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transitranger327 · 27 days ago

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Foundations (Ehn’yuste Ch. 5)

Summary: To build a new Jedi order, Jetii Mando’ayust, the Wrens will need two things: a Temple and more members. They make new friends to get the former, and connect with old friends to find the latter.

Notes: A 3.8k word chapter because y’all have been so patient waiting for this (and because I wrote the beginning and the end before the middle). I’m also posting this on my fiancée’s birthday while we’re on our 5-year anniversary trip. She wants me to hurry up and post it so we can go back to cuddling.

As always, a Mando’a glossary is at the end. Read it on Ao3 or below the cut

—

One and a half years after the Ignition

The apartment door slid open. Sabine inhaled the scent of searing meat and sautéing vegetables. Her wife’s cooking skills had blossomed in the past few months, now that she was no longer constantly on the run nor isolated on a sparsely populated world. An array of spices bloomed in the pan, collected from various worlds Shin had visited. Sabine tried teasing them apart, but could only identify catabar and pepper out of the menagerie. The splattering of liquids reducing in the pan was not loud enough to keep their guests—a fair-skinned man and a darker-skinned woman—from chatting with Shin as Sabine made her way across their karyai. She embraced her beloved from behind and offered a cheek kiss, “Hey beautiful, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Shin replied with her own kiss, “can you grab the wine for me?” It was across the room, on the table, but distance was rather trivial when you could use the Force. As her wife offered her the bottle, she introduced the couple. “This is Tyrus Vizsla, current Duke of clan Vizsla, and his wife Mirli.”

“Tyrus and Mirli, huh?” Sabine asked, greeting the Vizslas. “Your parents were interested in the Old Republic Wars?”

Mirli was the first to speak up, “No, actually, we picked the names ourselves.”

The implication was rather obvious to Sabine. “Of course, that’s why I didn’t recognize you. Welcome to the home of Clan Wren.”

“Vor entye for inviting us.” Tyrus did his best to navigate the weird formal-informal meeting that was taking place. He was a Duke meeting with a Countess for the first time, but Sabine was more blasé than nearly any Mandalorian he had met. “Tonight was perfect, Ragnar is staying over with some of his friends from school.”

“Oh, so you’re the ones taking care of him now?” Sabine had heard the tale of Paz Vizsla single-handedly fighting Moff Gideon’s forces, and was glad to meet those that were now taking care of his son.

“While we may not have agreed with his father, he’s still a Vizsla. We don’t abandon our own.” Mirli seemed to emphasize this more than most Mandalorians, but Sabine was nodding in agreement.

—

After starting dinner and regaling the Vizslas with the Wren’s travels on Peridea, the point of the meeting came to a head with Tyrus asking “so why did you invite us here?”

The big question. Well, not the big question (that was the one Sabine was going to ask the Vizslas), but certainly a big question. So she started laying it out. “Shin and I are planning on starting a new Jedi Order. A Mandalorian Jedi Order. Jetii Mando’ayust”

The Vizslas were curious. Mirli queried, “That’s certainly interesting, but how does that relate to us?”

“Eventually, this apartment will not be big enough,” Shin continued her wife’s proposition, “We want to establish a…temple, of sorts. A place to train, offer sanctuary, and have a library dedicated to Mandalorian and Jedi knowledge.”

“We want to build it at the only place on Mandalore that’s strong in the Force.” Sabine took a deep breath, “The childhood home of Tarre Vizsla.” Mirli and Tyrus had paused eating. “It’s in a part of Sundari that’s still in ruins. We just…”

Shin saw her wife faltering, and cut in. “We wanted your permission to use it.”

There was a long pause. Tyrus leaned back in his chair while Mirli began twirling her fork between her fingers.

“That’s a big ask” was his answer. “I don’t hate it tho” was hers.

“Can you elaborate?” Sabine asked.

“Tyrus wants to keep the clan from infighting,” Mirli offered. “There’s trouble brewing between traditionalists and modernizers. Again.”

“I personally think it’s a good idea.” Tyrus’ look was difficult for the Wrens to parse. “You two have proven yourselves true Mando’ade, dedicated to us all. But I’m not sure that’s enough for some.”

Shin queried, “Is there something that would…ease the minds of everyone else?”

“Maybe,” Mirli mused, “if they knew what you were doing was…shukenla sa val.”

“Like they had a stake in what you were proposing,” Tyrus added.

The two Jedi exchanged glances. “I think I know what you mean,” replied Sabine, “and we can certainly make that happen.”

“Ori’jate,” Tyrus declared, “It’s settled then.”

Mirli agreed. “Now, how about another glass of wine while you tell us more stories from far-off galaxies?”

—

Sabine slipped under the covers next to her wife. “I’m glad dinner went well.”

“I’m surprised you wanted to ask.” Shin dragged Sabine’s arm over her chest to nestle in with her. “You’re normally the ‘forgiveness, not permission’ type.”

Sabine playfully rebuked, “This is a big deal!”

“Just think of all the problems you all could’ve solved by doing this first instead of drawing blasters.”

“What does ‘this’ mean?” Sabine quipped, “cuddling each other?”

Shin softly chuckled. “Hmmmm that definitely would solve some problems—and create a few new ones.” Her wife joined her in the quiet laughter.

—

Before they could drift off to sleep, a loud chime rang out from their apartment computer system. “Shin, honey, didn’t you turn on ‘do not disturb’?”

“Yeah, but I left on notifications for family emergencies, like always.”

Sabine was a little annoyed, but she dragged a datapad out from her nightstand anyway. A smiling icon of Omega Hazard projected onto her eyes. She opened the holo.

Sabine, sorry to bother you, but one of my best friends is missing. I think he was kidnapped by the Empire. New Republic won’t help. Meet me here soon.

A set of galactic coordinates were embedded in the message, an old clone trick to keep locations hidden from less savvy spectators.

“Forgive me, cyar, for not keeping your extended family straight, but Omega is a friend of Hera’s, right?”

Sabine snorted, “More like dated Hera.” She reminisced about the rebellion years when Omega slept in Hera’s room on the Ghost.

“And she wasn’t at the wedding because…”

“She and her wife Lyana were having a baby.”

“Right, right, they stopped by a month ago. Little baby Rex.” Shin tried to stop her wife from crawling out of bed. “Honey, we can call back in the morning.”

But Sabine was already suiting up. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep if I don’t do anything now.” She saw her Shin’s pleading eyes. “Come on, riduur, we can sleep on the Wolf. It’ll be like old times.”

“Fine, but you owe me,” Shin groaned. “Some kisses…and more when we get back.”

Sabine knelt down, and rested her forehead against Shin’s. “Gar serim, my love.” She showered her with a few more kisses before dragging her out of bed.

—

Four Years before the Ignition

“Are you sure you want to leave?”

“The Empire’s gone, Omega, we’re free to go wherever we want.”

Omega and Jax were sitting in the cockpit of Omega’s tried-and-true shuttle, the Oh-Too.

“I’m surprised you, of all people, want to stay here. You were a pilot for the rebellion, you saved the Galaxy, you should be living it up in the Core.”

“I saved the Galaxy so there would be a here to come back to. To protect my family, including you.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, family is important. But I found out that I still have family out there. I have a cousin running a small shop on Pippip 3, he asked me to come work with him. It’s my first real connection to what I lost.”

Omega finally relented, and began running her pre-flight checklist.

—

One and a half years after the Ignition

In truth, the Mandalorians didn’t sleep particularly well on the Wolf either. The bunks were a bit too small to fit both together, and they had forgotten how much sleeping together calmed their anxieties and fears.

So they talked thru the mission, planning for how to move forward after meeting Omega. Reaching out to contacts in and adjacent to the Empire, trying to figure out why Omega’s friend was kidnapped in the first place, where to eat with her once they got there. Eventually they tired out, but the sleep they fell into was the restless kind, like unaccustomed sailors in rough waters.

The ramp lowered, and the two women groggily descended. A third was waiting for them at the landing zone. Her trademark blonde hair was in an undercut, but a teal streak now lined the left edge, contrasting the bright red hair tie which kept the ensemble in place. This all, however, registered to Sabine as a blur of color charging at and hugging her.

“Thank you for coming so fast!” Her voice was ragged with concern

“Omega, I’m—” Sabine’s grumpiness abated when she sensed the genuine despair in Omega’s voice “—a little tired but we’re here for you.”

“Did you not…oh…did I call you at night?”

Shin chimed in to rescue, “Don’t worry about us or when you called, you’re on the family emergency list.”

Omega broke her long hug with Sabine, and moved to embrace Shin. “Thank you, thank you,” her voice becoming more stable.

“Can you tell us more of what happened, and who we’re looking for?” asked Sabine.

A deep breath. “We’re looking for Jax. He’s one of the kids who was experimented on at Tantiss. He didn’t show up to our holo-gamenight. Sami said that they were messaging the night before, but none of us could reach him that day. So I came here and found his house a mess.”

“Can you show us?” Shin asked.

“This way.”

As the three women walked the streets of Pippip 3’s 27th-largest town, Shin kept vigilant for signs of past struggles. Sabine, on the other hand, was trying to figure out why the New Republic wasn’t interested in helping. “I’m surprised Hera wouldn’t help you, of all people.”

“I asked both Hera and Rex to help, but apparently when they ran it up their chains of command it got shut down. Apparently there are higher-ups in the New Republic who don’t think we should devote any time to rumors of the Empire.”

“So why would the Empire want to kidnap your friend?” Shin hoped that would tell her more about how the abduction happened.

“Jax and the others in our holo-gamenight all had high m-counts.”

A “Karabast” emerged from Sabine’s lips while several more swears came out of Shin.

“Now you see why I’m so worried.”

Sabine was now fully alert. “We need to get to Jax’s house iviin’yc.”

—

Despite the untarnished exterior, the two Jedi could feel something was wrong with the house. All events left signatures in the Force, but most were too weak to be felt even by experienced Jedi. Conflict and death, on the other hand, left gashes in it.

“Give you the chills, doesn’t it?” asked Omega, as she prepared a datapad.

Shin and Sabine shot suspicious glances to each other.

“Here, take a look,” Omega held out her datapad, “the lock was sliced into, the door wasn’t broken in.”

Sabine took a look at the slicing program. “Definitely Imperial.”

The door opened, and what they found inside was nothing like the outside. The entire house was trashed. Possessions smashed, drawers rifled thru, furniture in disarray. The Force here reeked of hurt.

And worst of all, a Mirialan man lay dead, crumpled on the floor as if tossed around by a squad of stormtroopers. The two Jedi knelt down next to him, trying to understand his last moments.

Those were pure, unadulterated fear.

“That’s Jax’s cousin, Rindenn,” Omega informed the others. “He ran a tack & feed shop in this city, and Jax moved here to help him out.”

Sabine got up and inspected all the rooms of the house, trying to find any clues about the kidnappers’ whereabouts. Dropped equipment, blaster shots indicative of academy training, a stray thought in the Force, anything. She pulled out a holo-imager to record everything undisturbed.

But these Imperials were tidy. Not even a spare tibanna magazine or busted comlink could be found.

When Sabine returned to the main room, she found Omega weeping in Shin’s arms.

“I told him that we’d always watch each other’s backs.”

Her emotions washed over Sabine as she drew near and hugged both.

“This isn’t your fault,” soothed Shin.

“You did the right thing calling us,” reassured Sabine.

—

24-hour diners were a common sight on planets with lots of interstellar traffic, staying perpetually open regardless of how long a world’s local day. On an agriworld in the Outer Rim, however, they tended to be rare outside of the major ports.

The three women had managed to find the only one in the city. Not that they needed the odd hours (it was the middle of the afternoon, local time), but because Omega needed dinner and the Jedi were craving breakfast.

While they waited for their food, Shin was mainlining the cheap caf and sending messages to her old contacts in the Empire. None of them knew she had defected (whatever that means for a mercenary) to the Jedi, and she hoped that none suspected it either.

Sabine, on the other hand, was catching up with Omega. “So how’s everyone on Pabu? Well, I hope?”

“Lyana’s busy as always, lots of things to do as mayor.” She smiled, thinking of her wife, “But she loves doing it. And it gives me lots of time with little Rexy.” She pulled up a holo-recording of baby Rex, rolling round and laughing with his moms and uncles.

“He is absolutely adorable. Who did you hand him off to today?”

“Well I gave him to Hunter, but I think Crosshair will put him to bed tonight if Lyana doesn’t.”

This intrigued Sabine. “Does Hunter have something going on?”

“He plays Sabacc on Taungsday evenings.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter arriving with their food: Fried Nerf Steak for Omega, Lessu Omelette for Sabine, Alsakan Toast for Shin.

As the other two began to dig in, Shin gave them her preliminary results. “It looks like the Empire has been shuttling around their best biotech researchers. Basically never keeping them in one spot for long.”

“So even if we had their location, we couldn’t scout it out beforehand.” Omega always had an eye for tactical issues.

Sabine frowned. “They would absolutely move their research if they discovered we knew.”

“And we may have tipped our hand,” Shin continued, “My high-clearance contact was very suspicious when I asked. They said it was classified.”

“What do the troopers think?” Omega asked.

“My low-level contacts all seem to think there’s a research facility in the Galactic West, the Unknown Regions.”

“Karabast. There’s no way…” Sabine trailed off, a new idea taking shape.

“Oh no,” Shin was between bites of bread, “I know that look.”

“What moonyo-brained idea do you have now?” Omega asked.

“Huyang said that Jedi used to control hyperdrives with the Force to travel to uncharted systems. When navicomputers got better, they mostly stopped except to get to Ilum.”

“Which is in the Unknown Regions.” Shin thought she knew where Sabine was going. “Except we don’t know if the lab Jax is at is on Ilum.”

“The old masters used their connection to Ilum to reach it, right? We have someone here who is connected to Jax.”

Omega tried making sense of what she was hearing. “Is that something Jedi can do? Jump to a person just thru the Force?”

Shin tried to keep Omega from getting her hopes up. “Force-assisted jumps are difficult, and they require deep knowledge of where the traveler is going. No one has ever done it looking for just a person before.”

“Just because no one’s done it before doesn’t make it impossible.” Sabine needed Omega’s hopes up. Hope is a powerful tool in the Force. “Riduur, you and I know the technique. Omega, you know the target. I can connect the three of us to fly.”

“This is incredibly reckless.”

“My plans usually are,” Sabine grinned. “But It’s our best bet.”

“Well, I’m always in to save family.”

“Omega, you said you were in a secure research facility. How many people did you need to help you escape.”

“Crosshair and I escaped alone once. But to destroy the base and rescue every prisoner, it took three of my brothers, plus my sister defecting.”

“You think a dozen Mandalorians could do the trick?”

“Definitely.”

Shin was rolling her eyes (affectionately) the whole time the others cooked up this scheme. “Fine, I’ll call up the Duchess and see if she can get a dozen volunteers.”

“Wait. Call the Vizslas first.” Sabine turned to Omega. “Go home. Grab your armor, weapons, and any object that connects you to Jax. Keepsakes, photos, tools, anything.”

—

Tyrus Vizsla was never much of a late-night guy. He preferred the cool breeze of a quiet Concordian morning to the evening events his wife frequented. A solitary stroll thru Sundari was the next best thing.

His quiet, however, was broken by an incoming call from Clan Wren.

“Su cuy'gar, Tyrus. You said that you wanted a stake in this new Jedi order?”

“Why do you ask?

“We have an opportunity for you. And it involves killing some imperials.”

—

Blind jumps are dangerous things, bordering on stupidity. Many a pilot met their end by jumping without calculation in a desperate move to escape. The Force, of course, made things marginally safer. While Sabine only knew the theory behind Force-assisted jumps, Shin had actually made a few: a short round-trip visit to Ilum with her old master (the Imperial installation there immediately sent them packing), and once when she used it to escape pirates who had destroyed her navicomputer. The whole technique was based on reaching out to a place in the Force, something so personal and intimately known that you can feel every inch of it on the back of your hand.

She’d never done one for a stranger.

They were sitting in the cockpit of Tyrus Vizsla’s Mandalorian dropship—the Buir’tra, he called it. “And you’re sure this is safe?” he asked.

“Hell no,” answered Sabine, “but when have Mandalorians ever stopped doing something because it wasn’t safe?”

He merely shrugged. “Ni vercopaani kaysh brali.”

