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notthestarwar · 1 year

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Snippet from: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Chapter 5

Ghost Mace speaks to past Jaster (alive) and tells him what he knows of Jango's future, in the life he lived.

Mace's brow stiffened. "When we realised what we had done, we tried to find him but we could not."

"We tried to find the True Mandolorian's but the survivors had fled in all directions. We did try and see justice done, there was an overhaul of our internal mission preparation process. We changed our training. Dooku left the order as did his apprentice."

"None of it could make up for what we did. Years after the fact, I learnt that Jango was sold in to slavery by the governor. It took him years to escape. I learnt of the weight of what we had done in helping end the True Mandolorian's. In leaving Death Watch unchecked."

He meets Jaster's eyes. "We are here to discuss why we haunt Jango, but it would be remiss of me to not tell you that your son has haunted me every single day since the day I left on a mission to retrieve him; to attempt to offer reparations for what my peoples neglect brought down on him, and came home empty handed."

" We thought him dead, but I did not forget him. From that day, I've carried the weight of what we did to him. I have often thought of him over the years." Mace shook his head.

"You hold no blame here, but we just might."

And isn't that a thing. His son haunting a Jedi even before that Jedi might haunt him.

Jango is tangled up in something here far beyond Jaster's reckoning.

Mace is laying out the constituent parts that when put together, make Jango in to the man that is responsible for the death of every single person standing in that warehouse. Jaster isn't sure where that leaves him, because once he's done hearing this story, in the years that lay ahead of them yet, every single one of these horrible pieces is going to fall in to place. Tragedy after Tragedy ready to be pasted and slapped on to the boy he loves, his son, in order to make him in to the man that did this.

How the hell can Jaster stand by and let that happen?

There are no rules that apply to Jaster, not anymore. He doesn't care about morality or the ethics of fucking with a future that's apparently already happened. He has no care for his own code, not now. None of it matters.

Jaster is Jango's buir, before all else. He has been from the day he stepped in to a smoldering farmhouse and against the odds saw signs of life dancing across his HUD. The Ka'ra gave him Jango and by god, it can stand back while he brings his son back from the abyss.

Mace is watching him. "Jaster, you had no hand in making Jango Fett the man he became at the end. You did not abandon him, you were taken from him. I need you to know this. You should know that none of this was your fault. "

Jaster doesn't care. It doesn't matter if its his fault or not, he is responsible all the same; because he wants to be. He didn't fall in to parenthood, he walked in to it willingly. For Jango, there is no monster that Jaster will not face.

The ka'ra has given him one last gift. The opportunity to see Jango's life after Jaster, and a few precious years in which to try and change them. It may not be in Jaster's power to save his son from himself but by god, he'll die trying.

He looks at the Jedi. "Tell me the rest."

Some of my thoughts below the cut

Some of my thoughts (because clearly rambling in the comments hasn't been enough for me lol)

I had a lot of fun with this one. I've written about ghosts before but with this one, I went at it from another angle. In this au, ghosts aren't bound by linear time. If you do something that leaves a ghost tied to your soul, they are tied to you in the past as well as the future. Jango and Jaster are both Force Sensitive (tho with a Mando understanding of it. They call it 'star touched') and so can see ghosts.

In this fic, moving in with Jaster sets Jango on the path that brings him to the prequels. Once he's on that path, the ghosts that'll be tied to him in his future, can move freely along the timeline, with each of them pulled to a particular version of Jango. Jango will obviously be responsible for the deaths of quite a few people, there are his bounties, the Jedi and the clones and so on; but when the first ghost appears he's just a kid. The story deals with Jaster coming to terms with the fact that his kid, who he loves beyond reason, even if he stumbled upon him quite by accident, one day becomes the person that will make all these ghosts.

At first there's only one ghost in their time, but Jaster can't let it go (tho he knows he should), he needs to know what happens. So he keeps asking until she admits that she isn't the only ghost and that they are tied to Jango as he's responsible for their deaths. Then, he keeps pushing until she introduces him to the others. She gathers them in a warehouse (so Jango doesn't see) and takes Jaster there.

In the part of the story this snippet is from, Jaster has just been confronted with an excessive number of people (including children) who are all tied to Jango as he's responsible for their deaths. He's had a (understandable) freak out, and ghost Mace has taken him aside and offered to tell him what he knows of Jango's future, and how it led to the death of so many people.

What follows is a buddy up adventure between Mace and Jaster (unlikely duo) in which Jaster tries to come to terms with what Mace has told him, and the horrible events that led to Jango becoming the man that would one day be responsible for all these ghosts. While he tries to save Jango from himself, long before he needs saving.

The idea behind the fic is the inevitability of a tragedy. There's a feeling when you're watching a tragedy play out, that it's all so unnecessary, that it didn't need to happen, but you only know that because as the audience you know that they are in a tragedy, the characters don't know. So what if a character did know? Jaster is served advance notice, will having that allow him to save Jango, or will it just feed in to the fulfillment of this prophetic future?

I wanted to explore the fact that there's only so much one particular character can do, in trying to prevent the end another is headed towards and also, the power of familial love, even when it's found somewhere unexpected. Jaster isn't Jango's blood family, he didn't even know him till he was an older child, which I think makes his love for Jango in spite of knowing what he will become, all the more powerful. The glimpse of Jango's future is disgusting to Jaster, it goes against all he believes in, but its Jango so he can't hate him for it, he loves him too much and so, he's determined to save him from himself. He's willing to do the impossible.

Then there's Mace: so in this au, Mace is sent out shortly after Galidraan, when it becomes clear to the order that they've made a mistake, to find the survivor they left in the hands of the Governor, and to right a wrong. He isn't successful, he looks everywhere but he can't find him, and in the end the order write him off as dead. In this au, Jango was 18 on Galidraan and what Mace sees as his failure to save someone that was little more as a child, and suffered so greatly thanks to what the order see as their own neglect, haunts him for the rest of his career.

Its that idea of 'the one case you couldn't close'. It's at the start of his career and he goes on to do amazing things, Mace is peak Jedi, he invents a new form, he's one of the youngest Jedi to be elected to the council, he ends up heading that council, but he is still human (or near human lol sw complicates everything. he's 100% human in a fallible/emotional/sapient sense) I think that as a Master Jedi he's very aware of his own weaknesses, and he tries to work through it, he talks to it with other Jedi, and he certainly doesn't let it affect his judgement, but he can't forget it all the same.

So it's this version of Mace that ended up meeting Jango in the arena. Which I think adds such an interesting angle.

#Jaster Mereel #Mace #I've been thinking about this one (and a part of chapter 7 which i might post as another snippet)#cause i saw a poll talking about who was responsible for Jango's death and I've got a lot of opinions about that #that can not be contained by a poll lol. it's something i explored in this fic #pretty much. i think that Mace had no choice but i don't think he'd agree with that. i think he'd struggle with having killed Jango and #how he killed him. (decapitation. a particularly violent move. which i don't think he had a choice in. but yeah think he'd struggle)#i think that Jango pretty much ensured his own end and was too intelligent to not realise he was doing that so i think that was a #self hatred/survivors guilt/'i have lived past my end' kind of thing #i also think that Jango was only the person that always would have brought death upon himself like that because his past made him so #and i think his past was bad enough to make him that because it suited the greater narrative to have him end up like that #it suited palps ends pretty much. did palps know he was doing that or did the universe just work in his favour? who knows.#still worked out well for him #the poll got me thinking about Mace which got me thinking about this fic but writing about the fic has me thinking about this fic again #kinda tempted to go through it again and give it a bit of a face lift. old once over. shine it up a bit #I've always hated that it's 17 chapters tbh. want it to be 15 or 20. i don't think I'll address that this time tho.#might just try an edit however #has this???? no i won't say it. not to curse it but... the editing/ read back block may... be shifting. possibly.#considering an edit hadn't seemed so possible in a while.#there are so many things i need to look over once i can lol I've posted things still in draft state #that's cool tho. no problem. not thinking about that just thinking about how nice it would be to give this old thing a shine #Mace is so ready here to absorb all the blame for everything on the order (and by extension him) but its really not on them

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neon-junkie · 3 years

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Ner Ka’ra

Summary: You and Crosshair enjoy something different in your sleepy state, followed by glowing words to seal the deal.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader

Reader Description: Reader is gender-neutral and uses they/them pronouns. This fic does not include any descriptions of their appearance.

Tags: Morning sex, Cuddlefucking, Love confession, Established relationship.

Word count: 1k

Notes: Had a request for some sleepy morning sex with Crossy, and I ended up writing a bit more than I usually do when it comes to requests. What can I say, I love this man (▰˘◡˘▰)

Kamino is, oddly, the perfectly setting for lazy mornings. The waves continue crashing outside, rain hammering on your oversized window, and never do you see the sun. However, the thick clouds still provide enough light to wake you up each morning, not to mention the beeping of your alarm, droning away until you reach over and tap the snooze button.

