#cantina creative

[lokiondisneyplus]

LOKI TVA Design Breakdown! Who Designed the TVA? (Cantina Creative Interview)

#new rockstars #erik voss #cantina creative #set design

[ireadwithmyears]

address the letters: “to the holes in my butterfly wings”

pairing: Kix and GN padawan reader (platonic)

Word count, guys it’s basically 10 K 💀bc apparently I am in capable of writing anything short.

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of blood and injury, medical procedures

summary:

In which, the CMO of Torrent Company discovers that you, a Padawan under his care have been hiding injuries and skipping medical checks, and now must take care of you as you suffer the consequences of your actions.

Also known as

Why you should never hide an injury from Kix. he will find out, and he will drag you off to the medbay so that he can take care of whatever mess you’ve made of yourself, scolding you all the wile.

“Look what I found on my bunk.”

You’re interrupted from eating your sandwich in the Cantina when Fives plops down beside you at the table, setting down a tray of food and waving a pink slip of paper in your face.

You’re about to tell him that “Can’t you see that you’re eating and get this paper out of my face,” when your eyes catch on three words written in bold text across the top of the page.

Mandatory vaccination updates. 

The sandwich, that up until this point has been the absolute centre of your attention, listen, you’re fighting a war and you have to appreciate any opportunity that you get to eat food that isn’t bland ration bars, drops out of your suddenly limp hand as you snatch up the paper, now very interested in the contents.

“When did you get this?” you ask slowly, you’re voice distracted, beginning to chew on your lower lip, already feeling the nervous coil in your stomach.

“When I came back to my bunk after the debriefing we had this afternoon. Apparently everyone got one. I bet you 10 credits that your master is going to pretend that he didn’t see it, and try and avoid it until Kix has to tear apart the ship looking for him and drag him to the medbay.” Fives chuckles.

Master Skywalker’s reputation for trying to avoid the medbay at all costs is widely known throughout Torrent Company..

“Kix is going to have a field day. I’ll give it to general Skywalker, he has some creative hiding places,” he continues, eyes lighting up at the memory of Anakin, half hazardously crammed into a supply closet, folded in an impressive, yet uncomfortable looking position as he forced his unwitting tall limbs to fit in the cramped space.

Unfortunately for Kix, your masters habit of avoiding the medbay whenever possible has rubbed off on you, though, you don’t think it’s for the same reason. Your avoidance stems from a place of fear, and, okay, a stubborn insistence that you can take care of yourself, which yes, definitely like master, like apprentice.

But that also stems from a fear. You’re determined to prove yourself, especially being a young Padawan working with those who are much more experienced than you. You don’t want to risk being taken off the field because of some stupid injury, and letting those who rely on you down, especially your master, who’s always bouncing back and getting up and ready to take on whatever is next regardless of what kind of peril he’s just come out of. You want, you need, to prove that just because you’re a Padawan, you’re not a liability, but an asset. You can be strong and resilient like master Skywalker.

So, you avoid. You dodge and you ignore and you pretend not to notice when the routine medical check dates come and go without your attendance. You know it’s only a matter of time before Kix gets on your ass about it. You’re surprised that you’ve kept it up this long. But, this only bolsters your confidence in being able to avoid another successfully.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, setting the paper back down on the table before you run off into the crowd.

*

Sure enough, there is an identical slip of paper that’s been placed on your bunk. But conveniently, Jedi master Aayla Secura is going on a diplomatic mission to amid rim planet in a last ditch effort to try and convince them not to secede from the republic during the date that’s listed on the page when you’re scheduled for your vaccinations.

Earlier this morning, master Skywalker had asked if you had wanted to join this mission, saying that it would give you a break from being on the frontlines, and it would be easy enough to arrange, as master Secura would rendezvous with the 501st before she departed.

This morning, you had turned him down, listing several reasons as to why you needed to stay with the 501st. Your troops needed you, diplomatic missions were boring anyways, and you didn’t think that you would be of much help to the experienced and capable master Secura, who was a formidable diplomat in her own right. You didn’t think you would be able to add anything of particular value to the conversation, at least nothing that master Secura wouldn’t be able to say much more eloquently and better.

Now though, the only thing that’s running through your mind is the fear of needles and the dread of going into the medbay and that’s enough to make you reconsider everything you had said.

When you tell master Skywalker that you’ve changed your mind, and would actually like to accompany Aayla on her mission, he’s slightly confused considering you had been so adamant that you were needed here only just a few hours ago. 

But, he knows that as a Jedi, you need diplomatic experience. Experience that, before the war, would be very easy for Padawan’s to come by. He knows that you don’t have nearly as much as you should.

These are unprecedented times, though, and Padawan’s being trained during an active war is not ideal. He wants for you to be well-rounded. He has hope that your future won’t always involve war at the centre of it, and any opportunity that you get to learn how to be a keeper of peace should always be encouraged, especially during these times.

 So he gives in pretty easily, and when master Secura arrives, you happily join her. When the ramp of the ship seals behind you and you’re sitting with her in the cockpit, the warm relief that flows through your bones is palpable. 

“Success,” you think to yourself triumphantly.

*

Your triumph, however glorious it might have felt in the moment, is short-lived.

In spite of the fact that some old injuries, that you honestly thought you had done a pretty good job at taking care of yourself, were starting to aggravate you again, the unexpected joy and relief that weaved itself through the force, openly shared between you and master Secura, surrounded you like a warm blanket, protecting you from feeling the things that hurt you.

The planet you had just visited had agreed to stay with the republic, after a tense three days of debate between its political factions. The victory Was a surprise, considering how vehemently the opposition pushed to secede, but it was not unwelcome.

Aayla’s T-6 shuttle docks in the hanger bay of the much larger 501st transport. As you wait for the doors to open and the ramp to fold down before you, you’re still riding on that high, feeling, for the first time in a long time, the thrill of a success. One that you are unable to feel on the frontlines, because even when your battles result in a victory, you are surrounded by so much death and violence that in the end, you don’t really feel like celebrating. 

You’ll never admit it to your master, but privately, you think to yourself that maybe diplomatic missions aren’t as boring as you thought they were. You were able to help resolve a conflict, peacefully, without even having to brush your fingers against the hilt of your lightsaber, which, nowadays, is becoming more and more of a rare occurrence. But it’s what Jedi do, or at least, what they’re supposed to do, so you have to embrace the gratitude of the experience you just had, and try and take it with you going forward.

Your thoughts are preoccupied with these ideas swirling around your head, so you don’t see him until you’re stepping out onto the ramp of the T-6, descending into the hectic and busy as usual crowds of the hanger bay.

When you do, though, you stop dead, and your heart begins to race. 

Shit.

Directly in front of you, at the bottom of the ramp, stands Kix.

One look at his expression, and your stomach flips.

His lips are set in a thin, unreadable line, his brow creased as he observes you with pinpoint focus. Stern, brown eyes observe your every movement. There’s no question that the second you step off the ramp, he’s going to pounce on you like a cat seizing a mouse. 

He stands at attention, body forced into an unbending straight line, such positions you mostly see on the shiny’s, new troopers who are freshly trained during their first days out on the field. His hands are placed on his hips, the position that he assumes before he’s about to give someone, it’s usually your master who you’ve seen it directed at, the lecture of their life.

“Keep moving,” your brain supplies. “Act nonchalant, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be fine.”

You feel your feet hit solid ground, and your speed picks up, all along, your brain is screaming at you to move. It’s weird how now that he’s standing in front of you, every injury you’ve accumulated over the past weeks is beginning to hit you, all comfort and protection that the force has been giving you to keep you going rapidly vanishing with each step you take.

The uncomfortable angle that your shoulder is sitting at, the pulling of stitches in your leg as you increase your speed. It throbs and aches with sudden abandon. But your fists clench, and you do your best not to falter under Kix’s unwavering scrutiny, just knowing that he’s looking for any flicker of weakness, any sign of pain that registers on your face.

“Just keep going, and maybe, you’ll be able to slip past...”

He steps in front of you, reaching an arm out to easily intercept your path. He says your name, in a tone that breaches absolutely no room for trying to ignore it.

You jump, startled in spite of yourself. He’s effectively got you cornered, and seeing that there’s no way out of this, Your nerves begin to skyrocket, raising like the sound of alarm bells in your head. You look up, eyes meeting his unwaveringly stern expression, And suddenly, you wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

He looks down at you, and he must see something in your disposition that belies your true feelings, because though his face remains set, his eyes somewhat soften, and when he next speaks, his voice is quiet but firm.

“Come with me, please. I need to see you in the medbay.” Though he’s phrased it as a request, you know that it is an order, and one that you must follow.

As a medic for the GAR, and this is something that you’ve heard him say to many a complaining troopers being escorted to the medbay when they don’t want to go, it is well within his rights to exercise such authority and make these orders. Because when it comes to the health and safety of every 501st personnel, whether you’re a Jedi general, commander, or Padawan, Kix immediately outranks you.

You look down at the floor, suddenly finding the marks that are speckled across it very interesting, and mumble a defeated and quiet “Yes sir.” 

When he turns, and you hesitate to follow, he lets out a gentle sigh, moving to place a hand on the small of your back. His voice is low, but reassuring as he ushers you forward.

“Come on, kid, you’re okay,” he breathes, and in spite of the fact that you’re still thinking that jumping out of an airlock would be better than this, your feet, still unwilling, but the slightest bit reassured, begin to move.

*

Coric giving you a subtle pitying glance as he’s reading over a patient’s chart when Kix escorts you into the medbay makes you want to vomit.

Between the two medics,  Kix has the reputation of being a hardass because he’s the CMO. Make no mistake, you do not want to get on either of their bad sides. But, given the choice between the two right now, you think you’re more equipped to handle Coric, who can usually be counted on to soften the blow a bit, with enough pleading glances and apologies.

Your eyes flit to the door that you’ve just passed through, because stupidly, your brain is still trying to make the calculations that if you can just duck out of Kix’s grasp for two seconds, you’d be able to make a run for it.

Unbeknownst to you, however, both medics have been carefully observing your every movement since you’ve entered. Coric, remaining completely calm and at ease, rises to his feet, moving swiftly to stand in the doorway in several long strides. He casually leans against the frame, arms folded.

“Don’t even think about it, baby Jedi. Your master has attempted the same thing you are considering, and he has always failed,” he says, keeping his voice light and non-threatening, making it clear that you need to give up on your fantasy of bolting out of here, but also not trying to scare you off..

You’re just beginning to wonder how the kriff they were able to read you so easily, with one covert glance determining that you were about to bolt when Kix removes his hand from the small of your back, instead, fingers coming to gently grip your shoulder.

The change in his hold is obvious. He is fully prepared for if you try to run. He gives your shoulder a squeeze, in what you interpret as a warning not to. 

Unfortunately, he’s just touched on an injury, you’re not entirely sure what you did, but you messed up your shoulder the last time you were on the field, and even the slight pressure elicits a sharp intake of breath that you’re unable to stop from escaping your lips, and that immediately has the attention of both medics laser focussed on you.

Kix’s anticipation evaporates and quickly melts into concern. Carefully, so carefully, he turns you to face him, keen eyes sharp as they analyze your face.

“Hey,” he calls softly, waiting for you to look at him. “Tell me where it hurts,” he says, so gently that it makes your eyes burn with shame. You look down at your feet.

“That’s uh... that’s, a loaded question,” you admit sheepishly, trying to keep your tone light and joking, in spite of the fact that now that you’re thinking about it, the list of injuries you’ve sustained without reporting to the medbay is a lengthy one, and might make Kix have a stroke.

Kix lets out a controlled, slow breath, eyes momentarily finding the ceiling as he silently begs the stars to give him strength. 

“Kaysh Mirsh solus,” he mutters to himself.

You’ve heard Kix toss that phrase around the medbay on multiple occasions, and though you’re uncertain of what it actually means, he usually brings it out when one of his brothers has done something that he would consider incredibly stupid, which is often.

Coric makes a noise of agreement. “It appears that our stupidly self-sacrificing general has passed on his stupid self sacrificing behaviour onto his apprentice,” he groans. “Will we ever know a day of peace?” 

Kix looks back down at you, his expression calm and restrained. “Come on, then, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” moving his hand to your uninjured shoulder, he steers you both further into the medbay.

*

Your eyes don’t leave the ground, but you can hear the sound of a privacy curtain being pulled shut around the cubicle that Kix has brought you to. 

When an eerily familiar pink slip of paper is being held up in front of your downcast eyes, you cringe, Arms wrapping around yourself in defence

You can’t even pretend that you haven’t seen it before, because the words mandatory vaccination updates have been circling around your brain the whole time you were out on your last mission.

“Do you know why the GAR enforces these?” Kix begins, and his voice is too measured and calm. 

You lift a brow, questioning. Does he seriously expect you to answer this? Isn’t the answer obvious? 

“Uh... so that we don’t get sick?” You answer, uncertain as to what he’s getting at.

He nods, his face displaying a slight flicker of approval. “Yes, that is one reason as to why, and it’s an acceptable one,” he acknowledges. His frown deepens as he continues. “However, one must look at the much larger picture, at every personnel aboard this ship. The most important reason why mandatory vaccinations are enforced is so that we can avoid many people getting sick and spreading illness to the rest of the crew, so that we may remain fully functional and operational, continuing to serve and protect the people of the republic.”

You squirm beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. You’re starting to see where he’s going with this, and it’s incredibly discomforting.

“I would’ve thought, that as a Jedi, you would be able to more easily see this bigger picture than most others,” he observes mildly. “After all, I know, and I’m sure everyone who spends a considerable amount of time with you can see that there is so much compassion and care for others within your very nature.”

His voice is so genuine, laced with such real kindness in his tone that it makes your eyes sting. Your heart constricts, because he’s just pointed out something that you hadn’t even considered in your selfish haste to avoid this.

By avoiding your vaccinations, you have put every member of the 501st who works with you in danger.

Your arms wrap  tighter around yourself, and you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but at the pristine white floor beneath your feet.

Kix senses that he’s hit a mark, and his voice gentles considerably. “I also understand that you are young, and still learning to see the bigger picture and how your actions can affect those around you.”

“I, I didn’t, I was scared and I just I didn’t think about...” your voice trembles as you try to answer, tumbling out in a rush of words that race as quickly as your heart. 

“I understand, and it is perfectly reasonable for you to feel that way,” he keeps his voice level and measured. “However,” he continues, and you know what he’s about to say even before he says it. “We still have to face the things that scare us. If you had simply told me how you were feeling, we would have figured out a way to navigate it.” His face is reassuring when you dare to glance up from the floor that you’ve been resolutely staring at for this whole conversation.

“We still will figure out the best way to proceed. However, these vaccination updates are very low on my priority list of concerns when it comes to you, compared to this,” and he holds up a datapad, displaying medical records with your name typed neatly across the top.

The last several appointment entries are highlighted in red, indicating that you did not attend any of them. 

“Do I need to remind you that these appointments are not optional. Any member of Torrent Company who goes out on the field must report to the medbay upon return for examination, as well as attend our regular medical checks to ensure that you are fit for active duty.” It’s clear from the tone of his voice that this is a lecture that he is very practised in delivering.

You lift your head, finally looking directly at him. He’s already made you admit a fear that you desperately wanted to keep to yourself. You try and summon what remains of your dignity. 

“What do you want me to say, Kix?” There’s a hint of defiance in your voice. 

“Do you want me to admit that I avoided these because I had injuries that I didn’t want you to know about? Because yes, the truth is that I did.” Your eyes level with his as you try to make him understand. 

“I was scared of the medical procedures, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” You snap, not particularly annoyed with him, but more annoyed at the fact that your answers sound so stupid out loud. 

“But I was more scared of the fact that you were probably going to take me off the field, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t let that happen. My master was relying on me. Everyone was relying on me, and I couldn’t let them down.” You try to shrug off his concern with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Besides, I’ve been doing fine,” you say evasively.

Kix does not rise to the bate of your seeming anger. He’s much too practised and controlled to let it affect him. He also has the uncanny ability to look at someone, and see everything, read through their feelings, whether they’ve been acknowledged or not, and understand them. So, even though you’re trying to push him away, with what at first glance appears to be frustration, underneath it all, he can tell that it’s just as plainly  fear.

He meets your storm filled eyes unflinchingly, levelling you with a look that is equal parts stern and unwavering, and equal parts concerned and filled with compassion. It makes your insides twist with guilt, and you want to look away, but you can’t bring yourself to as he speaks, his voice calm but steely.

“Are you fine?” he asks, an eyebrow raising as he tilts his head to look at you, his gaze clinical, assessing, even as you just stand there in front of him.

. “I already know that there’s something wrong with your shoulder. But aside from that, I’ve been observing you since you got off your transport. The way you move is slow and careful, not at all like the usual way you dash around the ship. Even now, you’re hesitating to put much weight on your right leg.” He ticks off the things he’s noticed on his fingers like a list.

“Apart from the fact that skipping these mandatory appointments have consequences. If you had kept this up, I would’ve had to bring this to our superiors, that includes the Jedi council,” he gives you a pointed look, even the mention of the high Council makes you shiver. in your experience, whenever you and your master have been summoned to speak with the council, it’s always to be reprimanded, and never good.

. “You could have been Court-martialed,” he says, knowing that his words will hit the severity of the situation home.  

You falter, stepping back as you feel your eyes go wide. “Court-martialed?” you breathe, feeling the blood draining from your face. 

He gently takes your arm, guiding you to sit on a bed as he continues, voice softening. “It is very clear that you are hiding injuries, and though I can understand why, in premise, You did this, the reality is that this will begin to affect your performance in battle. It will not just affect you. You will put yourself, as well as the entirety of the people you are leading, in danger. People could get hurt.  You could get hurt. Because you would be putting not just yourself, but others, in unnecessary danger, your ability to be in the position of a commander could be called into serious  question by your superiors, and for good reason” 

As much as he keeps his voice low and calm, you can sense that he’s disappointed in the way that you’ve handled yourself. Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, forcing the tears that prick at the back of your eyes to not fall. You hate disappointing people, and the fact that you’ve managed to disappoint Kix, one of the kindest people you know, makes you want to curl up into a ball and never show your face in public again.

“And that, the safety of yourself, and everyone aboard this ship, is my priority. It is much more important to me than having to report to any superior. The fact that you hold your safety, and by extension, the safety of  those around you, with such blatant disregard, is what concerns me the most, and that is what I need you to understand.” 

There’s a certain gravity in his voice that you’ve never heard before, but it slams into your chest and hits you like a ton of bricks. The implications of what you’ve been doing, of what could have happened to those around you, to his brothers, because of your inability to face your fears begin to swirl around your head with a rapidity that makes your heart race. 

These thoughts come unbidden, and too fast for you to process. The tears, that you’ve been so desperately trying to push back, spring free and begin to fall down your cheeks, unprompted, slowly, and silently. You don’t have time to stop them from coming.

Kix knows that he’s been very direct, and very blunt with you, deciding that this would be the only way to get through to you. He hates having to do it, though. Kix considers himself to be a fairly good judge of character, and he knows that you have such a caring, gentle heart and strong presence wherever you go. So, watching you break in front of him like this pains him.

Your breath hitches in an unsteady gasp as you look up at him, tears blurring your vision. 

“I’m sorry, Ori’vod,” your lip trembles as your voice breaks, wanting to curl in on yourself. “Ni ceta,” you get out in barely a choked whisper.

But he hears you, and it breaks him. 

You’ve never referred to him as ori’vod before, and the idea that you consider him as such, as a big brother, awakens his protective, instinctive nature to gather you close and keep you safe from harm. 