As Shin began slipping into her contemplative trance, Sabine offered some surprisingly simple instructions. “Okay Omega, I need you to start meditating and focus on Jax.”

A holo-image of several teenagers sprang up from a comlink. Omega began twirling a lock pick in her right hand, then paused and picked up a carved statuette in her left. Shin felt Omega’s presence on the meditative plane grow.

Then Sabine joined, and their souls were aflame.

Memories, past and future, ripped thru their veins—and they witnessed.

Shin reached out, and threw them into hyperspace.

—

Baarpir bal beskar—sweat and iron. That’s how Mandalore grows.

When strangers offer theirs to work with you, Mandalore grows. When you spend yours to protect others, Mandalore grows.

They’re also the smell of preparation for the fight. Before the blood and burn and mud and mayhem take over.

Sixteen warriors had joined the three women. Two members of Clan Rook, Din Djarin, two members of Clan Kryze, and eleven members of Clan Vizsla. Tyrus was flying, while Mirli discussed the raiding plans with Shin, Sabine, and Omega.

Nineteen suits of armor. Blaster, detonator, saber. One mission.

Anti-aircraft cannons spat flak at the Buir’tra, to no avail. The Mandalorians would not be stopped so easily. Return fire cleared the perimeter of guards and damaged the defence towers. The assailants would have a clear path to all entrances.

The doors opened up beneath them, and eighteen souls dropped onto the surface. Detonators disintegrated the base’s doors. Sparks and shot filled the corridors of this secret installation. Computers were sliced into, stripping all their secrets.

Level 3, room 9 appeared on every helmet’s display.

Half the group stayed on ground level: seven to maintain their exit, Sabine and Djarin to find the base’s leader. Two more stayed in the stairwell to prevent being cut off. Shin, Omega, Mirli, and four more Vizslas descended to the final level, determined to find Jax alive.

His experimentation room was locked. Shin’s sword made quick work of the door. But what they found inside was horrifying.

Jax was on the brink of death, heartbeat weak on the monitor. Two butchers were standing over him, cruelly keeping him conscious as they extracted his spinal fluid.

These Imperial scientists were promptly shot.

Omega began removing the vertebral needles, closing up the wounds. She demanded sedatives and analgesics from the group, who began scouring the cabinets for any medications. Shin sliced all the straps off the bed, freeing the patient.

“Omega, you found me.”

“Save your strength. We’re getting you out of here.”

Omega asked if there was any synthetic blood on the Buir’tra. Orar Vizsla, a medic in training, nodded. Omega injected Jax with the anesthetics that were found, knowing they wouldn’t have much an effect until he got a transfusion.

A message from Sabine: destroy the research, all levels.

Omega and Orar moved Jax to a hover-stretcher. Mirli and two commandos began planting detonators throughout Level 3. Shin and another commando ascended to assist the stairwell crew in doing the same to Level 2.

The stretcher crew was escorted to the door. Sabine, Djarin (carrying a computer core), and the chief scientist (in binders) joined. The six made a break for the the Buir’tra, which had made another pass over the base to set down twenty meters from the entrance. None of the straggling stormtroopers dared shoot at their chief scientist.

Safely aboard, Orar began digging out the medical supplies. Omega deduced Jax would need 4 standard units. Transfusion commenced. Heartbeat strengthened. Breathing steadied.

Sabine grew impatient waiting for Shin to make it back. She stunned the chief scientist, and ran back into the compound, saber ablaze.

As she re-entered, she heard Shin call for backup on Level 2.

No time to run down the stairs, jumping is faster. The door had been sealed, but it was no match for a determined Jedi. A small detachment followed her thru the breach.

“Hey boys!”

The stormtroopers were caught off-guard. Their flurry of blaster fire was sent right back at them.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come on, let’s go.”

Shin’s smile could be felt thru her helmet. “Waiting for you, of course.”

The excitement in the air could be smelled, a mission nearly finished. As this final group made their way out of the research station, more and more of the strike team joined them. The feeling of victory swelled as they reached their exit.

Jetpacks lit. The Buir’tra began taking off. Drop doors open, Mandalorians coming in the way they went out.

There were now twenty-one souls on the dropship.

Not a single loss.

They watched as the detonators simultaneously triggered, the research base rapidly disassembling before their eyes. Several hoots and hollers emerged from the team.

A pair of exhausted Jedi entered the cockpit, ready to jump back to the known galaxy.

—

Notes: I will neither confirm nor deny Omega’s force-sensitivity Tyrus & Mirli are T4T, Orar is nonbinary Moonyos are the monkey-like animals native to Pabu

Mando’a Glossary: Vor entye: “Thank you” lit. “I accept a debt” Jetii Mando’ayust: “Jedi in the Way of Mandalore” Mando’ade: “children of Mandalore” shukenla sa val: the true meaning is lost when translated, word-for-word it’s “partly” “as/like” “them” Ori’jate: “very good” cyar: “love” riduur: “spouse” Gar serim: “that’s it”, lit. “you’re right” iviin’yc: “fast” Su cuy'gar: “Hello!” lit. “So you're still alive.” Buir’tra: Mother Sky, tho Mando’a has no gender Ni vercopaani kaysh brali: “I hope this works” lit. “I hope it succeeds”

#star wars fanfic #wolfwren #sabine wren #shin hati #ao3 #sapphic star wars #tbb omega #tbb jax

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handspunyarns · 3 months ago

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You Were Marked: Days Twenty-Seven to Twenty-Nine (Din, Part II).

pairing: din djarin x *reverse age-gap* *plus-size* fem!O/C

word count: 7.4K

chapter summary: Din returns to Unmanarall to search for Marathel.

warnings:  angst, medical emergency, animal death, mention of physical illness / blood / violence / murder / suicide / rape / child rape / child sexual abuse / child death / object rape, English and Mando’a cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***

You Were Marked: Masterlist

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter

Din had the sudden sensation that a TIE fighter crash-landed on his chest, and he lurched upward towards what he believed was the excessively rude pilot who apparently couldn’t land worth a damn, uttering a gurgling rebuke as he grabbed his blaster.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA!” yelled the pilot.

“I’ll blast you both apart!” shouted Din, leaning on his elbow and alternating his blaster between the two men who hovered over him, his brain misfiring in every direction.

One of the men, wearing a light blue uniform, looked at the spent hypos in his hand and muttered, “Holy shit, I can’t believe that worked.”

Din’s heart pounded painfully in his chest, and he groaned. “What happened? Where am I? Who are you? Are we enemies? Where’s Marathel?” demanded Din of the man wearing an X-wing uniform.

The X-wing pilot held up his hands, and said, “Okay … Let me take those one at a time. You had … a cardiac-type … episode. We gave you a series of hypos for that. We didn’t expect you to react so quickly, though.” The pilot took a breath. “You’re on your ship. When you didn’t answer our hails following your distress call, we tractored your ship on board the Luisitz.” Din stared at the pilot. The pilot continued, “Yeah, it’s a dumb name for a ship.”

Din lowered his blaster, not because he felt safer, but because he couldn’t hold his arm up anymore. He was also too weak to keep himself up on his elbow, so he lay back down on the floor. The pilot visibly relaxed, and the man in blue — who was apparently a medic — held a scanner over Din’s chest.

The pilot continued, “That there is Corpsman Ka’nab.” The medic waved. Din nodded slightly in response. “I’m Captain Carson Teva.”

Din grunted. “My name is …”

“Din Djarin. Guild Bounty Hunter, Mandalorian. Yeah, we scanned you. Got your chip.” Teva pulled out his holopad. “Going back to your original questions, I can safely say I sure as hell don’t want to be your enemy. And as far as where is Marathel … I can’t say, because I don’t know who Marathel is. Is Marathel your cat?”

“My what?”

“Your cat, or whatever pet you have on board. Look, you said you were the only one on board, but we scanned your ship as we tractored it in…” — Din groaned inwardly — “… and there’s obviously a second, small, life-form aboard, but it’s in a shielded portion of the ship.” Din remained silent. “Hey, if I could have a pet in my X-wing, I would. So what is it?”

“A … pet, yes.” Sorry, kid. “Not Marathel. She’s …”

“That her?” Teva pointed at the console, and Din looked up to see that his holopad was now projecting the image Cobb had sent. Din nodded, and grunted in the affirmative. “Pretty. Heading out to see her, Djarin?”

“Something like that. Am I done, now? May I go?”

The medic said, “If you can sit up on your own, now, I’m done with you.” Din slowly pushed himself up and shifted so he could lean against the console. He looked down at himself and saw that the medic had pulled off his pauldrons and cuirass, and had sliced his flight jacket and his underthermal open to get at his bare chest, which had several adhesive sensors stuck to it. Din looked at the medic. “Hey, I only know not to remove a Mandalorian’s helmet. That, I did not do. You can take off those stickers yourself, and chuck them out. Captain, I’ll send you my report.”

“Was it a heart attack?” asked Din.

The medic frowned. “No … not as such.”

“Not as such?”

“Well, your blood pressure went to zero and your heart rate was spiking at 200. But the scans showed no heart damage whatsoever. Then you had some sort of seizure, like maybe you shot a clot through your heart into your brain, but nothing showed on neurological scans. So the only idea I had was to hypo you with what I would use on someone who was having a heart attack and a neurological seizure.” Din turned his head to look at Teva, who shrugged and continued tapping on his holopad. Din returned his gaze to the medic. “Hey, it worked. And I removed that bacta bandage you were wearing, you obviously didn’t need it.”

Din looked down at his chest again, looking for the bite mark … which was gone. Not just healed, but gone, as if he’d never been bitten at all. “What the …” Din looked up at the medic. “What did you do?”

The medic and Teva exchanged glances. “I … removed a bandage. If you had a wound under there, it’s obviously healed now.” The medic tossed his equipment into his bag. “I think I’m done here. Safe travels, sir. May the Force be with you.” The medic left.

“This is the way,” muttered Din as he looked again where the bite wound had been, looking for a pale scar, anything that would prove that Marathel had bitten him. “It’s like … it never happened.”

“Are you sure you were wounded, Djarin?” asked Teva, leaning in to look closer at Din’s chest.

Din looked up at Teva, then hurriedly closed his thermal shirt and flight jacket over his bare skin. The helmet was the most important part, but bare skin in general was still … difficult. Even in a medical emergency. “Would you believe that I had a human bite there?”

Teva went back to his holopad and chuckled. “This Marathel of yours gave you a what-for, did she? Or was it … your pet?”

“My … pet … is not human.”

“Djarin …”

“Mando is fine,” snapped Din.

“… Mando, look, I don’t care. I only care about weirdness on my patrol, and you brought me weirdness. For the second time, I’m pretty sure. You’re one long way from Nevarro. And from Maldo Kreis.”

“So are you, Captain.”

Teva chuckled again. “I said it first.”

Din looked up at the holo of Marathel. It occurred to him that he’d only seen her looking like this for seven days. Seven days. He’d known her almost three times as long in her injured state. It felt almost unfair. Which Marathel did I fall in love with? Was it the Marathel with the clear skin and the bright eyes, who called him Bounty Hunter and baked him bread? Or was it the Marathel who almost died in his arms and had nearly lost all her blood twice?

Whichever Marathel it was, she had given him his first kiss with a woman. And had broken his heart over and over and over. And had gotten him the closest to not only removing his helmet, but to leaving his Creed altogether.

Teva noticed Din staring at the holo. “Tell me about her.”

“It’s complicated.”

Teva nodded. “It always is. Believe me, I understand.”

Din considered the Dahls and a lifetime of torture starting with being sired by a murderous pervert. He sighed and said, “No, Captain, I don’t think you do.” He looked back at Teva, who was still tapping on his holopad. “Aren’t you done, yet?”

“Not even close. I would have fewer reports to process if you’d died. But then, I would have never known that lovely woman’s name,” he said, pointing at the holo. “And I’d also have to be responsible for your … ‘cat’.

Din went back to looking at Marathel’s holo. “Captain, let me ask you something. Say … say someone found a planet where women and girls … little girls … have been generationally tortured in the most reprehensible ways. Just how many need to suffer, or die, before the New Republic does something?”

“Is it a Republic or Empire-era planet?”

“Dank ferrik,” grunted Din. “Are you taking the piss?”

“I wish I were, Mando. So which is it?”

“It’s neither. The settlement is the only site of civilization on the entire planet. Everywhere else is … inhabited only by animals. But there might be artifacts from other planets within this settlement. And let’s say that one of those artifacts was … Old Republic.”

Teva frowned at Din. “Where is this planet?”

“I’m only speaking hypothetically, Captain.”

“How many hypothetical generations are we talking about?”

“Possibly two thousand Basic years.”

“Kriff.” Teva pinched the bridge of his nose. “Little girls. How young?”

Din swallowed. “Her first memories.”

Teva’s eyes flicked up to Marathel’s holo, then he harrumphed. “Have you ever heard that there’s always three ways to do things in the military? There’s the official way, the right way, and then there’s the way that us grunts take care of things.” He did some final taps on his holopad, then stood up. “It sounds like you know about the official answer to your query.”

“Primitive culture … blah blah blah.”

“Blah blah blah, indeed. Now, the way that a grunt — like myself — would take care of this … l would search for any artifacts on this hypothetical planet that give a clue where these hypothetical people might have come from, originally. That might be enough for some … hearsay … to get in the right ear, for the right thing to happen.” Teva sighed, and shook his head before he held out his hand to help Din up from the floor. “My report is good enough for government work. Let me see what I can do to speed up your release.”

Din nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”

“You’re welcome, Mando. May the Force be with you.” Teva stepped on the ladder out of the cockpit. “Don’t forget to get your pet out of the hold. And, uh … keep me updated on this hypothetical planet of yours.”

Shortly after that, the Razor Crest launched and exited the landing tunnel of the Luisitz, Din thinking to himself that it was indeed a ridiculous name for a ship. He set the coordinates back to Unmanarall, and throttled into hyperspace.

Once they were set on their way, Din dropped out of the cockpit and pulled the access panel open. “Kid? You can come out now.” He heard Grogu chattering, and then the boy jumped out of the access panel and into Din’s arms, bawling. Din was still unsteady after experiencing whatever it was that had happened to him, and he sat down hard on the floor, hugging Grogu. “It’s okay, kid. I’m okay. Everything’s okay. We’re going to get Mama back. We’re on our way to Mama.”

“Mamaaaaaaa…” wailed the tearful Grogu, and Din would have rather cut off his arm than to see Grogu cry. “Bah daws! Bah daws!”

“Bad Dahls, you got that right, buddy. We’re gonna show those bad Dahls a thing or two.”

Grogu stared at Din with his tearful eyes, runny nose, and trembling lip. After a couple of hitches, the child quietly asked, “Patu … Mama?”

Din sighed, and found a cloth to wipe Grogu’s nose. “Blow,” said Din, and Grogu complied. “Ad’ika … I wish I knew what to tell you about Patu Mama. The first thing to do is to go back and find Mama. We’re on our way back now. We don’t know what we’re going to find when we go back, so we need to be ready for anything. It’s time to be Mandalorians. This is the way.” Grogu made a bleat in the affirmative, but still looked incredibly sad.

With the time skips his mind had taken, Din figured they had a day or so to get back to Unmanarall. He stripped off his sliced jacket and thermal shirt and inspected the damage. He had some needle skills, but he didn’t think even Marathel could fix this. Din noticed that this jacket was one that Marathel had embroidered the Mudhorn signet, so he ripped off the embroidered pocket and deposited it into the bin with his other keepsakes. Getting full in there, he thought. He rolled up the cut shirt and jacket and shoved them down the back of his clothing bin, still loath to toss out something Marathel had held in her hands, despite his confusion regarding his feelings for her. He grabbed a clean thermal shirt and gathered it in his hands to pull over his head when his eye caught the yarn bracelet he’d bought. He’d originally intended to give it to Marathel. Now, he decided he’d wear it until it fell off, or until he and Marathel figured out just what the shab there was between them … if anything.

One thing at a time. For now.

Din redressed and collected all his armor. He cleaned and polished every surface and every crevasse of every piece of armor, saying each Mando’a incantation out loud. He did this not only for his own benefit, but also for Grogu’s, for it was high time the boy started learning these things. Din used one of the new felted wool cloths Marathel had made, and perhaps he was biased, but he thought the handmade cloth was far superior to anything he could have purchased for the task.