With a heavy sigh, you fall back onto the pillow. Nimble hands find your waist, pulling you tightly, tucking you back in to where you were previously lying. Crosshair stirs behind you, his eyes remaining shut as he nuzzles your shoulder blade, enjoy the skin against skin contact, not that he's currently deprived of it.

You're both still nude from the night before, and the only change is that you're no longer damp and sweaty. The hand on your waist finds your hips, pulling at you even more, ensuring that you can feel Crosshairs hardening cock against your ass. You hum, grinding against him, riling both of yourselves up.

"Somebody's awake," you softly murmur, smiling when Crosshair chuckles, nodding in agreement.

"He is," Crosshair replies, vaguely gesturing to his growing erection. "Fancy being my wake-up call?" Crosshair questions, and sucks in a sharp inhale when you grind your ass against his cock even more, followed by vocalizing your consent.

"Always," you confirm.

Calloused fingertips trail over your hips, running slowly up and down your thighs, teasing you for a few moments until even Crosshair can't wait any longer. He glides his touch around your thighs, searching, soon finding your entrance. You're still worked up from last night, your muscles not quite relaxing, despite your deep and content slumber. Crosshair takes advantage of the head start, moving his hand away to slick two fingers up in his mouth, before returning them to their rightful spot.

You hum in approval as a finger slowly slides into you, gradually making its way in, and not stopping until Crosshair reaches his knuckles. He waits a few, short moments before slipping it out, only to push it in again at a quickened pace, followed by steadily pumping his single finger in and out of you. Within time, his second finger is inserted, and Crosshair eventually scissors his fingers apart as he continues prepping you, planting kisses along your neck and shoulder blade as he works.

You're whining, despite your dazed and sleepy state. Your eyes have only fluttered open a few times, but opted to fall shut, enticed by the sensation of feeling without seeing. Crosshair is the same, eyes scrunched shut, breathing steadily as he finally slips his fingers out, touching his cock a few times before slicking it up against you.

No words are shared, no begs or pleads, nothing like the usual, pent-up, dominating sex you two usually enjoy. Instead, you sigh in unison as Crosshair slips in; his moans are rarely soft, always hissed through gritted teeth, or muffled by your skin as he bites into it. Crosshair's usual demeanour has slipped off, and he's so engulfed in you that he doesn't realize, but when he does, he pays no mind to it; you're the only person who he'll allow to see him like this, even if both of your eyes are shut, and you're seeing through gentle touches, and the sensation of your bodies being joined together as one.

Again, unlike the usual routine, Crosshairs thrusts are deep and slow. It's as if, for once, he's putting focus into how you really feel around him, how slick and tight you are, how you invite him in so wantingly. He's whimpering by now, each sound timed perfectly with his thrusts. Crosshairs hand finds your hips, not gripping onto them for once, but holding them just firmly enough as if to confirm that you really are here, in his arms, matching his sounds as you share much more than warmth and passion.

You feel Crosshair shudder when you whisper his name. Karking hell, that's you crying for him, the person who he devotes his entire self to, mewling for him in the darkness as he continues rolling his hips against you. Despite the angle, you peer your head over your shoulder, managing to find his lips and share some of the softest, yet most desperate kisses in your lifetime. That sensation is burning in your chest; you're so warm, your heart is oh-so warm, and it feels like an eternal flame roaring away, kept alight by the sniper pinned up behind you.

"Ner ka'ra," Crosshair mutters against your lips as the kiss breaks. "I'm-" is all that he managers to sputter out, and you're nodding in agreement, feeling your climax quickly approaching.

"Inside," you confirm, and Crosshair nods eagerly in agreement.

"Touch yourself," he sweetly orders, and whispers "for me," at the end of his words.

Never would you deny this man, so a hand slips down between your thighs, unbothered by the knowledge that you'll soon make a mess beneath the sheets. Hungrily, Crosshairs thrusts get faster, digging his forehead against the curve of your neck. He's clinging onto you desperately, taunted by the idea that you'll somehow slip from his grasp.

Somehow, Crosshair manages to hold back, waiting for you to climax before he does. He always allows you to go first, if anything, he pushes for it, feeling disappointed in himself when he reaches peak before you do. You're his everything, his world, each individual star that hangs ahead every night, and the warmth from the sun as it rises in the morning, and Crosshair would never risk finding his own bliss until you've found yours, both under the sheets, and above it.

Heavy breaths fill the air, and you're almost certain you can feel the dampness of tears against your back. You dare not question it, even when you peer over your shoulder to kiss Crosshair again, confirming after the kiss breaks that his eyes are clouded. "I love you," he mutters in the softest tone that you're ever heard, and now you understand why his eyes have swollen up, as yours begin to.

"I love you too," you whisper, sealing the deal with another kiss. The crackling of thunder outside goes unnoticed by both of you, too busy being entwined, engulfed in each other. There are few things that Crosshair finds pure calmness in, but each of those few things involve you.

#lol a morning fic but the title is my stars #i didnt think this through but i like it so #swwriting #tbbwriting #ner ka'ra #the bad batch #crosshair #reader insert #nsft #gn!reader #crosshair x reader #star wars #tbb crosshair

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positivityjediprince · 2 years

Note

The fact that grogu can communicate directly with Luke but not with din is something that is not used for comedy nearly enough

Like din tells grogu something forgetting he can communicate with Luke and grogu just plays it back to Luke exactly

Example

Luke: good morning grogu good morning din

Luke *takes a sip of caf or tea only to immediately choke on it because grogu is done and is showing him all the times his dad made a comment about how pretty Luke is*

Din concerned but has no clue what is happening: are you okay?

Luke face down on the table at this point glowing red from his blush: you know I think I will be if you would give me a minute to process the information your child has just shown me

Luke getting up form the table: I'll be right back I need to consult my sister on something^

^he has to check with Leia both on if he will get in trouble with her for dating the mada'lor and how exactly to ask someone out when their son tells you they find you attractive but they themselves have said nothing

(Grogu has regrets. Lukes flirting got worse and Din is still to shy to say anything to Luke directly grogu has decided he needs Leias help with this matter)

-🐢

Oh my darling 🐢 you are SO RIGHT! this is under utilised comedy at its FINEST.

Again...I went a bit over board lmao...hope you enjoy anyway

❤❤❤

Grogu may be 50 years old, but he is a baby. A smart baby, but a baby nonetheless. And like all babies he doesn't fully understand the intricate dance of mutual pining and idiots in love. Once again, is a baby - I'm looking at you Din for trying to get him to do electrical engineering - and as such also doesn't understand that some things are supposed to stay private, or at the very least not revealed while someone is eating.

He's a baby, so Luke can't be upset at him for the fact he is currently choking on his breakfast. His throat and nose are burning, some of the blue yogurt also came out of his nose...ow. His eyes are watering. Din is panicking, he alternates between hitting Luke on the back and rubbing soothing circles- its sweet but Luke is too busy being mortified that Din is seeing him like this.

The need to breath is being drowned out by the scene Grogu had just shown him, after Din had walked into the kitchen, muttered something in Mando'a, and then blushed as he refused to translate it- citing that he was just tired (not a morning person that guy) and saying nonsense. He guessed Grogu was trying to be helpful, for both Luke and his dad. But...that memory...

***

Luke, through Grogu's eyes, watched himself leave (which was weird..but damn if those boots didn't do wonders for his legs - he hoped Din noticed).

Din was still watching him, "Ka'ra, kaysh's bid mesh'la." (Stars, he's so pretty)

Mesh'la Luke's eyes widened in recognition of the word, thats what Din had said as he greeted him. But, what did it mean.

The Mandolorian then turned towards Grogu with a sigh, "Ad'ika, you really went and found the prettiest Jedi in all existance."

What? Did mesh'la mean-

"Blebleb."

"I don't know how I'm going to survive all your training if I can't run my hands through his golden hair or see his beautiful eyes outside of my helmet." He looked at Grogu, "are they really as blue as I remember?"

"Patoo."

"It was very mean of you. Why couldn't it have been Ahsoka? That would have been so much easier."

Grogu blew a raspberry.

"I know you like Luke more....I do too...perhaps too much...he's just so beautiful. Not just his appearance, but also his core. Is that the Force?"

Oh, sweet Din...no

"Guess we could use this as a Mando'a lesson, you womp rat. Mesh'la means pretty or beautiful. And Ka-"

The memory ended before Din could take his helmet - even as a baby Grogu knew that that was something (even if he didn't really know what).

*****

Was it any wonder Luke had almost died a death by yogurt and museli?!

"Luke? Can you breath"

Luke dropped his head onto the table, giving Din a shaky thumbs up, "I'm fine Din, don't worry. Just briefly forgot how to swallow food, you know how it is."

Despite the helmet he could sense Din's furrowed brow, "Uh.. yes?"

The man was just too cute. How was Luke supposed to go on with life now that he'd heard Din say he was pretty? Maybe he shouldn't read too much into it? Cara called him pretty all the time, and she meant nothing by it...but he wanted to touch his hair...fuck he needed to talk to Leia. NOW.