His Vod, mostly his batchmate, Jesse, calls it his mother hen instincts.

He can’t help it, though. Your voice, sounding so much smaller than he’s ever heard it, trembling and filled with tears, has broken what’s left of his resolve, and gently, very gently, mindful of the fact that you’re injured, he takes you into his arms, holding you close to him. Your head buries against his shoulder, and he easily cradles you there, feeling every sharp intake of breath as you cry.

“Oh, adika, shh,” he soothes, hand coming up to gently stroke your hair as he continues to speak softly to you. “You’re okay, I promise, everything is going to be alright. I’ve got you, we are going to sort this out.”

*

“Well,” he says, reading over the results of the medical scan he’s just performed. Would you believe me if I told you that a dislocated shoulder is the least of your concerns?” 

Your eyes find the ceiling, and you exhale a slow breath before asking, “how bad?”

He keeps his voice neutral as he relays the results of the scan to you. “According to your last medical check, you were diagnosed with Iron deficiency anemia, not incredibly uncommon, what with our limited access to rations and food with the proper nutrients,” his brow creases as he continues. “However, preliminary scans indicate that your haemoglobin levels haven’t much improved.”

He gives you a look.“You have been taking the supplement you were prescribed?” he asks, in a way that makes you suspicious that he already knows that the answer is no.

You avoid looking at him. “I was, but they kept making my stomach feel queasy all day, so I stopped.”  

Kix Lets out a long suffering sigh. “An issue that we easily could have rectified by changing your treatment plan if you had just let us know,” he scolds. “Nonetheless, I’d like to do a blood test to get exact confirmation of those levels and see how bad the numbers are so that we can Start getting them back up to baseline.” 

Your stomach does a flip and you cringe silently at the mention of a blood test.

Kix continues, consulting the scan results that are displayed on a datapad. “You’ve got untreated burns on your fingers.” He raises a curious eyebrow at you and your cheeks flush.

“They weren’t entirely untreated, I put them under running water,” you try to argue. The unimpressed look he gives you stops you dead in your tracks.

“It wasn’t entirely my fault,” you defend. “I was fixing one of the starfighters that got hit during our last airstrike. I got R2 to help me with the repairs but he wasn’t listening to my instructions. He crossed two of the wrong wires and caused the circuitboard to spark.”

“And that is why you should never ask R2 for help,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Those burns weren’t given time to heal, and the fact that you’re constantly wielding a lightsaber has exacerbated them. I will apply a burn ointment to them that should take away the pain and speed the process of healing.” 

He fixes you with a look.  

“The most concerning thing is The blaster wound on the front of your right  calf. Really, vod, you should know that injuries being treated and stitched up on the field, especially when not done by a medic, always should be looked over by a medic as soon as possible, due to the unsanitary environment that they were performed in.”

“Tup did his best to stitch it,” you say, feeling the need to defend the brother who, in spite of the fact that he was not a medic, sutured you up as you took cover from separatist battle droids.

“I don’t doubt that he did. I was the instructor who took every single one of the troopers on this ship through their mandatory medical courses, and I did not let them pass without proving that they were adequately able to handle emergency first aid on the field. However, it still remains that you’ve picked up an infection, and to treat it, the sutures will have to be removed, the wound reopened, and extraction of the infected tissue, as well as a course of both IV and oral antibiotics to clear up anything that remains.”

You stare at him, your eyes growing wide with horror as he explains. “How?” You ask, alarmed.

He senses your nerves and leans forward, taking your hand and running his thumb along the back of it reassuringly. “This is a surgical procedure, performed under general anesthesia.” 

You flinch at his words, and your fingers tighten around his with anxiety, needing something to hold onto. 

“I know that sounds scary, especially if you’ve never been put under before. But I promise, this is a fairly common operation. Me and Coric will both be here making sure that you’re okay the whole time.” he continues to stroke his thumb along the backs of your knuckles.

“Let’s take this one step at a time, though. We’ll take care of the things that are manageable, first,” he says, giving you an encouraging smile.

*

“Hey uh...” you say nervously, watching with anxiety fluttering in your stomach as Kix ties a band just above your elbow, prepping you for the blood draw. The way the band tightens, restricts  and squeezes around your arm Makes you feel trapped. You hate it.

“I have... I’ve had, issues in the past when it comes to these,” you say awkwardly, not knowing how to explain.

Kix only looks up at you, raising a perceptive brow. “Are you referring to your predisposition of fainting whenever a blood draw is performed?” he asks, completely unfazed. 

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows in questioning. “Don’t worry, Coric already has this listed in your file. I’m going to get you to lie down when we do it.”

He has the sensitivity and grace not to mention the fact that he also knows this because he walked into the medbay to find Coric absolutely tearing into a junior medic for letting you leave too soon after you had gotten a blood draw, resulting in you crumpling to the floor in a faint right outside of the medbay doors. 

At your continued staring, he adds, his voice softening. “It’s a normal reaction, that likely is exacerbated because of your low haemoglobin levels. There’s nothing wrong with you, Vod’ika.” he reassures, gently guiding you to lay down on the bed. “Now, just lay down for me, and we’ll get this over with quickly, and if you faint, you faint. It happens, no big deal, I’ll be right here regardless.”  

And because you’re you, you do faint.

The needle itself is always not as bad as you anticipate it being. The Sting, though prominent,  is small and quick and over before you have time to fixate on it. 

It’s only when he’s pressing a cotton swab into the crook of your arm, encouraging you to keep it in place while he puts a Band-Aid over top, that you register the familiar feeling of drowsiness, vision blurring and ears beginning to ring, that always comes before you pass out.

You think that you might give him some indication, some warning, because he’s removing your hand from where it’s been pressing against the cotton round, replacing it with his own, much more steady one. Everything around you is muffled, and it’s jarring, but in a way that is too far away from your immediate concerns to really react to it.

When you come to, he’s pressing a cool, damp cloth to the back of your neck, other hand gently stroking hair away from your forehead. His voice fades back into your consciousness, a stream of gentle, soothing words as your eyes flutter open.

The feeling of the cloth cools your heated skin, and the hand gently running through your hair brings your senses back to focus, grounding you.

“Easy, adika, i’m right here, you’re safe,” he brushes his fingers against your cheek, and when you react, leaning into his touch, he gives you a small smile. “That’s it, there we go, you’re back. Everything’s good,” he soothes, gently stalling your movement when you attempt to sit up.

“Not right now, vod, stay down for a few more minutes. I’ve already got the blood work running through the scanner, and we should have its results quickly, okay.” You give him a small nod, still not really having the energy to do much else. You close your eyes, taking deep breaths as you come back to yourself, and when the scanner beeps, indicating that it completed its diagnostics, you jump slightly.

Kix moves over to check it as you slowly sit up. “Okay, so, your numbers are definitely not nearly where they should be he says, clearly unimpressed.

“But, Once we have taken care of your more serious injuries, will start you with an iron infusion delivered through an IV before transitioning back to pills. Don’t worry, we’ll have you on a much smaller dosage so that we can hopefully circumvent the discomfort you had in your stomach,” he says with optimism, which makes you feel slightly better about the fact that he’s just mentioned an IV. You’re not given much time to fixate on it, though, because he’s already turning away from the scanner, moving back to you.

“Let’s not worry about that right now, though. We have enough problems having to deal with the mess That you’ve made of yourself. I will do my best to resist calling you a di’kut as much as possible,” he says, hands on his hips, and in spite of yourself, it actually makes you laugh.

*

You didn’t realize how sore and irritated the burns on your hands were until you couldn’t hold back the audible sigh of relief that fell from your lips as soon as Kix began applying the burn cream to them. The pain instantly vanished, leaving a pleasant, cooling sensation behind. He wrapped small bacta patches around your injured fingers, explaining that it would make sure that the healing process was unimpeded by the outside environment.

That was easy, quick, painless. 

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a completely different matter. As soon as Kix touches it, as gentle as he can be, it flares with pain, and your muscles tense, which just makes it worse. 

“I don’t know how you’ve been functioning with this for as long as you have,” he comments dryly. When his fingers press against the bone, assessing the damage with a practised familiarity, you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

“Haar’chak,” you grit out, as behind you, Kix preps a syringe with local anesthetic. 

“Which one of my di’kut brothers taught you curse words in Mandoa?” he asks, beginning to disinfect the injection site.

You flinch at the cold and your cheeks flush. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to hear that. I can’t tell you that, I made a promise.” 

“Did you now?” he asks, fighting the amused smirk that plays on his lips. “Well, whoever it was, you might as well put your skills that they taught you to use.”

You look at him from over your shoulder, eyebrows raising in confusion.

He explains, “I need to give you an injection of local anaesthetic so that it takes the edge off of resetting your shoulder correctly. I know those aren’t your favourite , so, I am making a deal with you. Let me do this, and I give you free rein to throw whatever Mandoa insult my brothers have taught you at me, no consequences. Is that fair?”

The unimpressed look you’re giving at the syringe turns to surprise, then, slowly, a smile spreads across your face and you nod, quickly looking away from it. “Deal,” you accept, your voice still shaky with nerves but determined.

“Okay, deep breath for me,” He waits for you to inhale. “Perfect, now, on the exhale, give me that insult with all of your might. Ready?”

He waits for you to nod, then prompts you to exhale as he administers the anaesthetic into the back of your shoulder.

“Osi’yaim, that hurt, you di’kut,” what should be just a little pinch to your already injured shoulder makes you cry out the words, and you swear you can hear the familiar sound of Coric laughing from the other side of the medbay.

Your cheeks flush, you did not intend to be that loud. But you don’t apologize, either, and Kix only gives you a rueful grin, nodding in understanding.  

As you wait for the anaesthetic to settle, Kix warns, “I’m gonna be honest, kid, because of how long you’ve left this injury to sit, even with the anesthetic, setting it is still going to hurt.” 

You close your eyes, grimacing, before nodding with a sigh. “Do your worst,” you say, bracing yourself.

He lays a reassuring hand on your uninjured shoulder. “I need you relaxed, adika,” he says gently. “Trust me, it will only hurt more if you tense like that,” he continues, gently encouraging your shoulder downward with his hand.

“Easy, now. I want you to give me some good deep breath’s. In,” he inhales deeply, holding for a few seconds, “and out,” he lets his breath go in a controlled, slow stream of air.

He waits for you to copy, giving you a few breaths to settle into it as he prepares himself. “Perfect, just like that, keep it up, you’ve got this,” he keeps up the stream of encouraging words as carefully, but firmly, he rotates your arm, guiding your dislocated shoulder back into its proper place with one precise movement.

The sudden flare of pain, even dulled as it is by the anesthetic, takes your breath away momentarily, your vision instantly blurring with tears. When it clears,Kix has shifted to standing in front of you, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.

“Well done, vod’ika, you were so brave,” his words make you want to cry more, because you didn’t think you were brave. You thought that being brave meant confidence, at all times, and not letting other people see your vulnerability. You can’t fully understand it, but, now, you’re beginning to think that maybe your initial idea of bravery was wrong.

Your lip wobbles as you speak, “W what now?” you look up at him with wide, still watery eyes.

He gently strokes your hair. “Now, I’m going to get Coric, and you,” he playfully taps your nose, “are going to take a much-needed nap, if the bags under your eyes are any indication, while we take care of that leg wound.” 

*

It sounds simple enough. 

Kix explains the procedure while Coric preps you for surgery, making sure all your vitals are stable. As he wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, he tells you that that’s essentially his job while he’s in here. Throughout the surgery, he will monitor your vitals and make sure that they remain at safe levels. 

“I’m going to remove the sutures, clean the wound, remove the infected tissue, pack the wound with saline soaked dressings, then bandage it back up so that it can heal. It goes without saying that you’re going to be off the field for at least a week. You’ll need to stay here so that we can continue to monitor your recovery as well as change the dressings often. You will also need to undergo a course of IV antibiotics to kill off any lingering infection. This will also give us time to get your haemoglobin levels back up with an infusion.”

Your eyes close tightly as anxiety knots your stomach. “Oh, force, a week? But, my master needs me,” you protest.

When your eyes open again, both medics are fixing you with equally stern looks. “Your master needs you to be safe, and healthy,” says Coric, frowning, as he carefully attaches a pulse oximeter to one of your fingers. 

“If you want to be back on the field as soon as possible, you will take this week of recovery. If you want to argue with me about it, I will make it longer. A week is the absolute minimum,” Kix says, arms folded across his chest, wearing his signature “i’m the chief medical officer, you have no authority here,” expression.

You visibly deflate, reminding yourself that you pick and choose your battles, and picking and choosing a battle with two medics who are very competent at dealing with very stubborn Jedi would be a very stupid idea. 

You can’t help yourself, and in spite of the fact that you shouldn’t, you stare as Kix preps your wrist for an IV line.

Sensing you’re mounting anxiety as your eyes nervously flit around, watching  Kix’s Every move, Coric gently takes your other hand, squeezing when your eyes don’t immediately look at him. When you finally tear your eyes away from what Kix is doing, Coric is wearing a mischievous smile on his face. “So, Vod’ika, who taught you how to curse in Mandoa?” he asks, raising a curious brow.

You only scoff, rolling your eyes. “Kix already tried to find out. What makes you think that I’m going to tell that secret to you?”

“I’ve already got my suspicions. My moneys on Echo or Fives.” he gives you a wounded look, “I thought you would tell me, because I’m obviously your favourite.”

Kix uses this conversation to quickly insert the IV into a vein on your wrist. Reacting to the small pinch, your fingers instinctively tighten around Coric’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“You’re definitely my favourite now,” you grumble, giving Kix a sidelong glare.

He gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Vod, i’m going to run the medication through the line now. It will act quickly, and when you wake up, this will be all done with.” 

You nod, biting your lip nervously. Coric notices, giving your hand another gentle squeeze. “Hey, kid, I know you’ve heard Kix say kaysh mirsh solus all the time. Do you know what it means?” 

You look at him with curiosity, shaking your head.

“Well, essentially it means they are stupid or foolish. But, the literal translation is even more direct .” Coric gives you a conspiratorial smile.

“What is it?” You ask as he leans forward. 

“The literal translation means their braincell is lonely,” he says, completely serious.

You feel a smile pulling up the corners of your lips and a surprised laugh falls from them. 

You feel the medication beginning to enter your system, but you’re so busy laughing that you can’t bring yourself to care. “You better not be bullshitting me,” you threaten,“or I...” you let out a yawn.

“I swear to the force, I,” your eyes begin to flutter and you yawn again, shrugging.

“I’ll think about it later,” you mumble sleepily, before promptly passing out, smile still lighting up your face.

*

Your leg hurts.

That’s the first thing you become aware of as Kix is gently encouraging you to open your eyes.

“Come on, adika, open your eyes for me,” he says  softly, fingers gently brushing against your cheek to bring you back to awareness.

“But it hurts, and I wanna go back to sleep,” you wine, blinking sleepily up at him. 

“Ni ceta, vod’ika,” he soothes, fingers gently caressing your forehead in an apology. “I know it hurts, and you can go back to sleep soon, I promise,” 

He glances at something that you can’t see, giving a small nod,“Vitals look good, the anaesthesia is wearing off nicely, and it doesn’t appear to have affected them too much. Let’s up that IV dosage,” Kix speaks to Coric, who moves to adjust your IV out of your eyeline.

Your leg throbs, and you let out a stifled whimper, hand reaching down, trying to at least find the source of your pain when Kix catches it in his, gently stalling your movements. “Let’s leave that alone for now, vod’ika. Coric is just increasing your pain med intake, that will make it better. Then you can sleep,” 

At the continued expression of pain on your face, he lets go of your hand, fingers gently playing with your hair as he instructs, “nice and easy, adika, deep breath‘s for me, everything’s okay.” 

You don’t believe him at first, but slowly, things become okay. The pain quickly fades and dulls , breathing becomes easier, and your eyes begin to flutter. All the while, Kix continues holding his vigil at your bedside, fingers continuing to gently run through your hair until you fall into a natural sleep.

*

When you properly wake up next, the first thing you notice is that your leg doesn’t hurt anymore.

Whatever pain meds Kix has got you hooked up to are very effective, and your lips pull into a relieved smile. 

The second thing you notice, when you glance around to get your bearings, is the face of your very concerned captain, Rex, at your bedside. You blink slowly, yawning. Although the anaesthetic has worn off, the pain meds still have you feeling like you’re in a fog, and your brain is working pretty slowly.

“When did you get here?” you ask, confused.

“I came straight here after you never reported to the bridge for today’s debriefing. The general said that you would be back today, and it’s unlike you to miss or forget about meetings,” he explains, looking at you, relieved to see you awake, but a flicker of concern still lingering in his eyes.

“Osik, sorry, Rex, I got myself into a bit of a bind over here,” you gesture to the IV that you’re hooked up to, chuckling a little.

“So I heard, don’t worry about it, kid. There wasn’t much to report, anyways.” His head tilts, and he raises a questioning eyebrow.“Who taught you how to curse in Mandoa, vod’ika?” he asks, keeping his voice light.

If you weren’t under the influence of pretty heavy duty pain medication‘s, you would have restraint, you would have thought before you opened your mouth. But for Rex, it was his lucky day.

you smirk, “good old Hardcase taught me everything I know,” you say with pride, smiling fondly at the memory.

Rex carefully files that information away so that he can scold Hardcase for that once he leaves. But he carefully keeps his face neutral.

His face grows serious. “Kix told me about all the medical appointments you’ve missed and the injuries that you’ve been covering up,” his voice is stern, every bit the commanding officer that he is in front of the troops. It makes you nervous, and you swallow, looking away from him.

“I swear to the force, if you ever pull something like that again, I will find out about it, and I’ll drag you to the medbay myself, even if it means chasing you around the ship and stunning you if I have to. do you realize how much danger you were in? How much danger you put others in? That was extremely reckless of you, commander. I’m very disappointed in your actions,  and it will not happen again, do you understand?”

Your hazy memory recalls the conversation you had with Kix earlier, about this very thing, and for some reason, it hits even harder seeing the disappointment, worry and concern etched on the face of the normally composed captain.

Without prompting, you find yourself bursting into tears. 

Later, you’ll blame the pain meds on your inability to keep a grip on your emotions. But right now, all you can do is think about the people, the brothers, you could have hurt, the things that could’ve happened because of you, and the tears just fall down your face, streaming from your eyes, falling down your cheeks, into your ears, dampening your hair.

.“I I’m sorry Captain I I didn’t I,” you gasp out, trying to explain, but your brain is still foggy, only clinging onto the hazy images of loss and pain due to your inability to act fast enough.

There’s a reason why people are convinced that Kix has eyes on the back of his head. Working as the highest ranking medic in the 501st has trained him to be hyper observant of all of his patients, even if he isn’t at their bedside. 

So, even though he’s been taking the time to update your file on a datapad, unbeknownst to either you or Rex, he’s also been watching you like a hawk, and the minute you begin to show that you’re overwhelmed, he’s swooping in on the two of you, protective mother hen mode fully activated by the tears falling down your cheeks.

He steps in front of you, broad shoulders immediately blocking your view of your commanding officer. “Captain,” he says, and his voice is still respectful, but there’s a hard edge beneath it, something stern that you haven’t heard before, even during the worst of him lecturing you.

“You are causing undue stress to my patient, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” he continues, physically ushering Rex to the door.

More quietly, out of your earshot, he says,“I have already harshly reprimanded the commander. Trust me, this experience will ensure that the lesson will not be forgotten.  Now, if you want to be of use, get the general and bring him to me, please. I need to speak with him. Between you and me, Rex, I’m blaming this ordeal on him.” 

