes ahead.

His posture goes rigid, eyes fixating forward and catching on the nearest Togrutan victim. She's limping, clearly struggling to walk...

She needs help. He could go up to her, offer her his good shoulder to lean on--

The ghostly buzzing of an elecrowhip stings his ears, and he flinches irrationally.

He has to duck into an empty hallway for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning against a wall. The cold durasteel against his forehead helps, mostly.

He must get ahold of himself.

Why can't he move past these feelings? Why won't the Force accept his guilt, let him release it. Why is it so different from last time?

He's been a slave before... he remembers it, if only vaguely. A month spent on bandomeer, an explosive collar 'round the slight neck of his 13 year old self.

It hadn't hurt so much, then.

What makes this encounter so different? What-- no, don't think about it, don't think don't thinkdon'tthink---

Obi-Wan stays there for a moment, frozen as he's torn between trying not to think and trying to force himself to move past this moment. He still needs to get to the medbay.

It takes longer than he would like to admit to collect himself. Once he has, Obi-Wan leaves the hallway, rejoining the procession to the medbay. Meditation and rest, that's what he needs. He'll be fine once he has that.

Meditation and rest, that's all. Right foot, left foot. Keep going, down the hall.

He almost doesn't notice when he reaches his destination, eyes downcast. He's just become part of the flow of people around him, head down, feet dragging as exhaustion creeps in on him.

The only tell that he's entered the medbay is the sight of the threshold as he crosses it, and the sound of gruff clone voices guiding people where they need to be.

Finally, his head lifts, and he takes in the sights around him.

Dozens of Togruta are scattered around the room in varying degrees of distress. He feels tears begin to sting his eyes as he sees a man laid face down, still as death while a medic cleans the electrolash wounds on his back and lekku. The wounds must hurt terribly to be touched, but the elderly Togrutan simply doesn't have the energy to flinch as each lashing is sterilized and then covered with a bacta strip.

His eyes fixate on that one man, frozen to the spot. He doesn't move, not until he feels a hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch from the suddenness of it.

The clone who touched him immediately lets go, seeming shocked by his reaction. "General Kenobi, sir," the man says, and Obi-Wan belatedly recognizes him as Wolffe, Plo's Commander. "Are you here for medical assistance?"

It takes Obi-Wan's brain a second to catch up to the present. "I- er. Yes. My shoulder--" he cuts off, which he knows is unlike him. Glancing around the room, he hedges slightly. "It can wait. You have more pressing injuries to tend to."

"Nonsense, sir." Wolffe says, jerking his head to indicate that Obi-Wan should follow him before he walks along the medbay. "We have plenty of beds and hands to go 'round. I'll get you settled and a medic will take a look at your shoulder. Anyways, I know Helix would have my head if I let you sneak away the one time you voluntarily come to a medbay, sir."

The point makes a tense smile crack across his face. Clearly, his medical officer has a reputation even outside of the 212th and 501st. "Commander, don't tell me you're scared of Helix," he manages to tease.

"Scared?" Wolffe asks, the brow of his blinded eye arching judgementally. "That maniac took down half a dozen droids with just his medkit once. I'm terrified, and frankly, sir, you'd be wise to fear him too."

Obi-Wan remembers that. The infirmary tent was ambushed, and by the time Obi-Wan got back to assist, those in the tent had it handled already. Between Helix and those troopers who were still conscious and able to shoot, the ambush was soundly reduced to scrap metal.

Hm. Perhaps he should be more wary of igniting his medic's ire.

"... point taken, Commander Wolffe." Obi-Wan responds, letting himself be led to an empty bed.

There are still plenty more open, so as Wolffe said, his worries of taking up someone else's space are unfounded. Obi-Wan winces as he pulls himself onto the bed, making his shoulder light up with pain. He brushes off any offer of help however, his heartbeat jumping irrationally at the prospect.

Once he's settled on his bed, Wolffe calls over a free medic, and then bids him farewell, moving on to the next person in need of help.

His wounds (far more extensive than just the shoulder, but nothing critical) are quickly cataloged by the junior medic, then he is given some water and told to relax.

He doesn't, not quite.

