#Alderaanian Din

[ooops-i-arted]

"But the show is about MANDALORIANS! Any Mandalorians! It never says it's about DIN!" is the stupidest fucking take I've seen out of this whole mess

Imagine if The Empire Strikes back cut away from Luke going to rescue Han and Leia to a new tax being levied on the citizens of Coruscant by a greedy Imperial bureaucrat because "they didn't say WHERE the Empire was striking back!"

Or the Original Trilogy ended by cutting away from the Rebel Fleet bravely standing up against the Death Star to a skirmish between a separate Rebel cell being attacked by a TIE fighter patrol because "they didn't say WHICH war in Star Wars!"

Or while Frodo is standing in Mount Doom, the camera zooms in on Vilya on Elrond's finger while he's sitting in Rivendell because "they didn't say WHICH Ring The Lord of the Rings was about!"

The Little Mermaid switches to following one of Ariel's sisters swimming around during the climax because "they didn't say WHICH little mermaid!"

Would y'all have read From A Certain Child's Point of View: The Sanctuary if I skipped all of Grogu's stuff to write from Winta's point of view the whole episode and then said "Haha, I didn't say WHICH child's point of view I was writing!" Or imagine if No Prison Can Hold had everything from Din and Luke's point of view, built up that confrontation, and then that chapter everyone was commenting they couldn't wait to see was Cara Dune calling Leia and explaining the situation and calling in a favor from a fellow Alderaanian and that's how the whole thing was solved. Leia takes Grogu and hands him to Din and Luke and Din never meet.

Previous seasons focused on Din. The advertising was all Din. It's not unreasonable to expect the show to be ABOUT DIN. All you're doing with that stupid fucking take is making excuses for Favroni's shitty writing and Filoni's inability to write anything but the same 3D Clone Wars characters over and over and over again.

[eglerieth]

All these posts going around saying that by Din’s logic, the Darksaber belongs to Sidious, here’s my take

the Mandalorians are all gathered together in some cave somewhere. Someone realizes that ownership of the Darksaber was decided on the second Death Star. Din summons Luke because someone mentioned that he was the last person to see Sheev alive.

Luke: yes?

Din: Emperor Palpatine was the last person to own an heirloom that makes a person the leader of my people.

Luke: Um… I don’t know much about your people, but… given that you live in this galaxy, I’m assuming the Empire hurt you in some major way. I’m guessing you are averse to his possessing this heirloom.

Mandalorians: *nodding

Luke: also, he was a Sith Lord, so, again, not an ideal king

those scattered Mandalorians that actually know what a dar’jettii is: 😳🤯😳🤯- no wait that makes sense

some random Mandalorian: also, he’s dead, right?

Luke: yup, definitely dead. I watched him get thrown a reactor shaft myself.

Armorer: by whom? The darksaber is won in combat, so whoever killed him gets it

Luke: Darth Vader

Mandalorians: yeah, that’s not much better. And he’s ALSO dead, right? Who killed HIM?

Luke: …The Emperor

Mandalorians:

Din: if the Emperor killed him, how did he manage to kill the Emperor?

Luke: the Emperor electrocuted him, and then he threw the Emperor down the reactor shaft, and meanwhile the electricity from a few seconds ago was shorting out his life support suit, and then he died in my arms. It was actually very emotional.

Everyone, who thought Luke had managed to walk out of the throne room because he somehow killed the two most powerful people in the galaxy:

Luke: yeah, no, I basically just stood there and got provoked and then electrocuted. I’d be dead if Vader hadn’t died to save me.

Paz: why would he do that?

Luke: because he’s my father.

Mandalorians: 😲

Luke: I don’t let on about it because people might have some things to say about the hero of the Rebellion being the son of the Empire’s worst enforcer.

Armorer: It does not matter who your father is, only what kind of father you will be. This is the Way.

Mandalorians: This is the Way.

Luke: Thanks. I like that.

Paz, who is a Viszla, the House that held the Darksaber for centuries: The Darksaber can also be inherited. Wait- does this make you Mand’alor?!

Luke, with even more horror than Din had in that position: no no no no no. I’m not even Mandalorian, and even if I was, I have enough to do with rebuilding the Jedi order, which isn’t going so great, thanks for asking. The last thing I want is to get involved in any kind of political stuff. That’s my sister’s job.

Mandalorians: you have a sister?

Luke: yeah, Leia Organa

Mandalorians: the Hutt Slayer?!

Luke: I- yeah, the Hutt slayer. Not how she’s usually introduced…

Mandalorians: *agreeing that the renowned Hutt Slayer would be a much better Mand’alor than this jetii twink*

Bo-Katan, who actually knows something about the New Republic: But isn’t Senator Organa a leading member of the New Republic? We don’t want Mandalore to be part of the New Republic.

Luke: Leia is one hundred percent Alderaanian. Her allegiance may be to the New Republic, but her culture and beliefs are her own.

some random Mando: if you’re her brother, are you from Alderaan too?

Luke: no, doofus. I’m from Tatooine.

Din, trying to improve his small talk: I have a friend on Tatooine. Boba Fett? He’s the leader now.

Luke, choking: BOBA FETT’S ALIVE?!

Din: you know him?

Luke: he captured my brother-in-law, froze him in carbonite, and sold him to Jabba. We had to spend a year away from the war effort to rescue him!

Din: *awkward*

Armorer, trying to steer the focus back to the Darksaber: Are you the firstborn, or your sister? The Darksaber passes to the oldest child.

Luke: I don’t actually know. We’re twins, and have no idea who was at our birth who can tell us. Maybe my father would know? I’ll ask him now.

Mandalorians: isn’t he dead?

Luke: yeah, but I can talk to his ghost.

Mandalorians:

Luke summons Anakin. Grogu whimpers and hides behind Din. To everyone else, Luke is talking to thin air.

Luke: hello father, do you know if me or Leia is older?

Anakin: of course not, idiot. I didn’t even know either of you existed until a few years ago!

Luke: oh, right.

Anakin: Obi-Wan would know. He was the one who stole you from me.

Luke: really, father, we’ve gotta work on your tact.

Anakin: why? Obi-Wan was the kriffing Negotiator, not me.

Luke: he was called the Negotiator?

Bo-Katan, wincing at a million memories and knowing exactly who they’re talking about despite only hearing one side of the conversation: I could never get my sister to shut up about Kenobi. Insufferable jetii, always hanging off her arm.

Luke: Ben was a Mandalorian’s escort?!

Armorer: Ben is a Mandalorian name. Was he Mandalorian?

Luke: 😲

Luke: I don’t think so…?

Bo-Katan, reminiscing: I’m pretty sure my sister gave him that name.

Luke: My nephew was named after him. I can’t believe my nephew has a Mandalorian name.

Mandalorians: nephew?

Luke: yeah, he’s adorable. Here, I have pictures. *starts showing pictures of baby Ben Solo*

The Mandalorians, being Mandalorians, are utterly won over by the smallest Skywalker. The idea of Leia is a leader is growing more popular. Luke summons Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan: hello there, Luke. What the hell are you doing in a cave with a gajillion Mandalorians?

Luke: Hi, Ben, we just wanted to know, was I or Leia born first?

Obi-Wan: You. I’ll never forget it. You were both such beautiful babies.

Luke: …right…

Paz, staring at the wall where he thinks Obi-Wan is but is actually Anakin’s elbow: What did he say?

Luke: I’m older -

Luke: Oh.

Luke: Kriff

Din: Dank Farrik

Everyone else: *thinking the same thing but to polite to say it*

Bo-Katan: although…it could still be won in combat.

Luke, ringing up Leia on his comm: Good evening, dear sister. Would you mind flying out to the location on my transponder and kicking my ^*s?

Leia, all blue and wavy on the comm: I never mind kicking your %#s, Luke, but why?

Luke: if you do that, you can be king of Mandalore!

Luke: 😀

Leia:

Leia: Are you kriffing kidding me?! Do you know how hard it is to keep the New Republic from collapsing? And raise a force sensitive baby with shady idols? And save my husband’s skin from every criminal he runs afoul of every other day? I most certainly will not become the monarch of some random nation I’ve never been apart of!

Mandalorians: 🙁

Han, over Leia’s shoulder: so we’re not fighting the kid? I was looking forward to that!

Chewbacca, towering over Leia’s head: *wookie noises of agreement *

Armorer: Actually only the challenger would be fight- *comm cuts out*

*a few minutes later

The Falcon is heard overhead. Han, on comms: We came anyway, kid. I was bored today.

Chewie leaps out and tackles Luke with a bear hug, almost breaking his ribs.

Luke: can’t- breathe- chewie-

Chewie releasing him and patting him on the head: *hello in wookie noises*

Mandalorians:

Chewie, in Shriwook: *what?*

Mandalorians:

Din silently unclips the Darksaber from his belt and hands it to Chewie.

And that’s the story of how Chewbacca became Mand’alor.

[lothcatthree]

“Luke looks at him like he’s precious, like his body has ever been meant for anything other than brutal efficiency, like his hands aren’t stained with blood and his shoulders aren’t heavy with impossible grief.

Here, under Luke’s gaze, in Luke’s hands, Din feels like he can breathe for the first time.

Din shudders a breath, anxiously waiting for Luke to say something or do something.

‘Force, Din,’ is all Luke whispers before he leans forward and closes the distance between them.”

-

Din is seriously considering chucking the darksaber into the Living Waters and fleeing the Galaxy when he's told that a political marriage is required of him. However, it turns out that the Alderaanian Prince is rather easy on the eyes and Din isn't sure how, but he finds himself completely and utterly infatuated with the omega.

Maybe this won't be so bad, after all.

FINALLY able to post this from the dinluke server secret santa exchange! a gift for my beloved zee @nightbirdz <3 thank you for the wonderful prompt, i had so much fun writing this 🥹

[ontherocks21]

Oh look... today is Someday!

From a Someday I'll Write It blurb to this. Hope you enjoy!

love language

Sometimes a handmaiden’s job can be quite boring.

 It’s not a pretty thought, but it’s one Dormé has nonetheless as she dutifully files into the conference room for what feels like the millionth debrief on this seemingly never-ending war. No one had really expected the Separatist movement to hold on with the tenacity that it had.  Even Padmé’s usual unwavering fervor and dedication had grown weary under the parade of planets constantly in crisis and begging for aid.  Though one would be hard-pressed to see the slight fatigue in the Senator from Naboo’s step as she quickly navigates to the open seat next to Senator Organa near the middle of the long rectangular table at the center of the room. 

Ruefully, Dormé watches her former monarch strike up a collegial conversation with the Alderaanian Queen’s husband and feels remorse over her shameful if fleeting moment of weakness.  She is beyond lucky to serve such a formidable woman and persistent champion of peace, even if that sometimes relegates her to the more menial tasks of an assistant.  At the end of the day, it was still an important job that had to be done.

Turning to the row of chairs reserved for attending Senatorial aides along the perimeter of the room, Dormé allows herself a last indecorous sigh and sinks down into expected position next to Minala Lodilyn.

“Good morning,” Senator Organa’s assistant greets warmly, the datapad in her lap glowing softly at the ready.  “Another rousing day at the office?”  She winks, friendly but meaningfully, and Dormé knows her moment of outward resignation didn’t go completely unnoticed.

“Morning,” Dormé replies genially, her return smile equally chagrinned and conspiratorial.  With an efficiency borne of rote muscle memory, her fingers fly over her own handheld work station until its display awakens to the blank screen for note-taking.  She holds the device up to Minala in humorous toast.  “It would seem so.”

Mirroring the sarcastic salute, Minala shoots her a sympathetic glance before turning her attention to the main table in front of them.  Polite conversation increases in volume with every passing minute as more and more beings file in for the debrief.  The rising din almost gives Dormé enough cover to use her normal voice to further engage her colleague – it would be a great opportunity to glean any unofficial news bulletins that may be of interest to Senator Amidala – but the chance is gone before it ever had the notion to be born.  All activity comes to an immediate halt the instant the Chancellor comes to a stand.

In the expectant quiet that settles over the room, Dormé barely catches Minala’s almost inaudible whisper.

“Hmmm,” she murmurs.  “No Jedi present today?  That’s a bit odd.”

Scanning the faces of those gathered, Dormé catalogs each being present as if she was head of a flight crew checking off a passenger manifest.  It takes her less than a minute to confirm Minala’s astute observation.  Most of the chairs around the conference table are full, save one at the Chancellor’s right and the space directly across from Padmé, but none of the occupied seats hold Jedi.  Her own brow raises with slight query. 

Interesting, indeed.

For a meeting specifically held to update the Chancellor on the most recent warfront, the lack of a GAR General’s presence is more than a bit odd, though not entirely unprecedented.  Sometimes the Jedi relevant to the discussion at hand had already been re-assigned and was required to participate via holocall while enroute to the next mission.

Dormé almost offers that up for Minala’s opinion until she notices the lack of holoprojector on the table, and immediately strikes the idea from further consideration.  Several other possibilities flit through her mind, when the actual explanation comes barreling into the conference room and skids to a halt, as if he’d been racing through the rotunda’s halls at full tilt.

Recognizing the handsome face above the whirlwind of black and dark brown tunics, Dormé realizes, with no small amount of amusement, that he likely had been.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Anakin Skywalker apologizes, his soft panting the only remnant of his frenetic entrance.

Twenty sets of eyes turn to regard the tardy Jedi with interest, but the twenty-first pair slowly shifts to the Senator from Naboo.  At this point in her career, Dormé has had plenty of experience reading the back of her lady’s silhouette, but she still wishes she could gauge just how much glow blazes through the supposedly neutral returned brown stare.  Instead, she watches the back of Padmé’s head turn in time with Anakin’s saunter further into the room.  It’s not hard for Dormé to envision how hard Padmé is doubling down on the usually unflappable Amidala mask as Anakin’s brilliant blue eyes lock onto the conspicuously open seat right across from the table from her.