Rex begins to make an objection, but  Kix is already turning away, folding his arms. “I don’t care if you have to drag him out of council meetings. His Padawan is more important,” he shoots back, before quickly moving back to your side, all of his hard lines instantly fading at the sight of your tear streaked face.

He’s all gentleness and soft reassurances uttered as he cups your face, wiping away your tears. When you struggle into a sitting position, falling against his chest as your arms clumsily reach for him, his arms easily pull you close to him and you sob, trying to explain.

“Kix, I, I didn’t mean to, I never wanted to hurt anyone,” you whisper, clutching at him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, wanting to disappear, feeling his body shift, one hand splayed out, rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles, the other coming up to cradle your head, holding you against his warmth, sheltering you.

“Oh, adika, shh, I know. You didn’t hurt anyone, vod’ika, nothing happened,” he coos, tightening his arms around you. Lips press against your hair briefly, and you continue to cry, letting your emotions run their course as he cradles you to him, gently rocking you back-and-forth, as if you were a much smaller child.  

In this moment, you certainly feel like you are, and it’s comforting, the way he holds and settles you against him , making gentle shushing noises and speaking in low, soothing tones, the words eventually losing their meaning as sleep, yet again, gently pulls at your consciousness.

The last thing you’re aware of is him gently guiding you to lie back down, another medic, you think it’s Coric, passing him a freshly warmed blanket that he tucks around you, and a hand gently brushing through your hair as you drift back to sleep, your storm settled and calmed by his words and his presence.

*

Anakin Skywalker had been in meetings with the Jedi high Council all day, was running on his 3rd cup of caff, and still found himself stifling a yawn every five minutes. So, when Rex silently slipped into the room, politely interrupting the meeting to request that Anakin report to the medbay, he instinctively rolled his eyes, grumbling that he would go later. 

But when Rex stated that this wasn’t actually about him, and was in regards to his Padawan, Anakin was out of his seat in an instant, hastily making his excuses to the council before leaving the room, legs carrying him to the medbay faster than he ever had moved there before.

He doesn’t even stop to look as behind him, Rex calls to a group of troopers in a booming voice, “Hardcase, get Over here right now,  you di’kut, I need to talk to you regarding professionalism when it comes to working with young Padawan’s .”

When he’s escorted into a cubicle, his eyes grow wide with alarm at the sight of you, peacefully asleep, but your face looks exhausted and worn out. You’re hooked up to an IV and monitors, there’s a thick bandage that’s been secured to the bottom half of your right leg.

Kix keeps his voice low and quiet, so as not to disturb you, but he fixes your master with a hard look as he takes him through an overview of your current health status.

“Iron deficiency anemia, burns, a dislocated shoulder, a blaster wound that had to be surgically operated on due to an untreated infection that had grown quite severe and needed to be manually removed, as well as several muscle strains and bruised ribs that can be healed with proper rest.” 

His mouth falls open at the growing list, but Kix only folds his arms, continuing to speak. “General, sir, your Padawan looks to you with the highest regard, and you lead the way by example. All of these issues could have been caught much earlier and treated without having to deal with all this,” he gestures at everything you’re hooked up to.

“This behaviour was learned, and when I pressed, I found that at the root of the problem was fear of disappointing you and letting you down,” he waits for these words to sink in, and when they do, Anakin Skywalker, Jedi general who is known for his strength and recklessness on the field, hangs his head with shame, eyes finding the floor and refusing to look at Kix directly.

His meaning is clear, you are his Padawan, and as your master, it’s his responsibility to set a good example for you, and in this regard, watching pain medication flow through the IV line attached to your wrist, he knows he has failed to do so.

“So, just maybe, the next time you decide that are mandatory medical checks are optional and you can manage on your own, maybe just, consider this,” Kix gestures to you, still deeply asleep.

Before your master can respond, not that he really has any words to do so, Kix turns on his heel, quickly exiting the room before he can be reprimanded for speaking to his superior that way, not that he really cares, anyway.

If he had stayed, though, he would have seen Anakin tentatively move to your side, gently sitting on the edge of your bed as he strokes back your hair and adjusts the blankets that are tucked around you, properly shamefaced as he looks down at you and says in a voice that is soft and rarely heard coming out of him, “I’m sorry, kiddo, this one’s on me.”

*

“And this,” says Kix, quickly injecting the third and final mandatory vaccination into your arm, “is your ticket out of here.”

The week of recovery has come and gone, And you have finally been cleared to head back onto the field, as long as you continue to follow a regimen of oral antibiotics for the next week, and, more excitingly in your opinion, get out of the medbay.

“There you go, you did it,” Fives, who’s been sitting across from you, happily agreeing to be your emotional support/cheerleader, ready with a damp cloth if you need it, does a little celebratory dance that makes you laugh, even as Kix, sensing that you’re feeling unsteady, gets you to lay down.

Fives gently places the cool cloth against your skin, and it’s enough to ground you, pulling you back from the edge.

“That’s it, Vod’ika, well done, you did great,” Kix says encouragingly, giving your shoulder a warm squeeze. “Now, wait 15 minutes, and as long as you’re feeling back to normal, you can get out of here,” he smiles down at you, patting your head affectionately before moving out of the cubicle.

As soon as he’s gone, Fives liens in conspiratorially, face lighting up with mischievousness sparkling in his eyes. “Hey, kid, I bet you 10 credits that I could easily sneak you out right now and we could make this 15 minutes go a lot faster,” he grins.

In spite of the fact that you smile back at him and laugh lightly, you give your head a small shake and throw a cautious look over your shoulder.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been here for a whole week, and the biggest thing I’ve learned is that  Kix and Coric do, in fact, have eyes in the back of their heads. We wouldn’t even make it out of the door.” 

It’s true, you’ve seen several different troopers trying to carefully sneak out of the medbay when they think that no one is watching. 

What you’ve learned, though, is that the medics of Torrent Company are always watching. Nothing gets past their keen eyes or ears, and no one successfully sneaks out undetected. 

You grimace, “besides, I’ve just gotten off of Kix’s bad side, and I have no desire to go back there.”

“So,” Fives says, resignedly coming to sit on the edge of your bed with a sigh. “We’re waiting the 15 minutes?”

You carefully sit up, giving him a nod and a decisive look as you lean your head against his shoulder..

“Yes, Fives,” you affirm, letting out a small sigh of your own. “We are waiting the 15 minutes.”

************************* thank you so much for reading. Comments and re-blogs are always appreciated here.are always appreciated here.

Mandoa translations. Kaysh mirsh solus, they are stupid/foolish. Ori’vod: Big Brother (in this instance) can also be used as big sister or big sibling. Ni ceta: i’m sorry. Vod: Brother/ sister/ sibling. Adika: little one. Vod’ika: Little sister, little brother, or little sibling Haar’chak: damm it. Di’kut: Fool (literal translation is underwear forgeter) which kills me. Osi’yaim: shithead. Osik: shit.

#star wars x reader #kix x reader #platonic #reader insert #gn reader #padawan reader #fives x reader #anakin x reader #rex x reader #kix #clone medic kix #arc trooper fives #captain rex #Anakin Skywalker #the clone wars fanfiction #platonic imagine #tcw fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

[anxiouspineapple99]

Hellooooo! If you feel like it, might I request...

"Sorry, that was my first kiss."

"I could tell."

"I was kidding!" 

with whomever you feel like writing, although I feel like it screams Fives. ;)

xoxoxoxox

Free! My wonderful friend! Thank you so much for the ask! While this is on brand for Fives, I actually was drawn to another one of our beautiful Domino Squad members with this one! Cutup!

A Good Batch

Pairing: Clone Trooper Cutup x GN!Reader

Summary: You’re the head nurse for a Republic Mobile Surgical Unit. Your unit is assigned to the region Domino Squad has been tasked to assist. Cutup is too charming for his own good.

Warnings: none. It’s fluffy and our boys live.

Word Count: 1064

A/N: This is an AU in which all of Domino Squad survive Rishi Moon, Rex claims them all as his chaos sons, and then nothing bad ever happens to them again and they live happily ever after as they deserve the end. Extra points if you catch the Clone Cadets Easter egg I dropped in there.

Prompt:

"Sorry, that was my first kiss."

"I could tell."

"I was kidding!"

…will be in bold blue

You’d been head nurse for RMSU 17 for so many rotations you’d lost count. Every new assignment was the same: Set up, help the men, tear down, move on. You were regularly poorly equipped and understaffed. Resupply visits from the Republic were unreliable, infrequent, and never adequately fulfilled your unit’s needs. But that's how all the RMSUs operated so you and the rest of the staff made do and were creative when you needed to be. You assumed this assignment would be no different.

They had warned you about Domino Squad before they arrived. “A bad batch” they’d been called. Now they were one of the most highly decorated and skilled squads in the GAR. The heroes of Rishi Moon. What you weren’t prepared for was how fully and completely you would fall for one of them.

Cutup captured your attention immediately. He was undeniably handsome with an intense piercing gaze and his tidy well kept beard. But beyond that, he was indomitable and cool headed combined with a sense of humor that regularly left you laughing until you were in tears. You often found yourself seeking his company in the RMSU cantina during your time off. Meanwhile Cutup was accompanying his brothers for medical treatment more often the longer the mission dragged on.

“Hello nurse!” He declared as he threw the hospital wing doors open, flashing you his ten million credit smile. Droidbait had landed himself in hospital for the third time that week which meant Cutup was there for his usual visit and good natured ribbing of his brother.

“Hello again Cutup.” You glanced up from Droidbait’s iv with an affectionate smile. Cutup sidled up next to you sending your stomach reeling.

“My brother. Droidbait. He gonna be okay?” He asked dramatically, throwing his arm across his forehead and flopping across Droidbait’s lap. Droidbait flashed him an impolite hand gesture as you giggled.

“Yes, he’s going to be just fine. Though I do understand how he got the name. I think he’s the first repeat customer I’ve ever had here. I’m considering starting a rewards program just for him. ‘Get three blaster bolts, you get a free surgery’ or something.”

Droidbait glared at you both as Cutup laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. You chuckled as you stepped away to the med cabinet. As you measured out the next round of meds due in ten standard minutes, you felt a presence over your shoulder. You glanced over to see Cutup hovering with a glint in his eye and a sweet grin.

“Oi, leave room for the Maker you too!” Droidbait called from his bed.

“Shhh, Droidbait you need rest,” Cutup scolded with a lazy wave of his hand, his attention never wavering from you. “I just want to thank you. For all you’ve done.”

“You don’t have to thank me. This is a field hospital. I’m a nurse. It’s my job.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

You paused, turning to face him. He smirked seeing the bewilderment painted across your face.

“I’ve seen the long nights you pull when one of us comes through. Droidbait says he has never woken up alone. Echo said you came in on your time off to make sure his wound dressing was changed correctly. Hevy said you visited him in the barracks to make sure his concussion was cleared. With all the attention you’ve paid to my brothers, I’m almost jealous I haven’t gotten injured yet.”

“You don’t have to be injured to get my attention, Cutup,” you said, almost instantly regretting it as a hot flush rushed to your face.

“No?” He asked, his voice rumbling deep in his chest as he stood so close his breath fanned your face.

“I-I would prefer you not get hurt, actually.” Your breath hitched as his amber eyes burned into you. For a moment you could have sworn he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“You worried about me, nurse?” His eyes glittered with delight as a cocky smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“I…ahh…” was all you managed to stammer before making up a halfhearted excuse about a patient needing you and rushing off.

You were surprised to find Cutup waiting for you when you finished your shift. You weren’t sure how it was possible but he managed to look even more gorgeous in the radiant starlight.

“Couldn’t let you walk alone so late,” he crooned, approaching you with a confident swagger that immediately drew your eyes to his hips.

“You’re sweet, Cutup. But I’ve walked alone countless times. I could do it with my eyes closed.”

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see that.” Cutup cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“Me walking with my eyes closed?” You confirmed incredulously.

“Yeah.” He tipped his chin in a playful challenge.

You sighed and closed your eyes. However instead of proving your point, you walked into Cutup who had stepped directly into your path.

Before you had a chance to protest he firmly grasped your neck, just beneath your jaw and pulled you in for a kiss. You inhaled sharply as your lips collided, his tongue laving your bottom lip before dragging it through his teeth. His kiss was all you could have hoped for and more. His touch was electric, setting sparks alight in your chest. You whined softly as he pulled back, immediately yearning for his touch.

"Sorry, that was my first kiss." You beamed against his lips which lingered over yours.

"I could tell." He chuckled brightly before pressing his forehead to yours.

"I was kidding!" An indignant gasp escaped your lips.

“Hey it’s okay! Baby, you and me could find someplace quiet and practice all night if ya want. I got time,” he cooed smoothly. He cupped your chin, rubbing his thumb across your lips.

You hummed, leaning into his touch. You tilted your head toward your barracks.

Cutup’s eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Unless you don’t…”

“Kriff yes I do! Lead the way.” His hand reached for yours, delicately interlocking his fingers with your own. Even through his gloves, you felt the warmth of his hand. It traveled to your chest and bloomed into radiant joy.

I don’t know what those Kaminoans were talking about. He’s definitely from a good batch, you thought to yourself smiling as you walked hand in hand toward your tent by the light of the stars.

Ye Olde Ragu Lyst: @secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @dystopicjumpsuit @mooncommlink @moonlightwarriorqueen @sunshinesdaydream @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @multi-fan-dom-madness @808tsuika @msmeredithrose @trixie2023 @wolffegirlsunite @mythical-illustrator @wings-and-beskar @wizardofrozz @ladyzirkonia @eyeluvmusic21 @523rdrebel @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @isthereanechoinhere96 @littlemissmanga @sinfulsalutations @the-bad-batch-baroness @freesia-writes

#you asked #and the pineapple answered #first kiss #ask prompt #clone trooper cutup #cutup #tcw #tcw cutup #cutup x reader #anxiouspineapple99 writes #clone trooper Cutup x reader #gn!reader

[grippingbeskar]

💃, 5, Din djarin please and thank you <3 (did I do this right?)

— ah!! i love this one. it’s a very popular request so i’m gonna have to eventually get a bit creative but hopefully this one does it justice! thank you so much :)

— prompt:

💃 5. mm. you’re warm.

— warnings: swearing, reader is a bit drunk, mention of vomiting

[grippingbeskar’s night out 2k celebration!]

“Mandooooooo.” You all but wail into the empty space of the Razor Crest. You don’t see him straight away, but you hear his boots clanking down the ladder soon enough, and then his giant frame appears, staring down at you. Stars— he was really, really big. Huge. “You are huge.”

“You are drunk.” He counters, and you swear the ink black of his visor squints at you, accusing.

“We don’t all have the stomach of a Mandalorian.” He shakes his head, taking a step towards you.

“You didn’t tell me where you were going.” The modulator accuses, and your drunken brain goes all fuzzy and loopy when he gets a little closer, the metallic smell of him having you grinning wide.

“As if you couldn’t find me if you wanted to.” You roll your eyes, and one of your hands lands on his chest, half steadying yourself and half indulging your darkest desires with the ally of the burning spirits you devoured on this backwater off world planet. “I was almost waiting for you to show up.”

You had been travelling with the Mandalorian for months, and had done little else but fix up his ship where possible, and take care of the kid where you could. Spending so much time around someone like him— you couldn’t help but notice a few things about him. The first, that he was an incredible tracker.

There wasn’t a place in the world that someone could hide from him, so you knew when he didn’t show up to the cantina you were busying yourself at, it was a choice.

“You wanted me to find you?” His helmet tilts slightly, arms still straight at his sides.

“Course I did. You make everything more fun-citing.” You hiccup, confusing yourself with whatever word you just formed.

“Fun…citing?” You laugh, the mash of words sound even more ridiculous coming from his measured tone.

“See?! Everything’s better when you’re around. Even being drunk.” You still have your hand on his chest, and your greatful for it when you trip on your own feet and slam into him, two gloved hands coming to your waist, helping you upright. You hadn’t even realised you’d backed him up onto a wall until you’d lifted your head. And that he’d let you. “Sorry. Losing my balance.”

“It’s okay.” You know he’d easily push you away if he wanted. He doesn’t, gloved hands still holding your hips, almost encouraging you to stay this close.

“Can you get drunk?” His helmet tilts again, and your still grinning, staring at your reflection in his visor. “Like, are you a life-form that can drink? Get drunk? Or is that just a humanoid thing?”

“I can. Maybe it’s a humanoid thing.” So, he is like you. “Human enough to know that your head is going to be pounding tomorrow.”

“Boo. No fun.” You slur, leaning your face into the crook of his neck. You feel him stiffen, only for a second, but then his arm wraps around your back, and he lifts you into the air. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, and your arms thread around his neck.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He says softly, carrying you up the ladder. Your heart was slamming in your chest, nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with how close he was, and how easily he was carrying you. Did you weigh nothing to this man?

“I don’t wanna sleep.” You complain, afraid he was going to dump you in bed and leave. The only thing your inebriated brain can focus on is him. He makes everything clearer. At least a little. “Wanna stay with you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Don’t tell me what to do, Mando.” You pull yourself away from his neck and lean backwards. A little too much, because he has to lean forward to catch you, making sure you don’t throw yourself to the ground.

“You’re drunk.” He says, walking through the small room on the side of the Crest that holds your bed.

“So you told me. Still. Wanna be with you all the time, even when I’m not.” He sits you down on the bed, and stands, watching you carefully.

“Are you gonna be sick?” He asks, bringing over a bucket to the side of your bed. You scoff, kicking it back at him.

“No. Do I have to be sick to get you to stay with me? Cause I can be, if you go and get me a couple more shots of that blue stuff they were serving…”

“Okay. I’ll stay. Lay down.” You do as he says, and he just stands there, looking over you, clearly having no idea what to do. You almost feel a little bad, but your mouth has no filter right now, and you can’t stick on one thought too long even if you tried.

“Do you not want to?” You shuffle over, making room for him if he does. He stands in silence for a while, contemplating answering your question.

“I want to.” It’s almost painful, the way he says it, like he’s been holding onto the three little words for so long they’ve become apart of him. Fused, in some way, and only you could pull it out of him. “I want to when your sober.”

“Just… just lay down.” His confession throws you off. He…wants to? Of course, you were completely into him form the moment you were locked away on the Crest together, circumstances throwing you two together for the past few months. But the very idea that he might feel the same? You hardly entertained it, it was so far off.

“Okay.” He moves then, fully armoured, laying beside you. He isn’t as stiff once he’s next to you, his arm thrown around your shoulder allowing you to wrap yourself around his side. The bed was too small for the two of you, so it should be uncomfortable, but having him like this is the most comfortable thing in the galaxy. “Is…is this okay?”

“You tell me.” You say louder than necessary, and then you laugh at how loud you are. You feel him move under you, and the soft sounds coming from his helmet let you know he’s laughing too.

“Yes. This is…good.” There aren’t any blankets on the bed you can get to with Mando laying across them, but it just gives you an excuse to use him. You’d think the beskar armour would be freezing cold, but he just radiates a warmth you can’t justify. “Are you cold?”

“Mm. You’re warm, though.” He wraps you closer, and you link onto him like a bear, your leg over his lower stomach with his arms hugging you tight. “Thank-you.”

“Mayen gar copaanir, mesh’la.” He says in what you think must be Mando’a. The words flow so beautifully, even though you don’t know what they mean, and it relaxes you so much that your eyes close, and you slowly drift to sleep, but not before you exchange one more set of words, your drunk brain not quite finished with him.