It's downright impossible for him to really calm his mind, but he is exhausted. After several stretches of time spent staring listlessly at the ceiling and not thinking, Obi-Wan manages to fall into a restless sleep. (... With the aid of the water and a couple pills left as an option to him.)

°|●*.•

When he wakes again, there is a hand on his back, shaking him.

Obi-Wan jolts, involuntarily shuddering at the touch before he forces himself to be more awake. He's still in the medbay, the smell of bacta and sterilizer gives that away. His face is wet, though. Did they need to put bacta on--

Oh, no, those are his tears.

"Obi-Wan," a voice he recognizes as Anakin's cuts through the fog of his sleep-addled mind.

He manages a grunt, then rolls on his back and props himself up using his good shoulder. His other still hasn't been tended to, so he can't have been here that long.

"Anakin?" He greets, quickly wiping the tears from his face. He must have been crying in his sleep-- nothing new, at least in recent times. He's not sure exactly what it was for, but it isn't hard to imagine. There are plenty of tearworthy tragedies in this room alone.

There's a little bit of awkwardness as Anakin appears to have difficulty finding something to say, so Obi-Wan helps. "I thought you'd be busy still. I know there's still so much to do... I apologize for slacking."

Anakin shakes his head quickly, looking like he wants to reach out before thinking better of it, given how Obi-Wan flinched as he woke. "There's not much, really. Our part is pretty much over, we're just supposed to rest and recover." He pauses, unsure. "Are you okay? You were crying."

The older Jedi's shoulder begins to ache, so he pulls himself up to sit properly and lean against the headboard. He hasn't had a chance to change-- his clothing is still torn, and smells of the filthy mineshaft, and smoke.

"I'll be fine," he promises, eyes downcast as he prays it will be true. "There is so much pain in the force, I can't quite help a few tears." That is far from the true reason, but he hopes it is enough to satisfy Anakin's curiosity.

“A few tears,” Anakin repeats, voice oddly flat. His shoulder twitches in another aborted attempt to reach out. “Obi-Wan... you were sobbing.” The elder Jedi’s gut drops as he listens. “You wouldn’t wake up, they called me here to see if I could help.”

It’s only then that Obi-Wan notices the pair of medics hovering nearby. He feels a sudden flush of embarrassment. Stupid. How could he be so idiotic as to sleep in such a public place, knowing he would have nightmares?

He should have gone back to his quarters first...

Only, the 212th is still several hours away, and he was so exhausted...

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, fighting the ridiculous urge to hug himself. He is a Jedi Master, a Council member.

Anakin is shaking his head. “What? Why? Obi-Wan, are you sure you’re okay?”

He isn’t. “You shouldn't have needed to cone down here to wake me up. I... I'm alright. It was just a nightmare."

"Master," Anakin starts firmly, and moves a little closer, feeling bold. "First of all, I was gonna come see you anyways, so you didn't... inconvenience me, or whatever ridiculous thing you're thinking. Second, if you're hurting, I don't care what work I have, I'm gonna come to help you."

Obi-Wan's knee-jerk reaction is to think about how very against the code that is. Worryingly so. But that thought is quickly overridden by the warmth he feels upon Anakin's declaration of loyalty, of unconditional friendship.

What did he ever do to deserve a padawan with such a gentle heart?

Obi-Wan relaxes a bit, for the first time in days. "... thank you, Anakin." He finally responds, letting out a breath he feels he's been holding for weeks.

"I mean it," Anakin insists. "No thanks needed." He pauses, and Obi-Wan thinks he can sense a faint buzzing from Anakin's mind.

He can tell his former Padawan is trying to send him reassuring, comforting feelings through the force... he's radiating protective warmth like an emotional space heater. If Obi-Wan felt ready to share the state of his own mind, he would be basking in it.

As it is, he keeps his mind and force signature firmly closed off.

No need to show Anakin the horrors within.

As Obi-Wan struggles to think of something to say, Anakin appears to grow impatient. He clearly has questions, and he's never quite been the type to hold off on them, regardless of timing.

"Master... I don't..." he stops, having difficulty phrasing his question. "I mean. You don't cry... ever. What happened? What was your nightmare about? If... if you're okay with talking about it."

Obi-Wan almost laughs, but the sound sticks in his throat, becoming a choked noise.

What was he crying about? Look around, Anakin. The answer should be obvious, he wants to say.