Before Anakin can claim his prized spot, Padmé’s attention is already directed back to the still standing Chancellor.  Even from her ramrod straight profile, Dormé can see the way her eyes shine with equal intensity.

Despite the momentary drama surrounding Anakin’s late arrival, the meeting commences like any other – at least, initially.

Padmé pointedly keeps her focus moving between speakers, lingering only on Anakin during his remarks and briefly at that.  Anakin, however, suffers no such compunction.  Though he’s wise enough to not openly stare, anyone observing him closely would be blind to miss the way his gaze regularly diverts to the Senator of Naboo far more often than necessary.  Subtle was never going to be on the short list to describe Anakin Skywalker, though thankfully, Dormé is fairly certain she is the only one doing any of the observing when it comes to him.

While her fingers scribe the details she absorbs with her ears, Dormé’s eyes capture an entirely different sort of meeting happening in the conference room that has nothing to do with relief efforts or military strategy.

At first, Anakin’s gloved hand slowly curls from open hand to a closed fist and she thinks he may be trying to relieve the phantom pains that she knows occasionally still plague him.  But she has witnessed enough of those uncomfortable moments to know that the flexing of his fingers occurs in a more spontaneous, agitated sort of way, usually followed by an emphatic string of curse words. 

This movement is decidedly controlled.  And deliberate.  And quiet.

If she didn’t immediately recognize the hand signal shift from yes to no, she would think that maybe she was reading too far into a simple gesture out of learned paranoia. 

Sometimes a handmaiden’s job can be quite nerve-wracking. 

One of the first things Padmé’s original cadre had developed was an entire system of hand signals and body postures when open communication to each other was impossible yet crucial.  The information highways of the Senate flowed fast; they needed a way to monitor all of the dealings that were made at conference tables, especially when some of the ones that happened were never spoken of.  By silently cuing her handmaidens to pay particular attention to specific Senators at key moments, Padmé was able to keep up with Senatorial life in the hyperspace lane.

But when Padmé slouches a bit, only to straighten again and re-fold her hands together on the tabletop eliciting another relaxation of Anakin’s hand almost immediately thereafter, Dormé translates the seemingly innocuous movements as easily as if she was reading the conversation straight off her datapad’s screen.

Meet? Padmé asks.

Yes, Anakin answers.

Untangling her interwoven fingers as she sits back in her chair, Padmé lets her left hand fall into her lap while her right index finger and thumb part into a lazy backwards ‘L’ before sliding out of Dormé’s view.

Later or tonight?

She can’t see how many times Padmé taps her fingers on the table to convey a specific time, though it’s not too hard to glean that Anakin is likely counting out that answer judging by his unblinking focus. Despite what Dormé assumes is his best attempt at maintaining a neutral expression, Anakin frowns, his flat palm clenching into another tight fist.  Her own gaze falling disappointedly at the repeated negative signal, Padmé lets her right hand drop into her lap and she shifts her attention back to the front of the conference room.

Keeping her own focus split between two kinds of note-taking, Dormé continues to glance over the couple periodically.  Padmé’s hands stay firmly folded in her lap, her brown eyes resolutely following the chatter surrounding the Chancellor without any further wayward wandering across the table.  Dormé may have had the disadvantage of recognizing the ongoing clandestine conversation so late, but she is by no means convinced that it’s indeed over.  Not from the way Anakin is blatantly listening with half an ear and a definitively distracted gaze.

Well, maybe distracted is the wrong word.  Judging from the antsy way he shifts his weight even as he refuses to shift his cerulean stare, Anakin would agree with her assessment that the secret signaling was only taking a brief intermission if he had anything to say about the matter.  He chews his lower lip.  His gloved fingers fidget, as if starting to form a thought before stopping again, as if unsure whether to voice the idea to begin with or unable to find the necessary signs to do so.  Seemingly frustrated with his inability to wrangle back Padmé’s attention, Anakin sighs heavily, and Dormé waits with bated breath for the mistake.

For a second, it makes Dormé wonder just how well versed he is in the Nabooian secret code – she can spout off a list of quiet cues specifically designed to continue discreet communication.

And then Anakin does something at once completely baffling and totally unpredictable.  He simply closes his eyes and goes stock still.

It wouldn’t be until much later on that Padmé would explain to Dormé exactly what happened in those infinitesimal seconds of empty air.

With a motion so abrupt as to be almost betraying, Padmé’s head whips in Anakin’s direction just as his eyes open.  Leaning onto his elbows, he intertwines his fingers with a bold squeeze only to unwind them, and nonchalantly adjusting the cuff of his sleeve before looking pointedly away to the right over his shoulder, then back at his entranced wife. 

The translation is easy enough.

Meet – you and me, soon, where?

But Dormé’s keen eye sees it.  The blink -and-miss-it deliberate way he slowly drags his index and middle finger over the pulse point of his gloved wrist before reclining into his seat, the look on his face already satisfied at the small, but emphatic and immediate movement Padmé makes with her own hands.

Dormé doesn’t even have to look to know Padmé’s palms rest openly and press firmly on the table’s surface.  The roguish grin returning to Anakin’s face is answer enough.

Yes!

With most of her lady’s person still facing away from her, Dormé can’t be entirely sure that she doesn’t miss the location for this newly agreed to tête-à-tête.  As the professional assembly draws to a close, it occurs to Dormé that maybe she had underestimated Anakin’s fluency.  Her mind replaying the sequence of events over and over, she is more convinced than ever that Padmé hadn’t in fact signaled anything remotely resembling a specific rendezvous spot in her silent response.

She’s still pondering what she had missed when Padmé bids a brief farewell to Senator Organa, thanking him for pulling out her chair – a gentlemanly gesture that Dormé sees doesn’t go unnoticed by a departing Jedi – and rushes up to greet her handmaiden.  There’s an extra spark in her eyes, one that Dormé knows has nothing to do with relief effort packages and civic duty. 

“Well,” Padmé says. “That meeting was quite productive.”

Even as she keeps her features placed in professional deference, Dormé lets her tone slip a few notches into a more familiar teasing tone.  “In-deed.”

Padmé’s lips press together to smother the complicit smile that lets Dormé know their own brand of unspoken communication is entirely functional as well. 

Falling into step with Padmé, Dormé turns left out of the conference room in the direction of the offices designated for the Chommell sector representatives; dutifully both women had towards the next pressing task for the Senator of Naboo.  For all of her professional comportment, Padmé still can’t stop the fleeting backward glance she throws over her shoulder.  Dormé easily imagines what her lady watches; the tall dark silhouette striding swiftly around the bend in the Senate corridors is one she watched so many times before, the image is practically burned into her mind’s eye.

A little sigh of frustration escapes Padmé’s carefully constructed composure, but they continue to head the opposite direction.

“I do have one question, though,” Dormé says after the quiet tension reaches an altitude that she can practically feel Padmé vibrating with suppressed anticipation.

Padmé tilts her head to show she is listening even if her focus is still being pulled away.

“What does…” Dormé begins, pausing to fidget with her gown’s sleeve before drawing two fingers across her wrist, “… this mean?  I didn’t recognize it.”

“Oh, ummm.” Padmé’s cheeks darken as she retreats into herself momentarily, and Dormé knows she’s seeing a different set of fingers repeating the nonverbal cue.  All of a sudden, a shyness underlies the heightened subterfuge in the air, and the lady at Dormé’s side is not a formidable Galactic representative racing between meetings, but rather a young woman whose heart races to reunite with a young man. Still blushing innocently, Padmé offers up the translation with a less-than-innocent smile, “The southern corridors.”

“Ahhh,” Dormé says, cottoning on in less than a Corellian nanosecond.  The southern corridors of the Senate Rotunda were notorious for darkened corners and discreet nooks, making the location ideal for many off-the-book meetings.  “So, Senator Amidala will be officially indisposed for the next hour then?” she asks, returning her friend’s grin with a touch of wickedness. 

“Or thereabouts…” Padmé trails off vaguely, her cheeks darkening to a vexed pink.

Dormé laughs softly, winking with conspiratorial fervor and nodding over her shoulder.  “Well, go on.”

Even with the courteous hesitancy she demonstrates on behalf of obligation, Padmé can’t stop the luminescent smile that stretches her lips any more than she can stop the sun setting.  Gratitude shines behind her eyes, just another form of a silent language long in the making and well-versed in practice. 

Watching Padmé spin on her heel to chase Anakin’s footsteps, Dormé can’t help but openly speak the message she hopes Padmé will relay in earnest at the start of her next “meeting”.

“Just tell him to leave your hair alone this time.”

Padmé winks, then scurries away, retracing her slow steps in a most enthusiastic manner.

Shaking her head, Dormé resumes her previous path, pressing her lips together to stifle an amused giggle as another thought wends its way through her preoccupied mind.

Sometimes a handmaiden’s job was actually quite… diverting.

*****

Read even more at https://archiveofourown.org/works/47671315/chapters/120160444

[burnwater13]

Grogu had no idea why the Mandalorian wanted him to spit out a perfectly good frog that day on Arvala-7. He really liked frogs and they had been a good part of his diet for years. Grogu could understand a human like a Mandalorian bounty hunter who wears a helmet all the time not eating a frog whole, but not eating them at all? That didn’t make sense.

Next thing, the Mandalorian would say 'spit it out' over would be something like dung worms or toasted crickets. (If the crickets aren’t toasted they can taste a little bitter. The cooking process really improves their flavor and paletteuabilty.) It’s like Din Djarin had never eaten anything other than a ration pack.

Kuiil, on the other hand, hadn’t been bothered at all by Grogu’s personal choices. He’d commented that Grogu appeared to be highly evolved. Grogu took that as a compliment even though Kuiil had also said that Grogu was ugly and that was a tell tale for the evolution thing. Of course, since Kuiil was an Ugnaught, his definition of beauty was based on different standards. At that same meal he had noted that Cara Dune looked like a clone because she was pretty. Go figure.

Grogu wondered what other aspects of one culture, like preferred cuisine, ended up being the antithesis of another culture’s preferences? For example, Cara had tattoos on her arms and face and potentially elsewhere. But as far as Grogu could tell, Kuiil had no tattoos. The few times he’s seen Din Djarin’s bare skin, on his arm, leg, and other areas that were hurt and needed healing, Grogu hadn’t noticed any tattoos there either. So, Cara had them, but no one else? Was that a drop trooper thing or an Alderaanian thing? Grogu had no idea.

Then there was the whole, who wears what type of clothing thing. Grogu wore very simple things. His first layer and then his coverall. They were in dull, Jedi colors, but on the plus side his coverall had hidden pockets that allowed him to travel with snacks and other necessities. Din Djarin seemed like a pretty typical Mandalorian. Sturdy under-layer, armor components, bandolier, belts, holsters, and of course his shiny helmet. The one way the Mandalorian didn’t quite match the other Mandos Grogu had met was only that his armor was just shiny. Not painted or decorated or colorful at all. Sure his vambraces had a little of color on them and that silly triangle that told you which way to point your arm when you were using the weapons, but that was it. 

But the Twi’leks that Grogu had met, few though there were, always seemed to be wearing clothing that actually didn’t cover very much of them. Always bare arms. He didn’t really understand that. Warm, cold, wet, very sunny, a Twi’lek would have their arms exposed to the weather. He supposed they never went to cold planets.

And what was the deal with Gamoreans? Were they always some sort of fighter? They always seemed to wear the bare minimum of clothing. Didn’t they get cold? Didn’t they need armor if they were fighters like his dad? Grogu started giggling. He suddenly imagined his dad dressed like a Gamorrean fighter and it was just too funny. As bulky as the undercut and armor pieces made his dad look, Grogu knew that humans were generally a lot less bulky than Gamorreans.  

So that little skirt thing that partially covered their lower half would be falling off his dad. The Mandalorian would have  to wear a sturdy belt and hope that no one messed with it. Then wearing all those leather straps. Grogu had no idea what they were for but he didn’t think his dad would enjoy them either. Finally, Gamorreans always wore thick soled sandals. Not boots. Not shoes. Sandals. Grogu couldn’t imagine how distracting that would be to his dad. How did you polish sandals? Did you wear socks with them? Or did you only wear them while you were working if you were a Gamorrean? Mandalorians worked all the time. Did that mean he’d wear that diaper outfit all the time? 

Grogu laughed so hard at that he fell over and began slapping the floor. 

“Buddy, are you okay? What’s so funny?”

His dad was standing there all shiny and Mandalorian looking and Grogu just laughed harder. How could he tell his dad that he’d just imagined him holding a frog in his mouth, with Grogu telling him, “Hey, spit that out!”

[all-the-things-2020]

Continuing the Way - Chapter Seven

Summary: Mariana is bored. But things get exciting for all the wrong reasons ...

Rating: PG

Mariana was bored. She had work to do, but it was nothing very interesting. The bibliography project was humming along nicely, with most of the work being currently done by her team of undergraduates. She had a few comms to answer but they weren’t urgent. 

Ad’ika peeked around the door to check on her. Ever since the doctor had put her on bed rest, he had been almost as solicitous as Din, constantly looking in on her and bringing her things. Just today he’d brought her his prized Froggy, which was now quite worn, and an assortment of snacks, as well as a drawing he claimed was a mudhorn, although the bright yellow and green dots had thrown her at first.

“I’m fine, ad,” she told him. He ducked back behind the partly open door and she heard his little feet patter away. Less than fifteen seconds later, Din’s head popped into the room.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I’m trying to keep them busy.”

