#like satine. and bo katan. like i know bo katans whole thing was her ‘change of heart’ after maul took over but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 13

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Ahsoka takes Din on a journey through the past.

“You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,958

Warnings: angst, swearing, character death (canonical, but with my own twist), made up planet name that is ridiculous, dialogue heavy, plot plot plot, backstory

Author Note: Good lord this is soooo late coming out. To anyone who sent me an encouraging message I am beyond grateful because I really needed the encouragement to finish this segment. I hope more than anything this segment gives more answers than it raises questions (although reading your theories is both awesome and entertaining so keep them coming too!)

Links to Part 1 and Part 12 and Part 14

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

“Who the fuck is Moff Gideon?”

Ahsoka looks at Din, her brow furrowed deeply. He’s seen the expression on her face enough times to recognize its meaning: this is the face she makes when she is about to reveal a message directly from the universe itself. As an Oracle, she is the only immortal who can glimpse details of the past, present, and future. She has a soft spot for mortals, sharing the few precious snippets the universe allows her to with them in the forms of riddles and vague prophecies that never fail to give Din a migraine with their crypticness when he hears them.

“Moff Gideon is a Seraph who grew discontent with his position amongst immortals,” she says at last.

“Is he the one responsible for keeping my soulmate from me?” he asks, voice as harsh and unforgiving as the environment surrounding them.

“He is responsible for many sins.”

“I don’t have time for your vague answers,” he growls, hands twisting into fists. “You tell me not to kill this Seraph, then in the next breath claim he’s a threat. I am not a mortal who will be entertained by riddles, Ahsoka. You summoned me here to talk, so start talking. Tell me what you know.”

The Oracle’s mouth purses into a thin line. Nearly a full minute passes before she speaks again. When she does, the calmness is no longer natural, but forced. “Telling you what I know would be impossible.”

“Ahsoka—”

“But,” she pitches her voice higher than his protest while narrowing her eyes disapprovingly, “I am capable of showing you. You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

She reaches forward, pressing her index and middle fingers to the center of his visor. If not for his helmet, she’d be touching the space directly between his eyes and instinct tells him the positioning isn’t random.

“We’ll start at the beginning,” she says, but her voice has changed from its usual cadence. It is ancient and youthful, a harsh scream and a hushed whisper all at once.

Din has only the slightest of seconds to process this in addition to the way her facial markings start to glow and her eyes flash white before he finds himself standing in the midst of a crisis.

There is mass hysteria every direction he turns. People screaming in terror, pushing each other and tripping over those who have fallen in their haste to flee an unseen threat; whole buildings are crumbling, sending flaming debris and shards of glass raining down upon the streets as smoke billows into the sky. The edges of his field of view are blurred, like he’s looking at everything through someone’s glasses, and it creates an ache behind his eyeballs. Fuck, is this what it’s like for Ahsoka when she experiences visions?

‘You remember the Fall of Mandalore, don’t you, Death?’ Ahsoka’s voice resonates from deep inside his brain, as if she’s fused her consciousness with his.

His jaw tightens when he says, “Of course.”

‘Oh, look. There you are.’

Sure enough, when Din looks forward he sees himself moving swiftly through the crowd, unaffected by the chaos as he stoops to reap the soul of a woman who’s had her skull caved in by the stampede of frantic civilians. He wonders how many others can say they’ve had an out-of-body-experience such as what he’s dealing with right now: reliving a traumatic event all over again while observing himself the same way a stranger would from a distance.

“Why are you showing me this?”

‘Because it’s important,’ Ahsoka answers, and the image of her frowning face enters his mind unbiddenly. ‘The universe has a plethora of endings imagined for every civilization, but it is the individual choices of the community that act as stepping stones bringing them closer to a specific fate.’

“Mandalore was always meant to fall apart. It was just a matter of how, not when,” he surmises, voice devoid of emotion. His words are punctuated by another fiery blast from a nearby complex, followed by an ear-piercing wall of a terrified child.

‘Precisely. But the same cannot be said for an individual’s lifespan. There are consequences if someone perishes before their time has come. You should know that better than anyone.’ There is a hint of accusation thinly veiled in her tone that has his body tensing reflexively.

His location shifts, shapes and colors mixing together without warning before another scene gradually comes into focus. It’s a large chamber with sparse furnishings, but its beauty is tarnished by the copious amounts of glass littering the room as every single one of the ornately designed windows have been shattered from the force of the explosions outside. Din knows before he even lays eyes on the throne he’s inside the royal palace because he first sees the familiar face of his most trusted reaper standing next to a blond-haired woman. Both women have such strikingly similar facial features nobody who sees them side by side can have any doubt they are related.

Whereas Bo-Katan dons gray-and-blue armor with a jetpack strapped to her back and two blaster pistols holstered at her sides, her sister, Satine, wears a garnet colored dress with a gold belt wrapped around her slender waist. In this moment, the sisters differ from each other as much as night and day; one a military leader, the other a pacifistic duchess.

“You need someone here to protect you. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with and it isn’t safe for you to be alone,” Bo-Katan argues, crossing her arms over her chest as if to intimidate her sister into submitting.

“Our people are scared and defenseless, Bo. They need your protection during this crisis more than I currently do,” Satine says, voice soft but firm in a way only those deeply involved in politics can master.

Bo-Katan glances out the broken windows at the burning city, stubborn loyalty to protect her sister warring with her duty to protect her people. “Then at least send a message to Obi-Wan to come here.”

Satine shakes her head. “Bo—”

“I know things are strained between you two right now—”

“That’s a glaring understatement.”

“—but he’s one of our best and most loyal guards. He’s proven more than a dozen times he’ll fight anyone who’s a threat to you.”

“I don’t need the reminder of what he’s done for me.”

Bo-Katan places a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and squeezes it when she says, “He’s the only one other than myself I trust to protect you if you were to encounter danger.”

“Just because I’m committed to peace does not mean I am incapable of looking after myself.” Satine reaches behind herself to detach a weapon that had been clipped to the back of her belt. She clicks a button on its hilt, emitting a white blade shining brightly like a beacon amongst the dark clouds of smoke tainting the air.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that…?”

‘The Lightsaber of Mandalore,’ Ahsoka confirms. ‘Made by the Armorer herself.’

The Armorer is deeply respected by both mortals and immortals alike. As the goddess of metalworking and blacksmiths, there is nothing she cannot forge and infuse with grand powers. However, she is exceedingly cautious about choosing who is a recipient of her creations.

Din is one such recipient, having been given his armor of pure beskar when the Armorer realized how dangerous his touch was to mortals. He remains eternally grateful for the gift not only because it prohibits unwanted physical contact, but also because it is invulnerable to damage or rust like other types of armor. Ahsoka’s dual sabers were also made in the Armorer’s forge, specifically designed for the Oracle’s grip alone and meant to protect her during her journeys throughout the galaxy, but in contrast to the white blade of the Lightsaber, the blades of Ahsoka’s weapons matched the same blue coloring as the stripes on her lekku and montrals.

According to the legends Din’s heard, the Armorer created the Lightsaber for the first ruler of Mandalore because she was impressed with their culture and strong military, and it was passed on to each new heir to the throne over the centuries. When wielded in battle, the Lightsaber made the user invincible against enemy attacks as it siphoned off energy from the souls of those it sliced through.

Throughout the long history of Mandalore, Satine was distinguished as the only ruler to avoid warfare as she sincerely believed negotiations and treaties could solve any problem quicker than bloodshed.

As such, Din isn’t surprised when Bo-Katan raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I know you wouldn’t use the Lightsaber even to cut a piece of fruit.”

Satine sighs through her nose, sheathing the weapon once more. “Fine. I’ll contact Obi the second you’re gone.”

“You better.” Bo-Katan leans forward, pressing her forehead against her sister’s. A gesture of affection within their culture. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then she’s gone, flying out the nearby window and diving straight into the fray. As a mortal and as a reaper, the redhead is fearless in the face of danger. Some might consider the behavior reckless, but Din’s always been impressed by her dogged tenacity to achieve victory no matter the difficulty of her mission.

Din looks back at Satine. Now that she is alone in the room, she is able to freely express her distress at the unfolding situation, looking as if she’s aged ten years within the blink of an eye. She fiddles with the comlink around her wrist, seeming hesitant to call this Obi-Wan fellow like she agreed to.

‘They haven’t realized it, but they’re soulmates, ’ Ahsoka murmurs, low and melancholic. Hearing it makes Din’s chest constrict with unease. ‘They fought recently and parted ways upset with each other. Unfortunately, she dies before they can resolve their miscommunication.’

The next sequence of events play out startlingly quick, as if Ahsoka has chosen to suddenly jump forward in time. His eyes struggle to absorb the fleeting details—the doors to the throne room being blown open; a Seraph in black armor emerging from the smoke; his voice is unique, velvety and thorny at the same time, as he addresses the duchess by her full name Satine Kryze; Satine attempting to stall as she subtly taps at her comlink, only for the tactic to fail as the foe teleports closer, eliminating the space between them.

“You have something I want,” he tells her, seizing hold of her throat. “You may think you have some idea of what you have in your possession, but you do not.”

One of Satine’s hands claws at his face, attempting to gouge out his eyeballs with her nails, while the other reaches for the Lightsaber. Her fingertips brush against its metal hilt just as he throws her to the floor. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs, eliciting a strangled gasp, and shards of glass dig into her exposed skin, dotting the pale flesh with beads of blood.

Gideon—Din doesn’t need Ahsoka’s input to know this, for who else could the Seraph be but him?—places the heel of his boot over Satine’s neck. He doesn’t apply pressure yet, but the action in itself has the duchess squirming with panic, hitting at his leg futilely. There is a red light on the comlink flashing insistently, indicating someone on the other end is speaking but they’ve been muted.

“Give me the asset I seek.”

Through clenched teeth, Satine wheezes, “It belongs to Mandalore.”

“I thought you might say that,” Gideon replies, feigning disappointment. “However, in case you haven’t noticed Duchess,” he gestures towards the windows, “Mandalore is dead. My accomplices have made sure of that.”

“You’re a coward for hiding behind others. You don’t deserve the Lightsaber.”

There is a sudden change in the atmosphere, air turning impossibly frigid and crisp.

“I deserve it more than anyone,” Gideon says, angry enough he is trembling. The Seraph’s stance shifts, and although Din has witnessed every type of brutal death imaginable, he flinches at the sound of Satine’s neck snapping beneath his heel.

Gideon rolls her lifeless body over and rips the Lightsaber off her belt, a satisfied smirk on his face. He disappears as quickly as he arrived, reward in hand, and an eerie silence envelops the room. It’s almost as if the palace itself is stunned by the loss of its ruler, struggling to make sense of the merciless act of violence.

Time skips forward again, showing a young bearded-man dressed in military armor clutching at Satine’s body, pressing his forehead against hers as he weeps. Over and over he keeps murmuring apologies for not being quicker, for failing to be there when she needed him, for never saying he loved her.

“How do you know Satine and Obi-Wan are soulmates if they never matched?” Din asks, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment despite not actually being there.

He thinks of a similarly phrased question he’d asked his angel on their way to Sorgan what feels like entire lifetimes ago: how will I know it’s my soulmate? Her eloquent response remains embedded deep in his memory, safely stored away along with every other moment they’ve spent together. Longing twists like a knife in his side as he allows himself a second of weakness to look at the soulmate marking on his palm.

��I saw the life they were going to share,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘Satine Kryze was not meant to die here. She and Obi-Wan should have both survived the Fall of Mandalore, settling down happily with each other elsewhere in the galaxy. Gideon’s greed altered their destinies.’

The palace fades away to reveal a much older Obi-Wan, gray-haired and wrinkled. He’s in Mos Eisley; Din recognizes the crowded spaceport instantly having taken his ship there for repairs numerous times over the years.

‘The universe puts a lot of effort into making sure soulmates match with each other at a very precise moment. Even if the match is rejected, the individuals still had an important impact on each other’s lives. Timing is the most important factor for a soulmate pairing, and if it’s off then the universe will attempt to fix it.’

Obi-Wan stops to help a woman who’s accidentally dropped her shopping bag, contents spilling out onto the sandy ground. She thanks him as he offers her a polite smile, both of their attentions on each other’s faces and not their hands. More specifically: their marked hands. There is the barest brush of their fingertips as they reach for the same item before an invisible blast of energy erupts from their touch, splitting them apart and sending every person and thing surrounding them flying in all directions.

The shock on Obi-Wan’s face matches Din’s own beneath his helmet. He remembers his angel telling him after the failed match with Omera what happened on Sorgan wasn’t the first time an event like that occurred, but she hadn’t been privy to the details. Her superior had told her she wasn’t high enough ranking which Din had thought sounded like a load of bantha shit at the time.

“Ahsoka, what is the meaning of this?” Din asks the questions quietly, but there’s an audible coating of frustration that he knows she won’t miss. “Satine’s dead.”

‘You didn’t reap her soul,’ Ahsoka says. It’s said as a gentle reminder, but it nevertheless has Din feeling like the ground has disappeared beneath his feet as realization dawns.

“I...didn’t.”

A quiet sigh echoes through his head. ‘I forgot how ignorant you can be. You can’t reap a mortal soul that transforms into a new entity.’

“She’s a Cupid,” Din murmurs. Either that or a reaper, but he knows each of his reapers like the back of his hand and Satine isn’t nor has she ever been one. He shakes his head, thinking of Obi-Wan finding Satine’s body in the throne room. “That doesn’t make any sense. Obi-Wan clearly loved her.”

‘Rejection can sometimes stem from a misunderstanding. Satine’s last living encounter with Obi-Wan was him saying so long as he was part of the royal guard they had no future together. She perceived this as him denying he cared about her, not knowing he had made plans to retire in order to ask for her hand.’

In front of Din, Obi-Wan rubs at his soulmate marking while staring at the mess around him, lines of unease and confusion creasing his forehead.

‘You asked, what is the meaning of this moment?’ Ahsoka continues. ‘It’s one of the universe’s attempts to reconnect Obi-Wan and Satine so they experience their matching as they were intended to.’

“But they’re of different statuses,” he points out needlessly. “She’ll outlive him.”

‘Yes, but the matching of soulmates not only influences the lives of the pair, but the lives of other people as well in ways both obvious and invisible. Think of it as a ripple effect.’

“Did the universe’s attempt work?” Din wonders. “Were they ever reunited?”

‘When Satine awoke as a Cupid, it was a surprise to both her and Gideon. Rather than kill her a second time, the Seraph chose to inflict a worse fate. She became the first of her kind to have her memories erased. However, he’d never previously used his ability on another immortal before, resulting in him nearly wiping her entire mind clean. The universe is capable of many miracles, big and small, but every attempt of reuniting the pair failed. It remains the universe’s most profound regret which is ultimately the reason why the universe brought you to Trinomliaxeros without your armor so that history wouldn’t repeat itself.’

There is a strange, heavy feeling that suddenly inflates within the confines of Din’s chest like a balloon. It’s different from the rampant anger he can still detect simmering beneath the skin of his human façade. He tries to shake it off, focusing on his breathing and the desert heat emanating from the twin suns overhead, only to slowly realize that what he’s feeling is fear.

Within his memory he can recall just one other distinct moment in his existence where he felt this spine-chilling emotion, and that moment was experienced on Trinomliaxeros.

“What did you just say?” His voice sounds shaky even to his own ears, but he can’t find any energy within himself to care.