He doesn't, though. He knows they've been in similar situations before, rescuing the citizens of Ryloth, for one. He didn't cry then, so why would now be any different?

Anakin's last concession sticks in his mind, though. Is he ready to talk about it? Can he bring himself to?

No.

Force, no. He can't even think about it.

His hand flutters awkardly as he struggles to find a place for it, resisting his urge to hug himself. "I... not right now, Anakin."

It's not a never, though. Obi-Wan knows... intellectually he knows that Anakin would understand. That, of everyone he knows, Anakin, a former slave and fellow Jedi, would understand the damage done to him. He may even have suggestions for how to help.

"Okay," Anakin hides his disappointment to the best of his ability. Obi-Wan appreciates the attempt, even if he sees through it. "... when you're ready, Obi-Wan. I'll be here, whenever you need me to listen."

The assurance brings a wan smile to Obi-Wan's face. "... I'll find you when I am, dear one."

No one can make Obi-Wan feel quite as safe and at ease as Anakin does.

The younger Jedi beams at the promise, moving a little closer. "Since you're not in a talking mood, want me to tell you how my part of the mission went, Master?"

The change of subject is a releif. Obi-Wan nods readily, happy to listen to Anakin's impromptu and likely dramaticized mission report.

He listens with rapt attention as Anakin goes through all of what he considers were 'the fun parts', making jokes and blowing quite a few details out of proportion.

It takes Obi-Wan's mind off his own experience, and he finds himself smiling along as Anakin finishes his story. By the end of it, Anakin is sitting on the edge of his bed, his thigh pressed along Obi-Wan's through the sterile sheets.

"Hey, Master?"

The epithet draws Obi-Wan's attention, and he nods to indicate Anakin shoukd go on.

Anakin is... a little hesitant. "Is it okay if I touch you? I wanna give you a hug, but not if it'll make you uncomfortable."

The question makes Obi-Wan's heart swell, and he finds himself nodding even before he consciously decides. "Anakin... yes, of course. I think we both could use one, after this mission."

Once again, Anakin beams, his force signature liked a supernova of happiness as he surges forward, wrapping his arms tight around Obi-Wan. "Yeah. And good, because I'm not letting go anytime soon, old man."

Obi-Wan ignores the pain in his shoulder. It's nothing compared to the warmth and security he feels right now in Anakin's embrace. He feels... cared for, loved, appreciated. All of the things that slave camp stripped from him.

It's gonna be okay, he realizes. This will pass, because he has Anakin here to help him make things right. When they're together, no challenge is too great, no problem is unsolvable.

Just as he's relaxing into the hug, getting comfortable for the duration, he hears quick footsteps and a gasp.

"Masters!" Ahsoka greets them cheerfully. "I just came to see how you're doing-- I didn't know it was hug Master Obi-Wan day! Can I have one too?"

"Get in here, snips," Anakin says, lifting an arm to make space for her.

"Always room for one more," Obi-Wan agrees more mildly, also making space to accommodate their padawan.

Ahsoka doesn't need to be told a third time; she squishes herself tight into the embrace, hugging both her teachers with all the strength in her limbs.

"We should hug more often," she says decisively.

"Definitely," Anakin agrees.

And well, Obi-Wan woukd say he's outnumbered, but he would agree either way. "We should," he responds softly, hugging them both a bit tighter.

They're a family, and he couldn't ask for a better one.

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #kadavo arc #obi wan gets a hug #obi wan needs a hug #ahsoka tano #commander wolffe #hugs #team hugs #the trio #clone wars gang #clone wars #zyggeria fix it #prompt #coalmine301

[loth-wolffe]

omg aRI, you deserve all your followers <3 and i’m so haPPY TO CELEBRATE THIS WITH YOU

i wasn’t gonna ask for a ship thing because i had no idea what i’d even say about myself but i finally thought of something!!

alright so i’ve gotten hyperfixated on a lot of things: pete wentz, musicals (hamilton and in the heights especially), painting, film photography, journaling, sylvia plath (i blame year 12 literature for that), it swings between marvel and star wars nowadays, but my biggest of all, bob ross.