“Will you stay like this again?” You mumble into his chest, and he takes a deep breath. Then, one of his hands brush your cheek. Warmth— human warmth, his bare hand on your skin. If you weren’t about to pass out, you would of reacted, but you can’t fight the sleep any longer. “When I’m not drunk?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

[mando’a translation: anything for you, beautiful]

#grippingbeskarsnightout #din djarin x y/n #din djaren x you #din djarin x reader #din djaren #din djaren x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandolorian x reader

[sofasoap]

Ner Kar'ta

Pairing : Din Djarin x f!reader. 

Summary:  Din claiming back what is rightfully his.

part 6 and finale to Heartbreak

MAJOR Warning : Bit of spoilers for Season 3, turn back now if you haven’t watched it. 

N1 is cool, but it is too small. Din got something else. 

Mature theme. strong languages.  All mando’a are from the good old google, soooooo might be full of mistakes. And the timeline and lores might be a bit funky. It’s AU. just… roll with it. 

English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. 

A/N: I really want to thank @groguspicklejar , @deakyjoe and all the readers to push me to write this series, I had a lot of fun writing this. Never would I thought from turning from Din fanfic reader to Din fanfic writer.  One of my new year resolutions was to be more creative either to start to write or draw.  So thank you, again, for pushing me out of my comfort zone. 

MASTERLIST for the previous stories to this 6 and half part fic.

Bird chirping, sounds of waterfall in the distance slowly waking you up. You buried yourself deeper into your silky bedsheet and duvet, trying hard to fall back to sleep. Not often you get to sleep in such a nice comfortable bed since you went on the run. Turning a little, searching the warmth of your riduur.

A stinging sensation followed by a dull headache pulls you back into awakeness. Slowly opening your eyes, you were met with an unfamiliar yet familiar ceiling, one that you wake up everyday since you were young. Shocking realisation hit you. 

YOU ARE ON NABOO. 

“... I have new information from Bo-Katan where the living water might be in Mandalore. There might be a chance it’s actually safe. The curse might be a lie after all.” Din murmured into your hair. 

“I was planning to make a trip there before Karga called me unexpectedly about the bounty.” He pulled away from you a bit, “I don’t want you to leave my side but I have to do this on my own, I have to redeem myself.” Although you don’t really agree with his fixation of redeeming himself and angry with his own Covert is so readily to abandon him after what he has done for them? Deep down you know this is very important for Din, you just have to let him do it. But something is nagging you, nudging you that it would not go all smooth sailing as he wishes, So you encourage him to take his son with him. “Take Grogu with you. Show him Manda’yim. Beside, I am sure our little ad’ika would love to go on an adventure with his buir.” our ad’ika 

You will be safe here with Fett under his protection. So he thought. So does everyone else. Who would be bold enough to harm the Daimyo’s personal ward? How wrong they were. Din should know your parents wouldn’t put the bounty on you with only one guild. Their desperation trying to get their last chance of getting their golden pelikki back? 

You were grabbing dinner from the cantina for both you and Peli, as per usual, same old routine, when the bounty hunters ambushed you. “Your riduur put up a good fight.” Fett apologised when he handed the vibroblade that you dropped back to Din, “ We found two dead bounty hunters in the alley, fatal stab wounds right in their neck.” Din smiled sadly. Pride swells in his heart. He knew you wouldn’t give in so easily. But guilt took over his heart . He should have left Grogu with you on Tatooine. Grogu would have saved you with his power. But he barely survived his redemption journey himself with unexpected enemies. A karking mythasour. If it wasn’t for Grogu and Bo-Katan’s help, he wouldn’t be here. “ I am sorry Vod, I broke my promise to you. I didn’t expect them to be so bold to intrude into my territory.” Din shook his head. “ No one expected this, what happened has happened. At least we know she is still alive.”  She better be alive, Din thought. The only hope he had was the bounty specifying you HAVE to be brought in alive. You were no use to your parents if you were dead. He only just got you back into his life, his clan of three back together again. He can’t imagine losing you again, FOREVER.

Think Din, THINK. 

Sad cooing sound brought him back to reality. Grogu looked up at his buir, ears down, as if asking where you were, where is his other buir, while tapping on his darksaber. He’s got an idea. Not the one he really wants to do. But he has no choice but to save his riduur, his heart. 

“I thought it might be time for you to wake up.” Your nanny fussed as she helped you out of bed. “ I am sorry about the new scar on your face. I have put some bacta cream on it, hopefully it will heal up in the next few days.” 

You look around your bedroom. Nothing has changed. The decoration, the bookshelf, wardrobe. Seems no one has touched anything since you ran away that night. 

You knew your parents wouldn’t give up so easily. You let your guard down too much thinking under the Daimyo’s protection you will be safe within the city limit.  Should have known there are always the unexpected factor and the bold ones that will go for the big money bounty in desperation. They ambushed you in an alleyway near the cantina, you have forgotten your blaster (again) back at the workshop, but you were glad you carried Din’s gift on you all the time. You manage to fend off two of the bounty hunters, when the third snuck up behind you, jabbed you with some sort of tranquilliser agent, and you blanked out afterwards. You touch your face, feeling the fresh scar added alongside your old one. You sighed and thought to yourself sarcastically, good thing you are married. Din never cared about the scar on your face. You remember on your wedding night, after both of you coming down from the blissful high, he gently caresses the scar on your face.

“You don’t need to be ashamed of your scar. The Mandalorians are proud of each scar they bare. Proves of battle and triumph from the struggles you have been through“ 

A nudge from your nanny brought you back into reality again. She pulled out a dress from the wardrobe. “Your mother has organised the suitor to meet up with you today.”  She mentioned as she help you to put on the dress. “The diplomat’s son?” Eyes widen, you begin to think how many days you have been knocked out or your parents' efficiency in organising meet-ups is faster than speed of light. To sell you off to the highest bidder. 

“ Yes, it seems they really want you to be their daughter in law.” You rolled your eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. You have disappeared for so many cycles, one would have thought they would have given up by now and moved on to find a more appropriate socialite to marry.

Looking at yourself in the mirror. As much as you despise the woman who has given birth to you, you have to admit she does have very good taste in fashion. Subconsciously your hand goes towards your stomach. Feeling of flutter emerges from your heart as you place your hand there. “... I am glad to see you again, ad’ika” your nanny whispered as she put on some hair accessories and a veil over the side of your face, to cover up the scar. “ I am too, I miss you a lot while I was away. I hope the family has  treated you well.” You see your nanny’s sad smile in the reflection of the mirror, that says it all. They wouldn’t have forgiven her lightly for letting you run away that night. “ … I can’t stay. I can’t follow my parent’s wish to marry the diplomat’s son.I .. I am already married. To a Mandalorian.” you confessed after a brief silence. You see your nanny’s eyes widened with surprise and start laughing softly. “ OH my child… all the stories I have told you about our people really made an impact on you, didn’t it?” Finishing off the last bit of the make up, she turned you around, holding your face, lightly. “ I hope he’s been treating you well?” “ Well… he was being a big di’kut but eventually redeemed himself.” She laughed at your choice of description of Din. “ I am glad. I am glad you found your happiness.” wiping away tears in her eyes, she pulls you up from the chair, giving you one last over before heading out of the room for the meeting you've been dreading for. 

Walking down the corridor, you took note of possible escape points and routes. You know chances of you slipping away this time round is pretty slim. You know how good the security system and guards are around the estate. If anything they would have changed and upgraded the codes since you were last here. 

Cyar’ika.. I miss you.. Please come and get me soon. 

Your father sat on the chair, nursing a glass of Blossom wine, while your mother pacing up and down the large parlour room, waiting anxiously for the guest to turn up. They haven’t changed a bit, you thought. The tone of mockery after you greeted them, not even bothering to ask after your welfare, the time you spend on the run.  Fusses over how you should be behaving after the “ very important guest who can change the future of the family” shows up. Same old same old, like nothing has happened. you thought, setting a bounty on your own flesh and blood and eagerly selling her off again. All of sudden the servant slams open the door to the parlour. “My.. .My lord and ladies!!” , they panting away. “What is all the fuss about??? Is the guest here yet?” 

They shook their head. 

“There's an unexpected visitor, he.. He said he’s King of Mandalore and.. And demands his wife to be returned to him at once!” Your heart soared. DIN. Your riduur has come for you.  But… what is the deal with ….

Right behind the servants, you see A WHOLE GROUP of Mandalorians, with Fennec and Boba Fett, led on by Din, marching down the hallway straight for the parlour.  All the servants dodge out of the way in fear, giving way to the group. 

You heard your nanny’s light gasp beside you, that is when you noticed the darksaber in Din’s hand. Instead of his tattered cape, he is wearing a full length dark coloured fur cape. Regal was the first word popped into your head as you took a good look at him. You were in awe of the aura he is emitting right now, leading his people to come and demand your return. You didn’t think it could happen again but you have fallen in love with Din all over again. A joyful coo and scream caught your attention, you noticed Grogu jumped out from Fennec’s arm and proceeded to leap towards you. You rushed forward and scooped your son up into your arm. “Oh ner ad, pehea Ni mirdir gar.” (Oh my son how I missed you). You hugged him tightly.

“ What is THAT disgusting thing you are holding?!!” your mother shrieked. You turned around,facing towards your mother, glaring at her, “ His name is GROGU, he is MY son, my ad’ika. And mother, father, I would be watching your mouth in front of my husband.”

“ Your.. Your husband?!” 

Smiling sweetly, you tilted your head, “ Yes, my husband. The King of Mandalore. Didn’t you two always want me to marry into a high society? Now you have your wishes granted.” Turning around again, you held a hand out towards your nanny, pulling her along as you stride towards Din, head held up high. Stopping right in front of him, making an exaggerated curtsy as you jokes, “ Quite an entourage you have brought with you, my Mand’alor.” The large tall Mandalorian in blue armour elbowed Din when he just stood there, not replying, just staring at you through his visor.  Din was awestruck by your appearance as soon as he burst into the room. There you were, standing in front of the room, sunlight streaming in through the window.  The breeze blowing the veil that was half covering the face, and the beautiful white backless long sleeve dress, with a silver neckpiece holding up the dress. It accentuates your figure perfectly. His riduur, his Queen.

Your parents were still screaming and demanding an answer in the background, Din pulled you beside him, raising his darksaber towards them.

“ If you don’t want to cause a diplomatic situation here, I would strongly suggest you shut your mouth up.” taking a step closer, he growled, “ And if you dare to set another bounty on her again, you would have the whole covert of  Mandalorian waging war on you.”  Not even waiting for an answer, he turned around and led the whole group out of the room, leaving your parents behind.

Din’s arm never left your side until the private landing platforms for ships in your parent’s estate. There you see several space crafts, including Din’s , parked there. You gave Grogu a big kiss on his forehead before letting him down as he waddled towards Fett and Fennec. As you stood back up, Din pulled you into a tight embrace. “ I am sorry I came late…” You can hear the emotion in his voice, even through the modulator. You pull his helm down for a keldabe kiss. “ I have no doubt you will come for me Din.. I never doubt it.” you whispered back. He swore this will never happen again. Once is too much. He can’t forgive himself for letting it happen. “ Stop it Din, I know what you are thinking. It’s not your fault.” You gave him a light slap on his chest armour. “ I should have been more careful and carried my weapons around.”

As if you have reminded him of something, he took the vitroblade out from his side belt, and handed it back to you. 

“So, Mand’alor?” You smirked.

Din sighed, “ Long story…” 

“ Oi, love birds,let’s get out of here. You can give each other hugs and kisses later.” The blue Mandalorian from before barges into the moment, hurrying everyone to move along. Din turned towards him, presumably glaring at the Blue Mando, “Do you have to  Paz? I just got my riduur back.” Paz, you assume is the name of the Blue Mando, started laughing. Back to your home. Where you belong.

The ship landed softly on the grass.  The ramp landing opened slowly, Grogu and the two children ran out into the field, screaming and laughing. You waddle slowly down the ramp with a blanket under your arm. With you heavily pregnant with the third child, Din nervously hovers around you. Afraid you will fall apart any moment. “Din, I've been through this twice. You know I am not going to crumble apart just by walking!” He knows it, but him being so overprotective with his family, he just couldn’t stop fussing. 

After the bounty event from few cycles ago, Din explained to you how he became the Mand’alor. He knew where to find you, with all the details on the bounty puck, as you have mentioned to him once your family was quite known on Naboo, so it was an easy lead. But he couldn’t just march into Naboo, causing a scene, there will be a high chance both of you would never leave the planet safely, without a new bounty set on both of you by the republic or a whole army of Naboo soldiers chasing both of you down.  Din had no choice but to claim his place as Mand’alor with his ownership of Darksaber, and also to ask Paz for help. “You will owe me a big time, Din Djarin.” Paz warned. “ And you know I still want to challenge you for the right to the darksaber…” Din mentioned Paz’s riduur gave Paz an earful immediately after, growling at him for putting his greed for the saber before your safety. The Armorer reluctantly agrees to let few of the members of the covert to tag along, after Din promises to bring them back in one piece. Just to scare your parents. He assured the Armorer. Several younger members of the covert eagerly volunteered, wanting to travel off planet to see the outside world. The rest was history. You returned to him with no further complications, and Paz still gives Din grief about challenging him to the saber but one look from his riduur, he shuts his mouth up.  You spread the blanket out onto the grass, and with great effort, lower onto it. Took awhile for you to get comfortable, you are so far along, you can pop any day. “Cyar’ika.” You heard Din whispering behind you as he pulled you into his embrace. You leaned back into his chest with a sigh as you closed your eyes. He nestles his head, as you notice, without the helmet, into your neck. 

“I cannot wait to meet our ik’aad.” De’javu hits you. This is like the dream, the one you had a few cycles ago. But this time, it’s real. Your family. Your riduur. 

The Force really has been guiding and pushing everything along, hasn’t it? 

This is your clan, Clan Mudhorn, clan of five. Soon to be six. 

Grogu loves Uncle Fett and Aunty Fennec, and Peli of course 🙂

Well that is it folks. My brain juice has run out for this series, and I think this is the fitting end the clan deserves. Thank you all for coming along on this journey, I didn’t expect people would be reading it at all hhahaha. Spread the love for our space husband and the little green pea!

Taglist: @frogtits1 @memester-png

@jake-g-lockley

@novaethecosplayer

@foxgirl95

@gloryekaterina

@varientlyvisual

@flowersgirl02

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #grogu #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

[unleashthegoats]

BONUS AHSOKA SHOW REACTION EPISODE: GET FUCKED, YOU FILTHY CASUALS

We watched the Ahsoka show and have a LOT to say! Welcome to what is probably our most explicit episode so far, where we chat about visuals, costumes, lightsaber battles, casting and characters, the problems that arise when you try to stack too many shows together, and things you should avoid while worldbuilding. Angela liked how pretty it was. Natalie liked the side characters. Sugar liked that it ended.

Content warning: brief mentions of antisemitism and racism. Our intro and outro music is Mos Eisley Cantina by Spiedkiks on Free Music Archive (CC BY-SA).

Note from Mod Sugar: There were several things we ran out of time to discuss, so here is a quick overview of a few things we want to make sure we acknowledge:

The late Ray Stevenson was a hit for all of us. While, like Hayden, he ended up with some pretty limited material to work with, his performance was arguably the most compelling on the entire show and whoever comes in to take over the role has some big shoes to fill.

Fan reactions to Shin Hati (and actress Ivanna Sakhno) in comparison to the fan reactions to Reva Sevander and Moses Ingram are INCREDIBLY telling. Liking Shin is perfectly valid, liking Shin more than Reva is perfectly valid (although Mod Sugar disagrees with your taste). But it's impossible to deny the racism involved in the way Shin and Ivanna are being greeted with immense amounts of love even though Reva and Moses got so much hate from fans that multiple members of the cast and creative team had to go online to defend her and ask it to stop.

The New Republic storyline and Hera's part in it. This honestly feels like it should've been a storyline for Luke and Leia but is being tossed onto Hera because Disney's too scared to recast either character in order to do more stories with them (Mod Fae: even though much of this storyline is based on a series of novels that centered Luke and Leia). Hera's out of character behavior and the vilification of the New Republic (something that began in The Mandalorian) is immensely frustrating. It's always nice to see Carson Teva (and Paul Sun-Hyung Lee) again, though.

The Jedi criticism was entirely expected from Filoni, but it doesn't make it any less upsetting to see, especially given how positive the show was about Anakin, the man who betrayed the Jedi and committed their genocide. The lack of any acknowledgement of Ahsoka's relationships to other Jedi who weren't Anakin doesn't help the issue.

#star wars #star wars podcast #podcast #spotify #ahsoka show #sw ahsoka #star wars ahsoka

[againstacecilia]

I wish you'd write a fic where...

Either Din or Poe pretends to the readers fake boyfriend at a bar/crowded place. To get rid of unwanted attention, they swear. That's the only reason.

😉

Oh well twist my arm. 😍

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Rating: T, I think, but the whole blog is 18+ NO EXCEPTIONS

Excerpt: "Without saying anything you leap into the thick of the rabble, knowing Mando would follow you. The last months of working together had built an understanding between the two of you. You move, he moves. He jumps, you follow. Like your favorite book, you knew exactly what was going to happen when Mando went out into the world and he could rely on that consistency from you as well, all without either of you having to utter a word."

Warnings: Canon typical violence, a grabby guy at a bar, some unspoken feelings, mentions of alcohol, just a hint of angst.

Summary: Hunting with Mando is a great time, but why do people keep trying to hide in bars?

A/N: This lil fic was requested by @creatively-analytical and is also 1000% dedicated to you, my love! I figured your birthday was as good a time as any to answer this! Here's a little protective!Din fic, dedicated to you. I'm SO HAPPY you exist and I'm so thankful our paths crossed. LOVEYOUSOMUCHHAPPYBIRTHDAY

Great. Another bar. After months of hunting with Mando, the hardest quarries always seemed to end up in some crowded, smelly place that had no business serving things to eat and drink. 

Overall, chasing quarries along the Outer Rim was great. Adventure around every turn, working as a team with your silent Mandalorian companion, hours by yourself to read on your holopad or learn about fighting from Mando, there was a lot to enjoy about the fact that no two days were alike. Until you had to walk into a seedy cantina and then the unknown loomed over you like the male figures that always seemed to surround you and try to swallow you up. 

You did just fine on your own, honestly, but it doesn’t mean you liked dealing with it in the first place. It usually ended with a fist into someone’s gut (mostly your first into their gut, luckily) but whenever you had to follow someone into the enclosed space you were counting the seconds until you could see the stars again. Tonight was one of those nights.

As always, Din leads the way through the beat-up cantina door and into the sea of bodies. You follow closely, noting each exit and window as you both scanned the room for your quarry. Mando usually spotted people first, being a head taller than everyone else and being able to use whatever tech aided him in that helmet of his, but this guy was different. He was sneaky, a pro at blending into whatever environment surrounded him. This was your speciality, though, the reason you and Mando had teamed up all those months ago, finding the slipperiest and sneakiest targets. Eyes narrowed against the glaring neon signs, you take a breath and tune out the music and hum of talking and laughter. You pass your gaze along the middle of the crowd when… There. 

Without saying anything you leap into the thick of the rabble, knowing Mando would follow you. The last months of working together had built an understanding between the two of you. You move, he moves. He jumps, you follow. Like your favorite book, you knew exactly what was going to happen when Mando went out into the world and he could rely on that consistency from you as well, all without either of you having to utter a word.