A long stretch of silence fills his head; it’s the fragile kind, too, preventing him from snapping at Ahsoka to answer lest she become angry at him and yank him out the vision entirely.

‘Twice the timing of a soulmate match has been disturbed. The first pair affected was Obi-Wan and Satine. And the second pair was...’

“Ahsoka,” he says when she hesitates to continue, but any additional words he can think of saying catch in the back of his throat.

‘The second pair was you and your angel.’ Another pause of silence, shorter but no less meaningful. ‘Only fifty years ago, she wasn’t an angel.’

This is what Din remembers from Trinomliaxeros: feeling a pull so forceful, impatient and unanticipated it drags him across the galaxy in his civilian clothes, arriving to find the planet engulfed in smoke, unable to see his hand in front of his face, even without his gloves on. Finding skeletal remains burnt to blackened crisps with the souls inside shaking and traumatized, practically leaping into his outstretched hand, knowing either the afterlife or damnation would be better destinations than lingering there even a second longer. Explosions in the distance, bursts of flames as intense and hot as the sun, greedily consuming everything in their radius.

Out of the smoke and darkness, a survivor. A girl, covered in soot and sweat, colliding with his chest. The dead are calling out to him, pleading for him to reap them, to save them. Their voices swirl around his head, clawing at his brain and pounding against his skull. Shoving the girl aside, one foot in front of the other, letting his powers guide him to the next soul. Her voice cuts across the distance, a plasma bolt striking him in the back. We’re soulmates, she says.

His breath stills in his lungs. Fear spreads like a virus through his bloodstream, slipping beneath his defenses, turning him into a stranger within his own body. The declaration is a lie, an impossibility, a delusion. He has no match, hands unmarked, flesh poisonous and lethal. His words, too, are weapons themselves. Sharp, ruthless, desiring to wound her as she’s wounded him. You could never be my soulmate.

And then he’d left her.

This is what Din remembers. But, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly it hurts, I’ve remembered everything all wrong.

Phantom hands gently press against the sides of his helmet, offering comfort without caring about the dried blood. He keeps his eyes shut, knowing it’s just a manifestation crafted by Ahsoka in his head. ‘Don’t blame yourself. This was the only viable outcome the universe could produce to ensure the bad timing would be remedied in the future,’ she says, but it does little to lessen the weight on his chest. ‘Your rejection saved her life. It granted you both a second chance of a first meeting.’

“How did—” Din struggles to string words together, to fucking breathe. “She—She knew. What we were. How…?”

The Oracle puts him out of his misery. ‘She found out the way all soulmates do: through touch.’

Din’s eyes fly open at that, and he has to blink a few times to bring everything into focus because there’s him and his angel right in front of him, frozen mid-collision. She’s grasping the sleeves of his coat to keep her balance, the palm of her marked hand touching his wrist. He stares at the point of contact for a moment, then barks out a laugh, hysterical and strangled sounding.

“That’s not possible.”

‘Soulmates can’t kill each other. She’s always been meant to withstand your touch.’

Din swallows thickly, staring at his angel’s face. He hates the question forming on his tongue, but it will haunt him the rest of his life if he doesn’t ask it. “In your visions, when I meet her at the right time, what happens?”

'You’re different by then, less broody and more accepting of the notion you could be loved. You have a soulmate marking,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘You fall for her hard, even before your hands brush. You love her throughout the entirety of her lifetime.’

“And...when she dies?” The words taste like blood in his mouth.

‘Don’t torture yourself, Death. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore.’

For one brief, fleeting second Din is actually grateful Gideon altered their destinies. However, in the next, he’s trying not to let the fear gnawing at the back of his mind increase as it belatedly occurs to him that the universe is not as infallible as he’s always believed it was.

He wishes he could see Ahsoka, if only so he could glare at her directly. “Everything you’ve shown me has only further convinced me Gideon deserves death. Why have you asked me to promise not to kill him?”

'Do you remember what happens after this moment on Trinomliaxeros?’

Din frowns at the change of subject. “I continued to reap souls.”

'Yes. And then?’

He huffs a frustrated breath through his nose. This is Ahsoka, he thinks, at her most annoying. But, as much he loathes admitting it, this is also the most helpfully transparent she’s ever been. Today may be the only time she trusts him enough to share her visions. He owes it to her to be as open as she’s being with him.

That being said, he’s still wary of the memories he’s kept in the distant, shadowy corners of his mind being pulled into the spotlight. “Tell me we’re not gonna talk about the kid.”

‘We talked about the universe’s biggest regret. It’s only fair we talk about yours too.’ Ahsoka has found the crack in his armor he’s tried so long to conceal, peeling it open without remorse.

She doesn’t spare him time to argue. All he does is blink and he’s looking at his past self locked in a staring contest with a little green-skinned child who is propped up inside a floating, orb-shaped pram.

Of all the buildings and homes on the planet, only its temple had remained untouched by the destruction. Din didn’t know if it had been the structure’s own holy foundation keeping it standing or if it was the personal choice of the mastermind behind the attack, but he’d been drawn to it regardless, finding souls there to reap whose hosts had differed from other victims in that their throats had been slit. The walls of the temple were adorned with intricate murals depicting immortal figures and religious events of ancient history, but before he could observe the artwork closer, a quiet coo had stopped him in his tracks.

When he opened the pram, he hadn’t anticipated finding a baby of all creatures. When their eyes connected, every background noise abruptly ceased. Even the voices of the dead fell silent. Rather than rouse his suspicions, Din had felt only a sense of peace he usually only experienced in the midst of hyperspace travel where the stars were his voiceless companions.

An unspoken conversation transpired between the two of them, one Din still can’t translate into words all these years later, but it concluded with him knowing he would take the child with him.

Din had reached for him unthinkingly, the child lifting his arms up in eagerness to be held, but self-awareness kicked in right before contact and Din retracted his hands away so fast it startled the child into crying, brown eyes filling with tears. Panicked, he surveyed the room, looking for something to put an end to the wailing, before looking down at his own coat, experiencing a lightbulb moment.

“Alright, kid, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Watching his past self shrug off the coat, Din remembers it had been his favorite of his civilian clothes, well worth the cost for its soft fabric and length. He managed to successfully swaddle the child, ensuring his arms were safely tucked away to prevent him endangering his life, and Din exhaled a quiet breath of relief when the tears dried up almost immediately.

However, the ensuing silence wasn’t as peaceful as the previous one. Both past and present Din turn at the sound of distant shuffling echoing off the temple walls from another room.

“Ignore it,” Din tells his past self. “Just take the kid and leave.”

But his plea goes unheard and the past remains unchanged. Ahsoka is silent inside his head, either because she knows he won’t accept any more comforting words or because she thinks he’s undeserving of them for choosing to leave the child behind in his pram, closing it when he starts to whine again, so Din can go investigate the noise.

Din exhales a quiet breath, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides as he watches himself stalk through the temple halls, checking each room he comes across. It’s strange, seeing himself from this perspective. The distanced viewpoint allows Din to glimpse new details he hadn’t been capable of noticing back then.

Such as the reappearance of a familiar Seraph emerging from the shadows to stab him in the back.

Here’s one of the perks about being Death: he can’t be killed. That fact doesn’t mean there haven’t been attempts though. As Death, people sometimes look at his armor as a challenge. Like if they can fire a shot or throw a knife at just the right angle, it’ll wound him and allow them to live longer. Simply put, all those people are idiots.

When he looks like a regular, unintimidating civilian, he’s also been involved in violent predicaments where someone’s attempted to mug him or where he’s tried to save someone else from a similarly sticky situation.

Armor or no armor though, he’s always walked away from these encounters completely unscathed.

Well. With the sole exception of Trinomliaxeros where he was mostly unscathed.

It wasn’t the first time Din had been stabbed before. Usually knife wounds felt like a mild pinch. More irritating than painful, similar to a splinter stuck in one’s thumb. Once the weapon was removed, the damage healed within seconds, leaving behind no scar or proof he was ever attacked.

Usually, is the keyword to note here.

Ahsoka freezes time right when the blade of the Lightsaber is driven straight through the center of Din’s body, bone and flesh as easy to slice through as melted butter. His agonized expression—eyes screwed shut and lips open in a silent scream—would be comical if Din didn’t remember the exact emotions he was feeling in that moment.

Instead of a pinch, it’d felt as if thousands of invisible hands were pulling and scratching at him, attempting to strip apart his human exterior layer by layer—peeling off skin, scraping away muscle and bone marrow, seeking to reach the core of himself where his powers resided.

‘Looks like it hurts,’ Ahsoka says. The return of her naturally calm and neutral tone of voice seems almost cruel given the frozen, graphic display.

Din again wishes he could glare at her. “Is this funny to you?”

‘The transformation of the Lightsaber into the Darksaber is anything but funny.’

Lost in recollection, he failed to notice until now how the blade of the Lightsaber has changed in color from white to black. It’s the same inky hue that absorbs the brown in his eyes, that had dyed his veins during the execution of Hess.

‘The Armorer specifically instructed the Lightsaber only be used against enemies. As a neutral entity, you are, by definition, no one’s ally or adversary. By stabbing you, the saber became corrupted. It is a consequence Gideon still has yet to fully realize the monumental repercussions of.’

Time resumes, Din’s past self collapsing onto the floor, pressing a hand to the throbbing hole in his chest, attention too consumed by the franticness of his powers struggling to repair the trauma to notice Gideon lingering behind him. The Seraph’s stunned look of shock lasts barely ten seconds, morphing into one of deep contemplation as his gaze flicked between the weapon and Din, before he vanished.

When Din recovered enough to stand, he teleported back to the child’s location at once. He needs to get the little guy as far away from here as possible, somewhere peaceful and safe. His planning came to an abrupt halt upon finding the pram open and empty, his coat shredded and scattered about the floor in pieces.

“Gideon took him.” It isn’t a question.

‘Yes,’ she confirms. ‘The child was the intended target of this siege.’

“Why?”

‘He’s...very special.’ There is something about how her voice hitches when she says ‘special’ that has Din’s instincts prickling with alertness, but he holds his tongue. ‘Gideon considers him a tool he can take advantage of.’

The ugly, tight mass of anger swells inside of him and presses against his lungs, resulting in a low growl slipping out of his mouth. He curses his own ineptitude. If he’d paid more attention, hadn’t allowed himself to be wounded, he could have subdued Gideon and spared both his angel and the child from being captured.

“I warned you once upon a time, there would be consequences if you released your darkness,” Ahsoka says, her voice no longer emitting from inside his head. The vision fades back into reality the same sudden, jarring way one wakes up from dreaming. It takes all of Din’s self-restraint not to perform a full-body shake. “Your control is slipping as your rage increases. It’s making you not think clearly which is exactly what Gideon wants. That is the reason I am asking you to promise you will not kill him.”

Put like that, Din no longer thinks her request sounds quite so outlandish, even though he does still remain in the dark as to what consequences exactly will unfold. Ahsoka has remained stubbornly tight-lipped about the topic from their very first encounter, claiming the universe is adamant she can only share the details with one other person and it isn’t him.

“He deserves to die for all he’s done,” Din says quietly, but he’s self-aware to know his resistance is beginning to crumble.

“Between you and me, I think so, too,” she admits in the same low tone. Her ocean eyes are dark and stormy, reflecting her internal turmoil. “But rules are made for a reason and we would be fools to carelessly overlook the consequences of breaking them.”

The accusatory note from earlier has returned with a vengeance. He’s not surprised—of course the universe would utilize the Oracle to express its disapproval—but aggravation still thrums through his veins.

“Hess played a hand in my soulmate’s fate. He called her a whore.” Din’s upper lip twitches with the urge to snarl. “I don’t regret what I did to him.”

Ahsoka sighs. “I was afraid you’d say that. When you swore your creed, you promised the universe you’d only reap a soul when their host’s time has reached its destined end. By killing Hess, you not only broke a sacred rule, you also broke your creed.”

Din recoils, feeling like he’s been stabbed with the Lightsaber all over again.

“...What?” The anger is gone, extinguished by the weight of the revelation. Confusion and wariness are quick to fill the void. “What does that mean?”

She looks away then, but not quick enough to hide her troubled expression. “I...don’t know.”

He blinks, mind scrambling to understand the implications. “Isn’t that your purpose? To know everything?”

“For the very first time, the future’s unclear to me,” she murmurs, eyes briefly turning cloudy as if she’s trying to take a peek at the potential timelines right then and there. She shakes her head a beat later, frowning. “There are many choices left to be made, each one capable of influencing the fate of the galaxy. It is not possible at this time for me to predict our upcoming reality, let alone your consequences. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Din says, because it’s the truth and he doesn’t like seeing her crestfallen expression. Fuck, he might actually consider her a friend after all.

Whatever happens, he thinks to himself, it can’t be any worse to deal with than being separated from his soulmate. If he can survive this, he can survive anything.

“The last promise I made was broken.” He bites back a wince at the memory of his angel’s pinky promise. “But if making another one is the only way you’ll take me to my soulmate, then you have my word. I won’t kill him.”

A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips before she grabs hold of one of his vambraces. “Take me to your ship. I will guide you to her location.”

“You don’t trust me to go alone?” he asks, unsure whether to be amused or indignant.

“No,” Ahsoka replies bluntly.

Din huffs. “Fine.”

“I may not be able to see much at the moment, but I know it’s never wise to turn down support. You’re going to need us.”

“Us?”

“It’s Bo-Katan’s choice to make, but you and I both know she’s never been one to back down from a fight. Especially once she learns Gideon is her sister’s murderer.”

Series Tag List: @stardust-and-starlight, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @rhiannon-russo, @maytheglitter, @eleinemk, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds, @computeringturtle, @absurdthirst, @linkpk88, @bethany2002, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @imthedoctorlove, @fishsficrecs

Permanent Tag List: @promiscuoussatan, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @over300books, @aerynwrites, @softly-sad, @chibi-yuki, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @freeshavocadoooo, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @happiestsparkleofall, @randomness501, @gallowsjoker, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @captain-jebi, @leilei-draws, @coaaster, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @melobee, @artsymaddie

#din djarin x you #din x you #my fic #death and an angel #mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din x reader

290 notes · View notes

elionwriter · 3 years

Text

MY FAV STAR WARS COUPLE DYNAMICS:

(for the sake of this post let's all just pretend no one dies, ok?)

Anakin - Padme: their relationship started with pure drama and really bad, corny pick up lines and it just goes on that way. Even when they are happily exiled on Naboo with their children and everyone knows about them, whenever they talk about their love or tell the story to Luke and Leia it's always with the tones of a 'larger than life situation'. Obviously Anakin is the drama queen who really pushes it (and is still salty he had to give up his title as Jedi Master) but Padme fell for him when he did the whole whiny speech about sand and married him, she secretly supports this s***t! 😝

Han - Leia: bickering is their love language. Screaming to impose supremacy is their flirting. The thing is, they never bicker for serious stuff, because they actually agree on what matters and get along as a couple, it's the principle of things! Sometimes a friend of Ben overhears them and goes 😱 "I'm really sorry for intruding on this, pal. Will your parents be alright?" And Ben with the calmest expression will answer "They literally do this all the time". It's the silence that's worriesome. When Leia is just too tired to keep fighting after hours of doing so with politicians, when Han doesn't bother to stay to face the argument and just hops on the Falcon again, THAT'S when they realise they are falling out. So they push duty and lust for adventure aside to go back spending quality time together and patching things up. Sure enough, the bickering starts again and Ben is like "😌 aaah everything is fine again".

