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zelsisi · 4 months

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How to Properly Kill an Emperor...With Your Problematic Sibling

So this is set in SWTOR during Echoes of Oblivion with Outcast's brother OCs Cuyan (Jedi Knight) and Kaden (Sith Warrior). I’m glossing over things here, it's not supposed to be exactly like the Echoes of Oblivion. I changed some things for the sake of this story considering it's on the OCs and not the story itself.

Also! Hi Outcast! @outcastcommander Been awhile vod! We need to talk more again, only if you want tho. I hope you like this piece (yes it was me as the anon asking lol)!

Here's a preview:

When the two heard what was going down here, of course they wanted to help. Except for very different reasons. For example, Kaden wants to put his former Emperor into the grave for good, afterall a lot of things in the galaxy is his fault. The blue eyes of his brother seem to twitch a bit as he catches the thought through the Force. Meanwhile, Cuyan wants to do it for a multitude of reasons. One to help Satele, the former Grandmaster of the Order and the one that helped him down the road he was on. Two, he hates that he agrees with his brother for wanting to just finally put down the major pain in the osik that is The Emperor. So what if he also wanted to get even for all the bullshit he’s been through? It's not that major. Who is he kidding though? Definitely not his brother who obviously caught wind of the thought through the Force and just gave him a look with his white eyes.

Regardless of why they’re doing this, the fact is that they are doing it. Running head long into danger. Again. For the thousandth time at least. A fact that both have been…quite vocal about as they board the ship that holds the ailing bodies and minds of Master Satele Shan and her students, who they find fairly quickly after carving through the Emperor’s Servants and the Scions.

Both of them kneel and close their eyes, using the Force to go into Satele’s mind. The landscape there is of stars and barren landscapes. Illusions of enemies long dead arrive causing them to fight back to back. The brothers activate their sabers, the glow being the only light close enough to them than the stars. Both are fairly aggressive but Kaden is more honorable in his fighting as he jumps from enemy to enemy, emitting force waves and force slams as he goes. He doesn’t take every opening but that’s his way, better to fight honorably than to take a cheap shot. Cuyan, on the other hand, while he does jump around from enemy to enemy, he’s a bit more…dirty. His fists and feet and head, aided by the force, become his secondary weapons. Every opening he sees he takes, even if it's cheap, his style greatly contrasting to his brother’s.

As the fight winds down, Cuyan’s footing slips on an unstable piece of the area as he dodges to the side, leaving him open to a strike which is quickly intercepted by Kaden’s off hand saber being thrown to throw off the strike. The blue eyes sharpen towards him as they deal with the last of them, “I don’ need your help!”

“Clearly. Tell me brother, how would Kira react if you didn’t come back from this?” That shuts up his brother real quick and Kaden can’t help but feel smug at that and gives a small smirk, “Regardless of your capabilities, this enemy is more cunning than most. As you and I have seen first hand as he was the Emperor of the Sith, saw the way he consumed Ziost, and then saw what he did as Valkorion.” Cuyan’s blue eyes go wide as they go through a wide variety of emotions. The fear of being raised by the Sith so much so that he left and later killed the Emperor as a way to face his own demons. The utter failure he felt after Ziost was consumed, he was a Jedi Knight wasn’t he supposed to save as much as he could? And the utter loathing that he felt when he returned inside his own head after killing him as Valkorion. The final part causes a shiver to run down Cuyan’s spine and he realizes how glad he is that his head is free from that…being.

Kaden sighs lowly as he deactivates his sabers, “Regardless of the past we’ve had, we both want to see that bastard dead. So watch my back, I’ll watch yours.” His hand becomes a fist as it hovers over the area of Cuyan’s armor where his heart is. It's a gesture they used to do as kids before they…made very different life choices. Cuyan freezes and watches it, clearly remembering the gesture but still tenses up. Whenever one of them had touched the other recently it was because they were fighting. Kaden pulls back. He doesn’t know if the touch would even be welcome or if he’d allow it. Both of them turn away from the other.

“How touching.” The brothers whirl around at the familiar voice to see Valkorian. Their eyes narrowing and their sabers activating in near synchronization as they spit out. “Valkorion.”

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nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius · 4 months

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Me: What if I made this really cool Mando bounty hunter with cybernetic dragon wings and a fucking SWORD

Also me: What if she was a theatre kid

#her name is cuyan i’ve had her for ages i’ll post about her more soon #if i remember #morgan speaketh #morgan’s brain children

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sootyships · 6 months

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🎂, 👕, and 🪀 for the F/O fanchild ask!

Ask meme

🎂 - When's their birthday, if they have one? If they don't have a canon one, what do you hc their birthday is?

Kast kids:

As far as Cuyan remembered when he became a foundling, he was born 7955.16.3 C.R.C. He was 7 at the time, so his memory is probably accurate.

Feral was born 7961.243.3 C.R.C, Nyn 7964.330.6 C.R.C and Nuhur 7965.253.11 C.R.C.

(Those dates correspond to Jan 16th, Sep 1st, Nov 27th and Sep 11th.)

Sidzla:

Sidzla's birthday is Jan 5th.

👕 - What style of clothes do they wear? If they're not old enough to have a specific style, what style do you think they'll have?

Kast kids:

Cuyan, Nyn and Nuhur all kind of wear "whatever", they're more about practicality than style. Cuyan likes earthy colours, Nyn likes dark colours, and Nuhur likes orange and green.

Cuyan wears a heavy style of beskar'gam with a custom helmet to account for his montrals and lekku, painted copper and green.

Nyn's eventual beskar'gam isn't heavily armoured, because she's more about agility than protection. She does keep to her dark colour scheme.

Nuhur sticks to his guns and keeps wearing "whatever", which in this case means a standard pilot beskar'gam, with fewer armour plates. He did make the secondary colour orange, though.

Feral prefers to wear skirts and dresses. Her style remains rather down to earth and practical, but she definitely stands out in this regard compared to her siblings. She likes red and dark purple. Her beskar'gam is a heavier style with those colours, and she has a Nite Owl-style helmet, but she prefers civilian clothing.

Sidzla:

Sidzla's fave shoes are something like these:

She likes yellow and purple. She often asks for a piece of clothing or an accessory specifically because a peer or multiple peers of hers has/have something similar, which makes sense, considering.