That chore completed, Din then moved on to his weapons. He’d been far too distracted recently, and he hadn’t been maintaining his weapons cache as he should have. Ni ceta, Manda’lor. He dismantled each weapon in his armory, cleaning, polishing, and calibrating each part to working perfection. He even tinkered a bit with his antique bolt blaster and vibro-blade, both inherited from his buir. Both weapons had been handed down in buir’s family for several generations.

When Din was a boy and still relatively new under buir’s care, buir had taken him out to the canyon the covert used as a shooting range, and let him fire the old bolt blaster. It was the first time Din had handled a weapon, and the recoil landed him right on his ass. Once buir stopped laughing, he began weapons training with Din. Buir had been the most patient of teachers, and it was his calm and positive reinforcement that Din always tried to emulate as he passed on the Mandalorian traditions to Grogu.

By the time the chores were completed, there were only a few hours to go until the Crest reached Unmanarall. Din made bone broth for both himself and Grogu, and they split a ration bar. Din decided that they both could use a nap, to be fresh for whatever awaited them when they returned to Marathel’s planet. Din put his feet up on the console, and Grogu curled up against him, murmuring Mama before he dozed off.

Din projected Marathel’s image again —the one that Cobb sent — and he stared at it for a while. Din worked out what she had been doing at the time this image was captured. Marathel was making bread at the palace while all the others watched and did their best to convince her to not return to Unmanarall. He was the only one not there. She had revealed to him her sad life, and he had rejected her because of it. But he’d always known, deep in his heart, the depth of her lifelong suffering, who her father was, but he wouldn’t admit it to himself. He’d been such an unmitigated asshole to her. All she’d wanted was kindness. He’d granted her some kindness, but not enough. Only enough to suit him. Only enough so that he could remain comfortably within his Creed.

Din absently put his hand over the bite mark — scratch that — where the bite mark used to be. Okay, why did the bite mark burn like I’d been dipped in lava, sending me into a ‘cardiac episode’ … and then disappear?

The bite mark burned on the second night of the Dahl’s mating, and then in the Hold, when Marathel told him to be still. Actually, any time she told him to be still. Din had believed that she controlled him through the bite mark, which … might be only partially true. She had told him to be still in order to make him remove his weapons, so that she could sacrifice herself. To make him take her back, and to leave her behind, in essence, to sacrifice herself again. And she made him be still to prove to him she was nothing more than a … body to be used for his pleasure.

The other times the bite had burned, he’d attacked her, brutalized her, frightened her, both awake and in his dreams. But in all those times, she never told him to be still … instead, she begged him to let her go.

But if she controlled me, why would she beg me to let her go? She could have just told me to do that! And once I’d taken her back, then why would the bite still burn? Why did I forget her? And why don’t I … love her anymore, for kriff’s sake!

Did I have a not-a-heart-attack and lose a scar because … Marathel is now …?

Din flat-out refused to complete that thought. He refused to believe it even if he did. So, instead, he decided to follow his buir’s advice: take a nap; things will be clearer when you wake up. It wasn’t until he was an adult that he realized what buir was actually saying: kid, shut the fuck up for a while; I need to rest my eyes. Din gently patted Grogu’s back and watched the little green boy sleep until Din dozed off himself.

Din woke up to the hyperspace alarm going off. We’re here. We’re back, Marathel. You told me to leave you here and not come back, but I’m not one for following orders. And I’m thinking about ignoring your request to not take revenge on that Hold. Especially if you broke the promise you made to me and leapt off that cliff after all.

Din dropped the Crest out of hyperspace above the planet, and his thoughts about the best way to reduce the Hold to rubble were suddenly stopped. He had entered orbit just above the Hold coordinates, and the atmosphere above that point was a cloud of grey smoke. The shab? Din looked down at Grogu, who looked back up at him, asking, “Mama?”

“Looks like Mama’s been busy, kid. Hold on.”

Din circled the Crest into the atmosphere and landed where he had the first time he’d been here. It was pointless to prevent Grogu from going with him; the boy was in his floating pram and waiting by the ramp door before Din could get out of his chair. As they made their way to the Hold gate, Din could smell something distinctly chemical in the air. He associated it with hot springs and geysers, which confused him as he did not recall this odor here before. They came out of the woods to see the large wooden gate leaning against the stone pilaster, and part of the stone wall collapsed. But these sights didn’t confuse Din as much as what he didn’t see, and that was the Round Building.

As Din stepped through the gateway, he could now see the where the Round Building had been was now a smoldering ring of rubble, blown from the center out. Dank ferrik; Marathel didn’t mess around. As he came forward, he heard a couple of shrieks and noticed some women scattering at the sight of him. One came forward, braver than the others. The blonde woman wore a light green gown that was torn and dirty … a Duke, thought Din. “You ... You came back.” She held what looked like a fireplace poker in front of her. “Stay back, metal man. You brought her back; are you here to finish us off?”

“I wish you no harm, madam, I am only looking for Marathel.”

To Din’s surprise, another nearby woman, this one with the curly black hair of a Captain, spat on the ground. “The Belwhyn bitch wrought this destruction. She and her demon creatures have killed us all.” This woman wandered off, wringing her hands and muttering.

Din returned his attention to the woman in green, asking, “Did she mean the Dahls?”

The blonde woman nodded, and lowered her poker. “They came in after her … we knew she’d gone into the Round Building, looking to kill the Elders. The building began to burn. The men were running out. But she’d left the gate open, and all the Dahls ran in, running straight to the men trying to escape the fire, and killed them all. Men were going back inside, preferring to burn than to face the wrath of the Dahls. The Dahls ripped them limb from limb. Then ... they went after the children ...” The young woman sobbed. “The children. The babies. Gone. The children ran to us for protection. The Dahls snatched them from us, and killed them too.” The woman continued to cry.

“All the children?”

“Just the boys.”

Din looked at the destruction around him. Bodies — parts of bodies — were still everywhere. Women wept, holding the corpses of infants. One, he saw, no longer had a head; but the woman cooed to it as if it were still living. Two other women were gathering remains of men to put into another pyre. A little girl, hardly larger than Grogu, helped the two women, carrying smaller human parts: a hand, something that looked like a child’s leg. Other females merely sat on the ground, rocking, their faces blank slates of horror. Grogu whimpered in his pram.

“So it’s true.”

Din startled; he had been focusing on the destruction around him. “I beg your pardon?”

The blonde woman pointed at Grogu. “Olba said you had a child with you. She only saw it from a distance. She said it was sweet. And green. And Marathel loved it.” She sniffled. “My boys are dead.”

Din reached out to the woman in green and she recoiled from his hand, brandishing the poker again. “Please, good lady, can you tell me what happened to the Round Building?”

The woman spread her arms wide. “Big boom.”

“Why did that happen?”

“Marathel.” The woman looked at his visor again. “You’re the one that brought her to the Hold. You took her away, and the marchwyl. I was whipped, because I wouldn’t tell them it was Hylma who stole the marchwyl, even though I was glad it was gone. But the others ...” The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Others told. Then the Elders killed Olba and Hylma and Tymfy and Lorica. They’d brought her out, they’d taken the marchwyl, and she still had the Dilimgau. The Elders do not suffer thievery, but… I’m glad the Dilimgau is also gone.”

Din wasn’t sure whether this woman was going to remain relatively calm or not. So far, she’d been very helpful, but she was also using the same flat, unemotional tone of voice that Marathel used when she catalogued the terrible things the men did to her. This woman seemed to be unafraid of him as well as Grogu, and she didn’t seem to want to use that poker on him, and he wanted to keep it that way. “Marathel is not here now?”

The woman scrubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “She left and took the Dahls with her.” Din was relieved to hear that at least Marathel left here under her own steam. Then Grogu quietly whimpered Mama, which startled the woman. “That thing can speak? It can say mama?” She dropped the poker and sat down on the ground, weeping. “I’m not a mama anymore.”

Din knelt in front of her, not wanting to get closer. “I am so sorry.” He let her cry for a few moments before he asked, “Madam, may I look through the debris?”

The woman looked at him in confusion, as if she’d never been spoken to with deference before, which was most likely the case. “Why?”

“I want to help you. I can tell people to come and help you.”

The woman frowned at him. “Come from where?”

Din pointed skyward. “From up there. You saw my flying metal box? There are others out there, many others, and I think your people came from somewhere else, long ago. I need to find some evidence of where your people might have come from.”

The blonde woman looked around her in despair. “We are beyond help. We are all dead. No more men means no more babies. Some women have killed themselves already.” She began weeping once more, and dropped her poker on the ground.

Din muttered apologies again, but moved away from the blonde woman as quickly as he could towards the wreckage of the Round Building. Grogu stuck close and remained quiet, seemingly affected by everything around him. Din leaned over and touched his head to Grogu’s. “I know, kid. Some very bad things happened here. But no one will hurt you. I promise.” Grogu looked dubious.

Din peered down into the hole left by the apparent explosion. The chemical smell here was much stronger, and burned Din’s nose. Grogu began coughing, so Din closed the pram lid, and sealed his helmet. The smell was familiar, somehow, but he couldn’t quite place it. He carefully stepped down into the crater, sliding down what must have been a large door. There seemed to be a lot more metallic debris in the crater than he anticipated. He’d figured this building had been constructed of stone and wood, which it was, but it appeared that there was a large metal component.

The blast had obviously disintegrated the stone, and the wood had burned away, but the interior layer of the Round Building had been sheet metal that broke apart in panels, curling against the intense heat that had occurred from the fire. He moved towards the center of the crater, balancing carefully on the rubble. He turned in a circle, finally realizing that this building was not engineered in a circle, but was built around a metal cylinder. Din pulled out his holopad and began taking stills.

There is no way these people made a metal cylinder this large. They don’t have the means to make sheet metal like this.

Din moved towards a section that was still fairly intact and attached to other pieces. Riveted together.

It’s a ship. This was a ship.

Din nearly pumped his fist in the air. He had been right, after all. He got closer to what was undoubtedly part of a fuselage when some markings caught his eye. Bending down, he wiped some soot off the wall and saw what was unmistakably Aurebesh lettering. He could only make out a couple of letters, however.

Din then looked down to his feet, and he could see a sublevel below him. He picked his way to an area he could access, and dropped down. The flat surface he landed on shifted under his feet, and the section began to fall further into the hole, so he fired his jetpack so he would not fall with it. As he lifted into the air, he noticed some of the women shrieking and running again at the sight of him flying. Din sighed, remembering how jumpy Marathel had been when she first saw him and Grogu. He took a few holo stills from this vantage point, as it showed the fuselage/building well. A panel had fallen inward, and from here he could now see lettering on it, in both Aurebesh and an old script he did not recognize, but the inscription was obviously the name board of this ship:

DRESO LLONG’WYR SYSTEM LEW’EL

Lew’el. They came from the Lew’el system! There was also a string of numbers, and Din was unsure if it was the old style dating system, or the ship’s registration, but in any case, it was old.

Din then noticed several round objects behind the building, near the uprooted tree, the tree Marathel had nearly fallen out of. He touched back down to the ground, picking up one of the round objects, recognizing it immediately as a lid for a chemical storage barrel. There were quite a few of them on this side of the wreckage, making Din think that the blast was more directional than just up. As he dropped the lid, he noticed that his glove was coated with a blue-grey dust. What the … Mist? He looked over the area around him, and realized that this whole side of the building was covered with Mist dust. Why in Frith were they …

“Are you a machine?”

Din had not been expecting to hear a voice, and he whirled around to see a small girl standing behind him. She was a sweet-looking child, with long brown hair that was seriously in need of a good brushing. She also had large, dark brown eyes and a face full of dirt. Her dark green tunic and skirt were stained and torn, and her bare feet were utterly filthy. If he’d been running around this dirty at her age, his mother would have had a conniption and hosed him off in the front garden. His buir, meanwhile, would have simply drop-kicked him into the river. “No, child, I am a person.”

“Why are you made of metal?”

Remembering that Marathel didn’t understand the concept of religion, he said, “My people wear armor and a helmet. Those are the rules my people live by.”

Seemingly satisfied with this explanation, the little girl said, “Belwhyn Marathel did all this.” Din nodded. “The Elders made her a Belwhyn because she fucked you, and she was only supposed to be fucked by the Bishop.” Din could not reply, as he was stunned by these words coming from this little girl. She didn’t seem to mind, as she went on without prompting. “I was there when they made her a Belwhyn. She screamed as they all fucked her. The Captain kicked the Dilimgau into her cunt.”

“… What?”

“She came back and killed them all. The Bishop is over there,” the little girl said, pointing. “I was supposed to be the Hunter’s Whyn, but he’s dead now. I was branded and everything. See?” The child lifted up her skirt to show Din, and she was naked under her skirt. He turned away as she exposed herself to him.

“Lower your skirt, child,” Din muttered.

“But I don’t have an Elder anymore. Are you going to be my Elder?”

“No.”

The girl dropped her skirt and began to cry. “But … I’m supposed to suck your cock now, aren’t I?”

Din backed up from her. “No. No! Go back to the women, child. Just … get away from me.” The girl ran away, crying at being rejected by him, leaving Din feeling both repulsed and saddened. Mostly repulsed. It made him think of Marathel’s brand, made him think of her as a child just like the little Hunter girl. No wonder Marathel was so damaged in her mind. And hearing that the Captain had … His hands curled into fists, and he wished the Captain was still alive so he could kill him. Din considered burning down the rest of the Hold and killing the remaining survivors as a mercy to them. He took a deep, shuddering breath, knowing that he could not do that. Perhaps these women could be rehabilitated ... Perhaps their minds could be repaired ...

Perhaps I could just give up my Creed and join a traveling underwater circus!

Din lined up several barrel lids and took holos. He believed he had enough. Now he needed to find Marathel. He walked around the fallen tree and back out to where the women still milled around. He didn’t see the little girl, and he was thankful for that. Din approached Grogu’s pram, still closed, and he gently maneuvered it away from the fallen Round Building. “Kid? Are you okay in there?” He heard some shuffling inside. “Knock once for yes and twice for no. Are you doing okay in there?” There was a light, single tap from within. “Okay, buddy, just stay in there a little longer, alright?” Another tap.

Din looked over the yard again. Nearby was a dead body that was oddly enough, still intact. He went over and looked down at the corpse of the Bishop. His eyes were gone, and his mouth was open and full of blood. There were multiple stab wounds all over his body, a couple right in his crotch. Too good for you, you son of a bitch. Rapist. Child rapist. You carved a gash down a beautiful woman’s face. You destroyed her before she was even born. You broke her mind so much she dreamed I was you! And I wish you could come back to life so I could kill you myself, you … “MOTHERFUCKER HU’TUUN!” growled Din as he drew both blasters and alternated firing shots into the corpse, over and over. Din holstered his blasters, reared back, and kicked the corpse in the groin. He then raised his helmet enough to spit in the corpse’s eye socket before stepping back and setting it on fire with his flame thrower.

Finished now, Din turned, placed his hand on Grogu’s pram, and walked them both out of the Hold gate, not looking back at the women and girls who stood staring at him. “C’mon, kid, let’s go find your Mama.”

Din decided to return to Marathel’s hut on the Crest. On a normal hunt, he’d leave his ship where it was and walk. He liked having the time to settle his thoughts, make a plan, and creep up on his mark quietly. Right now, however, he felt the need to hurry. Although Marathel walked out of the Hold, he wasn’t sure how long ago she did that, which direction she was going, or what state she was in when she left. The rest of the women were still shell-shocked by the explosion and the Dahl’s attack, but they didn’t go on a rampage like Marathel had, fighting off and killing however many men.

Din and Grogu went back to the Crest, lifted off, and touched back down in the grassy field just outside Marathel’s yard. From here he could not see anything too out of the ordinary, but as he and Grogu approached, he could see that the brown panels Marathel had hung were no longer there. Then he saw her bag lying on the ground where she’d dropped it. Hoping she may be still in the hut, Din hurried forward but stopped short at the four rounded piles of flowers.

Four. The four women who brought her out.

“Stay here, Grogu,” muttered Din. He went up to the steps. There was a burned-out torch — Marathel must have intended to burn the hut down — a whetstone, and bloodied footprints. He looked up to the ridge pole to see the four ropes the women had been hanged from. He did not wish to unwrap the women to see what they had suffered. More of Marathel’s footprints went through the large blood spill under the four shroud-wrapped bodies. Din could smell the decay of flesh, and flies buzzed everywhere.