Din - Luke: they are the picture perfect couple. They literally never argue, at best they poke eachother when one of the two does something the other doesn't entirely agree on. They have each other's back in any instance, support every choice and are there for backup when others want a fight or have something to say either on Din's leadership or Luke's approach to the Jedi code and teachings. It took them forever to actually get together because they acted like shy teenagers on their first crush and Leia, Han and Cara had to practically push them into each other's arms, but once they got there they were solid a couple as a rock. Others look at them and think they are either disgustingly mushy or still in a 'honeymoon face', because NO ONE has such a stress-free marriage. Din and Luke truly don't get what the fuss and all the drama's about. So even though they end up practically parenting the space version of the kids from 'Cheaper by the dozen' they act like parental figures to their friends as well. Life as Manda'lor and the Reviver of the Jedi order can be hell, but together they are just balanced like that and can face everything! They even create a new co-op fighting style for Jedi/Mandalorians that becomes the terror and amazement of the Galaxy for centuries to come!😌😏💪

Kannan - Hera: very similar to Dinluke except they do at times have some small moments of tension because Hera is a fighter to the core and Kannan can't help but wonder if the battle will ever truly end. But his queen's passion and resolve is so bright and steeled that he can't help but fall in love a little more every time and follow, knowing it's the right thing to do. They have an example to set for their son, after all. Kannan will absolutely love Jacen and will introduce Ezra to his son (once Sabine and Ashoka bring him back) as his older brother. Much like when he trained Ezra or faced Sabine, Kannan will sometimes doubt himself and wonder if he's acting like a good parent to Jacen. Hera will smile and reassure him, describing to him the bright and happy smile on their son's face or how Jecen's nose scrunches and his long, greenish ears wiggle in delight whenever Kannan plays with him or cuddles him. As Hera says so, Kannan holds her and feels like he can actually see it too.

Sabine - Ezra: After Ezra is brought back to his family from wherever or whatever happened to him after facing Thrawn, both of them will just indulge in sudden hugs or touches to make sure the other is actually there. Of course, they first think of their bond as a solid friendship and camaraderie, because that's what it was when they left off. The extra touching is just the response to being apart for so long and being worried for each other. But then Sabine notices that Ezra actually looks really good with long hair and the scruffy beard he grew out. She catches herself thinking of how warm and safe if feels in his arms and mentally kicks herself because she's a Mandalorian, all she should need is a loaded blaster to feel safe. Ezra, on the other hand, starts playing with Sabine's hair when complimenting her new dye and suddenly finds himself cupping her face like it's the most natural thing in the world. Long story short, they fall for eachother hard and become the prototype of the couple "my boyfriend/girlfriend is my best friend". When they are comfortable with their new status, Ezra goes back flirting dorkishly with her like he did all those years back when they first met and Sabine will tease him by shooting his advances down.

Ashoka - Bo Katan: joke's on Bo-katan for cringing back in the day at her sister's relationship with a Jedi. She thought destiny or the force or whatever was really messing with her when she realized that her rival and pupil, Din Djarin, the new leader of Mandalorians was also falling helplessly in love with a Jedi (Obi-Wan's student nonetheless). When she hears Sabine Wren and her Jedi boy also got together she stops questioning it. The thing is that she herself has been inexplicably, undeniably charmed and hooked to a Jedi for years now. The very same Jedi she had teased didn't have enough booty, what felt like a lifetime prior. But she's Bo-Katan, she can be in angry denial about anything. Ashoka, on the other hand, has seen and has been conditioned too much on what attachment does to a Jedi, even if she doesn't consider herself one anymore. So, even if the chemistry between them and the long lingering stares are real, their love is always kept a quiet, unspoken thing. Whenever they call eachother "my old friend" they know they actually mean more, but leave it at that. Everyone around them can't help wondering 'are they a thing or...?!' but they never feed the theories and gossip. They know what they are and mean for each other when they are alone in the same room, talking about the past or what must be done in the future and Ashoka's mere presence is enough to cool down the ever-present burning rage inside of Bo. Meanwhile, the other can't help but admire how single minded and devoted to her people and culture the Mandalorian princess is, how she never gave up on them, despite everything. They smile softly at each other, then one of them breaks the spell by leaving. They go back to their own business and life untill destiny or the force or whatever brings them back into eachother's orbit.

Revan - Carth: normally they act very much like Leia and Han with the bickering and teasing bit but then Revan has one of her memories returning or is haunted by how she basically condemned her lifelong best friend Malak to a terrible death and Carth instantly does a 180° shift becoming the most caring, comforting and tender partner. She'll hide into his chest until the crisis in over. Sometimes it can go on for days and Revan is oh, so grateful of how patient and good Carth is to her. Then, at times, Carth is the one burying his head in her chest and she's the one doing the tender, hair strokes. Carth needs a lot of reassuring and might get upset and fret over even what appears to be a trivial thing. He's trying to heal and get better but the long, long years of solitude, hurt and paranoia are hard to iron down. Expecially when Carth seems to have an instinct that puts a Jedi to shame, foreseeing a crisis neither she nor Bastila had picked up. But he is making an effort to improve and she's proud of him, even as he tries very clumsily to patch things up with his son Dustil. She doesn't really step in that matter more than she has to, since Dustil is clearly not happy nor comfortable with the idea of them being together yet. Carth will sometimes open his heart to her and say something deeply meaningful on how he wants her to stay ( when she looks particularly haunted and about to leave without a work of warning) and be happy but does so with such awkward word choices that Revan just cannot refrain from laughing at his face and making puns. It's at this point that the back and forth teasing resumes. There is no denying they are still deeply wounded individuals and they are at their best when their friends are there to lighten the mood and show love to the both of them. Because they could easily go down the path of drama like Anakin and Padme but they choose the Ebon Hawk crew shenanigans instead.

Obi Wan - Satine: their love is stored in the memory of that glorious time they spent together in their youth. A moment in which no responsibility or sense of honor could keep them from giving in to that feeling of want and need for each other. It's a love that never truly went away, never left space for anyone else, but it never fully grew and bloomed either. So years down the line, that's what it is for Obi-Wan, a pleasant memory. He would never change how things went afterwards, but he wouldn't give up those memories and feelings for anything in the world. Satine feels the same, mostly. There are nights that she falls asleep wondering what could have been if only she had talked up at the decisive moment and dreams of a life spent together with Obi-Wan. But when she wakes up, she sobers up and goes back to her things. It's when she looks at her Korkie smile and notices how resembling to his secret father he is that she is truly at peace. She managed to keep a peace of Obi-Wan in her life.

Cal - Merrin: I have no idea for this one, but just stop and consider the possible 'nightsisters babies' though! Wouldn't they be the cutest things ever?! 😀

Sorry Cara Dune, you just haven't met the woman of your life yet. 😔

Also, I kinda like Zeb and Callus too but I don't really ship them enough to add them here, you know? Anyway I'm sure they make a lovely couple.

61 notes · View notes

gffa · 3 years

Text

There’s a really interesting interview with Katee Sackhoff about Bo-Katan up up on starwars.com right now and this part is really making me feel a lot of things:

Describing her character as a “headstrong rebel” and a warrior at her core, “she has never known how to lead,” Sackhoff says. “She’s always reserved that for her sister, for the diplomats and the politicians. She was the warrior. And I think that we’ve seen her from our first introduction to her and where we’re finding her now is this person who’s struggled with that and then ultimately leaned into it and realized that — pun intended! — this is the way. She is the rightful leader and she does know how to lead. She understands the way the Mandalorians think, their history, and their beliefs and who they are as a people. And that — we’ve seen her grow into that. And she still has faults.”

Behind the scenes, Sackhoff does not hesitate to call out her character’s sense of self-importance. “We’ve talked a lot about how she has a tremendous ego on her. And a lot of leaders do. Sometimes to be a good leader, you have to know that you know what is right for your people. And that does come with ego.”

Beyond that transformation, Sackhoff sees the character as a beacon of hope. “For a person who started out on the wrong side of this fight and to see her grow and broaden her mind and be open to change is such a metaphor for life and forgiveness,” Sackhoff says. “And how people can change. Because she did.”

I’m glad that they’re acknowledging that Bo-Katan has a character arc, that where she started was pretty shitty and that the point is that she’s changed, I’m glad that they’re still talking about how flawed she is and she’s struggling to figure this shit out, but at the same time I’m feeling very frustrated on the behalf of how Star Wars has been telling stories lately. Which is that, while I’m glad they’re acknowledging that there’s a character arc there, we don’t really get to see that arc. We don’t get to really see Bo-Katan’s growth, we only see her in flashes across the timeline and much of her screentime isn’t really set from her point of view. So, we see she’s changed between her time in The Clone Wars and in Rebels. We see she’s changed even more between Rebels and The Mandalorian. It’s cool to have her as one of the connective threads, it’s exciting to go HELL YEAH BO-KATAN JUST SHOWED UP IN LIVE ACTION AND SHE WAS AWESOME, because she was! But we don’t actually see a lot of the character arc she has. Satine dies and we barely get a glimpse of her, it was far and away more Obi-Wan’s story than it was Bo-Katan’s (or, frankly, even Satine’s herself). We don’t see her character growth for when she’s ready to pick up the dark saber to lead Mandalore. We don’t see how she loses it or what’s been happening off to the side of the stories we are being told. This is kind of my thing with Mandalore’s story as a whole--it’s really fun to have all this connective narrative thread, to get more and more info, it’s fun to speculate and put the pieces together! But I’m growing increasingly sure that we’re never actually going to see several of the key events of what happened, like the Night of a Thousand Tears or what happened when Mandalore decided to stand up to the Empire. And I’m wonder if we’re ever going to get the key moments of Bo-Katan’s character arc or if they’re all just going to happen off-screen and we’ll get references to that they happened, but we don’t actually see them? And maybe that’s on me, for expecting Bo-Katan’s character to be more central to the bigger Star Wars picture than she is, maybe she (and Mandalore) aren’t meant to have the same kind of linear narrative structure that the Clone Wars or the Rebellion or even the Resistance had. And it’s not like George Lucas didn’t tell his story out of order as well--but there we generally got to see the major events. It’s not that I want The Mandalorian to become anything other than what it is, it’s great as it is and I’m enjoying it so much! And, honestly, the show is far more Jon Favreau’s than it is Dave Filoni’s so this is not the place to turn into the Bo-Katan Kryze show. So, I guess what I’m winding my way towards is: GIVE BO-KATAN HER OWN SERIES. MAYBE AN ANIMATED MINI-SERIES THAT ACTUALLY SHOWS ALL THE MAJOR ARCS FOR HER BUT IS ONLY LIKE SIX EPISODES LONG. I’D WATCH IT AND I THINK IT WOULD MAKE DAVE FILONI’S STORYTELLING BETTER TO BE PUT BACK IN A “TELL A STORY IN A LINEAR FASHION” STRUCTURE.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #bo katan kryze #meta

246 notes · View notes

kybernecklace · 3 years

Note

Satine be like:

Lemme just eradicate an essential part of our culture entirely, because I'm too woke for old Mando traditions and won't bother with any sort of alternative (idk sth like arena fights but out of sportmanship/competitions, teaching about the warrior culture in school whilst emphasizing the values of peace/pacifism), refuse to open dialouge with the faction of Mandalorians that hold on to said warrior culture even though my sister is amongst those people (i mean fair point to refuse dialouge once they are attacking Mandalore and are terrorists but you can't tell me that that's what they've been since day 1) and also pretend that said culture - which used to be the effing centerpiece of culture for likely millenia - has no place on modern day Mandalore, a gentrified mega dome city, cause it has always led to wars.

Also let me lean on one (1) Jedi, who I essentially claim as mine because I can and also I need his help occasionally but refuse to join the republic, but would still like Jedi support here and there.

I mean Maul claims Obi-Wan as his nemesis, but at least he's upfront about it.

I never got the whole Obitine/Satine popularity in the fandom tbh. I always found her shockingly inflexible as a politician and hence rather flat/blant as a character (basically snarky pacifist that's it which could have worked but really didn't for me). You know, I fully understand why she didn't want to compromise on pacifist principals but at the same time she seemed like zero percent open to dialouge - it was always a with or against me thing - and like, that is not a good trait in a politician. Yes, you should absolutely stick to your principals, in fact it'd be amazing if politicians actually did what they said they would in voting brochures, but you can't just claim to know everything better than anyone else and ignore concerns of a part of your population - assuming Death Watch didn't start out as a terrorist group/the people in Death Watch didn't - just because you say you know what is best. Like at least try to listen -> well as long as it is reasonable ofc. I mean. I didn't get the impression that Pre Viszla was going for a galactic war after takeover. It was literally like: Okay let's reestablish our warrior culture and get rid of the Sith who want more out of this. And even leaving that debacle aside. Saying your people are willing to suffer certain consequences for peace when you've never asked them is... an interesting thing to say. Like pacifist, non-republic Mandalore appeared to have serious supply line issues and everything that entails. Maybe I interpreted it wrong but I honestly felt like they were showing how Mandalore was really struggling under her leadership. I get that big changes can lead to such struggles and be worth it in the end but Satine never appeared to have a future plan set out. At least to me. Because like. Mandalore was already pacified, so she had achieved what she - to be fair - understandably wanted.

I mean, sure you can like Satine but I honestly didn't bat an eye at her death, whereas I bailed my eyes out over Savage.

Also in concern to Kryze-2; whenever I see posts about their amazing sisterhood I just can't. Bo was just fine with literally imprisoning/killing Satine during the Death Watch takeover. There's no love lost between them. So when Bo showed up in S7 all like "I thought you cared about her" istg I choked.

And ofc the whole Din being part of a cult while she herself was literally a Death Watch founding member was just wow.

Honestly I liked her much much better as a villain than as a protagonist (CW 5 vs. CW7/Rebels). Still didn't like her much but yeah.

I'd love to hear though what your exact issue with her was because while I'm not trying to bash the character, I never got her appeal and am curious about other people who don't care much about the character.

Really not meant as "anti-Satine/Bo" but like. Why. Enjoy them if you want obviously, but they really aren't my cup of tea.

i am going to be honest i retained hardly a fraction of this because i am dyslexic and cannot read this much in the format of a tumblr ask but my feelings for satine are very simple in the way of if you try to do cultural genocide like that you more than deserve to get stabbed to death with the ancient sword of the people you tried to have die out. i think she should have gotten stabbed way more actually. this is a satine and bo-katan hate account. thank you

#whenever i see her death scene i cheer❤️#long post

26 notes · View notes

vagrantblvrd · 3 years

Note

Obi-Wan raises Luke instead of Owen and Beru, please.

Oooh, nice.

Because I am That Person I want to do the Satine lives AU (I haven’t finished Clone Wars yet, but one of my friends has Strong Opinions about similar AUs).

Obi-Wan doesn’t leave the Jedi Order to be with her,because Duty, and all that with the war, but perhaps once the war is over he can?

But then Anakin falls to the Dark Side and it’s decided to separate the twins. Leia goes to Bail and Breha, and Obi-Wan is supposed to take Luke to Tatooine to be raised by his aunt and uncle, but.

Obi-Wan’s in his ship leaving Coruscant after losing Anakin the way he did and it isn’t a conscious decision really, that has him putting in the coordinates for Mandlore, doesn’t even register until his droid is like ??? and he sees what he’s done, and has this moment of oh, I didn’t mean to do that, did I?