🪀 - Do they have a favorite toy? What is it? If it was a gift, who got it for them?

Kast kids:

There's this toy starfighter that Feral and Cuyan used to fight over. Eventually, Cuyan decided Fer'ika could have it, and luckily Nyn and Nuhur didn't care for it...

Sidzla:

Sidzla likes the toy replicas of Lady Sif's sword and shield that Thor gave her. Not to sound old, but when I was a kid, I made my toy weapons myself from sticks in the forest! *sniffs*

#oc sidzla #oc cuyan #oc feral #oc nyn #oc nuhur #fankid #fankid ask meme #ultimate mayhem

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sprout-fics · 1 year

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Chapter 48: The Abyss

Read (Here) on AO3

Word Count: 5.8k

Rating: Teen and up

Tags: Angst, Kidnapping, Abduction, Rescue Missions, Protective! Din, Original Female Characters (Not Cuyan), Captor/Captive bickering, Din to the rescue, Trauma with a big T

Warnings: TW for forced abduction, Forced use of drugs

Summary:

Now Din almost certainly thought you were gone from him, had chosen to leave him and Grogu behind. If he thought this was your choice, that you had left of your own accord instead of being captured the moment you reversed your decision, then maybe he would simply let you go. Perhaps he would let you leave, not knowing that you were being taken, instead choosing to wallow in his own heartbreak at your betrayal.

The knowledge that came with that forbidden thought crept across you slowly, tangling you within an inescapable spider's web of dread. If Din didn't know you had been abducted, if he didn't know you wanted to return to him, then he wouldn't come for you. No one would.

No one was coming. You were alone.

More than that, this time there was no chance of escape.

Tag List: (Reply to this post to be tagged in future updates!)

@grogusmum @dankest-farrik @deceiverofgodss @bunniesofsteel @okaycoldplay @adancedivasmom @shuttlelauncher81 @blue-and-yellow-jjk-pjm @civil-warriors @dessinemoiunehistoire @breadqueen95 @grogusmum @writeforfandoms @lwilliams128 @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @lexloon @peanutismynickname @thesmutslut @jenaatje @voyagerlotus @pamshorttsbrokenbothherlegs @rinissleeping

If you like my work please consider donating to me on Ko-Fi!

#Din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #Din djarin x ofc #(Bc lets face it Cuyan is at this point an original female character sorry)#reader insert #my writing #my fic #fic: the stowaway

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vodika-vibes · 10 months

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Rainbow squad would go a lil beserk when they find out what had happened to Dusk. I bet Redd and Sticker would budge Strife, Thorn and even Fox to send them down to investigate, but of course without any success. Strife and Stitch would help Dusk to get well quick again. Like Strife would sneak in some pizza and ask dusk about tattoos and fashion designs, Stitch as the squads medic would often check on his vitals and stay with him as long as he can, Cuyan wouldn’t enter the medbay. It would remind him too much of his lost battalion. But he sometimes walks towards it just to turn back again

Aww~

Dusk would be so touched that they care enough to try and help him recover. Especially since he's the type who would blame himself for the loss of his men.

He would, however, side with Strife, Thorn, and Fox about vetoing any investigations into the lower levels. He's lost enough brothers to Coruscant, thank you very much.

And when he's left alone, he'd probably cry because he has a batch again and they're the best thing ever.

#star wars #tcw #clone oc #lieutenant dusk #other peoples ocs #oc: strife #oc: redd #oc: sticker #oc: stitch #oc: cuyan

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ranahan · 4 months

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Agent nouns in Mando’a

No, not the 007 kind. I mean different ways to derive words for a “doer” in Mando’a. There are half a dozen different ones. I’ve included some examples, but not an exhaustive list of all the instances these suffixes/derivations appear in the canon dictionary.

In no particular order (because tumblr on mobile doesn’t allow me to drag these into a more logical order):

-ad

As a noun, ad means “a child”. It’s kind of hard to say whether it should be analysed as a suffix or as a part of a compound word in derived words. Whichever way, in derived words the meaning is “person”, somewhat like “man” in English words like foreman, fireman, Englishman, etc. In demonyms, it’s perhaps best translated as “a child of…”. It also appears in other types of nouns and some adjectives, but that’s a story for another time.

In canon, it appears in words such as:

Alor’ad, (n.) ‘captain’ < alor (‘leader’) + ad

Ramikad, ‘commando’ < ram’ika ‘raid’ + ad, “raider”.

Kyramud, ‘assassin’ < kyram (‘death’) + ad (ad dissimilates to -ud)

Mando’ad, (n.) ‘a Mandalorian’, “child of Mandalore” < mando (‘mandalorian’) + ad

+1 non-canon example, since I promised to explain my reasoning for deriving the word for a pilot from sen (‘fly’) + ad > senad (rather than one of the other suffixes): it’s not that I think -ad is the only one or even the most common way to derive a noun for a profession—rather, it’s my observation that pilots seem to hold flying as something that’s more than just a job, and more like a part of their identity. And I wanted the word for a pilot to reflect that. So this one is for all the pilots in my family tree.

-ur

Nominal suffix which seems to denote a doer or an instrument (we also get it in gaanur, ‘hand tool’ < gaan (‘hand’) + ur).

Baar’ur, (n.) ‘a medic’ < baar (‘body’) + ur. My take on this word is that it’s rather like English “physician”, which derives (via French and Latin) from Ancient Greek φυσικός, which means ‘natural’ or ‘physical’. I tend to think that baar’la also means ‘bodily, corporal’ (I’m hardly original in this, my dictionary file lists no less that four authors for baar’la).

Cabur, ‘protector, guardian’ < *cab- (‘protect’) + ur

-ii

A nominal suffix denoting a doer, also used in demonyms (but not professional titles, at least not in the small canon sample). My take on -ii is a neutral agent suffix, much like English -er. It also appears in demonyms, which I’ve written about in here. The tldr is that I think it’s a neutral suffix—but it can be derogatory depending on the context.

Parjii, ‘victor, winner’ < *parj- (‘win’) + -ii

Aruetii, ‘outsider’

Kaminii, ‘Kaminoan’ < Kamino + -ii

-aar

Short. Punchy. I don’t know what else to say.