“It’s okay, he’s just concerned,” she said, motioning for him to come in. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you take them to the park?”

Din shook his head. “I don’t want to leave you alone that long,” he said.

“I’m fine,” she insisted with a sigh. Din raised an eyebrow at her. She sighed again. He was not shy about reminding her that her previous insistence that she was “fine” had led to her being stuck in bed for the remainder of her pregnancy.

“I know you get up and try to do stuff when I leave,” Din said, taking her hand. 

“I’m bored!,” she whined, hating herself for doing it but unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. 

“If you’d listened to me — and the doctor, and Ti’lik, and Professor Dane — you wouldn’t be bored right now,” he pointed out. She had pushed herself too hard, working long hours both in the office and at home, consumed by the details of the bibliography project. Dane and Ti’lik had told her to delegate more and worry less, but this was her capstone project and she wanted it to be perfect. 

“I know, I know,” she said, caressing his hand. “But I’m still bored.”

He slid over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and resting his head on top of hers. “How about I bring the boys in and we all watch a holovid together?,” he asked. 

“Not that one about the king of the frogs again,” she complained. Ad’ika was a sucker for anything with a frog in it, and Cabur had a fondness for anything with songs. Their favorite holovid was an old Alderaanian musical about a tadpole who was sucked into a drainpipe and grew up in the backyard pond of a little girl who discovered he was really the rightful King of the Frogs. They embarked on a journey to find the lake where he was born and by now Mariana knew every word of the dialogue by heart.

“No, of course not,” Din said. “I found a new one I think we’ll all like. It’s from Pranta and it just hit the HoloNet a few weeks ago. The boys have only seen it twice and they liked it both times. There’s a spaceship battle and only one song. And … no frogs.” He chuckled into her hair.

He left to gather up the boys and the holo projector. Soon all four of them were snuggled up on the bed, a bowl of snacks in front of each of them and the holovid projecting on the opposite wall. Cabur was tucked under Mariana’s right arm, his head resting on her belly. Din was on her left, his arm around her shoulders and Ad’ika in his lap. 

“Oof,” Mariana said as the baby kicked firmly. Cabur started poking at her belly. “Quiet, baby. Watching a holo,” he scolded. He laid his head back down, rubbing his hand around and around in a circle, while he hummed a made up lullaby. “Baby, baby, sleepy time. Quiet, quiet, baby time,” he sang softly. 

Ad’ika laid his hand on her belly and she felt the oddly warm sensation of him using his unique powers to soothe the baby. He’d done this several times, especially when the baby got agitated and started tumbling around like an acrobat. “Vod, udesii,” he said firmly. Sibling, calm down. Between the two boys, they quieted the baby down so that it stopped kicking. 

“They’d make good midwives,” Din said softly into her ear. Mariana laughed.

“I’ll take my chances with Dr. Korraay,” she whispered back. After she’d collapsed at work a month ago, and been rushed to the med clinic, she’d formed a strong bond with the doctor. Korraay was sympathetic, but had scolded her for putting her health and that of the baby at risk, then given her a hug and snuck her a box of chocolates while she was still in the hospital. Mariana suspected that Korraay and Din had conspired to over exaggerate the risks in order to force her to slow down, which is why she kept sneaking out of bed when Din took the boys to the shops once a week.

As the holovid went on, Cabur fell asleep, then Ad’ika, and soon Mariana felt herself drifting off. Din ran his fingers gently through her hair, pressing soft kisses against her temple. 

She woke up sometime later, the projector gone dark, Din snoring quietly beside her with Ad’ika curled up on his chest. Cabur was still on her right, but now he was lying with his feet in her face, and his head nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. For a moment, she was tempted to sneak out of bed and go into the other room to get some work done, but it seemed like too much effort. She tugged Cabur closer so he wouldn’t fall off the bed, and then shifted onto her side so she could snuggle up against Din. She fell back to sleep almost immediately.

********************************* “Promise me, you’ll stay in bed,” Din said. The boys had been running wild all day and Mariana had begged him to take them to the park to give her some peace and quiet.

“Of course, I will,” she said easily, but he wasn’t convinced.

“Promise,” he said firmly. 

“Fine, I promise,” she said. “You’re being ridiculous, cyar’ika.”

“Am I?,” he asked. Last week, when he’d gone to the market with the boys, he’d come home to find her standing on a chair rummaging around on the top shelf in the kitchen cupboard for a box of crackers she’d developed a craving for.

She laid down her data pad. “I promise you I will not get out of this bed except to use the ‘fresher,” she said. “I’ll swear it on the Mudhorn signet if you insist. Get it down. Go on.”

He patted her hand. “No need for that,” he said. He knew if she was willing to swear on their clan signet, she was telling the truth. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I’ll make sure they’re tired out before I bring them home.”

He made sure she had a carafe of chilled water and an assortment of snacks on the bedside table before he left. “I’ll have my comm with me. Call if you need anything,” he told her. 

“Go. Have fun,” she said, shooing him away. “I’ll be fine.”

The boys were thrilled to be heading to the park. It had been nearly two months since they’d gone anywhere but on the weekly market run. With the baby due in just a few more weeks, it was probably the last chance they’d have for a while. 

Cabur ran straight for the slide when they reached the playground. He was just tall enough to be able to climb the ladder by himself. Ad’ika was too short, but because the slide itself wasn’t very tall, Din was able to place him at the top easily enough. Both boys loved to swoop down the slide; they’d do it for hours if he let them, but he always distracted them with their buckets and spades after a few dozen trips.

When they were happily engrossed in digging and building a city for their tauntauns in the sandbox, Din took the opportunity to sit back on the bench and stare up at the trees that swayed lazily in the gentle afternoon breeze. He didn’t get much downtime anymore, but he took it when he could find it. He did not begrudge a moment spent watching his sons or taking care of his family, but sometimes it was nice to just pause and take a deep breath.

After the boys had grown tired of sand cities, they crossed the park to the grassy hill and spent a good half hour rolling down to the bottom and climbing back up to the top. It was a good workout for little legs and guaranteed tired boys. Indeed, by the time Din indicated it was time to go home, both of them were clamoring to be carried.

“Too far, Daddy,” Cabur insisted.

Adi’ka nodded. “Too far. Haryc.” Tired.

Din pretended to complain about how heavy they were. “I wish you’d both stop growing,” he grumbled as he hoisted them into his arms. “I can barely carry you anymore.” He acted as though his knees were buckling from their weight and both boys giggled.

“Silly Daddy,” Cabur said.

“Silly buir,” Adi’ka agreed.

He took his time walking home, letting the boys relax against him. Cabur was nearly dozing when they reached the apartment. “How about a nap before dinner?,” he whispered. 

The moment they stepped into the apartment, Ad’ika was wide awake, clawing at Din’s shoulder. “Mommy!,” he cried. “Aaray!” Pain.

Din dropped both boys unceremoniously onto the couch and rushed into the bedroom. Mariana was not there. Then he heard a noise coming from the ‘fresher and slammed his hand onto the door controls, overriding the internal lock. She was on the floor, leaning her head against the wall. There was blood on the floor.

“Cyar’ika,” he cried. “What happened?”

“I got up to use the ‘fresher,” she said, “and I started bleeding. Not a lot, but enough. I … I was going to get the data pad so I could comm you but it started hurting.” She paused to brace herself against another wave of pain. “I think I’m in labor, but I’m not sure. There might be something wrong.”

Din scooped her up and half carried, half dragged her to the couch. The boys were huddled together at the far end. Cabur had one arm around his brother and the other hand was in his mouth. Ad’ika was hanging onto Cabur’s shirt with one hand and hesitantly holding the other in front of him, ready to reach out for his mother if she needed him.

“It’s okay, boys,” Din said. “Watch Mommy for a second while I comm for help.” He crossed to the communication panel next to the front door. There was an emergency comm built into every apartment and in just a few seconds he had contacted the medical team.

“The med team is on the way,” he told Mariana, smoothing her hair back from her face. “I’ll call Dr. Korraay and tell here we’re on the way to the hospital.” He rushed into the bedroom to grab her data pad. 

“It’s not that bad,” Mariana insisted. “We can take a skimmer ….” Her words trailed off as she grimaced in pain. “Or maybe the med team is a good idea.” She managed to laugh weakly.

The medics arrived and bustled Mariana onto a floating gurney. Din and the boys followed behind, piling into the back of the ambulance speeder. They zoomed through the streets, arriving at the hospital much sooner than Din thought possible.

Dr. Korraay met them in the lobby of the emergency wing. “Take the boys to the daycare facility on the third floor,” she ordered Din. “They don’t need to be here, and you don’t need the distraction of keeping an eye on them.” 

As the med team floated Mariana off in one direction and Din carried the boys in the other, Cabur cried out. “Mommy! I want Mommy!” Ad’ika began to sob quietly. Din tried to soothe them both as he stumbled toward the lift. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. It’s just time for the baby to come, that’s all.” He jabbed the lift button with his elbow and pressed a kiss on Ad’ika’s fuzzy head. “Remember when Cabur was born? It’s just like that.”

Ad’ika looked him solemnly in the eyes and shook his head. “No, buir,” he said softly. “Not like that. Burk'yc.” Dangerous.

Din closed his eyes, only opening them when he heard the soft ping of the lift doors opening. He opened his eyes, blinking away the tears, and carried his sons to the daycare, it’s brightly colored doors mocking him as his heart sank. Please, whatever gods there may be, protect my riduur. She is my heart, my life, my soul.

[authortobenamedlater]

OK I think about this a lot.

I may have to alter this depending on where my MRR series goes but here’s my imagining.

From what I’ve found Mandalorians don’t make a big deal of weddings, typically. The couple just announces “Hey, we’re married now” or they get married in full armor with just close family present.

But for our reluctant royals, this will not do.

Cara (who is still around in this AU) finds out that her besties are an item now and tells Bo “You can’t get married in armor!!!” Bo protests and Cara has none of it. This is cause for celebration! When’s the last time Mandalorians had anything to celebrate? They need to have a REAL WEDDING. Cara insists Bo get a dress. Bo agrees to this, and says she also needs heels because Din likes it when she’s almost as tall as he is (a reference to a lead-up fic I haven’t written yet).

Greef Karga is a civil magistrate and can officiate weddings, so he’s in on this too and enjoying every second of it.

Cara braids Bo’s hair before the wedding, explaining that it’s a tradition on Alderaan for the groom to take the bride’s braids down on the wedding night (extrapolated from the excellent book Leia: Princess of Alderaan).

At some point in the reception Din and Bo slip away to…probably that cabin Greef gave Din and everyone is so busy partying they barely notice the guests of honor have left.

After the wedding Bo calls Leia to collect on a favor also from a lead-up fic and asks for a bottle of Toniray wine (Alderaanian wine and very rare by this point). She gives the wine to Cara as a thank you and Cara cries all over it.

Like I said. I think about this a lot.

Thinking about Din and Bo's wedding.

They would want it to be small, and they probably would just want to say the vows and get over with it, but they know that their marriage would be a uniting event for all Mndalorians, and show that their culture is thriving, so they put up with all the glam and pomp even though they both would like it toned down

[malakia215]

Breha gives birth to her and Bail's child.

I got a brain worm the other day and it involves Din being from Alderaan. This is the beginning of that.

[oloreaa]

Me writing more and more Chinese specific things into Ven bc it makes me happy🥰

[ooops-i-arted]

Han had to pull Din aside and explain why his sweater was NOT appropriate for the Alderaanian Life Day party.

[comeyeknights]

Rewind to Din Djarin, alone in uncharted space with only a magical toddler, a panicking ten year old Navigator-in-training, and a tracking beacon.

He can't run a rescue mission by himself, especially with two vulnerable kids underfoot. After some thought (not panicking, thank you very much - Mandalorians don't panic), he decides that their best chance is to hope Jacen can get them back to the Outer Rim, hunt down Bo Katan, and pray it won't be too late by the time he's found help.

But when he goes to tell Jacen the plan, he finds the kids sitting across from each other, eyes closed, utterly (unnaturally, for such energetic children) still.

This is some kind of Jedi magic, he realizes, a spark of hope igniting deep within his chest. He has no idea what they can do, he still understands almost nothing about the Force, but it's a chance.

He leaves them be, not daring to interrupt.

A few hours later, a ship hails them. The voices of Ahsoka Tano and an unfamiliar person crackles out of the comm.

-

Sabine in beyond grateful to find Jacen safe and sound. She and Ahsoka hadn't even known he was missing, they've been out of contact for awhile, and she doesn't even want to think about what would have happened if Din and his friends hadn't rescued him. Of course she and Ahsoka are going to return the favor.

Besides, this "Kas the Navigator" fellow fits the description of a certain rumor they've been following: an elusive figure who's said to fight the Empire and rescue its captives.

Sabine doesn't want to get her hopes up, but if there's even the slightest chance he's the one she's spent so long searching for...

Well, it doesn't take them long to make a plan of attack.

It goes off without a hitch; she and Din smash through Thrawn's office window, sabers-first, while Ahsoka infiltrates the detention block.

And there he is.

Hair longer than it had been since she'd met him, distinctive scars hidden beneath a blue-black beard, and wearing the absolutely dumbest look of bewildered shock that Sabine had ever seen in her life.

Ezra Bridger.

The next few minutes are a whirlwind of shooting, explosions, and running; no time for reunions yet.

At some point, Ezra's lightsaber, which had been her faithful companion for so many years, finds its back to its original owner's hands and the two fall in side-by-side as if every one of the ten years between them has melted away.

Almost.

"Looking a bit rusty there, Jedi-boy," Sabine says, as Ezra clumsily blocks a blaster-bolt and almost hits Cara Dune in the face with the deflected shot. The Alderaanian shot him a deadly glare and Ezra winced sheepishly, like he was fifteen again and had accidentally hit Zeb with whatever he and Kanan were training with that day.