He means to fix it, input the coordinates for Tatooine, a weavin winding path in case he’s followed, but stops to think about it.

It makes sense to take Luke there, no one would think to look for him, but the thought of leaving Luke, one of the last pieces of Anakin left to him to be raised by people who wouldn’t understand him leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth.

Regret, guilt, for failing Anakin so completely, and it’s like. Anakin has ties to Tatooine that someone smart enough might look into, might find Luke, but Mandalore? That complicated mess is all Obi-Wan’s now.

And it’s selfish, he’s being selfish, not wanting to give Luke up, thinks about the Order and attachments, but look where it got them in the end, you know? (His foundations have been rocked, shattered beneath his feet but if he thinks on it there were cracks, fault-lines long before that.)

So.

He calculates s winding, weaving course to Mandalore and goes to Satine where they raise Luke as their foundling, right?

They keep the whole...Jedi thing on the down-low, because ancient enemies but Obi-Wan and Satine’s inner circle know, because how couldn’t they?

Obi-Wan may go by a different name these days, but it’s close enough to his real name it wouldn’t take much thought to connect the two. Also, his face???

And Luke okay. Obi-Wan teaches him to control his Jedi abilities and such from an early age, but he couches it in games and play and all Mr. Miyagi with his wax on, wax off schtick kid of deal to keep Luke from accidentally giving away the fact he’s strong in the Force and so on.)

Meanwhile there’s an effort to dial back the animosity towards the Jedi, which meets with mixed results, because people. Also, also, over the years Obi-Wan encourages Satine to mend the rift between her followers and those exiled to Concordia.

Also, with mixed results, but with the Empire’s numbers growing it seems like a mistake to allow Mandalore to be divided.

They reach some kind of understanding, not entirely reconciled, but better than things were before.

In another meanwhile, Luke is being raised as a Mandalorian, and like Obi-Wan earns a set of armor.

But then!

The Purge happens, and in the chaos Luke is separated from Obi-Wan and Satine, the other Mandalorians.

He has his armor and a ship and the lightsaber that belonged to his father Obi-Wan shoved into his hands before they were separated.

Has to hide from the Empire because one thing Obi-Wan made sure he knew from a young age is that he couldn’t all ow himself to be captured by them, that they’d be looking for him.

(And on some lonely nights after the Purge when his nightmares seem more real than usual, some part of him wonders if the Purge happened because Mandalore refused to join with the Empire, or if someone found out about him?)

Anyway.

Mandalorians and the reputation for being fierce fighters and skilled bounty hunters and Luke is truly alone for the first time in his life. Little money to his name and his ship can only get so far before it runs out of fuel, and he needs ammunition and food to eat, and it’s just.

He finds work s a bounty hunter, and the first few bounties are part of a learning process. Thank goodness for his armor or he’d have been dead dozen times over the first month.

Still.

He’s been raised as a Mandalorian his whole life, maybe saw himself as an outsider because his Force abilities and the secrets Obi-Wan kept even from him, but he’s been training as a warrior his whole life.

(Pacifists, yes, but the galaxy is a dangerous place and perhaps more so for someone like Luke, so.)

Between the regular weapons and hand-to-hand and whatnot and Obi-Wan’s instruction with his Force abilities and his father’s lightsaber he’s quite the dangerous individual.

He keeps running into this Corellian smuggler and his Wookie co-pilot, and sometimes he turns a blind eye to their antics if he’s tracking someone else. (In return Han’s willing to let information slip to Luke, for the price of a drink or a meal, and of course he’d never say no to an outright gift of credits, so.)

There’s a miscommunication on a job, once. Luke after a bail jumper and this other Mandalorian with a silver helmet who wants the pilot Luke’s bounty hired.

There’s a bit of a fight, nothing serious before it occurs to Luke that the aforementioned pilot looked a little too panicky at the sight of the other Mandalorian to be fully innocent. (Also, it’s Mos Eisley. Innocent people are exceedingly rare here.)

It’s the first time Luke’s worked with another Mandalorian on a bounty, and it’s actually kind of nice. (Although he suspects the other Mandalorian may have ties to The Tribe, but it’s the least of his problems at the moment and the man makes for good company.)

Anyway, anyway, at some point Luke runs into Ahsoka - and he knows her. Obi-Wan and his secrets and she’s safe, she can help him.

At first she’s reluctant, because look what happened to Anakin, what if she’s resposnsible for the same happening to Luke? But he finds a way to convince her - stubborn like Anakin, if not worse - and she takes up his training where Obi-Wan left off.

She’ll lave from time to time because Rebellion shenaigans, and sometimes Luke goes along to help.

And then word through Luke or Ahsoka’s contacts about Leia being taken prisoner and important plans and they’re so far out they might not make it in time.

“I know someone who might help?” Luke offers, because he and Han are hardly friends (they kind of are though), and the Falcon is one of the fastest ships out there even if she doesn’t look like it.

So, side trip to Tatooine and Han is just “Oh, come on, you too? What is with today?” because Greedo and Luke being a bounty hunter and Ahsoka is super unimpressed.

Once Luke explains what he needs, Han is like “NO,” but Luke convinces him and Han reluctantly agrees (but then Jabba and that whole mess and it’s kind of a disaster getting off Tatooine but they make it so everything’s fine.

Before they leave though, there’s this weird hermit they run into and emotional reunions because Obi-Wan and he thought Luke was dead and what has he been doing? Also it’s very nice to see you again, Ahsoka, you look well.

Luke going up to the cockpit to give them privacy for their part of the reunion and sharing information and all that.

And then rescuing Leia and Luke in his beskar getting between Obi-Wan and Vader even though both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are incredibly not happy about that, but some people there were just going to let the sith lord kill them, and Luke is just how about no???

(Satine would never forgive Obi-Wan something like that Luke’s sure, and according to Obi-Wan she’s back on Tatooine still, so.)

Leia gets rescued and the Rebellion’s down a few pilots and oh, hey, Luke’s kind of not bad at that whole deal?

Obi-Wan’s needed as a strategist - and honestly, no one wants him out of sight after the whole thing on the Death Star - and Ahsoka with her Rebellion Thing.

Han comes back to save Luke’s life and Luke destroys the Death Star and happy ending for now?

But Luke knows there’s something about Vader and Luke himself that has Obi-Wan and Ahsoka deeply worried. (When he thinks about it there are a few reasons why that might be, but he does his best not to dwell on it.)

Anyway.

The usual Star Wars shenanigans but with Mandalorian!Luke with his armor and whatnot.

Confrontations between Luke and Vader go a little differently because of Luke’s armor? But the hand thing still happens because parallels or some nonsense, idk.

(Anakin’s not the only one who has to remove their helmet on the second Death Star and so on.)

Leia has mixed feelings about the whole Boba Fett putting Han in carbonite because Luke’s used the same method on some of his bounties in the past. (The violent dangerous ones that posed a risk to him transporting them the guild, though, but it doesn’t matter to Leia at the time.)

After the destruction of the second Death Star there’s talk, idle, unsure about forming a school to teach the next generation of Jedi?

Because Force-sensitive kids and there must be a better way, a balance between the ole Jedi Order and a new one.

Until then, Luke is curious about the whole Jedi thing, goes looking for relics and whatnot. (Maybe does some bounty hunting every so often, because why not.)

Satine wants to go back to Mandalore, help her people if she can and Obi-Wan goes with her because not a lot of reason to stick around Tatooine otherwise.

And then!

This call for help through the Force and Luke following it to an Imperial light cruiser and Din being very, very confused at seeing a Mandalorian with a lightsaber?

Is it like Bo-Katan’s Darksaber? Will one of them have to change? So confused. (Also though, possible concussion from his fight with the Dark Trooper, but yes.)

“Are you a Jedi?” Din asks, feeling that it’s a valid question because Mandalorians and Jedis and ancient enemies????

And yet.

Luke is like, hey, it’s you! Because silver helmet and remember that time we got into a fight on Tatooine? But also, also, hello Aunt Bo-Katan and friends.

Mainly though, Grogu who is kind of losing his tiny little mind because Mandalorian? But also Jedi? But Mandalorian???

And then shenanigans in which Luke is like, huh, about the Darksaber and poor Din who wants nothing to do with it. His adopted mother who wants to help her people but afraid they won’t listen to her after what the Empire’s done them and is like.

Strangely convenient, but he’ll take it.

They stop by the closest New Republic planet or outpost to hand Gideon and whatever other Imperials are still on board over and then head to Mandalore.

Din is still so very confused, but it doesn’t seem like Luke plans to take Grogu away and he’ll take what he can get. (So sure Luke will take Grogu far away at some point, but tries not to think too hard about that.)

And then the whole working at calling Mandalorians home - Din is super unsure about being the new ruler of Mandalore, but once Bo-Katan and Satine have a chat about the fure of their world they’re like, “He’s perfect for the role.”

Just needs a little help, and with them and Obi-Wan and other trusted people to help him, something great could come of it.

Luke stays on Mandalore - his home more than anywhere else in the galaxy - and he and Obi-Wan train Grogu. Ahsoka too, when she visits.

Once Mandalore and its people are more settled there’s talk of joining the New Republic, right?

Leia as the New Republic’s representative, and Obi-Wan one of Din’s advisors, negotiators and it seems as though good things will happen there too.

But!

Also!

Luke who grew up on Mandalore helping introduce Din to it? Teach him about this world he’s never seen, but is important in its own way more than ever now.

And little Grogu and all that.

Keldabe kisses in a courtyard on a night when Luke’s meditating outside, Din restless after tucking Grogu in and happens across Luke.

Understands that Luke doesn’t follow the Creed the way Din does, but he was raised as a Mandalorian and Din’s seen him in his helmet more often than not and anyway.

Luke meditating in the moonlight and while Din was worried he might have interrupted, Luke opens his eyes and smiles, something about it drawing Din closer.

And it’s.

There’s been so much Pining, but this is Luke, and anyway, keldabe kisses, and Luke laughing at Din being so flustered by it, but Luke’s laughter is shaky, breathless and really, the man’s a hypocrite.

Still, the two of them stay like that for a little while longer.

#star wars nonsense #dinluke #anon #not!fic prompt #prompt fills #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #mandalorian!luke #but like with a ~twist #long post #Anonymous

98 notes · View notes

zelenacat · 3 years

Text

When We Were Young- Chapter 27- An Obitine Story

The first place Satine checked was her bedroom, it was empty save for a note. The Duchess fell to her knees and wailed. She pulled at her hair, threw chairs across the room, paced, Obi-Wan found her in her quarters an hour later.

“Satine!”

“Maul took them,” the Duchess’ throat was raw, “he took our four eldest.”

Obi-Wan froze for half a second.

“Mandalore was attacked, we should get you out of here.”

“I’m not leaving until my people are safe,” Satine stood, “I have speeches to make.”

“Satine-”

“Come with me,” the Duchess ordered, “some things will leave with you.”

Servants moved out of her way when she passed, but Satine didn’t care how terrible she looked. Stalking over to the safe, Satine opened it and pulled out her children’s birth certificates, a bag of kyber crystals, and a tiara from King Zagreus the Second of Zygerria.

“These should be brought back to coruscant,” Satine swallowed, “guard them as you would guard Jynn and Lyra.”

The Jedi opened his mouth to speak, but Satine hushed him with a kiss.

“Jynn and Lyra may one day be all you have left.”

And with that, Satine left, walking briskly and then running once she rounded a corner. First she found Parna, who led her to where the servants were hiding. Satine freed them.

“Go home to your families,” she announced, “they will want to know you’re safe.”

Parna organized the guards to help escort people home, while Satine looked for the Prime Minister. Jaru Djarin was sitting up against the wall, locked in her office, with her eyes closed.

“Jaru,” Satine whispered, growing louder, “Jaru are you alive?”

“Satine,” the Prime Minister mumbled, “come.”

The door opened and the Duchess stepped inside, it smelled awful, like the kind of place rats lived.

“I need you to help me broadcast a speech.”

Jaru sighed, “Help me up.”

The Duchess and her Prime Minister limped through the empty castle, every move of theirs was as loud as thunder rumbling.

“What will we say?” Jaru’s garbled voice questioned.

Satine groaned, she hadn’t thought much about that.

“Mandalore has been used and deliberately attacked with no provocation,” the Duchess found herself saying into the camera, “we have no choice but to join with the Republic and defend ourselves. Please stay in your homes until we are able to address you again, thank you.”

After the camera cut off, Satine made her way to the landing, where a battalion of clones were stationed under Ahsoka, who felt her presence immediately.

“Momdalore!”

Satine collapsed into the Padawan’s arms.

“I heard,” Ahsoka whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you here?” Jaru asked a clone.

“Protection,” he answered.

Satine straightened, “The Prime Minister and I are grateful for your help, please make sure our curfew is enforced.”

“You heard the Duchess,” Ahsoka commanded, “go keep Mandalore’s citizens safe, I will stay with the Duchess and her Prime Minister.”

Ahsoka helped Satine and Jaru to a conference room and then retrieved the Duchess’ comm device.

“Call Countess Wren,” Satine sighed, “we should start with her.”

Ursa was stone faced until she was informed that Tristan had been taken, then, she broke down into tears.

“We’ll keep our district safe, Satine,” Alrich Wren promised, “just make sure he’s alright.”

“I will.” the Duchess promised.

Then the Counts and Countesses of Mandalore were called, all of whom had heard the news and prepared for the defensive.

“Satine?”

Bo-Katan, who stood in the doorway, grimaced when the Duchess looked up. Ventress behind her made a disgusted sound.

“They were taken by your replacement,” Satine growled, “you should help get them back.”

“Who?” Jaru asked.

A beat of silence followed.

“Korkie and his friends.” Bo answered.

The Prime Minister put her face in her hands, “Dear God.”

“The pirates and bounty hunters need to be paid.” Ventress added.

Satine stood, “Sloppy business not paying them in advance.”

Bo-Katan’s eyes narrowed.

“We don’t have any money in the budget for this.” Jaru mumbled.

“Palace defense?” Ventress suggested.

The Prime Minister shook her head.

“I’ll pay them,” the Duchess decided, “out of pocket. I need to call the bank.”

The bank began converting the required amount of credits into cash, and after a quick signature, Bo-Katan and Ventress took over the distribution.

“Your Grace?”

“She was taken,” Satine frowned, without looking up, “Mara and the others were taken. I’m sorry, Boba.”

“Well,” the bounty hunter’s voice changed, “what’s being done to bring her back?”

Satine swallowed, “I’ll ask the Jedi Council for help, now that we’ve officially joined their side it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I want to help.”

“I want everyone to help.” Satine countered.

Boba Fett knelt down.

“Your Grace,” he whispered, “we’ll get your children back.”

“Of course we will,” Satine agreed, “help me stand, Boba.”

He did and the Duchess sent him to find Khaami and Parna.

“Hello, Duchess.”

“Master Yoda,” Satine sobbed, “Darth Maul has taken my children.”

“Hm,” the Jedi stroked his beard, “bad this is.”

“Please help me get them back.” Satine begged.

“Do you know where he’s taken them?” Master Windu asked.

“No, he just said in his note that this was retribution.”

“He left a note?” Master Mundi inquired.

Satine nodded.

“Why didn’t you leave with the Jedi transport?” Master Windu questioned.

“I can’t leave my people.” Satine responded.

Master Yoda thought.

“Obi-Wan has our most important possessions,” Satine offered, “and the kyber crystals from Concordia.”