Olba, Tymfy, Lorica, Hylma. I am so sorry. Ni ceta. Thank you for being good women to Marathel. Thank you, Olba, for mothering Marathel the best you could.

Din took a step back and chanted the Mando’a prayer for the dead, something he hadn’t spoken since the death of his buir. He believed these women were fully deserving of this honor, and that Manda’lor would accept their souls for their sacrifice. This completed, Din stepped up into the hut. He decided that there were certain items that he needed to collect before he left this place. He rummaged around until he found what he wanted as well as a bag to carry the items in.

Din stood in the center of the hut and looked around one last time, feeling as if he were seeing ghosts of lifetimes past: Marathel cooking at the fire, Marathel playing with Grogu, Marathel in his arms. He took one last look at the post near the corner. Her leaning post. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and walked down the steps to the yard. Once there, he turned, aimed his flame thrower, and set the hut ablaze.

Din stood for a few minutes, watching the hut burn. The roof thatching went up like a rocket, and soon it collapsed, leaving just a burning shell of posts. Now, he was finished here. As he and Grogu returned to the Crest, Din snagged Marathel’s bag, hoping that she would need it back.

Din flew the Crest low, searching for life signs on the scanner and wondering where she would go. How far could she get? Din assumed she was injured in some way; Marathel was not a trained warrior and had probably been running on adrenaline. He felt fairly sure that she was heading for the cliff, but he had no idea where this particular cliff was. It was within running distance from her hut, he knew that. Grogu stood on the console, peering through the view screen as Din followed the coastline, searching for this cliff of hers.

The scanner began beeping. Din looked at the monitor to see a large convergence of life signs coming up ahead of them. As they got closer, the sensor picked up one single additional weak life sign. Din steered the Crest in from the high ledge, fifty or so meters above the crashing waves. The ledge was a mostly a grassy field with the foliage growing right up to the edge of the cliff. There was a large, flat boulder some ways away from the edge. Din was thinking he could see a couple of small objects on the boulder, when Grogu suddenly shouted “Mama!”

Din immediately brought down the Crest, and was out of his chair before the ship had fully settled, and practically leapt through the ramp door. He ran to the boulder, where he saw a cracked wooden cup, the remains of a spear, and a bloody handprint. Din immediately panicked, thinking, damn you, Marathel, you promised me you wouldn’t kill yourself! You promised me that you would live out the rest of your days on this fucking rock! I promised I wouldn’t take any revenge, and I promised that I would leave you behind. Well, I broke both of those promises and you’ve broken yours. We are just a fucking pair, aren’t we?

Din flicked the heat sensor on his helmet, and detected a life sign a few meters away. He ran over as fast as he could, sliding to a stop next to the crumpled form of Marathel. She lay in a heap, not far from the dead body of Rodanthe. Marathel’s arms were twisted beneath her as she half-curled into a fetal position. Under her hips was a pool of thick, half-dried blood. No, not again, thought Din as he leaned over her, touching her exposed and sunburned cheek with his gloved finger. Her eyelids flickered, and Din whispered, “Oh, ma’mwsh ha’laa.” He couldn’t tell where she was injured or where the blood pool had come from, but she wasn’t dead, oh, thank you, thank you, she’s not dead.

Din carefully turned her over, realizing that her collarbone was broken and her shoulder was dislocated. She had a gash on the side of her head, with maggots in the wound. She was terribly sunburned where her skin was exposed. How long had she been out here? But before he could fully assess any of her injuries, he heard Grogu cry out, “Patu! Bah Daws!”

Din straightened up, seeing Grogu standing on the flat boulder, pointing at the tree line at the edge of the grassy field. He looked at the tree line, and the heat sensor on his helmet showed many signatures, many living creatures, and they were coming straight for him. Din ran forward, brandishing his blaster as hundreds of Dahls charged. He skidded to a halt, firing at several Dahls, killing them, causing the creatures to trip over each other, but still they came. Din holstered his blaster and fired his flame thrower, but he’d been fire-happy recently and he could only swing the flame once along the front line of the Dahls before he ran out of fuel. It did, however, bring them to a stop, and they stood their ground, chattering their keh-keh noises at him, clawing at the dirt.

Din screamed at the Dahls, “Get away from her, you fuckers! You leave her alone! You’ve taken her entire life away! Get out of her head, get out of my head, and leave us both alone!” He grabbed both blasters, shot several more times at the feet of the closest ones, and the pack began to move backwards. “That’s right, you back the fuck up and LET HER GO!”

Unfortunately, this infuriated the Dahls, and they charged forward at Din once more. He lifted his blasters again, intending to strafe the front line for as long as his blasters held out, when the Dahls simply stopped, as if they were crashing into an invisible barrier. Yelping in pain, the Dahls clawed at the air, at each other, confused. Din was just as confused as the Dahls, and he looked back over his shoulder to see Grogu holding out his little hands, holding back the Dahls with the Force. Din returned his attention to the Dahls, who were backing up once more, now fearful of the metal man and the little green creature.

“Go away from here! Get out of her head and leave her alone. You’ve had her for thirty years! You’re done with her now. She doesn’t want you anymore. You let her SUFFER! You NEVER loved her! NOW LET US GO!”

Snapping, hissing, the Dahls continued their retreat as Grogu released the Force barrier and sat down in exhaustion. Din kept his stance, brandishing both blasters, firing a warning shot at the feet of any Dahls that attempted a forward move. Eventually, the Dahls disappeared back into the tree line, but Din held his ground until the creatures were out of range of his visor’s sensors.

Din slowly backed up himself, scanning the tree line for any sudden movement, until he was back within range of Marathel. Holstering his blasters, he turned to Grogu, sitting on the boulder. “You okay, kid?” Grogu bleated weakly. “You did good, buddy, I’m proud of you.” Din went to one knee beside Rodanthe, hoping that at least this one last Dahl had been true to Marathel. He stroked the animal’s head, wondering if his cardiac episode had occurred at the time of her death. If so, then what was the reason for him to lose his love for Marathel?

Not having any answers, Din decided that the best course of action was to care for the still-living woman. He carefully lifted Marathel from the ground and carried her to the boulder where Grogu sat. “Hey kid, grab that cup and spear, would you?” asked Din, figuring that if Marathel meant them as a suicide note, they were important to her. Grogu did as his Patu asked, and looked up wearily at Din. Din nodded his head at the ship and said, “Going my way, pal? Hop on. Mama won’t mind, I don’t think.”

Grogu leapt into Marathel’s lap, whimpering Mama, curling against her. Din carried them both into the Razor Crest, closing the ramp behind him. The Dahls moved forward again to the tree line, and watched as the small ship lifted off the ground, and winked away into the sky, leaving Unmanarall for what Din hoped was the final time.

Day Twenty-Nine point Five ->

#din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian angst #mando angst #din djarin angst #star wars fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork #reverse age gap #pedrostories #pedro pascal character #mando x female oc #mando x plus size oc #mando x reverse age gap oc

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ranahan · 6 months ago

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Mando’a adjectives give me a headache

Mando’a has two different adjectival suffixes: -la and -yc. If a language has two different suffixes like here, I would assume that they have developed from different sources (for example, an ancestral adjectival or adverbial suffix, past participle or a passive voice in Ancient Mando’a) and/or have different meanings, or different distributions. But for the life of me, I can’t determine what’s the difference here.

Maybe they’re phonetically determined, like a lot of Mando’a prefixes? Nope. Both occur seemingly equally after nearly every vowel and consonant in the language, both with and without a beten. Which makes sense, because phonotactically Mando’a allows the vowel /i/ after pretty much everything, and is equally lax about allowing the liquid /l/ after any other consonant or vowel too (when it comes as its own little syllable -la).

Maybe one encodes an agent and one the patient of the action, e.g. enraged vs. enraging. Nope.

One is a state or a quality and one is a change or a participle of an action? Or perhaps an active vs. stative distinction? You’d think that a pair like oya’la ’living’ and oyayc ’alive’ would be a clue. But nope.

One is deverbal and one denominal? Nope.

Maybe it’s to do with the transitivity of the verb form? Well, I haven’t tried, but whatever it is, I doubt that it’s that deep. Traviss is not a linguist.

Pretty much every distinction that I have tried to split the adjectives between, they seem to fall equally on both sides. They really do seem just random.

And that seems like a wasted opportunity to me. You could do something useful with a feature like this! And I’m honestly thinking that if I can’t crack the code here, I might just completely rework how adjectives work in my version of Mando’a and make them do something grammatically useful.

So. Any words of wisdom or comments or ideas? Do you see a pattern here that I’m missing? A common distinction I haven’t tried yet? Or for the revisionists: What distinction would you find useful? What distinction do you think Mandalorians would find important? Like, toss me some wild ideas. I’ll take anything at this point.

#mando’a #mandoa #mando’a language #mando'a #conlang #conlanging #star wars #meta: mandalorians #star wars meta #mando’a grammar #mando’a linguistics #ranah talks mando’a #mando’a project

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apatheticblues · 1 month ago

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NEW FIC: He Strung Me Up

Fox was always angry. His rage was in a constant simmer just below the surface of his skin; it was sometimes frighteningly all-consuming, and sometimes—a fact that Fox would never admit to anyone—a relief to fall into.

Lord Sidious, of course, took notice.

Small snippet to whet your appetite:

“Commander Fox,” the General said cheerily. His voice was warped by his rebreather, but even through that, Fox could hear a certain depth to it that few could replicate. He kept pace with Fox’s quick stride easily, robes swishing dramatically behind him. “Wolffe has told me about you.”

Fox sighed internally. “Yes, General. Can I help you with anything, sir?”

The General just hummed vaguely in response. A shivering itch crawled up Fox’s spine; he swallowed the feeling down before it got the chance to grow. The General said, “Just a chat, Commander, if you do not mind me accompanying you. You’re one of Wolffe’s batchmates, yes? His, ah… ori’vod.”

Fox slanted a look his way, hesitant. He wasn’t aware that Wolffe felt close enough to his General to share a little tidbit like that. Wolffe was already a tetchy bastard in their cadet days, and Fox knew it had only worsened as the war progressed. To share something as personal as that, in Mando’a, no less… well. It was surprising, to say the least.

#romance #commander fox #cc 1010 #plo koon #star wars #sw tcw #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #sith #fanfiction #fanfic #plo koon/commander fox #don't know what their ship name would be loll #they have like two other works on ao3 so this ship is really not even a living thing #it died as a baby but I've resurrected it #or something like that

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snaggie-t00th · 4 months ago

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HALLO :D

i do apologize that i didn't have a snippet out like i wanted but, compromise, here's the whole damn thing. i also switched some stuff around in ch2 for continuity reasons :3

i got very very busy with prepping for an art faire (if anyone knows where to get cheap high quality prints let a mf know PLSSS) and i was muy busy. but we're back. and echo's a sweet dork.

mando'a translations!

ke'pare - wait/hold on

ge'tal - red

vor'e - thanks

udesii - chill out/its okay

gender neutral pronouns, no y/n usage, only main descriptor im sticking to about the reader is that you're ginger. cus i am. sorry nerds.

-immediately follows the events of the preceding chapter-

You were fighting back a smile. You had no idea that some of the clones knew Mando’a, let alone that the Mandolorian-adoptee turned clone-donor Jango Fett was taught during his short time on your home planet. You wondered if it was something the Kaminoans decided or if they all went about teaching themselves in Jango’s honor. The idea of a bunch of clone soldiers sitting around a Mando’a children’s dictionary makes the smile stitching onto your face that much harder to fight.

“I’m sorry about Tech. He can be, ah, a lot.” Echo grimaced while swiveling around the copilot’s seat, presenting it to you.

You obliged, and sat down. “Oh he’s fine. There’s plenty of topics I could infodump about, just as annoyingly. I just have a bad habit of my thoughts becoming verbal.” You shook your head, soft auburn tresses flicking about. The lights from the cockpit glinted around the natural highlights of your hair, and it didn’t escape Echo’s gaze.

The man cleared his throat. “Still, I appreciate you being so accommodating of my brothers. Nat-borns don’t seem to get it, you know?”

You furrowed your brow and cocked your head slightly to the left, looking him in the eyes. While he didn’t physically shudder, you could see the slight panic pulse in his iris when you met his gaze.

“Where do you think clones get their camaraderie and brotherhood from?”

Echo shrugged. “Kaminoans, I presume?”

You barked a laugh. “Well, yes. Ke’pare, what did they tell you guys about Mandalore?”

“Not much. Jango was around for the first few years, but I rarely saw him. He didn’t seem to hold much emotion for the regs. He seemed to like the higher ups, but I didn’t become an ARC Trooper until I was shipped off that wet rock.” Echo finally slumped into his chair opposing you. As he spoke, he slowly relaxed into his seat, his hinges quietly scraping together as he moved. Once again his amber eyes met yours, a new twinkle seeming to arrive.

“You know more than you let on, ge’tal.” Echo said, narrowing his gaze.

He seemed to be sizing you up. Trying to parse out his next line of questioning. Truthfully, you were better at it than him. While his observation skills have been battle-tested, the ease in which you peppered questions at him showed years of practice he was simply unable to acquire. Outside of the occasional conversation at 79’s or a senator he was required to escort, Echo’s entire social sphere only extends to his brothers. You made him nervous. In a very good way.

You blushed at the newly acquired nickname. “I prefer to call it ‘not showing my full hand’, but I’ll slide a few cards your way since you seem cute.”

The back of Echo’s neck started to bloom a soft red. He rubbed a palm on his knee, mindlessly self soothing. “Seem? What, the gray skin and hollow cheeks not working their magic?” He joked, gesturing to each feature respectively with a pointed index finger.

“You seem to deflect compliments because you can’t believe them, so I was starting small.” You extended your own index finger and poked at his shoulder, annunciating the seem.

The now-scarlet tint of Echo’s neck began to creep towards his face. Eyes darting towards the floor, he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He pressed his lips together for a moment. The only thing he got out was a weak “Vor’e.”

“Udesii. I came here, didn’t I?” Your face softened. Echo’s almost immediate vulnerability around you made your knees feel like jelly, and you were sending a silent prayer somewhere that you were both sitting down. “You’re not gonna scare me off, but you can’t immediately go cracking jokes just ‘cus I said you’re handsome.” You continued. Soft, yet firm. You weren’t allowing Echo to talk poorly of himself, even in jest.

Echo nodded, meeting your gaze once more. He looked off for a moment, seemingly in thought, before returning your gaze and asking softly: “How do you always know what to say?”

You let out one quick heh. “Since I found someone to give the words to.” You reply cheekily.

Echo smiled once more and dipped his head. “Walked into that one huh?”

You both smiled, and a comfortable silence began to envelope the two of you. Both of you were looking out on the horizon. The sky was a deep pink and purple haze, stippled with the indigo hues of the impending twilight. Echo was scanning the distance, as if anything alive would be out there, let alone a threat. You were content watching the 2 ½ clouds in the sky move millimeters at a time, but something told you to look at your companion. Gazing at him, your eyes slowly roved up his face. His jaw was set in a defined line, lightly gritted in concentration. His cheeks were hollow, but his cheekbones sat quite prominently, catching the light. This, juxtaposed with his deep set eyes, allowed the light to dance right at the forefront of his face. As if a candle was eye level with him, across the room.

“See anything cool?” You finally speak, hoping Echo didn’t catch you staring.

“Nah, perimeter check. I’m sure all I’ll see is bones and dirt but, old habits die hard.” He replied, not looking away. After a beat, he nodded, and seemingly relaxed the scrutinous gaze he had moments ago.

“Huh. So, what makes your squad different from the other clones, other than haircuts, tattoos, and builds?” You change the subject.

“Being experimental meant the Kaminoans could enhance certain characteristics. Wrecker’s strength, Tech’s smarts, Crosshair’s accuracy, and Hunter’s senses.” Echo spun his chair to face you and threw one leg over the other.

“Huh.” You think for a moment before replying. “So you think Hunter heard us approach?”

Echo nodded. “And I’m willing to bet he’s going to call me a serf for the next 3 rotations.”

You barked out a laugh before realizing his implication. A hand shot over your mouth and your eyes grew wide.

The man laughed. “Just be glad he’s not close enough to hear your heartbeat.”

“What CAN’T he hear?” You said, mildly exasperated. “How do you get any privacy?”