"I've been focusing more on blasters lately," he says lightly. "Here."

And then suddenly the saber is back in her hand, and Ezra has one of her blasters, and she and Din rush forward against a wave of Dark Troopers while Ezra and Dune lay down cover fire and guard their rear.

(He has been working on his blaster skills.)

"What's the plan?" Dune asks, when the Troopers are a pile of so much scrap and they're running again.

"We'll meet our other ally and then escape in the ship," Din answers.

Sabine hands the lightsaber back to Ezra so he can guard them against any stray bolts, then reaches for her comm, checking in with Ahsoka and Jacen to make sure they're all on schedule.

Within two minutes, all five of them are back aboard Ezra's ship and the chase continues through the air, with Jacen quickly relegated from pilot to co-pilot (much to the kid's disappointment), and the rest taking up battle stations.

Finally, they made the jump to hyperspace; a shorter, preprogrammed trip back to where they'd stashed Ahsoka's ship.

Ezra pushes back from the controls with a sigh, turning around to face the cockpit.

"Ezra Bridger," Ahsoka says, materializing in the cockpit's entrance from wherever she'd gone during the dogfight. "It's good to see you."

"You, too," he replies, glancing between her and Sabine and then shaking his head in bewilderment. "But...how!? What are you even doing out here?"

"Looking for you, doofus," Sabine says. "You didn't think we'd just forget about you, did you?"

Ezra smiled, but the sheer relief in it - like there was a part of him that had thought that...well, Sabine would just have to make sure he knew they hadn't. Not for a single second.

"You're...Ezra Bridger?" a small voice asked suddenly.

Sabine blinked; she'd almost forgotten Jacen, still sitting in the co-pilot's seat and now staring at Ezra with wide eyes.

Your Big-Brother Ezra had been Jacen's hero when he was a little kid. Sabine and Zeb had told him hundreds of stories about the boy his father had trained, and how wonderful it would be when they brought him home.

And sure, he hadn't really been interested in those stories the last few times Sabine had visited, but that wouldn't make this moment any less impactful. Maybe one of the biggest of his life.

Ezra shrugged one shoulder, grinning. "Surprise?"

Jacen stared at him for another moment. And then he burst into tears, lurched out of his seat, and fled the cockpit.

-

@seleneisrising, ask and ye shall receive! I had actually forgotten about this AU, too, but I guess there was a little more knocking about in my head :)

I've also got some notes on what exactly is going on in Jacen's head, so I'll try to have that up soon.

Seeing some speculation on that skeleton crew show they announced back in May has got me thinking about Jacen Syndulla, and the Empire kidnapping Force sensitive kids, and wild space/the unknown regions...and now I'm thinking, wouldn't it be cool if Jacen found Ezra first?

[davnittbraes]

The Second Step - Chapter Ten

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5500 (a little much, I know, but it was either that or cut it off on a cliffhanger and I decided I’m torturing you guys enough with this ridiculously slow burn)

Warnings etc: anxiety, violence, descriptions of combat, mentions of slavery, two morons fumbling their way through a relationship, I’m playing fast and loose with Mando’a but it’s a fictional language spoken by a fictional culture in a fictional galaxy, how about we just roll with it

Notes: I’m posting this in a Covid fog so please let me know if I missed any warnings/tags and I’ll add them ASAP.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

Nevarro is beautiful, in a barren sort of way.

Volcanic rocks are scattered across a wasteland that stretches as far as you can see, the ground a dark grey stone streaked with smooth waves of old magma trails. The sky is a tired, faded blue, horizon a sharp line broken by distant mountains. With the lack of greenery it should feel desolate, but you catch tiny movements out on the plains, creatures who have found a way to thrive in a world that barely provides for them.

The kid chirps happily from his pod, floating beside you. He’s been excited ever since Nevarro came into view through the transparisteel, ears perked and eyes bright. Obviously he’s been here before, maybe even knows the contacts Mando mentioned.

Mando.

Your stomach roils.

The last few hours had been full of nothing but blunt directions and strained silence. He had stopped at Dennogra, an uninhabited dwarf planet just off the hyperlane on the way from Junkfort Station to Nevarro. The two of you had worked together and tossed the bodies, then there was the jump back into hyperspace and the thorough cleaning of the hold to rid it of any evidence of the fight.

You had thrown yourself into each task, grateful for the distraction, the excuse that relieved the pressure to talk to him.

Because you have no idea what to say.

There’s too much in your head. It’s all a tangle of emotion, knotted thick and ever-turning, tendrils constantly slipping away before you can examine them.

How do you talk to him? Where do you even start?

Sorry for wreaking havoc on your ship and drawing attention you probably don’t want.

Oh hey, so about that time I had a complete mental breakdown and you had to talk me out of it like a child throwing a tantrum. Sorry about that.

Kinda weird that I tried to blame you for my own choice to follow you, huh? I don’t know what came over me.

Yeah. None of those options - even all of those - are quite enough.

Now there’s no more time to figure it out as he leads you down the ramp, toward the two people waiting on the ground.

One is an older human male with a kind smile but shrewd gaze. Interesting combination. He’s dressed like some sort of official or noble, a robe of heavy fabric with fine embroidery sweeping the rock beneath his boots.

The other is a woman, dark hair and fierce features, muscular build. Her gaze takes you in with practiced calculation, assessing. A soldier, must be.

The man steps forward. “Mando, good to see you again.” A quick, perfunctory shake then he’s moving around Mando to the pod, lifting the kid into his arms. “There’s my little guy, how are you? Has your dad been taking good care of you?” The kid babbles cheerfully, tips of his ears flicking, obviously excited to see the man. He glances at you, gaze curious. “I didn’t realize you had another addition to your crew.”

Mando introduces you, using your Bakuran name. He gestures to the man. “This is Greef Karga, Magistrate of Nevarro. And Cara Dune, Marshal.”

Karga offers you a quick smile, clearly more focused on the kid, a fact which both seem content with.

You accept Dune’s outstretched hand, glimpsing the small tattoo on her cheek - the Rebel Alliance symbol, just under the left eye.

An Alderaan tear.

A soldier and an Alderaanian - a deadly combination.

Take someone with combat training and blow up their entire planet until there’s nothing left of it but dust and rubble floating through empty space? You get a person like the woman currently strangling your hand in a ridiculously strong grip while pinning you in place with a gaze that says she’s faced worse than anything you could throw at her. And won.

Dune releases your hand, mouth curling up at the corner. “Anyone who can stand to travel with this buckethead is someone I’d like to get to know.”

Her easygoing tone soothes that raw ache in your muscles that you’ve been trying to ignore, calms the queasiness in your stomach. Yes, you can do this, you can pretend that the last few hours didn’t happen.

You make an effort to slip a gentle teasing lilt into your voice after hours of silence. “I’m looking forward to the break, honestly. Some days he talks so much I can barely get a word in.”

Dune chuckles, throwing a glance at the Mandalorian. “Quite the gossip, isn’t he?” She nods toward the city in the near distance. “Come on, we’ll head to Greef’s office and get caught up on Mando’s adventures.”

It’s a smallish city, the streets aren’t bustling with people even though it looks to be early in the planet’s day cycle by the position of the sun. There are a few groups and the odd straggler moving about, but there’s a general air of quiet hanging over the city, like sounds are being intentionally hushed. Some of the buildings seem to be under heavy repair - is that carbon scoring?

Oh. That explains things, a bit.

That thick silence, the lack of people in the streets - this is a city still dealing with the aftermath of a significant attack, it’s physical scars only a glimpse of the depth of damage done to its society.

Rumours of an attack on the Bounty Hunter’s Guild must be true.

You pass by an open door and catch the sound of children chattering, a few of them repeating number sequences as if by rote.

A school. Interesting.

Well, whatever happened, the people are returning to normal life, or at least trying to.

Karga leads you to an official-looking building, guiding you through the front door and into a room toward the back - an office, his own, most likely.

He hands the kid to Mando and takes a seat at the desk, motioning toward a nearby table and chairs. “Sit, sit, let’s catch up and then I have something to discuss with you, Mando, since you’re here.”

Dune takes one chair, leaving you and Mando the two right next to each other. Kriff. A strange, anxious energy is crawling through your body. You’re not sure if you want to be as close to him or as far away from him as possible.

No choice in the matter, not if you don’t want to seem rude to these people who are not-so-subtly watching you with curiosity.

Sliding into the empty seat, you sit back, appearing relaxed, even as your heartbeat ramps up when Mando sits next to you. The kid coos quietly, trying to squirm out of Mando’s arms, his tiny hands outstretched toward you. With a practiced coordination that comes from doing the same thing countless times, Mando passes the kid over to you.

A twinge of relief skitters along your thoughts, though it’s quickly swallowed up by that knot of frantic emotions. Some things haven’t changed between you, at least. He still trusts you with the kid.

“So how long have you two been together?”

Dune’s question literally startles you, the kid grunting as you squeeze him reflexively. Offering an apology pat on the back, you stumble over an answer. “Oh, we - we’re not - I’m -”

Mando’s soft, modulated words interrupt your embarrassing flounder. “The hyperdrive blew on the Crest. It’s patched, but it needs a full overhaul. The lock on the crew door has been tampered with and needs recoding. Can your mechanics handle it?”

Right, good idea, let’s just ignore the question altogether.

Karga shakes his head, smiling. “Always straight to business with you, Mando. Haven’t slowed down since you dropped bounty hunting, eh? Yes, I’m sure they can take it on. It will leave you grounded for a couple days, though.”

There’s a glint in his gaze - you don’t know him, but you’re pretty sure that look says he’s got plans for those couple days.

Mando obviously sees it too. “What have you got for me?”

“Well, since you’re here, I was hoping you could help us out with a little… pest problem.” Karga nods at Dune, who takes that as a cue, leaning her elbows on the table.

“Aqualish vagrants have set up in your old home in the sewers, using the tunnels as checkpoints to raid warehouses throughout the city. They’re amassing a decent stockpile of weapons and goods, my guess is they’re planning a coup to bring the city under their control. I’ve counted about thirty, though it’s been difficult to verify - they seem to have found entrances and passageways that aren’t on any map we have.”

You manage to keep your expression neutral. Mando lived here? Wait - Mando lived here in the sewers?

Mando’s finger taps thoughtfully on the table. “There are hidden rooms and corridors that were built by the covert.”

Karga sits back in his chair, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. “Do you think you could modify our maps to show them?”

“Yes. But once we clear out the Aqualish, I want claim to any Mandalorian property that might still be there.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t have thought otherwise.” Karga chuckles at the skeptical tilt of Mando’s helmet. “I mean if there’s something of value, I would be more than happy to handle the auction on your behalf.”

“For a fee.”

“Well, yes, what kind of businessman do you take me for?”

Dune rolls her eyes. “Let’s talk about the plan of attack and leave negotiations until later. Once Mando makes the map modifications, we’ll have a better foundation for strategy. I’ve got a dozen new recruits who could probably guard the exits, but they’re too green to rely on in combat. Greef has to stay here to manage any blowback on the city, so it will probably just be you and me, Mando.”

She looks pointedly down at your blaster strapped to your thigh, one dark eyebrow quirked. “Unless you know how to use that blaster.”

You open your mouth to reply but Mando cuts you off.

“No.”

The sharp tone of the modulated voice drives right into that tangle of emotions you’re trying to ignore. Unspent energy makes your legs twitch under the table, and you take a deep breath, focus on trying to settle yourself before meeting the black visor’s gaze. “You’ll be significantly outnumbered. It doesn’t make sense for me to stay here when I can -”

“I said no.” His gloved hands curl into fists on the table as a dangerous stillness runs through his frame.

Anger unravels from the tangle in your thoughts and you don’t even bother to stop it. “You can ‘say’ whatever you want. This isn’t your mission. You don’t make the call on whether I’m in or not.”

Dune raises her hands, avoiding looking at either of you. Ok, no help from that angle. No problem. You can handle him on your own.

Mando shakes his head once. “We’ll talk about this later.”

You fire back. “I’ll insist on helping later, then.”

A thick chill settles over the room, pulls goosebumps down your arms. But you’re not giving in, you’re not letting him push you to the background, you are more than capable of doing this job and -

“Fine.” He stands abruptly, turning to Karga. “Show me the maps. I’ll make the modifications now and then we’ll move in.”

The space beside you is suddenly empty, Mando striding toward Karga’s desk where the magistrate is pulling up holos of what must be maps of the sewers.

Sighing, you look down at the kid, still nestled in your arms, big ears drooping just a bit at the tips. Yeah, I know kid. I didn’t like any of that either.

You got your way. So why does it feel like you lost a battle you didn’t even know you were fighting?

*****

The streets in this part of the city are empty, Dune’s recruits having cleared civilians just before you moved in. Two recruits are behind you, armed with blaster rifles and an obvious vague sense of duty to their people mixed with the need to prove themselves. Mando and Dune are in front, shoulders back and blasters at ready - as is yours, the grip warm in your hand.

That same hand the kid had held tight to when you had passed him over to Karga just an hour before, putting him under the magistrate’s watchful care for the time being.

The other recruits are scattered throughout the city, guarding sewer entrances and the hidden exits that Mando had marked on the maps. Blasters are all set to stun - no killing, if at all possible. The New Republic and Karga’s fair judgment intends to send the Aqualish to trial and likely imprisonment.

Dune crouches by the sewer entrance, pausing to listen for movement. After a minute she looks to you and Mando, and you both nod in acknowledgment.