it got so bad that i began to stick bob ross pictures at the most unreachable heights at my high school—i even had a cult following, with people i didn’t even know doing it too. at one point a bunch of guys in my class retaliated with anti bob pictures, but i was too powerful. i once enlisted the tallest guy in school to put up a picture, and even then i had him standing ON A CHAIR ON TOP OF A TABLE. i even learned how to dismantle and reassemble the classroom clocks so i could put bob ross pictures inside. i never got caught, and now i tutor at the school and every week i see the same bob ross’ in the corridor., the top of the classroom’s, etc, 150+ pictures of bob ross had been put up by me or one of my followers. that is my legacy. do with that what you will.

love, anna ❤️❤️

A HUNDRED YEARS LATER MY LOVEEEEEEEEE. so we were talking and i got really excited for you to read this shitty thing i made for you so here it is i love you i would ship you with absolutely everyone if I could.

BUT SURPRISE HERE'S THE SNIPPET I PROMISED YOU

okay babe this is NOT just because I know how much u love wolffe but,,,,,,,,

✨ wolffe ✨

i think u and wolffe would like,,, help each other grow, come out from your comfort zones and all.

and. I mean, i feel like you're the opposite of wolffe so you would learn so much from each other. like. at first wolffe hated musicals with his life. comet watched mamma mia once and wolffe saw that scene where tanya is singing does your mother know and wolffe wanted to shoot himself (if you ask me. is one of the most iconic scenes but whatever wolffe)

he just didn't see the point in those movies, and it's more music than dialogues anyways, why would anyone wants to watch a 2 hour long music video?

but then you came around, with your pretty smile and excited eyes and Hamilton just dropped, and you are watching it together. he doesn't have it in himself to tell you he fucking despises musicals.

but hey les mis is actually good and– okay. it's not THAT bad and he thinks that's that. and before he knows it he's watching all the musicals he can.

he cried with la la land's ending. and hey the guy from moulin rouge looks a lot like general kenobi. and corpse bride is his favorite and grease is not that bad but he doesn't like sandy. and his comfort movie suddenly became the rocky horror picture show.

he likes to watch Hamilton the most, but only if it's with you, and sometimes he finds himself quietly singing along.

AND OKAY THE WHOLE BOB ROSS THINGY. wolffe would a 100% support you with your wild obsession and just like me, he would NEVER let you live that down. MUCH MORE because this one time he smuggled you into both the jedi temple AND the GAR barracks just so you could stick your 8274288428 stickers of bob ross EVERYWHERE. he actually helped you with a few in the medbay AND the clones' locker rooms in the temple.

wolffe asked fox to do this one favor for him and there's the biggest sticker of bob ross' face in the ceiling of the chancellor's office and no one knows how it got there nor how to get it out because one corrie tried to do it and he got to get the shoulder off but it broke and the glue got stuck on the ceiling so they decided to leave it there. palpatine hates it. the corrie guard loves it. the jedi loves it. everybody wins.

wolffe's favorite times are when you read to him whatever, he mostly likes the poems because they make his heart ache and most of them remind him of you anyways.

this happens a lot when you're both having some lazy days, just cuddled together and you're looking at your datapan and he's two minutes away from falling asleep, your heartbeat is his lullaby along with the fingers running down his back. you hum at some point, and he frowns because you don't say anything else, so he's forced to look up, sleepy eyes looking at your concentrated ones.

"what is it?" he asks, you shake your head.

"'s nothing." but he doesn't go back to lay on your chest, instead he just stays there, looking at you with a little softness that melts your heart. "just a poem." he hums, satisfied, his ear goes back to press against the fabric of your shirt –his blacks.

"read it to me."

"[...]

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,

And arbitrary blackness gallops in:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed.

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

[...]"

when you finish you tilt your head just the slightest to try and see his face. he's got his eyes closed, but you know he's not asleep as his fingers gently brush the skin of your side. he hums.

this one too, reminds him of you. and funny thing, how the heart works, for it reminds you of him.

"it's nice," he says, sleepy words holding back the emotions the little poem made him feel. his heart thumping in his chest feels like it's about to spill something he doesn't want to say just yet.

you nod, nails scratching the little, freshly cut hairs at the nape.

"it is," you answer calmly. and there's more to those words that the two of you let on. "wanna hear another one?"

his nod is lazy, and you smile when he snuggles closer, his nose almost touching your neck. there's this warmth, that comes not only from wolffe's body heat, but because of the feeling that he brings, too.