“Study those, we shall,” Master Yoda stated, “but meditate on this problem, I must.”

“Master Yoda?”

The Jedi looked to the Duchess.

Satine’s voice broke, “My children are all I have.”

Master Yoda nodded and the comm line went quiet.

“Satine?”

The Duchess turned her head as Parna entered.

“Let’s get you ready to face the public.”

Parna was gentle and kind, helping her lady shower and dress. Then she brushed her hair and braided it.

“Your locks are growing out again.” Parna observed.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed.”

Parna tilted Satine’s head upward.

“I know it’s hard without the children, but the Jedi will help.”

“If Master Yoda consents to.” the Duchess countered.

“He has a soft spot for you, I’m sure.”

Ahsoka poked her head in.

“Momdalore,” Ahsoka began, “there are cameras here to see you.”

“It figures,” Satine mumbled, “they need to know.”

“There,” Parna announced, “finished.”

Satine looked at the braid in her hair, it came down to her shoulders. Her face was pallard and her eyes gaunt.

“Momdalore?”

“Escort me.”

The walls were lined with servants all whispering, none of them stopped when Satine passed, and that was what worried the Duchess most. At least some of them had the sense to curtsey.

“Her Grace, the Duchess of Mandalore.”

Satine stepped out onto the foyer and took a seat at the place that had been set up for her. Ahoska stood at her side.

It took a second for Satine to remember why she was there, “Questions?”

One brave reporter stood.

“We know the Count betrayed us and we have allied with the Republic, but what happened in the chaos of the palace last night, and what happened to the weather monitor?”

Satine almost spilled all her secrets at that moment, but fortunately Ahsoka spoke.

“Count Dooku tried to frame the Duchess and kill her, the audio recordings have been released.”

In the stunned silence, Satine cleared her throat.

“My nephew and his friends, including Tristan Wren, were taken as prisoners by the count’s apprentice,” she swallowed, “we have asked for assistance from the Jedi.”

The room burst into noise but Satine couldn’t hear anything.

“Let’s get you out.” Ahsoka whispered.

Parna helped Satine stand while Ahoska quieted the room for a couple minutes more.

“You need sleep,” Parna whispered, “rest.”

Up in her room, Padme commed Satine.

“We saw your broadcast,” she smiled sadly, “Master Yoda has agreed to send a rescue party.”

Satine burst into tears.

“Jynn and Lyra want to see you.”

Wiping her eyes, Satine saw her daughters in Padme’s arms, asleep.

Satine swallowed, “They’ve gotten so big.”

“Five months.” Padme commented.

“Five whole months.” the Duchess nodded.

Lyra sighed, Jynn gurgled.

“Your Lady Mother misses you.” Satine whispered.

“They miss their mother too,” Obi-Wan frowned, coming into view, “some days they won’t sleep at all.”

“Who is in the rescue party?” Satine found the courage to ask.

“Multiple of Tyra’s Padawan friends,” Obi-Wan answered, “Quinlan, Master Mundi, and Anakin.”

“Not you?”

Obi-Wan sighed, “Maul hates me, if I go, it would give him an excuse to kill the children in front of me.”

Satine gave a shaky breath.

“Don’t worry, Darling,” Obi-Wan braced a smile, “we’ll get them.”

Satine nodded, hoping with her whole heart that was true.

“You just rest,” Padme commented, after a silence, “you look like you need it.”

“I do.” Satine agreed.

The Duchess slept till evening when the comm call finished. By the time Parna woke her, she was informed that the heads of the eight clans were all here requesting a meeting.

“And Khaami is going to stay with her family,” Parna added.

“Good,” Satine sat up, “help me with my hair.”

In front of the throne sat a circle of chairs. Count Awuad, Countess Bralor, Countess Eldar, Count Mudhorn, Count Rook, and Countess Saxon were all present. Count Vizsla’s father, Tarrei, had joined Death Watch a month ago, Satine had almost forgotten. What Satine was not expecting to see was Alrich Wren leading his clan.

“My wife is unwell with the news of our son,” he explained at Satine’s question, “she’s miserable.”

“This is a terrible crime,” Count Mudhorn growled, “you would think Tarrei-”

“Death Watch assisted us last night.” Satine frowned, unable to hear anything negative about Bo-Katan.

“Yes,” Countess Bralor nodded, “because they wanted the Count, when the Jedi took him they were upset they didn’t get shots at him.”

“However, Asajj Ventress spat in his face.” Countess Saxon remarked.

“The Count, Dooku, I mean,” Satine began, “said he had friends in Death Watch, my guess is it would be Vizsla.”

“That would make sense,” Count Awuad agreed, “my spies just told me that your sister might face mutiny.”

Satine sighed, “That would be unfortunate.”

“It would, but there is more news,” Count Awuad straightened, “the Vizslas now believe that the children taken belong to you.”

The Duchess went stoic as stone.

“A dangerous rhetoric if true,” Countess Eldar prodded.

“But there is no need to worry about that then,” Satine forced a smile, “I have no children.”

“No,” Count Rook agreed, “but he did take Mandalore’s heir.”

Satine’s comm rang, it was the Jedi Council.

“We have decided upon our rescue party.” Master Windu announced to the room, “three Jedi Masters, will accompany five padawans to save the children.”

“That seems like a large group.” Countess Eldar observed.

“It is needed,” Master Mundi responded, “I will be leading the effort, which will take place on Mustafar.”

Satine grew cold.

“Mustafar?” Alrich Wren asked.

“Yes,” Master Secura nodded, “that is where the children have been taken.”

The room silenced, a fire planet known for cruelty.

“Is the Count proving useful?” Countess Saxon asked.

“He is.” Master Windu did not elaborate.

“Padawan Tyra, the one you sent here for protection who has now been captured,” Satine began, “informed me that Count Dooku’s Master has a son. His name is Je’er, and his mother is Oana Shields of Harran, from Naboo.”

“Interesting this is,” Master Yoda spoke, “good spy, Padawan Tyra is.”

That brought Satine some comfort at least, knowing that the Jedi had faith in her daughter's skills.

“The rescue party will leave tomorrow,” Master Secura offered, “you may rest easy on that.”

“Thank you,” the Duchess swallowed, “Mandalore looks forward to helping you more in the future.”

“Now,” Count Awad sighed, “for our Death Watch problem.”

It was decided that if Sabine Wren had any connections left to Death Watch, she should use them. Ursa loathed to let another child leave her, and therefore made her husband go with their daughter.

Satine spent the next few days organizing an optional armed force regiment, with incentives to join, of course. She also met with food experts to talk about rationing and spoke with the Head of Mandalorian Trade.

The Duchess was in a meeting with her seamstresses about reducing fabric consumption when Parna burst in.

“Satine!”

The Duchess stood, sensing important news.

“Padawan Tyra is in the med bay.”

Satine ran to the make-shift hospital in the palace, she was glad to see both Hera and Doctor Quial present, but gasped when she saw their patient.

“Your Grace,” Khaami whispered, appearing at her side, “please sit down.”

Shaking violently, Satine fell into a chair and began to sob.

“Your Highness?”

Satine swallowed and looked at the boy standing in front of her, “You must be Je’er.”

He nodded and knelt before Satine.

“Your Grace, I’m sorry I couldn't free the rest of your children,” he began, his voice low, “but they are all kept separate, and I couldn't let harm come to Tyra.”

Satine glanced over at her daughter, “What happened?”

“My father electrocuted her,” Je’er did not lower his eyes, “she has second degree burns, but she will live.”

Satine fell forward and hugged the boy.

“Thank you, Je’er, thank you so very much.”

Je’er breathed a sigh of relief.

“If it’s alright to ask, will you help me get to Coruscant, I need to testify in front of the Jedi Council?”

“Of course,” Satine stood, “do you need food, water?”

Je’er winced, “Sleep, first.”

“Khaami,” the Duchess turned, “give this young man a nice room.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Satine then stepped into a quiet conference room and called her favorite Jedi.

“Obi?”

“Satine, I-”

“I have the Sith Lord’s son, he rescued Tyra,” Satine blurbed, “he wants to testify in front of the Council.”

“Good, this is,” Master Yoda spoke, “collect him tonight, Master Kenobi will.”

Satine blushed, realizing that Obi-Wan was likely in a meeting, “Thank you, Master Jedi.”

Once she hung up, the Duchess came back to her seamstresses, whom Parna was entertaining.

“Good news, Your Grace?” Waldie asked.

Satine finally allowed herself to smile, “Wonderful news.”

“That’s needed in these times.” a seamstress ventured.

“I agree,” the Duchess nodded, “Parna, I think we can repurpose some of my old gowns.”

The Lady nodded, “Should I bring some of the older ones down?”

“Please.”

Khaami came in as Parna left.

“A word, Satine?”

They made their way halfway towards the landing pad before Khaami spoke.

“I posted Gorg outside his room.”

“Protection?”

“Or in case of aggression.” Khaami answered.

“My Ben is coming to collect him,” Satine bounced on her heels, “he’ll be here tonight.”

Khaami grinned, eyeing her lady evilly, “You’re so giddy around him, you always have been.

The Duchess blushed, “Sometimes I still feel like we’re seventeen.”

Khaami snorted, “Yes, with six children.”

Satine sighed, “If Master Qui-Gon would’ve known we would have six children, he would’ve made our lives hell.”

“In a loving way, I’m sure.”

“Most definitely.” the Duchess agreed.

When Obi-Wan finally arrived, Satine was with Tyra in the med bay. She had woken up and was talking, but she had painful-looking white bulbs all over her arms and legs.

“At least I still have my hair.” Tyra joked with a wince.

“I’m just glad you’re safe, baby girl.” Satine smiled, “you know, it was a wonderful surprise when you were born.”

Tyra’s eyes watered, “Really?”

“Oh yes,” Satine placed her hand in Tyra’s, “I joked that I made such a mess I would need two towels.”

“But you really did need two.”

“What a lovely story.”

Satine turned and threw herself into Ben’s arms.

“It’s good to see you too, Darling.”

The Duchess kissed her Jedi until Tyra groaned.

“Uh, Dad, Lady Mother, I’m right here?”

Obi-Wan came to inspect his daughter, frowning at her injuries.

“Be nice to Je’er, Daddy,” Tyra warned, “he’s my boyfriend.”

Ben blanched, “A Sith-spawn?”

“Obi, he saved her life.”

The Jedi sighed, “Alright, Tyra, for you.”

Satine led Obi-Wan to where Je’er was sleeping. The poor child was thrashing in his sleep.

“Je’er!”

Obi-Wan gently shook the boy awake.

“You’re Master Kenobi.”

“I am.”

Je’er swallowed, “My father’s name is Sheev Palpatine.”

The room grew heavy with silence, and boils appeared on Je’er’s skin.

“Stay calm,” Obi-Wan ordered, “stay calm and they’ll go away.”

It worked.

Satine’s head spun, “Sheev? The Chancellor of the Galactic Senate, a Sith Lord?”

“We’ve been suspicious for a long time,” Obi-Wan explained, “but we’ll need this boy’s testimony, and his blood.”

“Take him then,” Satine urged, “quickly.”

Once Obi-Wan left, the Duchess stood staring at the sky for a minute longer. Her children were out there somewhere, three of them imprisoned. That Sith Lord was terrible, keeping them separate from one another. What did he want from them?

“Satine,” Khaami appeared, “I have the Prime Minister on the phone.”

Jaru Djarin suggested that Satine go to parliament and speak to the lords, because, as usual, they were very disgruntled and consumed by nonsense.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Satine assured, “will you come with me?”

“Unfortunately,” the Prime Minister sighed, “I’m giving a press conference just as parliament begins.”

Satine nodded, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Satine was in a fitting for tomorrow’s event, an old court dress reminiscent of Queen Mara’s style, only in Kryze colors, when she asked Waldie what time it was.

“Six in the evening.”

Satine said nothing, but her stomach rumbled.

“Your Grace?”

The Duchess lowered her eyes, “I forgot to eat today.”

“Forgive me, Satine,” Waldie began, “put you’ve lost much weight since the Count’s first visit.”

“Stress.” the Duchess sighed.

Waldie swallowed, accepting the answer even though she didn’t want to.

“Should I have Parna bring food to your room?” a seamstress questioned.

Satine hesitated, “A light dinner please, it would be good for me.”

Khaami came to retrieve Satine when her fitting was over.

“I just talked to Gorg,” she whispered, “he’s filing for retirement.”

“Now,” Satine gasped, “but-”

“I know he knows,” Khaami’s voice was low and understanding, “but he has been unwell even though he’s physically healthy.”

“PTSD?” Satine asked.

“He’s been having nightmares in the barracks,” Khaami frowned, “he’s terribly embarrassed.”

The Duchess balled her fists, “That God-awful Count and his apprentice!”

Khaami agreed, “I just wanted you to know.”

“I’d love to honor him somehow, a pension perhaps,” Satine decided, “seeing as he doesn’t like big events.”

The lady smiled, “That’s a good idea.”

“Come with me,” Satine hooked her arm through Khaami’s, “I need someone to make sure I eat.”

Parna was laughing with Jaym outside Satine’s door when the Duchess and her lady arrived.

“What’s this?” Khaami grinned.

Parna snorted, “Jaym has a strange sense of humor.”

“Does he?”

“Apparently,” Jaym shrugged, “most people don’t think I’m funny.”

Parna grinned, “You’re hilarious, Jaym.”

Satine turned to Khaami and raised her eyebrows.

“If you like, Your Grace,” she began, “I could make preparations for what we discussed and Parna could eat with you.”

“I would love that.” the Duchess replied.

Satine ate cheese and bread that night, the whole platter that was offered to her.

Parna patted the Duchess’ head, “Good girl, Satine.”

“Thank you.” Satine replied with a giggle.

“Should I help you dress for bed?”

“Please, Parna.”

As Satine lay in bed that night, she had no idea what was going on somewhere else in the galaxy, on Mustafar. Obi-Wan had commed her saying he and Je’er had made it, but when the Jedi Council come out of a meeting to find Mara Supreis and Tristan Wren in the med wing, along with three of the five padawans.

#fanfiction #fanfic #the clone wars #Duchess Satine #satine kryze #satine x obiwan #obi wan x satine #obi wan kenobi #obitine #korkie kryze #korkie kenobi

20 notes · View notes

agoddamn · 3 years

Text

Oh, it's that little Bonteri shit again. Wonder if we're at any time gonna talk about his mom's support for Care Bear genocide or the hilarity of her whining about her husband killed by clones (people with no rights)?

Star Wars is doing that funny thing again where we are TECHNICALLY portraying a democracy but it populates it with characters that run on dynastic inheritance; this Bonteri brat is LITERALLY just Some Fuckin Kid to a bunch of politicians. His mom being a politician is completely irrelevant to his qualifications to be here. But, y'know, The Drama

"We can't just let them take him! He'll be killed!" well maybe if you didn't let RANDOM FUCKING CHILDREN into critical negotiations...

Hang on, why did the droids drag him away anyway? This is being hosted on Mandalore BECAUSE it's neutral. That means that Mandalore's security is supposed to be enforcing the rules.

Am I gonna have to put up with comphet again?