Anticipation buzzes in your veins, pulling at some of that anxious energy. It feels good, doing something, focusing on something other than…

Mando steps past you without a glance, pulls the grate off the entrance and slips inside.

Frustration and hurt and a thousand other emotions flit through your mind, triggered by that one simple motion.

Your hand grips the blaster tight. Yeah. You need this.

Dune follows Mando and you move in close behind, ducking into a shadowy corridor. A faint voice coming from your left pricks at your ears, and you peer down the corridor in the direction it came from - there. A figure, walking away, it’s odd-shaped outline declaring it decidedly not human.

Dune sees it too, motioning for you to go left while she cocks her head to the right. During the strategy planning, you’d pitched splitting up, you and Dune together and Mando alone, sweeping through the sewers with a pincer movement to trap the Aqualish between you, ensuring none escaped.

You had played it off like Mando’s combat proficiency was worth both yours and Dune’s. It hurt less than waiting for him to suggest it.

As you follow Dune and feel the air move with a swirl of Mando’s cloak, indicating he’s striding away from you, your stomach turns at the memory of how he hadn’t even protested splitting up.

He doesn’t even want to be near me.

Pfassk, stop it.

Gritting your teeth, you focus on Dune’s form in front of you.

The two of you move quietly, muscles tensed to create as little noise as possible. The figure you’d seen disappears around a corner, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more, and the further into the sewers you get before you’re discovered, the better.

A sound echoes down the corridor from just ahead.

You and Dune freeze, blasters raised.

An Aqualish steps into the corridor, bulbous gaze instantly landing on you at the same time you train your blaster’s sight on it.

You squeeze the trigger and its body drops with a thud.

A group of voices cries out in alarm, garbled sounds of the Aqualish language bouncing off the stone walls.

Dune throws you a crooked smile. “Good shot.”

Something about her casual good humour is catching, and you match her smile. “You can get the next one.”

There’s a flurry of movement and four Aqualish round the corner, blasters raised.

Dune’s smile grows, dark gaze glittering. “I think there’ll be plenty to go around.”

*****

The mission takes about half an hour, not as long as you thought it would, all things considered. The Aqualish were obviously unprepared, scrambled to get together some kind of defense effort and failed miserably. Thanks to Mando’s map revisions, you and Dune found the hidden rooms and corridors easily, rooting out every last Aqualish with no issues - except for one.

“It’s fine, honestly. Barely even hurts.” You tug your jacket tighter to your body, turning your back away from Dune. “That last one snuck up on me, good thing he only had a knife and not a blaster. I’m more pissed about the hole in my favourite jacket.”

She clicks her tongue, letting her hand fall back to her side. “Should still get it checked out, we’ve got a decent medic among our recruits.”

Your lungs are tight, so tight it hurts to breathe, your heart pounds against your ribcage like it’s trying to break free.

It’s ok, she’s not going to touch you. 

Calm. Focus. Control.

Fixing a grateful smile on your face, you nod. “Thanks, but I’ll -”

“You’re hurt.”

The modulated voice cuts right through your attempt to stop the panic rising in the back of your throat. Mando is suddenly there, too close, a gloved hand reaching toward the wound on your back.

That tangle of emotion you’ve had since Junkfort Station unravels completely.

Adrenaline floods your system, ignites that unspent energy still vibrating through your body.

You snap.

“Don’t touch me.”

Your words fly out at him. In a split second you see his reaction, how his hand abruptly stops its journey across the space between you. How the tension that’s been visibly tight across his shoulders sharpens even more, as if your words had landed a physical blow across them.

Dank farrik. When will you stop hurting him?

No wonder he doesn’t want to be around me.

Guilt and shame bloom bitter on your tongue, burn in your throat, turn your stomach.

I can’t do this right now.

Spinning on your heel, you stride away without another word.

Get out of here. Off this planet. Away from -

The sound of bootsteps right behind you.

No. I can’t -

Your feet immediately pick up into a run.

Too late.

A gloved hand wraps around your arm and pulls, forcing you sideways, and you stumble into an empty room off the main corridor. Mando releases you as quickly as he grabbed you.

You whip around to face him, glaring anger and panic. “I said -”

“If you’re injured, you’re getting medical treatment.”

His voice is low with anger, a tone you’ve never heard before. It’s unsettling, shifting the chaotic swirl of emotion once again, and tears sting behind your eyes but you refuse to acknowledge them. “You can’t force me to see a medic.”

“Let me look at it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

You roll your eyes, not caring that it’s a childish gesture. “Why are you?”

“Because I care about you.”

Oh.

The chaos of emotion shudders.

He’d never… there were moments sure but… 

He’d never said it before.

You blink through tears of confusion and guilt. “Why would you say that?”

He stills, entire frame tense. “What?”

He’s going to make you say it. Ok, you can do this. Then you can leave. “It’s fine, you don’t have to keep pretending. You don’t want me around anymore, after what happened.”

There’s pause, heavy silence, thick.

Then a sound of frustration through the modulator shatters it.

“Don’t want you... you’re the one who wanted to split up and go with Dune.” He takes a step toward you now, hand cutting through the air sharply, back toward the corridor. “You need to process what happened, I understand that, I’ve been giving you space. But you’re the one who insisted on joining this mission when you should have taken time to clear your mind.”

That comment stokes your anger, edges your voice with heat. “What in the crikking hells are you talking about?”

He’s suddenly right in front of you, filling your gaze, radiating that power and danger you’ve seen before and your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, a quiver of uncertainty running down your spine, and something else sparking between your thighs.

Not the time.

His voice hisses through the modulator. “You were compromised on Junkfort Station, you lost your focus. You don’t push through something like that. You have to take time to let your mind understand it. If you don’t, you risk making decisions that could get you hurt.” He takes another step forward, intent, moving into your space. “Which you did, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about it. You need to let someone look at it -”

Panic jolts you into action and you try to step around him but he swiftly blocks the entrance - damn those broad shoulders. “Get out of my way.”

“Stop.”

That one word blasts through your already-brittle resolve.

Realization so poignant it hurts steals the rest of the air from your lungs, grinds everything to a halt.

It’s not anger, in his voice.

It’s frustration, helplessness…

Despair.

With that one word, he’s pleading with you. Begging for you to just. Stop.

Stop trying to run from him. Stop shutting him out.

You look at him, a blur of silver, voice barely above a whisper, straining. “I can’t.”

A pause. “Why not?”

Pfassk.

It would be so much easier to just go, squeeze past him and get away, run and find somewhere new and start over.

Go back to the life you had before you met him and the kid.

And what life was that, exactly?

A life without companionship, without moments of laughter and quiet conversation and shared silence.

A life without little gestures of affection, without tiny clawed hands squeezing your fingers and large gloved ones smoothing over your skin.

A life without warmth, only the cold dark of memories that haunt your every step.

I don’t want to run from them anymore.

“From who?”

The question throws you off for a moment, until you realize you’d spoken out loud.

Panic skitters down your spine.

Hush, it’s ok. It’s just him.

Calm. Focus. Control.

Deep breath, blink back tears.

And move forward.

Lifting your gaze slowly, you stop at the black visor. “My secrets.”

The words hover between you, stretched thin.

He nods, once, slowly, a flash of silver in the dim light. “Then don’t.”

Laughter bursts out of your chest, bitter-tasting and dissonant. “You make it sound so easy.”

“I know it’s not.”

His tone is firm but reassuring. He’s telling the truth, you know that.

He’ll understand. He’s got secrets of his own.

Not secrets like this.

That swarm of anxiety - fear - grips tight to your heart, stops up your words, but you push them out anyway. “But what if you… I’m… pfassk, the things I’ve said to you, I was… I was cruel. I shouldn’t have said what happened on Junkfort Station was your fault, I chose to stay with you. It’s not your fault I… I was too scared to tell you why I can’t be seen there.”

The helmet tilts. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me anything.”

“Kriff. You say that but...” Your gaze drifts over anything but him. “This is really hard.”

There’s a soft shuffle of movement and then a hand appears in your line of vision - broad palm and long fingers and skin touched with the glow of sunlight despite it being so often encased in leather.

He doesn’t say anything, just waits. Hand outstretched in the space between you.

Before you can think about it, over-analyze and second-guess, you’re reaching up and sliding your fingers over his.

It’s instant, the flush of relief and reassurance. It seeps into those frayed edges and soothes the ache in your chest, releases the pull of emotion so you can breathe again.

His hand holds yours gently. Steady. Patient.

Your words come easier now. “I… trust you,”

Fingers squeeze lightly. “Thank you, tionas.”

Your heart flutters at the word, said with such genuine affection it morphs into an endearment.

No one spoke to you like that, before him.

And that’s why this is ok.

That’s why you’ll be ok.

Slipping your hand from his, you shrug your jacket off your shoulders, letting it gather at your elbows. The movement shifts the fabric of your shirt, and your skin stings in a stripe across your shoulderblade - it did cut you, not very deep from what you can tell.

But he can see for himself.

He wants to.

Because he cares about you.

Your breath is surprisingly steady as you start to unbutton your shirt, turning your back to him. A pause, a moment that last less than a heartbeat that you hold onto, not out of fear but out of recognition of its significance.

Then you pull the edges of your open shirt back over your shoulders, letting it pool loosely with your jacket.

The air swirls against your bare skin, cool, unfamiliar.

A movement behind you, his presence drawing into you.

Fingertips gently press the skin around the cut, checking how clean the cut is, how deep. The touch is no-nonsense, efficient.

They pause, linger, and you close your eyes, letting yourself feel it, those small points of warmth. Something you’ve so rarely felt in your lifetime, a tender touch, there.

Then they glide slowly down the curve of your shoulderblade, tracing one of the dozens of faint silvery lines crisscrossing your back haphazardly.

The slavers never laid their whips in any particular pattern.

Punishments were quick, bacta slapped on if they cut too deep - not from any sort of care for your well-being, just to keep their investment alive and free of infection.

You were never obedient enough to be a pleasure slave, so your physical appearance wasn’t a priority. They didn’t care if they marked you up.

They only cared of you got your work done.

If you were useful.

You startle as the fingers suddenly splay, curving over your shoulder, palm pressing against your skin. It’s warm and heavy and it feels so good tears flood your vision again and you squeeze your eyes shut against them -

Then he’s there, right behind you, framing your body, his free arm wrapping around your waist and holding you so tight his fingers dig into the softness just under your ribs, and the helmet dips down to rest on your other shoulder, cool and smooth, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his hand.

You should be anxious, worried about what he’s thinking, what he’s going to say. 

You should be afraid of what comes next.

But you’re not. There’s no room for any of that, in the space between your bodies.

It’s gone. That tangle of anger and fear and uncertainty, the unsettled energy coursing through your limbs. Squeezed out of you by the gentle pressure of his hand, resting over your deepest secret.

“It’s ok.” You say it so softly, letting your voice fall only around the two of you. “It’s ok, now. I don’t want to hide this from you anymore, and that’s ok.”

A tremor runs through him and you shush it away, lifting a hand to twine your fingers through the ones on your shoulder. They clutch at you, almost desperate.

He needs to hear this as much as you need to tell him.

So you do.

“I’ve hid it from everyone. I had to, I’m not legally freed. I escaped. That’s why I couldn’t be seen on Junkfort Station, it’s too close to the major slave markets and frequented by people who might recognize my face.” You huff a little humourless laugh. “I’ve been lucky, really, being able to avoid them as I have for so many years. Even my escape was pure luck - an equipment malfunction caused an explosion in the mine, sent everyone within a ten metre radius flying and I landed on a rock. Cracked my skull, right over where the tracking implant was. I hid during the chaos of the aftermath, dug the implant out and tossed it down a mine shaft. Then I disappeared.”

He’s so still behind you, unmoving, silent. You keep talking.

“I stowed away on a transport, got off-world, then another, then another. Eventually landed on some planet and figured out how to survive. Laid low until I fell in with Bril’s crew - you know that part already. Learned it was best to avoid making friends, too easy to track a single identity, so I just became different people, whatever suited where I was living. It wasn’t hard, I don’t know my birth name - if I even had one - and usually got a new name when I changed owners so I was used to it, anyway.”

A soft smile curves your lips. “But now I get to choose my name. Choose who I am. And I’m not a slave, born without freedom. I’m not some angry, self-destructive teenager sent to the Kessel mines because her owner couldn’t handle her anymore. I’m not a foolish, lost young woman trying to figure out what to do with a life she never thought she’d get. I’m me. Myself. Whoever that might be, I get to decide. No one else.”

It’s so quiet in the room. There’s no sounds even in the corridor - maybe Dune instructed the recruits to stay away from here while they retrieved the unconscious Aqualish. Should thank her regardless, she’s kept her distance, obviously knowing you and Mando have something to work out.

And how is that going, exactly?

He hasn’t spoken, hasn’t moved since you started talking. His hand still holds yours tightly on your shoulder, though its grip isn’t as desperate.

But there’s no anger or frustration - or disgust, something you were afraid of - in the way he holds you. If anything, he’s clinging to you like he needs it, like he’ll crumble if he lets you go.

Slowly, you tilt your head toward his helmet and press your cheek to the cool metal, words whispering over its curve. “I’ve never told anyone, ever. Just you. Because I trust you. And… I care about you, too.”

He moves then, shoulders hitching with a strangled breath. A single word rasps through the modulator.

“Ne’kotir.”

It’s an unfamiliar word - must be from the Mandalorian language. “What does it mean?”

His thumb strokes over the skin of your shoulder. “Undefeated.”

Your eyelids drift open - you forgot you had closed them in the first place - and you stare at the opposite wall.

Undefeated.

There were moments in your life where you certainly didn’t feel that way.

Even less than a day cycle ago, you’d looked at the proof of what you thought was your failure on the floor of the Razor Crest.