-------

"Okay, let me get this straight; you saw q memory of him calling you pretty, your soul beautiful, and lamenting about wanting to 'run his fingers through your hair'. And you still think he just thinks of you as a friend?!"

"Yeah...?"

"Stars Luke! You're hopeless!"

"Hey! I-"

"I've been telling you for months that he likes you back! And now we have confirmation and you're still not going to act on it!?"

Luke took a deep breath, "Lee, I really like him. I think I might even love him"

"Yeah, dumbass, I could have told you tha-"

"But...he's also one of my best friends. I don't want to lose that. Ever. He means too much to me for me to have misread it."

"Oh, Luke" her sassy expression fell into something soft, "I wish I could hug you."

"Please. I need you."

‐-------

Leia came to Mandalore. She gave Luke his promised hug, whispering reassurances; but, her sympathy for Luke lasted precisely 1 hour and 23.6 minutes.

Din and Luke were so embarrassingly in love. From what Luke had said, she had expected the same level of shy starry eyes that Din had had the last time she visited - Oh boy was she wrong. In the few months since she had been there they had upgraded from having teen-like‐crush energy to marriage.

They found any excuse to touch eachother, huh ..maybe the documents about mandos being touch reserved were wrong. They would stare at each other so lovingly that it made her nauseous. But not as nauseous as watching them spar made her - it was bordering on indecent!! No wonder, the usually hesitant, Bo-Katan had been so eager for her to visit. This needed solving. And fast.

Leia corners the trio in their living room (they have a royal wing apartment together and have a joint lounge ffs!).

"Sit."

"Lee? Are you okay?" Luke and Din slowly sat down on the nearest sofa, practically glued together despite the setee being a 7 seater - they really were hopeless.

"No, Luke, I'm not okay. You two are passing me off."

The two exchanged looks.

"I thought you were bad enough but then Grogu showed me what the two of you are like when it's just this little family unit and frankly how he hasn't lost his mind is beyond me!"

"Leia" Luke hissed, but his sister pressed on.

"Din. You're in love with Luke and think he is the most beautiful, or should I say mesh'la, thing in the galaxy."

The Mandolorian went bright red, staring at a non-existent fleck on his armour.

"And you, brother dearest, are so smitten its revolting.

Luke glared at her; however, the deepening blush destroyed any level of threatening that look might have had.

"So please, for the love of everything that has, is, and will be, confess your love, marry, and stop this unnecessary pining and lamenting!"

With that Leia picked up Grogu and marched out of the door.

The click of the door was defening.

"So-"

"Was-"

The two started at the same time.

Luke was the first to break the following silence, daring to peek up at Din, "do you like me?"

"Yes" it was a whisper, which barely made its way out of the voicecoder as more than static, "I think I might even love you-"

Luke lunged forward, pressing their foreheads together as firmly as he could.

"I think I love you too."

Dins hands came up to cup Luke's face, pulling him even further into the Kedalbe Kiss. "I want to kiss you."

"But your creed."

"Close your eyes."

He heard a mechanical hiss and a soft thunk on the floor by their feet, then Din's lips were on his.

Luke melted into the kiss, clutching at Din's armour, then wrapping his arms around his neck as Din moved his hands to Luke's waist.

They had just begun to deepen the kiss, Din pushing Luke onto his back as he straddled him, never stopping the kiss, when a loud pounding on the door made them jump apart.

"The silence better mean the two of you are making out and not still staring dumbly at eachother!!"

"FUCK OFF LEIA"

A receeding delighted cackle could be heard as Leia practically ran to tell the others the good news.

Luke tore a part of his tunic off, tying it around his eyes and fixing Din with a cheeky grin, "now then, where were we- oof"

The end of the sentence was lost as Din swung Luke up into his arms, "I believe we were heading to the bed room."

"You know what, I do believe that we were."

#i cannot control myself when it comes to prompts istg #anyway heres another silly ficlette!#dinluke #luke skywalker #din djarin #leia organa #grogu #asks #so silly and fluffy omg

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Note

#9 “Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me.” with Obi-Wan & Jango & Satine? (... or Obi-Wan/Jango/Satine, I'm not picky)

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Oh, I'm going to make this deeply stupid and AU because I got struck by a plot bunny and I'm taking it out on a prompt.

Satine hates the man named Jango Fett.

They've met before, once or twice. He'd known her father, before the latter's assassination. She'd met Jango when she was a child, before he'd lost his people at Galidraan, before she'd lost her sister to a terrorist group and her father to a blaster shot. She'd thought him gruff but kind, at the time, and very sad.

Now, she just wants him to trip on a pipe and brain himself on one of the many rusted, broken beams around them. She won't strangle him herself, won't turn her back on her oaths and commit violence, but she's not too proud to hope for an accident.

"Pick up the pace, princess."

"I am a Duchess," she snaps, lifting her skirts to step delicately over something that might have been machinery at one point.

The only light they have is from his helmet, and the only reason she hasn't fallen from the fabric catching on some matter or other is that he has a sense for when she gets caught.

He'd suggested that she pull the skirts up to gird her loins, and then found that the numerous layers made it impossible. He'd offered to cut the skirt down to something more manageable, without depriving her of the coverage she still needed in the cold of these darks, dank ruins. He'd then found that the vibroblade did nothing against the skirts.

(She was a pacifist, not stupid. Of course her clothing was reinforced.)

"I don't care," he says back through grit teeth. She's not sure why he hasn't just left her for dead, but she's not going to complain. Much. "Just move."

They've been making their way through the ruins for hours. They still don't know how they got here. They have no way to find out.

They just head up, and hope it gets them somewhere.

(Signs litter the walls, all in a script unfamiliar to them. Archaic, or simply foreign, they don't know.)

"Wait."

She freezes.

Fett moves behind her, light shifting with the noise of his beskar, and then he says, "I'm going to turn out the light for a second. Give us a minute to adjust to the dark after I do. I think I saw something glowing, but I can't tell with the flash on."

She nods, sure that he can see it, and they are engulfed in the dark again.

It's not for long, because the glow that Fett described is real. Faint, far off down the hallway and a pale blue that winks in and out in multiple spots at once, but there.

"We'll need the light to make it there without you getting rust sickness," Fett mutters. He flicks the headlight back on. "Might get some kinda hint out of it, whatever it is."

"You'd risk it?"

"Don't have any other choice," Fett tells her. "Move out, Princess."

----

They reach the blue glow, entering a large, cavernous atrium, just as dark as the rest of the ruins so far, but much less cramped than the previous hallways.

It is mostly floating motes of something, and the something in question makes Satine's skin crawl. She has no idea what it is. She doesn't think Fett does either, but he's a little busy trying to get a scan of the room around them. Satine can just barely see the floor from the blue light, and she steps closer carefully. Part of her screams about deep sea fish and wild space ancients, creatures that use light to hunt, but they've had nothing else yet. No hints.

This place feels ancient. Perhaps the spirits that linger are even older.

"Kryze!"

"I'm fine," she calls back, deliberately refusing to understand the man's worry. She just... reaches out.

And one of the blue lights comes to her.

Fett swears and comes closer, but Satine pulls her hands to her chest, cradling the little light to herself. It's larger than she'd expected, perhaps the size of a Chandrila plum. It's warm, too.

"You're going to get yourself killed," Fett snaps.

"It's friendly," she says. "I think."

"You think," Fett hisses, the noise crackling through the vocoder. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Listen--"

The lights coalesce. They are, for the moment, blinding, and Satine flinches away.

Fett has a blaster out before Satine can even open her eyes again. She knows the noise better than she'd like. She can identify which blaster it is by the click of the safety alone.

Any Mandalorian her age can.

"Oh dear," an unfamiliar voice says. "I'm afraid that--well, yes, Mando, hello there. I'm afraid that the blaster won't do much to me. I'm already long dead, you understand."

When Satine manages to blink the spots out of her vision, it's to see a glowing, slightly blue-tinged human figure in clothing that is distinctly Jedi, if very... very outdated.

The man--she thinks it's a man, beards usually indicate such--smiles and waves at her. "I apologize for the light show. It's been quite some time since I've had reason to take a solid form."

"I can imagine," Satine says, her voice weak even to her own ears. The man isn't much older than her, or at least wasn't when he... died? Or perhaps he was elderly when he died, and just rolled his age back as this spirit for some reason.

He smiles kindly, and then looks past her shoulder to Fett. He rolls his eyes, and smirks, and says, "Su cuy'gar, Mand'alor."

"I am not Mand'alor," Fett growls out. "I don't hold that title anymore."

"You do in spirit," the figure claims. "None other can say the same, not yet."

Before Fett can argue further, the man smiles pleasantly, and says, "I don't suppose you could remove yourselves from my shrine? Just a few steps back, thank you."

Satine looks down. She notices the raised platform and carved sigils and the stone column she hadn't seen in the earlier darkness, and flushes. She steps back and down, and Fett does the same.