Wait, he ACTUALLY has the title of senator? Even though he's like fourteen? How--ah, what the fuck ever

I do like how Ahsoka has these consistent little...gremlin animations

The backs of these purple senate guards are identical to clone trooper backs (rectangular pack with two lines and a circle on it, cylinder in small of back) because mold reuse is the true king of design

This is legit How You Can Tell how much a series's sense of design leans towards the toyetic; characters designed around being able to share the same mold for major body parts. You also see this a lot in Kamen Rider and Super Sentai, where goons will tend to have a copied chestpiece with unique helmet.

Is this sword logo on the chairs Mandalore's? This ship doesn't look all that art deco, and it was being run by R2, and the senate guards were outside it

This kid is not very smart huh

"There is another option" is it terrorism?

"Like [the Republic] helped my mother?!" you do remember that your mother was not part of the Republic and killed by DOOKU without any chance for the Republic to do anything, right...?

Like, this is a perfectly normal way to process grief but I'd appreciate it if someone pointed out how irrational it is

"a group who are noble and allied with my cause" ah yes, terrorism

How much longer til this little shit dies

[fake shock] Oh my goodness, terrorists!

Ahsoka's winter hood with the montral pockets and little puffballs is really fucking cute

There's often an implication/outright statement in fic that Mandalorian armor is androgynous but that is definitely not the case with what I'm looking at

There's not a whole lotta consistency with Mandalorian names, is there? "Satine" and "Bo-Katan" don't sound like they came from the same planet

Why do I have to deal with a fake relationship plot with Ahsoka and some walking, talking spoiled milk rather than literally anyone fucking else

.............so Bo-Katan's a lesbian

>Mandalorians are bullying droids and this is supposed to be ominous regardless of the fact that our heroes bully droids 24/7

WHATEVER

Death Watch doesn't recognize Ahsoka? Wasn't she pretty publicly involved in ruining their plans?

"Tell your woman to leave us" oh these guys sound VERY egalitarian and not sexist at ALL

Love how these guys are bragging about having Dooku's location as if that information isn't several hours outdated by now and Dooku isn't a guy who moves around a lot

"We are battle droids no longer. Now we are slaves." NOW? Oh, whatever

These guys look vaguely Mongolian? The girl's facial decos made me think Mirialan for a second, but I think they're new. In a very weird cultural appropriation boomerang, this dude's hat looks like Amidala's

"You have taken our women" ...oh, I was not expecting the rape implications to be that, uh, not-implied

So traditionalist Mandos are DEFINITELY pretty fucking misogynist

>there's not even an animation of Ahsoka taking her coat off, it just vanishes between frames

Goddamn, this really does drag when everything that's going to happen is so blatantly choreographed

I'm tired of Deus Ex Artoo

What kind of shitty terrorists don't even bother to take a ship that was parked on their front lawn?

"You know I can't go with you" LITERALLY why??? He hasn't committed any crimes by Republic standards. He's got valuable info on a terrorist group. He has similar goals to Ahsoka and he's just proven himself quite fucking incompetent on his own.

"We could try to change things from the inside" LITERALLY WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?? Dooku is a SITH, there is no "changing from the inside" with that shit!

"We make a pretty good team, don't we?" No

"We'll see each other again" FUCK

#boots watches tcw

20 notes · View notes

cienie-isengardu · 3 years

Text

Some thoughts after watching The Mandalorian season 2

I finally watched the second season of The Mandalorian and I know that the whole deal about darksaber started with TCW and Rebels but good damn, I still hate this concept. As a fan of Mandalorians, it emotionally hurts me that the new canon changed their culture from "the best should lead us" to revolve around "Jedi weapon" as the symbol of mandalorian ruler that gives some weird claims to the throne of all things. Like wtf, Mandalorians aren't monarchy, they don't need princesses and duchess or whatever.

The idea of diverse social classes based on wealth and / or political connections was interesting matter in TCW as the difference between Satine's New Mandalorians and Pre's Death Watch - a change in mentality that most likely happened under Republic's dominance over the last few hundred years, but applying the idea of aristocracy or just claims to throne to mandalorian warriors in current situation is such a nonsense I have hard time to wrap my mind about it. Why the hell the darksaber is even needed to reunite mandalorian folks? There was an Empire that devastated their land, enslaved them (at least in Legends). Aren't those reasons enough to unite people against common oppressors? If Bo must fight for dominance, then she should just challenge other clan leaders to duel. It was a mandalorian tradition acknowledged even in The Clone Wars. Why can't it work now?

Also, addressing Bo as lady irritated me back in the Rebels, but now to hear Boba calling her princess (even if just as an insult) surprised me in a bad way and the fact that suddenly the darksaber can be passed to someone else only if a said person win it in a fight is... whatever. I did not watch all Rebels seasons so I barely know what is going on with Mandalore anymore, but Bo got the darksaber from Sabine just like that, now she can't take it from Din who doesn't want it at all and this is Disney's idea of compliance with the canon and coherence of sources? Uh. Why do I still bother, I wonder...

And I see Disney is still all about Boba not being Mandalorian (which frankly he always trod on the edge between be one or nor be at all) but Bo-Katan's remark how he disgraced the armor would made bigger impact on me, if Jango was first acknowledged by her as a great Mandalorian warrior (if not the leader of True Mandalorian, I'm not even that demanding) and just then insulted for not following mandalorian traditions or whatever.

It was nice to see Boba again, but the interaction between Bo, Koska and Boba didn't make much of impact on me. The little fight was pretty nice though. And in all seriousness, from the final episode I liked the most how the four women teamed up and were badass together while Din of course get his ass kicked by a death trooper.

15 notes · View notes

tessiete · 3 years

Text

This was for the prompt from @treescape who asked what would happen if Obi-Wan had taken Korkie back with him from Mandalore after Satine's death. I said, "Well, at the very least it would force him and Anakin to talk to each other, and maybe stop the whole Fall of the Republic from happening."

And she said, "They won't talk."

And I said, "I'LL SHOW YOU!"

But then, she was right.

I tried. THE PUNISHMENT OF SILENCE

She throws him on a ship, and says “This one’s yours,” and they’re already away by the time he comprehends she meant the pilot on board with him.

He’s pale to the point of imagination, and trembling - a reflection of how Obi-Wan imagines he himself must look, bloodless and haunted. His eyes seem hollowed out from the shadows between stars, his hair lank and lifeless, his mouth a jagged streak of blood cut straight across his face as though his jaw has been neatly bisected, his tongue cut out, and silence fills the space between them.

But he steps away from the controls at Obi-Wan’s approach.

He says nothing to the boy as he staggers to the pilot’s seat, and straps himself in. He hears the sounds of violent retching being pulled, and pulled, and then replaced with shattered breathing, and he spares him a glance to shout, “Do you know how to man the cannons on this ship?”

The boy lifts his head. His hair has tumbled out of its militant lines to hang over his eyes like some wild thing hunted.

“The cannons,” Obi-Wan repeats. “Can you use them?”

The boy nods.

“Then do so,” Obi-Wan says.

He turns his attention back to the front. They are approaching the edge of the atmosphere, but are still trailing the most dedicated of their enemy’s pilots behind them. He feints left, then swings back to the right, trying to shake their aim as his companion slides into the gunner’s seat, and places his hands on the controls.

A strange look falls over his face then - something cool, and placid - and Obi-Wan too feels himself steady. He ceases to think of the sweat trickling down his brow, or the ache between his shoulders, or the pounding of his heart. Instead, he is flying. They are buoyed by the wind, then freed of atmospheric friction, and at last, with a contemptuous spit of the cannons, loosed from their pursuers and the strangling grip of Mandalore.

Without thought, Obi-Wan primes the hyperdrive, sets a course for Coruscant, and presses them into the stars. The ship resists for a moment, unwilling to let go of the planet, but soon gives in, and they are thrown into the cosmic whirlpool of hyperspace where time and place fall silent.

And Obi-Wan can think.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“It’s Korkie. I’m Korkie,” the boy gasps, his hands falling away from the console and his calm with it. “Kiorkicek Kryze. My mother - my aunt…”

He shakes his head, his mouth still open but his voice has broken into absence.

“Your mother?” Obi-Wan says. “Bo-Katan? She wanted you off the planet -”

But Korkie shakes his head harder. He swallows. He swallows again, still gaping.

“My mother - she died. I saw - I tried to save her. I tried to help - she said you’d help her.”

He feels a creeping numbness spreading from his joints, like muscles stiffening in the wake of a blaster’s stun.

“Satine,” he says, knowing and yet unsure. “Satine is your mother.”

“Yes,” Korkie says. “We were going to leave together. She said - we’d leave together when you came.”

“Your father -?”

“No.” It falls from him like a single tear, stifled before the onslaught of grief.

This one’s yours, she’d said.

“No,” whispers Obi-Wan in kind.

And then Korkie is crying, desperate, greedy torrents of grief that stutter out between his teeth like laughter. He presses a hand to his mouth, and wraps an arm about his middle to barricade the doors, but they are flung open, and the vacuum of his heart is filled by loud, rushing sobs.

Obi-Wan barely hears him, caught instead listening to the voices of the past. Bo-Katan’s. Satine’s. Qui-Gon’s. He unbuckles the straps from his waist, and his shoulders, and slips from his seat to stand.

“I...I need to change,” he says. “You should get some rest. We’ll hit planetfall in about six hours.”

This ship is unfamiliar, but equally unimaginative in its design, and so he stumbles to the fresher without effort. The room is warm, but there is no comfort in sonics the way there is in a shower. There is no rhythm of water beating out its rage upon your skin, at first soothing, then numb, then painful in its insistence. There is no cleansing fall of rain, no slick of wet across your skin, no satisfying whirlpool of dirt and grit spinning out of sight down the drain. Instead, the detritus of battle falls from your body, settling like the dust of memory upon the floor.

He steps out of the fresher, and feels no different.

The cockpit is abandoned when he returns, and the galley too, and he thinks perhaps, somehow, he is alone again in space.

He presses his hand against the door to the officer’s quarters, and it slides open with a gust of wind. Inside, curled atop the coarse coverlet of an unforgiving bunk, Korkie Kryze lies asleep. His hands are tucked beneath his arms, and his knees drawn up as if he’s cold, but he does not shiver. He barely breathes. In his stillness, Obi-Wan studies him.

There is familiarity in his expression, his brow furrowed, plagued by worry even in dreams, his hair swept across his forehead. The slope of his nose. The bow of his lips, though the bottom one is red and raw as though he habitually frets at it. There is a deep, purple bloom around the orbit of his left eye, and the cracked seal of broken skin like the stain of a fist upon his cheek. Obi-Wan touches his own cheek, as though the blow might be reflected there as well, but it is smooth. His own injuries lie elsewhere.

For a moment, he debates waking the boy, debates ordering him to wash and dress, but he can’t think of seeing her again, or himself, or whichever ghost might be looking back at him from behind those eyes. So instead, he unfolds the spare blanket at the end of the bed, provided to compensate for the chill of deep space, and lays it gently atop the sleeping form.

He spends the rest of the trip in the cockpit staring out at the stars, and thinking of absolutely nothing at all.

They land on Coruscant in the middle of a beautiful day, and Anakin is there to meet him.

“Another Council sanctioned secret?” he spits, as Obi-Wan stumbles down the ramp. “Another noble cause? What have you done with my ship?”

“I’m sorry,” says Obi-Wan, as Ahsoka shoulders her master aside to wrap Obi-Wan in a fierce embrace.

“We were worried,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

She pulls away, or he does, and her eyes catch on movement behind him.

“Korkie?” Her voice rises with surprise.

The boy still wears the grey uniform of his insurgency, though it is bloodied and torn, and he hangs over himself with his arms clasped around his middle as though to keep from spilling across the docks. He looks up at Ahsoka’s call, and blinks in the light of the day.

She leaves Obi-Wan, and he falters as she goes, moving to catch Korkie as he falls apart in her arms.

“You went to Mandalore?” Anakin asks, his voice threaded with outrage at this hypocrisy.

“I had to,” Obi-Wan says. “I had to.”

“Where’s Satine?” demands Ahsoka, from a distance. “Where’s his aunt?”

“Dead.”

Ahsoka is the first to recover.

“We should take him to the Halls, master,” she says, appealing to an Anakin still frozen in scrutinizing his own master. “I think his arm is broken, and his eye -”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and Obi-Wan feels the focus levelled upon him strain and snap like an elastroband. “Let’s do that.”

They move slowly, up the steps, through the hangar, and past the minor customs and hazard authorities, and through the grand hallways of the Temple. Ahoska keeps her arm around Korkie’s waist, and lets him lean upon her, limping with exhaustion. Beside him, Obi-Wan can feel Anakin hovering close, but not touching, as though one or both of them might shatter with contact. He doesn’t reach out, and he is unaware of anything else until they come to the Halls of Healing and are ushered inside.

Then it is all confusion.

Korkie is pulled away from Ahsoka with a small cry as his arm is jostled, and probing fingers are pressed to his cheek. He grips Ahsoka’s hand in his own, and holds on as she tells the healers the little bit she has managed to glean since their arrival. The healers, unsatisfied, ask question after question about Mandalore, about his injuries, about the time since their occurence. They ask what hurts, and where, and how they happened. They ask if this was a fist, or a stick, or the back of a blade. They ask if he fell, or was pushed. They ask if there’s anything else, anything more, anything he’s hiding from them.

And Bant is there, too.

He can tell by the faint scent of deep sea salt, and the coolness of her hands upon his skin as she turns his face from the chaos of Korkie’s arrival to focus on her, and her alone.

“What about you?” she asks. “Where are you hurt?”

“I’m not hurt,” he mutters, the words habitual though no sound comes to fill them with weight.

She shines a light in his eyes, and he winces, turning away.

“A concussion,” she says. “At least. And what else?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m fine. What about -?”

“He’s being taken care of,” she replies. “Now, let us do the same for you.”

The little light goes back in her pocket, and she takes him by the hand like a child. He goes with her, willingly, casting only one look back to find Anakin, watching him as always, as he is led away.

The room she takes him to is small, and white, and the door shuts behind her keeping back the world with it. She guides him to sit upon a little bed that reminds him of the one he once had in Qui-Gon’s quarters, but when she puts her hands on his shoulders to lay him flat, he gasps, and resists.

“No,” he says. “No, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice calm. “That’s okay, you don’t have to lie down. Just look at me, okay? And we’re going to figure this out. Yes?”

He nods. He trusts Bant. “Yes.”

“Now, we know about the concussion. Can you tell me if you were hit, or struck by anything?”

“I fell out of a ship,” he says, and to her credit, Bant doesn’t even pause between this question and the next.

“Were you alone?”

“No. I was with Satine. We were shot down. The ship fell, and we had to evacuate.”

The way he says it, the way he looks in this moment...Bant remembers how it was when he first came home from Mandalore, and she pulls a stool close to sit as near him as possible.

“Where is Satine now?”

He inhales sharply, the breath catching on his teeth, and tears still trapped deep in his chest.

“Do you know, I think I’m rather tired? I’d like to return to my quarters, now.”

“Obi-Wan -”

“I’d like to return to my room.”

“I know,” says Bant, taking his hand in hers. “I’m just going to give you a quick check over to make sure you’re not bleeding out anywhere, right? We know that’s very much a possibility with you, don’t we?” She smiles, trying to nudge him into something safe and familiar.

Very briefly, he smiles back, and relents. “Alright.”

“So,” she continues, pulling a holochart from a nearby drawer. “When you fell out of the ship, how did you land?”

“Badly.”

“Like how?”

“I hit my shoulder. I rolled. I tried to protect -”

But Bant cuts him off before he is strangled by memory.