But it wasn’t.

It was evidence of your ability to survive.

Proof of your strength. That your past is not stronger than you.

Your little hum of surprise dusts across the surface of his helmet. “Yes. Ne’kotir.”

His arm on your waist squeezes tight, a deep breath shuddering through his frame. Then he’s stepping back, hands moving to pull your shirt and jacket up over your shoulders.

You catch the sound of footsteps coming toward you - oh, that’s why he started helping you dress again.

Dune appears in the doorway just as you finish straightening your jacket and Mando pulls on his gloves. Her gaze runs over you both but her expression remains neutral. “We’ve cleared out most of the bodies. And one of the recruits found a cache in a hidden room - it has some Mandalorian items.”

Mando shifts closer to you. “I’ll look at them later.”

Your heart flutters at his obvious desire to stay with you, and you’re tempted - the knowledge of what you just did is quickly catching up to you and there’s a tender spot in the centre of your chest, like you’d felt too much at once. But you know how much those items mean to him, and after the moment you just shared, the compassion he showed, you want to do the same for him.

Show him you care about him, too.

Smiling reassuringly, you gesture toward Dune. “Go. I’m fine, I’ll head back to the kid.” The black visor turns to you, and even though you can’t see his face you can sense the argument building. “Honestly. I could use some… time to process things.”

The helmet tilts in a way that says he knows exactly what you’re doing but he can’t argue with his own advice. Your smile turns playful despite yourself and he sighs.

“Fine. Get a room for the night. Rest.” He digs into one of his belt pouches and pulls out a comlink. Stepping close, he takes one of your hands and presses it into your palm. “I’ll come to you immediately.”

Nodding, you slip the comlink into your jacket pocket and open your mouth to say goodbye when he suddenly cups the back of your neck with a gloved hand and leans in, lightly tapping his forehead against yours.

He gently squeezes your neck, thumb curling along your nape. “Rest.”

You meet that hidden gaze behind the black visor. “I will, I promise. I’ll see you later.”

Another moment of black and silver filling your world and then he’s turning away, following Dune back into the corridor.

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly. That tender spot in your chest is growing, your muscles starting to ache with physical and emotional strain.

Rest, he said. Well, that actually sounds like a kriffing great idea.

*****

Previous Chapter     Next Chapter

[vagrantblvrd]

Din ends up on Tatooine again - his ship needs repairs and Peli’s got her hands full with other customers - sorry, and also let me give the little guy a hug before you go.

But!

She knows these guys down the way, old friends and they do good work, just tell ‘em she sent Din and they’ll give him a good price on repairs. (Suckers like that, she doesn’t quite say, with this crooked little smile, and Din is like okay???)

But his ship needs repairs and if she’s sending him to these guys there’s got to be a reason, and anyway!

He’s greeted by a guy who just gives Din a Look when he mentions Peli, and gets a look at Grogu who just stares up at him like huh.

The guy looks to be around Peli’s age and isn’t the chatty sort, exactly, but he’s not unfriendly. Just, y’know. Very Tired. He has this scar over one eye and glove one hand and this Very Tired air to him.

Which, considering the other guy who walks in talking to an R2 unit about upgrades or something? Younger, definite resemblance so probably related, but this one’s less on the Very Tired side of things and more friendly. (Still, Din swears he hears something about a fusion cutter and anyway, best not to ask questions or think too hard about that, so!)

Din’s like “...” and gets an estimate for repairs from the Very Tired guy and then goes off to visit Boba Fett and Fennec or who even knows, and when he gets back his ship is good as new.

Very Tired guy has this tiny little smile, mentions that haha, yeah, he knows his way around old gunships like the Razor Crest. Din is like uh-huh, because there’s this look on the guy’s face, like he served in a war (or two) and anyway, none of his business???

Anyway.

Din heads of for Space Adventures and whenever he ends back on Tatooine he goes to Peli when she’s available or those friends of hers because they do good work, and anyway.

He has no clue who they are really, just that the older guy is Anakin and the younger one (his kid) is Luke and it’s a little family-run business that just sort of happened after the war with the Empire, you know?

And, sure.

Peli mentions the Skywalkers are away on business somewhere and later Din will hear about some kerfuffle or other to do with Imperial remnants or sympathizers and such.

Sometimes when he gets to Tatooine one or both of the Skywalkers will look like they went a round or two with a Rancor barehanded.

(The one time Din says as much Luke gets this peculiar look on his face while Anakin sighs and mutters something that sounds a lot like “Don’t remind me,” and anyway, yes.)

And then there’s this time he’s passing by and there’s a ship in the Skywalker hangar - Naboo make, or maybe Alderaanian, or a Corellian light-frieghter, idk, but Din’s got business so he puts it out of his mind, thinks nothing of it and so on.

ANYWAY.

Basically the Mandalorian but another where Order 66 didn’t quite go to plan and Anakin didn’t fall to the Dark side - he wobbled a bit but didn’t fall down - and it’s Anakin and his family working with the Rebellion to thwart Palpatine and then dealing with Imperial remnants and the like in the aftermath and it’s just.

Din not realizing two of his favorite mechanics on Tatooine are literal war heroes who have between them helped saved the galaxy many, many times for the longest time because he’s like that’s a hard no on being anywhere the main story and its protagonists, thanks.

Also they’re supposedly retired/laying low but then there’s the time bounty hunters/assassins come after them while Din’s there and then Adventures happen and Din is like “Why does this always happen to me?” while helping Anakin and Luke and being like “Are you two Jedi?” when the lightsabers come out and anyway, yes.

ALSO.

Anakin being like *SIGH* watching his kid fall in love with the Mandalorian who is painfully oblivious (in an endearing way) with Grogu in his arms being like “You have NO idea.”

Also, Anakin telling Padme all about Luke and Din and the adorable tiny green gremlin kid of theirs (no really, trust him on that one, it’s inevitable at this point) while she laughs and laughs and laughs.

(Obi-Wan off to the side chortling like the bastard he is because this is what it’s like, Anakin! This! Exactly this!)

Also, also.

Leia stopping by in disguise as Boushh to give Luke and Din shit while laughing her black little heart out. Han being :( because Din’s like “Solo? Yeah, there’s a puck with that name on it but the reward’s not really worth the effort while Luke is :DDDDDDDDDD because he’s worth more, and Din is like *SIGH* because why is this his life again?

And of course the time(s) Leia-as-Boushh brought her own brother in to some baddie or other who put a price on his head as part as a Brilliant Ploy and Din is like “Please stop using my boyfriend/husband in your spy plans even if he thinks it’s hilarious because it gives me so much stress.”

(Also I feel like Padme and the Armorer would get along so well and Leia and Paz would be BFFs - after she’s kicked his ass a few times - and Din would just be like *SIGH* with Chewie nodding along because yeah, friend, yeah.)

Just.

ALL the shenanigans, and also Din commiserating with Anakin over the insanity of his family because wow.

[zapsalis-d]

Narudar: Chapter Forty-Four—The Tenacity

SUMMARY: On your way to a hidden Imperial base, yourself, Din, and Mayfeld come across a few problems… Specifically, a band of pestering pirates.

WARNINGS: Canon-typical violence, blood & injuries

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

MASTERLIST >>> MAIN MASTERLIST

"You know," a familiar voice sounded as you stepped down the Slave I's ramp. "For a second, I thought you were this other guy-"

Below were Fett-with his newly refurbished emerald armor-, Shand, Cara, and... Migs Mayfeld. Dealing with the former Imperial again was not something you believed what happen in your life, nor did you want to see him after everything... but the way his face contorted into a look of immense panic was rather amusing, you had to admit. He better fear you and the Mandalorian since the prison ship incident.

This would be worth it anyway, once Grogu was returned to you guys.

"Mayfeld," Din greeted first, halting in front of him.

"Hey... Mando..." He could hardly even make eye-contact with you or Din for more than two seconds. He must've confused Fett for Din. His gaze lifted to meet with yours, shortly, before they lowered again. "Long time."

Maybe you enjoyed the fear you invoked in him now... Maybe.

"What, you came here to kill me?"

"Yes," you replied, easily.

At first, he didn't seem to believe it and nervously laughed the quip off instead. But when your humorless expression didn't budge, his face dropped. "Wait, really-"

"All you need to know is I bent a lot of rules to bring you along," Cara joined in. Earlier, she had been the one to retrieve him from his prison duties and bring him to the ship. Which was why he was still in prisoner's attire.

Immediately, Mayfeld seemed to swap from alarmed to skeptical. "Why am I so lucky?"

"Because you're Imperial," you answered. "Right?"

"Hey, that was a long time ago, alright?" he countered. He simply didn't know that it was exactly what you needed.

"You still know your Imperial clearances and protocols, don't you?" Din questioned.

Mayfeld couldn't seem to find a response to that-simply not knowing what answer would be right or wrong, or whether this were some sort of trap. Afterwards, everyone decided to retreat back into the Slave I, assuming he would follow. Truly, he had no other option. Either he returned to his responsibilities or he joined your team. You ended up being the final one to leave, pausing on the ramp for a moment and observing as he stayed behind, seemingly contemplating whether or not he should tag along.

"Hey," you called. Losing him was something you could not risk. He may be aggravating at times but he was one of the only people that could lead you to Gideon's coordinates. "Come on before we change our minds and find someone else."

Soon afterwards, Migs Mayfeld boarded the Slave I. As Boba Fett launched the ship out of the atmosphere and into hyperspace, the rest of the group settled down in the main cabin, where there were available seats for everyone.

Din started first-"We need coordinates for Moff Gideon's cruiser."

"Moff Gideon?" Mayfeld repeated, adding a scoff. "Yeah, forget it. Just take me back to that scrapyard. I'm not doin' that."

Cara directed an exasperated expression towards him, before sharing a brief glance with you, then to Din. After that, she faced Mayfeld. "They have their kid."

Seemingly surprised by the statement, his eyes darted between you and Din. As if he couldn't believe that someone was actually capable of separating him from his protectors... Which, clearly, it was possible-and it's happened twice already. "The little green guy?"

"Yeah," Cara confirmed. "The little green guy."

"So..." Mayfeld contemplated the idea for a second. Hope seemed to appear in his eyes. "I help you guys get him back, you guys let me go?" He raised a thumbs-up.

The Alderaanian shook her head, "That's not how this works."

"Well, then what's in it for me?"

Shand, although quiet, nearly rolled her eyes at him. You couldn't blame her.

"You get a better view," was Cara's simple answer.

"Alright, but here's the thing: I can't get those coordinates unless I have access to an internal Imperial terminal." As Mayfeld expressed the problem, Din turned to the holoprojector besides him and searched for something that had caught his interest. "I believe there's one on Morak."

"Don't lie to us," you chided, recognizing completely well what that planet accomodated-nothing. Perhaps a couple of small villages, but other than that, nothing. "There's nothing on Morak."

"It's a secret Imperial mining hub, okay? If you can get me in there, I can get you the coordinates."

Din opened the commlink that connected to the cockpit in order to speak to Boba Fett. He seemed convinced into at least giving this a try, even if Mayfeld truly turned out to be lying. "Fett, punch in the coordinates to Morak."

"Copy that."

Once the starship landed on Morak, the plan was discussed. Though the process was extended further than you preferred, given that Cara and Mayfeld didn't exactly get along with each other. Nevertheless, the team managed to formulate a scheme. As Mayfeld mentioned earlier, there was indeed a secret Imperial base on the planet, so it was safe to say he was speaking the truth up until now. Apparently, there was a rhydonium refinery there as well-which happened to be highly flammable fuel.

Now, there was decent security there. So it would take effort not to be detected by the Imperials inside. First, Mayfeld recommended that he head into the hub alone, and Fett would drop in with the Slave I to help him escape once he retrieved the coordinates. The problem was absolutely nobody trusted him, and everyone believed he would simply blabber off to the officers about the plan. So your chances of getting Grogu back would basically disappear. That was not something anyone was willing to risk. Which was why Cara volunteered to go with him. Only, Mayfeld brought up the issue of the base being run by ex-ISB, so if her genetic signature was scanned, then she would trip the alarm. There was also Shand, but she also happened to be wanted by the ISB. Last was Fett, though he reckoned they might recognize his face... and, well, he wasn't wrong.

Then, it was Din.

Which was fine. It was just that... Mayfeld wouldn't be able to convince absolutely anyone in the base into allowing a Mandalorian wearing beskar to enter. In order to join the prisoner, he'd have to switch outfits... and disguise himself as one of the pilots that transported rhydonium. Which also meant removing his helmet.

You were almost completely certain he'd reject the idea, but he agreed to it instead. Though he insisted he would not be showing his face.

So you suggested you should be back-up. Since you weren't exactly well-trained to be sniping with Cara and Shand, you felt you would make more use if you joined Din and Mayfeld in case they needed help. Which, if everything went smoothly, they might not even need you. But you'd prefer to be there if anything went awry. As long as you remained hidden within the juggernaut while they leave to retrieve the information, you should be fine. Soon afterwards, one of the conveys that were passing through had been hijacked by you guys. Din and Mayfeld didn't hesitate to swap out the outfits the soldiers attired, and kept it for themselves.

"Oh my God, this guy reeked-" Mayfeld complained, his mouth curving with distaste as he pushed his feet through the pair of boots, seated on the entrance of the stolen transport. "His gloves are still wet. Ugh!"

Then Din stepped in.

He had switched out his armor and stuffed his beskar into a sack that he swung over his shoulder. He definitely seemed... different. The armor was certainly not as shiny and polished as his own. It was also strange gazing into that visor, knowing Din was behind it. The helmet seemed heavier, and there was no T-visor this time... Instead, it was a simple straight line across his eyes. He seemed so distinct to how he usually looked, but at the same time... the way he moved, his body language and mannerisms, made it clear it was him.