Slinking between writhing bodies you press deeper into the dancefloor. This was your own kind of dance, one you knew with your eyes closed. You could feel Mando behind you as you crept toward your target on silent feet. Within a heartbeat you were circling your hand around a thin bicep. Pressing your face close to your target’s, you whisper, “Gotcha.”

He turns to face you, eyes wide with shock and fear. To his credit, he doesn’t squirm or try to get himself out of your grasp; his head just falls in defeat as you pull him toward your partner. Mando snaps cuffs on thin wrists and the three of you head towards the door. 

The walk back is quiet, but a different quiet than you’re used to. Over your weeks together, you learned that Mando has a few different quiets: There’s the triumphant quiet after a daring catch, there’s the angry quiet after a quarry slips away, and every once in a while there’s a restless quiet on the Crest after traveling for too long. But this one… You couldn’t quite put your finger on what was different about this one. The way his gaze bares into the back of your head while you drag the bail jumper toward his carbonie nap makes you shiver, but not in a way you totally mind…

The ship is a half mile out of town, nestled in a clearing of the thickest forest you’ve ever seen, but the wildlife trails make getting in and out of your little hiding place easy enough. Mando pushes some buttons on his vambrace to open the ramp to the Crest and takes the quarry from you, leading him to the freezer. After a quick cloud, the machine finished freezing him and Mando loads him into the backlog. 

As he returns to the cargo bay, you open your mouth to ask him if he’s okay, but he speaks before you can.

“Want to go back?”

You blink, confused. “What?”

“We deserve a break, and that was the least dingy bar we’ve come across in a long time. Let’s get you a drink.”

Mando walks back down the ramp and back toward the treeline. Too stunned to argue, you follow, mostly out of curiosity. What has gotten into him?

If you were honest with yourself, the cantina wasn’t where you wanted to go to let loose. If there was an open-air market or a library you could spend hours getting lost in, those would be your first choices. But as night fell over the city you never bothered to get the name of, it became clear that the bar was the only place you’d get to sit down and not have to make your own food. You’d take it. 

A hand painted sign you hadn’t noticed the first time around hangs over the entrance: The Last Meteor. A more delicate name than the patrons inside suggested. As your eyes adjust to the lighting, you look with a different focus than a few hours ago. High-backed booths line the room, with high and low tables scattered around the interior. A dance floor takes a quarter of the floorspace next to the bar. You and Mando slide up to sit in stools at the bar and flag down a droid cleaning glasses. 

“My name is C-L1, how may I serve you this evening?” The mechanical voice asks, holding none of the warmth that seemed to sneak out of Mando’s modulator during long stints in hyperspace. 

“One Horstberry cider, please,” you respond, dropping credits on the bar, “And something to eat. Chef’s choice.” 

“And for you?” C-L1 asks Mando.

“Nothing, thank you.” he responds without looking at the droid. His attention was directed elsewhere, most likely keeping an eye on everyone around you, monitoring for any sign of danger. C-L1 dips their head and moves away to put in your food order and pour your cider. 

“So, Mando, what’s this all about?” you ask after your drink is set in front of you. You take a sip, savoring the tang and sweetness of something that didn’t come from a water recycling unit. 

“I told you,” he says, still not looking at you, “We deserve a break and time off the ship.”

You scoff, taking another drink. “Sure, you seem real relaxed and taking advantage of this break.”

The visor of his helmet slowly turns toward you, sending a shiver up your spine. Mando holds the stare for another moment before facing back to the crowd. There was your answer; this was your break. Something warmed a little in your chest with the knowledge, and you were sure it wasn’t anything to do with the cider. 

Your food comes, a huge sandwich piled high with meat and dripping with some sauce that runs down your fingers as soon as you pick it up. The mess is immediately pushed to the back of your mind as you bite in, relishing the tangy sauce and toasted bread. Rations were fine, obviously enough to survive on, but you missed real food. Your eyes close and a hum of contentment slips out of you. 

The little bubble suddenly pops as you hear Mando tell you to stay put before slipping off the stool and into the throng. You hate it when he leaves you like this, but you’re content for now to turn back to your sandwich and let him do whatever it is he’s off doing. 

“Hey honey,” A voice says to your right. A man plops into Mando’s empty seat and turns to face you. His legs crowd your space and he leans closer, a hand resting on your lower back, “I don’t recognize you. You new here?”

“You’d remember meeting me,” you respond lazily, finishing the first half of the sandwich. The other half you’d take back to the Crest for Mando to eat during his solitary meal. 

“I bet I would,” the man drawled, free hand reaching across your body to turn you toward him. “What’s your name?”

You pull the napkin from under your plate and dab it across your lips before dropping it on the plate. “Not the sharing type, unfortunately,” you say, gesturing for C-L1, “Have a good evening.”

You attempt to turn your seat back to face the bar, but the stranger has a strong grip on you. C-L1 comes by just as the stranger says, “I asked you for your name, little lady.”

You ignore him, instead asking the droid for a to-go container and thanking him for the delicious meal. “And I told you to have a good evening. It’s a rejection,” you say, putting the rest of the sandwich into the container and closing the lid. 

The stranger reaches up to grip your jaw in his hand, jerking your face to him. “You think you can just-” his words are cut off by the shadow looming over your shoulder. You recognize the presence immediately, just before a modulated voice says:

“Leave.”

A flash of fear lights the stranger’s eyes before the cocky mask is back and he scoffs. “Back off Mandalorian, I found her first.”

Rage heats your neck and face. Before you can say anything, though, a gloved hand reaches around you and fists into the stranger’s jacket. Stepping around you, Mando lifts the man off the seat and throws him to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, anger contorting his face. 

“What the hell, man? You the boyfriend or something?”

“Yeah, I am. She told you she isn’t the sharing type, and neither am I, so fuck off.”

The stranger blanches, fear finally setting in. He mumbles something along the lines of “I’m so sorry” before aiming for the door and stumbling into the night. The crowd that parted for him to leave merges again and the dull roar of the cantina comes back in full. 

“You alright?” Mando asks, reclaiming his seat next to you. 

You finish the rest of your cider before answering, letting the tension out of your shoulders and rubbing your jaw where a ghost of the stranger’s grip still lingers. “I’m fine. Thank you, by the way.”

He shrugs, brushing off your thanks. “Ready to head back?”

“Absolutely.” You slip off the stool and lead the way toward the door. 

Once out in the cool evening, you stop and stare at the stars in the inky sky. They center you, remind you that everything that just happened in The Last Meteor is so small compared to everything that’s out there. You close your eyes for a moment and just breathe, feeling the last of the night’s tension flow out of your body. Mando waits next to you and you can feel his gaze burning into you again. Your eyes open and find his visor, focusing right where you think his eyes would be before saying, “So. I’m your girlfriend?”

“I knew he wouldn’t leave you alone if he didn’t think you were already claimed by someone.” Mando replies matter-of-factly, visor never shifting from you.

“Claimed?” You ask, eyebrows lifting.

“You know what I mean. One of those guys who thinks he’s owed things by the world. Takes what he wants unless someone bests him at getting them first.”

“Well, I guess I’d rather be yours than be conquered by some random guy in a bar,” you quip, heading toward the Crest. You let the implication hang in the air, I’d rather be yours…

Mando doesn’t say anything for the walk back to the ship, back to your little shared home. You count the stars, memorizing the constellations of this area and sneaking glances over at your companion’s unfaltering visage. This quiet, this… Contemplative silence, it’s newly charged. Like those walls you both so carefully constructed are poised to fall...

Back on the Crest, you silently hand Mando the container with the other half of the sandwich before crawling into the makeshift cot you had insisted on setting up on your first day on board. You face the wall and cover up as you listen to Mando’s boots ascend the ladder to the cockpit, a curious feeling prickling at your chest as you close your eyes. 

- - - - - - - -

He sits in the pilot’s chair, lights off and helmet on the floor next to his feet, the to-go container open on his lap. The stars shining through the viewport of the ship provide the only light in the small cockpit. As he stares ahead, the events of the evening flash in his mind’s eye; snagging the quarry, going back to the cantina, stepping away for barely a minute, seeing the stranger’s hands all over you, throwing him to the ground… Suddenly, everything stops on an image of you: face tilted to the sky, eyes closed, a small smile lifting the corners of your mouth as you breathed in the night air. As surely as you took that breath, in that moment, you stole his right from his chest. He isn’t sure where any of it came from; the anger at the stranger or this protectiveness of you. He isn’t sure what’s changed from yesterday to today, but he wants to find out. He wants to know you, if by some miracle you want to know him too. 

For now, he’ll settle for watching the stars you love so much. 

#din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fan fic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fan fiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars fan fiction #star wars fan fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fan fic #the mandalorian fan fiction #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mandalorian x you #clan dinui 🌟💫 #request

[raccoonfallsharder]

i like to imagine that if one were to give Rocket a sudoku or crosswords puzzle, he can fill them all out at an unbelievable rate. like, you'd introduce him to the concept of sudoku, how each row and each column and each 3×3 grid should have nine distinct and non-repeating numerical digits–

but you haven't finished explaining the rules and Rocket's already filling out the empty boxes with his pencil like ticking off items on a laundry list. not a minute later, it's solved. he then gets confused at your jaw dropping while showing you the filled-out paper puzzle.

"what? you're- you just, fill out the thing with numbers, right? what's so surprising?"

i love this! im sorry i didn’t see this ask sooner but YES. thank you so much for this PERFECT mental image lol. i am actually working on a oneshot that’s not about this EXACTLY but is about rocket’s brain in relation to some of these things lol. the way he sees shit.

sudoku, i think, is easy for him. you explain the rules once and he just looks at the grid and he knows where everything goes. it’s like looking at a bomb or a gun. all the pieces have a home — it only takes one glance with soft eyes to see where each thing fits.

word searches, too. once he knows what a word is supposed to look like, he can take in a box of letters with that same glance and be like — oh, there’s fifteen words. sometimes he finds words that aren’t even intentionally included.

the trick with both these puzzles is that rocket does not get caught up in the sequence of things. he doesn’t go line-by-line or letter-by-letter. he has a more holistic way of understanding things — a big-picture kind of guy. looks at them and says “this is where the thing fits.”

now, crossword puzzles? those i’m less sure of. i think rocket would be the type to be annoyed by “bad clues.” his vocabulistics ain’t always standard, so to speak, and i bet he sometimes makes up words. plus, having to remember how they’re supposed to be spelled? that’s a problem. sometimes the clue will be like “more yellow than blue; a French liqueur” and instead of writing in “chartreuse” rocket is like “greeeeeeen” because why the fuck not, this game is stupid. he finishes in record time but when you look at it, most of the answers are like… only sorta-conceptually-correct? and usually with creative spellings? occasionally he’ll throw in a cluster of letters in kree?

“so i can see you answered this column with crow but you used a character i don’t recognize for the w and it’s overlapping with the g in lasagna. and uhm neither of those are technically right.”

“yeah in shi’ar that letter makes a sound like wuh or guh. little further back in the throat though.”

“uh huh. but this is, uhm, a US-english crossword.”

“so?”

“…good talk.”

now maybe when he’s a little older, and the Star Kids have grown up and have Star Kids of their own, and Old Man Rocket is sitting outside a cantina on Knowhere making origami versions of cosmo for them — maybe in between he pulls out the giant book of puzzles pete sent him for christmas last year. adjusts his reading glasses and strokes a claw over his grizzled whiskers. the kids come up and ask him what he’s working on today and he shows them and teaches them how to do each one.

“this one you can’t repeat any numbers.”

“that seems hard.”

“nah, it’ll be easy for you. you’re almost as much of a genius as me. now, this one you gotta find these words in this graph.”

“okay. i think i like this better. what about that one?”

“ah, i used to hate those ones but now they’re my favorite.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. for these ones, you just make shit up, and you bend all the rules till your answer works.”

#rfh asks #hyperjorts #rocket raccoon headcanons #rfh headcanons #asks are my favorites #rocket raccoon #rfh fluff

[bsxcrxts]

in the spirit of new years celebraions and such could i get some thots on getting frisky w luke at some sort of party or something like how far coukd it go withiut him having to excuse the two of you back to his quarters or something like that ?

yes of course!! the thought of this has me fully feral tbh

honestly I think it depends on the type of the party and even his mood because I can see him reacting a few ways

if it's a smaller party, where a lot of people know him personally, he's a lot shyer

that being said, he still kinda really likes having you love up on him where other people can notice, so dancing up on him is fair game, and so is kissing him

basically just being flirtatious, but his face is flushed and he feels like there's not enough space to "hide" comfortably, and he's not into like, full on exhibitionism when there's a chance either of you could end up discovered or exposed

he doesn't let it go as far as he wishes he could. the moment he gets more than a semi, he's whispering in your ear if you want to leave with him

if it's a big party though where everyone is really only paying attention to themselves. oh boy. ohhhh boy

or at a seedy bar?? there's already all sorts of shady shit going on in a cantina. no one will notice one more couple feeling each other up, so he's much braver

in this case I think the dancing suggestively with him is barely the tip of the iceberg

doesn't care if you basically give him a handjob over his pants. in fact, really likes it.

he'll let you make out with him in a booth and straddle his lap and grind on him until he can't take it anymore and is about to cum or does.

drags you away to somewhere more secluded but not actually totally private and lets you shove your hand down his pants

this is wild but I swear I think he would actually let you make him cum in his pants as long as the two of you were tucked away somewhere where no one is directly watching and then he'd keep going so he could return the favor

"this 'kay?" he's murmuring as he cups your cunt over your pants or beneath your skirt

"can I do more?" he's barely whispering as he toys with your waistband or even literally the crotch of your panties if you've got a short enough skirt on

like esb-post rotj era, when he's matured and more skilled in the Force he knows that he can use it to obscure what the two of you are doing if absolutely necessary so as a result, he gets a little more cocky

pretty much at a big party where he can find a balcony, booth, corner, or smaller room where people are passing by but not necessarily looking in, he will do almost anything short of physically exposing either of you. he's not that risky. but if there's something that can cover what the two of you are doing... say a long, fluffy skirt with lots of fabric... or a poncho... he can get really creative with that.

he learns how to be quick enough that someone won't *quite* notice what you're doing but the risk is there

always asks to take you back to his quarters after no matter how far you went

#luke 💛 #luke skywalker smut #luke skywalker x reader #becca's bs #lord help me this. this um. anyway #minors do not interact

[limeysims]

Rosemary stops by her favorite bar in Oasis Springs, El Loco Cantina. She runs into Marcel Forbes, who used to be a bartender there. He's quiet, but her sense of humor breaks the ice and they become fast friends ^^

Previous ♡ Next Beginning

Credits: ⤜♡→ El Loco Cantina is available on the gallery by Maydussa ⤜♡→ Marcel Forbes is from the Creative Arts household, made by @oshinsimblr

#ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #nsb #not so berry #nsb mint #mint #simblr #not so berry challenge #not so berry mint #rosemary berry

[livingemkayde]

Twin Moons - Chapter Eight: The Resurgence

Series Summary: 

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

Chapter Eight: The Resurgence

Notes: This update came quicker than expected I strapped into my flight and wrote most of it in one go lol!! But also it took so long, I'm really sorry. I was actually getting a lot of unexpected hate lol. Anyways, I’m gonna slow burn the fuck out of this story bc I live for the drama. I've taken creative liberties with the story revolving Nervarro. Thank you for all the recent love. As always, please enjoy. 

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive f!reader

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

Warnings: Brief mentions of sexual content. Graphic depictions of blood and knife wounds. Cursing, mentions of the club/cantina work/killing. 

Summary: 

“Who did this to you?” He says it low, almost like a growl. 

“No one, I just slipped and landed on something in my ship,” you reply coolly—trying to keep your stuttering to a minimum. 

You try to look down to the pain growing at your side but his hand keeps your jaw up to look at him.

Masterlist  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven

When he wakes you up, he tells you he has to leave. You understand—he has a bounty waiting for him in carbonite. 

You offer to walk him to his ship and he gives you a sharp nod in agreement. At first, you think you might've crossed some imaginary line between you but his hand comes to your lower back and when he begins to push you through the front door—a flush comes to your cheeks. 

You settle next to him on the short walk back to his ship. The sun is beginning to rise and peer down through the levels—you note how you slept so soundly in his arms. 

Your hands brush against each other and even though you want to grab his and intertwine your fingers—for some reason you still worry about rejection. 

You pull your hand away before he can think of anything else. 

When you arrive, you're met with silence as you turn to face him. 

“So…” you say, and gesture your head towards the Crest. 

“Yeah, uh—listen. I don't want you to think that this is like—something I do,” he says. His hand finds his hip and he looks down toward the ground. 

You stare in shock. Does he mean this was a one time thing? 

“I–um. Okay. Yeah…” you trail off, not sure what to say other than small mumbled words to hide your embarrassment. 

“I don't just…leave. I wish I could stay but the bounty and I…yeah,” he finalizes. 

Thank the maker. 

You flush as he says his words. A wave of relief hits you straight in the chest and you let out a breath you realize you've been holding this whole time. 

You think back to your place—his name on your lips—and how he told you after to only use it with him. You flushed at that—and told him your name in return. He had said it—the syllables sounding foreign on his tongue. 

You smile. Really smile. Maybe the first since you last saw him on Sorgan all those months ago. 

“Oh. No yeah—I-I get it,” you reply sweetly. 

“Will you be here when I come back to see you?” He asks. 

Your breath hitches. ‘When’ he comes back. Not ‘if’. 

“Yes,” you say a bit too quickly. “Or I'll be at the cantina.”

“Okay. That's–that's good.” The ramp of the Crest lowers and he makes a small step backwards. 

“When will you visit again?” Your curiosity gets the better of you. 

“I'm not sure. Make a week,” he says and takes another step back. 

You nod and smile in return. 

You suddenly feel weird. Should you hug him? Kiss his helmet? Shake his hand? You aren't sure. You clasp your hands behind your back and dig your fingernails into the skin there instead. 

“I'll be seeing you,” he says, and then he's gone. 

_ 

On your walk back to your place, you take the long way. 

You turn the corner, walking down a bustling road with some shopkeepers calling out to you. You give them a small smile in return and peruse through the aisles. 

The stalls sell a variety of different things from all over the galaxy—you feel the touch of silks, fruits, and oils through your bare hands. 

You avoid people’s eyes just like you always have. 

When you pass the cantina, you think of Davin. You think back to the night where you ended it and it makes your palm sweat a bit. 

He hadn't pleaded for his life like you expected. You think about his eyes—the look of them when you shot him. In the back of your head you know his forces aren't truly gone—just scattered to the wind. You don't think about him much, but admittedly, Din brought back some unpleasant memories from before your time in the upper levels. 

You pull your eyes past the bar and to the street in front of you. It's busy this morning, many citizens soliciting in the market areas. You pull your jacket around you and stuff your hands in your pockets. 

As you weave through the crowd to make your way back to your place, you feel slightly uneasy—like there are eyes all around you. You try to push it away and attribute it to your lack of sleep. 

As you try to slip through a particularly narrow space between bodies, you feel a grip on your arm. At first you think the person beside you is attempting to prevent your fall, but the grip tightens, stops you in your tracks, and you snap your head to meet the owner. 

A man—human—looks back at you. He has a hood over his head and a clean shaven face. 

But he has something dark about him. You felt it even before he put hands on you. When you attempt to break his grasp, you feel a small stab in your side, and look down. Your eyes are met with a small dagger’s point digging into your stomach m. 

He twists the knife handle slightly and you gasp. You don't try to move anymore. His hold on your arm tightens and you attempt to scan your surroundings for witnesses but he conceals the dagger between your bodies and no one bats an eye. 