"Now," the figure says. "As I was saying--"

"What are you?" Fett demands. "Ghost of a Jedi?"

"Something like that," the figure allows. "I was not just a Jedi, but... yes, I'm something you could call a ghost. I'd prefer simply a spirit."

"Like the ka'ra," Satine mutters, and grunts in disagreement.

"Those, Duchess, are only Mandalorians."

"Then I suppose it is fitting that I am both," the spirit says, and his form shifts.

Armor. It does not cover all of him--his pelvis and head are distinctly bare--but the shapes are distinctly Mandalorian. The colors aren't quite exact, with the blue glow he carries about him, but she's fairly certain she's seeing blue, green, and black. Reliability, duty, and justice.

Fitting, for a Jedi. The symbol for the Order is on his pauldron, even, and the hilt of his saber hangs easy at his side.

The gasp that comes through Fett's vocoder is harsh. She can't imagine he likes this.

"You--" he cuts himself off, takes a breath audible even past the helmet, and tries again. "There is no way you are Tarre Vizsla."

"No, I'm afraid not."

"So you must be Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The man smiles and tucks his hands into his sleeves, the swinging of the fabric allowing them the glimpse of vambraces beneath. He ducks his head in a shallow nod. "I am indeed."

Satine feels how empty of blood her own face is. She can't imagine Fett is doing much better.

"This is the Kar'ta-yaim be talyc rang," Fett mutters, horrified in a way that Satine feels her own self echoing. "You..."

"Well, we certainly never called it that," Kenobi says, head tilting faintly. "But I imagine that after the siege... Yes, Temple of Bloodied Ash would certainly reflect our final days."

It was one of the few stories that didn't pit Jedi and Mandalorians against each other, in the histories.

It had been the first attempt to coexist, the warriors of the saber and the warriors of iron. None managed to wed the two philosophies the way Kenobi had, but that hadn't mattered. They'd lived together, in peace. The reports had been clear enough, that there hadn't been weapons storage. There hadn't even been real defensive measures, barring the force fields. The Jedi had refused to let war reach this building, even whilst the Sith still raged across the galaxy. The other temples could handle the atrocities afar. The children, the elderly, the infirm, they were all to find a home here. The only weaponry were the sabers and whatever metals the Mando'ade carried in their armor.

Just a place of peace, a home to research, to children, to hospitals, all slaughtered to the last man, and set ablaze after. Nobody had ever tried such an attempt at peace between Mandalore and Jedi since. The location has been lost for longer than anyone remembers, but...

"Why are we here?" Satine asks.

"I wonder," Kenobi says, seeming far too pleased for the revelations of the last minute. He strokes at his beard, and then turns and sweeps an arm across the air. As he does, a whirring noise surrounds them, stuttered and heavy, but growing in power. Bit by bit, the sections of the wall that he'd gestured at begin to glow.

There are lights set into the wall like circuitry, warm and bright. The generators, which much be centuries old, at the least, continue to run.

"They draw energy from the river in the mountain," Kenobi says, before either of them thinks to ask. "Come along, my dears."

Satine hesitates. So does Fett.

Kenobi turns, presumably noting that their footsteps aren't following him. He smiles, and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

Satine can't remember how old he supposedly was, at his death. His eyes are much older, but...

"I assure you, it's perfectly safe," he tells them. "The building won't hurt you."

"The building?" Fett asks, sounding perhaps a little more dubious than the situation warranted. They were already talking to a figure of legend.

"Yes, the building," Kenobi repeats, indulgent in a way that Satine would have found irritating if aimed at her, but rather approved of like this. "The walls are already straightening out, I feel. And the droids are going to be clearing out the debris soon enough. The rust will be a little difficult to manage, of course, but..."

"What do you mean the walls are going to straighten out?" Satine asks. "And how... this place has been dead for centuries, hasn't it? How did you wake it?"

"Duchess Kryze, I didn't wake the Temple," Kenobi tells her. She doesn't know how he got her name. "You did."

She doesn't know what to say in response. She stays quiet, and waits for him to elaborate.

"Is it because she woke you up?" Fett asks, clearly unwilling to play a waiting game. "You're a... guardian? The keyholder to the power?"

"Mand'alor," Kenobi says, with a smile playing on his lips behind the carefully-groomed beard, "I am the Temple."

What.

He smiles and starts walking backwards, gliding in a way that makes it clear he doesn't need to step, really, because his feet don't stay planted where he puts them. They have to follow, now, or risk losing him. "My consciousness, my very self, is woven into every bit of this building. I have no flesh, not anymore, but while my sense of self stays coherent in the Force... the Temple is my body."

"How?" Satine demands, hurrying to keep up. She tries to ignore the way the flagstones shift and settle ahead of her, still and level by the time she steps forward. She tries to ignore the grinding of metal, as it's pulled into the walls like it's soup instead of stone. She tries to ignore the creaking of the foundation about them, and stays focused on the pleasant smile of one of the only two Mandalorian Jedi in history that maintained the balance.

"Do your history books carry the name of my apprentice?" Kenobi asks.

"Skywalker," Fett says immediately. "And... Tano, I think, before she changed it. She escaped, didn't she?"

"Yes, she was away at the time," Kenobi says, voice distant for but a moment. Somewhere far off among the tunnels, there is a mighty crash. "I'd fought until I couldn't any more. My armor, what I had of it, protected me from the flames. I'd worn a helmet during the siege, and it filtered the smoke, even as I lay dying from other wounds... between that and the Force, I lasted long enough that Anakin found me. The others had all died of smoke inhalation, if they hadn't succumbed to their injuries or the flames themselves by that point."

"The fire didn't reach you?" Fett questions.

"Mm, no, the alcove I was in was all stone, and there wasn't anything flammable enough nearby to reach," Kenobi says, sounding distant again. "In any case, Anakin found me. He was... distraught. Desperate. Not entirely sane, I think, but with what he walked into, I can't find it in myself to fault him."

"Master Kenobi," Satine finds herself saying. "What did he do?"

Kenobi's smile is sad. She'd call it resigned, really. He's lived--sort of--with this situation for centuries now. It makes sense. "He took my mind, my soul in the Force, and 'saved' it in a way that would leave me tied to the world past my death. It was ingenious, but... I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I don't think Anakin realized what he was doing until long after he'd already succeeded at the impossible."

"He cursed you," Fett declares.

Kenobi shrugs. "I think he expected the temple to be cleaned and re-inhabited again soon enough. It wasn't, as you can see. The generators have been gathering power for centuries, but the fire destroyed most of them, and we didn't have anything in reserve with how much we poured into the shields during the battle. I couldn't fix the ruins, and with the horrors that had occurred, nobody was coming back. Anakin said he would, he promised, but... he disappeared. He visited, and he spoke with me, but a few years in he was simply... lost. I had a connection to his ship's signal, and it winked out in the blink of an eye, and never came back."

Oh. Terrifying.

"For all that I am the Temple, now, there are still secrets here that I don't yet understand," Kenobi tells them. "Your arrival, for one thing. The sediment carried up the mountain has slowly buried the temple over the centuries. There isn't a way in, save for two tunnels leading to the river, both of which I know are untouched."

"We just woke up here," Satine admits.

"Yes," Kenobi says. "You did. And part of me knows why."

"...part?" Fett asks.

It's a fair question to ask of a man who happens to have a brain that is also an entire building, somehow.

"Areas are cut off from my awareness," Kenobi admits freely. "Cave-ins and the like, mostly. There are one or two that I think I cut deliberately, due to what lay within."

Also terrifying, thank you.

"But I do believe I know what happened," he says, with that same damnably soft smile. "You two are the leaders of your people, yes? Tradition on one side, and peace on the other."

Satine shares a glance with Fett, and then turns to Kenobi and nods.

"Then I do believe it's simply the right time," he tells them. "You'll need to work together."

"I don't think so," Satine immediately denies.

"The Force works in mysterious ways," Kenobi tells her. "And if it brought you here--and you couldn't have arrived otherwise, I promise you that--then it was for a reason. Two leaders, the same people, with ideologies that I do believe are possible to bring together into, if not mixing, then at least coexistence."

"Impossible," Fett says. "The New Mandalorians are cowards, Kenobi. To share a culture with them--"

"Is as unlikely as Jedi and the old Mandalorians?" Kenobi asks, smiling so very politely that Satine wonders at how they aren't frozen stiff at the sight of it.

The sigil of the Order gleams mockingly from his pauldron.

Kenobi huffs out a breath, just a shadow of a laugh the slightest duck of his head, and then he turns and waves open a door.

Beyond him, sitting clean and pretty and entirely free of dust on its ancient stand, rests the Darksaber.

Satine stares.

She's sure Fett does, too.

"That can't be real," she says, her mouth moving before she can control it. "The Darksaber is lost, but it's popped up in history too recently to have been here since the fires."