"Look at this!" Mayfeld laughed, teasing Din as soon as he caught sight of him. "Oh, the shame... Now, that right there is worth the price of admission."

Din didn't pay much attention to him, and you only shot the man a brief glare before turning back to Din. He approached you and Cara, who stood side-by-side with each other.

"Wish I could say it looked good on you," Cara commented. "But I'd be lying..."

"Just make sure you take out the rooftop gunners," Din replied, completely disregarding all the remarks on his appearance. "Or we're never getting out of here."

"We got you," she assured.

Then, Din handed over the sack containing his armor. "Take care of this. Keep it safe."

"I will." She stepped away momentarily, but before returning to Fett and Shand, she lingered for a second.

"Hey guys," Mayfeld called from the juggernaut, interrupting the conversation. "Still on the clock."

"Wait-" Din called for you lowly before you managed to leave. You inclined yourself closer to listen, and he leaned in. "Can you see behind the visor? It's... slightly clearer than mine."

Briefly, you pulled back to see. The tint was not as dark as his Mandalorian helmet, but it wasn't much of a difference. There wasn't anything you could perceive from your perspective. It was as shaded as it should be. You shook your head. "No, I can't see anything. It's not as dark as yours but it's fine."

"What would they say on Mandalore?" Mayfeld mocked, soon as you and Din turned to enter the vehicle. When he didn't receive an answer from Din, he decided to poke at Cara instead, who happened to still linger around to ensure everything was alright. "You know, it's a shame you're not comin' along with us. You've got such a sunny disposition. Can't imagine how much fun you are in one of these."

You can't wait to return him to prison.

Standing, the former Imperial then seated himself on the left seat of the convoy, while Din occupied the right side. You, though, were stuck settling yourself down on the floor, with your back against the wall facing forward. There simply was no other spot for you to fit in. Which wasn't exactly terrible, because when you arrive at the base, you would need to remain hidden from everybody else. Here, seated on the flooring, nobody would be capable of spotting you from the windows. The only issue would be if somebody decided to walk into the juggernaut, but you'd make sure to take care of that in case it were to occur...

Mayfeld muttered to himself, though you weren't paying him much attention. He seemed to be attempting to start the convoy. Then, "Ah, there we go!" The engines whirred to life, vibrating beneath you as the transport was directed forwards. "And we are off."

Passing Cara, the juggernaut continued through the darkness of the tunnel. The light of an opening was visible up ahead, a short distance away. Anxiety welled in your chest at the thought of this mission failing. Infiltrating the Imperial hub was definitely going to be a challenging task, but hopefully the coordinates were found quickly and you guys could escape soon afterwards.

"Hey, how's it feel? Huh?" Mayfeld spoke up again, trying to earn a word from Din, given that he wasn't too willing to chat with him. "I mean c'mon man, you still get to wear a helmet, right?"

...

"Alright, you know what? I'm taking this thing off." The man removed the helmet from his head, setting it away from him and clearing his voice from the distortion. "I can't see anything."

As the juggernaut cleared from the tunnel, the sunlight beamed down between the branches and leaves from the surrounding trees.

"I don't know how you people wear those things-and by you people, I do mean Mandalorians."

"Mayfeld," you called, irritation hinting your tone.

"What?"

"Shut it." Evidently, Din was not in the mood to communicate with him. Plus, nobody wanted to hear him rambling off about random subjects that didn't even matter.

"What? Why?"

"You're just-"

"Juggernaut four, you're running hot." Voices were audible through the communications. Officers and pilots were interacting between each other. "Be sure to watch your cargo heat limits and speed."

"Copy that, three. We've hit a couple bumps. Thanks for the heads-up."

"Don't worry about the rhydonium," Din finally spoke up, much to Mayfeld's surprise. "As long as you drive steady, you'll get us to the refinery."

Thankfully, everyone was silent for a while afterwards. The convoy eventually passed through a scant village, where people-and mainly children-were blocking the pathway that was carved out for the transport. They would not budge from their spots, so Mayfeld found himself sounding the horn in order to spread them around and separate them from the road. Admittedly, it had startled you given that he didn't offer a warning... But you weren't going to initiate another conversation. Much less an argument.

Though he started that himself anyway: "Yeah. Empire, New Republic... It's all the same to these people. Invaders on their land is all we are."

As the juggernaut sauntered through the town, you were able to peek and catch sight of a few faces that didn't seem too content. You didn't blame them. If some noisy vehicle rambled past your home everyday, forcing you to leave your spot... it would be rather aggravating.

"I'm just sayin' somewhere someone in this galaxy is ruling and others are being ruled. I mean, look at your race. Do you think all those people that died in wars fought by Mandalorians actually had a choice? And the Jedi-the amount of lives that were lost, caused by wars the Jedi started. How are they any different from the Empire?" Mayfeld scoffed. You almost countered his criticism, but then he would add more and more. While, yes, the Jedi did commit grave mistakes, he did not recognize the entire story. There wasn't much he could do about it anyway, because it was all in the past. "Look, if you were born on Mandalore, you believe one thing. If you're born on Alderaan, you believe somethin' else. But guess what? Neither one of 'em exist anymore!"

From where you sat, you could see Din glance over, possibly shooting him a glare behind the visor. But Mayfeld only shrugged it off, and continued. "Hey, I'm just a realist. I'm a survivor, just like any of you."

"Let's get one thing straight," Din began, already irked by his constant blabbering. "You and I are nothing alike."

"I don't know! Seems to me like your rules start to change when you get desperate. I mean, look at ya. You said you couldn't take your helmet off, and now you got a stormtrooper one on, so what's the rule? Is it that you can't take off your Mando helmet, or you can't show your face. 'Cause there is a difference."

All that was heard was a sigh coming from you.

"Look, I'm just sayin' we're all the same. Everybody's got their lines they don't cross until things get messy. As far as I'm concerned, if you can make it through your day and still sleep at night, you're doin' better than most."

"Mayfeld! Just-"

"Shut up! Shut up, I know. I'll shut up now. My mouth is zipped-"

"Control, this is juggernaut three. We're coming up on some route interference-"

"Control, control! We need a new-"

Immediately, Mayfeld panicked. "What was that?!"

"Please stand by for reroute," came a woman's voice, presumably from control.

A distant explosion caused you to flinch. You found yourself rising up from the floor, setting your palms on the two seats surrounding you, attempting to catch sight of what could've possibly caused that. All you had seen was the smoke that erupted from the detonation, but that was it. Alarm crept into your brain, and you were beginning to feel the weight of the mission push down on you already.

"Juggernaut four has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Mayfeld repeated.

Din attempted to assure him that everything was alright, for now. "The rhydonium is still stable."

"Juggernaut five, maintain speed and course. Proceed with caution. Re-routing course, stand by."

"Juggernaut five?" You reiterated. "That's us, right?"

"Yeah- Wait, proceed with caution?" Mayfeld restated nervously. "Is she serious?"

"Control, this is juggernaut three. Requesting- abort! Abort!" Those voices were interrupted, soon followed by screaming... then shooting.

So it sounded like a fight was imminent. The next outburst had been much too near for comfort. Which meant that whatever was attacking them... will soonreach you guys. Mayfeld urged the juggernaut to accelerate and zip past the remains of the previous vehicle that detonated.

"What's happening?" you asked urgently. The fact that you had absolutely no idea what was destroying these convoys panicked you even further-because you did notwant to be next.

A thud echoed through the juggernaut.

"What the hell was that?!" Mayfeld shouted, glancing down to one of the screens on the control panel. The cameras then displayed a band of pirates, boarded on a repulsorlift that was nearing the transport.

"Pirates," Din recognized. "Keep driving."

Great. Your chest heaved with an exasperated sigh. Just what you needed. This was bound to happen-you were backup after all. It's just... did it have to be pirates?

"I'll handle them," you declared, enthusiasm completely absent from your tone. You slipped your scarlet cloak off your shoulders and clambered up the ladder that guided you to a hatch in the ceiling, thrusting it open until it struck the juggernaut's rooftop. Instability battered you when you ascended and stood upright on the vehicle as it slowly accelerated. Ahead were a group of shydopps aboard a repulsorlift craft, hovering closely behind the transport. From the side, Din firing his blaster reached your ears, a flash of his arm catching your attention. He was peeking through the window in an attempt to shoot them down.

Then came the very urgent voice of Mayfeld: "Are you seriously shooting a blaster near RHYDONIUM?!"

A thud directed your gaze back to the pirates. Your eyes landed on the figure of a single shydopp who bounced from their craft to the juggernaut, armed with a detonator in hand-prepared to burst the remaining rhydonium. Adrenaline drowned out whatever Din was shouting about, because here you were: standing on the top of an advancing Imperial transport, protecting highly volatile fuel from pirates that were trying to sabotage the entirety of it...

The things you did for Grogu.

The pirate launched for you. Swung his fist for your face. With an arm, you blocked the attack and used your other to lurch him to the ground. He latched onto your leg, flipped you over him, nearly slipping off the vehicle. But you recovered, rising back to your feet along with him. Your fingers slid the gun out of your holster. While he stood, you blasted, once. His body slumped to the ground, and with a shove of your foot, he slid off the juggernaut. Only, a sound alerted you of the explosive still active. Your eyes darted everywhere-the rooftop, the rhydonium, the pirates-and yet everywhere you seemed too look, the beeping followed.

It was on your shoulder.

A gasp escaped your lungs, and you seized it instantly, hurled it towards the shydopps-

The coercion of the detonation jolted you back, but you were able to keep your ground. That band of pirates thankfully disappeared along with the explosion, and it seemed you were in the clear for now.

Din's voice reached your ears as he climbed the ladder to meet with you. "They're trying to destroy the rhydonium-"

"YOU THINK? Ya should've left me in prison!!" Mayfeld yelled at the top of his lungs.

Well... it seemed he wasn't exactly enjoying his time off from being a prisoner.

This wasn't over yet, though. In the distance, a couple more crafts approached the juggernaut from behind. "There's more!"

Din was by your side in a split second. This time, several more shydopps stepped foot on the transport. Simultaneously, you and Din revealed your blasters and fired them down immediately. Multiple were taken down-a bullet sent through their chest or penetrating their skulls-but then Din's ammo depleted rather quickly. He had not checked it previously, it seemed... Out of frustration (and probably not knowing what else he could possibly do), he flung the weapon towards them. It smacked against one of the pirates, but it hadn't done absolutely anything to injure him. Now with you being the sole one shooting them down, it was nearly impossible to ward each of them off. Reinforcements came as soon as one of them died, and they were beginning to outnumber you and Din as they hopped onto the vehicle.

There was no other option than hand-to-hand combat now. Din battled his share of pirates, while you took care of yours-but you lingered close to him, in case he needed any assistance. A howl enraptured your attention. A shydopp lunged for you. Ramming your knee into his stomach, he retaliated quickly. His head swung straightinto yours. The strength behind the blow left a sharp throb in your skull, a pained shout leaving your throat. Without hesitation, you smashed your forehead into his-this time, trying to ignore the worsening twinge that resounded through your brain. Your hands gripped the pirate's clothes tightly, before pushing him off the juggernaut, preventing him from defending himself any further. Your blaster returned to your palm, and you whipped around as two more pirates charged towards you. The gun fired. Once, it struck one. Twice, thrice, a bullet pierced through the second. Just as you turned around, a spear zipped straight past your face, hardly grazing your nose, and you swore you felt the slight breeze that accompanied it. Your eyes snapped to follow it, watching as it impaled one of the pirates that was heading for you.

Your head shifted to look over at Din, eyes wide with shock. That had been close.

Considering there didn't seem to be anymore at the moment, Din gestured for you to follow him to head back down with him. "Come on!"

You hastened towards him, regardless of the unsteadiness that almost caused you to trip. You noticed one of his pauldrons was missing, leaving him with a single grey one on his right shoulder. Looked like he was much too accustomed to fighting with beskar plating his body.

"Are you okay?" you asked, still catching your breath.

"Yes, are you?"

Your mouth opened to answer, but then it closed shut. Because... Din was right. This stormtrooper visor wassignificantly lighter than his Mandalorian helmet. You may have not noticed it in the darkness of the tunnels, but out here in the open-underneath the sunlight-his eyes were... surprisingly visible. Clear. There was his... gentle gaze. He seemed so frustrated-a crease between the space of his eyebrows was evident-, yet his eyes were softened altogether when they were focused on you. Behind the tint, it was difficult to perceive the the true hues of his eyes... but you assumed they were a dark color. They were definitely not light. You just-

"What? Were you hurt?"

You snapped yourself out of that daze. "Oh- Yeah. Yes... No, I mean- No. I wasn't hurt. Not really."

His head tilted to the side with evident confusion. "That's not very convinci-"

"Can we just go?" You drew back from him, shifting slightly so that the sunlight wasn't directed towards his visor from your point-of-view. "I think we're done here."

Vehicle speeding up, you lurched forward-but Din grabbed your upper arm to keep you steady with him. Once again, another band of pirates advanced towards the juggernaut.

A groan left your lips. "Okay, maybe not..."

"I don't think faster's a good idea!" Mayfeld shouted, slowing the transport's velocity down.

"What are you doing?!" Din yelled back.