Chakaar, ‘thief’ < *chak- (‘steal’) + -aar, “stealer, robber”.

Senaar, ‘a bird’ < *sen- (‘fly’) + -aar, “flyer”.

Galaar, ‘a hawk’ < *gal- (‘plunge, plummet, dive’) + -aar. Literally “plummet-er” or “diver”, after its characteristic way of hunting.

-an

This is a fun one. As an independent word, it means ‘all’. As a suffix, it has a couple of different collective senses. When forming an agent noun, the best way I can formulate the meaning is X-an > “one who can all X”.

So cuyan < cuyir (‘to be, exist’) + an is not just any kind of a exister or liver, it’s one who lived through it all, i.e. a survivor.

And a goran < *gorar or possibly *gor + an, is not just any maker or creator, but one who can make everything (or everything that counts, anyway), i.e. a smith, an armourer.

Aran, ‘guard’ < *ar- (my best damn guess is this root means ‘against’) + an, so “one who can (stand) against everything”, probably.

Compound words

I’m still working out the compound word rules in Mando’a so take this analysis with a big heaping of salt. Most compound word titles/agent nouns seem to be a combination of a verb and a noun (like English “woodcutter”) and they don’t need a suffix in addition (“woodcut” rather than “woodcutter”).

First we have a couple of N + V (without the verbal suffix) type compounds. This compound noun type is really common in Mando’a in general.

Gotabor, ‘engineer’ < gota (‘machine’) + bor(ar) (‘work’), “machine-worker”.

Meshurkaan, ‘jeweler’ < meshurok (‘gemstone’) + hokaan(ir) (‘cut’), “gem-cutter”.

The V + N compound word type seems equally well attested:

Tay’haai, ‘archivist, reporter’ < *tay- (‘hold, preserve’) + *haai (probably ‘’), either “hold-truth” or “hold-see(ing, maybe?)”. The problem is, we don’t have a definition for haai. There’s haa’it (‘vision’) and haa’taylir (‘to see’), but no haai. The -i is a noun suffix, so that makes me tentatively place that as a noun.

Al’verde, ‘commander’ < *al- (‘lead’) + verde (‘soldiers’), “soldier-leader” or “lead soldiers”.

Demagol, ‘’ < dem(ar) (‘carve’) + agol (‘flesh’), “flesh-carver” or “carve flesh”.

Others

Sometimes what looks like a verbal suffix -Vr is actually a noun. There are enough of these in the dictionary that it’s either not just zero derivation or it’s a really common one (especially -ar).

Alor, ‘leader’ < *al- (‘lead’) + or

Hibir, ‘student’

Mirci’t, ‘prisoner’. Honestly, this one has a noun suffix that’s otherwise exclusively applied to things, not people. Proceed with caution if you want to take it as an example.

This is my (not exhaustive) analysis based on Traviss’ word list and other works, but I am of course not Karen Traviss and neither do I have access to her notes. If you disagree on something, let me know in the comments or even better, post your own analysis as a rebuttal.

#mandoa #mando’a #mando’a language #mando’a linguistics #ranah talks mando’a #mando'a #mando’a morphology #mando’a analysis

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againstacecilia · 1 year

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So I know I haven't been consistent on posting Cuyan, but we literally have 3 chapters left and I'm thinking I want to get them all posted before the new year, so here's my goal!

Chapter 15 - posting December 24th

Chapter 16 - posting December 28th

Chapter 17 - posting December 31st

Thank you for coming along on this wild ride. This year of writing and posting and making some of the most wonderful friends has been more important to me than I can even begin to describe. I've got some ideas brewing for next year and it's all for you. 💖

#cuyan #update #ceci talks #din djarin #din djarin series

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gudstudio · 5 months

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#guatemala #ronald cuyan #artist #artists on tumblr #my phoyography #canon photography #photogram #photos #photographer #photography #photooftheday

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sun-roach · 9 months

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Curious so any of your ocs break through the chip after order 66?

Actually only Cuyan’s doesn’t function right, thanks to the incident that happened to Cuyan’s battalion…

During order 66 Cuyan doesn’t understand the sudden change of his brothers. He tries to reason with them? But he is not following the order, making him a 'traitor'.

Cuyan actually leaves, goes awol.

After some time the rest of rainbow squad comes to realize what’s happening. Strife and Sticker leave to look for their brother.

Redd stays back because Stitch refuses to leave. He is too anxious to leave and Redd is to loyal to leave anyone back alone. So he stays and keeps fighting.

I think Patcher, as soon as he realizes what that 'slave chip' is for, tries to get them out. But he has not the tools to do so. He can only watch everything fall, watch one brother die after another. And he will hate himself so much. Because maybe he could have done something. Maybe he could have stopped it if he had researched about it more, spent more time on it, maybe talked with the other medics about it too, instead of just accepting that they are slaves, property without value.

And Fork… grrrrrr i am so sorry but Fork's functions. Fork kills his general. Fork kills another lieutenant for being a 'traitor'. Fork works a long time for the empire. Broken, cold. He either dies, not during a mission but worse. Or Strife finds him right in time, convinces him to go with him. But Fork will never smile again.

#oc: cuyan #oc: strife #oc: sticker #oc: stitch #oc: redd #rainbow squad #oc: patcher #corrie chief medic patcher #ccm patcher #oc: fork #lieutenant fork #107th battalion #sw oc #order 66 #thxuuuu for the ask🧡🧡#star wars #tcw #sw tcw

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saradika · 1 year

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[masterlist]

This is the list of the incredible fics I’ve read and shared this month for the stardust reblog challenge! Includes ones read here and on my side blog, @eupheme (in case there’s any confusion!) 💖

STAR WARS

'tis the damn season by @maybege

Years after you last saw Boba Fett, Natalie invites you to spend Christmas with her family. | hot dad!boba x f!reader

ownership of mine. (part 2) & (part 3) by @amywritesthings

You have been in Narkina 5 for four months. The unit believes you are in a secret relationship with Kino Loy. (Are you?) | kino loy x f!reader

Before. When. After. by @littlemisspascal

There is a story before, when, and after Keef Girgo enters your life | ruescott melshi x f!eader