"I saw it in Tor Vizsla's hands less than a years ago," Fett confirms. The vocoder cuts emotion from his voice, but not enough. "This place has been locked tight for centuries. The saber can't be here."

"The same could be said of the two of you," Kenobi points out.

It's true.

Satine steps forward, when it becomes clear that Fett won't. She picks up the weapon, holds it like the antique it is, square and unwieldy, but so very, very old that she cannot deny its importance. Weapon or not, it is her people's history.

She lights it.

The blade burns black.

"Turn it off," Fett rasps, and she does.

Satine looks back at him, and then to Kenobi. She turns fully, and steps forward, and holds it out to Fett.

He looks at her, uncomprehending.

"If you'd like to check for yourself," she says, and her voice is too quiet, but she can't help it. Something is happening, something heavy and broken, and she can't ignore the pressure of the future in this moment.

Fett takes the saber. He looks at it in his hands, and she thinks he is shaking.

"Your people need you, Mand'alor," Kenobi says, and there is no room for question. "They also need the Duchess."

"Why you?" Fett asks, voice strained and shattered in a way Satine can't even begin to pick apart.

"It was either me or Tarre, really," Kenobi says, with an idle shrug unfitting of the situation. "And I'm a little more... accessible, shall we say, to those who aren't sensitive to the Force."

Kenobi steps forward and rests an immaterial hand on Fett's shoulder.

"I already failed my people once," Fett says, barely audible.

"And now you shall save them," Kenobi says. His voice is firm. It is as if there is no question, to him, about whether or not Fett will succeed. "You won't be alone, either."

Satine shifts her weight, refusing to meet Kenobi's eyes. Her hands fist in her dress, and her mind races.

"What do you need of me?" Fett manages.

"...Mand'alor?"

"What do you need of me, Master Kenobi?"

Satine looks up.

Fett... Fett removes his helmet, and looks at Kenobi with an expression that is more desperation than deference.

"To cooperate with those who would follow a different creed," Kenobi says, so low it's practically a murmur. His hand, still intangible, reaches out to cup Fett's jaw. Fett leans into it. "To protect those who cannot do so for themselves. Our people are warriors, Mand'alor, but to refuse violence for violence's sake, after the wars that have killed our home and rendered it little more than glass, that is its own bravery."

"Master--"

"Listen to me," Kenobi says, and Fett falls silent. "You will need to protect them. The Duchess may have the funds and the support to bring forth education, agriculture, childcare, and so on, but there are many who would take advantage of that peace. She provides the home for tradespeople, but you are the shield that keeps them safe."

It could be a balance, Satine tries to tell herself. Maybe.

Kenobi seems so certain of it, and Satine may hate violence, but she is far from unaware of the pirates and warlords that nip at their borders.

"The foundlings need homes," Kenobi continues. "The stories need to be told. The culture is fading, Mand'alor. Bring it back."

His eyes flick to Satine, and she looks away.

(Her pressure was only ever on violence. Her advisors had pressed at the erasure of the rest, but if it meant children grew up without the worry of their parents dying in pointless battle, then wasn't it worth bending?)

(Couldn't she look the other way as they tightened restrictions on even symbolic vambraces, if it meant few too-small bodies in the streets?)

(Her planet was a wasteland. What did culture mean in the face of so many dead?)

(She knows Fett doesn't see it that way, but she is the only governing New Mandalorian with any blood on their hands. She knows the weight of violence, of lives taken by her actions.)

(She knows it, and she rejects it knowingly.)

Fett breathes harshly, and Satine closes her eyes.

"I agree to try," she says. "If we can get out of these ruins and back to our people... I will try. I cannot speak for my people on this, but to instate the old Mandalorians as a planetary guard... it may be doable."

"Little steps, my dear," Kenobi says. He looks down at Fett, who's... not well, it seems. "The Mand'alor needs some help, I think. I'm no trained mind healer, but I imagine I can help. More than most, maybe. There are few who know what it is to be a sole survivor."

He smirks, just a little, at the joke that he is not, in fact, a man who survived.

It's not very funny.

"I'll stay," Fett says. "I'll... I'll learn. Master Kenobi, you... Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me."

"As a student?" Kenobi asks, catching on to just the same thing as Satine has. "Not in the Force, surely, but... you truly wish to stay?"

"There are none left alive that I would trust to show me the way," Fett says. Beseeching, he reaches for Kenobi, and his hands pass through. There's a pain in him that Satine can't quite comprehend, and Fett falls to his knees. "Please."

"You need only ask," Kenobi says. "The Duchess will look after our people until the King takes his throne, and then you will rule together."

They'll have to, Satine tells herself, and steps forward. She puts a hand on Fett's shoulder, and pulls him to his feet.

"Where do we begin?" she asks.

#satine kryze #obi wan kenobi #jango fett #ghosts #massacre mention #is this vaguely inspired by GLaDOS and Castle Heterodyne? ...yes #but less murdery overall #star wars #the clone wars #Phoenix Answers Memes #supernatural au #kinda #one shot #death mention #child death mention #horror au #also kinda

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crispyjenkins · 3 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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79s-staff · 2 years

Note

What do You kids wanna be when you grow up?

Ka'ra: I wanna be like my dad! He does cool stuff for the GAR. I wanna be a super hero like him and all of my cool uncles. Only *blushes and laughs* I don't want to wear those dorky white outfits they all have! Maybe something neon!!

Tann: My dad and mom say I am going to be a delinquent *smirks as she shoots another spitball across the bar and into one of the Guard Wookie's ears* I dunno what that is but it sounds cool so *shrugs*

Ka'ra: Oh! OH! That'what my dad and Uncle Vipes calls my Uncle Sharpie sometimes! Maybe it means you will be in the GAR too!

Tann: *makes a face as she reloads her straw with paper* No thanks then!

#the kids #79s staff

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it-is-no-desert · 3 years

Text

Commander Fox: Do you want to know how I actually got my name? Random Shiny: Yes. Commander Fox: I was a furry briefly. Thorn and I attended a convention as supplementary security the week I was first assigned to Coruscant. Shiny: Oh my Ka'ra. Commander Fox: I designed a whole fursona afterwards. [Shows photos on holoprojector] Body proportions, fur patterns, fashion sense, an entire backstory. Shiny: Why are you telling me this? Commander Fox: Because no one will ever believe you. [Deletes photos from holoprojector] Shiny: You sick son of a hutt.

#based on the capt holt brooklyn 99 quote bc it's the best thing from that show #commander fox #star wars #clone troopers #this is probably overdone and only funny to me but ayy THATS POSTING BAYBIE #cloneposting #stonieposts #hi fox