You try to search his eyes in the hopes you’d recognize him or his motives. But you aren’t sure who he is—maybe a follower of Davin or something even worse. 

The dagger digs a bit deeper and you suck in a shallow breath—returning your eyes to his. 

“La’sara has been looking for you,” he says under his breath while meeting your eye. 

Holy fuck. 

Your heart drops at the name—at first your brows furrow, then widen slightly with surprise. 

La’sara. The fucking twi’lek bitch you worked with at the cantina. She worked closely with Davin—but you thought she had disappeared after you killed him. She didn't like you—well you don't really know that—all you know is you didn't like her. She felt like you two were competing for Davin’s attention even though you never wanted it in the first place. 

“Who?” You reply with a mocking tone—your eyes slightly rolling at his ambiguity. 

“She wants to see you. Don't play dumb bitch,” he says while sticking the dagger into your side more, it breaks the barrier of your skin with its final push. As you feel blood rush down your side, your eyes widen and your heart rate picks up. 

“She's back at the cantina?” 

“New place on 1056,” He says. Damn—you knew the cantina. She probably bought out the place with the credits leftover from Davin. 

“Tell her I'm not doing work anymore,” you continue when he doesn’t respond. The dagger slides into your side further and you try your hardest to prevent your face from contorting in pain. 

“She just wants to talk,” his neck extends like it's some kind of threat. “And she's not asking.” 

You stare back in silence. 

What a fucking joke. 

Fuck. 

_

“C’mon in,” the guard outside the cantina looks at the man behind you who is holding onto your shoulder with a strong grip. 

You agreed to go—not like you had much choice with a dagger slicing through your skin. 

La’sara was…she was strange to you. She was nice to your face, but you could tell there was animosity through her actions. You were surprised she was the one to surface first—even more surprised she sought to find you. 

You know this cantina but haven't been inside. You look around the dark room but it's mostly empty. Some patrons lean against the walls and bar. 

You assume she owns this place now. 

You're led to the back rooms past the bar and snake through narrow hallways to get to the main one. 

The doors open and she stands looking out the window behind her desk. She looks older—maybe more wise. You hope. 

“Ah! Birdie!” She says when she finally turns.  

The nickname sticks to your skin in an unpleasant way. It reminds you of everything. 

“You don't know how long I've been trying to find you,” she continues when you don't say anything. 

“Kinda the point La’sara,” you bite back. 

She looks down to your blood stained shirt and smirks a bit. 

“Need anything?” She gestures down to your stomach. 

“No. Thanks for that by the way,” you roll your eyes. “Just get to the point,” you continue. 

“Jeez. You're pleasant. So, I would offer you the job, but I'm not really asking, Birdie,” she sits down in the desk chair and spins around slowly while fiddling with her right lekku. 

“‘Sara I'm not working anymore,” you huff while rolling your eyes. Maker, she was the same as you remember—probably more annoying. 

She slams her hand down on her desk to stop spinning. 

“And I'm not fuckin’ asking,” she says back, cold. “You don't think I know about your little debt to D?” Your eyes widen. Fuck. Had he told her? 

“Honestly, I'm still shocked, Birdie. You kill the guy who saved your ass? You should be dead,” she says while laughing slightly. 

For some reason, that hurts. She hits a sore spot in your emotions that almost brings tears to your eyes, because she's right. You should be dead—the thought tightens your neck but you shove that feeling back down your throat. 

“'Sara. I'm not doing work anymore,” you try to stand your ground, but you feel yourself slipping after she confessed she knows you were a Jedi. 

“No,” she laughs again. “I wanted to talk. Let's talk. I've been trying to track down that fucking Mandalorian since you killed D. Fucking shiny head bitch–and no one can do it.” 

You stare back in silence. Fuck. Had that guy seen you and Din? 

“But I know you did it,” she continues. “You found him.” 

You think back to the cantina. It was bittersweet—before everything went to shit. 

“And I know he just left your place—don't ask, I had some intel on you and he just fuckin happened to be waltzing out of your door. It was like a dream come true.” 

“I'm not gonna kill him if that's what you're asking,” you cut her off—your cheeks flaring at the thought of her men seeing you and Din together—looking very domestic. 

“Good thing that's not what I need,” she says with a glint of amusement behind her eyes. 

“I need him alive. Get intel on him and whatever it is he's doing. A month. That's all I'm asking.” She looks more sympathetic now—but you still don't trust her. 

“A month Birdie. Then consider your ‘debt’ forgotten.” 

You search her eyes in the silence. She looks—genuine? You don't know why she wants Din alive let alone why she needs intel on him. You could always just feed her bullshit and when a month passes, disappear into the wind. 

Maybe you should. This debt you have would quit following you around like the plague.

But you feel like you can't. 

Din obviously trusts you. He just told you his name and said he wants to visit you again. 

But if you turn her down, she'll tell imperial remnants that you're ex-Jedi—maybe you, Din, and the kid will all be dead. 

Maker. She's good. 

You stare back at her, contemplating. She gives you a knowing look.

“He came out early this morning…” she says in a sort of sing-song way—more mocking you than anything. “I'm sure you'll enjoy your time.”

“Maker,” you scoff and wave your hand to summon the materials for the recon—she smiles. 

She places a comm on the table and a couple hundred credits. 

You take them quickly and leave without meeting her eye. 

_

When you get back to your place, you try to pack up as quickly as possible.  

How could you have been so stupid? 

You scold yourself for being so naive—even more so for leaving so many loose ends. But you remember how you felt afterwards. You just wanted to be done with it. You wonder if anyone else is still looking for you—or if another one of those scary guys is coming to tell you it's time to leave. 

Fuck. You shake your head as you rush to push clothes into your pack. You move towards your medicine cabinet—in search of some bacta for your bloody wound. 

You quickly slap a bacta patch over the dagger wound and make your way to the kitchen. As you pass the front door, grabbing things on the counter—a knock sounds through your small space. 

Maker. That was fast. 

You deactivate the automatic sliding door and look through the side window. 

Leo. 

You let out a breath and open the door. You continue back to your room to pick up spare belongings from the floor. 

“Hey—uh…can I come in?” He stands cautiously by the doorframe. 

“Yeah…yeah,” you say while not meeting his eye. You make your way towards the bathroom to grab some toiletries. 

“I just wanted to talk about last night…are you going somewhere?” He stops at the table in the middle of the room, placing his fingertips on the edge of it. 

“Oh. Uh yeah, little impromptu vacation. Don't worry about it,” you mumble the last part, hoping he'll just brush it off and talk about last night. 

“Where are you going?” He starts to follow you around the room, but you don't meet his eye. Maker, this guy won't take a hint. 

“Oh—you know,” you say chuckling, ducking under his gaze to reach something in your closet. “You were saying? Last night?” You continue. 

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “right. So is everything like…okay with us? I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, yeah—everything's great.” 

“Okay. Were you alright last night? After I left?” 

“After you left? Sure. I just went to bed,” you try to continue packing but your mind races.

Does he know about Din? 

“Okay…” he trails off, looking down at his feet, nodding slightly. You slow down your packing—coming to look at him from across the room.

“Okay…”  you mimic his words, “Everything good Leo?” You look at him with a cocked eyebrow. 

“Jay said he saw you walk down to the ships with a Mandalorian. Early. This morning.” He says it slowly like he's trying to get the information to ring a bell. 

Maker. Fuck you, Jay. Was everyone in the galaxy outside your door seeing you with Din? Early? This morning? 

“Uh—” you say but can't find the words to continue. You technically didn't lie to him. You did sleep after Leo left—just in Din’s arms.

“‘Uh’ what? It's the same one from the opera? Isn't it?” He looks at you, hurt. 

“Y-yeah. I guess,” you try to continue but he cuts you off. 

“You guess? You aren't sure?” He raises his voice slightly. 

“No I-I'm sure. It was him.” You throw your bag on your bed—defeated. 

“He's no one? Right? That's what you said to me.” He looks at you, waiting for a response. When you don't answer he continues. “He fuck you?” 

Your jaw tightens at his crude language, but you can't help but find a slight humor in this situation. Din asked you the same thing but about Leo last night. 

“Leo what the fuck? I—n-no. What are y—” 

“You left your place early this morning with him,” he says in response. 

“I-okay. Yes. I did,” you decide not to follow with much else. 

“And?”

“And what?” You roll your eyes. 

“Fuck man cmon! Who is this guy?” 

“What's it to you Leo?” You shout.

“Mandalorians are dangerous. I'm just looking out for you.” He says—stern. 

“He's not—he would never hurt me.” You mumble. 

“So you know him well,” he bites back.

“Maker, yes! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? He saw me at the Opera and followed me back here. We talked for a bit—I walked him to his ship.” 

Silence follows as you stare at each other. You gulp a bit at your lies. 

“So you're leaving to be with him?” He cocks his head and nods slightly—like he's trying to make sense of it all. 

“No,” you reply dumbly. You aren't. It's the truth. 

“But you're going to see him?” He asks. 

Yes. 

“I–it's complicated Leo,” you pick your bag up again—an indication he should leave. You stare in silence for a while. His eyes search your white ones for a single indication of anything. 

“When will you be back?” He says quietly. 

“I don't know,” you say back while meeting his eyes. 

He approaches you, his hand comes up and staggers by your face. He places a quick peck to your forehead. You expect him to shout or yell. He's angry—you don't know if he has the right to be. 

But he's also hurt. Your heart twists in your chest for him. You feel guilty, but you have to get to Nevarro. 

“You want to go? He’s—he’s not forcing you or something.” 

“No, Leo. He’s a good guy. It’ll be okay. I promise.” 

“Be safe.” He mumbles. 

“I will.” 

Another lie. 

_

You have no idea what you’re doing. 

Honestly. 

There’s no plan, nothing you have to do first. 

You set the lift off controls and rub your hands across your face. 

You don’t even know if he’ll be on the planet. It’s a lucky guess from when he told you he worked out of Nevarro back on Sorgan. 

You spin in the pilot's chair of your ship and stare at your belongings on the floor. Breaths puff in and out of your chest. You close your eyes and pinch the skin of your nose bridge. 

You have no idea what you’re doing. 

You've never worked reconnaissance for Davin, just killing and some bounty work. 

You pray your bullshit intel will be enough to keep La’sara off your back for a month. But you don't know what you're gonna tell Din. 

Showing up to his planet after what happened at your place? Desperate is the only word that comes to mind—and you don't want to seem desperate. 

Maker. You sound like a teen girl over this guy. 

You pray he'll be there. You don't know if you're hoping because you want to see him again or because of La’sara. Both possibilities make your head throb.

You set the autopilot and make your way to your bunk. You shut off all the lights—your eyes are tired from the stress of the last few days. 

You close your eyes and surprisingly, don't dream about anything. 

_

Nevarro is… pretty? 

The planet looks different from the last time you visited. A lot has changed. People look happy, content. You walk through the small town, passing by a building which looks like the cantina, but when you try to peak in—you see a classroom. Weird. 

Your stab wound is beginning to hurt. The bacta patches you had back at your place weren't high quality. All it did was numb the area—you can feel the blood leaking through the bandage. 

You stalk towards the small courtyard in the middle, looking up at the larger building in front of you. You see a small hut with a muscular looking woman talking to a man who looks important—dressed in some robes. 

You stalk over quietly while weaving through crowds. 

As you approach the pair, their conversation falters. The woman looks at you. 

“Hey. Sorry for interrupting, I just had a quick question,” you say. 

“Shoot,” the woman says. 

“Is there by any chance a Mandalorian that comes through here?” 

“You talking about Mando?” The older gentleman says—budding into your conversation. 

“Uh—yeah. I guess,” your cheeks flush when you remember him noting that you didn't want to call him Mando when his hands were up your—

Nevermind. 

“Didn't know Mando had friends. Let alone a girl, huh Karga?” The woman laughs and nudges the man beside her. 

Karga. You note. 

“How do you know Mando?” He asks in return while smiling. 

“Work. Yeah. We cross paths in work,” you nod shyly. It seems like these two know him well. 

You aren't sure how to feel about that. You knew he had a life outside of you and the kid, but it never occurred to you he would have friends. People to come back to—people who might know him better than you. 

Maker. You're losing it. 

“Huh,” the woman notes while looking you up and down. “Well I think he's in the ship docking area, but he’s leaving soon. Just came to get some repairs,” she continues, nodding her head towards the edge of town. 

“Oh okay. Thanks. Nice meeting you both,” you say while waving goodbye. You can feel their gaze follow you as you make your way down the street. You might've heard a small whisper about your eyes, but you're used to it. 

When you finally reach the shipyard, you see the crest but no Din. You scan the horizon as you quickly make your way over. A mechanic stands to the side of it, working through something on his data pad. 

“Mando in there?” You say, the nickname sounding wrong from your mouth—but you guess that's what everyone calls him around here. 

“Inside,” he mumbles without looking up. 

You scoff and slowly make your way into the open hull. You don't see any movement while you scan the hull but you can hear banging from the cockpit. The ladder looks at you from across the space. 

Your feet don't move when your brain tells them to shuffle forward. You're scared. This is more personal than you thought possible—showing up on his planet, entering his ship—climbing up to his cockpit without warning. 

This feels more personal than when he had his hand up your dress. You feel so nervous you might throw up. 

You force your feet to move toward the ladder. It looks at you and when you touch it, all the memories of Din's hands ring from the metal material into your skin. It makes your skin flush despite its cold temperature. 

You take the ladder one step at a time—the clanging and sound of movement getting louder with each rung. You're quiet but maybe you shouldn't be. Maybe you should bang something so he knows someone is coming. But maybe he would shoot you dead in an instant at the sound. 

You don't know why you're so nervous. Maybe it's because you're finally getting a glimpse inside the life of a man who's seen plenty of yours. But maybe it's because you aren't sure how he'll react when he sees you. The thought of rejection echoes in your heart and you almost fall off the ladder because your palms start to sweat. 

When you reach the top, you can see the sliding door to the cockpit. It's closed, the heavy metal looks impervious to your white eyes. You can hear the shuffling of boots coming from inside. Your heart skips a beat.

On second thought, this might not be the best idea. 

You stalk forward quietly, and the steps from inside stop. You're met with silence and you also stop moving for some reason—you don't know why you're trying to make it seem like no one is there. 

You continue toward it, doing your best to be silent. You reach the doors and stop walking right before it will automatically slide open from your motion. You stare at the metal. 

Why is this so hard? Why are you trying to make it seem like you're not there? Why are you nervous? Why did he—

Before you can think of another reason why, the doors slide open and you're met with a black T. 

He steps forward, then falters when he sees you. You can see his hand reach for his blaster, but freezes when his helmet meets your eyes. 

You unintentionally gasp. He remains still. 

It feels like the silence goes on forever. Your feet planted in a position like you were attempting to take a step forward, his hand hovering over his blaster. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I can explain!” 

You both say at the same time. Your eyes widen at his voice. Maker. It's always nice to hear it after being apart—no matter how long. Your hands come up in a ‘I mean no harm’ kind of gesture. You find yourself doing that a lot around him. 

“Din. I'm sorry—I don't have your number or anything—I just uh—” Fuck. You don't know what to say. You came all this way—traveled through space to get here—and you didn't think of an excuse as to why you needed to see him. 

His head cocks to the side. You feel like he's mocking you. 

“I just…” you try to continue. 

You are so fucked. 

“You just?” He asks, his hand which was once hovering over his blaster finds purchase on his hip. 

“I—” 

Maker. 

You try to think of anything. Some sort of excuse or reason—but what comes out is worse than lying. 

“I missed you.” 

You are so fucking stupid and so royally fucked. 

Desperate. You didn't want to seem desperate and here you are—confessing you traveled halfway across the galaxy to find him because you ‘missed him.’ 

You need to get a grip. 

You're so lost in your own thoughts you barely hear his light chuckle peel through his modulator. 

“You missed me?” He asks, cocky. 

“Yeah. I guess.” You reply shyly, breaking eye contact with his visor and looking down to the ground. Your arms drop to the side and your fingertips play with the hem of your jacket. 

“You guess?” His tone is lighthearted but you can't help but feel embarrassed. You need to stop saying 'I guess’ because all the men in your life seem to enjoy throwing it back in your face. 

“I—no. I missed you,” you reply with a small voice. 

It's true. That's why you're so embarrassed. Even through all of La’sara’s shit you found time to miss him. 

He stalks towards you, his hand coming to your throat—you freeze. His hand wraps around your neck and his fingers push your face to look up at him. 

“You came all this way because you missed me?” His voice sounds deep and gravelly through his modulation. 

“I—” maker you are so stupid. “Yeah,” you breathe out finally. 

He makes a small hm sound followed by silence as he looks over your face. He takes a half step back to look at your body. He sees the blood seeping through your fresh shirt from the dagger wound and tilts his head to the side so he can see it clearly. 

His free hand pushes your jacket open and slowly begins to lift your shit with his pointer finger. His hand on your throat remains solid so you can't squirm under his gaze, or the feeling of his hands dragging across your stomach. 

“What happened?” He says quietly. 

“Nothing—I fell,” you reply dumbly, entranced by his helmet and the way it shines in the soft lighting. It seems as if all rational thought exits your brain when you're around him—the lie sounding stupid coming from your trembling lips. 

“You fell,” he echoes. 

You try to nod but his solid grasp over your neck settles your movements to a slight dip of your chin. 

He drops your shirt and straightens your jacket—the same hand comes to ghost over your breast and you sigh softly. He drops it to his side in the next beat. 

“Who did this to you?” He says it low, almost like a growl. 

“No one, I just slipped and landed on something in my ship,” you reply coolly—trying to keep your stuttering to a minimum. 

You try to look down to the pain growing at your side but his hand keeps your jaw up to look at him. You both know you're lying—but thankfully he doesn't pry. Din does note how you flushed at his words though. 

“Go downstairs. I'll help you take care of it,” he finally says and drops your face from his hold. 

He studies your eyes, then surprisingly, slides the same hand down to meet yours, squeezing it. 

He turns his back towards you to finish fiddling with something on the control panel in the cockpit. You stand—stunned—watching the back of his helmet as he moves through the small space. 

You're suddenly aware of your breath and you're panting. The proximity becomes all too much as you watch his cape flow with each step. 

You quickly make your way down to the hull, skipping the last rung on the ladder due to habit. When you drop down, forgetting about your wound momentarily, you wince. 

“Can I use your fresher?” You call out to him and only get a muffled grunt in response. 

As you close the door to the fresher, the small space makes you feel claustrophobic. You immediately remove your jacket and your face contorted in pain when you stretch your stomach. 

You lift your shirt enough to see it in the mirror. It looks nasty, the blood seeping out of the sides of the bacta patch. You look down towards the sink to turn on the water and rinse the area when something catches your eye. 

A small razor and toothbrush sits on the side of the sink. It slaps you across the face. Sometimes you forget he's human. 

What's even worse is the brown stubble that scatters across the blade and onto the sink.  

Your eyes widen. It feels like you've just seen his face—the knowledge of his brown hair makes your heart flutter and you forget all about the pain at your side. It feels taboo, wrong even. 

You quickly abandon your plans of aiding your wound and slide back through your jacket quickly. You step out of the fresher and close the door behind you. 

When you turn towards the hull, he's there, shuffling through a small crate, some gauze and tubes of medicine are pushed up and threaten to spill over. 

He turns his head at the sound of the door closing, he looks at you over his shoulder, then motions his head to a crate on the floor. 

You sit, slowly, the realization of how bad your wound is, starting to set in again. 

