well well well if it isn't the 100k fic I never thought would happen
um. yeah. tbobt rewrite hit 100k words for real for real, not just in my master document. im feeling some sort of way about it. proud? astonished? completely fucking bewildered by my own writing capabilities?
fifteen year old me, completely new to writing fanfic, could never have imagined writing something this long and complex. i look back at my very first completed star wars fic, and it was less than 1k words when i first posted it (i later added a couple chapters unintentionally). so yeah. glow up.
i feel like a better writer than i was even two years ago when i started tbobt, so to think back to my writing over a decade ago??? its just incredible knowing how much i've improved.
anyway, enough of me being sappy, here's some snibs. one from the og draft, and then the second from the rewrite
----(og)----
Vokara hated her job sometimes. She loved it too, of course, loved the reward of saving a life, healing wounds, taking away her patientsā pain. It was deeply fulfilling work, and she couldnāt see herself anywhere else, doing anything else.
But at times like thisā¦ she hated it.
Jedi didnāt hate, but faced with the evidence of months of suffering, months of torture, written in scars on the broken body in front of her, she couldnāt help it.
Someoneāsomeone she didnāt even want to think the name of, lest she go down to the prison and break her oath as a Healerāhad done this. Hadā¦ inflicted such immense harm on a man who had never and would never deserve it. A man who she cared dearly for, who had been her patient since she was a young Padawan-Healer and he an even younger crĆØcheling. Someone had looked at this man and decided to hurt him beyond repair.
And for what?
----(rewrite)----
Vokara hated her job, sometimes. She loved it, too, of course. Loved the reward of saving a life, healing a wound, easing a patientās pain. The work was deeply fulfilling, and to imagine herself anywhere else, doing anything else was simplyā¦ inconceivable.
But not all lives could be saved. Not all wounds could be healed. Not all pain could be eased. At times like those, at times like thisā¦ she hated being a Healer.
To hate was not the Jedi way, but in the rare moments, Vokara allowed herself this one concession to sentient nature. Master Yoda would tell her to meditate, to release her hate to the Force, and she would. Later. But for now, faced with the evidence of months of suffering, months of torture, written in scars on the broken body in front of her, spelled out in technical terms on the scanner in front of her, she couldnāt help but hold onto it.
She had met Obi-Wan as a young Padawan-Healer, and he an even younger crĆØcheling, newly arrived to the Temple. He had come down with the Dantooine flu, and spent three days feverish and delirious in the Halls, under Vokara and her Masterās watchful eyes. He was the most stubborn patients she had ever met, and one of the most beloved. She had cared for him as an Initiate, a Padawan, a Knight, and a Master. She had saved his life on dozens of occasions, and healed his injuries more times than she could count.
Whether she could heal him this timeā¦ they could only hope.
Someoneāsomeone she refused to even think the name of, lest she go down to the detention cells below and break her oathāhad done this. Hadā¦ purposefully inflicted such immense harm on a man who had never and would never deserve it.
Someone had looked at this man and decided to hurt him beyond repair.
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Summary: After many years of being apart, an old friend of the Mandalorian - that meant more to him than he dared to admit - contacts him and invites him over. Could Din let himself dream of her again?
Genre: Fluff, slow burn (kind of)
Warnings: None
Words: 623
A/N: This story happens after the events shown in The Book of Boba Fett. This is just the introduction for a series, hence why such few words. It's also my first time writing after around four years, and first time writing for the fandom after even longer (six years, maybe? Seven?!); I'm anxious about it, but I've got support after posting if I should do this or not, so here we go! Hope you enjoy reading!
Part I;
Introduction
āHey there, Mando!ā Said a rather shy and unsure voice through the holoprojector. Din never thought heād hear that voice again, let alone her sweet face. His jaw dropped a little and his eyes widened under the helmet.
āI know itās been a whileā the hologram continued, āa pretty long while. I thinkā¦ ten years, maybe?ā Maker! Has it really been that long? āBut I just came back from the cantina, where I met a man telling the adventures of a certain Mandalorian in shiny helmet that owned a Razor Crest and thatās just been through a lot of trouble. It sounded just like the Mandalorian Iāve met all those years ago.ā She smiled, and Din smiled to himself as he recalled the old times. āHe also mentioned a child?! That one got me really confused. Anyway, I talked to him and he introduced himself as Greef Karga and was pretty surprised when I told him we knew each other. Guess your people skills havenāt gotten any better, huh? He told me you lost the Crest. Iām sorry about that; Iāve missed that shipā¦ Heās the one that gave me your new shipās contact code so thatās how Iām sending this to you. Iā¦ā Din watched the hologram attentively as she paused and her eyes looked away, clearly insecure to continue. āI thought that maybe you and the child could use some rest in a peaceful place. Itās spring here so the weather is nice and the views are beautiful. I would lovāIād really like to see you again and catch up. That is if you want to, of course!ā And Din immediately thought that yes, he really, really wanted to. āIf you still remember where I live, please donāt hesitate to come by. Iāve sent you the coordinates anyway, just to make sure.ā She smiled, and it looked warm and hopeful. āI hope you can come, or at least pass by. Iā¦ I miss you, Din. And I hope youāre wellā¦ā She sighed, still unsure of everything. Din sighed deeply as well; he also missed herā¦ A lot. āHave a safe flight and take care of yourself, okay? Farewell.ā
And with that, she was gone, only the coordinates to her place showing on the monitor. But Din didnāt need them, he remembered exactly where she lived and heād still remember even if he tried to forget. Just as he still remembered everything else. Her place was also where heād last seen her all those years ago, when he left even when his heart wanted to stay.