“He’s got noise canceling headphones but that’s mainly for his own sanity. Wrecker got them for him after his snoring kept him up for 3 days in a row.” You laughed at that, and Echo felt a twinge of pride before continuing. “He showed up in the cockpit one morning with his bandana over his nose and Omega had to ask him about his new fashion choices.”

You let out a series of giggles at that, holding your stomach slightly as you lean forward into it. If your eyes weren’t scrunched shut, you would’ve seen Echo’s face bloom in 4 different shades of pink. Every single part of him was committing this to memory. The way your eyes crinkled at the sides. The way your cheeks almost wanted to push your eyes out of their sockets. He never wanted this to end, the sounds of your joy echoing across the hold of the Marauder.

——————

Hours had passed, the sun well below the horizon by this hour. The sky was peppered with numerous constellations and star systems, the names of which always seeming to escape you. The deep blue sea of sky felt more vast than ever in your little perch aboard the Marauder.

You and Echo went back and forth, sharing tidbits from your respective lives up until this point. You learned about the Rishi Moon incident that gave Echo his ARC status, he learned about the Siege that gave way to your arrival here. He told you about the Domino Squad, you told him about your own clan’s untimely demise. Hours of stories shared back and forth, as if you were both once stationed on the same battlefield and then whisked away, only to be brought back together once more after all these years. But there was no mutual history to draw upon this familiarity from. The two of you just fell into a steady rhythm. One that you’d individually practiced and honed for years, like a song that was never intended for a duet, only for the two to sound identical.

“...And that’s where I learned Keldabe Handshakes are applicable as a neutralizing tactic across species.” You finished, explaining the first and only time a Shriek-Hawk has successfully taken you off guard.

“Charming.” A voice hissed, and then a pair of boots dropped to the ground with a soft thunk. “Echo, shouldn't you be putting your toys away? It’s late.” Crosshair slunked into the cockpit, seemingly from the shadows. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I must be a pretty expensive toy to trade for speeder brakes.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised you’ve never been with someone and lost track of time, Cross. That does tend to require social skills and, y’know, liking people?” Echo crossed his arms and stared his brother down.

“Well unless they’re taking your bunk, you should tell Tech someone’s joining him in the cockpit tonight. It’s too late to take them back now.” Crosshair seemed to spit the last part of the sentence, annoyed that someone else is in his space and bothering his brothers. While you understood hesitancy, you felt as if he reveled in his current position rather than proceeding with caution.

Echo turned to you and looked into your eyes softly. “It’s up to you.”

“I’m already cramping an already small ship. I can kick it up here with Tech for the night.” You said, smiling. While you very badly wanted to just crawl into Echo’s bunk with him, you weren’t doing that the first day. Plus, you don’t know how Echo feels about his personal space, or his sleeping positions, or if he prefers one side of the b—

“How touching.” Crosshair cut off your thoughts with the remark. He spun on his heel, and disappeared just as quickly as he appeared. Echo sneered at the doorway.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind sleeping up here. Like I said, Tech can be a lot sometimes.” Echo looked back at you, eyes full of worry.

“Tell you what, I’ll come get you if he’s being too much and we can switch, okay?” You compromise, getting the understanding that Echo’s going to worry either way.

“Deal.” Echo said firmly with a nod, and stands up. “For as much of a dick as he is, Crosshair’s right, it is rather late.” You nod and shrug slightly in agreement.

Echo turns to you and leans down. “Try and get some rest.” He gives you a quick peck on the cheek before turning on his heel and borderline speeding out of the room.

When the door shuts automatically, you ghost your hand along your cheek, and an uncontrollable smile breaks across your face.

I think he likes me.

#star wars #the clone wars #clone force 99 #bad batch #tbb fandom #the bad batch #501st legion #star wars fandom #clone trooper echo #clone trooper crosshair #echo x self insert #echo x you #echo x reader #echo bad batch #is there an echo in here?#arc trooper echo #tbb echo

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angelcqre · 10 months ago

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Ti Te Ka'Ra

Mandalorian!141/Jedi!Reader / 55 BBY / Eventual GhostxReader

The first night is spent meditating, projecting calm into the force and trying to ignore how loud these men are. You can hear every step, every sharp bark of laughter, every word of murmured mando’a. You can feel their intent. There’s a grim sort of camaraderie that permeates the ship.

It feels like family - like belonging, similar but not quite the same to the temple’s home-sense. Stubborn, more possessive, but that lingering home-sense is thick and heady. You wonder how long they've been a team. From the feeling of it, years. Echoes of them remain in the force, lingering like a blown-out candle, stuck to the walls and ceiling and vents.

If the captain - Price, he tells you, narrows his eyes and puffs it around his cigarra - thinks anything about the fact just you haven’t moved from the stool in the past ten hours, he doesn’t say anything. Merely mutters something about shabu'jetii and drops a mug of tea down in front of you.

You take it appreciatively. Offer him a smile and gesture for him to sit in one of the stools beside you, the baby in your other hand. He does with a groan.

“Swear to the stars, they get more uncomfortable each time I sit.” He mutters, lips pressing thin when his gaze flits back to you and realizes what you’re doing. Admittedly, it’s a superfluous use of the force to float your mug up to your mouth, but you’ve got your hands full of exhausted youngling and tea only stays good when it’s hot. Maybe you should stop. You don’t.

“Have you had the ship for long?”

It’s a polite question - you know he’s had it for years, the pervading home-sense is indication enough of that, but you’re eager to divert his attention away from disapproval and discomfort. You’re here. You’re a Jedi. You’re going to use the force, whether he personally approves of it or not.

“Almost ten years,” He grumbles, chewing on his cigarra, setting warm eyes beyond you. “Been flying her longer than I’ve been in the current mand'alor's service.”

Your brows quirk, hum softly.

“Rare for a mandalorian to be running missions for the republic.” You say, a question but not. Give him space to decide whether he wants to answer or not. The force in the ship is strange - thick with tension, edged with copper and spice and life that feels so alien compared to the serene blanket of the temple. It feels too rich, too vibrant, almost spicy.

You drink your tea. Let the flavors soak your tongue sharp and acrid, pull you out before you sink back into the meditative state.

"Rare for the child of a senator to end up on the battlefield of a civil war," He counters, brow quirking in what feels like another accusation. "Millions of parsecs from coruscant. That not curious to you, jed’ika?"

Of course it’s curious to you. There are countless bad actors that could be attributed to the kidnapping of a force sensitive baby, countless bad actors that could be attributed to the child of a senator, but together? It’s implausible. Strange. Something out of a shab holonovel, not reality.

You don’t voice that.

“You don’t think it’s your…” You trail off, pinch your brows. Search for the word that he’s said before and fail to grasp it, the shapes of mando’a not quite familiar enough to hold.

“Kyr’tsad. Death Watch. No. S'not Kyr'tsad. Would've killed her."

Your eyes go wide at how casually he says it, at the ease of it, and instinctively, you grasp the child closer, brows pinching. You've seen your fair share of suffering - as a watchman, you go where the force feels you're needed, and you're often needed where people are suffering, but..

But the way he says it is too settled. Like he's seen worse. Like he doesn't have any faith in the enemy, like he's seen things firsthand. He probably has. You fight the urge to soothe the stress away in the force, instead wrapping yourself and the child up in a blanket of calm, weave it nice and warm and watertight against the sluice of dread that fills the air.

"Could be one've your dar'jetii," Quips a voice as the handsome one - Gaz, his name is Gaz - approaches, dropping heavily into the space beside Price, loosely clutching a cup of caf in his hand. Once again, his bucket is off, and his face is schooled into neutrality, "No reason to think it's one of ours."

"It's not."

"How d'you know?" Gaz leans forwards, eyebrow quirked, takes a sip of his caf and narrows his eyes.

"Because it's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible, love." Price this time, his gaze still glued to the baby. The anxiety that twists your stomach at his implication is displeasing, and you begin to thumb at the baby's swaddle, realizing there's embroidery across it.

"This is," You say, voice flat, unamused, thumb running over the letters, the aurebesh crisp and fresh, trying to figure it out from touch alone. Mikha, maybe - mern-isk-kreath-aurek - though that doesn't feel right. "We would know if it was the sith. We'd feel it. It's not possible."

Mikha doesn't feel accurate. Micha (mern-isk-cherek-aurek) or Mika (mern-isk-krill-aurek) or something like it. The third letter is strange, the cursive aurebesh almost too vague for you to gauge on touch alone. You ignore the anxiety that tightens your core at the idea of the sith.

You'd know. You'd know.

"You'd feel it?"

You try not to bristle at the incredulity, tell yourself it's not meant to offend, that mandalorians are intense and passionate and unschooled, that they're not held to the same culture of passivity and serenity that you are, but it's difficult when the captain looks at you with pity and condescension. Like you're some child, hopeful and pitiful and naive.

Like you're a fool.

You are definitively not a fool. There's nothing naive about the knowledge that you'd know if the sith were still around - they're all but extinct now, a child's tale to keep crechelings from misbehaving. Kark it, you're a jedi, for force's sake. Clever and encompassing and wise beyond your years.

And yet, the men before you look at you with that same doubt, and you're the first to break the staring contest, glancing down.

Mira. Mern-isk-resk-aurek. A sweet name for a sweet baby.

"I'd know," You tell her. "I would."

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mando!cod #mando au cod #mando!price #mando!gaz #mando!soap #mando!ghost #my stuff #star wars au

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kookyburrowing · 9 months ago

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Adventures In Clonelang Part 1: How The Fuck Do They Sound

Hi. Hello. I’m finally starting on this gigantic horrible project for real. So first up is phonetics! Because in order to make a language I need to know how it sounds.

Overview

It’s pretty similar to english but with some exceptions—it includes a glottal stop and like Mando’a has no “f” or “x.” Unlike Mando’a, it makes frequent use of “z” and related sounds. Also, it does NOT have “Q” because “Q” is nonsense.

Vowel Sounds

A, E, O, U - this spelling indicates short vowel sound. These are the same as in English.

Exceptions: “I” is pronounced as a long “E,” and “O” is always long. “E” can also sometimes be pronounced as a long “A” in Mando’a loan words.

AA, II, OO, UU - this spelling indicates a long vowel sound, except with “O” where it indicates “Ooh”.

Vowel doubles:

AU - Pronounced “ow.”

AI - Pronounced “eye.”

AY - Pronounced like the “ay” in the English word “way.”

Consonants

B, D, G, H, K, L, M, N, P, R, S, T, V, W, Y, Z: pronounced the same except for G and Y. G is only a hard G, while Y is only used in conjunction.

Consonant doubles:

ZH: Soft “J” sound.

DJ: Hard “J” sound.

CY/C: “Sh” sound.

Notes

This is a very basic draft of the sounds. I think the language should have at least some influence from te reo Māori, so I have tried to include some influences from there but my knowledge of the language is very, VERY limited so some of this will change as I learn more. If anyone has any advice on that score it would be greatly appreciated—I’d rather be told I’m wrong now than later once I’ve done a ton of work.

#lee does language #clonelang #star wars #sw #sw tcw #tcw #the clone wars #clone wars #conlang

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kyberblade · 2 years ago

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Shatter - Caught Off Guard (Din x Reader)

A/N: It’s finally here! I’m so excited to share this with all of you. I hope you love these characters as much as I have fallen in love with them. The reader has a name in this fic, but that’s the only descriptor of her. Past that, nothing else, I don’t think. I still use “you” mostly, the name is only used a handful of times. This was meant to be a multi chapter fic, but it’s just not wanting to translate that way, so it’s going to be a series of one shots and a whiff of continuity. Please feel free to send me scenarios, prompts, requests for these crazy kids! Just remember to stick to the rules.

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Warnings: Snark, Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, Din is a warning in and of himself in this one. Typical show violence. Light swear words. Space swearing. My Mandalorians do what they want. Banter. So much banter. And you’ll probably fall in love with them like I did. (I don’t make the rules.)

Word count: 11,767

Thanks to @grippingbeskar for encouraging me, looking over this for me, and being the one to introduce me to Din fanfiction in the first place, getting me hooked. You are fantastic and I always love our chats.

Also a shout out to @blondiwankenobi, @what-the-heckin-heck, and @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis for reading it over for me as I went and telling me I wasn’t crazy. (And @deceiverofgodss for helping me with the Mando’a - You’re a life saver.)

| Series Masterlist | Next

Xxx

Din’s head was swimming. He’d had delegate after delegate paraded in front of him, cabinet member after cabinet member, he couldn’t keep them all straight. This one did that and that one did this and these did those and he was about to scream.

He’d never wanted the Darksaber to begin with, much less all of…. This that came with it. The politicking, the rules, the traditions at every corner. What title he had to go by, how people were allowed to address him and he them, and a whole slew of other atrocities he didn’t even want to think about. He’d never wanted to be just Din so badly in his life. Not even Mando was applicable anymore, the one time a visiting senator had let it slip in idle conversation, a whole courtroom of T visors had turned at the moniker, and Din knew instantly that was out.

They had to address him as the Mand'alor and not much else, the monotony of the title growing thin in his mind.

The only time his interest has been piqued for days was with the introduction of his head of strategy and tactics. You had been introduced as Ti, just Ti, and he’d tilted his head ever so slightly to get a better look at you.

You’d nodded once at him in respect before standing at attention once again, straight as a tree on Endor, head held high. Your full beskar was painted, white with hints of the bare silver shining through here and there, almost like features, light and shadows. It stood out almost as much as his own polished beskar, he thought with amusement. So you weren’t shy.

His softer musings soon faded once you opened your mouth and began to retort the proposed security arrangement, an irritation growing faster than he’d ever felt before. He didn’t understand how such a lovely voice could be so instantly grating so quickly.

“I disagree,” you’d said, staring down at the holo table projecting the proposed guard rotations for the next week. “If we leave it like this, we leave ourselves, and most importantly the Mand'alor, open to an attack.”

Din snorted. “Who is going to attack right now? Does anyone even know this isn’t a ghost planet anymore?”

You’d stared at him, your gaze unwavering. “With respect, Mand'alor, I am the head of security at the moment-”

“I thought you were strategy and tactics.”

“I am. But because of our low numbers, I am also in charge of security, as I said. And it would be a good strategy to not leave ourselves vulnerable like this. Our tactics need to be much more thorough and thought out.”

Din let out a huff, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the table.

“May I go on?” You asked after a moment, your voice sounded amused.

“Yes, go on,” Din made an impatient gesture with one hand before crossing it back over his chest.

“Okay. As I was saying, right now, anyone who cares to attack will know our numbers are low, and will attack here and here,” you touched two glaringly void areas that beeped then enlarged to show your point. “I think we need to rearrange our guards over here, and post more at this wall. That way we aren’t left open.”

Din stared at the table in silence, watching it simulate your proposal on a loop. “Do what she says,” he finally mumbled, turning and walking away.

Each encounter had gone on like that. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was about you that was driving him crazy, he just knew whenever you seemed to show up, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a queasy feeling like indigestion twisted in his gut. He’d reverted to his old habits of silence and ominous staring, hoping eventually you might take the hint and simply quit pointing at the holo tables so effectively.

You were never wrong, your insight extremely valuable to him, but ever since that first day, he just rolled his eyes under his helmet whenever your name was mentioned.

It didn’t help that Grogu thought you hung the moon. He was your little green shadow at all times, cooing after you, and trying desperately to scale your armor and find purchase in your arms. The two of you weren’t often separated, and where one was, the other was surely close by. Din felt a tugging at his heart strings as he watched you go over the weekly report at the holo table, his son climbing all over your shoulders and helmet as if it were his own personal playground. The strings cinched tight when the child began to fall once, a relieved sigh passing through his modulator when you reached out without a second look and caught him before he could fall far, the child giggling like that was his plan all along.

You’d become a necessary evil in his life, but one he wasn’t starting to mind all that much. Sure, you got on his absolute last nerve, but you did it without stepping on eggshells around him like everyone else. You stomped right on through unapologetically, and he had to admit, he admired that.

The child lightly tugged at the holster of your blaster from his spot in his floating cradle next to you, and without even glancing his way, you gently unhooked his hand and pushed it back into the cradle as he squealed softly.

Moments like this were cracking Din’s resolve. It was hard to hate someone who made the mundane look so damn…. Good.

It was one of these days when it happened. An attack, out of the blue. Stormtroopers flooded the buildings, blaster fire was heard around every corner, the thudding of footsteps echoing off the still barren walls.