Zena Thamne (Cuyan Series) by @againstacecilia

Your fiance disappears two months before your wedding on a dangerous hunt. Fearing the worst and desperate to find him, you accept help from a reluctant Mandalorian and set off in search of your groom. | din djarin x f!reader

Take My Hand by @princessxkenobi

after a fresh snow has fallen over all the forest, you & your darling obi wan sneak away from the cottage for some ice skating; your hearts, all the while held within each other’s palms | obi-wan kenobi x f!reader

Patience by @oscarseyebrow

“Show me how you caught him,” you request, eyes daring the bounty hunter as his chest heaves in the fluorescent lights of the Crest’s hull. “Show me how you took control.” | din djarin x female reader

By Your Side by @princessxkenobi

In the softened afterglow of the fireplace, things take a heated turn between you and anakin, where all that you begin to sense there, is your shared waves of longing and intimacy, wanting just to be together | anakin x f!reader

Unwavering by @uwingdispatch

You are so precious to me,” he said. “Do you know that? I never…” he trailed off for a moment, closing his big hazel eyes, taking a deep breath. “I never had the courage to tell you how much I love you, but if something happens today and I never get to see you again—” | brasso x f!reader

A Touch of Peppermint by @princessxkenobi

hot chocolate doesn’t exist where Din Djarin is from, & thankfully you had been there just to show him what it’s all about; that is…if either one of you doesn’t get distracted for too long to enjoy it first ...❄️ | din djarin x f!reader

Flowers that Bloom in Winter by @psychedelic-ink

A spiteful coworker ruins the flower arrangements you had hoped to compete with. Not knowing what can be done, you entertain a young boy named Grogu who comes in at the same time wanting to buy a bouquet for his father. The next day, Din returns and offers to help you out with your work until a competition. | din djarin x f!reader

MARVEL / DC

A Cause For Celebration by @andrewrussgarfield

In which Peter Parker shows up at your front door with a slightly smashed cupcake and a whispered "Happy Birthday". | tasm!peter x afab!reader

Bitten by Fate by @stargirlfics

After a Halloween party at an abandoned mansion, you wake up to discover strange bites on your body and a note inviting you back | vampire!stucky x black f!reader

STARDEW VALLEY

Nothing Comes from Nothing by @hometownbard

All it took was a production of The Sound of Music for you to finally confront your feelings for Harvey, the show's leading man. | harvey x farmer

PEDRO PASCAL & OSCAR ISAAC

Live Fires & Low Lights by @wyn-n-tonic

“You're teasing me, sweetheart.” | javier peña x f!reader

frankie request by @softanon

A scoop of fluff with Dad!Frankie, with a bonus appearance of young Júlia Morales. | frankie morales x gn!reader

expectations by @pedrito-friskito

It was only supposed to be a job. | joel miller x f!reader

Did You Think I Had Forgotten? by @wyn-n-tonic

She’d fucking hate him if she could. | santiago x f!reader

VIOLENT NIGHT

All is Calm by @clydesducktape

Nicholas returns home looking battered and bruised. A reminder of a past life you’ve shared that leads to him needing your comfort and joy. | santa!harbour x f!reader

These fics are all so lovely - please check them out and please support these creators! 💖✨

#stardust reblog challenge #fic recs #please support these creators #din djarin x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #peter parker x reader #boba fett x reader #kino loy x reader #sdv harvey x reader #javier peña x reader #frankie morales x reader

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kill-the-feels · 1 year

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cuyan

a/n: hey everyone! i didn’t mean to leave y’all on such a cliffhanger last time for so long, but real life got in the way. once more, minimal Jango content, but the next chapter will fix that, promise! enjoy! :) (previous part) (masterlist)

word count: ~3.9k

warnings: implied/referenced slavery (Gardulla returns), implied/referenced child abuse, injury mention, blood/stabbing mention

It has been nearly ten years since the last time you stepped foot on Tatooine, and nearly twelve years since you found yourself being bartered away from Gardulla’s service.

For a long time, after escaping Gardulla, even on Kamino, you lived life like you were waiting on the other shoe to fall.

You didn’t let yourself be all the way happy, because you were so afraid that something would come and take that happiness. Anytime you felt joy, you carefully smothered it, tamping it down in your chest, like you were keeping the universe from finding out and snatching it away.

And then, just when you weren’t looking, just when you let your guard down, felt such unbridled joy, the universe did snatch it away.

But.

You are not going to go quietly.

The planet has not changed much — the same harsh winds, relentless suns, and ever-shifting sands. But what was once a palace that housed Gardulla and her ill-gotten gains has fallen into a bit of disrepair.

As you stare up at the spires, once as tall and as sharp as her tongue, you see the way they’ve started to crumble in on themselves.

Once a place for lookouts, they’re now defunct and in need of serious repair.

The front door is much the same. Time and whipping sands have stripped the paint; the lavish purple now a dull grey lavender, bleached by the harsh environment.

The hinges squeak as you push open the door, and no one is there to stop you.

It seems in the dawning of a new era, Gardulla has quietly and slowly — but surely — been left behind.

Perhaps you won’t have to part with as many credits and weapons as you thought.

The inside of the palace is dark, the lamps long since spent of their fuel, and a layer of soot covers everything. The helmet allows you to see more than you normally would, filtering the shadows and increasing the contrast automatically. No wonder Jango can see so well in Kamino’s storms.

Grit crunches under your boot as you take the familiar path towards Gardulla’s lair, at the very center with her precious throne.

There’s faint music playing, but it’s scratchy — a recording and a far cry from the live bands she once entertained.

A mass of people is huddled in the room, much more subdued than you’re used to, a smokey haze curling around everyone.

Few people give you an interested glance — most look bored out of their minds. You recognize none of them; the old girls and the people who used to hang out here are gone or dead, a product of the life they were forced into.

And there, in the very center, is the Hutt herself. She’s snapping something churlish at a young man who holds a tray, and he scurries off, tripping over her tail as he goes.

You follow his path, stopping when you see the little girl at the end of Gardulla’s tail.

She’s young, far younger than you ever were, with long, stringy hair, and brown eyes that seem to look right through you, as she becomes the first person in the room to take real notice of you.

“Bring me a fucking drink,” Gardulla howls in Huttese, skin quivering in rage.

It’s a strange power dynamic now. Here you are, back in the same room, looking at a little girl in the same spot you were. Only now, you’re the one in the armor; you’re the one with the hidden past and the ulterior motives.

You step out of the shadows without a word, waiting on Gardulla to notice you. Her tail tightens around the little girl’s ankle, and you watch the girl wince before she catches herself, shoulders straightening.

White hot anger courses through your body, and ultimately, it’s what gives you the strength to speak.

“Gardulla.” Her name is a harsh sound in the midst of the droning music, and you watch as she turns to you, visibly trying to place your voice through the crackling modulation of the helmet’s filter.

You don’t give her a choice.

“I need a bacta tank. No questions. Fifty thousand credits.” The Huttese is rusty on your tongue, but as you speak, it comes back to you. She stares at you, silent for once in her life, as she processes your words.

“Who said that?” she asks, and you step further forward, until you’re in the center of the room, in the center of the circle.

“I did.” She stares down at you from her throne, and you’re struck by the irony. She used to be so big to you, and in your mind, she’s always been this hulking shadow, never quite vanquished.

But now, up close, with all these years removed, you can see her for what she is: just a scared and conning gangster, trying desperately not to lose what little power she has left.

“You’re not Fett,” she says, narrowing her eyes at you. You study her for a long moment in return, refusing to cower away.

“Doesn’t matter who I am. I need a bacta tank. You can get it. And you clearly need the credits.” She waves a hand, obviously stalling.

“Still, I should think you would be willing to… indulge me. You come into my house, start making these demands? I would think you’d want to get on my good side.” The young man returns with the drink, and she snatches it up, taking a long draw before tossing it away.

It glances off the little girl’s shoulder, and she barely flinches. Your fists curl in an effort to refrain from removing one of Jango’s blasters and ending the Hutt where she sits.

“I should think for fifty thousand credits you’d be willing to listen to my demands,” you say. Her head tilts.

“And yet, there’s something familiar about you. And if there’s one thing I like almost as much as credits, it’s having my curiosity satisfied.” You stare at her, weighing your options.

Finally, you reach up and snag off the helmet. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust in the dark, hazy room, and you blink back the sting of smoke.

You see when it registers just who you are. Her mouth opens and closes as she mouths your name, and you tilt your head impatiently, ready to get on with it.

“I thought you died,” she finally says. You reach into the bag and pull out a handful of credits.

“Fifty thousand for a bacta tank and no questions. And another fifty thousand for the girl.” Gardulla stiffens and the little girl’s head jerks up.

“She’s not for sale. I’m training her to be a dancer.” You let out a humorless laugh.

“For what, Hutt? There’s no one around even remotely interested in that. Your place is shit. Take the credits and fix it up. Get someone better down the line.” Her lip curls, but you can see it in her eyes. She’s not going to turn you down. She values the money too much, just like you knew she would, greedy bastard that she is.

“Fifty thousand for the tank, seventy-five for the girl,” she counters. You know she’s expecting you to protest. What she doesn’t know is that you were prepared to part with much more, before you saw the state of things.

“Deal. Where’s the tank?” She’s flustered. Her tail loosens and the girl shoves it off, rushing to your side. She’s a little younger than Boba, and despite the heat, she shivers beside you.

“Well, I-I didn’t realize you’d take the deal. What I meant to say is that it’s seventy-five for both.” She tries to backtrack, and your hand drifts down to one of the blasters as you pull your helmet back on.

“Don’t piss me off,” you warn. “I can take these credits elsewhere and leave you with nothing.” She grits her teeth. Gardulla doesn’t like to lose.

You cock your head, waiting.

She hollers for two of her guards.

“There’s a spare tank in the north room. Bring it to me.” You cross your arms as you wait, and finally, the two emerge, the tank on a floating platform between them. Carefully, you count out the credits, still mildly surprised she agreed to this in the first place, without you having to part with any weapons. The girl says nothing as she watches you.

Finally done, you push the tank forward and out of the room, nodding at the little girl who follows closely behind you. Remembering how scared you were in her position, you wait until you round the corner, out of Gardulla’s sight, then kneel beside her, careful not to touch her.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve been where you were. Once I get you out of here, you’re free to go wherever you want, okay? What’s your name?” She shakes her head, and you nod.

“That’s okay. I’m not big on trusting people either.” You glance down at her feet. Like your past self, she has no shoes. You have no cape, but you do have the bag the credits were in, so you tear it up.

“The sand outside is hot. It burns. If you put this on your feet, it’ll help.” You show her how to tie it off, fighting the urge to go kill Gardulla when you see the raw skin around her ankle, where Gardulla’s tail must have constricted, day after day.

“When we get out of here, I’ll find you something better,” you whisper. She hesitates, then looks up a you with a tiny nod. Something swells in your chest, and you consider it a small victory.

As you step outside, the late afternoon suns hit you in the face. Even with the helmet, you’re squinting, and the girl cowers back. Without thinking, you reach up and tug off the helmet.

“Here. This will help filter the sun so it’s not so bright.” She pulls it down over her head, and it tilts slightly to the side, just a little too big for her.

A cruel laugh echoes over the sand.

“As a live and breathe. A former Gardulla Girl.” You turn. There, slipping out of the crest of a dune, is a pink Twi’lek. You squint in the sun.

“Maswoni?” Years and years ago, the Twi’lek was one of the favorites. Now, it’s clear that the years have not been kind. She’s scarred and missing some of her right lekku. The bags under her eyes are visible, even from a distance, and the provocative dress she wore as a dancer has been replaced by a baggy flightsuit and utility belt. She’s picking at her sharp nails with a blade.

“In the flesh,” she replies. Her gaze is hostile as it lands on you, jumping between you and the girl.

“Still as noble as ever,” she adds. In a flash, Maswoni flings the blade at you, and you duck, shoving the girl down behind the tank.

“Stay here,” you tell her, trying to draw Maswoni’s attention elsewhere. If she messes up the tank, you’re back to square one.

You’re also aware you’re running out of time. The longer it takes you to deal with Maswoni, the more time you waste that you could spend helping Jango. If you don’t die first, that is.

She charges at you with a shriek, and you duck as she fires the blaster at your head. You’re a terrible shot with the blaster, so you know you’re going to have to get in close.

Jango’s lesson comes rushing back to you.

Don’t fight to win, fight to get away.

“Listen to me,” you whisper to the girl. “I’m going to distract her. I want you to take and push this towards the city — it’s over the dunes. There’s a ship with blue and yellow details, twin blaster cannons, real funny looking. I need you to take it there. Please.” She looks between you and the still-charging Maswoni, visibly torn. Finally, mercifully, she nods, then grabs your arm. You watch as she takes off the helmet, pushing it into your chest.

“Are you sure?” you ask her, and she nods again. You waste no time in slipping it back on.

You step out from behind the tank, unholstering your blaster as you do.

The armor, as you have seen, can take a few hits. But the closer she gets, the deadlier they’ll be. You have to knock the blaster out of her hand, you decide. Get rid of it, engage her in a hand-to-hand fight. That’ll keep her busy long enough for the girl to get away, then you can run.

To throw her off guard, you fire a few shots near her, but it’s painfully clear you don’t know how to shoot.

She pings one off your right shoulder, and you stumble backwards, tripping in the sand. It’s been years since you’ve had to move around the shifting sands, and the armor adds weight that you’re not used to. As you stumble, you catch your hand in the spare utility belt hiding the old blaster shot. It tugs to the side, exposing it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the little girl and the tank, slinking away. Good. Boba will know what to do if she makes it to him. But that’s a big if.

You fall flat on your back as another shot hits your other shoulder, the wind knocked out of you. Everything in you screams at you to get up, but a quiet voice keeps you still.

Anything can be a weapon. She needs to be closer.

You play dead, blaster shot in the middle of your chest on prominent display. To her eyes, it looks like she got you center mass. A kill shot.

It’s a calculated move, because the little girl is still not far enough away, but Maswoni is entirely focused on you. You hear the crunch of her footsteps in the sand, feel the stray grains she’s kicked up dust over the helmet. Your eyes remain fixed on her figure, the benefit of a helmet. She can’t tell you’re watching her, waiting.

Ten feet. Seven. Five. Two.

She leans over you, nudging you with her toe, and still, you don’t move.

It’s not until she bends down, tries to snatch the helmet off you, that you spring into action.

With a cry, you kick at her hands, knocking the blaster away. She cries out too, falling backwards and taking your helmet with her, even as she reaches for her other blaster. You don’t give her a chance, instead tackling her backwards and pinning her in the sand. Frantically, you toss the blaster as far away as you can get it.

The two of you wrestle there, you just trying to subdue her, Maswoni trying to kill you.

She lands a solid punch on the side of your head, leaving you dazed as she rolls away. Maswoni scrambles for the blade she threw at you to start this whole fight. You reach for your own blade, still stuck on your back in the sand, blinking away the grey at the edge of your vision.

With a howl, she leaps at you, knife pointed at your neck. Your hands fumble as you try to get your own knife up between you two, to block the blade. She lands on your chest, and you tense, prepared to feel the sting on your neck, feel the hot blood seep out.

Instead, she goes limp, a gasping cough escaping from her lips.

Your knife is buried in her chest, sticky blood starting to seep over your hands.

Her hand trembles and she tries to force it to work, to stab you, but she’s too weak. Carefully, you role her off you, and stand on shaky legs, swallowing the bile that rises in the back of your throat.

“Why did it have to be fucking you?” Maswoni says in between gasps.

You kneel beside her, not relishing the ending she’s been dealt. She’s right. Your roles could oh, so easily, have been reversed.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. She scowls, looking away at the suns, which have started to slip below the horizon, casting long shadows over the two of you.

“We used to talk, y’know. About how long you’d make it. Every single one of them thought he’d kill you. But I knew you. You were too fucking stubborn to go down so easily, even if you acted scared all the time.” Her voice is choked and bitter, the words spat at you.

You gently pry the knife out of her hands, biting your lip as you look down at her.

“Maswoni,” you say, trying to figure out how to apologize. For stabbing her, for what she’s been through, all of it.

“Don’t,” she says. “Let me have my dignity. You beat the system. You won. Now get out of here. Before it pulls you back in.” Her eyes close and a sad, bitter smile graces her lips. Her next words are delivered softly, as if she’s resigned herself to what comes next.

“It never would have been me, anyways. Every time he’d come in there, he was always looking at you.” Carefully, you take her hand, hands smeared with blood and sand, wanting her to have some comfort, a gentle touch, something, before she dies. She snorts softly, pressing a hand to her wound, and with one long exhale, she’s gone.

You hang your head, fighting a sudden rush of tears. It isn’t fair. Maswoni, who used to be vapid and mean, but also entirely ready to protect the other girls at Gardulla’s, the one you could always count on to fight back.

Gone. In a blink.

The winds pick up, shifting the dunes, starting to cover her feet. You find your blade, and hers, and tuck them both into your belt. A quick look around reveals the helmet nearly covered, and you tug it back on, leaving bloody fingerprints on it, watching through the twilight as the sands reclaim Maswoni. Another breath, and she’s gone, the sands perfectly undisturbed, no evidence of your fight except the extra blade.

Your force your feet to move on, and when you crest the dune, you don’t look back. ~~~ You find the girl, stumbling through the sands, resolutely pushing the bacta tank, and you help her get it the rest of the way, slapping the side of the ship to let Boba know you’re back.

The ramp lowers, and you shove the tank up, catching the girl’s hand when she hesitates.

“You can come in,” you tell her. “I told you I’d get you out of here, and then you’re free to go wherever.” She settles in the corner as you position the tank along the wall and toss the helmet in a nearby seat.

“Boba!” you shout, and he rushes down the ladder. You’ve never hooked up one of these, don’t know what to do, and neither does Boba, but surely between the two of you, you can figure something out.

Boba notices the little girl as he messes with the control panel.

“Who’s she?” He glances between you and the girl, and you catch the way his eyes linger on the dried blood covering the armor. You tug a spare tube, trying to figure out what it connects to.

“Gardulla was keeping her. I didn’t like that.” You’re vague, having never really told Boba about your past, and now is not the time to elaborate.

“Buir, how did you even find this?” Boba asks, a strange inflection — awe maybe? — in his tone, and you shake your head. Not the time, you repeat.

The girl creeps out of the corner and touches your hand, pointing to one last spare tube. You frown.

“I see it, but where does it go?” She hesitates, glancing between you two for permission.

“Go ahead,” Boba says. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” Her eyes go wide, but she scurries under the tank, pulling the tube and connecting it to some unseen valve.

The lights flicker on, and the tank starts to fill.

“Yes!” You and Boba cheer.

“Okay,” you tell Boba. “I’m going to get Jango in the tank. Can you get us in atmo?” He nods and the girl slinks back to her corner. Boba pauses right before he climbs up the ladder, instead heading for the bunks in the ship.

He returns, carrying Ai-Ai. Gently, he places the toy in front of the girl.

“For you,” he explains. “He makes me feel better.” The girl watches him with big eyes, and you blink a few times to clear the tears, frozen as he climbs the ladder, so mature and so calm in that moment. You’re not sure when he grew up. Just that one moment he was a baby, and now he’s just like his father.

Right.

Jango.

With the little girl watching you, you carefully strip the remains of Jango’s flightsuit.

You’re in the process of adjusting the bacta levels — not wanting to splash it everywhere when Jango is put in — when the little girl sits up suddenly.

Her eyes stay focused on Jango as her grip tightens on Ai-Ai and you pause.

“What’s up?” you ask. She shakes her head, unwilling to look away, and you step closer.

He isn’t breathing.

The realization sticks your feet to the floor, wasting precious seconds and your body goes hot then cold in the matter of a second.

“Shit,” you hiss, falling on your knees beside him. You don’t know what to do.

Patrons used to die at Gardulla’s all the time, in sudden and increasingly creative ways. You’ve never seen them brought back to life, though.

Think.

You close your eyes, wracking through your brain for anything. There was a safety training video you half-watched once, listening as Boba watched on the holopad while you worked on something else.

You have to press his chest, hard. And breathe air into his lungs.

The girl curls into a ball, and you bite down on your lip, placing the palm of one hand on the back of the other. In the video, they pressed hard enough to break ribs.

Jango’s ribs already feel pretty busted when you press, but you suppose it’s either busted ribs or death, so hopefully he’ll forgive you.

You’ve no idea how many times you’re supposed to press, so you take a guess, stopping when your arms ache. The breaths. You’re fairly sure it was two breaths, long breaths at that, so you tilt his head back, holding his nose — it feels like a logical conclusion, a way to keep the air in.

You slot your mouth over his like a twisted kiss and blow, once, twice.

Nothing.

You go back to pressing on his chest, the tears coming quickly now.

“Don’t you fucking do this to me,” you plead, pressing hard enough that you feel something give.

“I need you. You told me you were a survivor. That we were survivors. Cuyan. Cyare, what am I supposed to do?” Back to the breaths.

His mouth is cold against yours, a fact that registers uncomfortably at the front of your mind.

“Please,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his.

Jango coughs, just once, and draws a raspy breath, then another. You sag against him before drawing yourself up. Into the bacta tank. You can’t wait any longer.

It takes some finagling, but you manage to get him in with minimal jostling, tugging a mask over his face to give him air, and pushing a button to seal him in.

Now. You wait.

#jango fett x reader #jango fett x you #reader insert #injury mention #blood mention #abuse mention #i posted the last chapter and then got hit with the worst case of writer’s block in history #And then just a lack of desire to post bc my self-doubt was hella bad #But I’m finally happy with this #Thanks for reading!! <3

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get-wr3ckered · 5 months

Text

| Cuyan- (Mandalorian!OC) |

Summary: Iliana awakens in unfamiliar surroundings, and a familiar face delivers grim news.

Warnings: Angst?, SW cursing, canon-typical violence, mentions of injury and blood, panic, mentions of child death.

Wordcount: 1600+

Notes:

At this point, I'm just bending the SW timeline to my will. If timeline inconsistencies aren't your thing then I apologise in advance but it all makes sense to me in the grand scheme of Iliana's plot.

Eventual oc x Omega (parental relationship obviously)

Any Mando'a will be translated at the end.

I think I've added all the appropriate warnings and tags but if I've missed something or tagged it incorrectly feel free to let me know and I'll fix it asap!

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-Chapter Two: A Familiar Face-

Pain. Red hot, searing agony. It was the first sensation her slowly waking mind became cognisant of. Through the slowly lifting haze of unconsciousness, Iliana couldn't focus on much else aside from the deep-seated burning that tugged at the base of her ribcage, a feeling akin to having a hot poker plunged into her flesh repeatedly setting her every nerve aflame.

With every passing second small fragments of her faculties returned and with them so came her ability to comprehend each and every ache and pain that her mind had blocked out during her sleepless rest. The twinge of overworked muscles, the ache of joints having been overextended without reprieve, the tenderness of new and old bruises festering upon her skin. All were not sensations new to Iliana and yet they assaulted her dulled senses simultaneously and without mercy.

Then came the familiar sensation of bandages wound taught over fresh wounds. The telltale tugging of haphazard stitches that forced torn skin back together. Signs of rudimentary aid intended to keep her alive littered her battered body. As the last fragments of awareness slotted back into place, the dam holding back a tidal wave of memories finally crumbled.

Bombs falling. Blaster fire raining down on civilians and warriors alike. Her father wheezing out his final breath. Each shard of memory was more gutwrenching than the last as they battled it out for the forefront spot in her hazy mind.

Her eyes remained screwed shut and yet Iliana could see with terrifying clarity the falling debris, could feel wave after wave of aftershock. She could taste the rising bile in her throat as she clung to the tiny, motionless hand peeking out from beneath the shattered remnants of the nursery.

With unimpeded clarity Iliana Byrnne could remember the fall of Mandalore.

Despite the pain thrumming within the confines of her skull, Iliana forced her eyes open to find a worn wooden ceiling staring down at her. Pushing herself up with her left arm, the right being restrained and bound across her chest, the young woman attempted to force herself upright to no avail. The movement brought about new waves of pain, each expanse of her lungs set the raw flesh along her abdomen ablaze once more, muscles tensing and spasming against the small exertion.

Her throat felt raw, and painfully dry as a hacking cough tore through her chest. The metallic tang of blood danced mockingly along her tongue as she tried and failed to force oxygen into her protesting lungs.

Over the loud coughs tearing through her, Iliana barely recognised the throwing open of a door, or the shuffling of feet. It was only when a hand came to rest upon her shoulder did she comprehend that was no longer alone.

Agony be damned, Iliana wrenched herself from the foreign touch, hasty movements throwing her from atop the rickety table she'd been laid upon and onto the floor with a harsh thump. She scrambled for her weapon, the knife kept within her vambrace, only to come up empty, the icy realisation that she had been stripped of her armour washing over her.

Breath quickening, panic closing its jagged claws around her heart, Iliana grappled with her aching limbs in a bid to push herself away from the stranger, forcing her broken body into the corner of the room in a vain attempt to gather some feeble sense of defence. Without her armour, without her weapons and in her weakened state liana had all the defensive capabilities of a newborn.

"Easy," A gentle voice tried to soothe, drawing the frantic searching of Iliana's eyes to focus on the kneeling twilek woman who'd come to kneel an arm's length in front of her. The woman's face bore the gentlest of smiles as her hand slowly moved to extend a carafe of water out to Iliana. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The woman's words brought little comfort, actions eliciting only suspicion from Iliana. In a single jolting movement she smacked the offered drink from the twilek's hand before shuffling impossibly closer to the walls at her back.

In spite of Iliana's actions, the woman's smile never faltered. Instead, the twilek slowly moved away, offering Iliana the space she couldn't put between them alone.

With slow, deliberate steps, the woman moved back toward the door she'd come through, a gentle offering to go get more water slipping past her lips as she went.

Alone once again, Iliana scoured her surroundings for something, anything.

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"She's awake."

Those two short words sent a flood of relief through Rex's veins. He may not have known the Mandalorian well, if at all given the small handful of short conversations they'd shared, but that didn't diminish the weight that her survival had lifted from his shoulders. He had refused to lose anyone else so soon regardless of how minimal their connection to one another was. He didn't think his already bruised heart could've withstood another strike.

"Good," Cut breathed out, eyes shifting to the two shallow graves that had been dug in the passing days. Jek and Shaeeah sat by the foot of them, quietly braiding together flower crowns to adorn the poorly erected wooden markers. "How's she doing?"

Suu let out a dejected sigh. "Wary, she did not care for the pain she caused herself in trying to get as far from me as she could."

"It's to be expected," Cut tried to reassure his wife, hand raising to rub soothing circles between her shoulder blades. "Maker only knows what she's been through to get here."

The man's words rang true but offered little comfort. The news of Mandalore's falling had spread quickly, reaching eve the most remote corners of the galaxy. The three of them could only begin to guess what the woman had been forced to endure.

"Perhaps a familiar face would help ease her?" Suu glanced toward a silent Rex.

A beat of silence washed over them. After a moment of contemplation, Rex pushed a hand through his hair and forced himself to stand. The possibility of clones playing a role in the decimation of Mandalore remained uncertain to him, the chance his presence may cause more harm than good tauntingly circled within his mind. "Maybe."

Cut and Suu watched, each wearing their own looks of concern, as the former captain stalked off toward the very barn he himself had once been sheltered within.

Approaching the barn's side door with tentative, almost cautious steps, Rex's knuckles rapped against the worn wood in slow succession. Barging in unannounced would do no good, he knew as much and so he waited for some form of response no matter how minute it may be.

A crash came from within, the sound seeping out through the slivers of space between the door and its frame. A pained grunt followed shortly after, only to be muffled far too quickly- as if it had been forcibly stifled in a bid to hide it.

Waiting for an invitation was thrown out of the proverbial window. His Mandalorian acquaintance hadn't been in any condition to be moving the last he saw her. For all Rex knew she could've torn her stitches and be bleeding out as he waited, he wasn't about to let anything of the sort happen.

Slamming his entire weight against the door, the rusted hinges protesting loudly, the old door gave way all too easily, swinging open from the force and smacking harshly against the adjoining wall. Boots scuffing against the ground, Rex all but dived through the open doorway, moving to the fallen woman's side as she lay motionless beside the now broken table. He didn't offer the splintered wood a second glance as he gingerly placed his hand on her shoulder.

That had been his first mistake.

A sudden harsh blow struck him in the side of the head. A broken leg from the table, his dazed mind realised as his body slumped down beside the not-so-motionless Mandalorian. Rex's limbs refused to move, senses numbed by the unexpected hit.

Then came his second mistake.

The weight of his blaster disappeared from its place within its holster. Pressure against his chest, over the very spot where his heart resided within was all the confirmation he needed that his own weapon had been turned on him. His senses returned to him, the predicament sobering in a way and he forced his open palms up slowly in surrender.

Rex met Iliana Byrrne's gaze, a storm of molten rage swirling amongst the dulled vermillion of her irises. It was the look of a woman with nothing left to lose, sympathy swelled in his chest despite the weapon so intently trained upon him.

"Easy Soldier," Rex saw the spark of recognition as he spoke but his words did nothing to soften the heated glare boring into him. Her finger flexed around the trigger for a singular moment before the pressure lifted ever so slightly. "'m not gonna hurt you, just wanna help."

Iliana didn't relinquish her hold on his blaster but she did pull it back, still pointed his way but no longer directly over his heart. Voice raw, the brunette bit out a response. "Not like you could."

There was a tense silence as Iliana inspected the blaster in her grasp. Then the four walls around them. Finally, her sharp gaze settled on Rex once more.

"Where are the foundlings?" Her finger twitched over the trigger once more, a warning hanging unspoken over them. "Where the kriff are my foundlings?"

Four words. Four measly little words were all it took to shatter the warrior's resolve. Four words and her facade of strength fizzled out.

"They didn't make it."

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Additional Notes: Not proofread, I refuse to suffer my mistakes alone. Mando'a: Cuyan- survivor Taglist: Feel free to drop me a message to be added to the taglist!

#mandalorian oc #mandalorian!oc #star wars oc #tbb oc #star wars fic #tbb fic #writing in progress #the bad batch #star wars tbb #star wars #star wars clone wars #swtcw fic #get wr3ckered’s oc

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