He hadnāt realized how long he was just sitting there, thoughtful, until Grogu knocked on the glass with his metal ball, bringing him back from his trance. Grogu made a questioning noise, that Din now knew how to recognize.
āSheās an old friend of mine. A really great one. We were very close. She traveled onboard the Razor Crest with me for a while, taking care of the ship and, well, taking care of me too, even though I was too stubborn to admit it.ā Din chuckled to himself. He turned his head the best he could to look at Grogu in the small space of the starfighter. āShe cooks really well too.ā The babyās giant ears perk up and his eyes sparkle as he lets out an expectant noise. Din chuckles again as he readjusts himself on his seat.
āI think we deserve some time away from trouble. What do you think, kid?ā Grogu makes another happy sound, showing his dad that he would very much like some peaceful time too. Oh, and good food! Din smiles to himself as he sets the coordinates on the shipās system.
āHold on, Grogu. Weāre entering hyperspace.ā
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Ok so actually only one of you asked to be tagged, but it's thanks to all of you who liked/rebloged the post where I questioned if I should write and if anyone would even read it that I gathered to courage to start writing and posting again. I'll only tag you in the introduction so you can decide if you'd like to see what happens next and ask to be tagged or not. Either way, thank you very much for the encouragement you've given me! <3
āYou can be weak and have this...I dunno stinky armor and leave me.Ā OR you can have this gift fit for a God, and I will basically make you a God, if you promise never to see your other Dad againā.
Not very impartial Luke my dude, looks like you about to learn something about balance
So my little brother and my Dad have spent the better part of 2 years refurbishing a 1987 Dodge Ramcharger for my little brother because, contrary to his title in relation to me, he is built like a fucking 6 foot wall. So Chapter 5 of TBOBF was basically watching that whole process over but in
Space
and basically what I'm saying is I can't believe Din Djarin is a Mopar guy
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it is... my longest chapter yet, now. three new scenes, nearly 10k more words than the og draft, and i'm pretty sure i made obi-wan's life even worse than i already had (somehow). so.
onto the next chapter!
and of course, celebratory snib under the cut.
He was thirty-seven, and he was a prisoner, and he was laid flat on his back, legs spread for the Sith Lord raping him.
āI should keep you like this all the time,ā Palpatine groaned. āNo fighting. No talking back. No disobeying. Simply taking it like a perfect, little whore.ā
Obi-Wanās mind trembled at the prospect, though his body remained utterly limp. His whimpering protest never even formed in his lungsāthe inalterable pace of his breathing, the leaden immobility of every one of his muscles, prevented it.
Helpless. Trapped. Only able to lay there and take it.
Hot droplets of tears leaked down to his temples. With his eyes closed, he could almost, almost, pretend the weight on him was Quinlan. But every time Palpatine spoke or moaned, every time he shifted his thin-fingered grip or the angle at which he thrust, the illusion broke. This was not Quinlan. He would probably never see Quinlan again. Never hear his voice. Never feel his touch.
*holds out my hands like a begging victorian child*
Please, may I have some tbobt snippets?
you may indeed :)
When Obi-Wan was eleven, heād broken his arm attempting to perform a double backflip in the Initiate dorms. He had broken other bones since thenāmostly ribs, a few ankle bones, one or two fingers, his other armābut that first time still stood out, the worst pain he had ever felt up until then. It didnāt hold a candle flame to the agony of now, when every shift of weight, every stretch of muscle, sent fresh pain ricocheting through his entire body. He had the Healers when he was little. He had a bone knitter and bacta and pain medication.
He had none of that, now. Only the pain and the anticipation of more of it. There were no casts or splints, no orders to rest and recover. Instead, there were collars around his throatā¦ and an order to kneel.
Much of his time as Sidiousās prisoner had been spent on his knees. The bruises on his shins and kneecaps were testament to that. But to kneel on broken bones, all his weight on his lower legsā¦ It was a special kind of agony. The kind of agony he could hardly bear, and yet he had no choice but to bear it. Because kneeling might hurt, but the punishment collar hurt worse.