“Okay, your shoulder, your ribs. How do your hips feel?”

“Fine,” he says. “I could walk after. I could run.”

“Your arms?”

“I don’t know.”

She sets her chart and stylus aside. “Can I see?” she asks.

He shrugs, but makes no objection when she reaches for the thick layer of a Mandalorian flight shirt that shrouds his torso. She lifts from the hem, and pulls the fabric upwards. His arms ache as they are drawn above his shoulders, and the high neck of the collar squeezes some colour back into his cheeks. He flinches in the chill of the room, and Bant apologises, pulling a pale green blanket across his back.

She frowns as she examines the markings upon his skin.

“Obi-Wan, that must’ve been some fall.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She doesn’t acknowledge this as she prods at him with impossibly soft, webbed fingers, frowning and tutting at each wince and grimace she elicits from him.

“You’ve got some broken ribs,” she announces. “Some deep bruising. Let me see your hands.”

He gives her his left, and then his right when the first passes inspection. The second is not so lucky.

“This your saber hand?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve two broken fingers here,” she says. “Do you remember that happening?”

“No.”

“And bruising. Like a boot. Did someone step on your hand?”

“I don’t know.”

She taps the end of each, and he tries not to cry out, suddenly aware of the pain flaring there.

“The good news is, you’ve not lost any feeling,” she says. “The bad news is, you’re going to need a dip. I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan.”

“I don’t want bacta.”

“I know, but that concussion alone needs more sustained treatment if you don’t want to end up with some significant issues. And your hand…”

“I’m fine,” he says, pulling his hand away to hide it in the folds of the blanket. “You said I could go back to my rooms.”

“You know I didn’t,” she says. She knows him. She knows this dance, even if the steps are heavier and more fatigued than normal. She does not rise to his bait. She waits him out.

At last, his shoulders heave and droop, and he gives in.

“Where’s Anakin?” he asks.

“Probably outside, half hysterical with worry by now,” she says.

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Where’s Korkie?”

“Who’s that?”

“The boy who came with me. He’s Satine’s - he’s Satine’s…”

She hesitates, not wanting to guess, but by his struggle she thinks the answer can only be one thing.

“Her son?”

He nods, a wordless gasp of distress breaking free of him. She wants to lean forward, to embrace him, but he’s still so distant that she knows he would not let her. So instead, Bant puts her hand upon his head, and strokes his hair over and over again from his crown to the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t know she’d found someone else.”

But that’s not it. He shakes his head vehemently, as he clutches the blanket closer, and grits out a reply which Bant could not have anticipated no matter how many years of friendship lay between them.

“She didn’t,” he says. “He’s mine.”

And with that confession tumbling free, so too, comes grief, like huge rolling waves pulling him under, and spinning him upwards until he is disoriented and gasping for air. She doesn’t wait, now, instead reaching out to gather him in her arms, giving him something to hold onto, as the tides of anguish rise and rise, and eventually fall, and him with them, into a deep, exhausted sleep.

She eases him back onto the pallet, pulling the cover high, and dims the lights.

In Admittance, she inputs her data into the medcomp, and makes a recommendation for immediate bacta immersion. Her face is somber, and stoic, showing nothing of what she feels or thinks of this turn of events. She doesn’t quite know, herself, in any case.

Anakin is waiting, his elbows braced upon his knees, one leg bouncing, standing out like a bruise against the ceramplast white of the hall.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” he demands, rising to meet her as soon as she steps away from the monitor.

“Asleep,” she says. “We’re waiting on a dip. Where’s Korkie?”

“Ahsoka’s with him,” he says. “Did he tell you about the Duchess?”

“He did.”

Anakin nods. She watches as his jaw clenches, and the muscles there leap as he chews up the marrow of his thoughts.

“Kriffing idiot,” he spits. “I would have gone with him, if he’d asked.”

“Does he know that?”

“He should,” Anakin insists. “But he doesn’t trust me.”

“He doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, great job,” Anakin says, a bark of laughter punctuating his words. It rings through the vaulted ceilings of the hall, a clarion of upset. “Now he’s hurt, and his girlfriend is dead.”

“Anakin!”

But Anakin’s outrage is mounting, and gathering like an Alderaanian storm falling off the mountains.

“Oh, don’t defend him,” he says. “Don’t pretend this isn’t on him, because it is. Just like the Hardeen thing. It was his choice to go alone. It was his choice to turn his back on us. It was his choice to leave me behind. I don’t feel sorry for him, Master Eerin. I don’t. He’s done this himself.”

Bant stares at him. She says nothing. She only waits until the impact of his words rebound from the blank slate of her response and fall back on him. She waits for him to hear himself, and she knows he does when his mechanical hand forms a fist, and his shoulders turn him acutely away from her gaze. Anakin sighs, his voice turning soft, his words clipped short.

“Just comm me when he’s out of bacta,” he says. He stalks out of the Halls without a backward glance.

Bant sighs, her guard dropping just in time for her to hear the soft click of another door closing from behind her. She turns with an admonition on her lips. If Obi-Wan has roused himself to chase after his padawan, he’ll have no help from her.

But instead, it is Anakin’s padawan she meets.

“Master Eerin?” she calls, slipping out of the room behind her. “Did Anakin talk to you about Obi-Wan?”

Bant frowns, then turns a rueful eye on Ahsoka, a smile twisting at her lips.

“In a manner of speaking,” she says.

“Oh,” says Ahsoka. “He’s still mad about the Rako Hardeen incident.”

“So I gathered,” says Bant. She flicks through pages of data on her holochart, idly reminding herself of the litany of abuse Obi-Wan had come to her with following that particular debacle so recently ago.

Ahsoka watches her intently, her head cocked. She runs her hands nervously over a lekku before she speaks again. “Aren’t you still mad?” she asks.

“No,” says Bant, looking at her again, and seeing only youth where the Republic sees a Commander.

“Why not?”

“A healer learns only to be grateful when someone comes back from death,” she says. “It doesn’t happen often enough to grow bitter for it.”

Ahsoka nods, and frowns again. It is clear that there is more she’d say, and more she’s considered in the weeks following Obi-Wan’s undercover mission. Things that she cannot say to her master, who is still angry, or to Obi-Wan who is still too lost to guide anyone with authority. So Bant sets her chart aside, and sits against the wall, gesturing for Ahsoka to join her.

“I wish they’d talk,” she says, as she drops into the seat next to Bant. “I mean, they do talk. We had that whole mission to Onderon, and everything was fine. I mean, mostly. But then...why wouldn’t Master Obi-Wan have come to us?”

“I don’t know, Ahsoka,” says Bant. “But I do know it was never meant as a slight against you. Whatever is between Obi-Wan and your master has nothing to do with how Obi-Wan feels about you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve known Obi-Wan since the creche, and I can tell you: he’s always been like this.”

Ahsoka is silent for a moment, considering this, but before her contemplation can slide into brooding, Bant intervenes, tapping her forearm with the stylus to draw her back to the present.

“What about that young man you carried in here? Korkie, was it?”

“Yeah,” she says. “He’s the Duchess’ nephew. We worked together the last time I was on Mandalore. The Prime Minister was establishing a black market, and he helped catch him.”

“By yourselves?” she asks, caught somewhere between surprise and a familiar chagrin.

“Well, with friends,” she says. “And his Aunt.”

“Sounds like a good kid,” says Bant, then laughs at Ahsoka’s grimace of distaste. “Tell me about him.”

“Oh, I don’t know him that well,” she replies. “He was really interested in the Jedi when we met, though. Kept asking about the Temple, and lightsabers, and Jedi philosophy. He’d mentioned something about Master Seva once, but I don’t remember enough about the Old Age philosophers to know what he meant.”

“I suppose philosophy and literature classes have somewhat fallen by the wayside in the past couple years,” Bant says.

“I guess,” says Ahsoka. “But I don’t think I’d have time to write essays while in the middle of a dogfight, you know?”

“Tell me,” she says, pushing just a little further than is probably wise. “Did Korkie ever mention anything about his father?”

“No,” says Ahsoka. “Just that the Duchess was like a mother to him. That she raised him, and he grew up mostly in the palace. I assume he’s an orphan. Maybe he doesn’t remember. Or maybe it’s too painful to talk about. I didn’t ask.”

“No, no,” Bant assures her, patting her hand fondly. “Of course not. Do you think he’d mind if I went in to visit him?”

“Korkie? He was asleep when I left.”

“That’s for the best. I just want to give him a quick check up. Make sure nothing was missed. You’d better go after your master - make sure he doesn’t blow up something we can’t replace.”

Ahsoka smiles at that, and springs to her feet eager to be directed towards some useful task.

“You mean himself,” she says. “Anything else he could probably fix.”

“Or improve.”

“Or that!” Ahsoka agrees, laughing now. She gives Bant a quick bow, then exits the hall with a quick, and sturdy step while Bant slips silently into the room at her back.

It’s quiet inside, the air is warm, and it may as well be the same room she’d vacated earlier for all the similarity of the figure on the bed. He looks like Obi-Wan - the way she remembers him. He looks like he did in those in-between years of childhood and adolescence. His hair follows the same line, his brow furrows the same way, and in the soft light she takes a small sample of his blood and confirms that which she already knew for sure.

Anakin is waiting for him when he wakes. He sits at his bedside, and watches as he rises up through the fathoms of sleep, buoyed to the surface by piercing shafts of light, like a diver on Mon Cala. Anakin can feel his muscles twitch as consciousness returns in the dry warmth of the palm pressed flush against his own.

“What time is it?” Obi-Wan asks, blinking him into focus.

“It’s late,” he replies.

Obi-Wan relaxes, his head rolling back to settle against his pillow. “You should go to bed,” he says, and Anakin huffs with laughter.

“We’re way beyond that, old man.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, and that’s just so typical that Anakin smirks.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Good.”

“Are you?”

The pleasant warmth of drowsiness is stripped away in his next breath, and Anakin can feel the air turn so cold that it raises gooseflesh across his arms, and freezes against Obi-Wan’s lips. His fingers flex against the sheets, and Anakin’s hand tightens in response, keeping him there when he’d rather turn away.

“Don’t -” he warns, but Anakin doesn’t listen. He never does.

“You were in bacta for three days,” he says. “You could have died. All because you couldn’t bear to come to me first. To ask me. To trust me.”

“I do trust you, Anakin.”

“Don’t lie to me, too,” he says.

“It’s the truth,” he swears. “I couldn’t - The Council -”

“I don’t care what the Council said,” Anakin protests. “I would have come for you, master.”

Obi-Wan blinks rapidly up at the lights overhead. Anakin can feel as he grasps clumsily at the insubstantial wisps of the Force, cloudy and distant with sedation, and grips his hand more firmly still. He, at least, is solid.

“What of Korkie?” Obi-Wan asks, at last.

Anakin slides his hand free.

“The kid? He’s fine. A little beat up, but nothing a couple of bacta patches and some bone knitters couldn’t fix. Ahsoka’s with him now.”

“Good,” says Obi-Wan, his breaths coming more and more easily. “That’s good.”

Anakin licks his lips, and sits forward, accepting of but not resigned to the fact that he will never get an admission from Obi-Wan that isn’t first willingly proposed. He knows this. It’s fine. They can talk about the kid.

“Why’d you bring him?” he asks. “What happened on Mandalore?”

“There was a coup,” says Obi-Wan in a tone like the salt flats of the Jundland Wastes. “Satine fell, and her government was usurped.”

“By who?”

“Maul.”

Anakin spits a curse like acid, but Obi-Wan scarcely seems to note it. Instead, he keeps talking as though Maul is the least of his story.

“But he wasn’t alone,” he says. “He had his brother. And Death Watch turned the people. The city was lost. I only meant to get her out.”

“And Korkie.”

“I took him because his aunt told me to.”

“Satine did?”

“She’s not his aunt,” his master says, the admission coming like a weary sigh. “She’s his mother, and I...he’s my son.”

There are many things that Anakin feels in this moment. There is a nasty, vindictive kind of ache that licks at his throat like flames when he hears that Maul had brought his own brother, when Obi-Wan had not. There is sorrow for the Duchess, and righteous indignation on her behalf at the perfidy of her people. There is a whipping cyclone of confusion and disbelief as Obi-Wan refers to a second woman whom Anakin doesn’t know, and then a son he’s already met, but who should be impossible. And an anger as this settles in, and he realises the depth of his master’s betrayal.

“Your son,” he repeats, and Obi-Wan only nods. He rises, having nothing more and far too much to say, and palms open the door. He spares Obi-Wan only a single moment from the threshold. “You should have told me,” he says.

And Obi-Wan, still gazing at the ceiling, still gripping the pleats of bedsheets in his hand, just shakes his head. “I didn’t know.”

#my fic #prompts #korkie is a kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #gffa #sw fanfic

44 notes · View notes

ladyrynofsunnydale · 3 years

Link

Bo Katan Week Day 5/ Satine Lives AU

Title: How Do You Pick Up the Threads of an Old Life?

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Bo-Katan Kryze & Satine Kryze Summary: Post-Lawless, but Satine lives. Bo-Katan and Obi-Wan were able to save Satine, and with the Republic’s help Satine was once again ruler of Mandalore. Everything should be happy and back to normal, right? After being apart for almost twenty years, two sisters, once on opposite sides of the same conflict, have to learn how to work together again.

Author’s Note: Day 5 of Bo-Katan Week! I am having so much fun this week and am so enjoying writing, editing, and also reading and seeing other’s work! So this is part of a novel length AU fic I’m working on, so I took a snapshot to post for this week. I would recommend reading ‘End of One Era, Beginning of Another’ first as there are some references, but it’s not necessarily mandatory. Credit for the chapter title to Lord of the Rings: Return of the King.

Tagging: @bokatanweek

Click on the link up top to read or continue reading below

Satine sat in her sitting room, her head in her hands. After helping retake Mandalore from Maul’s Death Watch, Obi-Wan and the rest of the Republic troops had left that afternoon. She had just barely kept herself from asking him to stay, instead just hugging him then letting him walk out of her life once again. She’d just have to worry about him being a General in the Grand Army of the Republic alone.

Her door whooshed open and armored boots came into view.

“Orange tea still your favorite?” Bo-Katan’s voice asked, reaching out a steaming cup. Satine stared at it for a moment before sitting up and reaching for it.

“Most days,” she responded, taking a sip before looking back up at Bo. She sighed resignedly. “Bo we’re going to need to have a talk.” Bo sank into the chair next to her.

“I figured.”

Satine watched her as she stared into the fireplace. Suddenly, looking at her there, she looked so young. The big sister in her wanted to reach out and shield her, tell her everything was going to be ok. But in reality, she didn’t know if that was true. Mandalore, Satine, Bo-Katan, her commandos, they had a long road ahead of them. Yes Bo-Katan and her fighters had come in at a clutch moment, rescuing both Satine and Obi-Wan before Maul could get them in his grasp, but that didn’t negate all the rest they had done prior to Maul’s takeover.

“Tomorrow?” Satine asked. Bo looked over at her, then back to the fire, nodding.

“Tomorrow.”

Satine finished her tea and they sat in silence, the only sound the popping of the fire.

“I have something for you,” Satine said and got up to move to her desk. Bo followed her with her eyes while she opened up one of the locked drawers and removed a small wooden box. Returning, she handed it to Bo. Bo gingerly accepted it, her eyes wary, and opened the lid to look inside. The wary look quickly changed to surprise as she lifted the beskar leaf brooch out.