(that's actually my most favorite fragment of mad girl's love song aka the only poem i know of sylvia plath aka one of my favorite poems in the whole world)

#anna i love u bye #ari answers #ship games #400 followers celebration #(heh) #SO HAPPY U CELEBRATED WITH ME TOO BABY #SPOILER ALERT: its not a snippet #anna my dearest

[bukojuiice]

Did you see the chapter 306 leaks of mha?

I AM SO SAD RN!!😭😭😭

HI ANON!!! YES I DID 😭😭😭 PLS I WAS CRYING FOR LIKE AN HOUR AND IT REALLY PUT ME INTO A BAD MOOD

i actually can't wait for all the leaks to come out so that i can finally call it a day because i can't take all these feelings anymore i'm about to combust jsjsjsjsjs 🥺

spoilers below the cut i jus wanna,, talk and scream abt this,,,

worst case scenario, we get a time skip. i'm not ready for the emotions that's going to course through me when that actually happens. but, it's gonna happen sooner or later. and with where the story is at right now, it's most likely to happen. but idk horikoshi really surprises us every single time so i don't think he's just gonna throw that at us just yet.

best case scenario, todoroki and bakugo, or dekusquad, or class 1-A + aizawa follows izuku to wherever the heck he went to. but, i honestly doubt deku would become a morally grey character/anti-hero simply because he dropped out of UA and left. anitwt is even comparing him to the likes of eren, (a character who deserves a literal 20 page essay on his personality and development) even though they have two entirely different personalities, two entirely different character motivations and worlds that they live in. there's nothing to compare between the two of them except that we watched them grow up and mature through the course of the anime/manga. there's such a huge diff between them and i cannot emphasize that enough honestly. 

there’s been this rumor going around tiktok that mha is going to end at like chap 307 and the manga is going to get a new name and a new manga series. signifiying the end of the “academia” arc ????  which is just absolute nonsense LMAO. as far as i know, naruto didn’t have a manga name change when they skipped to shippuden?? naruto shippuden had such a huge tone shift from the original manga. the whole manga when shifting to the time skip was like “awe it’s been a few years anyways naruto’s back from his journey lol they’re young adults now!!” other examples i could think of are death note, bleach, fairy tail, one piece?? (to just name a few!) where there were such huge and significant time skips yet that doesn’t mean that the name of the manga needs to be changed or they’re retiring the “my hero academia title” (i’m not one for business or the copyright stuff, but doesn’t this have something to do with intellectual properties too?? i don’t wanna dwell on that but yes) 

my own dumb theory is that the fantasy au is foreshadowing this new arc we’re about to enter HAHAHAHA it’s super dumb but the fantasy ed has izuku leaving his home and then meeting up with bakugo, ochaco, ilda and shoto!! might just be a weird coincidence.

to add to another one of my dumb theories, i know that horikoshi is a huge star wars fan (i grew up in a home with a father that’s a big star wars fan too and it’s just star wars everywhere around the house i tell u) and like i said, this is going to be a bit of a stretch, but it’s possible that izuku is going to go on this “jedi” journey to discover himself. it’s possible for him to go on it alone i guess, but judging from the star wars films, the main character always has a merry band of other characters to accompany him on this journey! the dreams?? visions?? that izuku has of the past ofa users really remind me of the jedi masters calling out and showing themselves as a sort of guide to the main protags of the star wars films! it just makes a ton of sense!! horikoshi literally named one of the cities as mustafu and tatooine if i’m not mistaken? which are btw, two of the most popular/important locations in the star wars universe!

another plausible theory is izuku going to america to train and just get the heck out now that things about ofa and afo have been revealed which i can see??? seems a bit far-fetched i guess  (since it’s implied that the 3rd movie is going to center around the trio going to the US already, assuming that john cena is gonna be part of the movie.)

ANYWHOOO that’s enough of my rambling! let’s pray and wait for the leaks anonnie!! and alsooo what next week’s chapter has in store for us! this is going to be a long ride :’)

#my hero academia #julianneasks #mha 306 #bnha 306 #mha 306 spoilers #bnha 306 spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha spoilers #anon 👥✨ #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha