#jedi garland
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Hot new couple alert in this year’s garland! 🖤❤️🔥
And Vaderwan 😍 And look at Master Obi-Wan’s red saber! It’s not Sith, just festive 😂 And look what little Anakin has 🥰
Last Year’s:
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Title: Little Wooden Lightsaber Boy
Fandom: Star Wars Rebels
Rating: K+
Pairing/Relationships: Ezra/Sabine
Character(s): Sabine Wren, Tristan Wren, Alrich Wren, Ursa Wren, Tiber Saxon, Darth Maul, Ezra Bridger, Kanan Jarrus, Hera Syndulla
Genre: Romance/Drama
Summary: Life Day at the Wren stronghold is always a big affair, and this year Sabine gets a very special present--a little wooden figure of a handsome Jedi general. Nutcracker AU.
AO3, FFNet
@sabezra-life-day-celebration
It's late, because surprise surprise I had a plot bunny bite my ankle and get Ambitious, but here is my fic for Sabezra Life Day Celebration. Hope you all enjoy!
---
Sabine loved the winter holidays.
It was one of the only times in the year the Wren Stronghold came alight with color and music, the normally dour gray halls festooned with green garlands and red ribbons, bright glowing glass orbs nestled in the branches of the enormous evergreen tree she and her extended family went out and cut down each year, hauling into the great hall with laughter and a unity of purpose. The fires stayed burning almost all night and her father piped festive songs and carols from giant speakers in his artist studio, the notes carrying down the halls and making the frozen palace alive and breathing with warmth.
She sat at one of the long tables now, a piece specially set out for the occasion, crowded between a half-dozen like it and covered with a soft, immaculately white tablecloth the color of the falling snow. Her fingers itched to draw, as she took in the twinkling splendor of the Life Day tree, glimmering yellow and violet and green and orange-gold in the corner.
It was technically a Wookie holiday, Life Day, but since the end of the Clone Wars and the victory of Coruscant, the winter celebration had spread throughout the galaxy, each planet in the Republic popping up with their own traditions and customs. Sabine had only been a toddler, but all her life she'd heard the stories—about how the Jedi Order bravely uncovered a horrible Sith plot, overthrew the Chancellor and installed a new era of peace and prosperity.
A prosperity they were heartily enjoying now, she thought, eyeing the platter of roast nerf ribs being passed down the table.
She grabbed a chunk from the platter and bit into it eagerly, the warm seasoned juices filling her mouth.
"Sabine!" her mother chided, from her spot at the head of the table, a place of prominence befitting the Countess. "Manners!"
Sabine grabbed up her napkin and wiped her chin, grinning cheekily at Ursa as the festivities carried on. Her favorite part of the night was coming up—the traditional Mandalorian dances and gift exchange. They had to entertain a few other clans this year—the stronghold was quite crowded—so she and Tristan had promised to be each other's dance partners all night, to stave off any untoward attempts to seduce either of them, any political proposals that might have been sprung on them unexpectedly.
Her brother was already reaching for her hand, urging her out onto the dance floor in the center of the Great Hall. Sabine took one last bite of succulent rib roast, then put her hand and her trust in Tristan, who led her to the center of the floor and kept close to her as the music grew louder.
"So far so good," he quipped to her, as the music played on, loud and raucous as only a Mandalorian celebration could be, bodies breaking off from the dining tables and joining them on the dance floor. "I don't think I've seen a clan head look your way yet," he continued, teasing.
Sabine rolled her eyes with long-suffering affection. "Let's try to keep it that way," she said.
She stayed close to her brother as the night and the party drew on. Her father eventually emerged from his studio, beaming brightly as he presented Tristan and Sabine and the other young clan heirs with their gifts. Sabine accepted the brightly-wrapped package eagerly.
She tore the paper, the gilded green and gold coming off the box easily under her hands. She carefully lifted the lid of the white box and set it aside, gasping as she saw the contents.
A beautifully carved and painted wooden figure lay in the tissue paper. Sabine marveled at her father's craftmanship. The figure was immaculately designed, styled to look like an armored Jedi Knight from the Clone Wars, with a smart-looking blue hauberk and tabbards, orange piping along the sides of its tunic and leggings. It had a handsome tan face and bold black dots for eyes, and the hair was a blue-lined black painted on the back of its head. It had a prominent hinged jaw, a wood piece that connected to a lever in its back. Sabine carefully lifted the figure out of its packaging and worked the lever, seeing how the device fit together.
It was a nutcracker. A decorative kitchen tool, meant to crush the hard shells of koja and areca and a bevy of other species.
Sabine breathlessly thanked her father, one arm squeezing around him while the other clung to her prize.
"He's beautiful!" she told him, gazing once again with admiration at the little carved figure.
Alrich beamed with pride, launching into a prepared explanation of his artistic process, pointing at various parts of the nutcracker and explaining them.
Sabine listened with rapt attention, the artist in her appreciative and impressed. The gift exchange done, she dismissed herself from her father's presence, sitting back down at her place at the table and just watching the party continue on, late, late into the night as the fires popped and the drinks flowed freely.
Her gaze kept straying to her nutcracker, and more than once she let her fingers feather over the fine details, the meticulously painted golden fasteners and the sweeping lines that delineated armor pieces.
She was so caught up by the workmanship that she didn't notice when her distant cousin, Tiber of Clan Saxon, darkened her shoulder, not until he snatched the wooden figure from her hands and brought it up to his face to sneer at it.
"A little old to be playing with dolls aren't you, Miss Wren?" he huffed.
Sabine's mouth soured immediately, and she made a grab for her father's present. "Give that back!" she demanded. "It's mine!"
Tiber held it away from her, at arm's length with a curdled disdain. "What is this even supposed to be?" he asked snidely.
Sabine glared icily. "It's a Jedi General," she told the older man, hotly. "Give it back."
Tiber dodged the swipe she made for it with her hand, stepping away from the table. "Poor craftsmanship to fit a poorer subject matter," he dismissed. "What paltry Clan Wren trash."
Sabine watched in horror as he dropped her gift carelessly on the ground and stomped on it with his metal-lined boot.
"Hey!" she objected in distress, diving for her nutcracker.
Tiber was already stalking off, exiting the hall with a handful of his entourage, not even paying her a spare glance behind. Sabine glowered darkly as she carefully cradled her nutcracker to her chest, brushing off the scuff marks Tiber had left in the paint.
Her heart panged in dismay as she found that she couldn't erase a couple of the scratches. They dug into the wood of the figure's cheek, two ugly lines that marred her Jedi's smiling face.
Sabine tried her best to smooth out the gouges but it was no use, and she bit her lip, holding back her emotions.
As if sensing her sorrow, her father appeared at her shoulder.
"What's wrong, Sabine?" he asked, brown eyes full of concern.
Her mouth pinched and twisted as she explained, holding out the nutcracker to him. "Look what Tiber did to your work!" she complained, eyes stinging, blinking hard.
Alrich took the wooden figure gently in his hands, making a quick scan of the damage.
After a moment he smiled.
"Oh that's not so bad," he said. From his pocket he pulled out a little white helmet, styled after the clones of the 501st, Skywalker's Fist. He slid the wooden helmet into place on the nutcracker's head. "See? He's all right," he assured her, handing it back.
Sabine took the nutcracker in her hands, begrudgingly admitting to herself that the helmet suited the little wooden figure, made it look a little more authentic and complete. She cradled the wooden man to her chest, vowing not to let it out of her sight, holding it like a precious jewel against her body.
She stayed far away from the members of Clan Saxon the rest of the night.
***
The fires were low-burning embers and coals, the hall growing cold and dark, by the time the party finally wound down. Sabine bade goodnight to her family—and her nutcracker, giving it a little kiss on the helmet before stowing it safely away in one of the armor cabinets—and retired to bed.
Alone in her room, however, watching the starlight and falling snow outside, Sabine found herself too wound-up to sleep. A strange agitation kept her awake, tossing and turning long hours until she gave up and rolled out of bed.
For a while she painted, scratching her brushes on a canvas with idle consideration. Nothing really emerged from her footling, mostly just abstract ideas here and there. Biting the end of her paintbrush she decided she needed a little more inspiration.
She grabbed one of her spare sketchbooks, slid a thick brocaded robe on over her shoulders and short silken nightdress, slipped her feet into her house slippers and stole down the dark quiet hallways back to the great hall.
The room glowed with soft multicolor light from the glass orbs in the tree. There was a soothing, peaceful kind of silence to the room. Sabine liked how the glow bounced off the walls, played with the edges of the transparisteel panels of the windows.
She sat and sketched the tree for a few moments, enjoying the quiet scritch of her pencil on the paper.
Her eyes stole towards the armor cabinet in the corner. It held her mother and father's ceremonial beskar, and now it kept her nutcracker safe. Sabine felt an urge to get it out again, and didn't resist that urge. She crept to the cabinet, stepping softly even though she didn't have to, even though everyone else in the stronghold was probably asleep, grabbing the clutch and lifting it, making the hinges squeak as she opened the door.
Her father's gift was right where she left it. Sabine reached for him and sighed in awe of the craftmanship yet again, holding the wooden figure against her stomach with a tight embrace.
She walked back over to the throne on the dais at the other end of the room, sinking onto the comfortable cushion and just... letting the quiet fill her. The warm glow from the tree, the stillness, it was a better lullaby to her over-excited mind than anything else.
She found herself curling up on the long cushion, nutcracker tucked under her arm and robe draping over her feet, her breaths growing deeper...
***
She woke, groggy and confused, in the wee hours of the night, with that agitation back, along with a strange sense of unease.
Sabine blinked, squinting through the dark. The warmth of the tree wasn't reaching her anymore, and she shivered, tucking her arms inside her robe as she sat up.
As she was trying to pinpoint the cause of her apprehension, there was a scurrying of shadows in the corner of her eye.
Sabine's head whipped in that direction, her eyes straining, but she couldn't see anything.
She stepped down from the dais to the floor, glancing warily around.
Pinpricks raised on her arms, her unease growing. She still couldn't see any danger but...
Wait, where was her nutcracker?
Sabine's chest jolted with a shot of panic as she realized her father's gift wasn't with her, wasn't on the throne where she'd left it. As her head whipped around in search of it, something else alarming caught her attention.
She tilted her head back, eyes squinching in confusion.
Was the tree... bigger?
No, she realized, glancing back towards the dais and mentally measuring the height of the steps. She was smaller. And not just smaller, she was shrinking.
Alarmed, Sabine gaped up at the tree now towering above her, massive. The delicate glass baubles now looked like huge boulders, the pines as large as spears. Her chest clutched and she staggered back in disbelief, gawking about her now-giant surroundings.
"No no no no, this can't be happening," she said in a small, panicked voice. She was having some kind of horrible dream. This couldn't be real.
It felt terribly real.
As Sabine clutched arms around herself, willing herself to wake up, the scurrying shadows returned, vague shapes taking form in the darkness all around her.
She backed up, and backed up, but didn't miss how the shadows coalesced into humanoid figures. A face emerged from the darkness, malicious, skin shockingly patterned in red and black, with eerie yellow-gold eyes and a head ringed with horns like some kind of twisted crown.
Sabine's breath hitched and she stiffened, recognizing the face from old historical holos.
The face came with a snide voice.
"This is the heir to Clan Wren?" The figure she could now identify as a Zabrak shook his head condescendingly. "How disappointing. Mandalore has fallen far indeed since I ruled it."
Her teeth ground stubbornly, fear disappearing behind a glare as she put a name to the ugly face. The Usurper of Sundari, the head of Crimson Dawn, a menace and a thorn in Mandalore's side for years. What was he doing in the stronghold?
"Unshrink me and then get out of my house!" she demanded.
Maul pinned her with a malicious sneer. "No," he said, chillingly. "Tonight... I will take my revenge on all the clans that betrayed and unseated me."
Sabine would have snorted and rolled her eyes, made a smart comment about how ridiculous a notion that was given that they were both apparently a foot tall, but then Maul pulled out a wicked-looking silver hilt and ignited it in a red flash.
Her throat caught, eyes widening at the crimson lightsaber blade, humming ominously. Behind the Sith came armor-clad figures from the shadows, Mandalorian warriors arrayed with the colors of their lord, Maul's underlings. She backed up again, apprehensively, heart pounding, trying to remember how to wake herself up because surely this had to be some kind of nightmare.
Maul savored her moment of terror, raising his saber and beginning to charge for her.
Sabine braced herself to fling back—
Something leapt through the air to land in-between them, a blue-clad figure that held up its own hilt and ignited it with a burst of blazing bright green.
Her eyes widened further, a thrill and sense of awe moving through her.
It was her nutcracker, no longer still and wooden and tiny, but moving, made of flesh, and her size.
Shockingly alive.
Maul seemed only mildly perturbed by the interference, frowning in displeasure before motioning his troops forward.
"Kill the Wren heir," he ordered. "The Jedi is mine."
The Mandos rushed forward past him, surging towards her in a charge. Her nutcracker intercepted them first, green blade slashing out, striking armor and limbs. Many of them surrounded him, leveling their blasters at his helmeted head. With an elegant precision she had only seen in holos he deflected red shots off his blade, air filling with the cacophony of laserfire.
For a moment Sabine was pinned in place, frozen with horrible indecision—she had no weapons and there was no way she'd fit into her parents' beskar as she was, if she could even reach the handle for the cabinet—but then she tightened her fists and steeled her resolve. She was Mandalorian. Her very body was a weapon.
The first soldier that made it past her nutcracker's guard to attack her got his knee kicked in for his trouble. Sabine drew back her elbow and slammed it across the helmeted face, snapping his head aside.
He crumpled, and she picked up his heavy sidearm, taking aim at the other warriors, shooting them with indiscriminate desperation.
One went down, two more were distracted enough by the hits she landed that they were easy pickings for her nutcracker Jedi General's emerald blade, falling with loud pained cries as the lightsaber pierced them.
Sensing movement at her right, Sabine whipped around, firing, only to feel the blaster ripped from her hands by an unseen force.
She gasped, stumbling upright, looking up at the cruel yellow eyes of Maul as he raised his glowing red blade vindictively.
It started to fall.
Sabine flinched, but a second later a green blade blocked the red one, her nutcracker moving quickly to protect her, breathing hard inside his clone trooper helmet.
Maul's face twisted in rage and he shoved the other man off, attacking viciously, blade crashing again and again in heavy overhead blows upon her nutcracker's guard.
Sabine looked around for another weapon, but she couldn't find one—the other Mandalorians lay dead on the ground but their blasters were missing, nowhere to be found. Her Jedi was panting audibly now even across the distance, fatigue evident in his movements, slowly giving ground to the Sith Lord's onslaught.
He blocked again and again but the attack was merciless, coming harder and faster as Maul's face screwed with fury, bearing down on him.
Sabine watched with horror as her nutcracker Jedi was forced to his knees, kicked hard in the chin and sent falling to the ground. Maul crowed in victory, raising his saber for the final blow.
"No!" she cried, rushing forward, pulling one of her house slippers off and leaping at Maul's back, beaning him hard in the neck with the leather-tipped sole. "Leave him alone!"
Maul grunted, taken aback by her assault, and the hard heel whacked solidly against his back and head as she slammed the slipper into him, beating at him desperately with all her strength.
A hand like a steel timber caught her chest and pushed her back, sent her stumbling but not falling. Sabine looked up defiantly into the red-rimmed yellow eyes that boiled with anger at her.
Those eyes turned away as the hum of the green saber vibrated from behind. Maul angled to address the threat, red saber lifted but... stiffened. The yellow Sith eyes went wide as he and Sabine realized where the emerald blade had stuck.
Dead center in the Zabrak's chest. A fatal, killing blow.
Her nutcracker pushed the blade in slightly deeper, eliciting a dying gasp from Maul, who dropped his saber and clutched at the Jedi's own, expression in disbelief and shock as the other man twisted him around, away from Sabine, his body speared on the tip of the green blade as her nutcracker crouched protectively in front of her.
The Sith slid off the blade with a dying gasp, crumpling into a heap on the ground. He stilled, and moved no more.
The green blade extinguished.
The heavily-breathing figure stayed curled in his crouch for a long time, long enough that Sabine began to worry if he was injured, but then he straightened, drawing her immediate attention.
Sabine watched, heart still rapidly thumping, as her nutcracker rose up, hands reaching softly for the edges of his clone trooper helmet.
The helmet was slipped off, gently, revealing soft blue-tinted dark hair. The boy—for it was unmistakably a boy now, young, about her age—seemed to contemplate and study his own helmet for several seconds.
Then, he tucked the helmet under his arm and turned towards her.
Sabine started, her heart and throat catching.
Oh. Oh he was cute.
Boyish, lazy half-smile, tanned skin the color of warm amber, shockingly electric blue eyes that she found absolutely mesmerizing.
Sabine swallowed, feeling at a loss for words.
Her nutcracker spoke, instead.
"Thanks," he said, dipping his head respectfully, in gratitude. "You saved my life. I couldn't have beaten him without your help."
"It was nothing," she heard herself saying in a daze, the words floating around her. "Couldn't let my favorite Life Day present get shanked by an actual demon."
His smile widened, teeth bright white against his darker skin and she almost melted. Sabine shook herself, chiding herself for being so overtaken by a pretty face, and slowly approached him.
The closing proximity still made her heart thud, painful in her chest. She willed herself to be calm as she reached him. Her hand drifted up towards his cheek, touching twin thin red scars that mirrored the scratches Tiber had inflicted upon her nutcracker, what seemed like a distant eternity ago.
"Sorry about those," she muttered. "Tiber was a jerk."
He shrugged, nonchalantly. "Happens when you're stuck in a twelve inch wooden body," he dismissed. Blue eyes sparkling, he held his hand out to her. "Hey, you wanna get away tonight?"
"Get away?" she repeated, absently, still entranced by his face and smile and shining eyes.
"Yeah," he confirmed. "Come with me. I want you to meet my folks."
Head reeling, Sabine found herself nonetheless placing her hand in his. "Moving a little fast, aren't we?" she said. Her body pulsed with electricity, with adrenaline, with a thrilling exhilaration she couldn't put a name to or define. "I don't even know your name..." she trailed.
"It's Ezra," he offered up, so very casually, as he began to lead her into a white snowy mist that had suddenly appeared around them. "Ezra Bridger."
"Sabine," she told him, blushing as she stared at their entwined hands. "My name's Sabine."
***
The white twinkling snow-covered wonderland he led her out the door into couldn't have been Krownest, she determined. The trees had never sparkled so brightly, the sun had never been so warm and yellow. There had never been such a rainbow of color glittering in the depths of the snow.
There had certainly never been any green-skinned Twi'leks with glimmering translucent wings living in the woods around the stronghold, and yet that was exactly who met them now, bare green arms reaching for Ezra's face like a fretful mother's, worried green eyes searching him.
"Are you hurt?" she asked anxiously, and for the first time he let Sabine's hand fall, reached to embrace the woman and reassure her.
"I'm all right, Hera," he said. "Sabine here protected me."
The woman—fairy?—turned to Sabine, who pushed her bangs out of her face self-consciously, feeling awkward.
A warm smile lit the woman's expression.
"Thank you," she said. "We owe you a debt of gratitude."
Sabine shrugged, making a noncommittal sound. There were other beings starting to crowd around her, aliens of every kind, all sporting the same kind of shimmering frost-covered wings the Twi'lek woman had. She was clearly their leader, and she clapped her hands to call for attention.
"Everyone, everyone!" she addressed. "Let's not overwhelm her." The warm smile turned on Sabine again, as Hera extended a hand and placed it on her shoulder. "Would you like to join us for the Life Day feast?" she asked. "It's the least we can do to thank you."
Sabine's mind was still reeling, still convinced she was half-dreaming, but she nodded mutely, gawping, trying to take everything in. There was a man hovering by Hera's shoulder, teal-eyed and broad-shouldered, and he nodded at her in acknowledgement and respect as Ezra led her past him.
Her nutcracker brought her to a brightly-lit clearing, where dozens of beings milled about, dancing, singing. It didn't seem like they were on Krownest anymore, at least not from the gray-green moss-covered walls of stone, rising up all around her.
What followed next was the most wonderful dream. A festive party was conducted before her eyes, full of more color and life than she'd ever seen. Hera and her partner—a man she learned was called Kanan—asked her a million questions she couldn't keep up with, made Ezra recount the story of how she had bravely saved him a dozen times. Spectators to the story ooh-ed and aah-ed appreciatively at the the appropriate dramatic places. Ezra himself stayed by her side the whole time, hand clutched tight around hers.
Sabine's heart stuttered and stammered. She traced the edges of Ezra's face with her eyes, watched every small movement of his face as he rambled amiably with the others, greeted each party guest with a smile and a joke to set them at ease. A longing tugged at her chest, painful in how much she wanted this, wanted to stay with him in this wonderful, magical, inexplicable moment of surreal joy and light.
He seemed to sense her troubled heart, looking over at her in concern.
"Hey, are you okay?" he asked.
Sabine felt a shudder run through her whole body, felt herself gripping tighter to his hand.
"I just..." she said, trailing off with a dry throat, suddenly fearful. "I don't want this to end."
His reassuring smile lit up the depths of her heart, filled her with a giddy rush. "I'm not going anywhere, Sabine," he promised. "I'll stay right here."
Her chest clenched, eyes stung as she held back tears.
The celebration wound down, the brightly diverse figures slowly ceding space to Hera and Kanan, who danced intimately in the center of the floor, entwined in a way that made Sabine jealous. When the music ended, there was a certain finality to it, and Sabine felt herself already missing the music and light of the party, so different from how her family had conducted it, but beautiful and wonderful all the same.
Ezra pulled her up from their seats and guided her onto the back of a leathery-hided creature, helping her into a gilded seat strapped upon it. The creature bellowed, low and mellow, filling Sabine with a giddy high of adrenaline.
"I don't want this to end," she said again, thrilling as Ezra came to sit beside her on the purrgil.
His smile was thinner now, bittersweet. "You have to wake up, Sabine," he told her. "You can't stay here."
"Will I see you again?" she asked anxiously, clinging to him like he would slip away if she let go.
A small nod, so slight and imperceptible she almost missed it. "Trust in the Force," he whispered, and then the purrgil was lifting off, the snow-covered ground was falling away below them and her eyes were filled with twinkling blue stars in a winter sky.
Giddy, she felt a rush of speed press against her front, blue glowing hyperspace filling her eyes, hurtling her forward into the cosmos, into a warm ether that felt like home.
***
Sabine stirred stiffly, blinking her eyes open at the white morning light that was falling into her face.
Confused, she took in the quiet great hall. The tree in the corner was normal-sized, the tables were all still there, cleared off and pushed to the sides like they had been when she'd stolen down there.
Her nutcracker was by her side, underneath her arm.
Feeling a great sinking disappointment, Sabine sat up, a groaning sigh escaping her.
"Oh don't tell me it was all just a dream..." she moaned, holding up her nutcracker. His black dot eyes stared back at her, painted smile still and friendly.
Sabine pressed her lips tight, heart and mood drooping, trying to remember every second of her time with Ezra. His warm easy nature, bright smile, handsome face, eyes blue as hyperspace, how quickly he laughed and how wonderful it sounded when he did.
Great. He'd ruined her for other men and he wasn't even real.
Dismally, Sabine gathered herself up, picking up her sketchbook and starting to head for her bedroom.
Voices from the entrance hall caught her attention, as she was moving through the passage. Her mother and father, talking in a low voice to someone standing just inside the door.
"Last night, you said?" Ursa was saying, sounding concerned.
"Yes Countess, we believe he used Dathomirian Nightsister magick to conduct his attack," replied the visitor.
Wait a minute... that was Kanan's voice.
Breath hitched, Sabine crept closer to the entrance hall, now fully alert and tuned into the conversation. She peeked around the corner, spying her parents and a pair of strangers in brown robes. She only see Kanan—and yes it was him—through the gap left by her parents' backs. She couldn't see her father's face but from his troubled tone she knew he was frowning, brows wrinkled.
"Several of the clan heirs mentioned having nightmares last night," Alrich said. Sabine slipped into the room, walking up behind her father, pulse rapid, trying to peek around him. "You're saying that was actually part of a psychic assault?" he asked.
"It was," Kanan confirmed, nodding gravely. "My padawan and I did our best to minimize the damage and protect your minds."
She had a view of the other visitor now, and her eyes slid off Kanan to him as Kanan spoke.
She forgot how to breathe, her chest swelling, head tingling.
Soft dark hair, thin padawan braid tucked in behind his right ear. Mesmerizing blue eyes that met hers across the way, pinching with concern. Amber skin, marred by two twin scars across his left cheek.
Sabine reeled. She felt light, lighter than air. Her nutcracker Jedi stood there before her, real and breathtaking. Surely he felt her elation, for the corners of his mouth twitched, confirming her recognition, that he knew she knew he was the one who had come to her rescue, held her hand, taken her on a such wonderful starlit journey.
Dropping her sketchbook and Ezra's miniature wooden replica she rushed forward, flinging herself into him, crashing her lips against his and kissing hard.
He yelped in surprise, jolting, and Ursa gave a scandalized and embarrassed, "Sabine!" behind her.
---
Sabine: *meets cute Jedi boy, immediately causes political incident*
How did Alrich manage to style his nutcracker almost exactly like Ezra? IDK, weird Force stuff or something, we're coasting mostly on Vibes here don't look at me for a logical explanation lol.
Thanks for reading!
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Obikin Ao3 Rec List
So this is a huge list. It’s mostly Anakin centric so some of it is just platonic Obikin, and some of it is no romance at all.
As usual, if it doesn’t say not complete then its complete and if it doesn’t have pairings next to it then it’s either romantic or platonic Obikin. Please read the tags once you click on the fic, you too would have given up with warnings once you see the amount of fics on this list.
Happy Browsing :)
Fluff
Darling
fake it till you make it
sir that’s my emotional support force bond
Nor the Suns Themselves Brighter
a vacationers guide to being unexpectedly married
somewhere, this is truth
The Creche Master
put your money where your mouth is
let’s get your fingers tangled in my hair
come to cherish anew
To Hold You In My Arms
The Little Jedi (NO ROMANCE Anakin has been turned into a kid J )
you are the victim of your own anger
Flatmates
Died last night in my dreams
the expanse of forever
what they grow beyond
Moving
And The War Never Sleeps
Shades in the Desert
Thou Little Tiny Child
come on baby calm me down (you’re the only one who knows how)
status quo
even the rougher ones
seekers not saints
Dangerous Territories
On Hugs and Warm Blankets
A Jedi’s Cloak
cat’s in the cradle
yesterday’s jam
It’s Time
White Sand
Will You Shut Up?
Hauntingly (Lovingly)
A (Background) Picture’s Worth A Thousand Words
darling, dearest, beloved
Day 4: Different Path
The Melody Wakes the Heart
Face the Music
Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust
Comes Out in the Wash
Waterproof
the road not taken
Next on the Agenda
The Road that Reaches
I need some sleep
Everything
Checking You Out
Travel Man, Reach for the Sky
throw out the window all your common sense
can you brave what you most fear
hyperfocus
Bitter Confessions
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
broken bones, thunder drums
Sweet Surprise
Taking care of baby
Benediction
sea to a desert
stay my fears (there in the dark)
________________________________________________________
Smut
Like a supernova
Swear On It
This Was Obi-wan
So Special
safe and sound
Tangled Garlands
game plan
Better Living Through Lack of Chemistry
touch of heaven with a wild side
not until then
Equinox
Against The Wall
Patience, Anakin
bound up with you
put your hands on my cashmere sweater
Stay till dawn, I’ll give you the sun
eat, sleep, wake (nothing but you)
Murder Puppy (not complete)
Prompted | Obikin
then she lit up a candle (and she showed me the way)
Warm Blood
Some Things Never Change
Various Applications of Salves and Oils
Master
perfect decimals (Obi-wan / Anakin/ Qui-gon)
Temporary Like Achilles
if this isn’t nice, what is? (not complete)
Give them Blood
Cross-Wired
as holy as enchanted
The way he smiles at you
He Watched
what’s mine is yours is ours
For Your Pleasure
Find His Pleasure
Sticky
Tristitia
pretty bird and the wedding planner
Home Again
terribly inconvenient and incredibly terrific
Slow Learner
Convergence
A Different Sort of Knife (not complete)
Over Santa’s Lap
understanding is honoring the truth beneath the surface
deception: epilogue
choose what is right, not what is easy
a lesson is learned is a lesson earned
use my body to break your fall
although it’s been said many times, many ways
Fourteen Days
radiance
afterglow
If you can be my master
All That We have
I will be keeping our memories
forgiving is easy when it comes to you
Just For Us
Equality
3%
Heat Haze
Triptyche of Love (Qui-gon /Anakin / Obi-wan)
pretty bird and the mob boss
How to Punish a Padawan
[Only] think of me (Padme / Obi-wan / Anakin)
Both (not complete)
Find a little stranger (Padme / obi-wan / Anakin)
pure uncomplicated love
Passion, Yet Serenity
notches
Anakin sucks
Like a fine wine
the force is my ally
Excessively Heated
Good Form
Redolent of you (not complete)
sail through the deep, the dark of space
such selfish prayer (and I can’t get enough)
The Same Cloth (in foreign stars) (not complete)
short shallow gasps
and when you look at me, the weight of how I feel is heavy on me
For He, too, is King
Heal Me, My Darling
Diversions
Conjunction
A Touch of Praise
Only Angel
Fill Me Up
Touch me Touch Me Touch Me
Kicks From Within
The Jedi and the tabby
Operatics
Crack Open (ObiAnidala)
Gold Collar
Parousia
Your One, Your Two
My Moon After the Tide
Poikilothermic
bled my eyes gold for you
Lights Off and My Chains On
Shattered Mirror
I think I could love you more
praise you
Just a simple touch
Here Without You Baby (not complete)
It’s How You Learn
Light Up the Trenches Where My Heart Lies
I’m Not All Right (But I’ll Be Ok)
Hidden Treasure
Two Hearts in Hand (Anakin / Savage Opress)
How Anakin Got His Groove Back (not complete)
Closed Doors
my beloved, how he shines
In the Heat of the Hour
Heat Simmer
Finally at Home
To Find the One
Inked
A Good Epithet
to touch the light, darkest
His name is Anakin and he is indeed a person (not complete)
Anakin’s Comfort
Silent Tears
Weight Keepin’ Me Down
Win Condition
Admire The Foliage
be careful not to choke on your admirations
Lifeblood
(Tell Me I’m) Still Beautiful
I smile at the moon (death is on my face)
It’s A Meet-Cute
The Emperor’s Padawan (not complete, ObiAnidala at a future date apparently)
I’ll Thank My Car
In Charge
Kidnap Victim is a Whore (not complete)
deep resonance
improper methods of scientific inquiry
needs must
make it hurt cuz we love it when it burns
pretty bird and the closest thing he has to a father
Experiments in Oracular Ecstasy
Of Fawns and Fangs
all the better to love you with
Waterlogged
Restraint
Furious than a Dragon
we repeat what we don’t repair
The Prince’s Storybook
what tomorrow may bring, what tomorrow may carry away
gift of life
Gifts of Love
________________________________________________________
Whump / Angst
The places you will be from
Come to the jedi temple in the next ten minutes if you want an asskicking
starbird
I myself have torn myself to shreds (Anakin/Padme AND Obikin)
No Such Thing as Getting Out of Hand (TW: SH, not described how it happens, happy ending)
I can’t love you in the dark
Invictus
fading to black
fathers
Of love and Recordings (Major Character Death)
falling apart
More Than Anything (Major Character Death)
Kyber Tears
Fingertips
A Certain Point of View
love is a battlefield (not a one-night stand)
Break
Always the Last to Know
Negotiation (Dead Dove DO NOT EAT situation, read the tags before reading)
For the Republic (Anidala, not as blaringly though more focused on Anakin than anything else)
The Ever Unspoken
And now we are strange (Anidala is one-sided)
amort & amor
Seeing The Truth
will it feel like the end?
your silence is deafening
Disappointment
A Price Like No Other
That Never Wrote To Me
Find me (not complete)
The Consequences of a Crash
We should run after each other (and be with one another)
Don’t be afraid.
In Fire (obikin at the very end, very slow burn and if you don’t like gore don’t read because it’s basically the entire thing)
Signs of the past (not complete)
The Rubble of Our Sins
Add a Strophe to the Poem of the World
balance is found in the one who faces his guilt
without darkness there cannot be light
when we rescue others, we rescue ourselves
facing all that you fear will free you from yourself
the wise benefit from a second opinion
somewhere along in the bitterness (not really obikin at all)
unthinkingly
Chains Bound and Broken
Care, Trust, and the Force (of course)
Continuing to Live (When I Wanted to Die)
There Growing Horns
we’ll make it to the other side
bleeding all on my own
Sometimes the Worst Decisions have the Best Outcomes
Do not stand at my grave and weep (no romance)
Ghost of Tatooine (not complete, Anidala, no obikin but they are very good friends and padme is not in it yet)
infinite sadness
Deepest Rivers
Four Walls and Two Jedi
Together or Not at All
Don’t go blindly into the dark
Halfway from the curb to the doorway
Lullaby (major character deathS, count em, plural)
my love has known yours for so long (the stars couldn’t keep us apart)
Lost and Found
from a certain point of view
angels choking on their halos (Anidala and Obikin)
Second Chances
Revelations and the Overprotectiveness that Follows
If I Don’t Remember You Tomorrow
First, Do No Harm
For Want of a Slave
The Night Will Pass (ObiAnidala)
we were too close to the stars (I never knew) (Obikin and Anidala)
the price of freedom (Anidala, no obikin sorry fellas)
Bonded
let me sooth your frayed mind
to be made right
I’m Trying
The Fall of the Master
Keep Carrying On
The Devils in the Details
where you go I’m going, there is no me without you
Chancellor’s Son
where is it?
Shame
When You Cry
bare his neck on the execution block
give us something to celebrate
The Side Effects of Saving a Life
Take all the Courage you have left
Dragons of Life and Legend
May Death Find You Alive
we find ourselves in each other
Unchained Hearts and Homes
I’m Here
Peace in a Lifelong Fight
As You See Fit
The Hunt (technically Anidala but Padme is dead from the start)
Heights
false stars offer no light
about-face
Hearts Mighty, Skins Whole
Don’t Leave Me This Way
I Didn’t Want To Break
Anxious Little Apricot
The Force Wills It
To Be Human
sear me
Forget To Remember
One More for Good Measure
Lovelorn Flowers
abandon
Smoke signals
(feel like I die) ‘til I feel your touch
In Sacrifice, Peace
Mockingbird On Fire
________________________________________________________
Redemption
A Mouthful of Ash
A Fistful of Stars (not complete)
falling up (it says not a complete series, but it reads like it’s complete)
Torn Apart, Torn Asunder (not complete)
tender like a bruise (not complete)
The Jedi Child
Afterlife (not complete)
From Darkness he Came, But Light He Chose
A Plea from the Lost to the Found
a compelling argument
You’re Still In There
Krayt’s Son
all the words you do not speak
After the Night When I Wake Up
Waiting for the Light
________________________________________________________
Miscellaneous
take my hand, have my soul
Embers: a Soulmate AU
Reading Into Things (ObiAnidala)
One touch and I Ignite
Star Crossed
The light of your beloved face (not complete)
In Pursuit of Cold Water
Against All Odds (not complete)
The World Undone
CT-Skywalker
Let me be that I am (not complete)
Sun Kissed (not complete, but it basically is)
Hourglass (not complete, but also basically complete)
with forever time (not complete)
Balance
The Will of The Force (not complete)
in an endless universe (not complete)
I Feel Like a God Right Now
The Garden
To Help Carry the Weight of These Wings (not complete)
the kids aren’t alright (Anidala AND Obikin)
It’s Not a Rule if You Don’t Try ad Break It
If You Can’t Break the Rules, Buck the System
A fool at heart
the kind that was burned first
Loves Me Like A Rock
Time and Tide (not complete)
Haunting (no romance)
encode (not complete)
Possession
Stars Above: Obikin Week 2018
Across the Darkness (Anidala and Obikin)
A Fateful Meeting
asked for and received (prompt fills) (not complete)
when the night is over
I’m Right Here (not complete)
One Lone Candle (not complete)
Rebel With a Cause
Desert Child
Wish upon a star
Till Human Voices Wake Us
Moonlight Serenade (not complete)
The Case of Republic V. Skywalker
Unconscious Design
Shifting the Blame Around
Mace Windu Fixes the Timeline ,,, And Breaks it in Whole New Ways
no other faith is light enough for this place
for blue skies
________________________________________________________
Basically Novels
Needing/Getting
Lex Talionis
Mother
“That’s it, we’re out”
Second Chances
Open Skies
Conceal Me What I Am
Only You
Wait for It
The Same Hope
Choose your words
The Middle Path
Hunting the Homeward Light
Icarus Rising
A Jedi’s Secrets
Dark Courts Light
Under The Four Moons
#star wars#Clone Wars#star wars prequels#obikin#obianidala#Anakin Skywalker#omega anakin#alpha obiwan#obi wan kenobi#fanfics#whump#fluff#kakisocks rec list
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Christmas Eve At Papa Mav’s | H.C
click here to see the master list
Merry Christmas Eve, my babes! I hope you all have a great holiday and be safe! I love you! ❤️ Happy reading and enjoy! 🎄❄️🎁🎅🏼☃️
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You and Bradley were sitting in the living area. The smell of gingerbread cookies filled the house. You were baking some to bring to Mav’s house. The only light was coming from all the Christmas decor around the house. It was quiet because Leia and Gunner were down for bed.
Bradley’s Christmas playlist was playing, Jingle Bell Rock by Bobby Helms, was playing. Bradley was singing his own version of it to make you laugh, “Stroke on my, Lick on my, Suck on my cock.” He looked at you and looked at his cock. He wiggled his brows and chuckled.
You shook your head, “Bradley Bradshaw we have a task at hand and we cannot be distracted.” You giggled and blushed.
Bradley was throwing everything into bags. “Sweetheart, I can’t wrap for the life of me. Everything is going into a bag.” He picked up a mug you got for Mav that read “#1 Papa.” He looked at it and threw it into a bag.
You laughed as you wrapped a box of clothes for Amelia. “That’s okay, Brad. We need to have a variety of present anyways.” You tied a bow onto the wrapped gift and handed it to Bradley. He placed it in the present sac he bought.
After wrapping their gifts, you and Bradley started to work on the ones for the squad. You all did secret Santa for each other. You had Coyote for your secret Santa and Bradley had Hangman. (Of course he did LOL)
You wrapped your gift for Coyote and Bradley struggled to wrap his for Hangman. You watched as he tried to figure out how to fold the paper. He had the tip of his tongue pressed against his top lip. His brows were furrowed and he was looking intensely at the wrapping paper. He tried to fold it a couple of ways and shook his head when it didn’t look right. He started to chew on his bottom lip.
You giggled and bit your lip when you started to laugh a little too loud. He looked up at you raising his brows and pushing his lips together. he made eye contact with you and chuckled. “Have you been watching me struggle, baby?”
You started to giggle more, “I have. Your concentration face is the cutest.” He laughed and shook his head, “You mean my frustration face? Baby, can you just wrap it for me? He is going to make fun of my wrapping.” He looked at you with his puppy dog eyes.
Instead you went over to him and showed him how to wrap the gift. the wrapping paper was super crinkled from all Bradley’s failed attempts.
The next day, your little family got ready and loaded the car with all the gifts and goodies for Mav’s house. You wore a long sleeve burgundy velvet jumpsuit that had a cute bow on your stomach. Leia wore a black turtle neck with a burgundy velvet overall dress. Gunner had a burgundy velvet boy tie. Bradley wore black dress pants and a burgundy lose flowing velvet button up shirt.
When you all arrived at Mav’s hangar it was all decorated. Outside was a welcome to the North Pole arch way. He had some lit up reindeers and a sleigh outside of the doors. When you all walked in there was a huge tree in the middle of his hangar. It was full of aviation decor. It was beautiful. There were lights hanging all over the hangar. His mustang was decorated with wreaths and garlands. There was a prop Santa and Snowman sitting in the seats of his plane.
“Penny and Mav really out did it this year, Bradley.” You leaned into him and whispered. He chuckled, “Maybe they should host Christmas for everyone instead of us? Huh?” He laughed and looked around.
Mav and Penny came out in matching ugly sweaters. They looked so cute. Leia ran to Mav. “PAPA! PENNY!” She crashed into them and smiled. “You both smell like gingerbread.” Mav laughed and patted her head, “We are making cookies, little Jedi.”
Mav and Penny helped you and Bradley by taking some of the gifts from your hold. They placed them under the tree with all the other gifts. Mav called over Amelia and Leia. “Amelia, why don’t you give your present to Leia so she can put it up?” Mav smiled at her.
Amelia gave Leia a little bag. Leia smiled big as she opened it. Inside were ornaments. One was Princess Leia in a fighting stance with her light saber, another was a picture of you and Bradley when you were in university in a snowflake, an F-14 Tom Cat ornament, and a doggy paw frame with a picture of Leia and Gunner in it. Leia squealed.
“Do you want to put them on the tree, Leia?” Amelia smiled at Leia. Leia started to jump up and down as she nodded. You and Bradley watched as her and Amelia placed the ornaments onto Mav’s tree.
Mav looked at the both of you and smiled, “So do you want to open presents now or later?” He looked at his watch. Leia screamed yes from across the hangar. Mav laughed, “I guess it is present time.” He winked at you and Bradley. Mav started to play some Christmas music while you all started to get ready for opening gifts.
You started to hand out gifts to every one from you and Bradley. Bradley looked around the tree and looked for a gift he got for Mav. He found it and went over to Mav. “This is from me to you.” He smiled at Mav. Right before Mav could grab it Bradley held it above his head and started to laugh. “JUMP MAV!” Mav started to jump and tried to get out out of his hands. Bradley finally gave in.
Mav opened his gift. You all watched as he opened it. His expression went soft as he removed the tissue paper. It was a multiple frame collage. It had pictures of Goose and Mav together, Mav and Bradley when he was a kid, and pictures of Mav and Leia. On the bottom of the frame, “The world’s best Papa” was etched into it. Mav held it up and looked at all the pictures. He got up and hugged Bradley. “This is the best thing I could ever get.” He cried and hugged Bradley.
Penny and Mav spoiled Leia for Christmas. They got her a battery powered Jeep she could drive around in, a battery powered jet she could drive around, Mav bought her her own aviators that had “Vapor” engraved on them, clothes, toys, and more lego sets that were Star Wars themed for her to build.
After everyone opened their gifts, Mav looked over at you and Bradley. “I was really hoping for Christmas I was going to be opening a box that had a onesie in it.” You and Bradley looked at each other confused. “Can you guys just have more kids? I need more grandchildren I can spoil.” Mav laughed.
Later on that night, you all made and decorated gingerbread houses together as Mav played The Santa Claus on a projector.
Before the house could be finished, Bradley and Leia were eating it. By the end of it, you didn’t have a roof nor gingerbread people. Bradley grabbed the remaining frosting and tilted Leia’s head back. “Open up, Vapor girl!” He squished some into her mouth. He sucked the rest out of the packet.
After the gingerbreads, there was no clean up. You all had eaten the gingerbread houses.
By the end of the night, Bradley was asleep on the couch with Leia asleep on his chest. He had his mouth slightly open and snoring. He had his arm wrapped around Leia and the other falling off the couch. You looked at your sleepy babies and smiled. You kissed both of them and threw a blanket over them.
Mav came over and threw his arms around your shoulders, “One more gift.” He handed you one more little box. You looked at him and furrowed your brows. “Another gift for me?” You giggled. Mav nodded.
You opened the box it was a little gold locket necklace. On the front of it “Always in my heart” was engraved on it. When you opened it, one side was a picture of your mom and dad the other was a picture of Bradley and Leia. You gasped. “Mav…”
You looked at him and hugged him, “Thank you so much Mav. I love it so much.” He hugged you tight, “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Look at the back of it.”
You closed the locket and turned the heart over. Engraved on the back, “We love you. - Mav and Penny” You held it close to your heart and a tear fell from your eye.
“We are all always with you, y/n.” He smiled and rubbed your arms. “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.”
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A little present for Christmas Eve, I hope you all enjoyed this little H.C at Mav’s hangar. Happy holidays! Muah! 🫶🏼 See you tomorrow for Christmas 🎁🎄❄️🥰
Santa’s little helpers are in the comments 🎅🏼
#Miles teller#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw#christmas with the Bradshaws#Pete maverick mitchell#Merry Christmas eve#dec. 24 2022#top gun maverick#top gun#his little girl bradley bradshaw x reader#TGM cast#i love u
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Life Day
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader
Word Count: 1.2k
Rating: Everyone
Warnings: No warnings, just blooming love
A/N: Happy happy holidays to @smolvenger !!! As you know, I'm your gifter for @startrekkingaroundasgard's Star Wars Gift Exchange, and I hope you love this little piece of Life Day bliss with Obi-Wan. I also hope the rest of your year and beyond are filled with love and joy. 💖
Life Day. A celebration of family, of compassion, and of love across the Galaxy. Each planet had its own celebrations and traditions but, at their core, they were all the same: honor those around you and give thanks for the love and joy they bring you.
You and Obi-Wan had spent the day walking through the light displays hung all over town. Strands of lights and garlands of every color dotted roofs and doorways, and even the town square was decorated with such grandeur it took your breath away. The highlight of the day, and everyday, though, was Obi-Wan. He was never more than a few inches from your side, hands chastely held behind his back as the two of you meander through the lively town. You both knew your… companionship was frowned upon by those in his Order, but Obi-Wan had made it clear months ago that he enjoyed your presence, and that whatever the other Masters had to say could be kept to themselves. You were content to just be friends for now, even if every brush of his arm sent tingles through your body.
Through the day, you listened intently to him explaining the holiday, enraptured by the smooth sound of his voice. He explained how the Wookies of Kashyyyk are the original creators of Life Day, and how they used the holiday as a celebration of their families and values.
“When I was a padawan,” he continues as you find a small cafe to sit in front of, “My master, Qui-Gon Jinn, and I went to Kashyyyk to observe the Wookie’s celebrations.” He chooses a table nestled under an awning covered in evergreen boughs and spicy smelling bulbs, the scent wafting over and around you as you take the chair opposite your companion.
“That sounds lovely,” you comment as a waiter stops by your table to take your order. Obi-Wan orders his classic hot tea with cream, and you ask for the same.
“It was. Well, mostly,” He continues after the waiter leaves, the mischievous glint you adored so much lighting his eyes. “There were some… Complications.”
You raise an eyebrow, beckoning him on.
“My master and some of the Wookies were captured in an ambush, but don’t fret,” he places his hand over yours on the table, “even then I was a very talented Jedi.”
His laugh dances with yours through the chilly air, “I’m sure you were, Master Kenobi.”
His blue eyes twinkle as he leans back, pulling his hand from yours and running over the scruff along his chin. Your waiter returns with your drinks and you immediately wrap your fingers around the cup, letting the warmth seep into your frozen skin. “Long story short,” Obi-Wan continues, “I was aided by one of my master’s good friends and we were able to rescue everyone and finish the Life Day festivities properly.”
“You’ve been to so many places and seen so much, I wish I had that opportunity.”
“Hmmm.” Obi-Wan’s lips lift into a small smile. “Perhaps I’ll have to take you on my next trip,” he murmurs into the rim of his cup, sipping the scaling liquid carefully.
“Don’t get my hopes up, Obi-Wan,” you playfully nudge his foot with yours under the table.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he gasps, feigned hurt weaving through his words and laughter dancing in his eyes.
“Yes you would, you scoundrel,” you tease. “We’ve been friends for long enough for me to know when you’re pushing my buttons.”
Leaning forward and tucking a loose hair back under your knitted hat, Obi-Wan whispers, “I only do it so often because it gets you so riled up, dear one.”
The pet name brings warmth to your face that has nothing to do with the biting breeze through the square. You avert your eyes from his striking gaze back down to your cup, “So tell me what you learned about Life Day on this grand adventure, then.”
He hasn’t leaned back away from you and, as you look back up to meet his gaze, there’s something burning there; small embers that have fanned into flame. “To me, Life Day is about appreciating our connections to one another and the way the Force connects us to those that are meant to bring us great joy.” Your heart picks up its pace as he continues, “That day on Kashyyyk, I saw families celebrating with each other. I saw friends remind one another of their importance. I saw love all around every being near the Tree of Life, and I promised myself that I would remember that feeling; remember the way the Force moved around everyone at that moment, and I would attempt to live my life in that way every day.”
“That’s beautiful, Obi-Wan,” you whisper, the cafe and the square seeming to melt away as you picture the scene he sets for you. Little lights spring to life around you as the sun begins to set, twinkling and casting a soft, yellow glow on the man sitting across from you.
“I have something for you.” Obi-Wan pulls a small box from his robes, dark with a ribbon in your favorite color tied around it. He places it on the table in front of you, “Will you open it?”
You nod, smiling at the gesture, before gently picking up the gift. Your hands shake slightly- from the cold or the butterflies in your stomach, you weren’t sure- and as you untie the bow on top and remove the lid a small gasp escapes your lips.
Inside, a beautiful necklace sits on satin fabric. A cluster of stars sits at the base of a bright silver circle, each shining as if he had plucked them straight from the sky above you. “Obi-Wan…” you whisper, mouth agape as you tear your gaze away from the gorgeous gift to his smiling eyes.
“Do you like it?” He asks, voice a touch timid.
“Of course I do, this is…” Tears spring to your eyes, “I… I don’t have anything for you, I’m so sorry.”
He chuckles and stands, moving smoothly to your side of the table and taking the necklace from its resting place. “Don’t fret, dear one, I don’t require any gifts.” He drapes the necklace over your head and clasps it behind your neck, speaking quietly into your ear, “I’ve come to see you in the stars in all my travels and wanted you to have something that reminded you of me as well.”
“I’ve never needed anything to remind me of you, Obi-Wan.” Boldness bolstering you, you grab his hand and turn in your chair to face him, “There isn’t a day that goes by that I-”
Before you can finish your sentence, Obi-Wan closes the gap between you and gently presses his lips to yours, squeezing your hand in his. His lips are warm and somehow already familiar, and as his amber and black tea scent surrounds you, you have the immediate feeling of coming home.
Breathless, you both pull away for a moment. Snow begins falling and the jingle of music from the café becomes the soundtrack for a memory you’ll never forget. Feeling so light you worry you might drift away, you request the only thing that comes to mind, “Kiss me again.”
Always happy to oblige his dear one, Obi-Wan cradles your face in his warm hands and does as you ask, wrapping you so thoroughly in his presence that you know you’ll never be without him again.
#star wars#obi-wan kenobi#fan fiction#gift exchange#star wars gift exchange#obi-wan#obi wan#fanfiction#fan fic#obi-wan x you#obi-wan x reader#obi wan x reader#obi wan x you#star wars fan fiction#star wars fanfiction#star wars fan fic#star wars fanfic#obi-wan fanfiction#obi-wan fan fiction#obi-wan fanfic#obi-wan fan fic#obi wan fanfiction#obi wan fan fiction#obi wan fanfic#obi wan fan fic
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Starlight - Chapter Thirty-Five: Apocalypse
Pairing: Din Djarin x OC
Rating: Mature
Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut
WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Graphic Violence. Derealization. Gore.
Words: 7k
Summary: In the middle of it all, a metal surgical table, leather straps attached to the sides. A tray of scalpels to the left, powered down heart rate and oxygen monitors to the right. On top of the table however, the object to make Din’s heart stop.
Lumina.
Masterlist | Starlight Masterlist | AO3 | Prev | Next
An unsatisfactory thump echos on impact to the tile in the closet of a room. A single three strand braid, woven tight and thick lands at the heels of Lumina’s feet. What’s left is choppy and uneven, ending at the middle of her neck. Thick recycled air brushes against exposed skin, fresh cut ends poking.
On the counter in front, a knife sets down continuing to vibrate until it too falls.
She’s asked, What do you remember? The question comes from behind, practiced posh accent as heavy as Dagobah’s humidity.
An answer is foregone, the weight of her tongue unbearable.
“She’s in the void,” postulates a second, another female. After a pause, “The voltage should have fried her from the inside. She’s melted.”
“Perhaps,” the first agrees. A hand grips her chin, cold skin on her fever temptation. Again she’s asked: What do you remember?
She can’t answer, in the most physical sense. Her mouth opens to cough, phlegm spitting on the counter right before the mirror. She refuses contact with the vision of herself. She can imagine the sight well enough. She watches outside herself from the rafters of ventilation. She’s cold in her observation deck, wrapped in stiff wool blankets. They scratch until she earns a rash.
Ghost stands directly behind, officer Kane posed against the entryway. Lumina, in the middle of it all. The chair she sits on is old, wooden, creaking whenever weight shifts. They’ve each taken their turn of their snide remarks of her.
“She could have done miracles.”
“Wasted talent.”
“Maybe it’s for the best. Men would never listen to it. Not when she looks like that.”
“She used to be a whore.”
“Figures.”
Ghost shoves the side of her head. She hates silence, rebellion, disrespect. She assumes a right to Lumina’s memory, whatever she believes to be left of it. Were she to possess the same gift, the discovery would be quite the disappointment.
Everything is there, amplified and muted. Faces turn to masks, bodies blurred shapes, familiar motions. She feels high. Lonely. Claustrophobic.
For the first time, Lumina misses company. A feeling, she assumes, to be unrequited. In vain and a sick need of self deprecation, she attempts to convince herself it is not human interaction, affection, that she longs for. Instead the scenery of green, whomever it comes with an unwilling side affect of association.
The light cruiser is cold and empty, lacking windows to space and oxygen stale. Green paradise filled her with warmth, breathed her anew. There are few places which resemble it. She has traveled more of the galaxy than most men could conceptualize. Nothing has felt so welcoming than the woods. Nothing except for—
Lumina locks eyes with herself, squinting like she were too bright. She sees brown above dark circles, odds and ends of overgrown and chopped layers sticking up from her scalp. She is a kiss away from death.
She might as well be staring at a holophoto of her childhood.
Not all memory is abstract. She remembers the sun warm on her skin, reflections of silver always to her left. She remembers waterfalls, three within close proximity, more further away. Six round creatures, brown and large. Tall grass, centuries old trees, blue lakes and lagoons. A manor as old as time, worn with love, forgotten as all things are. Lace, ivy, dedications to those already dead, a Senator and a Jedi.
She remembers flowers.
A wild field of blossoms in a haze. Decorating everything visible. Garlands, mosaics, art in all ways art can be. A single bouquet, separated from the rest. Large, dusty blue, white almost. Golden at its heart, bursting into five pointed ends.
A quick release of dawn, a flash of what could have been.
Lumina does not look like herself, and breaks contact lest she further her own destruction.
She’s forced to stand and dressed like a doll, bottom up. Looking as if she were poured into cloth.
Kane repeats her earlier sentiment.
Figures.
The corridor sounds crowded, heavy, angry. Sensation shoots up her nerves. Lumina faces Ghost, the second now complete with her mask. The red lit visor is burning. Kane coughs during their contest, chirps from her communicator duetting.
Her muscles relax with sweetness of a nearing end.
---
Bo-Katan, though only knowing Din Djarin for such a short time, is far too aware that something is wrong. Past the usuals of his gruffness and hostility, exacerbated tenfold, his mind is poisoned. The change is a palpable chemical.
Jedi, she thinks scoffing. If that.
Fennec Shand snaps in front of her helm. “Focus.”
Bo raises her left blaster, three shots into three Stormtroopers. She shrugs. The forces are less than she expected, and half seem far too unwilling than usual conscripts. Her energy is better suited elsewhere.
Or so she thinks. Fennec, clearly, has other ideas.
They play off another, her and Shand. It’s a miracle they hadn’t met sooner, all things considered. The galaxy is far too small for her liking. Everyone she knows—those still living—have sequestered themselves in the farthest corners, each lightyears apart. There’s no reason for this invisible golden string of sunlight to tie them all.
Snap.
“I’m focused.”
“Sure.”
“…You have no idea the position I’m in.” Bo speaks with a soft edge, cautious of the wandering ears of Koska and Dune.
“I have some.”
“No. You don’t know them like I did.”
Do.
…Did.
“I’ve worked with them both. Him at the beginning. Her at the end.”
“Before or after?”
“Mainly before. Once after. Once after the after."
"Were you friends?"
"Friendly… eventually." Fennec stops first, hand raised, she points left. She whispers, "Were you?"
Dune takes care of the offenders. Her automatic blaster is insulting, but it serves its purpose. She’s more than helpful, a surprise given her avid protest on the rescue. She’s made her disdain for the girl—Lumina, abundantly clear. There are questions on everything, her hidden truths, intentions, trust, lack thereof.
Bo-Katan leaves the returns to Shand, she worries if she says anything it will be that she agrees. No one is sure of anything, least of all Din, and though Bo-Katan would never admit it, she takes his word above all else. Fett seems less concerned about whatever the girls sense of morality could be than her just being alive. Clones, blind allegiance seems built into their core. This Bo-Katan knows, it’s the rest who refuse to listen.
Dune has a point, but the thought of abandonment now makes Bo sick. Though Fennec doesn’t look to have any issues of her own. She and Fett are staunchly for this mission. Bo can’t determine yet whether Fennec’s loyalty is a stem from her partnership to Fett or her own will. She’s not sure she wants the answer.
Blindness is far easier than acute awareness of truth.
"I don't find making friends easy," Bo admits, remembering the question. “Or all together necessary." She nods to herself, following a vague memory. "Though she was the best of them."
“I mean were you friendly?" Fennec asks.
"No."
The crowd of them arrive to the corridor before the cell of Pershing’s instruction. "Make it quick," Dune says, flanking left with Koska to their lookout positions. "I'd rather not wait around."
"Becoming Sith soup isn't my idea of fun either," Bo says. “Keep comms open, call if you need backup.”
Crouched together at the end of the hall, her and Shand, stare at the lonely metal door. Two guards stand, one on each side. Fennec refuses to drop conversation, even as they take down the troopers and shoot them in the chest.
“What’s the plan?” she asks.
“If you were listening you would know I went over the plan—”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
Bo’s lips purse a thin line. She hadn’t thought that far. Dune’s objections rattle inside. “I don’t know.”
“Fett says you have a location.”
“Not exactly. It’s been years. Could be anywhere, and encrypted comms aren’t my definition of approachable.”
“You don’t think it’s smart.”
“You do?” Bo sighs. “I want what’s best.”
“For whom?”
”Fett doesn’t seem keen on it, why are you?”
Fennec shrugs. “Like I said. We were friendly.”
Bo-Katan takes the code cylinder from a fallen guard, careful to avoid the blood from his chest. They press against each side of the door on her insertion into the lockboard, blasters ready. On Bo-Katan’s word cage doors open, they enter with initiative. Depth is larger than anticipated, and the light from the hall does little.
“Lumina?” she calls. “It is Bo-Katan and Fennec Shand. Are you here?” Her helmets opticals convert to night vision, a now green lit room empty. The settlement of a grave enters her gut, she doesn’t think and calls her name.
“Lumina,” Fennec corrects.
Right.
The corner of the room coos. “What the hell?” Bo says, turning. “The kid is here.” The alien waddles to the rooms center, meeting the pair. He waves, and it’s now Bo sees the shattered lightbulb at their feet. Bo kneels, holding her hand out in caution. “Hey little guy. Remember me?”
“I don’t get it,” Fennec says. “If he’s here, where is she?”
“I don’t know. Let’s get to the bridge, there are cameras everywhere. We’ll find her.” She taps on her arm. “Marshal Dune, Koska, we’ve run into a situation. Is the path for entry to the bridge clear?”
The response is static.
“Marshal Dune, Koska. Do you read me?”
“Unfortunately your party seems to be indisposed right now.” The voice and its owner, concealed behind a black mask in the doorway. She removes the code cylinder from the lockboard, twirling it around leather gloved fingers. “Ni gana kil'yc ca'nara.” And before Bo-Katan can exclaim any senes of confusion, much less fear, her hand slams on the lockboard panel. “You’ll just get in my way.”
The doors lock shut.
She shares a look with Fennec, one only meaning one thing. Marshal Dune was right.
“Din Djarin,” Bo-Katan rushes into her communicator. “She’s not here. You’re being set up. You are not to engage with her under any circumstance. I repeat do not engage. Abort your mission and go to the bridge. I repeat, abort your mission immediately. Do. Not. Engage.”
---
To call Doctor Pershing’s assessment of the situation off would be an oversimplification. Part of Din Djarin wonders if they were given accurate schematics of Gideon’s light-cruiser at all. While he faced the privilege of no storm trooper confrontation, the same oddly applied in a noticeable lack of dark trooper.
He’d gone just as Pershing instructed. Second floor stern, port side. From there, exactly three hundred paces from the lift shaft to the brig, passing the holding bay on the way. Neither occurrence remained true.
Three hundred paces becomes five hundred until the nearest door, and the fleet of dark troopers remained MIA. Instead, the corridor echos his presence and vents rumble. MSE droids skid past in the opposite direction with no alarm.
Din debates turning around, returning to the lambda, or worse— comming Bo-Katan, admitting he is simply not capable of being alone. Alas, pride beats even the strongest of curses, and he continues.
Pershing’s code cylinder does not work on the first door, nor the second or third. In fact, Din inserts the breaker into every lockboard he sees seven times until function begins.
He concludes with the undeniable fact that Doctor Pershing had lied to them all. And if such were true, nothing could ever be predicted. Especially this:
The room which opens is not a brig, nor a standard holding cell by any stretch of the imagination. It is a laboratory. With glass cabinets along the wall and floor, vials of meticulously labeled liquids, tables and counters covered by wires and computer terminals.
In the middle of it all, a metal surgical table, leather straps attached to the sides. A tray of scalpels to the left, powered down heart rate and oxygen monitors to the right. On top of the table however, the object to make Din’s heart stop.
Lumina.
Sleeping, or worse but certainly incapacitated. One arm hanging off the edge. Her clothing torn apart. She looks feverish and pale, twitching every now and then.
Din stills in the doorway longer than feasible to excuse as decision making. He wants it all, to scream and run and vomit and hide and rage and break every glass and not care what cuts.
Bo-Katan’s voice unwillingly penetrates his thoughts, frantic. Din Djarin. She’s not here, you’re being— He cuts the connection and unwillingly enters.
Lumina resembles her appearance after Nevarro far too greatly for Din to have any sense of comfort. He can hear the AZI unit whirl around the room, reading useless information of her brainwaves and abnormal vitals. He scans her heart rate, weary of the sensation she claimed it caused. Unconscious or not, angered or not, he cannot bring himself to harm her. The results are too low, dangerously close to snapping into cardiac arrest.
The body seems to have entered a self sufficient regulatory stasis, he hears the AZI say, bringing as much comfort now as it did then.
That is to say, none at all.
“Lumina,” he whispers. “Wake up…” His protest is unconvincing and her body temperature drops rapidly. “Lumina wake up.” He takes her shoulders, lifting her with a cradled head, she is limp. “I know you can hear me.” He grows frantic, air from his nose hot. His visor fogs. “Lumina. We promised Fett we’d bring you alive, wake up.” He swears.
“You’re a fucking hypocrite you know that? You make me promise I won’t die or do stupid shit and that’s all you ever do. I can’t keep watching you die. I won’t do it. I can’t do it anymore. I hate you. I hate you, I fucking hate you. You’re the worst thing that ever happened me. I wish I never met you. You’re selfish and entitled and you have to wake the fuck up so I can tell you that I—” He runs out of air, shaking his head. “I swear I’ll kill you if you die. I’ll do it right here. I’ll fucking kill you Lumina. Don’t make me. Please—please, Lu. Lu, Lu wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake—”
She stretches. The movement is slow and hardly recognizable but her muscles move and contract, she groans. She breathes through her mouth, heavy like wampas lay on her lungs. Her eyes blink open, soft gray in harsh light.
She sits up, painfully assisted by him. Her vision doesn’t focus on any one thing, fluttering around the room, squinting at the bulbs above.
Something breaks, a small incremental shatter in Din’s brain. He cannot help the itch, and has an unbearable urge to kiss her. “Sarad?”
It wouldn’t matter if Din had left her for a lifetime, there is no instance in which he could ever forget the sinking feeling of knowing something is horribly wrong. She’s dull and uncommitted. She flinches when realizing it is his hands that hold her.
“Lumina?”
“I wouldn’t bother. She has the mental capacity of an infant in this state.”
Din turns. “Moff Gideon.”
“Hello, Din Djarin.” He enters the laboratory, hands behind his back, gaze unassuming. Crossing, he lands behind her. “We must stop meeting this way, it’s far too crass for my liking.”
“What did you do to her?”
“I assure you she has done it to herself. We presented her many opportunities to make the right choice, and yet she did not. Disobedience is not tolerated as I am sure you are aware.”
Din asks again, each word hit. “What did you do?”
“She was a troubled girl, and I’m afraid Dr. Pershing’s methods proved lackluster. I wouldn’t worry if I were you, while the mind flayer is not gentle, she retains no memory of it. Or, anything.”
“What?”
“Please,” Gideon scoffs. “Don’t pretend you care just to humor me. Have you forgotten what she’s done to you? The Child? She is the reason for so much—” his left shoulder twitches “—torment.”
“She’s still a person,” Din stutters.
“Is she? I understand how you could be fooled, so was I, but I assure you personhood is the least of her descriptors. Haven’t you wondered how she seems to be so… superhuman? Why she of all people carried such importance? I had Doctor Pershing conduct his own studies to discover this. She is a strandcast. Containing original Fett DNA, of which the Empire continues to hold total and unending proprietorial rights to. This thing isn’t human, it’s a rogue experiment. You see Din Djarin, this is my property, and it won’t be going anywhere.”
“I don’t care what she is,” Din says. “I made a promise. She’s coming with me.”
Gideon walks back, pacing the laboratory in long strides. “I should like you to meet someone.” He smiles with teeth, right hand waved out. “My personal guard.” From the corridor, a masked womanly figure dressed in black and red. Her description is of ill comparison to that of Pershing’s, and Din’s memory is far to hazy to recall the fateful day to perfection. The further he strays the less he knows. But she is shorter than he, thin but curved. He sees no skin.
“I do not often make requests,” Gideon says. “But I do recommend you leave with haste. She is not one you’d like to cross.”
Perhaps it is instinct or a sickening need, a rotted habit within his psyche, but Din grabs Lumina’s hand. She flinches, he feels bile stir. “I’m not leaving without her, and I don’t fear you. Or her.” He ignores the pounding in his chest.
Gideon’s jaw tightens. “Very well,” he says. “You may take the thing. After all it was created once, she can be again. However, in doing so you forfeit ever seeing the Child again.”
“What?”
“Fortunately, seeing as she provided all testing trials, he has remained an unnecessary nuisance, yet a necessary backup. If you’d rather correct his fate into hers, be my guest.”
A storm whips to the level of hurricanes inside of Din.
“I urge you to think on your decision,” Gideon says. “Don’t forget the reason you’ve had to drag Bo-Katan and her crew of savages aboard.” He spares a look. “I hope you’re not surprised. I’d recognize Lady Kryze beyond the grave. I owe her my thanks. Without her, Mandalore and many many more of you Mandalorians may still be alive. Without her…” His right hand falls to his hip. Gideon takes hold of a sleek hilt. The device powers on, the sound angry, the light the darkest he’s seen. “…I would never have this.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“Are you so blind to yourself? This is the Darksaber,” Gideon says. Lumina’s head lifts as does the guard’s, staring mesmerized. “An ancient Mandalorian weapon, said to create kings. You see Din Djarin, whomever wields this sword rules Mandalore and all its people. This is why Bo-Katan has chosen to join you. Believe no other excuse she has said. She works for her own benefit.”
“I don’t care about the sword,” Din says. “Keep it. Die with it. I just want the kid… and her.”
“Is that right? Is that truly what you want? Her?” Din has not missed the growing migraines, their current reappearance penetrates with a force. “I’d like you to think, truly think of your desires.”
Fett wants her, he reminds himself. That’s reason enough.
“She’s a malfunctioning asset created for destruction,” Gideon continues, turning off his saber. “The fact is hardwired into her programming, she can never change. Never provide you with a family, comfort, love. This model at least, is incapable, and in this state she has no idea who you are.”
Incapable.
Din catches himself in his chest, fist tight. Something dark and buried tells him he’s known all along. It’s the same whispered haunting voice that spoke the truth to him all those days ago. Trapped in Gideon’s cargo hold, held by droids against his will. He’s always known. Nothing has changed, not in the slightest.
And her, her being some… some clone, some piece of bioengineering, what difference does it make? How is it not another excuse for her actions?
He steps away, far away. Far enough that she is no longer within arms reach and his heel hits cabinets. A glass vial topples and cracks.
The guard watches, Lumina does not. Her gaze is robotic, remaining stagnant on the sword. She turns hypnotized to face the oppressor.
Gideon isn’t entirely incorrect in his assessment. Mostly, but not complete. Lumina isn’t the same, the sight of her makes that much obvious… but had he known her at all? Had anything been real? She had indeed worked against him the whole of their time but…
His nerves twitch. Damn migraine.
“Tell me, Din Djarin,” Gideon says. “What is it that you want?”
He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t. He will repeat it until he dies, he does not want her. Even now. Especially now. Not as he stares at her for the first time in ten days, of which each feels like a year. Not when there’s this insatiable urge to grab her, hold her, take her somewhere, anywhere else. He wants to take her into the Razor Crest, let her take a stupidly long shower as she always does and sing just loud enough so that he may hear. He wants her to sleep and eat and sleep until she looks anything like herself again.
But the Razor Crest does not exist anymore. Neither does she.
She does not care for him. Not ever, not now. Especially now. Not when she cannot remember anything of their lives. Cannot look at him, recoils at his touch. When all she can give him is an exposed and turned back, chilled from blowing air and perfectly clean.
A perfectly clean unmarked back…
Huh.
“I choose the Child,” Din says. “Keep her, you’re right. She means nothing.”
“Are you certain?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“Very well. 318,” Gideon says, her attention snapped. “You are dismissed. Return to your quarters.”
She stumbles, jumping off the surgical table without imprints on the back of her thighs. She nods at Gideon, ignores Din, and brushes past the guard. When doors close it’s as if she never existed at all.
What a thought.
“Where’s the kid?” Din asks.
Gideon smirks. “That would be nice to know, wouldn’t it?”
In an instant Din is flung against the opposite wall, crashing directly into glass, labeled fluid splashing in every direction. He groans, his helmet denting the wall.
“Did you think it would be that easy?” Gideon asks. He keeps position while his guard advances. Her left arm is stretched, fingers moving on her right. “Did you honestly believe you could get anything from me?” He laughs. “You have been a stain on my plans for too many moons and your interest has faded.”
Din’s body constricts on himself, the guard pushes him further and further into durasteel.
“You should have never come,” Gideon says. “The Child alone I can understand, I’m a father as well. But her?” He scoffs. “Lord Vader created her for one purpose, to squash enemies like bugs. It is all she knows. You should have understood that.”
Dins feet lift off the ground, not far but shadow does form. He tries to fight, he tries to try and he cannot. His body struggles too much, it is too weak, he is too human.
Gideon instructs, “Kill him.”
His throat tightens, his hands pull at his own neck. Nothing works. The guards left hand balls into a fist, snapping to the side. His vision blurs. Din Djarin watches her right hand gently turn with his neck and falls into a deep unimaginable sleep.
---
The Mandalorian awakes by a jolt of electricity, a minute two finger punch to the pulse point of his neck.
He hears that he’s dead, however—and although he cannot say he is familiar with the sensation—he does not feel dead. Quite the opposite. Energy renews, and in the strangest way, the aches he carried disappear. Clarity enters.
His eyes take longer to open, boots and knees crouched in front of his visor. He couldn’t have been unconscious for long, behind the figure of the guard is still Moff Gideon. He speaks with gesture, and it is now Din realizes his prior shyness in motion. On his left, his arm ends abrupt, disfigured.
That’s new.
Gideon is less proud without knowledge of Din’s audience. He keeps a distance, almost afraid.
The thought, surely she couldn’t have caused his disfigurement, is not a stranger to his mind. The implication however, is.
She doesn’t move or speak or breathe really. Gideon talks, as he always does. He praises her. Her hand enters Din’s left side pocket—having landed on his right—quickly and leaves all the same. Gideon tells her he’s amazed her conditioning was a success. She stands, Din forced to stare at her heels.
“Glory to the Empire,” she says eventually. Her vocoder is too strong, she reverbs like a canyon.
Gideon repeats.
Glory to the Empire.
With a sinking feeling, Din would much rather be prepared for his grave. Placed six feet below in rich soil, safe from the collision of fate.
---
“You will kill the Mandalorian… What I see, is the Mandalorian you align yourself with will fear you, and you will kill him in the name of the Empire.”
The words tornado as Lumina’s hands shake at her sides, sweating under leather. She pants outside of Doctor Pershing’s laboratory where a gang of four Stormtroopers await. The mask Ghost had given her found quick removal, laying thrown on the floor. Her forehead presses against the wall, expression pinched.
“Get a move on,” one says.
She shouldn’t worry. She knows she shouldn’t worry. Her skills surpass worry, they transcend fear. The Mandalorian is not dead. He may be sore and dazed but he is not dead. He’s not. And if he were, if she were somehow careless and unyielding to her power she would have felt it. His pain, his agony, the Force leave his body. She would know, it would kill her just the same.
A darkness whispers in her ear, Anakin killed his wife…
“I said move,” the Trooper repeats.
She grunts, “Give me a minute.”
The silence is too loud, she can’t hear through the walls. She should have stayed, fought Gideon herself, finished what she unknowingly started. It isn’t fair to Din. It’s never been fair.
What if he hadn’t woken? What if Gideon were in the room at this very moment, boasting his success, torturing the Mandalorians assumed dead body. What if the helmet is removed?
She didn’t think this through. Din is a capable man there is no doubt of it, but Lumina is uncontrollable and dangerous, she knows not her own strength. What is he against her? Ghost forbid her weapons but what does that matter to the Force?
Her ability to consistently make the worst choices would be impressive under any other circumstance.
She should find Fennec, create an excuse of direction and return to the cell. Koska and Dune should wake soon, bodies dragged inside of the bridge. She still has time to fix things, course correct.
It’s all Bo-Katan’s fault, an excuse she cannot abandon. What business does she have to be here? She never expected Din to want her rescue, and had surely hoped to be correct. So why should Bo-Katan look for Lumina specifically? They hadn’t been the most amicable in their initial meeting.
Pershing must have had something to do with it. Though explanations were rushed and short lived, he knew what their final meeting would result in. The drugs, the flayer, the oncoming ambush by the Mandalorian and his company. They decided logistics as quick as possible.
Their finding of him was no coincidence, and his fear permeates regardless of ruse. Should he be privy to a plan—a likely scenario—he was to promote motions. The Mandalorian Din Djarin was to be directed to the station with the Child. Boba Fett would go on to discover Lumina with possible aide by Fennec Shand. Any other parties could be divided as they saw fit. Only then would Lumina through some miracle arrive at the Child’s holding cell, entrap the Mandalorian until all was well and vanish without a trace.
Pain enters her chest. Why wasn’t Boba here? What of his promises?
A baton wacks at the back of her leg, breaking her contemplation. She bites her tongue to not cry. “Move!” the Trooper barks.
They may think her turned infantile and slow, but it does not disregard their innate fear. The thrill of joy given in their power, her hurt.
“I want to see 313,” Lumina says through clenched teeth.
“She is to remain undisturbed. Direct orders.”
The illusion continued longer than any of them expected. Without a voice it stood simpler but to be tangible? As children Ghost would faint from the experience continuing longer than a minute. She’s older now yes, but overconfident, overzealous.
“I am giving you direct orders, take me to her now.”
“We don’t listen to the likes of you anymore,” another says. “We outrank you, clone.”
…Clone?
Lumina whispers, “What?”
Tired of a wait, they grab at her, pushing her away. “No talking,” one says. “You’re going back in the hole.”
For a moment, Lumina listens without argument. Her feet drag and shoves become all the more frequent, but the word pulls over and over.
Clone.
Suddenly breathing becomes her most difficult task.
They shove her again.
She blacks out.
---
Alone, Moff Gideon moves throughout the laboratory with a slow and dignified ease. He paces his observation as if at any moment it could all disappear. He fears entrapment inside some glorious dream, a miracle of the Galactic Empire, and that he will soon wake up. Many many sacrifices have been made—phantom pains on his left arm grow stronger by the hour, and any hope in seeing his daughter again is nulled—but to reach this conclusion. To win.
To not only defeat the pesky rodent of Din Djarin that has plagued his life for the past rotation, the Mandalorian built of pure beskar and unending gall. To say he did it. To prove once and for all that a Mandalorian is no greater than a simple man. No stronger than a well trained body. No smarter than a former agent of the ISB. No more fearsome than the greatest of Jedi and greater of Sith.
Bo-Katan would come next, already captured in a cell. Waiting, no doubt, with anticipation and slow building anxiety. Her defeat would be even easier this round. Gideon will waste no time and guarantee no Mandalorian would ever interrupt his plans again.
It will be child’s play.
And even this, this undoubted success, his unquestionable victory is not where his foul pride blooms. Gideon lifts a forgotten data sheet, unintelligible letters resembling binary and making out the sequencing of life.
This.
Her.
This unattainable thing. This proof of all his struggle, his research, his desire. The evidence of a myth, the last surviving link to greatness. A combination of science and magic. A handcrafted being, the first documented artificial life to carry the power of the Force.
And she belongs, to him. No longer temperamental, or emotional, or unstable and manic. But a calm vessel, willing and wanting to take any direction given. Immune to attachments. Trained and domesticated like a mutt.
And if by chance she were to become… unpredictable? He wouldn’t have to wait another twenty plus years for a replicated specimen to reach maturity, nor the ten years it took for the original Fett beings. With a Kaminoan trained mind like Doctor Pershing and the endless Imperial funding sure to be granted after the display of his new power, Gideon could have adult clones made in one standard rotation. There would of course, be no need for formal education or socialization. Only objects to destroy and to be destroyed.
Who knows, one day he could perhaps convince Doctor Pershing to implement the cloning methods on another being. Someone… more worthy. Someone like himself.
But he is getting ahead of a future that has yet to come. That will surely come. He will celebrate with wine and the envy of others. Then, oh then the day will arrive that his cohorts will quit their useless wait on Grand Admiral Thrawn or the words of Admiral Rae Sloane. They will realize the alien is wholly unnecessary. That he, Moff Gideon—soon to be Grand Moff Gideon, it is inevitable—is all they could ever want. All they could ever need.
What a day that will be indeed. And this… Grand Inquisitor this child of the harvest, the unfortunate growing muse of his actions. She will too be pleased. They will together build a cloned Sith army, never ending, never dying.
It will be their Empire.
Though, mainly Gideon’s.
How wonderful.
Until then, the matters of the present do need dealing with. For starters, while the body of Din Djarin is a joyous sight, it will begin to smell. And that is a problem far beneath his station. Someone else will have to collect the body, Gideon will take the beskar. To deter from any undeserving thieves of course.
“What a shame,” he gloats to the Mandalorian, crouching. “This is quite the unceremonious end for one of your kind.” By instinct his left hand—or what had once been his left hand—reaches to the beskar helm. The right replaces in action. “You should have believed her,” Gideon muses aloud, his own private diversion. “If you had… maybe she wouldn’t have killed herself—” Gideons words end choking, the grip of a leather hand around his throat.
The Mandalorian rises from the dead. In one fluid motion their positions flip, Gideon slammed to the ground. The Mandalorian shouts in his face, “What did you do?”
Gideon sputters, his eyes bulge wide. This should not be possible. Not at all. The Mandalorian lifts his head again, hitting down so that he sees a flash of white.
“What…” he pants, “…did you do to her?”
And Gideon does the only thing he knows. He blindly reaches for the Darksaber, it’s activation dangerous and spastic. Distracted, Gideon takes the opportunity to knee Din Djarin in the stomach and clamors to his feet. He waves the saber fanatically, like the Mandalorian were a rabid bear to fend off.
The attempt is useless. Din rises to his feet, broad shoulders somehow broader, body somehow taller. Anger all too tangible. From his back he pulls an unending beskar spear.
If the Mandalorian is a bear, Gideon is fresh bloody meat begging to be devoured.
---
Cabinet glass is the first victim, second comes the vials, third the terminals. Beskar and plasma collide in never ending ricochets and hollow bangs. Sparks fly with every impact, the smell of burning metal infiltrates the air.
The aim is two fold, defeating Gideon certainly is the priority but… Din chances every misplaced glance he can spare. The entire room, every inch is evidence of her. Scribbled handwritings of her blood, height, weight. A checklist of future exams, possible theories, prescribed medications.
He shatters whatever he can; spear swooping wider, stabbing further, misdirecting Gideons ill timed shots for his own destruction.
The Moff is no competition and it is an insult to the Mandalorian’s character to assume so in any aspect. Nothing is calculated or practiced. The sword Din assumes, weighs too heavy in his single hand. The blade tempts to drag and is prevented only the lifting of the beskar.
At the first point of break, Gideon scurries across the room to create distance and regain breath. He push the surgical table to slam against Din, but with half the available source of velocity the Mandalorian kicks it away.
Gideon is playing games, and Din is bored.
With the arena opened, Din attacks Moff head on. He utilizes his danger and rage with such fervor, he removes his actions from the blocking preconceived. He does not run or use words to distract Gideon. Overhead lighting flickers them in and out of existence. Din flashes closer in each blossom of light.
Gideon’s right hand lifts wildly, ready to swing. But Din takes hold of his wrist, not bothering to look whether or not he could catch it because he knows he would. Din squeezes the thin frail bone until he hears one snap and one shout of agonized pain.
The hilt falls and skids across the ground.
The game is over.
Din Djarin takes hold of Gideon by the throat and smashes his fists into his face until his gloves turn red and hot. He throws Gideon against the one plain wall of the room. He crashes the Imperial into the paneling over and over and over. Gideon is too weak to fight back, too old, too human. His knees give out first, feet unable to find the bottom of him.
Din never loses grip. He keeps Gideon upright. Keeps him with laser precision. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. This… this is where Lumina had always been wrong. Din isn’t better than her, he isn’t holier, good. He’s better at hiding his fury, the fires in his eyes.
He could kill Moff Gideon, and he would without any regret. He can picture it so clearly, the spear piercing through the Moff’s trachea, his warm blood splattering out. Another name to the list of the Mandalorian’s cold blooded murders. The New Republic, he knows, would never see to it that Gideon earn a just punishment for his crimes. He had of course been subjected to execution in the first war tribunal. And Bo-Katan had already faced so many disappointments in life, what would the addition of one more change?
Should anyone deserve a sense of vengeance against the Moff it should be Din Djarin. The man had attacked his family after all. Hunted his child for well over a year. He killed Mandalore. Killed Concordia. Killed the tribes of Nevarro. Killed the Razor Crest. Killed Kuiil. Killed countless of women on Ryndellia. Killed the only chance Din would ever have at being anything close to normal and happy and good. Killed her.
And he doesn’t care about her, the stabbing pain in the back of his mind ensures that. He would kill her himself if given the chance, and perhaps that is where the anger stems. That she had gone before he could have a proper go. A final fight, final blows, final argument filled with expletives and statements neither of them truly mean. A final storm out of each others lives. A final sunrise and a final night. A final moment to say I’m sorry. Please come back, it won’t happen again.
A final moment to know it absolutely will.
The Mandalorian will never have himself again. And somewhere deep down Din knows the blame can’t all fall to Gideon. Because they are who they are, and man is flawed even when carved by the hands of gods.
But being who he is means an unchanging stubbornness and penetrative anger. He cannot change now when the purpose is removed.
He wants to kill Gideon.
And he will or—he would.
Divine intervention continues to be a foreign concept despite it’s persistence in his life.
Moff Gideon’s communicator shrills with life. Men on the other line shout in broken desperation. “Sir! Sir, she’s gone wild—won’t—stop!—the whole ship—looking for—thirteen—need to evacuate!”
And Gideon… Gideon looks as though he has never experienced fear in his life until this moment. He is not, Din comes to realize, afraid of dying. That portion of battle came expected. No, what he is truly afraid of is whatever lays behind that communicator.
Death seems to be his only escape.
And so Din decides.
He decides to force Gideon to live.
---
The apocalypse of the Sith had at long last come. Or, so it would seem. Outside of the laboratory, doors open to a new world. Pieces of the wall are torn off their holdings and crashed into another. Shafts are shredded, pipes leaking. Overhead lighting is blown out, shattered glass insult to injury.
It is an abomination.
Stormtroopers are in worse shape than Elysium Hortus, were that at all possible. Dismemberment, blood, burnt flesh, and crushed bone. The first thing Din steps on is a lone hand.
Had he been too lost in his own skirmish to be deaf to the destruction? Surely the battle did not occur without fight. Whoever, whatever is the origin of this sweeping death could not have done so in secrecy. And yet—
The path leads two ways: Down the blackened road to the right, or towards the light and untouched territory. Runi kar’tayl dictates Din Djarin go right, every string of his joints tug in the direction. But he has grown a habit of no longer listening and remains statued.
Gideon pulls at the ropes tied around his arms. For the first time in his life, he is horrified. “Gods,” he swears.
The Mandalorian shoves him forward, almost tripping the Imperial on a fallen pipe. “Quiet.”
“You should have killed me.”
“You’d be so lucky.”
“You won’t make it either. None of you will. We’re all dead, she’ll never stop now.”
This grants the Mandalorian pause. He turns Gideon a sharp degree to face. The old man groans. “Who? Who did this?”
And the old man shakes his head, a sinister smirk growing. One having long accepted the power of death with warm embrace. Like his final twist of fury and demonic faith has at long last come to fruition. “Should you have a god, I recommend you pray. What is it your people say? Haran eyaytyc at droten.”
Hell is upon man.
--------
Translations:
Ni gana kil'yc ca'nara - I have no time
Runi kar’tayl - Soul awareness
Haran eyaytyc at droten- Hell is upon man (lit. Hell escaped to the people)
---
Chapter Thirty-Six: Pandemonium
Taglist: @lexloon @jay-bel @xsadderdazeforeverx @spideysimpossiblegirl @sarahjkl82-blog @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @hello-th3r3
#Din Djarin x Original Female Character#din djarin x original character#din djarin x female oc#din djarin x ofc#Din Djarin x oc#Mandalorian Fanfic#Star Wars fanfic#mando x original female character#Mando x original character#mando x ofc#Mando x oc#Din Djarin fanfic#the mandalorian fanfiction#Starlight
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Vancouver Canucks Nicknames
Phillip DiGiuseppe -> Pizza, PhillyD, PDG
Mark Friedman -> Frieds
Tyler Myers -> TyMy, Chaos Giraffe, Big Tex
Filip Hronek -> Shotgun
Teddy Blueger -> Blue, Teddy Bear
Andrei Kuzmenko -> Kuzy, Sunshine (guess we're saying goodbye to him, huh?)
Ilya Mikheyev -> Mickey, Missile
Nikita Zadorov -> BigZ, Zaddy
Nils Hoglander -> Nilsy, Big Hog, Hogs
Elias Pettersson -> Alien, Petey, Pistol, Swedish Prince
Pius Suter -> Army Knife (as in Swiss Army Knife)
Brock Boeser -> Boes, Flow, Brockstar
Thatcher Demko -> Snatcher, Demon, Jedi
Casey DeSmith -> Smitty, DS
Conor Garland -> Garly, Pocket Rocket
Quinn Hughes -> Huggy, Big Q, Quintain, Cap
Dakota Joshua -> JoDak, Cheetah, DJ
Sam Lafferty -> Sammy, Laff
JT Miller -> Millsy, Team Dad
Vasily Podkolzin -> Vasy, Podz
Anthony Beauvillier -> Beauvi, Tito (he started the season with us, so he counts)
Elias Lindholm -> Beast, Lindy (apparently one of his middle names is Zebulon, which is pretty cool)
Carson Soucy -> Dr Souce, Sushi
Nils Aman -> N-Squared
Noah Juulsen -> Jewel
Arshdeep Bains -> Arshie, AB+,
Arturs Silovs -> Arty, Red Light.
Ian Cole
Tucker Poolman
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Bad, Bad, Robot
The relative backlash to JJ Abrams and his Bad Robot subsidiaries has been very interesting for me to witness. Personally, i am indifferent to Abrams and his shenanigans. Due makes decent popcorn flicks but i can’t say that he is innovative or anything better than a average filmmaker. He is a solid idea man and executes them much better than, say. Michael Bay, but Alex Garland he is not. Admittedly, i can’t say I'm a fan of Jjabrams. He’s made more things i don’t care for, than things i actually enjoy. I appreciate the cosign to get things like 10 Cloverfield Lane, Overlord, and MI: Fallout but these aren’t HIS films. They’re just films his company has produced. No, the sh*t Jjabrams has made, himself, is mediocre at best. With the exception of Fringe, Mission Impossible III, and The Force Awakens, Abrams is a miss for me. Everything he makes follows this rather strict formula he calls “The Mystery Box” and i kind of hate it. This actually works very well in TV, whee Abrams would have stayed, but in cinema? Not so much.
The Mystery Box method is how Abrams develops a good mystery story. There’s an entire analogy he uses to explain this during a Ted Talk or something, you can find it on the Youtubes, but the gist of the explanation is as follows: You drop people into the middle of a mystery-in-progress that leaves them wanting to know answers in both directions. Now, my problem isn’t inherently with the Mystery Box method of storytelling. Other creators use it to wild success. Arrival is a mystery box film and we, as the audience, don’t even f*cking know it until the climax. Denis Villeneuve successfully executed exactly what Abrams tries to do with all of his films, and often fails. Christopher Nolan also Mystery Box’s the f*ck out of his films, Tenet being the most recent example. Abrams has had a ton of success with this technique on television (Alias, Lost, and Fringe being some of the most popular sows in television history) but he consistently fails at this sh*t in theaters. I can pick any number of flops to prove my point: Star Trek: Into Darkness, Super 8, f*cking Rise of Skywalker, but I'll focus on what i think, encapsulates the entirety of my beef with Abram’s form of production: The Force Awakens.
Full transparency, i actually really enjoy TFA. Of the Disney Star Wars films, it’s probably my second favorite, after Rogue One. That said, it’s just a rehash of A New Hope. But worse. Because of the Mystery Box. Said mystery, who the f*ck is Rey, was going to be the driving enigma which drove the emotional conflict of the sequel trilogy, culminating in the eventual reveal with the third film. We eventually got that with Rey being the granddaughter of Sheev f*cking Palpatine, to everyone’s goddamn disappointment. But that journey was supposed to have a very different end. In the outline JJ wrote, the one that Kennedy and Johnson absolutely defecated upon with The Last Jedi, Abrams pegged Rey as a proper Skywalker. I think this was carried over into one of the Trevorrow drafts for Duel of Fates, too. Another draft had Rey being a legitimate nobody, someone who was just strong in the Force. Either of these options would have been better than making Rey a f*cking Palpatine but that’s what you get when you Mystery Box Star Wars.
If you look back t every other film in this franchise, there is no mystery to be had. The strength of Star Wars was never the narrative or the plot, it was with the characters and the world. There is a reason Disney dropped billions for this franchise and it wasn’t because of the space western aesthetic. It’s because Darth Vader is f*cking iconic. It’s because everyone in the world knows the Millennium Falcon. There is no great mystery in Star Wars because that sh*t was unnecessary. It’s a story about Space Wizards, following the Hero’s Journey, and cyborgs to boot. I’m not saying the Mystery Box couldn’t work with this franchise but that utilizing this is a the fulcrum of a trilogy, neuters the thing which makes Star Wars special, which makes is profitable. The choice to Mystery Box Star Wars, put the sequel franchise on it’s back heel before it even got a chance to race. And that’s just the plot issues i have. The more egregious disrespect come with the rights issues.
Bad Robot cannibalizes proven franchises to milk these f*ckers for everything they can. As i understand it, Abrams and his companies refuse to sign production contracts without a stake in “original characters.” Why is this an issue? Because the characters aren’t original. Wonder why C-3P0 had inexplicably had a red arm in the sequel trilogy? Because red-armed 3P0 is a Bad Robot “Original character.” Take a radar dish off the Millennium Falcon and all of a sudden it’s Bad Robot’s Millennium Falcon. Wonder why Jean-Luc Picard is an Android in his own show? Because now that’s a Secret Hideout “Original Character”. Alex Kurtzman is actually the founder of Secret Hideout but he is a pretty consistent collaborator of Abrams and basically cribbed the entire business model from Bad Robot so this sh*ti s also Abrams’ fault. More recently, JJ penned a deal with Warner Bros. to develop a bunch of sh*tty properties with different enough characters that were owned by Bad Robot, which f*cked up a ton of other DC productions in the works.
This development deal is why John Constantine couldn’t be used in Sandman and there hasn’t been a Henry Cavill Superman sighting in years. Bad Robot was developing a Constantine series with a black Constantine to secure them rights, and a Superman flick starring a black Clark Kent, for exactly the same reason. This that sh*t that make my booty itch. Never mind that Bad Robot was holding hostage IPs that could have been stupid special, the fact that his Constantine was being developed all but killed a sequel to Keanu’s take on the character, but dude is basically racial pandering making both characters black. Now, I'm not one to fight a good bending. Race, gender, whatever; I think diverse representation in our media is absolutely necessary. What i don’t like is when that sh*t is a disingenuous cash-grab by some greedy, medicare, asshole filmmaker. My people are not props to be sold. We are not a “Red Arm” for marketing purposes. Making these characters black is an afterthought, not a statement, and that sh*t is disgusting.
Abrams even got his kid on the family grift! Spider-Man: Bloodline was a limited series written by Henry Abrams (probably ghost written by his dad) and starred Peter’s son, Ben Parker II. Ben is the Bad Robot Spider-Man, Peter relegated to a cripple, drunken, deadbeat, father. I’ve written about this “story” and, suffice it to say, i was disgusted by it. This was before i understood how Bad Robot works, but just reading what was on the page left a terrible taste in my mouth. After i understood the grift, i understand why this narrative left my mouth full of ash. They Mystery Box’d Spider-Man and it ended up being the worst Spidey story i had read in years. This was another failure of the Mystery Box but another boon for the properties Bad Robot “owned.” This thing has its own universe so, according to Marvel lore, it’s canon. The goddamn Inheritors can come to this universe, which makes Ben Parker a legitimate Spider-Man. I cannot express to you how frustrating that is to me. Bad Robot doesn’t deserve Spider-Man. They didn’t deserve Sarah Pichelli’s god tier art. They don’t deserve anything. And it looks like Hollywood is starting to feel the same way. With the merger of Discovery and Warner, Zazlov has been cleaning house. He’s canceled so many f*cking projects, it’s absurd.
While i feel like dude is taking a hatchet to sh*t that deserves a scalpel, one of the things he has done is announce a sequel to Keanu’s Constantine. That means he’s told JJ and Bad Robot to f*ck off. Not only is JJ’s crass attempt to monopolize Constantine dead, but o is his Superman film as Henry Cavill is strongly hinted to appear in the soon-to-be-released Black Adam. This is having a ripple effect across Hollywood as Zazlov’s inaugural rebuttal of Abram’s entire business structure, has emboldened other studios to follow suit. Hell, even Kurtzman’s Secret Hideout is losing their iron grip on whatever the f*ck Paramount is doing with Star Trek because of this shift in perspective on Abrams. Personally, i think this movement is best for everyone. It forces Abrams to reassess his worth and, hopefully, evolve past his crippling dependence on the Mystery Box and it give studios more options to capitalize on their IPs, hopefully profiting enough to salvage long standing fan favorites like Star Trek. I don’t think the Mystery Box is dead, not by a long shot, but i do think it’s taken a beating and that is the best outcome for everyone involved.
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Bad, Bad, Robot
The relative backlash to JJ Abrams and his Bad Robot subsidiaries has been very interesting for me to witness. Personally, i am indifferent to Abrams and his shenanigans. Due makes decent popcorn flicks but i can’t say that he is innovative or anything better than a average filmmaker. He is a solid idea man and executes them much better than, say. Michael Bay, but Alex Garland he is not. Admittedly, i can’t say I'm a fan of Jjabrams. He’s made more things i don’t care for, than things i actually enjoy. I appreciate the cosign to get things like 10 Cloverfield Lane, Overlord, and MI: Fallout but these aren’t HIS films. They’re just films his company has produced. No, the sh*t Jjabrams has made, himself, is mediocre at best. With the exception of Fringe, Mission Impossible III, and The Force Awakens, Abrams is a miss for me. Everything he makes follows this rather strict formula he calls “The Mystery Box” and i kind of hate it. This actually works very well in TV, whee Abrams would have stayed, but in cinema? Not so much.
The Mystery Box method is how Abrams develops a good mystery story. There’s an entire analogy he uses to explain this during a Ted Talk or something, you can find it on the Youtubes, but the gist of the explanation is as follows: You drop people into the middle of a mystery-in-progress that leaves them wanting to know answers in both directions. Now, my problem isn’t inherently with the Mystery Box method of storytelling. Other creators use it to wild success. Arrival is a mystery box film and we, as the audience, don’t even f*cking know it until the climax. Denis Villeneuve successfully executed exactly what Abrams tries to do with all of his films, and often fails. Christopher Nolan also Mystery Box’s the f*ck out of his films, Tenet being the most recent example. Abrams has had a ton of success with this technique on television (Alias, Lost, and Fringe being some of the most popular sows in television history) but he consistently fails at this sh*t in theaters. I can pick any number of flops to prove my point: Star Trek: Into Darkness, Super 8, f*cking Rise of Skywalker, but I'll focus on what i think, encapsulates the entirety of my beef with Abram’s form of production: The Force Awakens.
Full transparency, i actually really enjoy TFA. Of the Disney Star Wars films, it’s probably my second favorite, after Rogue One. That said, it’s just a rehash of A New Hope. But worse. Because of the Mystery Box. Said mystery, who the f*ck is Rey, was going to be the driving enigma which drove the emotional conflict of the sequel trilogy, culminating in the eventual reveal with the third film. We eventually got that with Rey being the granddaughter of Sheev f*cking Palpatine, to everyone’s goddamn disappointment. But that journey was supposed to have a very different end. In the outline JJ wrote, the one that Kennedy and Johnson absolutely defecated upon with The Last Jedi, Abrams pegged Rey as a proper Skywalker. I think this was carried over into one of the Trevorrow drafts for Duel of Fates, too. Another draft had Rey being a legitimate nobody, someone who was just strong in the Force. Either of these options would have been better than making Rey a f*cking Palpatine but that’s what you get when you Mystery Box Star Wars.
If you look back t every other film in this franchise, there is no mystery to be had. The strength of Star Wars was never the narrative or the plot, it was with the characters and the world. There is a reason Disney dropped billions for this franchise and it wasn’t because of the space western aesthetic. It’s because Darth Vader is f*cking iconic. It’s because everyone in the world knows the Millennium Falcon. There is no great mystery in Star Wars because that sh*t was unnecessary. It’s a story about Space Wizards, following the Hero’s Journey, and cyborgs to boot. I’m not saying the Mystery Box couldn’t work with this franchise but that utilizing this is a the fulcrum of a trilogy, neuters the thing which makes Star Wars special, which makes is profitable. The choice to Mystery Box Star Wars, put the sequel franchise on it’s back heel before it even got a chance to race. And that’s just the plot issues i have. The more egregious disrespect come with the rights issues.
Bad Robot cannibalizes proven franchises to milk these f*ckers for everything they can. As i understand it, Abrams and his companies refuse to sign production contracts without a stake in “original characters.” Why is this an issue? Because the characters aren’t original. Wonder why C-3P0 had inexplicably had a red arm in the sequel trilogy? Because red-armed 3P0 is a Bad Robot “Original character.” Take a radar dish off the Millennium Falcon and all of a sudden it’s Bad Robot’s Millennium Falcon. Wonder why Jean-Luc Picard is an Android in his own show? Because now that’s a Secret Hideout “Original Character”. Alex Kurtzman is actually the founder of Secret Hideout but he is a pretty consistent collaborator of Abrams and basically cribbed the entire business model from Bad Robot so this sh*ti s also Abrams’ fault. More recently, JJ penned a deal with Warner Bros. to develop a bunch of sh*tty properties with different enough characters that were owned by Bad Robot, which f*cked up a ton of other DC productions in the works.
This development deal is why John Constantine couldn’t be used in Sandman and there hasn’t been a Henry Cavill Superman sighting in years. Bad Robot was developing a Constantine series with a black Constantine to secure them rights, and a Superman flick starring a black Clark Kent, for exactly the same reason. This that sh*t that make my booty itch. Never mind that Bad Robot was holding hostage IPs that could have been stupid special, the fact that his Constantine was being developed all but killed a sequel to Keanu’s take on the character, but dude is basically racial pandering making both characters black. Now, I'm not one to fight a good bending. Race, gender, whatever; I think diverse representation in our media is absolutely necessary. What i don’t like is when that sh*t is a disingenuous cash-grab by some greedy, medicare, asshole filmmaker. My people are not props to be sold. We are not a “Red Arm” for marketing purposes. Making these characters black is an afterthought, not a statement, and that sh*t is disgusting.
Abrams even got his kid on the family grift! Spider-Man: Bloodline was a limited series written by Henry Abrams (probably ghost written by his dad) and starred Peter’s son, Ben Parker II. Ben is the Bad Robot Spider-Man, Peter relegated to a cripple, drunken, deadbeat, father. I’ve written about this “story” and, suffice it to say, i was disgusted by it. This was before i understood how Bad Robot works, but just reading what was on the page left a terrible taste in my mouth. After i understood the grift, i understand why this narrative left my mouth full of ash. They Mystery Box’d Spider-Man and it ended up being the worst Spidey story i had read in years. This was another failure of the Mystery Box but another boon for the properties Bad Robot “owned.” This thing has its own universe so, according to Marvel lore, it’s canon. The goddamn Inheritors can come to this universe, which makes Ben Parker a legitimate Spider-Man. I cannot express to you how frustrating that is to me. Bad Robot doesn’t deserve Spider-Man. They didn’t deserve Sarah Pichelli’s god tier art. They don’t deserve anything. And it looks like Hollywood is starting to feel the same way. With the merger of Discovery and Warner, Zazlov has been cleaning house. He’s canceled so many f*cking projects, it’s absurd.
While i feel like dude is taking a hatchet to sh*t that deserves a scalpel, one of the things he has done is announce a sequel to Keanu’s Constantine. That means he’s told JJ and Bad Robot to f*ck off. Not only is JJ’s crass attempt to monopolize Constantine dead, but o is his Superman film as Henry Cavill is strongly hinted to appear in the soon-to-be-released Black Adam. This is having a ripple effect across Hollywood as Zazlov’s inaugural rebuttal of Abram’s entire business structure, has emboldened other studios to follow suit. Hell, even Kurtzman’s Secret Hideout is losing their iron grip on whatever the f*ck Paramount is doing with Star Trek because of this shift in perspective on Abrams. Personally, i think this movement is best for everyone. It forces Abrams to reassess his worth and, hopefully, evolve past his crippling dependence on the Mystery Box and it give studios more options to capitalize on their IPs, hopefully profiting enough to salvage long standing fan favorites like Star Trek. I don’t think the Mystery Box is dead, not by a long shot, but i do think it’s taken a beating and that is the best outcome for everyone involved.
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Considering all of the fandom discourse I’ve witnessed on several posts of mine recently, I am reminded of this Alex Garland quote:
“When you write a story, what you’re actually doing is writing half the story. And the other half of the story is provided by the recipient - you or whoever else, and their agendas and their interests and their lack of interest. People are very selective about what they choose to see or don’t choose to see in a story. One person might find a story very rich, and another person might find the story very empty - but it’s the same story.”
Video of quote
Also, if you don’t like a filmmaker’s work, it doesn’t mean they’re wrong, it just means that they have a different perspective than you, and that’s ok. And it’s ok if you don’t like it and want to explain why you feel that way. However, trashing filmmakers on social media just because you don’t agree with them is immature and childish.
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A new addition has infiltrated the garland for an Easter debut 🩵 🐣
@amelieindathomir Are you proud?! 😃
I like how on last year’s post, I say it’s my last holiday garland 😂 It was too addicting 🐚 🌻
Easter 2023 photos here:
#jedi garland#Easter#the lovely asajj ventress#who do I pair her with first?#rex and ahsoka?#or obi wan!?
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So, literally, sometimes [I was] just walking back and forth [between the Annihilation and The Last Jedi sound stages]. And at first I thought I wasn't gonna be able to handle it, just being too tired. And how was I gonna give the right kind of energy to this thing. But I really wanted it to work with Alex [Garland]. I wanna do every movie that he makes. So, luckily, between the people at Star Wars and the people at Annihilation they were able to work out the schedule so I could get it done. But I found that instead of it tiring me, it was completely invigorating cause it was so different. There was a freedom and almost a performance art aspect to it that I didn't realize I was thirsting for.
OSCAR ISAAC, The Making of Annihilation
#oisaacedit#oscarisaacedit#filmedit#oscar isaac#*mine#*#oscar isaac*#blood cw#flashing gif cw#films#annihilation#behind the scenes#films*#annihilation*
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Kisses under the mistletoe with Frankie Morales
Happy Holidays!! 🎄🥰 Thank you for requesting!!
Warnings: soft Frankie, tongue kisses 😌
Christmas music played softly throughout the large house. It wafted through the living room, lit by candles along the mantle and string lights hung around the windows, and found it's way into the dining area, where hungry guests nibbled on sweets and appetizers in mid conversation. You wound your way through the chatting and rosy-cheeked guests to set your tray of appetizers down beside the kitchen sink. You sighed heavily and brushed the back of your hand over your forehead.
Frankie wasn't far behind you, his big hands filled with empty glasses and muttering to himself under his breath, "The Jones's want white wine, Benny needs a Pabst-"
"Hey." You sighed as you looked up at him. You smiled softly as your eyes fell over his form.
His broad shoulders under the thick knit of his ugly Christmas sweater, the soft curls that sprung out just above his collar, the plush pink of his lips and the dark of his focused eyes. He smiled up at you from where he rummaged through the fridge, "Party's going great, baby."
You nodded softly, "Good. Maybe eventually I'll get to enjoy it myself." You placed the empty tray of crumbs into the sink and heard Frankie as the refrigerator door closed, the clink of th glasses as they were set upon the counter, and his heavy boots as he walked across the hardwood floors to you.
His hand brushed softly down your arm. "What's that for?" He whispered, his body shifting close to yours.
You smiled up at him softly; you couldn't help it. "I'm exhausted from trying to keep everyone happy."
Frankie's big hand reached over and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushed softly across your skin and your eyes fluttered closed.
"Why don't I make you happy for a little bit?" He said and reached for your hand.
You threw your head back dramatically and huffed sarcastically, "I guess that'd be okay."
He lead the two of you through your home, around your happy guests, and to the doorway overarching your living room. It was decorated with a garland and holly, with mistletoe hanging directly in the middle of it.
Frankie took your hand and pulled you into his arms, encircling you in his warmth and strength.
Heat rose in your cheeks and you looked away from him in embarrassment. "Frankieeee..." You whined.
He took your face in his hands and held your jaw to look him in the eyes.
"You deserve to enjoy your own Christmas party." He said softly. His lips parted as his gaze dropped to yours. He leaned in close and took your lips in between his, pulling at them gently. His kiss tenderly healing you from the stress and exhaustion of the day before.
You turned your head and let out a soft moan, to which Frankie responded by swiping his tongue over your bottom lip.
You opened your mouth and licked his tongue into your mouth, drinking him down greedily.
Frankie's big hand ran up your back and pushed your body against his.
You threw your arms around the back of his neck and pulled at the little curls there.
He held you close for a few more beats, then gently broke the kiss. He rested his forehead against yours and ran his hands down your back slowly. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."
Your cheeks filled and you beamed up at him, "Merry Christmas Frankie."
FRANKIE TAGLIST: @mndalorians @artsymaddie @wasicskosgirl @lostgirlheather @jedi-mando @edencherries @buckysalefty @shayna-winchester @triggerhappyflygirl @alwritey-aphrodite @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @mrschiltoncat @darnitdraco @rougeskywalker @marvelousmermaid @jenrebloggingfics @petersunderoos96 @a-skov @yoditorian @knivesareout @princess76179 @coldlilheart @dobbyjen @voteforpedro09
GENERAL TAGLIST: @over300books @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @ntlmundy @myheart-pedro @intu-witch-tion @frietiemeloen @greeneyedblondie44 @mssbridgerton @amneris21 @disasterhann @aana4664 @freeshavacadoooo @prostitute-robot-from-the-future
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The clone beloved Jedi: Christmas edition
You and your boys prepare for Christmas
“Fives, hold still,” you said grabbing his head trying not to fall off his shoulder. You were hanging up some lights in the GAR as it was 3 weeks until Christmas. You got the boys to help you decorate, Fives leapt from his seat when you asked if he could help with the lights, he did push Dogma and Echo onto the floor as they wanted to help too.” Sorry” he said tightening his grip on your thighs, from the corner of his eyes he saw his brother stare at him with envy which made him smirk,” You can put me down now” you said making Fives look up at you,” Why?”,” Cause we’re done and your kinda uncomfortable” you said as Fives sat down on a box.” Fives is uneven anyway” Kix said walking towards you with a box full of decorations,” Hey” Fives said huffing,” What are those?” Jesse asked picking up a red hat,” That my boy is a Santa hat” you said placing it on his head notice the small blush on his cheek at the nickname,” Is the cantina decorated?” you asked,” The 212th are nearly done. Cody is a perfectionist after all” Kix smiled as you placed a Santa head on his messy hair,” You hand out those hats. I check on Cody” you said pecking Kix’s cheek, you walked out the door leaving Kix a blushing mess. Jesse,Fives,Dogma, Echo and some other 501 clones stared at the medic. They waited until you left the room before tackling Kix onto the floor.
Cody had his hand on his hip and narrowed his eyes on Boil,” It’s crooked” he said pointing at the garland,” We need to get this perfect. Christmas is Y/N favourite holiday” he said making Boil nod quickly and fix the piece. You walked in making the eyes of every clone snap towards you, their eyes were wide with love for you.” Wow” you said,” Cody, this is amazing” you said placing your head on his shoulder,” I tried my best” he said softly rubbing your back with a feeling of triumph,” It-“ a crash and shouting suddenly cutting you off, your head snapped towards the left and saw Waxer swinging on a chandelier, ladder on the floor and his legs pulled to his chest, his eyes were closed as he was swinging around quickly.” Waxer let go” you said looking up, but Waxer and his brother's shouts drowned out your voice,” Someone calls my mother” he said,” You don’t have a mother” you shouted,” Someone call Shaak Ti” he said not slowing down, he tried lowering his legs but kicked Boil of his ladder onto poor Wooley. “Waxer, honey let go,” you said again, Waxer’s eyes shot open,” Will you catch me?” he said,” Yes”. Waxer nodded and let go, you used the force to catch him mid-air, you gently lowered him into your arms. The poor thing was trembling, you don’t blame him as he was swinging on a chandelier five feet in the air,” You can open your eyes again” you said stroking his cheek,” I’m alive”,” Unfortunately” Boil said holding his cheek, which started turning blue.
After bringing Boil, Wooley and Waxer to Kix and finding out they will be completely fine. You left but not after they begged you to kiss their bruises better,” Where does it hurt?” you asked Wooley patting his hair, he pointed to his chest and neck,” Boil elbow hit right there” he said, his brown skin was red and a bit ripped,” Fine”. You crouched down and pressed a kiss against his chest which was warm,” Thanks Y/N” he blushed,” Now me” Boil said grabbing your wrist gently. You pressed your lips against the green and blue bruise gently, Boil hissed slightly,” Thanks” he said winking at you. You started at Waxer,” Where does it hurt?” you asked,” Anywhere” he said softly. You bit your lip and thought before gently grabbing his chin and placing your lips on his. Waxer stiffened but quickly relaxed into the kiss. You heard gasps and a metal object crashing to the ground. You pulled away from Waxer who was in pure bliss, meanwhile, Boil and Wooley started at their brother with a death glare. Kix was on the floor collecting the things he dropped. “ I need to check on the Wolfpack, they are decorating the outside with the Coruscant guards and I hope they haven’t murdered each other yet. Mostly Fox and Wolffe. Kix you are probably needed,” you said placing your hand on your hip and Kix quickly grabbed a first aid kit. The second you left Wooley and Boil jumped Waxer making the poor boy screech. Cody lucky was right outside and pulled his two younger brothers of the now traumatised clone,” That was worth it” he mumbled but went quite when Cody shot him a glare.
You pulled your jacket closer to your body as the cold Coruscant air hits your face. The wolfpack and the Coruscant guards were on either side of the base decorating away. Comet and Sinker eyes widen when they saw you, they quickly jumped of their ladders and ran towards you while pushing each other. “ Commander,” they said making you smile,” Looking hood boys, a bit.... plain but good,” you said looking at the mostly silver and gold decorations.” The Coruscant guards took the red and white” Wolffe said making Comet and Sinker jump,” I see but you still did great” you said pulling a Santa hat from your pocket and placing it on his head. Wolffe stoic gaze softened a bit at the action,” What about us? We helped” Boost said appearing behind Sinker and Comet,” I left the other in the cantina-“,” I get it-“ Comet began but Sinker jabbed him in the stomach,” No I do it,” he said quickly and ran off,” I'll help,” Comet said rubbing after him pulling at his belt making Sinker land on his butt. You sighed and looked at Kix who shrugged,” I head in sight as their is no blood shed” he looked at you and bit his lip before disappearing into the building.
You bid goodbye to Wolffe and the Wolfpack and headed off to the other side. “Fox, your not only smart but also creative,” you said making the man turn around. He blushed but remained stoic like Wolffe,” Better than the others?” Thorn asked behind you,” More colourful” you said. Thorn was about to say something when Boost voiced cut him off,” If you hadn’t stolen the red out would have been better” he said getting into Thorns face,” Nah would be as dull as you” Boost clenched his fits but you quickly squeezed in between them. You placed your hand on their chests,” Don’t fight please, it’s nearly Christmas and you are family. So please act like it, just until New Years for me” you said looking between the two groups with big eyes. They started at aww and quickly nodded,” Of course” they said in unison making you smile. Just than Comet and Sinker came out running with a box and wearing Santa hats. “Just in time” you said kissing both of their cheeks,” Everyone line up” you said and they quickly did some were pushing each other to get further in line but they quickly settled down. Soon both Wolfpack and Coruscant guards were wearing Santa hats and kinda worked together which means they let each other borrow some decorations but didn’t help one another but at least they weren’t fighting.
You felt a tap on your shoulder and saw Rex standing behind you with a plate full of cookies,” Did you do them?” he nodded shyly,” Ahsoka helped a bit” he said. You grabbed a cookie and felt that it was still warm. You bit into the cookie and it melted in our mouth,” Rex this is amazing” you said finishing the cookie and grabbing another one.” You should open a bakery once this all over” he chuckled,” Maybe but only if you be one of my star costumers”,” Oh hundred per cent” you said making him smile. “Is everything done inside?” you asked your mouth full of cookie, he hummed in response.” Y/N where done” Thire said just as the Wolfpack finished as well,” You did amazing guys and it kinda looks cohesive,” you said impressed.” Thank you,” they all said in unison,” Rex give them some cookies,” you said,” You guys earned it,” you said, Rex was about to say something when he swamped by his brothers trying to get a cookie. In seconds they were gone,” Let’s go inside, it’s freezing” you said,” I keep you warm Commander” Sinker flirted which got him a smack on the back of his head by a Coruscant guard. You rolled your eyes at the action.
“Wow,” you said mouth falling open seeing the finished product in the hanger bay. The 212th and the 501th worked in harmony humming Christmas song as they put some finishing touches on the walls.” Where did the tree come from?” you asked as it wasn’t there before,” Doom and Hound got it. Don’t ask how but they did” Fives said wrapping his arm around you.” Thank you guys,” you said feeling tears build in your eyes,” it’s stunning”. The colours ranged from orange, red, blue, green and white every colour from every clone troop could be somewhat found in here. Mace Windu battalion faces were smeared with paint as they decorated the ships with Christmas art.” Aww don’t cry” Charger said rubbing your back,” This will be officially the best Christmas ever” you said.” I hope everyone is up for secret Santa” the clone nodded in approval. Everyone hoping either that they get you for their secret Santa or that you get one of them. Just to say the ones who didn’t get you aka everyone beside Tup got rocks or anything that was lying around for Christmas. Meanwhile, Tup got a new pair of guns and a kiss while you got a nice dress from a clone cough Comet cough. Needless to say, every clone loved the choice.
#star wars#the clone wars#star wars captain rex#clone trooper boost#clone trooper comet#clone trooper sinker#clone trooper thire#commander thorn#commamder wolffe#commander fox#commander cody#clone trooper hound#captain rex x reader#boost x reader#commander cody x reader#commander wolffe x reader#arc trooper fives#arc trooper jesse x reader#arc trooper echo x reader#tup x reader#clone trooper kix x reader
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The Clones as Holiday Decorating Moments
Rex- The kids want to help you decorate, which leads to the 3 wise men in your nativity scenes being a mix of transformers and naked barbies, and santas reindeer being hotwheels.
Echo- Spends hours decorating, only to blow the main fuse of the house during the grand lighting
Fives- Gets tangled up in the lights on the garage roof and falls off into the snow (or bushes for you snow free zones)
Jesse- hangs up the wreath, closes front door, wreath falls off door. repeat 8 times
Kix- Multiple trips to Target because there isn’t enough lights, garland, etc.
Tup- decorates tree all nice and perfect, walks away, cat jumps into tree and the whole thing comes down quicker than a jedi during order 66
Dogma- The house that DECKS THE FUCK OUT for the holidays, including a synchronized light show, timed music, and snacks. if anyone is organized and on point, its dogma.
Hardcase- rushing to bake cookies to decorate for christmas party, opens the oven door to check and they are still raw. Runs to bathroom really fast, and back and somehow theres now stucking shaped black hockey pucks in your oven
Coric- Downloads illegal christmas music to decorate to, but it turns out its some cheap 4th rate cover band made of spoons, someone rubbing the rim or wet classes, and the electric triangle. Also, the only song they play is i want a hippopotamus for christmas
Bly- sets mistletoe up all over the house but the only person he keeps getting caught under it with is his mother in law.
99- literally takes 10 hours because he has to stop and tell a story about every christmas decoration and how he got it 900 years ago.
Cody- “What do you mean come up there and help you with the roof decor? I am helping by telling you what to do!!” *sips coffee in robe on front lawn*
Waxer and Boil- spending more time trying to find the right place to hide the presents
Wolffe- Decorating? You mean switching my regular coffee mug with the one of santa hanging out on the beach?
Sinker and Boost- We decorate.. our sims houses
Hunter- the smell of fake pine and hated christmas visits from relatives the whole month of december!
Wrecker- What do you mean decorate? I keep my christmas lights up on my front porch all year long! (bonus points if you sang the line from the song as you read that)
Tech- spends $1000 a year on christmas decor because he just can’t say no to the TJ Maxx sales.
Crosshair- gets hammered before decking his halls
#captain rex#arc trooper echo#arc trooper fives#arc trooper jesse#medic Kix#clone trooper tup#clone trooper dogma#clone trooper hardcase#medic coric#commander bly#99#commander cody#waxer and boil#Commander Wolffe#boost and sinker#the bad batch#clone force 99#sw#tcw#star wars#the clone wars#star wars the clone wars#khai come get ya juice
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