“Take this off,” he motions to your jacket. You undress quickly. 

“Can you hold this up for me?” He asks while pinching your shirt slightly. You nod, and follow his visor as he kneels in front of you. He gets close—so close you can see your reflection in his helmet and your heavy breaths almost fog his visor. 

You pull your sticky shirt from your side and hold it up with your other hand. You look into the black expanse of his visor, but it's trained on your stomach. 

“Let me know if this hurts,” he says while beginning to take off the patch. 

You only nod in response, too entranced by his head so close to yours—your mind drifts to the hair in the fresher. 

Brown—maybe black. Human hair. 

His hands were tan. 

You try not to think of anything further, the thought of picturing his face and the image being wrong would do his beauty injustice. 

“You wanna tell me what's going on?”  he asks while working on your wound. 

It snaps you out of it—your cheeks flushing. 

“Yeah…sorry I didn't give you a heads up,” you mumble under bated breath. “I just—I remember you told me you worked out of Nevarro.” 

“So you just came to visit?” He questions further. 

A sting hits your side and you wince. His hand comes up to rest on your thigh and mutters a small sorry.

“Yeah,” you say while trying to hide your embarrassment. He finishes cleaning your wound and slaps a fresh looking patch on your side. He pulls your shirt down from beneath your hand. 

“No other reason?” He asks with an amusing grin playing with his words behind the mask. 

You playfully slap his arm and he dips his head, laughing. You like the sound of it. Rich and inviting. You don't recall ever making him laugh. 

“I met your friends in town,” you say, trying to change the subject. 

“Who?” He replies. 

“Dunno. Someone named Karga, and a woman.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Karga is the magistrate here. He worked with the guild.” 

“Hm.” 

Some silence. 

“And the woman?” Your curiosity gets the better of your actions. 

“Jealous?” He quips back. You smile. 

“No. Just curious. I don't know anyone you know. I barely know anything about you.” You say while placing your head in your hand—bringing your faces closer. 

“She helped me out when we lost the kid. And back on Sorgan when I was looking for Jedi.” 

“She seems nice.” 

He hums in response. 

“You do know things about me. And now you know people I know.” 

“Barely,” you bite back, playfully. 

“You wanna know me?” His tone drops to something a bit more serious. 

You find yourself nodding. 

“Ask me anything and I'll answer,” he says, his hand on your thigh rubbing slowly. 

“Favorite color?” 

“Green.” 

“How old are you?” 

“I dunno. Maybe 40.” 

“Geez. Old man.” 

His helmet tilts and you blush as you hide your face. 

“Favorite food?” 

“Stew.” 

You scrunch your face in response. 

“Boring.” 

“Cmon it's good—versatile,” he chuckles. 

“Home planet? 

“Aq Vetina.” 

Kriff. 

Some silence settles between you. 

“I'm sorry.” 

“It's not your fault.” 

He stands suddenly, packing up all the medical supplies he brought out for you. Your side is feeling better—less pain. 

You watch as he puts the materials away. He stacks the crates and hauls them over to the side of the hull. You watch as his muscles strain against the material of his flight suit. 

He grabs an empty one and comes to sit in front of you. 

“Do you miss Sorgan?” You ask him when he settles. 

“Sometimes. Do you?” 

“Yeah,” you reply while closing your eyes. You settle at that, content with your questioning. His gaze makes you shift in your seat and push your thighs together. 

“I missed you more.” 

Your eyes snap open at his words. He sits, hunched over his legs, his hands are joined together. 

You smile. And you almost feel like he's smiling back. 

“Do you have a place here?” 

“No, Karga offered me one but I don't stick around much.” 

“Have you seen the kid recently?” 

“Tried. Ahsoka said…it just didn't work out.” 

Damn.

If she didn't let him see Grogu it might be a good thing. He's probably progressing well with Luke. But you note how sad Din sounds when he talks about it. 

Ahsoka had mentioned something to you about looking for other force sensitive kids and you turned her down—but maybe it could be something you and Din do together. 

You stand when his head falls to look between his legs. When you take a tentative step forward his helmet snaps up to look at you. His hands unclasp and settle on the outside of his open thighs. 

You move forward—scared. He remains still. 

“I should be going soon,” you say while taking another slow step towards him. 

“So soon?” He asks, straightening his back. 

You shrug and give him a half smile in response. 

Ask me to stay.

He reaches his hand out to yours—you take it. It feels warm and the leather is soft and velvety in your bare ones. 

He pulls you forward, so you're slotted in between his thighs, caged in. His helmet comes to rest on your tummy, just below your breastbone. 

You place your hands on his shoulders and knead the taut muscles there. He groans in response. His hands come to your hips, digging in with his thumbs so hard it might leave bruises. You can hear his breathing and feel his rigid body as your breath picks up. 

Ask me to stay. 

You continue your movements up his neck, massaging his skin which lies under the fabric of his cape. His hands go around to grab your ass and rub up and down against the backs of your thighs. You sigh softly while bringing your lips to touch the top of his helmet. 

Ask me to stay. 

He picks his head up at that, and looks at you from his seated position. You give him a soft smile and he pulls one leg over his and your body down into his open lap.

You can feel him. 

Ask me to stay. 

“Will you stay? For a bit?” 

You let out a soft sigh of relief and nod your head yes. 

_

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

@iammissdoddydoodagrimes @dinwifey @n7cje @sasakipsposts @againstheodds @showmeyourteeth @leithatnight @r02eg0ld

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x oc #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x f!reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando x you #mandalorian x you #mando x oc #mando x original female character #mando x y/n #din djarin x original female character #force sensitive reader #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine

[steampunkforever]

Looking back at the latest run of movies I've filmposted on, you might be tempted to think I'm only watching the good stuff these days. Let me dispel any thought that I've abandoned horrendous cinema as we tackle what I believe to be the reason George Lucas is the way he is: the Star Wars Holiday Special.

For the uninitiated (people who became Star Wars fans around the time the term "Reylo" was minted) let me set the stage. It's 1977, and the world has been changed by the arrival of Jedi to the silver screen. Lucas et al. can now afford more matte paintings than ever before, and are busy planning out the thrilling sequels to carry on the Star Wars saga ("Planning the Star Wars sequels" is a sentence that will not be uttered again in studio conference rooms until 2017, at which JJ Abrams will precede the sentence with the words "We will not be"). CBS approaches Lucas with a revolutionary concept: worldbuilding for the Star Wars universe by developing discrete self-contained stories through the medium of Television (the book of bobos, coming soon).

Lucas says yes, develops an allegedly solid script off his idea for an all-wookie movie, and then will not budge on his idea for a movie entirely focused on a species of alien that grunts with no subtitles. He's just put out one of the biggest movies to hit the screen ever, and furthermore is a man of great artistic vision. With Lucas at the helm this is set to be a hit.

Except Lucas needs to move studios to fit all the matte paintings he can now afford. So Lucas drops the story in the hands of the ever capable CBS and heads to the matte painting store, leaving them to find another director after the first guy quit after finishing the Jefferson Starship concert and "Bea Arthur sings at the Cantina" scenes.

Lucas' trust was, to be blunt, misplaced. CBS' finished cut was simply terrible (with the exception of a charming animated segment), and Lucas even offered to pay them to keep the abomination off air. They declined, but the Holiday Special was only aired once, at which point all copies were destroyed at Lucas' behest. At this point Lucas is at the top of his creative game and we haven't been subject to anything like Indiana Jones 4 yet, so you can imagine what a blow this is to the man who has yet to mastermind Jar Jar Binks.

Much like the preservation of HBO originals in the present day, the Holiday Special was only preserved and propagated through outright piracy, to the point that Holiday Special bootlegs became a known fandom trope. And so this week, for the second time in my life, I watched a rip of the Star Wars Holiday Special made somewhere around Baltimore on that fateful night in 1978, slotting in right before Wonder Woman. It was bad, yes, just not spectacularly so.

There is no question in my mind: The Star Wars Holiday Special killed George Lucas' directing career more so than the runaway success of the first movie.

In my writings on film, there runs a throughline (often utilizing Lucas as a prime example) that discourages sequels. I'll admit that this comes predominantly from my upbringing in a world of shared universes and IP sprawl, but it's a pretty agreed upon point that A) serialization only serves as a chance to tarnish an otherwise solid first film and B) new, discrete stories are more interesting. That said, sequels are not bad, and my analysis of Star Wars does not lay blame on the fact that we got to see what happened after the Yavin Award Ceremony.

You see, beyond being bad, The Holiday Special taught Lucas all the wrong things with its failure. Artistic control is paramount, yes, but what his experience with CBS taught Lucas was that in order to secure his legacy, he had to chain himself to the Carbonite slab that was Star Wars and micromanage it for the rest of his life to ensure the world he'd created would maintain the quality he intended for it.

Looking at the state of Star Wars in the years after Lucas cut the series loose, I don't think this was an incorrect statement, but a singular devotion to guiding his store-brand Flash Gordon empire is what led to a 22 year hiatus between directorial efforts. Even after this, as much as I personally find the prequels to be misunderstood, they lacked the same spark Lucas had, making me wonder what he could have put out in his most creatively charged years had he not lashed himself to the helm of a franchise that's abandoned most of the work he spent years tailoring to his vision in favor of Baby Yoda.

The Star Wars Holiday Special is truly what separates Lucas from Coppola. Without that harsh lesson in trusting Star Wars to someone else, Lucas might've focused on directing future projects of his own rather than managing those of people expanding his space wizard universe.

Or maybe if you'd swapped their places Coppola would have Don Corleone meet up with cheerful Gungan Jar Jar Binks.

Of course this is all conjecture. Lucas has put out some of his best work as a writer and story lead working on projects like Indiana Jones and Willow, but it's sad to see one of the most influential film workers in the world, whose work I truly admire, with only a half dozen directing credits despite having all the matte painting money he could ever desire to make passion project films. Coppola went broke, but at least 2/3rds of his filmography didn't get coopted to sell Disney streaming packages.

Then again if I'd just put out three revolutionary films in a row and then saw what CBS did with my high concept wookie script, maybe I wouldn't be seeing things so clearly.

We're about a dozen paragraphs too long for a filmpost on the Star Wars Holiday Special, so I'll wrap up now: I can't say I recommend it.

#filmposting #star wars #star wars holiday special #george lucas #film #listen to me this is a lot of words on a bad star wars TV movie I understand this #you must also understand that george lucas and his success is a puzzle thats haunted me for a long time #Hes such a visionary despite literally so many of his contributions to film being pretty bad #its an enigma

[gloria-van-puncake]

The Translator

Teen And Up Audiences

Fandoms:

Star Wars - All Media Types

Star Wars: Rebels

Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)

Relationship: Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto

Summary:

Set after the Rebel's finale. Sabine and Ahsoka are preparing to search the Unknown Regions for Ezra and clearly, they need a translator. Who better than Eli who's, in turn, searching for Thrawn.

Unashamed fix-it fic for what has not yet happened in the coming Ahsoka TV-Series.

Eli tugged at his civilian clothes, trying to make himself look presentable, as he entered the cantina. It'd been a while since he'd worn anything but one uniform or another and it was not helping him feel at ease.

He recognized the Togruta sitting at a table in the back. Ahsoka Tano, Jedi turned Rebellion leader. Finding info on Tano had not been easy, not with the Empire gone and with it most of his contacts and resources. From what he'd been able to find it didn't seem like Tano had Second Sight but Vah'nya had warned him that she could probably use the Force to read his intentions. Eli took a deep breath, he could do this. For Thrawn, he could do this.

"Greetings," Eli said, playing up his Wild Space accent; anything that would set him apart from Imperial Center. His accent wasn't a lie. There was an 8 in 10 chance that he'd be able to fool her if he stuck to the truth, the creatively edited truth. If there was no outright deception she wouldn't be able to sense it. Hopefully, Vah'nya was right about that.

"I heard y'all are looking for a translator going into the Unknown Regions?"

"We do," the Mandalorian standing behind Tano said, arms crossed in front of her chest - Sabine Wren his memory supplied, Lothal Rebels - looking him up and down. "Which languages do you speak?"

"I speak quite a few but for where y'all going Sy Bisti, Lioaoi and Taarja will be most useful," Eli explained, running his hand through his hair in thought. "I also speak Meese Caulf and Bocce but you could get a droid for that."

"I've never heard of some of those, where did you learn them?" Sabine was tired. She wanted a hot bath and a drink, not necessarily in that order. They'd been interviewing potential candidates for hours but according to Ahsoka none of them had been 'the one'. It wasn't that she didn't believe in the Force, she'd lived among Jedi for long enough to know that it was real alright but right now what it mostly was was a real pain in the ass.

"I'm from Wild Space," the man, he had to be in his mid-thirties, said patiently as if that wasn't obvious from his accent. "My parents own a small shipping company; you pick stuff up when you're around traders from all over, ma'am."

Eli eyed Wren wearily, he'd heard about her part in the  liberation  of Lothal, how they'd blown up the Academy with everyone in it. Trusting her felt like a gamble but he didn't have much of a choice if he wanted to find Thrawn. The fall of the Empire had come as a surprise to the Ascendancy and reinforced Supreme Admiral Ar'alani's conviction that bringing Thrawn home once and for all was the best option they had. The New Republic was still too weak and needed to be watched before a potential alliance could be offered.  

"What's your name?" Tano asked, and Eli wondered if the shiver he felt running down his back was her using the Force on him or just nerves.

"You can call me Ivant," Eli said, sticking as closely to the truth as he could. He'd been Ivant for nearly a decade now, surely that counted.

He'd read about the war trials on the Holonet and the rewards that were still out for high-ranking Imperial officers. He'd have to be very careful. Really, really careful. If he got himself captured and executed for what had happened at Batonn he'd be of no use to Thrawn, quite the contrary.

"What kind of cargo would you be transporting?" Eli asked, testing their honesty in return. He was fully aware of their mission but he wanted to see what they'd tell him.

Sabine and Ahsoka shared a glance. Surprisingly he'd been the first to ask that question.

"That's on a need to know --" Sabine started but Ahoska held up her hand, interjecting.

"He's the one," Ahsoka said with that sometimes infuriating certainty Force-users had about them that more often than not grated on Sabine's nerves.

"You sure?" Sabine asked, narrowing her eyes at Ahsoka. There was something not quite right about Ivant; his clothes were too new, and his posture was a bit too rigid, too formal. Like he wanted to stand to attention but was trying not to. She'd seen this with many of the Imp defectors during her days in the Rebellion. He didn't ping her as definitely Imperial but there was something military about him and she wasn't sure he'd not been making stuff up about at least one of the languages he claimed to speak.

"Yes, I can feel it in the Force. We need him," Ahsoka reassured her.

"We're not traders, we're on a rescue mission," Sabine explained, deciding to trust Ahsoka in this. "Welcome to the crew, Ivant."

Chapter 2

Three months later.

"Ivant!" Wren shouted excitedly, asking him to come and join them in the cockpit the second they'd dropped out of hyperspace. "You have to see this!"

"What?" This better not be another pod of kriffin purrgil, Eli thought sourly as he got up from his bunk. They'd been following the creatures around for the better part of three months, from one backwater planet to another. That those creatures had somehow managed to make the whole Seventh Fleet disappear creeped Eli out; they were another Wild Space myth come to life and this one he could do without.

Eli tugged his questis away into the inside pocket of his jacket and made his way over to the viewport. What he saw made his stomach drop in dread. The ISD Chimaera hung dead and dark in space. No. Please, no. He'd come this far –

He pressed his hand against the transparisteel, trying not to give in to despair. They couldn't all be dead, could they? Faro, Hammerly, Agral, – Thrawn.

Eli stood silently contemplating the fate of the over 30 000 personnel that would have been on board. Friends, colleagues, people he'd once served alongside. The excited chatter from the cockpit painfully reminded him that, despite the easy camaraderie they'd settled into during their time traveling together, just what side Tano and Wren were on and what would happen to him if they found out who he really was.

Tano piloted their ship closer to the Chimaera and to his relief Eli noticed faint lights in the superstructure. Maybe, just maybe, not all was lost. Maybe Thrawn was still alive. If anyone could survive this it was Thrawn. Eli had to cling to that hope. He'd spent his off time reading up on the fall of the Empire and sending reports back to Ar'alani whenever the opportunity presented itself. It nagged at him, in the back of his mind, when he tossed and turned, unable to sleep, that he and Thrawn both would have been on that Death Star if events had played out just the tiniest bit differently.

Pulling himself together, Eli took out his questis. He had a job to do. Not sure if they'd seen the lights but figuring that they would soon or later anyway, Eli ignored the excited chatter coming from where Wren and Tano were discussing their imminent success; something about feeling their friend in the Force. Unnoticed by either Tano or Wren, Eli keyed in their coordinates, transmitting them to Admiral Ar'alani. It was done. The CEDF would be here within a couple of hours, and everything else would hopefully fall into place too.

"Unknown ship, this is Commodore Faro of the ISD Chimaera, identify yourself." A familiar, and oh so welcome, voice addressed them over their comm.

"Well, kriff," Wren muttered but Eli's heart sang in excitement. If Faro was alive, then maybe there was hope that -

"This is captain Ria Talla of the Freighter Meiloorun. We've come to trade for local handicrafts," Sabine tried the by now familiar bluff. She hadn't expected anyone to be on board, not with the ship looking dead in the water. She should have known it was a trick and now that she was paying close attention she could make out pinpricks of light in the superstructure. Just their kriffing luck. Too bad the purrgil hadn't taken care of the Imps for them.

Good grief, Eli thought. Had this actually ever fooled anyone? Did they not realize that anyone on the Chimaera would recognize the Ghost on sight, even with its most recent paint job? They didn't have visuals on their comm but he could vividly imagine Faro narrowing her eyes at this krayt spit.

For a moment Eli wondered just how damaged the Chimaera was but then yep, there it was. Their ship jerked as the Chimaera's tractor beam pinned them in place.

"Want to try that again?" Faro prompted as the tractor beam slowly drew them in.

"This is neutral space, far outside the reach of the for- of the Empire. Under what authority do you detain us?" Sabine was seriously annoyed. After all these years they were this close to finding Ezra and somehow Thrawn's kriffing ship had survived the purrgil intact enough to give them trouble. But just how damaged was the Chimaera? Sabine could make out a patchwork of what looked to be recent repairs. The hull had deep gouges and the Chimaera's infamous paint job was missing where parts had been replaced but not repainted. If they were fully functional, surely they'd have returned years ago. Maybe they were bluffing.

"The planet Yihiri is under Imperial protection. We are authorized by the Yihiri Council of Elders to take any steps necessary to ensure the planet's safety. Identify yourself."

Just great, Sabine thought, another planet that needed their help getting rid of Imperial occupation. She keyed into the secure channel she had to Hera, requesting New Republic help. Even if they didn't manage to find Ezra, she couldn't leave these people to their fate. She'd seen what the Empire did to occupied worlds and worlds that defied their rule. What they had done to Mandalore-

"Can you break free?" Sabine asked Ahsoka, temporarily muting their comm. She really wished Hera was here. Not that Ahsoka was a bad pilot but she was no Hera and they could really use Hera's flying right now.

"Try breaking from the tractor beam again and we will shoot, is that clear?" Faro's voice had taken on an edge that meant she was deadly serious.

"Yeah, kriff that," Sabine muttered. "Ahsoka, any time now!"

The impact of a turbolaser shook the ship.

"Shields at 60%," Sabine warned.

Ahsoka pulled at the controls, trying to wrestle the Ghost free from the Chimaera's tractor beam.