Quickly punching the code into his vambrace, the kid’s cradle shut tight with him inside before it hovered over to his side. Standing at the ready, Din suddenly found himself pushed behind you, stumbling slightly at the impact of your body against his. “Move!” He growled.

“No.”

“That’s an order,” Din tried again, attempting to push around you. The words felt foreign coming out of his mouth and sounded even more bizarre even to his own ears. This wasn’t him, he wasn’t a leader, it was just supposed to be him and the kid on a ship somewhere quiet and warm.

Shrugging out of his grip, you rounded on him, staring right into his visor. “With all due respect, I still decline to oblige as it’s a stupid maneuver.”

Din scoffed.

“Oh, get your helmet on straight and stay behind me!” You just register his helmet tilting to the side as you turn your back to him. “I’m still your head of security, strategy and tactics, and the answer to all of that is me protecting you.”

“I can protect myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”

A stormtrooper ran into the room right then, and both of you drew and fired your blasters in the blink of an eye, the shots sounding in tandem. The trooper fell with a thud, skidding across the floor on the front of their armor for a few inches before scraping to a halt.

“As you can see, you need my protection.”

Din simply stared at the back of your helmet, dumbfounded. “And what makes you think that?”

“I just shot that trooper first!”

“No, I did!”

You barked out a laugh, helmet tilting back with the effort. “No. No, that was me, Mand'alor.”

“Call me Din,” he grunted after a moment. “I’m getting really tired of that title.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want, just stay behind me.”

One of the officials who had been ducked behind a nearby wall ran over, standing just off to your right, facing the both of you. “We have to get out of here, Din-”

“You don’t get to call me that,” Din said sternly, finger raised and pointing at the man in warning.

“Oh. My mistake. I thought you just said-”

“You thought wrong.”

“I knew it. I told all of you this was going to happen,” you hissed, looking around the room, hand coming to the side of your helmet to change your display.

“You were right. Are you happy?” Din’s droll tone made you smile as you continued to scan the room.

“Only that I was right, but not in what I was right about. I would never be happy about our planet or our people suffering again for any reason.” You zeroed in on what you were looking for at the back of the room as you looked over Din’s shoulder. “I hope you know that,” you added softly, turning your visor just enough to look at him straight on, having to tilt your head back just slightly.

He only nodded after a moment of hesitation, his gaze holding yours a moment too long to be considered a simple response.

Explosions in the distance echoed off the stone walls, the low sound waves concussing against your chest, vibrating in your beskar unsettlingly.

“We need to get to that room back there,” you pointed with your blaster at the far wall. “There’s a hidden entrance to secret passageways that will get us to the hangars so we can get off planet and regroup.”

“Not to sound like a pessimist, but what good will that do?” Din’s voice was dry, sardonic. “We already regrouped here, and look where that got us.” He held his hands out to the sides, gesturing to the chaos that surrounded everything. “My friend was right when he said the Empire turned this planet to glass.”

Another explosion rocked the stone walls, this one closer, pieces of rubble and dirt skittering along the floor from the impact.

“Then I’ll shatter.”

The two of you shared a long look, the heavy implication of your words not wasted on him. For weeks now you had gotten on his absolute last nerve, and he tried to blame it on so many things, but he saw now it was simply due to the fact that the two of you were too similar for your own good. Fire feeds fire, and rain can turn a trickle into a torrent. The two of you fed into the other unconsciously and it made sparks in a dry forest, dangerous and deadly.

He nodded once. “We both will.”

“This is the way,” you offered.

“This is the way,” he returned.

TIE Fighters screamed overhead.

“But the Empire is gone!” The official cried, still standing where you’d left him, hands darting above his head as part of the ceiling crumbled down.

“Tell them that!” You yelled, tilting your head up toward the TIEs in question, and you swore you heard the Mand'alor- Din laugh.

“Whatever is left of them, they obviously intend to finish what they started,” you shouted over the roar of approaching blaster fire. “We need to move now.”

The two men followed after you silently as you approached the hidden door, scanning it for the opening mechanism tucked away somewhere.

“How do you even know about these tunnels?” Din asked hurriedly, turning and watching the main door while you felt the stones for a pressure plate.

“I’m the head of security. It’s my job.”

The official snorted a laugh, two T visors turning his way in question. “The child found them last week while they were playing hide and seek. She couldn’t find him for almost a whole day. When she did, the poor thing had fallen asleep just on the other side of the door.”

“So that’s why he was bouncing off the walls that one day. I couldn’t figure it out,” Din mumbled absently. “He got a nap way too early. I barely slept that whole night.”

“You lived,” you said after a second, staring at him only a moment longer before turning back to the wall and pressing the plate you’d finally found.

Any further conversation was drowned out by the loud grinding mechanism of stone against stone as the door slid open slowly. Much too slowly.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you mumbled, gesturing needlessly at the door.

“Say it again, maybe it’ll listen.”

You slowly turned your head to level a glare at Din’s snark. Once it was fully open, you stepped to the side and held out your arm toward the opening. “Ladies first.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” the official said, brushing past the two of you and your prickly stare off. Once he was in the tunnel, he called back to the both of you, his voice echoing in the maze of hallways. “Are you two going to just stand there and make eyes at each other, or are you coming in?”

“We aren’t making eyes at each other,” Din mumbled bitterly as he stomped into the chamber, the floating cradle following after him.

“Maybe you weren’t, but I was,” you said offhandedly, enjoying teasing him. “What good is a helmet if you can’t creepily stare at someone occasionally?”

“That is not the way,” Din grumbled.

“It’s a way,” you countered. Stepping into the hallway, the door shut behind you with a thud.

The three of you exchanged looks for a long moment before you finally broke the silence, turning to the official. Drawing your blaster and pressing the end of the muzzle right up against the soft exposed part of his chin under his helmet, you cocked it, ready to fire. Stepping in close, putting your body between them, your blaster whirred as it charged up.

“You know, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Ti, lower your blaster.” Din’s tone was low, almost soft.

“Why? This guy shows up a few days ago, and before I’ve had a chance to fully vet him, suddenly the Empire is knocking on our door. So tell me, official, sir,” your voice turned mocking, the end of your blaster digging into the soft spot under his chin, making his head tilt back slightly. “Did you have any part in this?”

“No,” he was quick to answer, voice emphatic.

“Ti….” Din’s warning was once again ignored.

“How do I know you’re not lying?” You shifted your weight slightly, adjusting your hold on your blaster.

“You’re going to have to trust me.”

“Ti.” Din’s voice was more firm, slightly louder, but still you ignored it.

“I don’t have to do shi-”

“Ti! I said that’s enough!” Din boomed, pulling you off of the official who relaxed with a sigh, his shoulders rolling forward. “Stand down!”

“It’s my job to protect you, Mand’alor,” you hissed. “Everything I said is true. His clearance was stalled and I wasn’t able to fully vet him yet. He could be-”

“I will vouch for him.” Din’s words stopped you short, making you take a small step back. “He’s been helping me all week with all the little things, and right now, I trust him.” He reached out and disarmed your blaster, the whirring winding down as you lowered your arm. “So trust me.”

Shaking your head at him after a moment, you shoved your blaster into its holster before turning back to the stranger.

“I still didn’t catch a name.”

After a deep breath, he began to rattle off something in Mando’a, but you cut him off.

“Speak plainly,” you said. “There is no need to stand on pomp and circumstance right now.”

“It is tradition!” He floundered.

“There is a time and place for tradition.” Looking around the small hidden passageway you were crammed into, an explosion rocked the walls from somewhere nearby, the low sound waves making dirt crumble down from the ceiling between you. “This isn’t it.”

Nodding slowly with a sigh, he dug into the pocket of his belt, producing a small comlink. “Take this,” he handed it to you. “It has a message for the Mand'alor explaining everything. You have to get on a ship and get out of here.” Blaster fire sounded down the hallway, all three helmets turned toward the sound before they looked back to one another, hands now resting idly on their blasters. “Go to hangar 5, there is a gift for the Mand'alor from his friend Boba Fett. It still needs many repairs, but you can fix it as you go-”

“Go? Go where?” Din cut in.

“Somewhere safe,” the official said on a sigh.

“Is anywhere safe?”

“I hope so. For the sake of our planet and its new ruler, I hope so.”

“I still didn’t catch your name,” you say hurriedly, taking a few steps backwards down the hall towards your destination.

“My name isn’t important,” he shook his head before waving you down the hall, drawing his blaster. “Now go!” He stood by the door, blaster in hand, ready and waiting should their secret hideout be found.

“How do you know the way?” Din asked after a few turns.

“After I found them, I mapped them out and marked them like we do our coverts.” You stopped abruptly, rounding on him and reaching out to press the side of his helmet and activate his display, ignoring his grunt in response. Whirling back around, you began again as you forged forward. “I marked them with corresponding letters in Basic, should a visiting diplomat ever need to use them. The hangars should be this way.” You pointed straight ahead, walking a bit faster.

Din looked around at the various symbols now visible through his display. There were so many. This place was a maze. Turning to look behind him, he saw a single symbol leading back toward the throne room. A mythosaur. Squinting to see what was smudged to the side, Din backtracked a few steps to get a closer look, and saw the smallest little mudhorn beside each mythosaur. Reaching his hand up, he lightly traced over the symbol, jumping slightly when he heard you call his name, glancing over his shoulder to see you motioning him forward. With one last look at the sigil, he turned and began to follow you again.

Darting down the hallways, the child’s cradle in tow, you were both careful to make the least amount of noise possible. Sometimes the sounds of battle on the other side of the wall sounded like they were on the other side of a piece of paper, and would break through at any moment.

“This feels wrong,” Din sighed as you ducked past a particularly thin part of the wall.

“What do you mean?”

“They are out there fighting for our planet, for me, and I’m in here, running away.”

You snorted. “You think they’re fighting for you? Someone has a big head.”

Din scoffed. “For the last few weeks all I’ve been told by every official at my ear is how every Mandalorian will do everything they can in defense of our planet and its new protector.”

You let out a soft groan, rolling your eyes. “No pressure, guys…. Kriff. I’m sorry. If I had heard them I would have knocked some sense into them.”

“I take it you would have done so violently?” Din chuckled.

You shrugged. “I like to have variety.”

“Why is your first response to everything so….”

“Violent?” You teased.

“Physical.”

Sobering up a bit, you tried to focus on your breathing. “You remember what it’s like out there, out in the galaxy on your own.”

“I do. I miss it,” Din agreed softly.

“I do, too. Well, most of it. I’m not like you. I’m not a big scary bounty hunter with a reputation to make someone think twice before messing with me. They see a Mandalorian, and sure, they pause before they do something stupid, but I’m just a random Mando, and a woman at that. Most people are idiots. We don’t mix well.”

Din chuckled.

“It’s become a defense mechanism, and I forget I can turn it off now that I’m here…. Now that I’m home.” Your voice had grown soft.

“Mandalore is home for you?”

“No. But isn’t it supposed to be? That’s what’s instilled in us, at least. Or it feels like it. I was a foundling, a victim of another war torn planet in the Empire’s early days.”

“I…. I was also a foundling.” Din isn’t sure he actually said that out loud.

“I know,” you returned equally as soft.

“I was raised in the fighting corps, just like you, then swore the creed. Only to find out I had sworn to a cult, The Children of The Watch.”

Din stopped in his tracks, all of this sounding too familiar.

Sensing his reaction, you turned to face him, stopping as well. “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, it’s true. They are a bunch of radicals who take The Way to an extreme, Din. We’re not meant to live our lives stuck behind a visor, surrounded by a world of black and white. We’re not supposed to have no one to share all of life’s special moments with. How does it make sense to never see the eyes of someone special to you, once you find them? How they smile when you say their name? The way their face crinkles up when they laugh at your horrible jokes? And that’s assuming your person is another Mandalorian. If they aren’t, there’s still a visor in the way, between you and them. Not only would you not see their eyes, you wouldn’t see them with your own eyes. Tell me how that makes sense.”

“It-”

“And don’t tell me it’s because we are all the same in beskar.” You shifted your weight to one leg, rolling your head to the other side as you kept your gaze on him. “I know for a fact you would throw seventy five percent of your cabinet members to a pack of Jawas for scrap and they all wear beskar. You don’t think of them as equal. You don’t even tolerate them more. The beskar makes no difference. All it does is keeps us safe from a galaxy trying to hunt us down, and at the same time, keeps us from truly connecting with others.”

A moment of silence settled between you before Din asked softly, “Have you ever removed your helmet?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. “And so have you.”

Din took in a sharp breath, stumbling back a bit as the words hit him in the chest. It was the first time he’d heard them out loud since he’d told the Armorer he had.

“And yet here you are, Din, Mand’alor, and a Mandalorian in the eyes of everyone who matters.”

“So you still consider me Mandalorian?”

You scoffed. “Of course I do. I just said in the eyes of everyone who matters, didn’t I?” Turning, you began down the hallway, looking for the next symbol to guide your way.

Din laughed. “Oh, okay. I’m sorry.” He began walking again. “And you say I have a big head.”

“Oh, I know I have a big head. You, I only have suspicions about.” You turned to look at him over your shoulder, head slightly tilted in amusement. “But you keep confirming my suspicions.”

Finally making it to the last set of symbols indicating the hangar, you used your helmet to look through the wall for heat signatures, holding one arm out to the side in an effort to keep Din behind you.

“Looks like it’s empty, thank the Force.”

“Mar’e,” Din breathed. (“At last.”)

“I’m surprised you didn’t push past me,” you mumbled as the door slid open after you activated the hidden switch. “I had my arm out and everything, ready for a fight.”

“I’m saving my energy,” he said lowly, the smallest hint of teasing to his tone as he stood directly behind you, waiting for the door to come to a stop.

Letting out a snort of laughter, you dropped your arm to your side, shaking your head gently at his antics. “At least my job is never dull.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he added softly, a chuckle making his voice bounce over the words.

With a soft click the door came to a stop, leaving a gaping hole in front of you. Signs with arrows pointing to the numbered hangars rested high on the walls.

“Just a little further and we’ll be at hangar 5. Right through there….” You pointed straight ahead, seeing a pile of scrap metal through the small doorway. Letting out a sigh, you began towards the door quickly. “I hope that pile of junk doesn’t block the way of the shi….” As you crossed the threshold, you realized the pile of scrap was the ship. “….p.” You finished the word with a pop, your modulator crackling with the sound, eyes going wide as you surveyed something surely not flightworthy.

Both you and Din spoke at the same time.

“Kriff.”

“Mesh’la.”

Whipping your head to the side to stare at him, you tilted your helmet to show just how confused he’d made you. “Beautiful? Really? You’re calling that…. Thing beautiful?”

“I am and it is….” His voice was wistful as he approached the relic, reaching up to run a hand lightly along the surface of the old Razor Crest.

“Our goal is to escape, not die,” you said dryly, staring at him in mortification.

He lolled his head over to look at you, and you couldn’t help the small smile the motion brought to your face.

“If that’s your goal, this ship will get you there.”

Letting out a soft groan, you dug through your pouch on your belt to find the comm that would explain all this.

“Maybe there’s an explanation from your friend. Surely. I mean, if my ‘friend’ sent me this pile of bantha fodder, I’d-”

“Okay,” Din cut you off, his voice lilting with restrained laughter. “Send the message through our helmets so nobody overhears.”

“If anyone does, we can just offer them the piece of shit behind us. No, wait, they wouldn’t even want it. So much for negotiations….” You grumbled as you began fumbling with the comlink. “Isn’t your friend some super rich crime lord or something?”

Din chuckled. “Something like that. Why?”

You slammed the comlink against your palm with a growl. “This is the lowest grade, oldest comlink I have seen in years. I’m surprised it even has the option to project to another source. Couldn’t he splurge or something, or at least send something that isn’t possibly twenty years old?”

Boba’s voice filled both of your helmets. “Is it recording?”

You sighed. “I guess that answers my question.”

“My friend,” Boba began in a loud, friendly voice. “I came across this beauty in a game of chance, and instantly knew it was meant to replace the one you lost. She hasn’t been treated very well, and needs someone to show her some love and affection, but who better to do that than you?” He let out a deep laugh, and you noticed Din shaking his head at his friend’s words.

“There is no carbonite chamber, of course, like on your last one, but a bench that doubles as a workbench and a small kitchen. I thought the foundling would approve of the change,” he chuckled over his words.

As the laughter died off on a heavy breath, his tone turned more somber. “I can never repay you for your help here with the Pikes. But I hope this maybe can begin that process, however long it takes.”