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clan--of3 · 1 month

Text

BobaCobb WIP - season 2 episode 1 Mandolorian deleted scene, a case of mistaken identity

~~~

Cobb had laid the beskar'gam out, as he'd learned from watching Boba treat the armor.

"You knew the man who wore this armor before you?" The Mandalorian asked.

Cobb nodded.

"Did you-" Mando's helmet turned from the pile of beskar'gam to Cobb's blaster still at his hip.

"No - Kriff, no. Fett died in a fight with a Jedi," Cobb raised his hands away from his blaster, shaking his head, "He was a bounty hunter, like you, just got mixed up with the wrong side of things. He's been dead a long time.

The Mandalorian nodded, he had heard of Jango Fett - the traitor Mando'ad who had fathered the clones and who had been killed by the Jetti before the fall of Mandalore. The Armorer had made their clans stance on the Buir Tat'adat quite clear, "How did you come across his armor?"

"Jawas had it, no idea where they got it - don't even think they knew what they had. Traded a crate of silicax for it, feel like it was worth a helluva lot more than that," Cobb huffed a half laugh.

Mando was quiet for a while after that, laid out on his back with the kid tucked under his arm. He'd made no move to take off his armor, not even his gloves as Boba had on their first few evenings together. And just as Cobb had thought he'd fallen asleep, he spoke quietly, "Would you consider taking the Creed?"

Cobb blinked, the Mandalorian didn't need to elaborate beyond that - Cobb knew what he meant, "No offense, but I was told you were all dead…"

Mando made a soft noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, his vocoder muffling the sound.

#okay but tell me if you like this?#because i need people to like it to i can get the motivation to write itttt #tw star wars canon slavery #BobaCobb #cobb vanth #din djarin #boba fett #wip #BobaCobb fanfic #the book of boba fett #decs talks #star wars #mandalorian #dinluke #oh my ka'ra #skydalorian #the mandalorian

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cc1010fox · 9 months

Text

Thire, nudging Fox: Fox? Fox: ... Thire, nudging him a little harder: Fox? Fox: ... Thire: Oh Force...Oh no...It finally happened...Ok, Thire, you knew this day would come. You can carry on without Fox. You don't need him. It's ok. You're going to be ok...Just take a deep breath-- Fox, waking up: Huh? Oh, sorry, I dozed off. Thire: Oh, thank kriff. I thought I would have to go to the bar with Cody and Wolffe alone. Ugh... Fox: You? Being social without me? Ka'ra, I'm sorry I made you even think about that. Thire: My life flashed before my eyes. Fox, snorting: My poor introvert.

#Commander Fox #Commander Thire #[ Which friend are you? I'm Thire af. ]

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one-real-imonkey · 3 years

Note

20 anger with jasTor so. We have a set? 🥺🥺🥺

Prompt- ‘Let go of me.’

Mwahahahahahaha… I mean, please enjoy.

---

"Jaster, stop thinking."

He huffed a laugh as his riduur pressed a kiss to his shoulder and wrapped himself around Jaster, in their shared bed, taking his glasses off and leaning over Jaster to put them on his bedside.

It wasn't his fault he was thinking so hard. They were this close to having a finished treaty with the New Mandalorians, one that both sides could agree to. One that he'd skilfully managed to write out so his people sacrificed little and the New Mandalorians conceded a lot, mainly the racism and exclusions policies. No more restrictions on adoption or migration or culture, no more cosmetic centres to 'fix' dark skin or non Kalevalan features or, Ka'ra, non human features. It would be illegal for shops or restaurants or services to refuse their service because of race or species.

"Jas. Stop."

"I can't help it Tor. This... this treaty could change everything. It could save so many lives, give our people their home."

"So why are you so concerned. Jas, your treaty is well written, it's air tight. It'll be fine."

"I'm just worried about Stevhaan Kryze. He and his keep trying to remove clauses I consider to be non-negotiable. And he keeps making jabs at my age and my race and I'm just... arggg you know?"

Jaster looked human, and quite a lot of his DNA was human, but like almost all Mandalorians, he was a very wide mix of races and species. His most notable non-human features were his eyes, his green-yellow irises betraying his Taung heritage. They could see in the dark with ease, but he still needed glasses to read, especially in normal light. He had far more Taung DNA than most, but the features that did surface for that, they were mostly internal. He knew it unnerved the New Mandos to see his not quite human features, he used it to his advantage because they could never maintain a staring match with him, and that they had their opinions of his skin colour and hair colour, without even getting to his beskar or political opinions.

Ka'ra he wished they just hated him for his politics, it would be easier.

"You're still more patient than me, riduur, and you know, if this does fall apart, we can always just invade. There are a lot of them but they certainly can't stop us, not to mention it was our home before they all moved in and took over anyway, so it's barely even an invasion."

"I'd rather not. Our people are warriors, but we're honourable, we don't just cut down civilians."

"Even when they're horrid people?"

"They're brainwashed Tor. What they say, what they do, it's wrong, and they have to learn better, but I... we can't attack them for being force-fed vile propaganda all their lives. The leadership propagating it, absolutely, but not the regular civilians. And you know as well as I do, even if we ordered it, none of our people would follow those orders. That something I love about them."

Tor laughed softly, and wrapped himself even tighter, and Jaster loved his riduur... he adored him.

"Our people are good and honourable, and you're a big part of that, cyare."

"I dream of a system where all our people are, where we're safe and free of their hate and honourlessness."

"Soon, cyare, soon. I promise."

Jaster cracked his shoulders and shifted in his seat. How was it so hard to convince these di'kut that Sentient Rights were, well, a thing.

Behind him the door hissed open and closed, and chances were that was Tor back from training.

Not wanting Tor to make him jump and knock his water on his work (again) he looked over his shoulder.

It wasn't Tor.

He knew who it was though. Klon Shrela, one of the many hitmen everyone knew worked for the New Mandalorians to take care of their problems without betraying their 'pacifist' ways.

In his rooms with him.

His armour was on the stand on the other side of the room, his comm on the bedside table. He was unarmed, but not incapable.

He dodged the first strike with the knife, but against a trained assassin with armour, he was on the back foot.

His stuff was sent flying off the desk, the desk stabbed instead of him, but despite his best attempts, and several well placed blows, he ended up backed against a wall.

He gasped as the knife drove deep into his stomach, and then his chest, and again.

The assassin stepped back and let him drop to the floor.

The world distorted.

The door hissed open and closed again.

There was yelling, a click-crunch-thump, there were hands moving him.

"Jaster..."

"Tor," he wheezed, "ridu...ur."

Everything was blurry, where were his glasses?

"Oh Jaster, it's ok. It's all going to be ok. Oh my beloved, it'll all be ok. They will pay for this."

"No... the..." he couldn't let his work go to waste when there could be peace, "treat...ty."

"No cyare, no this must be dealt with. Thats why you were the target, because you crafted this treaty, but they have to pay. For what they've done to all our, people and to you. They claim to be pacifists but they have hitmen like that shabuir doing their dirty work. They will pay for this, our people will rally now."

"Tor. Please."

"We can't negotiate with these monsters, words alone won't stop their atrocities, they must be stopped. You were right, our people would need a point to rally around for a war. But our people adore you Jas, you'll be a martyr, you'll be the reason Mandalore finds something better. You'll be the reason our people will be safe."

Had Tor called the medic, where were they? Were his wounds so bad the medic wouldn't matter, Tor was speaking like he was already gone.

"Help. Medic."

“Oh my love. It will kill me to lose you. Oh, beloved, but it was necessary. We had to stop them, we needed a reason. This had to happen.”

Jaster breath caught in his throat.

"What?"

The world was getting darker, darker, darker, and it wasn't just the blood loss.

Tor had arranged this.

"He's still a New Mandalorian assassin, he just took an anonymous hit on you, but everyone will think this was the New Mando's choice, who else would be behind it. The Kalevalans will fall and our people will finally be returned to their homes without fear of their prejudices and cruelty. Just like we wanted, like we always dreamed. It'll be the Mandalore you always spoke of. All because of you."

He said it like it was something Jaster would want, murder, not battle but murder.

"Let... go of... me."

He didn't want this monster touching him, holding him. Not like this, not like the adoring riduur he seemed to believe himself to be, that Jaster had believed him to be. He had arranged to have Jaster martyred, he'd arranged to have his riduur martyred. There were other ways for them to reach their dream, but Jaster was dying, and oh so many would follow him.

Tor ignored him, just cradled him close, brushing his hair with bloodstained hands.

"It will be beautiful. Oh Jaster, I just wish you could have lived to see it."

He could feel himself falling to the Manda's comfortable embrace, he could feel the very Ka'ra calling him.

He couldn't leave, not when such horrors were coming, not when so many would die.

But he didn't have a choice.

---

So anyway, that wasn't dark at all.

Anyway, thanks for the ask, and for reading. Hope you enjoyed.

Inbox always open. (-:

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #jastor #lovers to enemies #tor vizsla #Jaster mereel #major character death #jaster mereel wears glasses #speedrun lovers to enemies #new mandalorians #anti new mandalorian #true mandalorians

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notthestarwar · 2 months

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Snippet from when is a monster not a monster? Oh when you love it

Sometimes, Jaster wonders how he ended up here: sole guardian of a boy who's destined to do something bad enough that another's spirit is tied to his soul.

Jaster knew enough about spirits to know that they didn't follow time in any kind of linear fashion. He'd asked her one night. Jango had passed out in the other room, in his sleep looking younger and more innocent as ever and Jaster just knew that he had to ask her, had to know.

"Are you from his past or his future."

He hadn't been looking at her as he asked and he didn't turn when she answered.

"Future."

"What ties you to him?" Faux casual. Like anyone would be casual about something like this.

"He's responsible for my death."

It hangs in the air between them.

He'd known really. He'd known before he'd even asked. There was no chance of her presence marking anything good.

If he's learnt anything of his charge these last few months, it is that he's a maelstrom. At no point had an easy path laid ahead of his ward.

Jango was destined for bigger things and those around him were destined to get caught in his storm. The Ka'ra knows it and so Jaster knows it.

Of course, being responsible for someone's death doesn't have to mean the worst. But something in him knows that whatever ties this woman to his ward, is more than an honest mistake, an accident.

Which is why he doesn't ask her any more about it. He doesn't ignore her, not when Jango is asleep at least, but he doesn't ask her for more information and she doesn't volunteer it.

In the weeks after their conversation, Jaster does not acknowledge her.

He can't. If he does, Jango will know that he knows and Jaster doesn't know what that might lead to.

They still haven't spoken about the Ka'ra, let alone ghosts! Future crimes!

It's not that Jaster doesn't want to talk about the Ka'ra to Jango. He wants to acknowledge it. It's just, he wants the boy to be comfortable... Jango is from Concord Dawn, Jaster knows what that's like.

Jaster himself once stood in much the same place as Jango now finds himself.

He left Concord Dawn as a boy only a little older. He found himself, alone in the galaxy, star touched and knowing he needed to be anywhere else.

Concord Dawn is... traditional. It's better now, but when Jaster was a child, there were a superstitious, vocal minority who saw anyone star touched as little better than a Jetti.

These few saw any child born with the sight of the Ka'ra as a curse.

Jaster left what was left of his home because he wouldn't have survived in that place, not on his own, not after a tragedy had befallen his family. He would have been blamed. Not by many, but by those whose opinion mattered.

Having the sight is just not something that Mandolorians talk about. Not in public.

The Ka'ra is discussed freely in the home by those with the sight, but not so much outside of it. Those with the gift are regarded with suspicion amongst Mando'ade for no real reason, other than such a gift standing as an unknown.

The people who see such a gift as a curse are few and far between, but you never know where they are. No-one is safe because nobody talks about it, you don't know if they are safe or not.

It's one thing on a whole list of things Jaster needs to address. He just doesn't know how.

The rest is easy, it's the right thing to do. But to address this pink blaarg hiding in the corner of every Mando'ades home, when he is one of the ones who is hurt by this subject being forbidden? It seems self serving.

It's not only that it's... there's a boy that lives inside Jaster, one that's never left him.

This child, he lost everything he ever loved and then he had to flee his home to escape those that would persecute him.

That little boy is terrified at the prospect of people knowing what he is.

He's convinced that there is a traditionalist hiding in every home.

He's convinced that if they know, Jaster will lose everything he ever had, again.

Jaster hates that he can't be rid of this part of him, the fear; it holds tight. But also, its one of the best parts of him.

Before any imposter complex and the logic of an adult could step forward, that small part of him saw Jango, and knew that he had to help.

He has that part of himself to thank for the place that Jan'ika now holds in his life, in his heart.

That part of him, it never served him; until suddenly it did. He has to forgive the rest because in that one act of recognition, that scared boy contributed more to his life than any other part of his self ever had.

So, Mandalore has a problem when it comes to how those with the touch of the Ka'ra are treated. It has a problem with how such a gift is viewed. How little is understood.

Its a issue, and it's one that Jaster will address as soon as he has the slightest clue as to how. But in the meantime, Mandalore has so many other problems and Jaster even knows where to start with a few of them.

That has to be the focus. He has to do what he can now. He can't let himself get stuck, scrabbling for something he doesn't yet have.

He will address it. Mandalore will be better for it. But until then, the Ka'ra is only relevant in the one place it's always been relevant, his home.

Jaster doesn't want to scare Jango off by telling him that he's noticed.

He has no idea what response Jango has had to his gift before now. Does he see it as something he needs to hide? If he is made aware that Jaster knows, will he run before Jaster has a chance to explain?

In Jango's position? Had anyone acknowledged his gift? He would have.

Jaster would have run and he would have hidden. Jaster knows well that a child like that, can be hard to find.

He doesn't want to lose him.

He can't risk it.

He needs Jango to tell him, it needs to come from Jango.

Then, Jaster will know what he's working with. He'll be able to approach it in a way that doesn't scare the kid.

Once they've discussed the Ka'ra, then they can talk about the horrors haunting them from Jango's future. One thing at a time.

The ghosts? It's inevitable. It's a conversation that needs to be had eventually, even if it may well be the last one Jaster would ever want to have.

For now. It needs to be held off. The Ka'ra first.

It's easier than one might think, to avoid it. To avoid her.

In the day, Jango's ghost does him the favour of staying out of his eyeline so his gaze doesn't drift over to her.

In some ways, avoidance is a blessing. If he acknowledges her, he would have to acknowledge the rest.

Conversations revolving around Jango's morality, his future, are something that Jaster has done his upmost to avoid these past few months, no matter how present the reminders.

Jaster never intended to be a parent, in all honesty, he doesn't know if he's a particularly good one. He feels out of his depth in a way he hasn't, for many years.

He finds himself embracing ignorance. Something he's never before welcomed. For now, they are together. For now, he's giving Jango everything he can give. Being the best he can be.

For now, Jaster leans on something just short of denial. He knows, he just doesn't like to think about it. Not yet.

It will come for them all the same. He knows it. There is no escaping something like this.

#snippet #my writing ntwyw #mywritingntwyw

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hyperfixatingmenever · 3 years

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Steam

Steam | One-Shot | 2.8K | General

Title: Steam

Fandom: The Mandolorian

Pairing: Din Djarin/ Reader

Rating: General

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: The kid (and eventually Mando) get sick and you've got to get creative.

Cross posted from Ao3 here

A/N: This is just some teeth rotting fluff that came to me at 2am. Enjoy! Also can’t forget to thank @soyelfuegoquearde for keeping my head on straight and beta reading for me! Bless you!

You wake up with sleep still in your eyes to heavy breathing and small coughs coming from the kid’s silver sphere. Sitting up from your make-shift bed on the floor, you open the kid’s sphere to find him still asleep but fussing. He had picked something up a couple of days ago, and you were starting to get worried but not as worried as his dad. Mando would pace in the belly of the razor crest as you slowly rocked a fussing kid.

"Have you tried tea?"

"Yep."

"Broth?"

"Yep."

"Medicine?"

"Yep."

Still pacing, you can hear soft mumbling coming from his voice modulator.

"He could get worse... he needs a healer... but someone might tell... it could get back to... he wouldn't be safe... he needs to be safe... needs to be okay."

This was the first time you had ever seen Mando --- Panicked? You reach out and grab his forearm with your freehand, stopping him mid-stride.

"Mando, he'll be fine. Kids get sick, it happens, but he'll get better. Look how strong he is," You finish saying as you boop his tiny green nose.

You say this to reassure him, but deep down, to reassure yourself too. You know how strong the kid is, but he was still so small.

Over the course of a couple of days, you had tried everything, but nothing seemed to work. He was still coughing, his nose was plugged, and when you put your ear to his tiny chest you could hear it rattle. On the fifth day of this nonsense, you had almost had enough. The kid was sick and grumpy because he couldn't sleep; you obviously didn't blame the kid. You just wished you could make him feel better. But if taking care of one person wasn't hard enough, you suddenly had to take care of two. Mando was worried and grumpy; he hadn't slept much either and was barely eating; all of his energy was focused on the kid. You practically had to push him off the Razor Crest this morning to catch his bounty.

"But the kid!"

"But the kid, nothing. You've spent two days just staring at him. He’s going to be fine!"

"But what if he gets worse?"

"We've got coms. I'll call you."

He turns around and looks you in your eyes (you assume).

"I can't go. My head’s not in it."

You cross your arms, unwavering in your stance.

"It's a dumb, rich teenager who skipped bail. You could do this with your eyes closed."

His head falls. No one speaks, but his thoughts are loud enough you can hear. You place a hand on the cold beskar of his helmet, the heat of your hand almost penetrating through the metal to cup his cheek.

"He will be okay. I'll take good care of him."

Mando lifts his head, knowing that you'd do anything for that little womp rat.

"What if I tell you I'll give you updates every couple of hours?"

"Every 30 minutes."

"Every hour."

"Deal"

His shoulders are still weighed by his paternal concern but with the assurance that his son is safe in your care, he turns away from the Crest and heads off to find his bounty.

A couple of hours passed since Mando went on his hunt; you had fed and given the kid some medicine as well as done your promised check-ins. As you sit down on the floor, leaning against the wall of the razor crest, still slowly rocking the kid, you start to hum a song your mom used to sing to you when you were sick as a kid. Continuing to softly hum, your eyes suddenly burst open with a memory from when you were younger.

Quickly you move the kid from your arms into his sphere to change into a pair of shorts and take off your shirt with your breasts still wrapped underneath. With the kid now back in your arms you head to the fresher. As a kid, your mom would turn the shower to the hottest setting and would hold you while sitting on the floor, enveloped by the steam and wait for it to loosen everything in your chest. And you had the exact same plan for the kid.

Slowly the small fresher started to fill with warm steam, continuing to rock the kid who, honestly, hadn't left your arms much in the last five days. You feel him begin to settle and take normal breaths. You feel Incredibly relieved; all you wanted in the world right now was for this little one to get better. Finally feeling some peace, you leaned your head back and let the darkness envelop you.

You couldn't remember the last time you slept longer than 15 minutes. If somehow the kid was quiet and not struggling, you'd panic and wake up to check on him. But right now, you feel something cool radiating beside you and soft caresses on your face.

"Cyare"