With the pace decelerating, the pirates were capable of mounting the juggernaut without problem. Reluctantly, you and Din resumed the fight. Between all the shooting, shoving, and swinging fists, somehow Din ended up pinned down to the floor by numerous shydopps and you, on the opposite side of him, were much too focused on the ones swarming around you to consider helping him. Something rigid swung at your back, harshly and ruthlessly, forcing you to bend over with pain spreading through your entire spine. You grunted loudly, whipping around and snatching the spear from the pirate that attacked you. Forcefully, you bashed the stick against his face, sending him tumbling off the vehicle. A couple more approached you from both sides. Without delay, you blunt end of the spear up one pirate's jaw, while the other end-the sharper one-penetrated through the second shydopp's stomach. Then, you spun and knocked the final one out with the spear.

Without you noticing at that moment, a shydopp snuck a detonator into the rhydonium, before quickly returning to their repulsorlift. You hesitated-though you probably should not have-and contemplated between either helping Din or saving the fuel... He seemed to be struggling, and they were even attempting to remove his helmet and you weren't sure if-

"Get the rhydonium!" he shouted, still wrestling against the relentless pirates.

For a split second, you observed as he finally managed to break free from them. Briskly, you plucked the active explosive from the rhydonium, once again tossing it back to the shydopps in the nick of time...

Only, given that they were actually holding several bombs in their hands, the force of the eruption had been exceedingly stronger. This time, you-along with Din-had been hurled back, your back clashing with the painfully stiff roof of the juggernaut. "Argh, damn it!" you yelled, remaining still for a moment until the ache somewhatsubsided. You were definitely going to feel this even worse the following day.

"I gotta stop!" Mayfeld's voice reached your ears. "I can't cross at this speed!"

You weren't even sure what he was trying to cross, but the transport was beginning to slow down even further. Din came into your view, and first he grabbed your hand and assisted you into standing back up, even with your back still throbbing with each movement. He sighed heavily, "It's not over yet."

Your eyes followed where his visor was concentrated. Assuredly, there were even more pirate reinforcements. Equipped with weapons-detonators, spears-and they were all laughing. Taunting you guys. You squeezed Din's hand to prevent frustration from getting the best of you. He squeezed back, equally as worn-out as you were.

Couldn't you skip to the part where you rescued Grogu? You're just... tired. Very tired.

But then there were TIE-fighters.

TIE-fighters and stormtroopers and they were all helping. All blasting down the remaining pirates, decreasing their numbers until they no longer existed. Until nobody was attempting to hijack juggernaut five. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the Imperials, but here you were...

"Go!" Din urged you to head back inside. "Get inside before they see you."

Kriff, he was right. You were so distracted realizing you no longer had to fight against those pestering pirates that you completely neglected the fact that you were literally in plain sight. If they spotted you, then... they probably wouldn't consider assisting you guys anymore. You rushed back down the ladder and settled down on the floor again, hoping that when Mayfeld guided the transport inside, nobody could see you from here.

Din descended the ladder a moment later, just as the troopers were beginning to salut him and Mayfeld for bringing back the rhydonium safely. "Never thought you'd be happy to see stormtroopers," Mayfeld commented, while saluting them back once.

You sighed as the brightness of the sunlight disappeared, and you were soon being driven straight into the Imperial base. From your perspective, you were not capable of seeing anyone passing by-which was good, because that meant they couldn't see you either. Apprehension stirred in your belly, and a million worst-case scenarios played through your mind. This was it. You were entering a hub crowded with stormtroopers and officers that worked for the Empire. There was no going back. Either you come out with the coordinates to Gideon's cruiser, or you don't come out at all-because you weren't leaving until you found the only link you could possibly obtain to Grogu.

PREVIOUS >>> NEXT

[softieskywalker]

I love dinluke because on the one hand you have Din "being eaten by a krayt dragon is a great idea thank you very much" Djarin and on the other hand you have Luke "walking into a base filled with murderous dark troopers with just yourself and a lightsaber is the way to go" Skywalker.

And I just have this amazing headcanon of them both unintentionally one-upping the other in sheer ridiculousness of battle plans while everyone sane stares at them in horror and their child grogu is just sitting there like :>

"Dragon Slayer? Did they just call you Dragon Slayer?"

Din sighed. Coming back to Tatooine had been a terrible idea. The encounter with Boba Fett at his palace had been awkward –because everyone who worked there apparently recognized Luke, since the last time he had been planetside he had killed their rancor, make their yacht explode, and his sister had killed Jabba himself– but not as awkward as the return to Mos Pelgo. Cobb Vanth had been eagerly enthusiastic about his return, so much that Din was sure the cold looks Luke sent in the Marshall's direction were a little more disdainful than his usual "Jedi business" face.

Having half the town throw a party in his honor had only made matters worse.

"Yes," Din answered. "Last time I was here I helped them kill a Krayt Dragon that was about to eat the entire town."

Luke stared at him, bewildered. "And you're still alive?"

Din just shrugged. Luke blinked, a little bit of red rising to his cheeks, and then walked away to get something to drink.

***

"You blew up the Death Star?!"

Luke ignored him as he tried to wrestle a pepper shaker out of Grogu's mouth. The kid was grinning like a little bastard, sucking on the thing like a pacifier, until Luke gave up and sighed.

"Yes. Only the first one, though."

"But..." Din did some quick mental math. "You must have been like seventeen!"

"Nineteen, actually," Luke corrected him, and waved as the Alderaanian couple who had stopped to thank Luke for serving justice in behalf of their lost planet left the bar. "It was my first battle serving for the Rebellion."

Din blinked a couple of times. “What about the second Death Star?”

Luke cast his eyes downwards. “I was on that one, minutes before it was destroyed. I was there to confront Vader and the Emperor.” 

Wait. Din had heard that story. About a single man who had taken down both Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine. At the time, he had believed it was pure bulshit, there was no way a single man could take down the most powerful people in the Galaxy. It was obvious they had perished in the explosion. 

But no. He had that man sitting right beside him. Din knew Jedi were overpowered individuals, but that was just insane! How powerful was he, really?

He stared at the side of Luke’s face, feeling a like his blood was rushing away from his brain. 

Grogu coughed as he accidentally sucked the contents of the pepper shaker into his mouth, and Din rushed to help him.

***

"No way."

"It's a closed old factory, we should be able to sneak in no problem!"

Din shook his head. "A droid factory. I am not getting any closer to that shit."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Is the Dragon Slayer scared of some decommissioned old separatist droids?” 

When Din didn’t rise to the bait, Luke frowned, worried. “Hey, it’s ok. It’s probably been decades since any of those droids have been activated. We just  sneak in, get the intel we need, and we get out of there!” 

Shaking his head to get rid of the images of those blasted droids destroying his hometown and gunning down everyone on sight, Din stayed firmly where they were sitting on top of the hill. 

“You go,” he said. “Call if you need backup.”

He almost waited for Luke to insist, to say that his fears were unfounded. But he didn’t. He just smiled at him reassuringly, patted him in the armored shoulder, and then ran downhill in the direction of the factory. 

Din watched him disappear into the building, feeling the skin under the place where Luke had touched him burn. 

***

“Maybe it’s better if I wait outside.” 

Din stopped mid step and turned around. Luke was at the bottom of the stairs,  looking up at the ex Imperial Palace, what before that had been the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, standing very still. From the comfortable grip of Din’s arms, Grogu made a little inquisitive sound, and dropped down his ears. 

“Why?” asked Din. They had made the long trip to the core just to visit this place. It was important for Grogu, and Luke had wanted to see if any old holos or books had miraculously been saved. It didn’t make sense for him to stop now. 

Luke was very pale, like he had seen a ghost. “I can’t. I’m not welcome here.” 

Din frowned, and walked down the stairs to stand in front of him. “Why?” he asked again.

It was long minutes until Luke found an answer. Din waited patiently. 

“Vader,” whispered Luke. “Hundreds of Jedi died here by his blade. Some of them children. And I’m–” he cut himself short, and closed his eyes. “I can’t get in.”

Din looked down at Grogu, who was reaching out for Luke. He let him into the other man’s arms, and watched as the kid tried to wipe with clumsy hands the silent tears streaming down Luke’s cheeks. 

After a moment, Din let out a long sigh. “You weren’t even born when it happened, Luke.” 

The Jedi let out a small sob. Grogu turned around in his arms and stared at Din intensely with his huge brown eyes. Understanding his demand, he walked closer to them and wrapped both of them in a gentle hug. 

“He wants you there with him,” said Din. Luke buried his nose in the space between his helmet and clothes. The kid cooed, happy to be warm and safe in the middle of the embrace. 

“We’ll go in together,” he promised him. 

***

“I want to hear about the rancor again, Master Luke!”

“That’s lame! The Mand'alor killed a Krayt Dragon, I wanna hear about that!” 

Din smiled behind his helmet. The mass of children had surrounded him as soon as he had stepped out of the ship, jumping up and down and demanding stories from him. Luke was watching his students attentively from the entrance to the Temple, which in Din’s opinion worked more as a refuge for orphans with special powers than an actual religious place.

“That’s enough for now, younglings,” Luke said as he approached the group. “It’s almost time for dinner, go wash up.”

Several groans were heard as the small pack of almost ten children of different ages and species ran back inside the building. Only one of them stayed by their side, and Din smiled warmly as he crouched down to pick up Grogu from the ground. 

“How’s Mandalore?” Luke asked him in warm welcome. With the hand he wasn’t holding Grogu with, Din took off his helmet and smiled at his husband. 

“We finally signed a peace treaty with clan Vizsla. Clan Wren wasn’t happy, but they’re not actively against it anymore.” 

“That’s good to hear.” 

Din reached for Luke and grabbed him by the waist, pressing him against his body. His husband let out a small laugh and caressed his cheek with his flesh hand.

“You grew out your beard...” 

Din shrugged. Luke smiled, amused. “I like it.” 

He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against Luke’s. The Jedi sighed into the kiss, and used his hand to grab at the hair in the back of Din’s head. 

A small but painful slap on their cheeks startled them both. They broke apart to see Grogu watching them, frowning with his little forehead. 

The demand was very clear. Almost falling over with laughter, Luke and Din hugged little Grogu between them and pressed a loud kiss on both of the kid’s cheeks. 

[ace-din-djarin]

some sw fic snippets

It’s been far too long since I’ve shared some writing here, so here’s two little bits of AUs that I do eventually want to turn into fics, but have too many WIPs currently in progress for that to happen super soon. The first is a little bit of Leia POV from a “Din, Luke, and Leia get flung into TCW era and have to deal with that” AU, and the second is “force shenanigans mean an intangible, force-ghost-esque Luke experiences moments from Din’s past and has all the feels about them”. Snippets are under the readmore. Enjoy!

Leia:

Leia breathes in, and lets her fingers move, undoing the heavy mourning braids she’s worn ever since — since. Her hair uncoils in waves, a familiar blanket falling over her back. She pictures Cara, the side of her head shorn close to the scalp, the rest of the hair no longer than shoulder length when undone from its braid. A soldier’s haircut, a soldier’s mourning - hair shorn in remembrance of the fallen, a duet of grief along with the teardrop tattoo on her cheek. Leia has – not refused, but avoided – avoided that last step, the shearing of her hair. She has more than once sat with clippers in hand, staring into the mirror and willing herself to do it, but. But she has - had? will have? - a duty as the Princess of Alderaan, a duty that lasted even when the planet was little more than space dust. She had to be an image of strength, even with everything crumbled around her. And so she had kept her hair, kept it long, but instead had bound it up in the traditional mourning braids of royalty, close and looping. But here, in this time – she can’t be royalty. She is a ghost, a figurehead with no people to lead. She thinks of Cara again, and starts to section out pieces for a braid that will sweep back across her temple, simple and practical, but still Alderaanian to its core.

Luke:

Luke blinks, and he’s in a low tunnel, dug straight into dark earth. A small figure brushes past him, a figure with a head of curly black hair— Din. He follows child-Din as he steps cautiously down the tunnel, as soundless here as he is as an adult. Din stops in front of an archway with a skull mounted above it— the Mythosaur, the same as the pendant Grogu wears. 

Child-Din pauses, peering through the archway into the room beyond it. As Luke nears, the flickering blue-white light flares for a moment, bathing the boy’s face, and then a voice speaks. 

“Enter, ad.”

Din steps forward, and Luke follows him into— a forge, it seems. Luke can’t feel temperature here in this strange vision-space, but he imagines it must be warm, perhaps unbearably so, thanks to the large forge in the middle of the room, ringed in blue flame. A Mandalorian with a gold helmet and russet chestplate stands, hammer in their hands, and cocks a head at Din as he gets near. 

“Are you alright, Din’ika?”

Her voice is smooth and steady, and evidently comforting— the tense set of child-Din’s shoulders eases as she speaks. He looks at the floor, suddenly shy. “… Nightmare,” he says eventually. 

“Ah. Well, come, sit with me.” The Mandalorian sets her tools on her workbench and moves to sit against the wall, where a cushion— a bedroll, more likely— has been spread out. Evidently she is accustomed to sleeping in her forge. Luke wonders to himself how she does not suffocate in the heat, with the fur cape around her shoulders. 

Din huddles down on the mat beside the Mandalorian, hugging his knees to his chest. He does not lean into her, though by the look on his face, he wants to. 

“It is natural to have nightmares,” the Mandalorian says softly, her helmet tilted to look down at Din where he’s huddled next to her. “What matters is that we know how to distinguish them from reality.” 

Din nods, and when he speaks next, his voice is choked. “It was my village. My parents.” 

The Mandalorian sighs, and lays a gentle hand on the back of Din’s neck. He stiffens for a moment, and then tilts, shifting until his head is pillowed against her chestplate. It can’t be comfortable, but he doesn’t seem to mind. They sit in silence for several moments, and then a low singing starts to fill the room, a language Luke doesn’t know, but has heard before. Child-Din lets a few tears escape as he listens, but eventually the Mando’a lullaby pulls him under and back into sleep. The Mandalorian beside him never moves from her position.