His voice took on its earlier more playful tone again. “I look forward to doing business with Mandalore. I hear their new leader is wise, if not somewhat of a di’kut sometimes.” (“Idiot.”)

“Until next time, my friend. Ven’cabuo Manda’yaim darasuum.” (“Forever shall you protect Mandalore.”)

After Boba’s message had clicked off, you glanced down at the ancient comlink again.

“There’s a second message.”

Pressing the button, a female voice filled your helmets.

“Hello, Mando.”

You recognized the voice from a few run ins on various missions before. “Is that-”

“Fennec Shand,” Din finished, and he sounded like he was smiling.

Fennec sighed on the recording. “I tried to talk him out of it. I really did. I even tried to get him to take it to Peli just for some basic maintenance so that it wouldn’t blow up the first time you turn it on, but Boba wouldn’t stand for it.” She sighed again. “Something about the bond between man and ship and something…. I don’t know.”

She chuckled softly, her voice lowering near a whisper. “But I snuck Peli and some of her pit droids into the hanger a few nights ago to just do the basics, make sure it at least turns on smoothly for you once it gets there. Doesn’t flood the hangar with black smoke like it did here. That smell won’t come out for months.”

Boba’s voice in the background crackled over the speaker. “Fennec?”

Her voice rushed out. “I’ve got to go. Hope you enjoy the ship. Come by and see us sometime, I know Boba would enjoy it, but he would sooner take a blaster shot to the-”

“Fennec?”

“Don’t die,” she whispered in amusement before the line went dead.

“Can’t say that’s horrible advice,” you said quietly, stuffing the comlink back into your belt.

“Don’t die. Got it.” Din nodded once, his voice somewhat mocking as he reached to access a panel on the side of the ship. It took some effort, rust sealing it shut, but with a tug, it swung open with a squeak. He pressed a button to lower the ramp, gears whirring and grinding within the deep dark recesses of the wreck, a loud moan of protest sounding from deep within. Swiping his hand against the little door to shut the panel back, it slammed closed, then fell to the ground with a graceless clatter, both of your visors following its descent silently.

You took a deep breath, about to speak, but Din interrupted you. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Even if it was something nice?”

He looked at you. “Okay. If it was something nice. Let’s hear it.”

You hooked your thumbs into your belt, turning your visor to look at the ramp as it began to inch lower toward the ground.

“Well?” Din finally prodded when you stayed silent.

Looking back to him, you shrugged. “I didn’t say what I had to say was nice. I was just asking what if.”

Din let out a huff, hands going to his hips as he turned to watch the ramp lower.

Grogu’s cradle opened to reveal his wide eyes blinking up at the two of you, looking between you both with a soft babble.

“Hey, kid,” you said softly, tilting your head as you looked at him. “We’re almost out of here, okay? Just a little bit further.” You turned back to the ramp that was stuck only a few inches lower than it had been when you looked away. “I hope. If this hunk o’ junk will make it to the other side of this.”

“It will,” Din confirmed fondly, slapping the side of the Crest affectionately, the ramp suddenly dropping several feet from the impact, stopping abruptly with a bang as the hydraulics locked up.

Grogu let out an amused coo as you all looked on in silence, the only other sound the ramp lowering with a struggle. Jerky, broken, bangy movements and noises echoing throughout the hangar. Smoke was coming out of weird places.

“Mhi lise shi vercopaanir.” You simply stared at the ramp as it stuttered the last few inches, dropping the last little bit with a thud. (“We can only hope.”)

Lights flickered on inside the ship, finally staying lit with a soft hum as a few decided it was still a struggle and blinked in trepidation.

“It will,” Din said emphatically, turning to you. “My Razor Crest served me well until Moff Gideon blew it up, otherwise it was doing just fine.”

You snorted out a laugh, turning to face him as well. “Yeah, that’s what I heard.” You chuckled. “I think Karga told me once when he visited a few weeks ago you showed up on Nevarro and the ship was held together with twine?”

He growled softly. “That was Mon Calamari, I had nothing to do with that patch job.”

You nodded, humming in amusement. “Mmm-hmm.”

“I didn’t!” He protested after a moment.

Holding up your hands as if in surrender, you can’t help the snicker that slips out. “I believe you!”

Rapid footsteps suddenly came racing around the hangar entrance, and four stormtroopers poured into the small space.

“I found them!” One said, signaling the others.

“Blast them!” Another yelled.

Before they got a single shot off, the two of you had dropped them all to the ground, smoking blaster holes in their armor with deadly precision.

Turning, you find you’ve both stepped in front of the kid’s open cradle, blocking him with your beskar before opening fire. Exchanging a look, you both turn back to face one another, but don’t step away, staying in front of the kid.

The weight of the situation settled in the air between you once again. You’d both allowed yourselves to get lost in banter and teasing, until it came roaring back into your field of view with its very real and present threat.

You kept your voice even, speaking clearly but quickly. “Take your ship, your N1. It’s off the grid, and if we need to make a fast break, we can split up.”

Nodding, he reached into the cradle and took out his son, holding him close in the crook of his elbow, looking down into his tiny face for a brief moment before he lifted his gaze back up to hold your own. Without a word, he handed you Grogu. His gloved hand lingered on the tip of one large green ear before he withdrew his touch altogether.

“Take the child. They know my ship, and if they shoot me down on our way out of here, he’s in your care.”

You looked at him for a long moment before nodding once. “This is the way.”

“This is the way.” He unclipped the Darksaber from his belt before handing it to you, as well. “Better take this, too. Just in case.”

“No, I can’t-”

“I’m not asking you to take Mandalore, I’m trying to hand something to you for safekeeping.” He pressed it into your hand, closing both of his around yours. “I want that back.” Then he nodded to the kid. “And I guess I’ll take that back, as well.” You chuckled. “Once we reach the other side of this mess.” He began to back away towards his ship.

“On the other side,” you agreed.

“Be. Good.” Din leaned forward slightly, waving a stern finger close to the child’s face where he still sat in your arms.

“I’m going to pretend you were talking to the kid and I’m not offended.”

“I was-” Din let out an aggravated huff when he looked back up and saw your head tilted teasingly.

“Go,” you urged, pointing to the hangar next door with your blaster, still in your hand after shooting the troopers. Placing the child back in the cradle, you continued when you still didn’t hear his footsteps. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Turning after another long moment of silence, you found him still standing a few feet away.

His weight shifted, like he was going to take a step away, but he remained in one spot. “If I don’t-”

You held up your hand to stop him, holstering your blaster with the other. “Nope. Don’t even finish that sentence. I’ll see you on the other side, Din.”

He nodded hesitantly, taking one step backwards before he stopped again, lingering.

Closing the cradle back up to secure the kid, and gesturing it up the ramp and into the ship, you closed the distance between you and your fellow Mandalorian in just a few quick steps. Standing toe to toe with him, your head craned back just slightly to hold his gaze with your own, you put one gloved hand on his armor clad chest and pushed gently. He began to take small steps back, and you matched every one with a step forward.

“The kid will be safe with me. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to him. It’ll be just as if he were with you. When you get on your ship, open your comms to channel two, it’s secure and I’ll try and kick this bucket of bolts behind me into gear enough to meet you there. I’ll need some help to get this monstrosity into the air, and I have a feeling you know all her secrets, so I need your head in the game, Din. Not just for me, but for the kid. If I can’t fly the shitty ship, I can’t keep him safe. Understand?”

You stopped when the slight clink of his beskar bumping into his N1 sounded in the vacant hangar.

He tilted his head at you for a long moment before he straightened again and nodded, climbing into the cockpit.

Taking a few steps backward as he powered it up, you kept your eyes on him, watching as his shoulders rolled back, his head coming up just a little higher, his movements precise.

“Din?”

He turned to look at you as the engines began to whir.

“Don’t die.”

The transparisteel slid over the cockpit, sealing him in, but you both stared blatantly at the other for another long moment before you began to take a few steps backwards towards the Razor Crest. Finally turning to face the ugliest ship in the galaxy, you jogged the last few feet, pulling the lever to shut the ramp once you were inside, and hoping beyond hope that it would close.

It protested loudly, but it closed without a hitch, sealing with a hiss once it was flush with the hull again. Gesturing the cradle up into the cockpit, you climbed the ladder after it, sending it into one of the copilot seats once the doors had shut behind you.

Opening the cradle once again, the child jabbered at you happily.

“Hey, kid. You recognize this place?” You began flipping all the necessary switches, pressing the buttons, some of them requiring extra pressure or repeated attempts.

The engines roared to life with a choking sputter at first before they purred like a well oiled machine. An alarm signaling you were being hailed began to blare, and it took three jabs of the button before it answered the call.

“Din, this ship may be falling apart, but your mechanic friend did something I can only call a miracle for the engines.” Something fell off under the console with a clatter. “They are purring.”

“You can tell her when we get there.”

You hesitated. “We’re going to Ta-”

He cut you off. “Just in case this line isn’t secure- I know you said it is, but just to be safe- don’t say it. Yes. That’s where we’re going.”

Something else fell off the side of the cockpit, falling to the floor and skittering across, coming to a stop at the bottom of the kids chair, making you hiss through your modulator.

“This ship may be running as smooth as fine wine, but that won’t do any good if it falls apart around those perfect little engines.” The console itself vibrated at a high frequency, blurring as it moved around all the button and switch slots. Your teeth chattered as you spoke. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

Din chuckled over the comm. “Kick to your right under the console.”

“Do wh-”

“You heard me. Just do it.”

Swinging your boot forward and giving it a good kick, the vibrating stopped instantly. You let out a snort. “Your ship was just fine, yeah right.”

Something began to thunk to your left.

“Smack the wall beside the sound twice.”

Reaching over, you did as he asked, shaking your head gently. “I’m dreaming. Aren’t I. That has to be it.”

Something behind the wall let out a louder thud before the sounds stopped altogether. “I’m never believing another word you say ever again. You did nothing but lie to my face about your ship holding up-”

“I just told you how to fix it!”

“Which makes us circle back to you lying about a problemless ship, Djarin!”

“That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?” You lifted the ship up slowly, seeing his N1 slip out of the hangar beside you.

“You know my last name, and I don’t know yours.”

You scoffed, pressing the controls forward. “I’m your head of security, of course I know your name.”

“And I should know yours.” The guns of his ship sounded over the comm. “Troopers at your six, front entrance, they have heavy fire power. Power up your shields before you exit the hangar. I’ll circle back around and pick them off, you distract them.” The slick whir of his engines filled the silence. “So? What is it?”

You choked out a laugh, pressing the controls all the way forward to punch it out into the open, drawing the fire away from Din, seeing the slight slip of his sleek little ship coming in fast on the horizon. “Not so fast, Mand’alor.”

He groaned, blaster fire coating the sound both over the comm and from below as he zoomed underneath you.

An explosion behind you jostled the ship, making you lurch in your seat. Grogu let out a happy squeal, and when you turned to him, he had his arms held up over his head and a smile across his face.

Din chuckled. “Yeah, kid. We got ‘em.”

Something made a loud bang in the main part of the ship below, bouncing across the floor and you groaned. “This ship is a nightmare, Din.” You pressed the steering into a roll as you evaded further fire, stabilizing and dodging TIE Fighters by swinging hard right and left back and forth. The kid let out a little huff at the end of each tilt, making you chuckle, his own laugh coming on at the sound of yours.

“She just needs a gentle touch.”

“Of course it’s a she,” you grumbled halfheartedly, sitting up straight when his ship buzzed right over the viewport, nearly clipping the Razor Crest. It was so close the ship jostled from the wind of his ship. “Kriff! Din! Don’t do that!”

“Don’t do what? Save your ass?”

“Oh, he’s sassy now?” You chuckled again, settling back into your seat as you let out a breath, punching the ship forward again. “It’s only fair. I’ve saved yours, what, five times today alone?”

Din scoffed. “I’d hardly say-”

“Pull up.” He did what you said without question, his ship slipping up into the atmosphere with little effort, the TIEs on his tail lining up in your sights. Pressing the button, you fired the ships guns and all three of the enemy ships exploded. “The guns work. Good to know,” you mumbled, smiling when you heard his gentle scoff in disbelief. “You were saying?”

“I was going to say I’d hardly say it was five times, but now I’m wondering how exactly you got the job as the head of strategy and tactics?”

You pulled a hard left, evading some fire from the ground before swinging back alongside his ship. “Do I detect an insult?”

“I mean, if you want to….”

You rolled your eyes at his sarcastic tone. Pulling up abruptly, the ship going perpendicular with the surface of the planet, you engaged the reverse thrusters before letting the ship freefall. Your monitor began to beep incessantly of incoming ships all around. Once you felt like enough had gotten pulled in, you kicked the forward thrusters back on, the ship suspended in the air for a few seconds before it began to move in the correct direction.

The TIEs still going full throttle continued on their collision courses, colliding with one another, the fireball expanding behind the Crest with each impact, the waves sending the ship higher and higher with minimal effort.

Setting the ship back on a horizontal plane, you saw Din fly up alongside you, so you turned to your left to look at him through the transparisteel.

“You were saying?”

He just looked at you, nodding once before he punched the accelerator, climbing up and out of the planet’s atmosphere and into the dark reaches of space.

Following close behind, you had to enter into a spin to dodge some incoming fire as he peeled off to the right, circling back around. Everywhere you looked were pieces of the Empire, Star Destroyers and TIE Fighters painting the sky in passing streaks, green bolts from their laser cannons joining the mix in between.

“This is pointless, Din. There are a dozen of them for every one of us. We just need to find our way to the edge and make the jump.” You pressed the controls forward into a dive, skimming along the edge of a Star Destroyer, three following TIEs slamming into its surface when they couldn’t pull up in time.

Din zoomed overhead, cannons blasting as he disappeared behind you. “Can’t say that’s horrible advice,” he echoed your words from earlier about Fennec’s message, and you chuckled.

Pulling up abruptly to cause two TIE Fighters to slam into one another, the other three tracking the Crest mirrored the movement, following your ascent. Trying to duck to the side, they simply did the same, every move an exact match no matter what you did. Finally gaining the upper hand, you pulled the trigger to blast the incoming ships, only for the Crest to sputter and click, nothing coming out of the cannons. You knew better, but pulled the trigger incessantly, getting the same results, the empty click sounding louder each time as the scream of the incoming ships seemed to match it.

“Din, we have a problem.” You swallowed. “The old girl’s shooting blanks.”

“What?” His ship came into view off in the distance, coming in fast.

“Cannons are down. And these assholes are onto me and my evasive maneuvers.” As if to demonstrate, you went into a dive at the last second, the enemy ships simply matching you.

“Leave it to me.” His voice was determined. “Just do what I say. Okay?”

“Do I have a choice?” You joked, pressing the controls forward to rise back to the level his ship was.

He chuckled. “I know it’s hard for you, but I just need you to listen this once.”

“Ready and waiting.” There was silence over the comms for a long stretch, and you did your best to evade the enemy following along behind. “Din?” Your stomach began to sink, and you searched the skies as best you could through the ducks and spins of the ship to see if you could see even a flash of his sleek ship. “Din!”

“Spin!” His voice barked over the comms.

Instantly twisting the controls, you entered a spiral, the kid letting out a shriek of joy at the motion. Your monitors beeped of the incoming ships, their impending collision with the Crest or cannon fire blaring through the cockpit. “I’m gonna be sick….” You mumbled as the ship continued to spin.

“Pull up!”

Immediately jerking the controls up, you pulled the ship into another ascent, the sea of space spinning in front of your eyes as you tried to adjust out of the spin. The proximity alarms slowed down one by one, and finally stopped, only the occasional passing ship setting them off.

“Took care of them,” Din said quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” you mumbled, peeling off to follow him to the edge of the battle. “And Din?” His visor met yours through the viewport. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Punch in the coordinates. I’ll go first, you come behind me. We should be able to stay in communication the whole way.”

“Got it.” You put the coordinates into your nav. “After you, Mand’alor.”

With the press of a button, Din disappeared in front of you with a lurch as he entered hyperspace, and you followed right behind him, the world streaking past in shades of blue and silver.

The N1 bumped along gently in front of you, the swirl of hyperspace reflecting on its polished surface.

“Thank you,” Din’s voice over the comm startled you.

“You’re welcome,” you offered softly. “For what?”