Your eyes flutter open, the lights in the fresher are suddenly very bright, but your eyes start to focus on the beskar covered man squatting beside you.

"Mando," you say very groggily.

Still lightly caressing your face, Mando explains "You missed the last check-in. I was getting worried."

This makes your eyes open completely. "Oh my God, Mando! I'm so sorry, we were in here, and he was feeling better, and we both fell asle-"

Mando cuts off your babbling. "It's fine, I was already on my way back, I was just worried-" glancing at his son sleeping soundly in your arms "about the both of you."

You can feel the heat start to rise in your cheeks, hoping it can be explained away with the heat still captured in the tiny room, you look away.

"He's doing a lot better," You say, still not looking up at Mando.

"That's good."

Mando reaches down and caresses his son’s small cheek. Small cooing noises come out of his tiny lips, and he further snuggles into your chest. This makes you look up to Mando with a smile. He’s already looking back at you.

Mando breaks the stare "Here, let me take him, you..." gesturing to your body, which you realize is more uncovered than your employer had ever seen from you before. Instinctively you pull the child and your knees closer to your chest, unsure what you’re specifically trying to hide. "You... um... go to bed, you haven't slept since he got sick, and you’re exhausted from taking care ---"

Of the kid, you thought.

"Of the both of us."

Oh.

You try and put up a bit of a fight. "No, I'm feeling better; I swear, you just got back from a hunt anyways."

"No, get some sleep. Let me take care of both of you... please"

That please melts your heart, he could have asked for anything and ended it with that please, and you would have given it to him, happily. Looking at the child once more, softly stroking one of his enormous ears, you hand him over to his dad. Even asleep, the little one knows what his father’s armour feels like and cuddles in closer. Mando stands up and reaches his free arm down to help you up; you take it happily.

As you stand in front of Mando, a yawn builds inside your chest, you try to cover it, but Mando cocks his head to the side, giving you a knowing look. You admit defeat with your hands and head over to the pile of blankets on the floor you call your bed. You pull a ratty old shirt that Mando had given you.

"I don't wear it anymore; you can have it."

Even though you washed it many times before, it still had his lingering smell; you tended to wear it to bed; it made you feel... safe. Before you finish reorganizing your nest of blankets, Mando speaks up.

"Take my bed. You deserve a better sleep than one on the floor."

Before you can protest, Mando cuts you off again.

"I won't be sleeping any time soon. He needs to eat and... I miss him"

Mando's occasional domesticity made you warm and slightly lightheaded. You’re not going to argue with a father about his kid, and he's right; you are exhausted. So without any further argument, you walk over, kiss the kid on the head, wish Mando goodnight and crawl into his bed.

Unsure with how much exact time had passed, but you know it had to have been many hours. Your body is heavy as you wake up, you could feel the lines of the pillowcase indented in your skin. You rub your face, hoping to get some circulation back. As you slowly crawl out of Mando's bed, you hear, singing? It is very soft and as you look around you find it’s coming from the fresher.

Nuhoy Verd'ika

Te me'suum'ika laam

Te Ka'ra dral

ca'nara gar vercopa

Hearing Mando’s deep voice sing this soft lullaby makes your heart soar. You tip-toe to the fresher door and open it just a smidge. Steam starts to escape; the kid must have started getting stuffy again. You see Mando curled over and rocking what you assume to be the kid, in pants but no shirt. Your eyes wander over his broad shoulders and back. He has many scars and some bruises. You imagine his body is littered with them... just begging to be kissed, but as your eyes wander up, you see hair. Beautiful brown messy locks but hair, Mando has his helmet off.

Nuhoy Verd'ika

Gar liser geroya nakar'tuur

akaanir nakar'tuur

parjir nakar'tuur

You panic and close the door. With your back pressed against the wall, your brain tries to comprehend what you saw. Mando couldn't have seen you, but if he did, you'd swear you hadn't seen anything. Well, you hadn't seen his face, so that wouldn't be a lie ...right? You would never want to be the reason Mando broke his creed. Sure, you always kind of wondered what your employer looked like, but his creed was much more important than your curiosity.

Nuhoy Verd'ika

gar aliit kar'taylir darasuum gar

Meh val chaaj'yc be'chaaj

kar'taylir darasuum kar'tayl nayc chaaj

Nuhoy Verd'ika

parjai shi olaror Verd'ika meg Nuhoy

As you hear a long pause, you think the song must be done, you realize you can't be found right outside the fresher, so you quietly bound over to your bed and start folding blankets, trying to look busy. Seconds later, Mando comes out still shirtless but with his helmet on. Thank Maker. Steam billowed out behind him like he was in one of your trashy holo-novels.

"Oh, you're up. How’d you sleep?"

"Good... really good."

Trying not to look at his chest, which you definitely fail at, and like you, he realizes how bare he is and instinctively pulls the child closer.

"Um, can you take him so I, um, can get dressed?"

"Yes! Absolutely!" Reaching your arms out. You do a little dance with Mando as he hands you the kid and tries to get past you to get his clothes, but you both are obviously flustered. Finally, Mando gets past you; you keep your back to him to give him some sort of privacy.

"He's feeling a lot better."

"Oh, thank Maker," you say as you rock the finally peaceful child.

"The steam. It really helped."

"Good, my mother used to do it with me when I was little, and we were running out of options," you say with a chuckle.

More quietly than before, "I don’t know what I'd do without you."

Your heart and stomach flutter, but with it sounding like it escaped Mando's internal monologue, you decide not to react.

-----

Days later, the kid got better like you knew he would, but man, you are happy for Mandos sake. What you weren't expecting was for poor indestructible Mando to catch it from the kid.

"Why aren't you sick?"

"I guess I'm just stronger," giving him a quick wink.

Over the course of a week, just like with the kid, you had to nurse Mando back to health. A week of forcing him to drink broth and tea and take his medicine, but just like with the kid, nothing seemed to help other than steam.

The first night Mando tried to do it alone, but he ended up passing out. So the next night you both got dressed in your lightest clothes, Mando, with his helmet still on he would lean against you, and you would shut off the lights. Anticipating the whooshing noise from Mandos helmet as he takes it off. The next five days, you both would spend a couple of hours sitting in the hot steam as he leaned against you and slept.

Your relationship began to slowly change. There were nights where you would sit in the cockpit and watch the stars go by telling stories. Sure you did most of the talking, but you could always tell Mando was listening, even with his helmet.

As you got more familiar it felt like Mando was always touching you. His hands, his body, constantly brushing up against you. When he reached for something, to get past you, just having a hand on you when you were in public. It felt like every chance he got he needed to be touching you. Slowly you started to get addicted to his small touches. You had no complaints you relished in the feeling of his gloves gliding across your body. Closing your eyes and enjoying the soft leather pads of his fingers or the cold beskar that covered his body.

Things dramatically changed between you two when Cobb offered you a job at the school.

“Come on Mando, don’t you think she’d make a great teacher for the little ones?”

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“So, are you not giving her a recommendation?” Cobb elbows Mando teasingly.

“No, I-”

“Well, I haven’t said yes, but thank you for the offer Cobb, I’ll tell you my decision tomorrow.”

On your way back to the crest, Mando was quiet. Mando was always quiet, but this silence felt heavy. When you finally enter the Crest you've had enough.

“What’s wrong, Mando” catching his arm, making him turn around. His head was pointed at the ground.

“Are you going to leave?”

“What?”

“Are you going to leave? Leave the kid. Leave me.”

“Well, I-”

“Please don’t go.”

You place your hand on the side of his helmet. “I wasn’t going to leave. I care about the kid, you, too much. You guys… you guys are my family.”

There’s a long pause as your foreheads touch.

“Do you trust me?”

You only respond with a nod.

“Close your eyes...please.”

That please. You’d do anything for that please. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut.

You hear the recognizable whooshing of Mando taking off his helmet. It hits and rattles against the floor of the Crest.

You feel his soft breath before anything, his facial hair tickles your top lip, and his chapped lips press against your own. He starts to pull away, but you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It's an innocent kiss but as if Mando can feel the fire in your belly begin to grow he licks your bottom lip begging for entrance. Your mouths and tongues explore each other, but you both eventually pull away breathless.

“Wow, Mando, that was… wow.”

“Din”

“What?”

“My names Din”

-----

Now weeks after that Din and you had fallen into a pattern of domesticity. Intentional touches as you passed each other, sleeping together in his bed, even showering together in the dark. You couldn't be happier.

You were currently sitting on the ramp of the Crest watching the kid chase a butterfly around. Every time the kid got close, you’d clap and encourage him (but you also hoped it would scare the butterfly). Secretly you cheered on the butterfly, knowing the kid probably wanted to eat it.

“Hello, Cyare” Din says as he sits behind you and wraps his arms around your torso.

“Hello Mando,” Remembering only to say his name in private.

He rests his chin on your shoulder. Both of you sitting in the comfortable silence watching the little one run around. Your thoughts begin to wander.

“You called me that when the kid was sick; what does it mean?”

“Beloved”

“Beloved?”

“Yes, beloved.”

“But you said that before we were…”

“Together? Yes. You and that little one-” pointing his gloved hand at the kid who doesn't seem to be getting tired of this butterfly. “-Are my aliit. My Family. I will always protect you. This is the way.”

Leaning back you cuddle into his shoulder, and his arms softly tighten around you. You look at the kid and feel Dins heartbeat against you, and you know you're safe. “This is the way.”

-----

Translation For The Song.

Sleep little warrior

The moon is up

The stars are bright

It's time for you to dream

Sleep little warrior

You can play tomorrow

Fight tomorrow

Win tomorrow

Sleep, little warrior

Your family loves you

Even if they’re far away

Because love knows no distance

So sleep, little warrior

Because victory only comes to little warrior who sleep

#the mandolorian #the mandolorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #grogu #mandalorian and grogu #alix original post

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