“How?” she asked, turning the leaf over and running her finger along the edge.

“Fenn Rau. After...he thought I’d want it. To have something of yours.”

“You kept it? All these years? Even after…?” she trailed off.

“You were, are, my sister Bo. I love you, and I wanted to be able to remember our good days.”

Bo stared at the box, then handed it back to Satine.

“Keep it. As a promise from me. That that Bo-Katan is not dead.”

Satine took the box back and the two of them just stared at each other until there was a knock on the door and it slid open. One of her aides walked in with a tray of food.

“I knew you hadn’t eaten so…” she paused, glimpsing Bo-Katan.

“Thank you, Leanna,” Satine said, standing to accept the food. Leanna looked from her to Bo.

“I can…”

“It’s fine, I was leaving anyways,” Bo said, standing, but Satine reached forward and grasped her arm, releasing her when she flinched.

“Please stay. Leanna if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not,” she said and bustled out of the room. She returned a few minutes later with another tray and Bo sighed as she took it and sat beside Satine. They ate in silence until Satine stifled a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bo asked, looking up from her tray.

“You still eat like an anooba,” she answered, smiling behind her hand. Bo’s eyebrows pinched together, wrinkling her brow.

“Yeah, well, no real eating etiquette in Death Watch.”

“I would say no fashion sense either, but your hair is quite fashionable.”

“It’s utilitarian. Keeps it out of my face.”

“Hmmm,” Satine hummed, amusement filling her voice. “Keep telling yourself that ner vod.”

“Your hairpieces are the worst.”

Satine made a face.

“I must agree.”

“Then why do you wear them?!”

“Because it’s expected.”

Bo shook her head, shoveling more food into her mouth.

“Yeah, you can keep that whole Duchess title thing,” she said after she swallowed. “I’m good.”

Bo walked into Satine’s office the next day. Despite the sense of normalcy they’d had the night before, tension was in the air once again.

“Please, sit,” Satine said, gesturing to the chair across her desk. Bo took a seat but perched on the edge, staring at her sister. “I meant what I said when I told the populace we’d be reevaluating the protection of Mandalore. But Bo-Katan, I can’t just forget everything that happened.”

“I don’t need you to tell me I’ve made mistakes. I’m quite aware of them. But the people are right. Mandalore needs to be able to protect itself. Me. My people. We’re loyal to Mandalore.”

“But are you loyal to me? I don’t want to have to worry about an insurrection every few months.”

“Satine, I meant what I said last night. The Bo-Katan you grew up with, she’s not wholly dead. But our people are warriors. It’s in our blood. Mine and even yours. It’s been a while, but I know you have some fire too.”

“But I won’t let it…”

“Destroy Mandalore, I know.” She looked down at her hands. “I, and most of those who follow me, want to see Mandalore prosper. Thrive. If you do right by our people, we will stand by you.”

“I need to know if I can trust you.”

Bo felt a stab of hurt, but also shame, in her gut.

“I will stand by you, ner vod. I still do not quite understand you, but I do understand that you are trying to do right by our people. And I meant what I said to that Chancellor. I have no interest in ruling.”

“And your people? Do you trust them?”

Bo thought of her commandos. Those who’d followed her. She’d lost a fair amount of her Nite Owls to Maul’s allegiance, but many still remained. And a good many ex-Death Watch remained with her as well. She knew a passable amount of them personally and many more through their superiors.

“Ursa, who was my second in command of the Nite Owls, I trust unconditionally,” Bo responded. “A few others I trust as well. We are going to need to go through the remaining and confirm their loyalty. It will take some time.”

Satine nodded her head.

“Take all the time you need. And a new name. You’ll need a new name.”

A few days passed and Bo was sitting in her office using a stylus to write up reports on one of her datapads. There had been an incident already between a few of her commandos when Bo had declared that they were going to continue to stay under Satine’s rule and were not going to overthrow her government. Luckily no one was seriously hurt, but she did have a few commandos in the medcenter and also a few now in the brig. She knew this was just the tip of the iceberg and it was going to be a long process of weeding through her commandos.

She felt a stab of guilt at the thought and paused in writing the commandos names she had locked up. She would have to do something about those who refused to bow to Satine’s rule, even though they had been loyal to Bo. Loyal to Death Watch and Mandalore. They had stayed with her and hadn’t hesitated to fight bravely against Maul and their brothers and sisters who’d thrown their lot in with him. And now she was asking them to throw their lot in with a government Death Watch had sworn to overthrow from Day 1? She was sure there had been grumblings when she’d made the decision to break Satine out of prison and to use her to get Mandalore back. And her commandos had trusted her then. Trusted that she knew what she was doing. But using Satine to take back their planet from a Sith and permanently allying themselves to her were two different things. Granted yes, it was the right thing to do; she’d rationalized that and understood that. Mandalore couldn’t keep on the trajectory that Death Watch had stood for. It would only lead to ruin and destruction, and her people deserved more. She hoped to be able to convey this and help her commandos understand. Her people respected her, she knew that. They wouldn’t have followed her if they hadn’t. But she had never quite made herself approachable. She’d have to do that over the next few weeks to hopefully allow those who had reservations to approach her and talk about it instead of dealing with it with blasters. How much the ex-Death Watch members would actually be willing to talk instead of fighting is another question, but she wanted to give her people as much of a shot as possible.

She continued on writing up her report when there was a knock on her door. She startled and dropped the stylus to reach for her blaster, but calmed herself. From what she knew and remembered of the palace, this was a small office. But to Bo, it felt lavish and gaudy. Sure Vizsla had been governor of Concordia and she had become familiar with his large office, but she herself had never had an office, despite being Lieutenant and leader of the Night Owls. This probably had a lot to do with Death Watch being offplanet and in one system or another for most of the time she had been Lieutenant. When they had still been on Concordia she’d used Vizsla's office in the mines when she’d needed it. But that office was spartan. A table with a few chairs. This office was bringing back memories of her childhood and was more richly decorated than even the Concordian governor’s office. The chairs were thickly padded with some type of leather and the desk was large and metallic with multiple holoscreens she could pull up and all the drawers she would ever need. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the flowing water in the gardens outside and could smell the leather, and in a way she could pretend she was nine years old and watching her Buir work, her small legs swinging while Satine, with her long blonde hair done up in a braid, sat beside her, discussing one thing or another about Sundari and governance.

The knock on her door sounded again and she released her blaster to reach for her stylus again and continued writing.

“Come in,” she called, and the door hissed open. She looked up and quirked an eyebrow in surprise. “Sati... your grace. This is a surprise.” Satine waved a hand at her and walked forward to grasp the back of one of the chairs.

“Please, Bo-Katan, you are still my sister. You’re allowed to call me Satine.” Bo closely watched her sister, and she noticed she seemed nervous. Some tells remained, despite how many years had passed. She glanced down at Bo’s hands and the stylus she was still holding. “You write your notes out with a stylus?” she asked, curiosity filling her voice. Bo glanced down at her own hands and with Satine standing in front of her she couldn’t help the memories that flooded her. Of all those nights those first few months with Death Watch. The flimsies and charcoal she’d stolen and all the letters she’d written to Satine. Of how she’d planned to find a way to send them to her sister. And how her big sister would swoop in and save her from these people. Those days were long gone, but even after, she’d preferred writing over typing or dictating. It gave her a sense of calm.

Gods she needed to stop this sentimental crap.

“Old habit I suppose.”

Satine nodded, her hands gripping the chair tightly.

“I’ve come to see if you would like to take dinner with me tonight.” Bo shifted uncomfortably and Satine quickly spoke again. “It would just be me, I promise. No advisors, no dignitaries.”

Bo twiddled with the stylus in her hand, flitting it between each of her fingers, and stared at the woman in front of her. She was dressed formally, her hair done up with lilies woven in it. She paused, looking at the lilies. She’d forgotten how much Satine had loved lilies. She almost always had a bowl in her room, until they’d had to flee to Concordia. The compound had always felt very sterile. Dinner, did she want to do dinner? Sure, she’d spent some time alone with her sister the past few days, but those times were few and far between. And looking at her now she felt like she was agreeing to have dinner with the Duchess, not her sister. The face looking at her was the face she’d learned to hate for so long.

But she needed to try. She’d loved her sister once. And if she was really honest with herself she’d missed her. She could try.

“Yes, I could do that,” she responded, clearing her throat, and she watched Satine relax. “What time?”

“In two hours if that works for you?”

Bo glanced at the chronometer on her desk.

“Yes, that should work. In your private rooms?” Satine nodded, a smile slipping over her face.

“Yes. Thank you, Bo. I’ll see you then.”

Bo gave up doing any work after thirty minutes of staring at her datapads and trying to write. She was able to finish up her report and then returned to her rooms, deciding to take a quick shower and wash her hair. Her rooms were close to the Protector barracks and though close to the royal wing, were not in it. There had been some discussion, very brief, about whether she should move into the royal wing, but objections both from Bo and the Protectors had silenced that debate quite quickly. The bedroom and sitting room were average sized and sparse, but they fit Bo fine.

After drying her hair, Bo stared at her wardrobe, or rather lack of it. She had been able to snag an extra flightsuit, and had a loose tunic and pants that she slept in. Flightsuit and armor would have to do.

Walking to Satine’s rooms, many of the people in the hallway gave her a wide berth, dropping their eyes and hurrying past, but Bo kept her head up and paid them no mind. The Protectors stationed in the royal wing and outside Satine’s doors glared at her but let her pass, and faster than Bo would have liked she was knocking on the door to the royal private dining room and was being told to enter.

Satine, to her surprise, was dressed casually in a simple dress and her hair was loose around her shoulders. The table was set simply, two place settings at the end of the table across from each other. Perfect distance for casual conversation without them being right on top of each other. Satine already had a glass of wine in her hand and she gestured for Bo to take the place setting across from her where there were two empty wine glasses.

“White or red?” she asked, placing her wine glass down.

“Um, red,” Bo answered, feeling out of her depth as she took a seat and Satine poured some of the red wine into her red wine glass. Bo ran her fingers through her hair and stared at the place setting. Of course there was a white and a red wine glass, and why were there so many forks?

“I tried to get them to allow me to set the table myself,” Satine said, and Bo looked up and met her eyes, “but you know how protocol is. You can use whatever fork you like.” Bo felt a small smile slip over her face. “I remember how much you disliked etiquette lessons.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it. I think our Governess would have strangled me if she could have.”

“Her screeching does still ring in my ears.”

Bo felt herself relax a little and reached for her wine and downed a little more than was proper. She’d had dinner with Satine before, just the other night in Satine’s office, so she didn't know why she was so nervous. She stared down at her place setting again.

“Which fork do I use first again? The outside and work my way in?”

Satine actually chuckled.

“See, you learned some things.”

“Do you remember that one time I showed up for my lessons covered in mud?” Satine smirked, setting her glass down.

“I don’t think her face could have gotten any redder. I had never seen her so angry. You know, I never asked. Where did you get so covered in mud?”

“Mom’s rose garden.” Satine actually laughed at that and Bo cracked a smile. “J’onn said that trickster nymphs grew at their roots, and that is why they had thorns but also had such beautiful flowers. I told him he was a liar, and uprooted one of mom’s bushes to prove it. They’d just been watered, so uprooting and then replanting it left me less than clean.” At that point Satine was laughing so hard she was crying and Bo was chuckling.

“I can see why you never offered up that information before,” Satine said, wiping some tears from her eyes and getting herself under control. Their mom loved her roses and protected them quite fiercely. “You were quite the wild child Bo.”

“Someone had to keep Mom and Buir on their toes. They’d become quite complacent with you.”

Bo felt herself relaxing even more as one of the chefs placed a salad on the plate in front of her. This felt...normal. Familiar. Before their parents had died, Bo had never failed to get Satine to crack a smile. That look that Satine had given her when she’d seen her that day in the marketplace ten years after she’d disappeared, when Bo’d just about said she hated her, had haunted her for years, despite lying to herself that it hadn’t. She knew Death Watch, Vizsla, would have hailed her a hero if she’d been able to kill Satine then. But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t pull the trigger. The lies Death Watch and she herself told herself each day had kept her from breaking down at seeing her sister again, but she couldn’t kill her. And now here she was, making her laugh again. Eating dinner with her again like nothing had happened.

The silence was comfortable as they ate, and when their main meal finally came they moved on to discussing plans at the docks and how they were dealing with food shipments in from the Republic. Once their mostly empty plates were taken away, Bo leaned up against her chair back, her wine glass in hand as she swirled the red liquid around. The alcohol had loosened some of her inhibitions and she actually relaxed her spine to slouch, though she did have to shift so that her armor didn’t dig into her hips.

Satine was the one to finally break the silence.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I have to know. What happened, at the compound all those years ago and…after.”

Bo stared at the swirling liquid in her glass before she set it back down on the table and pushed it away.

“You don’t want to know Satine.”

“I do. Please. I need to know.”

She felt Satine’s eyes on her and stood up and began pacing the room and running her hands through her hair. She finally came to a stop, her hands on the back of her chair.

“Carlson and I were about halfway to the hangar when I remembered Buir’s beskar’gam. He wouldn’t let me go, so I kicked him and ran. I couldn’t leave it for them to take. It was ours. Our family’s.” She paused. “Did...did Carlson make it?” she asked, and Satine shook her head sadly. Bo dropped her eyes and went on. “By the time I’d made it back to the right side of the compound, there were attackers between me and the hangar. So I headed for the garden. After the compound exploded, Vizsla found me. He said you’d left me, and he took me back to his camp. I was so angry. They kept me under guard at all times, forced me to eat, drink. I was constantly plotting on how to escape, get revenge. But then I started meeting other foundlings they’d taken in. All of us had been left behind or had our families killed. And then they brought me to the range and tested my shooting skills. The praise I got, it,” she paused, a nostalgic though melancholic smile on her face, “I finally felt nu'amyc. They taught me how to fight, how to defend myself, and eventually I stopped fighting back. Death Watch gave me a sense of belonging. There was finally this stability in the world of chaos we’d been living in for so long. They became my family. A very violent and often angry family, but a family nonetheless. And you remember me back then, I was relentless when I put my mind to something, and I was determined now that I was given the chance to be the best warrior I could be. I quickly moved up the ranks and they used my knowledge of the inner government workings on Sundari to help recruit people.”

“That’s what you were doing, that day at the Marketplace, weren’t you?” Satine interjected softly and Bo nodded, seeing the look that Satine had given her that day again in her mind’s eye.

“I was recruiting Senator Merrik.”

Bo didn’t miss the grief in Satine’s eyes so she dropped her head again. “I eventually started my own unit, the Nite Owls. We were so efficient that I eventually made my way to Lieutenant. I didn’t realize until it was too late, but my safety and security and my quick rise to the top came with a cost. I sacrificed a lot of myself to become the person I was.”

“No one could blame you for assimilating,” Satine said, but Bo shook her head.

“Mom and Buir raised us better than that. I just wanted to belong.”

She felt Satine’s eyes on her and glanced at her to see her looking intensely at her armor.

“So your beskar, that’s...?”

“Buir’s. They reforged it for me.”

“At least it’s still in the family,” Satine said sadly, but Bo didn’t respond.

Mando’a Translations Anooba – carnivorous desert animals native to Tatooine Ner vod- my sister Nu'amyc - normal

#bo katan week #bo katan kryze #satine kryze #satine lives #fanfiction #star wars au

8 notes · View notes