He laughed. “Helping me and the kid get here safely. You…. You’re good at your job.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

Din groaned, making you chuckle.

“No problem.” Turning to Grogu, you smiled as he blinked heavy eyes at you. “He may be a little menace, but he’s my little menace.”

“Your’s?” Din asked after a moment of hesitation.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s a great kid, you’ve done a good job with him. But that little troublemaking streak? I take full credit for that. I saw it, encouraged it, and now we have this brilliant little creature who’s…. Completely knocked out after a dogfight to escape the planet,” you chuckled over the last few words. “I think we bored him.”

Grogu’s little snores filled the cockpit.

Lowering your voice to something more serious, you looked back forward toward Din’s ship. “I won’t let anything happen to him. Or you. Don’t worry.”

“I know,” Din spoke softly. “I’m not.”

Smiling, you sat back in the pilot’s chair, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well, I think I’m going to take the kids advice and take a nap while we can. You should, too, Din. Who knows when we’ll get another chance.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” he agreed with a gentle groan, his armor creaking against the seat of his small ship as he got comfortable.

“You better not snore,” you all but mumbled, almost asleep already.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a smile.

Xxx

You’re woken up when an alarm goes off softly, the ship dropping out of hyperspace just as you blink open your eyes.

As the fade of stars comes to an end, Tatooine appears abruptly through your viewport.

“You awake?” Din’s soft voice comes over the comms.

Stretching, you yawn before reaching out to silence the alarm. “Yeah.” Glancing over your shoulder, you smile. “Kid’s still asleep. I’ll let him rest.” Turning back to the viewport, you grab the controls, pressing a few necessary buttons and flipping some required switches. “What hangar?”

“Hangar 3-5.”

“Mos Eisley?”

“Ye-”

“Hold on,” you grumbled, something clunking under the console. Reaching out, you kick your foot forward, landing a swift hit with your boot, only for the sound to persist. Moving your foot slightly, two more like it and it stops. You let out a sigh. “Sorry. We’re getting to your mechanic friend just in time it seems. The ship is pitching a fit.” A thud in the wall makes you reach out to slam nearby the sound with a fist without a second glance, Grogu startling awake behind you and drawing your gaze. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to startle you.” You looked out the viewport again. “Mos Eisley?”

Din sighed, but sounded amused. “Yes.”

“Got it,” you nodded once, reaching out to slam the wall again when the thud kicked back up.

Both ships touched down in the hangar with little fanfare, the Razor Crest landing surprisingly easy despite all the grievances on the way in.

Pressing the button on the console, the ramp began to lower, and you gestured the cradle in front of you out of the cockpit, then the ship. Grogu looked around with wide eyes, a smile on his face as he knew what, or rather who, was coming.

Din met you at the bottom of the ramp, reaching out toward the kid with his index finger, Grogu taking hold of the tip in his little three clawed hand, letting out a soft coo as he looked up at his father. “Hey, kid.”

“I believe this belongs to you,” you said softly, unclipping the Darksaber and pressing it gently into his hand.

Closing his grip around the hilt, he gave you a nod in thanks before he attached it back at his own hip.

“Well, look who it is!” A loud, bright voice sounded off to the side, obviously extremely happy as it came closer.

Looking up, hand resting on your blaster out of instinct, you saw a woman, on the shorter side, hair curly and wild, and eyes that positively shined with mischief.

“Peli,” Din greeted, approaching her calmly. “You got my message?”

“I did,” she confirmed, nodding. “No problem. We’ll store your N1 here, and see what we can do about the hunk of junk Boba got ya.” Turning to you, she looked you up and down before smiling tightly. “Who’s this?”

Din turned to look at you, gesturing you forward as he spoke. “This is Ti. She’s my head of strategy and tactics, and currently my head of security as well. We were in a meeting when everything happened, and she’s the reason we were able to get out.”

Reaching out to shake her extended hand, you tilted your head. “Well, actually the kid is the reason we got out. I never would have found those tunnels if he hadn’t hid there when we played hide and seek last week.” She smiled at that. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” She peered around you at the cradle, dropping your hand. “If the kid likes you, that’s good enough for me.” She winked at you before turning fully to the kid. “And lastly, my little womp rat!” She extended her arms toward the child with a broad grin, laughing when he squealed and reached for her. Scooping him up into her arms, she fussed over him a little before turning back to the two of you, putting him back in the cradle with a grin.

Turning to the Razor Crest, she surveyed it with hands on her hips. “You got her here without any damage! You must have had no problems leaving Mandalore!” She flicked her eyes between the two of you as you all exchanged loaded looks. “Or….”

“We took out at least ten, fifteen…. Probably more TIE Fighters on our way out.”

Peli looked at you with wide eyes.

“Wait, how would you know? She’s a pile of-”

“I took inventory before I let this baby out of my sight.” Reaching up, Peli lightly smacked the side of the Crest, wincing when something fell off with a clang. “I’ll fix that….” Her face screwed up in question. “Now, how in the world did you two get outta there without a scratch on this one, and then our precious N1 over here looks like it’s been through the wars?”

“That’s purely down to pilots.”

Din looked at you with a grunt at the slight.

“Ah, I see,” Peli’s eyes narrowed in amusement. She pointed at you, then at Din before she brought her finger back to aim at you. “Train him. Help him.”

“I’m right here,” Din began to protest.

“Ah, pfffft, now, now Mando, stay out of this. I just want what’s best for our little beauty over there.” She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb toward the N1.

“Stay out of it? You’re talking about….” He let out a heavy sigh. “Never mind.” Turning, he made his way up the ramp of the Razor Crest, banging sounds of some repair beginning shortly after.

You shook your head gently, chuckling as you kept your gaze on Peli, her eyes studying the large ship over your shoulder. She grimaced as Din let out a loud “Ow!” from inside the ship, the sound of a tool dropping to the metal floor ringing throughout the hangar. He growled before the banging resumed, this time faster and more emphatic.

“Best we leave him to it,” Peli offered lightly, making you smile. “I’m going to work on the other ship for now, get it cleaned up and ready to go if he needs it. I’ll get my droid team to work on the Crest in the meantime.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

She looked a little surprised at your question, but quickly recovered, a soft smile twisting up her cheek. “You know anything about wiring?”

“I know enough.” You gestured to the Crest with your head. “But I assume anything would be better than whatever state that ship is in now?”

She laughed. “You’re not wrong.” Grabbing a bundle of wire from one of her pit droids walking past, she handed it to you. “There’s a panel in the main area, probably right by where he’s working, that connects the controls to something like his vambrace. He had his last one all hooked up, I’m assuming he wants this one connected, too.” She mirrored your earlier gesture and nodded toward the ship with her head. “Keep an eye on him.”

You nodded.

“Don’t let him break my ship.”

“Your ship?” You tilted your head in amusement.

“Hey, as long as it’s in my hangar, I’m claiming it. Unless the New Republic shows up asking for paperwork or something, in which case, then it’s all his.” Turning toward the N1, she called out for one of the droids, “R5!” talking to it animatedly when it rolled up and started beeping at her.

As you made your way up into the ship, you noticed the banging had stopped. You found Din hanging a makeshift hammock bed in the bunk for the kid, Grogu looking on contentedly from his floating cradle to the side.

He didn’t turn to you as he began to speak. “There’s only room for one, but I’m sure we can modify it into a double bunk with no problem. Won’t be much headroom, but if we put it up high, the hammock can be between the two, and we’d all have somewhere a little more comfortable than the cockpit.” Finally looking at you over his shoulder, he went on. “I don’t know how long we’ll be on the run like this, but as long as we’re fixing stuff and we’re here at Peli’s, it only makes sense.”

You nodded, making your way to the panel Peli had told you about. “Sounds fine. It’s your ship. But I appreciate the effort to make sure we’re all comfortable.”

“You didn’t ask for this,” Din sighed. “I could have taken the kid in my N1 and left just the two of us. I’m…. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

Turning to him, you shook your head. “I’m not anywhere I don’t want to be. You should know that by now.” You tilted your head at him teasingly. “I’m very stubborn. Protecting you and the child is an honor.”

He was silent for a long moment before offering a single nod. “It’s an honor to have you with us.”

You looked down to the bundle of wires in your hand. “As far as anything concerning the ship, again, it’s your ship. Do what you think is best. I trust you.”

Somehow in the middle of the conversation, you’d both drifted toward one another, a mere handful of inches left between you before you even realized. Looking up into his visor, you saw your own reflected in his beskar, and for some reason, it caught you off guard.

Turning toward the panel, you put the distance back between you. “Peli wants me to program the control to your vambrace-”

“Program it to yours, too.”

You looked at him across your shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“I trust you.” When neither of you spoke further, he continued on. “It only makes sense, if you’re basically a bodyguard, you need access to the ship and all its features, including things like ground protocol in case things get tricky.”

The kid let out a coo, and you noticed he was now in his hammock, peeking at you over the edge.

Turning to the panel, you got to work, the fact that Din was never far not going unnoticed.

A few minutes later, you connected the last few wires. “Okay, if I got this right, you’re going to need to come over here and get your vambrace in proximity so it can sync.”

In just a few steps he was standing directly behind you, just enough space left between that if you took a deep enough breath your back would be against his chest. Reaching out, he braced his hand on the wall to your right, beside the panel, effectively caging you in on one side.

Lifting your own hand, you pressed your palm against the cool metal of the wall directly beside his, and pressed the button on the panel. A few beeps sounded between the panel and both vambraces, a sequence of lights flashing before everything went quiet again.

“It should work now.” Your voice was uncharacteristically quiet even to your own ears.

Not moving away at all, if anything leaning in closer, Din reached over and pressed a button on your vambrace, eliciting a beep before the ramp began to close. Pressing it again, the ramp lowered back to the ground. He lingered in your space for just a minute longer before he turned and headed down the ramp, out of the ship.

As soon as he was back in the hangar, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your gloved fingers flexing wide where your hand still rested on the wall.

Closing up the panel, you made your way back to the main area of the hangar where Din and Peli stood close, in the middle of a conversation.

“You went all the way to Boba’s to fix the ship.” Din’s voice was soft, and he reached out a hand to rest on Peli’s shoulder. “You told me you never left the city walls.”

She looked at the part in her hand, fiddling with it needlessly, a tight smile pulling up her face. “Yeah, well….” She looked up at him, letting her hand still holding the part fall to the table with a soft thump. “What are friends for?” They shared a silent exchange before she abruptly brought her hands up in a gesture, Din’s hand falling to his side with the motion, and she looked to the side absently as she continued, her face twisted mischievously. “Besides. Who’s gonna mess with me with those guys escorting me, not to mention the pay was phenomenal.” She grinned up at him, winking. “Plus, I got the added bonus of you finally shutting up about your precious Razor Crest….” She scoffed, shaking her head gently.

“Plus, I had it on good authority from a close friend- that’d be you, Mando- that the Pike situation had been taken care of, so I figured….” She shrugged. “Why not.” Her hands rested on her hips as she looked between the two of you.

“The, uh, the vambraces are done,” you offered. “Anything else I can help with?”

“Wait, vambraces as in plural?” Peli’s hand raised to pause the conversation went back to her hip as her head tilted in question at you.

“Yes, Mando thought it best I also have the controls, should things get…. Complicated.” You shifted your weight slightly. “Why, is that a problem to have more than one?”

“No!” Her eyes went wide. “No,” she smiled kindly. “It’s just…. Not what I was expecting is all.” The conversation lulled for a minute before she cleared her throat, turning to the nearby table and grabbed another bundle of wires. “Feel like doing some more wiring?”

“If that’s what will help, gladly.”

“She’s a good one, Mando. Hang on to her. Very helpful.”

Din looked at you with the slightest tilt of his head. “I plan to.”

Xxx

Din worked alone on the Crest later on in the day. Peli had pulled you deep into a conversation on the far side of the hangar, the both of you laughing occasionally drifting over to him.

Grogu cooed from his spot in his cradle beside him, drawing Din’s attention away for a moment. “What?”

The small BD unit that seemed to have taken a shine to Din for some reason beeped from its perch on the ramp of the Crest, just above Din’s head, making the Mandalorian turn his head up to look at it with a sigh. “You, too?”

Looking between the child and the droid, he let out a soft groan. “Look, I don’t know what a fifty-something year old baby and an overzealous BD droid are trying to tell me, but I have a feeling it’s going to get me in trouble.”

Grogu let out a happy gurgle, the droid looking between Din and the child, bouncing happily as it let out a series of blurts and beeps one could only construe as joy.

Chuckling softly, Din shook his head as he went back to work on the panel on the outside hull of the Crest. “That’s what I thought.” He looked back at Grogu with a playful tilt of his head. “Troublemaker.”

“Mando!”

Turning, Din looked across Peli’s hangar to find you approaching him with easy, confident steps. Something witty sat just on the tip of his tongue, a quip that was sure to finally get the better of you, but it died there as he watched you reach up and remove your helmet, tucking it under one arm as you took the last few steps to stand in front of him.

He expected a smirk, something mischievous to be sparkling in your eyes as an eyebrow cocked up at him in something sarcastic. And he was partly right, he mused, as he studied how your eyes did in fact sparkle with something not entirely innocent, your eyebrow playing its part as it raised in question.

But your smile…. You didn’t smirk at him like he expected. Instead he saw a somewhat shy grin stretching its way up your features, growing by the minute. And it was contagious.

“What?” You teased, running a hand through your hair. “Do I have helmet hair or something?” There was the smirk. “We can’t all look fresh as a flower under here, you know.”

Din cleared his throat. “Did you need something?”

The grin faded slowly from your face, your features schooling themselves into something more professional, and Din instantly wanted to kick himself.

You pointed over your shoulder, looking down at the ground by his feet before looking back up to hold the gaze of his visor. “Peli wants to ask you something. I mean, she could have asked me, but it’s not my ship, so….” Lowering your hand, you let it rest on top of your helmet, drumming your fingers along its surface.

A lopsided grin began to climb your face yet again, making Din tilt his head just slightly in question. “You know…. It’s much cooler with that thing off.” You leaned in, going up on your tiptoes so you were as close as face to face as you could get, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “I won’t tell anyone.” Winking at him before you lowered back onto the soles of your feet, you laughed softly. “But I understand if you don’t want to. We can’t all look like this under there, after all.” You made a sweeping gesture to your face. “I won’t hold it against you.”

Din stepped around you with a gentle shake of his head, slowing to a stop when your voice sounded at his back.

“Jyrr.”

He turned just enough to look at you easily, his body facing to the side, his head turned to look across his shoulder. “What?”

“My last name. Ti Jyrr.” A tight smile pulled across your features as you made your way around him and back toward Peli. “Now you know.”

BD and the child both let out soft sounds as they looked between your retreating figure and Din, sharing a look themselves.

Din watched as you walked away, and it felt like a piece of him was somehow going with you. He’d put all of his energy into disliking you, or so he thought, that the fleeting idea of any part of him belonging to you caught him off guard.

You were everything he stood against, but at the same time, everything he needed at his side. You were rash, reckless, you dove head first into things without thinking. But you were also smart, efficient, kind, and you didn’t let anyone, including him, give you any shit.

You embodied mandokar. The epitome of the Manalorian way of life - equal parts aggression, tenacity, loyalty and shereshoy - a lust for life. And while it irked him to admit that you did, he was also extremely proud to have you at his side, with him, and see it each day. You made a formidable opponent, and he was just glad you were on his side. He was able to rest easier knowing the kid would be safe even if he couldn’t keep an eye on him at all times.

And it didn’t hurt that you were easy on the eyes.

He looked down at the ground for a long moment, trying desperately to fight the grin climbing his face at the thought. It was the only one currently occupying his mind, the rest of his thoughts utterly blank.

“You coming?” You called across the hangar, breaking him from his empty loop.

The BD droid ran down the ramp, darting across the hangar and skidded to a stop at your feet, looking up at you as it wiggled excitedly. You laughed, sitting on your haunches and patted it on the head as it trilled at you.

Grogu let out an unintelligible babble as he looked up at Din, his cradle coming alongside the Mandalorian, his head tilting just slightly in a way Din knew the child had learned from him.

Shaking his head gently, he began moving toward you and Peli. Sure, he’d started to like your personality, but the fact that you were also attractive was just insulting. And given he was a stubborn man, he was prepared to be insulted over and over…. Glancing up, he caught your gaze as you smirked his way, your helmet on a table beside you, and he nearly scoffed. How rude.

Xxx

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