Another turbolaser shot hit the Ghost.

"What do we do now?"

"Shields at 20%," Wren informed Tano.

"Stop, already," Eli snapped, pushing past Wren toward the comm controls. "The next hit is going breach our hull and kill us all."

"If they pull us in we're dead too," Wren snapped back. "Do you have any idea what they'll do to us if they capture us?"

Caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place Eli made a decision he hoped he'd not come to regret and snatched the comm control out of her hand. Not blowing his cover would mean nothing if he ended up dead in space because those kriffing rebels didn't know when to give up. "Don't shoot," Eli said into the comm, hoping that Faro would recognize, and more importantly, believe him. "Commodore Faro, this is Eli Vanto."

#Thrawn #fanfic #eli vanto #thrawn/eli #thranto #sabine wren #ahsoka tano #star wars rebels #star wars #reposting my fic here

[theterribletenno]

Alright so last night I had a dream -I have a high rate of lucid and semi-lucid dreams and often remember my dreams especially the interesting ones like the space station and the burning house but anyways- in this dream there was some Tiktoker or someone like that who was posting a videos of their Star Wars OCs and it was getting a lot of attention. There was this generic-ass bounty hunter guy and a BBW cantina chef with four arms and four tits...

And one of them was very clearly based on a drag queen. The character itself wasn't all that creative it was basically a cunty elf in blueface but anyways

Some troglodite in the comment section was like "OP you have to tell us what's between her legs!! We need to know!!" and OP's response was this image

and for the rest of the damn dream every time anyone asked a question the answer was always "Jedi secrets."

#star wars #dreams #jedi secrets

[oncexinxmyxdreams]

Encanto OC Event Week 2: Mercedes and her twins. Madre e Hijas

Week of relationships! Not sure what to put here. Mom and daughters each designed their own Mochila bag. Mercedes painted flowers. Alejandra decorates her with ribbons, cords and a bead chain. Francisca, she didn't design hers. Alejandra made her a chain out of green glass beads to dress it up.

Let's start at the beginning! Mercedes was shocked and numb realizing she got pregnant so fast after marrying Pablo. (It was just one time!) He was too, but still cheerful and reassuring. His mother, Perla, eventually realizing Mercedes was forced into the marriage when told otherwise, offered comfort. Mercedes steadily grew happy and took one day at a time. It wasn't an easy pregnancy with aches and nausea. While the family was out of town for the day, working out details for their cantina, Mercedes realized she was in labor and gave birth alone. The family came home just in time to find a minute old Francisca snuggled against her tearful, but overjoyed mother. They were able to assist with Alejandra's birth and good thing because she was breech!

Though Mercedes and Pablo discussed names, she chose them. She'd always loved the name Alejandra. It sounded like a brave and kind heroine for a romantic novel. Francisca was a possible name, but not expected. Everyone guessed the twins were both boys or one each. (Sons were common in the Salazar line.) Mercedes might've named her firstborn Alejandra. Yet when she first held her baby, she knew her name was Francisca. She could never explain it.

Mercedes and Alejandra were most alike. They're similar in creativity: both enjoying art while Mercedes was a painter with Alejandra making jewelry and glass. Right down to the full lips, dark brown hair, face shape, and jade green eyes, they look near copies. They're close in personality being caring souls and hopeful though Alejandra clings to the past instead of looking forward. Together they enjoyed doing craft projects, cooking and fixing each other's hair.

Mercedes at first worried about Francisca. Her firstborn crawled and walked later than her twin. She fretted that she did something wrong. However, things changed when Francisca was a toddler. So much changed that Mercedes was confused. She wasn't sure why Francisca wasn't physically affectionate or didn't play like other kids. However, she soon figured her child's growing personality and could read between the lines. Francisca could be loving: more with words and would give hugs though not as warm or often like her sister. She preferred solving puzzles for fun. Mother and daughter had their own way to bond. Mercedes would try playing chess with her and they'd guess riddles. They could have deep conversation about things Francisca couldn't understand. Mercedes always gave attention to Francisca's migraines. She tried every home remedy she learned and comforted her.

Both daughters loved her dearly. They appreciated her hard work, love and strength. Besides, her cooking was great! All three did chores together; gardening was a favorite. They all liked running errands or just taking long walks. After the marriage annulled, the twins showed their mother extra support. Alejandra would cook breakfast so Mercedes could sleep later after night shifts. Francisca worked for extra pay. She also wasn't afraid to stand up for her mom when needed. There were rumors going round that it was Mercedes's fault that Pablo's marriage was annulled. "She must've failed as a wife for him to cheat!" Remember how I said Francisca wasn't afraid to call BS when she saw it?

Mercedes loved both her twins equally and appreciated their differences. She never pitted against each other or have them worry about favorites. Like a good mother, it broke her heart to see them in pain be it physical or mental. She was proud of them, but like any parent was concerned. She knew their flaws and guided to wise choices. She wanted Francisca to have more compassion. (This partially influenced Francisca's work in medicine.) She hoped Alejandra would gain confidence in herself.

Mercedes was upset that Pablo didn't contact their children, but decided she'd fill the roles of both parents. She did her best right to her last breath. Rest assured, she'd be thrilled to know her daughters meet the Madrigals, especially Bruno. He'd be surprised that one of them shares the name of his favorite telenovela heroine: Francisca.

@encanto-extended-edition

Don't worry I'll get to the friendships they each have with Bruno. 😉

#not sure how to do this and the core relationships down #figuring it out as a I go #encanto #encanto oc appreciation #encanto oc event #mercedes reyes #alejandra cordova #francisca cordova #miracles come in pairs

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Meadows

--

Requested: @tropodyn

Than you for the request! I took some creative liberties, hope you like it! 😃

Pairing: Obi wan x reader

Contents: Angsty Obi wan and sharing a shower, need I say more? 😌

Warnings: none.

Word count: 3300. Yup three thousand words about taking a shower 🤣

--

You hold tight to the sides of the speeder as he drives through Mos Eisley, the dust and sand sticking to your skin under the heat of the two suns. The small outline of the town ahead came into view as it broke through the mirage of silver sand. The mission at hand was nuanced, a bounty hunter was carrying classified information on an escaped prisoner. You were tasked by the council to retrieve this information while pretending to be a bounty hunter yourself. The task by itself was easy but it was the person you were assigned with that presented an issue.

All of this was new, the irony was that you had known him since you were in your early teens. That by itself should warrant you to say that you knew everything about him but the reality of the situation was that you avoided him at all costs. He was dressed like a bounty hunter, same as you but you were only used to seeing him in his robes. All this was stemming from the fact that he could change. You did know everything about him and so you knew how incapable he was, to change. You leaned away from him, leaving a gap between your seats, choosing to hold on to the warm metal side bars when your mind was telling you to wrap it around his waist. That even though the sun beamed down on you, you still wanted to feel the warmth of his skin.

For years, this feeling in the pit of your chest plagued you. The problem was you didn’t want to contemplate it’s significance ever since that day in the fields. As a Jedi you were taught to detach yourself from your emotions and yet you were never able to conquer this particular feeling, that propped up anytime you saw him. In the fear of anyone finding out, it was for the best that you distanced yourself from him.

As inconvenient it was he preferred the dust blowing against his face than having to deal with the fact that you were seated behind him. He tried to convince the Jedi Masters to let him do this on his own but his request was denied and the one person they chose had to be someone from his past. Someone he had a hard time forgetting although he was acting like he did. The cloth and goggle covered his face and his the rubber gloves held tight to the speeder’s handle bars but even through the layers of his jacket, in some whimsical teenage dream, he wanted you to loop your arms around his chest. He was the top of his class and being Qui Gon’s Padawan, he knew all about feelings and how to handle them. But the one he had for you, well he knew that best because for years, he had been trying to get rid of it.

The moment the vehicle stopped you hopped down. The faster you finish all this, the less time you would have to spend with him. He was the one assigned to collect the info disk, so you chose to stay outside with the speeder to make sure no one would steal it having known about the reports from this area. But the suns began to sink lower and there was still no sign of him. The heat died down and a brutal chillness began to set it. The cantina bubbled with soft music and warm light but it only made you impatient. You wanted to march in and pour out your frustration that you’ve managed to store up over him all at once. You turn and see two silhouetted figures walk out. One was supporting the other, who was swaying around his arm. Great, he was drunk. This was the last thing you needed. Only when you got closer you realized that it was the bounty hunter who was counting stars while the other seemed to open his mouth to warn you about something. “You must be the missus eh.”, the bounty hunter slurred. You clicked your tongue and looked at the fellow Jedi. “What did you do?”, the words escaped like daggers. “He doesn’t have it with him.”, He spoke through his teeth faking a smile. “Its over at the motel he’s staying at.”, he continued and you looked over at the man who was moments away from passing out. “Fine. Try to get it before he passes out.”, you fold your hands. “I told his crew I was here with my ”, his blue eyes catches yours and even in the dim light you could sense something hidden beneath, “wife.”, he said quietly. “You what?”, your voice rose but quickly sensed the others who were walking out the establishment.

 “Everything alright?”, a member asked and you straightened up. “Yes, everything’s fine.”, you smiled and watched relief flood his face. Handing over the drunk individual, he fell in step next to you. “The disk’s in a safe, the code needs to be entered by each one of them and some of them aren’t convinced.”, he whispers quickly glancing back at the crew. But it’s when he slips his hand around your waist and pulls you closer that it sinks in, what the new stakes were. This task was getting to be more difficult than you had imagined.

Cautious. He felt the panic rush through his veins. This could make you push him away further with all the added unnecessary complications. He wasn’t a great liar, all of this was going to come crumbling down. He knew they were watching and you were chiding him. Your eyes, blazing pots of coal every time  they looked at him and it made him wonder if that was reserved only for him. He wanted to know if they could ever be simmered down like when you were a young padawan, your eyes held a certain golden hue filled with something that made him feel on top of the world any time he caught a glimpse of it. That too was reserved only for him but some where along the way he had lost the privileges to being the apple of your eye. Before he could think this through, his hand slid around your waist and there it was. For a brief second, the fire vaporized and he saw honey. But now he didn’t know who he was trying to convince, the crew that you both  were in love or to himself, that he had forgotten you.

The disk was finally in your possession. Now you could go home and wash away the burn from your skin from where his hand grazed your skin. It had opened the box you had kept sealed. The desert vanished and you were sixteen again laying in the grass mesmerized at the sound of his voice. You blink and it vanishes. This torment was why you stayed away. He unraveled you like pulling away a ribbon. “We can get back home now.”, he walked up next to you and it brought you away from your thoughts. “Right, let’s get to it.”, you couldn’t look at him. But from across the street, you came to realize this day was only focused on worsening because your speeder wasn’t there anymore.

He stopped as soon as he noticed. “Another surprise.”, you heard his response. But you felt defeated. “Any shop in a walkable distance will be closed at this hour.”, you told him and he hummed in response. “I’ve got us accommodation for the night here.”, he spoke with hesitation. “I will get you home at the earliest tomorrow and –  “Obi wan, you don’t have to worry about how I get home. We both know you don’t remember where I live or anything about me. So save the pleasantries.”, you cut him off and march in, leaving him on the street.

He pushed the door with his shoulder to release it. The room was small and the moment he saw the bed, he wanted to collapse on the sheets. But staying in the same place as the bounty hunting crew meant he had to keep up his performance. It was unfortunate he had to drag you along, he knew you best, so he knew how much you hated surprises. The room felt even smaller when you entered, he could sense the weight of your thoughts and your aversion to him. The truth was, he knew why you were guarded around him. The memory plays in his head every day, any time he sees you. He’s laying next to you in a grassy field, the smell of wild flowers and the sweet summer breeze. He was in love, still was. The sun being more kind to you than it was to him by giving you a golden glow. In that moment, you had confided in him. That you had feelings for him and all he did was lie to you about having to go back. The memory fades and he pushed back his hair. This day was being unpredictable.

Opening your vest caused for loose sand to spill to the floor. Your hair was matted by the dust, your skin felt clogged and the sand seemed to have gotten everywhere. But you had not planned for this, so you didn’t have an extra set of clothes to change into. The presence of a single bed and the tight space meant the distance between you and him could not be more than an arm’s length. You look over your shoulder to keep a tab on his movements to see him sit by the water heater and tap the glass display. “It looks like it’s broken.”, he broke the silence that seemed to exist between you. “What do you mean?”, you ask him as you peel away your jacket. “It means there is only enough water for one person to take a shower.”, he explains and you feel frustrated.

 “Great.”, you comment and pull away your boots to have more sand fall to the ground. It was clear you could not sleep at this state and neither could he, he looked worser with his lustrous hair now looking dull and his face smeared with dry sand. As though he could read your thoughts, he moved around you to retrieve his bag. “I’ve got another tunic with me and we might be able to use the shower together without having to see each other.”, he starts to explain and you move away from him.

It was bad enough when he rejected you all those years ago, now peeling away your clothes only to have him be repulsed was starting to open old wounds. “Can you stop.”, you ask looking out the window and he pauses. “I’ve had the worst day possible and I can’t deal with any more of your lies. The current one being that you act like you care.”, you trail a finger over your collar bone.

That feeling was back, the one you tried to forget, the one that made him reject you and the one that broke your friendship. “I’m sorry.”, he said softly. But you knew he wasn’t apologizing for any of the recent events. So he remembers. “I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you.”, you could hear the sound of his footsteps getting closer. “But the truth is, I miss you.”, his voice gets louder. “I can’t ignore you in the hallways. I want to talk to you about my day. I miss the sound of your laugh and the way your eyes turn darker every time you look at me.”, he spoke but you could feel the pain in his voice. “So please tell me there is some way I can earn your forgiveness.”, he pleads and the ribbon is pulled free. It tugs your heart and in that moment it all fell into place, the past and the present, that you were still in love with him.

“Where do I live?”, you asked. It was a property that included the meadows, a place that held so many memories of you and him. “Sector H-46.Unit 15.”, he said without missing a beat. “How can I forget the fields?”, he questions but instead of giving his an answer you turn around and wrap him in a hug. His arms wrap around you the instant he understood what had happened. “How can I forget you?”, he says softly into your ear and you feel the heaviness in your chest had disappeared. But the dust from his jacket makes you sneeze and so you make up your mind. “Fine, we share the shower space but we never speak of it again.”, you pin him with a stare but the a smile breaks out on his face. “This has my dignity on the line too.”, he laughs. “I never took you for the virtuous type. After all you kissed all the girls in our class, except me.”, you shoot back as you peel away your layers. “I did not.”, he flares, his eyes turning dark blue and his cheeks flushing a deep red.

He enters the bathroom and you pull away your pants. You stand behind the door, reluctant to enter. “Close your eyes.”, you instruct him and he laughs. “Need I remind you of the crystal lake incident?”, he asks to which you gasp. “You said you saw nothing.”, you yell and he laughed. “Fine, my eyes are closed and I kept my word then. I didn’t see anything.”, he says and you enter. He stands facing the wall, he wore his dark briefs and his hands over his eyes.

His heart was beating so fast, his mind reminding him of that summer in crystal lake. He came in search of the group but instead saw you take a swim. It was the first time he’d seen a girl in a swim suit and since then no other woman had been able to erase your impact. But things were different now, that happened ages ago. Now you were a woman and he was a man. The innocence wanted to break away to reveal desire. So he kept his eyes covered and fought the urge to see you. He heard your footsteps and a shiver ran down his spine. This seemed impossible. But then it hit him. “Wait you have your eyes open. How is that fair?”, he asked. “Like you don’t enjoy the attention you get from all the women on Coruscant.”, he hears you snicker and all he wanted was to turn to hold you by the shoulders and say no. That the only one who had a hold like that over him was you.

“How does this work?”, you weren’t able to get the water running so he tried to do it without turning around but instead he tipped over the soap and shampoo bottle. So he bent to grad a hold of the bottle when he saw your foot and as he straightened, he took in the length of your leg when he heard you gasp. He took in the patterns that marked your body, up your leg and over the curve of your waist. Your deep purple bikini set contrasting your tan skin. The wisp of black ink traversed the surface of your skin. It hit him, the water. Right on his face making him stagger back like a punch to the gut cause he was never going to recover from this and no other woman was going to compare. He wiped the water from his eyes and caught your eyes.

The water ran drenched him and dripped down his nose. It wiped his clean and his skin gleamed, his chest broad and firm. His shoulder lean and sculpted. He looked like a marble statue that had been wiped clean. But the reality was that he wasn’t the boy you once knew, he was …

Your words died were they were beginning to form when he ran a finger over one of your tattoos, following it’s shape over your abdomen. “You’re a work of art.”, he whispered and it was all the courage you needed to forget the past. You took a step forward and grabbed the shampoo bottle from his hand. Taking the liquid in your hands you split it equally in your palms and ran your finger through his scalp. His eyes widen but soon after they darkened. “I didn’t kiss all the girls in our class.”, he told you like it had affected him deeply. “It doesn’t matter.”, you ease him but his hands settle on the curve of your hips. “It does because I’ve only wanted to kiss you.”, he stands beneath the water to wash away the foam but his statement made you feel grateful for the steam around you, he couldn’t see your cheeks turn red.

“Says the kid who ran away.”, you tell him and he catches your wrist preventing you from taking the soap. He takes it in his palm and works up a lather. Tilting your chin up he applied it carefully over your face, making it impossible for you to move away. “I’m not a kid anymore.”, he holds the side of your face as he wipes away the dirt, the water feeling pleasant on your skin. You keep your eyes closed, “So you’re a man who knows what he wants?”, you ask as you feel him push your hair away. “Yes.”, he says and you feel his lips on yours. The water runs over your faces but he kisses you soft and slow, his lips feeling warm and fresh. He pulls away and you see his blue eyes glimmer. He was gauging your reaction and you had to let him know that you were waiting for ages.

“Good.”, you respond and pull him back. Now, there was the passion that he had kept hidden behind those eyes. He moved with a force, his arms holding you close as he breaks for air. But he doesn’t stop, like all these years of being apart made this moment possible. He supported your neck as he kissed the length of you neck down to your collar bone, finally placing a tender peck on your forehead, you rested your head on his chest and heard the way his heart hammered.

 You laid down by the fire to dry the innerwear you had on but he never left your side. He asked you the meaning behind some of your tattoos while he drew over a few other by tracing his finger over the pattern and you knew it was time to show him the one that belonged to him. You took a hold of his hand and placed his pointer finger over the underside of your rib, where his name was. “The first one I ever got.”, you told him and he paused, the edge of his eyes glistening. He bent over and kissed the spot the tattoo was. His hair was lustrous and golden in the warm light, it dried with great volume while being light and fluffy. He always wore it down with hair gel, so now you ran your fingers through his silken strands and watched as it shimmered gold. He moved around to grab you his tunic after he wore one. Pulling the fabric over your head, it smelled liked him with a hint of detergent. The fabric stopped short over your knees and it was soft to touch. He took your hand and walked you to the bed before flopping down, taking you with him. You laughed as he settled into the pillows while wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t run away this time.”, you pause, “Obi.”, you whisper to which he chuckled and nuzzled into your neck.

“I’m not planning to.”, he responds and laying in the warmth of his arms, sleep took over sooner than you thought.

#obi wan kenobi #ewan mcgregor #obi wan my beloved #general kenobi #master kenobi #kenobi series #kenobi tv #obi wan imagine #obi wan x reader #obiwan x fluff #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan star wars #obiwankenobiedit #obiwan kenobi #obi wan series #star wars kenobi #star wars #fanfic #star wars fic #obi wan fluff